THE DARK SPRING

Hard Science Fiction

BRANDON Q. MORRIS

Contents

The Dark Spring

Author's Note

Also by Brandon Q. Morris

A Guided Tour of Comets

Glossary of Acronyms

Metric to English Conversions

Excerpt: Amphitrite

The Dark Spring

August 15, 2026 – DLR Control Center, Cologne

“I’m concerned about TIRA,” Marcel proclaimed.

Karl Stoll wiped beads of cold sweat from his forehead. He had just come in from the blazing sunshine, but the air conditioning was on max. He hoped he wouldn’t catch a cold.

“Good morning to you, too,” he said.

“It’s almost midday.”

“That’s true. But a few friendly words—”

“Man, I’ve been awake since just after midnight, and I still don’t know what’s wrong with TIRA.” The thermal infrared instrument had first started causing problems shortly after the launch of the Hera probe—they could not get it to stay properly calibrated.

“If necessary, we’ll have to do without it,” Karl replied.

“Then I’ll be calling in sick when the mission gets serious. The researchers will be breathing down our necks.”

Every instrument on the probe had its own group of scientists. Karl could understand their frustration. They’d had to wait for more than three years, and now they wouldn’t get their measurement data? That would delay their research careers, because without data there would be nothing to publish, and not publishing meant a career setback—publish or perish!

Karl was glad that, as an engineer, he had nothing to do with evaluating the data. “We’ll get TIRA working eventually,” he said. “What’s it griping about today?”

“After a warm start of the probe, it insists on starting the measurements.”

“But the Didymos system is still weeks away.”

“Exactly. So of course the measurements produce no results, and then it defaults to maintenance mode. So I initiate a warm start, and once again TIRA starts measuring, and—”

“I get it,” Karl said, letting him know he’d heard enough. “You go home. Your wife must be waiting.”

“She is. She wants to give me the little one and then rush off to the hospital.”

“She’s working again?”

“Yeah, I know, and the kid’s only six months old.”

“Well, have fun with your offspring.”

“Thanks, Karl, I will.”

Marcel left the room, which was about the size of a college classroom. The back wall was made of glass, so Karl could see into the ISS control room on the other side. Only two colleagues were currently working there. He sat down and adjusted the office chair, being a head shorter than Marcel, and lowered the middle monitor of the three arrayed there.

“Okay, TIRA, let’s see what nonsense you’re up to,” he said.

Karl started the debugger for the probe’s source code. Sending every change back and forth would take too long, because Hera was now 30 light-minutes away, so he always tested new program code on the computer model first.

How had Marcel described the problem? Whenever TIRA was restarted, the instrument began immediately taking measurements. Someone must have tried to ‘improve’ the launch sequence. Karl went through the lines of code. There it was, in step 3FA. User JK had made the last change. That was Joshua König, who worked the night shift before Marcel.

There was no mention of why he’d built the measurement code into TIRA’s launch startup sequence, and he wouldn’t be able to ask him until evening. Surely just turning the instrument on was enough, wasn’t it? And, why hadn’t Marcel noticed the change to the code?

Karl shook his head, then changed the line. The simulator didn’t report a problem, so he sent the new code via the uplink to the probe. He would know in an hour whether it had been successful.

* * *

The phone rang. Karl pushed aside his carton of Vietnamese noodles. Couldn’t he eat lunch in peace just this once?

“Hello, Karl!” It was Johannes Düstermann from ESOC in Darmstadt. Karl had already guessed when he saw the area code on the display. Today was going to be one of those days. Hey, how’s my ex? Are you happy together? He refrained from voicing this question, although he was quite interested in the answer.

“Hello!”

“It’s me, Joe.” That’s what Karl used to call him before Düstermann stole his woman.

“Oh, it’s Joe now, is it?”

“Haha, very funny.”

“What do you want? The day’s already going down the crapper, anyway.”

“Good to hear from you, too.”

“No, seriously, Düstermann, is there something important? Otherwise I’d like to go back to my noodles while they’re still warm.”

He almost felt sorry for Joe. His ex-wife had probably thrown herself at him. Almost sorry. He’d still chosen her over their friendship.

“Of course, Stoll, I wouldn’t have called otherwise.”

Joe sounded tense. He shouldn’t be so hard on him. But life hadn’t always been kind to Karl, either. He could still hear Marcel berating him, ‘You shouldn’t let yourself go like that, Karl. You’ve still got a long life ahead of you. You’re barely over 50.’ Marcel was a fine one to talk. He was barely 30 and had a wife and a baby.

“Karl?”

“Uh, yeah, what is it?”

“Do you remember Neville? Neville Youngs?”

“The hard-drinking Australian?”

Youngs had been in Germany for some ESA program, and they’d gone with him to Munich for the Oktoberfest. He’d drunk so much they’d barely managed to drag the babbling Youngs back to his hotel room.

“Exactly.”

“Is he still in New Norcia?” The small town in Western Australia was home to one of the three main antennas of the European Space Tracking Network, ESTRACK.

“Well, that’s where he was calling from. He received some interesting data.”

“What’s that got to do with Hera?”

“Nothing, Karl. But I still thought it might interest you.”

“I’m swamped right now. The rendezvous with the Didymos system is scheduled for two months from now. We intend to put two landers on the moon of an asteroid that doesn’t have any gravity to speak of. And now, one of the instruments is flipping out.”

Karl was exaggerating the problem a little. Hera would still be able to complete its task, even if TIRA malfunctioned and couldn’t measure the infrared spectrum. But he didn’t want his former friend to think he wasn’t stretched to capacity.

“Fine. I just thought—”

“It was nice to chat with you again.”

“Rosetta. That’s all I’ll say.”

Was that a hint of triumph in Johannes’ voice? The man knew how to entice him. The mission to the 67P comet had been the most exciting adventure of his entire career. He, Sylvia, and Joe had been a good team back then—Sylvia, who’d persistently sought her doctorate, and whom they both had courted. She’d chosen him first, and then Joe in the end, because Joe simply had his life more together.

“What about Rosetta?”

“There’s a new development.”

“Then send the data in an email,” said Karl.

“Sorry?”

“Yes, asshole. You can send it to me. Please.”

“With pleasure, Mr. Stoll. Enjoy the rest of your meal.”

The line went dead.

* * *

Karl sighed. The noodles were cold now, anyway. He folded up the box and threw it in the wastebasket, which would be emptied that evening by the cleaners.

His computer beeped. He rolled over to the desk. There was the email Joe had promised, one which Neville had originally sent to Joe from a private address.

“Dear Joe, Dear Charly,” it began.

Neville seemed to think he and Joe still worked together. Well, they had been very good friends back in the day.

“I’m writing from my personal email address because I retired six months ago.”

Crazy. Neville was already retired. Karl had always assumed they were the same generation. But he himself still had 12 years to go.

Dear Joe, Dear Charly,

Now and then I help out with night shifts. It’s not easy to find qualified people in the provinces. And I’m happy to supplement my pension a bit. But I don’t want to bore you. You probably have a lot to do. I’ve heard things are getting exciting with Hera. I’ll get to the point. I heard a signal during one of my shifts that immediately sounded familiar. But I don’t want to bias you. Maybe I’m wrong, because it’s impossible, so I’m simply attaching the data. Have a look at it, and if I’m mistaken, please don’t hold it against an old codger.

Take care, my friends, and say hello to Silvia from me. Neville.

Karl leaned back. He didn’t know any Silvia, and Johannes had probably already passed on the greeting to his Sylvia. Karl looked for the attachment and clicked on it. The virus scanner launched automatically and found no threats. Karl opened the dataset in a special program.

But this is... impossible! Either Neville or Joe—or both—was trying to jerk him around. He slammed his fist on the desk. And he’d wasted his time on this! When Johannes had uttered the word ‘Rosetta,’ it had worked on him as if it were a magical incantation. But this wasn’t Rosetta. It couldn’t be. If he took the data at face value, then it meant the tiny Philae lander had made contact again.

Philae, about a cubic meter in size and weighing 100 kilograms, had been sitting on Comet 67P since November 13, 2014, in the shadow of a rocky overhang, orbiting the sun with the comet. Karl had been there when it separated from its mother probe, Rosetta. He was there when it impacted the comet, bounced off, and finally found a landing site. He’d watched the lander report back in June the following year. And he was among those who had finally terminated Philae’s contact with the Earth, allowing the mother probe Rosetta to crash into the comet and destroy itself. Without transmission via Rosetta’s powerful antennas, it was impossible for anyone on Earth to hear the tiny lander—not then, and not in the future.

So what was it Neville had received?

* * *

His computer signaled that the simulation was finished. Karl scrolled through the results. Again, TIRA had tried to measure a non-existent object immediately after the warm start, which led to an error message, which required a warm start, at which point TIRA... But he’d removed the command from the code himself!

Karl mentally apologized to Marcel. His young colleague had probably already tried that. He’d underestimated him again. He pulled the program up on the screen. Where was the damned error? It was no use, he’d have to widen his search. If he was unlucky, it would take hours. But better they found the error now than after Hera arrived at the double asteroid.

The launch sequence wasn’t the problem. At what point did the program initiate the command to start measuring? He paused the debugger. When the program reached the critical point, it would now freeze and Karl could investigate. Beep. A red exclamation mark appeared on the left-hand monitor. So that’s where you are. And where did you come from? He ran it backward. That was the magic of programming, an ability that had always delighted him.

He ended up in error management. This part of the program was always fired up when an error surfaced somewhere. And there it was. Here, too, TIRA was receiving the command to begin the measurements after a warm start, which was stupid, of course, because it resulted in an endless loop. The programmer responsible for this section had presumably lazily borrowed the lines from somewhere else where they made sense.

Karl simply deleted the line that prompted the instrument to start measuring. That half-solved the problem. But only half, because the program should never have ended up in error management in the first place, because this wasn’t the error that was supposed to trigger the warm start! His thoughts were going around in circles.

Wait a minute. The program sequence had been redirected to error management, so there must have been an error warning. But maybe not the one he was expecting? Karl printed out the status of the simulated probe, which was still in flight mode. Sensitive instruments had protective covers. TIRA, too. For a warm start of the instruments, the cover didn’t move. Whose idea was that? Was that sensible? Hera had spent a large part of the journey in sleep mode to save energy. After that there had been a cold start, whereby the entire probe was woken up. At that moment the cover should open, too. But it stayed down, resulting in an error at every warm start, which prompted another warm start, which started the measurements, which...

Enough. Karl stopped the mental loop. There was a simple solution. They had to open the cover, preferably by repeating the cold start. It was anyone’s guess what had gone wrong there. It was a typical coordination problem. An engineer’s perspective was different from that of a programmer. But that was why they were there. However, before he could restart Hera, he’d have to clear it with the group, since a colleague might have been currently working on another instrument.

* * *

Karl rolled his chair back, put his feet up on the desk, and clasped his hands behind his head. He didn’t care that he could be seen from the corridor. He’d completed his work for the day and could now think about the egg Neville had laid in his nest.

It seemed unlikely anyone was jerking him around. 67P, where Philae must still be waiting under the rocky overhang, was a short-period comet. It approached the sun roughly every six years, not quite as close as Earth’s orbit, but still close enough that Rosetta could reach it. It was last here in 2021, six years after a robot had explored it. Its period had recently shortened a little, probably due to Jupiter’s gravitational influence. So its next visit should be... this year.

But that wasn’t enough. Philae could call out as often as it liked, and no one would hear. Its transmitter was too weak, and it was too far away. But what Neville had received undoubtedly came from the lander. How could that be? There must be a connection somewhere. A radio signal like that just couldn’t happen by accident.

What was the little lander actually capable of? Karl didn’t have to think about it for long, because he knew its technical capabilities. Philae had a battery that it could charge with its solar cells. The efficiency of the solar cells might be somewhat reduced after 12 years, but the capacity should still be enough to switch on the lander and operate its most essential systems for a few minutes.

Back in 2014, Philae had wound up at least partly in shadow. The solar cells hadn’t provided enough power, and Philae had run out of energy and fallen silent. If the lander was transmitting again, it must have left the shadow. Something must have happened on 67P to alter its location. That would be quite an exciting development for a researcher! But how did the signal reach Earth without the Rosetta probe as a go-between? He had no idea.

But he knew people who might be able to help him. Karl looked at the clock. It was still too early for the first call. Robert Millikan at Green Bank Observatory probably wasn’t in his office yet. And he was nervous about making the second call.

No one knew Comet 67P as well as Prof. Dr. Sylvia Stoll.

* * *

Karl opted for a more friendly approach this time. “Hello, Joe!”

If Joe sensed that Karl was trying to backpedal, he didn’t let on. “This is a surprise. Karl. What a pleasure. What can I do for you?” he asked.

“I’d like to speak to... your wife. Is she there?” Karl deliberately avoided using her name. He’d have to get used to the idea that she was no longer...

“She’s helping the older one with his homework.”

“Homework?”

“Yeah, they still get it at school these days.”

Karl laughed. His ex-wife was helping the son he never wanted to have. A stroke of luck—he didn’t have to speak to Sylvia. He probably wouldn’t have been able to get a word out.

“Good. Then just ask her if she could...”

“Wait, she’s coming. Must be finished.”

“Who is it?” he heard faintly in the background.

“Your ex-husband,” replied Joe.

Something clattered.

“This is a surprise,” said Sylvia’s voice on the line.

“That’s what your husband said.”

“You’ve never called us at home, not since—”

“—since the divorce.”

“Exactly.” She sounded a little piqued. “To what do I owe this... honor?”

“A professional question.”

“And that couldn’t wait till tomorrow? I have to be at the university at ten.”

“Sorry. I’d like to call another old friend next, and I need your opinion first.”

“Fine. What’s it about?”

“67P.”

“I’ve had nothing to do with Churyumov-Gerasimenko for ten years.”

“But you have the memory of an elephant.”

“You always accused me of that. And now you want to exploit it?”

“I just want to know how likely it is that the comet could have changed.”

“Come on, Karl, that was so long ago. 67P consists of two parts, but I don’t have the details in my head anymore. Right now I could tell you every detail about Didymos and Didymoon, but old Churyumov—”

“Please, Sylvia.”

“It’s too much to ask right now. I want to spend the evening with my family, even if that’s hard for you to understand.”

She sounded bitter, as though she was still holding it against him that his work had always come first. And yet she’d qualified as a professor while he’d never even completed a dissertation.

“Just a few minutes, please,” he said, feeling like he was going down on his knees.

“I have a suggestion. My first lecture starts at eleven tomorrow. If you call me at my office at ten, I’ll have had a chance to do some reading first, and you’ll get your answer.”

“But at ten—”

“I know, you’re normally still asleep, but it’s important, isn’t it?”

“All right, Sylvia. I’ll call you at ten.”

Did he even have her office number? But to ask her for it now... He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. He could hear a child in the background, calling, “Mama.” Sylvia said goodbye and hung up.

Karl sat in his control room holding the warm telephone receiver.

* * *

“Green Bank Observatory, Visitor Center. You’re speaking with Mary. How can I direct your call on this beautiful summer’s day?”

“Hello. Charly Stoll here from Germany, I’ll like to speak with Bob, Robert Millikan. Can you put me through?”

“Of course, doll, he’s in his office waiting for his first tour. Who shall I say is calling? I didn’t quite catch your name.”

“Charly from Germany. I’m sure he’ll remember me.”

“Okay, Charly from Germany, I’m sure Bob will be pleased to get your call. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, thank you.”

“Then you have a wonderful day.”

“Thanks.”

The line went quiet. At least there wasn’t any of that crappy hold music. Sometimes it annoyed him that he’d had to do without an assistant for the last two years, but it was probably better than being greeted every morning by Mary.

“Millikan here. What is it?”

That was him, his old friend. Karl had known Robert Millikan even before the Rosetta mission. Millikan was an excellent radio astronomer, and he’d helped ESA at the start of the millennium to construct the ESTRACK network, which they’d used to follow and steer the Rosetta probe. Hadn’t he also been with them on the notorious Oktoberfest jaunt? In any case, Bob had naturalized, married a German, built a house, planted a tree, and fathered a son. Martin, if he remembered correctly.

“Who is this?” asked Bob, sounding a little irritated.

“Sorry. It’s me, Charly,” he replied.

“The Charly?”

“Yes, the very one.”

“Hey, this is a surprise! How long has it been?”

“Five or six years?”

At some point after the Rosetta mission, Robert had abruptly packed his bags and gone back to the States. Everyone had been baffled. He’d even left his son behind.

“Yeah, since... Doesn’t matter. I guess you haven’t heard much from me.”

“I haven’t, but that’s okay. I’m sure you had your reasons.”

“Well, I thought so at the time. But surely you’re not calling to reminisce about old times?”

The question almost sounded like a plea. But Karl had no intention of discussing the past with Robert. It would be a waste of time—it couldn’t be changed now, anyway.

“No. Or yes. But on a professional level.”

“Then fire away.”

Karl told him what Neville thought he’d received via the New Norcia antenna. Robert listened without interrupting. Was he just being courteous, or was he completely disinterested?

“What do you think?” Karl finally asked.

“Neville knows what he’s doing. He oversaw the construction of the station in Western Australia and calibrated the antenna. Neville’s not wrong.”

“I agree. But then, how did the signal reach us?”

“The lander is the primary source, but it can’t have transmitted the signal that arrived in New Norcia.”

“Yes, that’s what I thought.”

“The answer seems pretty simple to me. Back in the day, the Rosetta probe amplified the signal and sent it on. So there must be another relay now that’s assumed this function. Is there another probe out there that could do that?”

“None of the current missions is intended as a signal relay for Philae.”

“But you know how it works, Charly. You borrow the code that’s already been shown to work once and transfer it to the next project. That’s the safest way to operate. There’s enough space in the probes’ memory banks these days. How do you know there isn’t some spaceship out there containing the command to relay the Philae signals?”

That sounded plausible. Philae was assumed dead. It would waste a few kilobytes of memory, but otherwise it wouldn’t do any harm for another probe to carry around the old program code from Rosetta. No one had expected Philae to make contact again. Karl himself had even transplanted program modules that had been tried and tested in practice into other probes. Rosetta had been a brilliant success.

“There aren’t that many missions out there, though,” said Karl. “Only we and the Japanese had access to the data. So at the moment, only Hera could serve as a relay. There aren’t any other ESA probes underway nearby.”

“Then you know where to look.”

August 15, 2026 – Green Bank Observatory

The children were finally safely back in their yellow school bus. Robert pasted on a smile and waved. The driver and the teacher waved back. The children were wearing earbuds and busying themselves with their smartphones—in blatant disregard of the fact that it wasn’t allowed here! He’d expressly forbidden it twice. But the researchers would know the reason for the resulting spike in their measurement results. That was why Mary always hung the visitor schedule in the lab. For the last five minutes before the buses arrived at the door, and the first five minutes after they left, the measurements were useless due to electronic interference.

Robert turned around. Mary had probably brought cake, but his destination wasn’t his office this time. He was heading for the Jansky Lab, from where he could control the antennas. His assistant would be disappointed. But Charly’s call had made him pensive. Why couldn’t the past just leave him in peace?

Gravel crunched under his shoes. Maybe it would help if he solved the problem that was occupying his old friend. If he could say to him, ‘listen Charly, this is where the signal’s coming from,’ then he probably wouldn’t hear from him again for a long time—just like he hadn’t heard from his ex-wife or his son for years. Germany was far away, and that was how he wanted it to stay.

* * *

The heavy iron door squeaked as he entered the bunker-like lab. The metal roller-blinds were down over the windows, and narrow strips of sunlight slanted through the swirling dust particles. A man and a woman in white smocks were seated at their computers, typing. The man, one of the guest scientists, looked up at him. What was his name again? The man had only been here for two weeks, but Mary had probably already made a point of remembering his name.

Now the scientist was smiling at him. He must have introduced himself already. Robert approached. The woman was wearing headphones with a cable running from her ears down under the desk. She didn’t seem to have noticed him.

“Hello, Bob,” the man greeted him.

Robert squinted to read his name badge—Thorsten Niesner. “Hallo, Thorsten,” he said.

“Without the H,” said the man, in a strong German accent.

“Excuse me, Thorsten,” said Robert, pronouncing the name with a hard T.

“What can I do for you?” asked Thorsten.

“Um, nothing... or, um... Wait, is the big dish free right now?”

“I... yes, I was just about to—”

“That’s great. Can I ask you to aim it at a particular target for just a few minutes?”

His harmless-sounding request was actually quite impertinent. The man had probably had to wait his turn to use the antenna, and now he comes along...

“Of course. What’s the target?” Robert was lucky that Niesner was so eager to help. Or so inexperienced. Or both. If you wanted to get ahead, you had to fight for time on the expensive instruments. That was another reason he’d eventually given up on pursuing an academic career.

Robert blushed. He didn’t even know where the Hera probe was. If he was unlucky, it might not even be visible from their position.

“One moment. Could I quickly use your computer?”

Niesner nodded.

Robert opened the ESA website. Great! It listed the current positions of the probes on the home page. The ESA must be really proud of this project. Now he just needed to do the math. Fortunately, he’d learned how to do this and practiced it ad nauseum. Hera should be visible! He noted down the figures on a piece of paper.

“Please aim at these coordinates,” he said, handing them to Niesner.

* * *

The air conditioning droned. He could hear faint music, as though in the distance. It must be coming from the headphones of the woman still concentrating on her monitor. It took a while for the antenna to reposition. Niesner was probably silently cursing him. But he didn’t let it show, and this earned him Robert’s respect. Robert was the longest-serving member of staff at the observatory, but he wasn’t the boss, who was somewhere else entirely.

“So, I think we have it,” said Niesner.

From an unimaginable distance, radio signals hit the parabolic dish, were focused, amplified, separated from the background radiation, and processed. They ran through long cables into the lab, where they finally appeared in front of him on the screen.

They were clear signals. Almost too clear. As Robert wasn’t involved in the Hera project he lacked the keys to decode it. But none of it came from Philae. If that was the only probe that was a potential relay, then Neville must have made a mistake.

“Bad news?” asked Thorsten-without-an-H.

He’d correctly interpreted Bob’s expression. Thorsten looked at the clock on the wall. He was probably calculating whether there was still time for his own project. But Robert had bad news for him, too. He’d have to exploit his helpfulness once more. Robert sat at the computer and searched for new data.

Then he converted it and wrote down the results. “I’m afraid I’ll need to take a look at these coordinates, too.”

Niesner pulled an unhappy face, but he didn’t object. Robert felt sorry for the man who could be his son. No, not quite. Martin must still be in school.

“Thank you very much,” said Robert. “I really appreciate it. If you ever need a recommendation, I’ll be happy to help.”

“Oh, that’s very kind of you.” Then he sat down and entered the data.

Robert was excited. It was just a hunch, and his colleagues might think it was ridiculous, but something told him things were going to get interesting today.

August 16, 2026 – Lunar Gateway

“Can you help me please, Livia?”

Daniel turned around and pointed at his side with his thumb. He’d made a mistake by putting on the gloves before doing up the zippers. Livia bent down, and he heard the rattling sound of the zipper.

“It’s quite stiff,” said Livia.

“Yeah, the material fatigues quickly—we should let Mission Control know.”

She slapped him on the ass with her gloved hand. “Maybe you just ate too much and haven’t been exercising enough.”

“Hey, that’s sexual harassment!”

She was probably right, though. The orange suits, called Orion Crew Survival Suits, OCSS in NASA speak, were tailor-made for each astronaut. But how was he supposed to exercise properly on the four-day trip here? No wonder he was getting fat when he didn’t even have gravity on his side. And, unfortunately, the NASA chefs had learned a lot since his flight to the ISS six years ago. Nothing was too expensive for the Artemis program.

“Are you nearly ready?” asked Dave.

“And this zipper here, too, please,” said Daniel, lifting his arms. Livia floated around him.

“There, done,” she said.

“Thanks.”

“Thomzig? Schult? I’m waiting!”

Dave was becoming impatient. He was already buckled into his commander’s seat and wearing an expression of irritation. Daniel never knew quite where he stood with Dave. Sometimes Dave behaved like a buddy, and then he’d revert to being the boss. But David Willinger was an experienced astronaut. At 37, he was one of the oldest in the Artemis program.

“Let’s go, Daniel, get your black ass into that seat.”

Nor was he very politically correct. Daniel didn’t mind. The main thing was that he got them all back home safe. He got into his seat, to Dave’s left, and buckled himself in.

“Hey, you’ll get us in trouble,” said Livia. “If you let something like that slip out during live transmission, you’re screwed. It’d be a shame to lose your little white ass.”

Like Daniel, Livia was African-American. Two years ago, the first woman landed on the moon as part of the Artemis III crew. Now they were the new pinnacle of diversity here in Artemis VI. The president probably had a hand in it, wanting to score reelection points with groups he’d previously neglected. But no, that wasn’t how NASA worked. Decision-making processes took way too long to be influenced by short-term politics—Daniel already realized this at the age of 27.

“People, you talk too much,” said David. “It’s time to get ready for docking.”

“If we didn’t have to get into the OCSS suits, we would’ve been ready long ago,” Livia commented. “I can’t help wondering whose idea they were.”

“If the automatic docking system fails and the Orion crashes into the Gateway and springs a leak, you’ll be glad you’re wearing it.”

“You’re a born optimist, Dave. When was the last time an automatic docking system failed? That must have been in ISS times. If we do crash into the Gateway, then we deserve everything we get.”

“Enough talk. Close your helmets,” Dave commanded.

Daniel pushed the glass visor forward until it clicked into place. Now he was sitting in his own mini spaceship, which warmed and cooled him, provided him with fresh air, and removed stale air. He could survive up to six days in an OCSS if Dave’s gloomy warning became a reality. Someone had told him during astronaut training that he should never, never, never express such doubts. Always stay positive. But that kind of superstition was alien to David Willinger, Commander of Artemis VI.

“Right, I’m now reporting to Gateway,” Dave said. “Autopilot confirmed.”

“Autopilot running,” said Livia.

The station appeared on the screen in front of Daniel. Compared to the ISS, which he’d visited two years earlier, it looked tiny. It seemed to consist of nothing but the SEP—Solar Electric Propulsion system—with its solar panels jutting out into space. They’d dock onto the central module. To their left hung the lander, and to the right the pressure module where they’d live. A green circle was flashing in the middle of the central module indicating the station in lunar orbit was ready for them.

“Gateway online,” Daniel said.

They were observing the ‘four-eyes principle’ while approaching the Lunar Gateway. Livia or Daniel had to check and confirm every command issued by their captain.

“Mission Control, Artemis VI here, Commander Willinger. Requesting permission to approach.”

“Permission granted. Have fun, you three.”

“Hopefully the reception committee has already laid the table and chilled the beer.”

“Of course, Dave,” said Luna, their CapCom. “I’m supposed to ask how you like your steak.”

“Medium rare, please.”

* * *

He was gently nudged upward. Then suddenly everything was still. Daniel was slightly disappointed. In the simulations, there had always been a loud bang during docking. Somehow that would have been more reassuring. The fact that all the warning sounds and lights went out immediately made it even less spectacular.

“So, here we are,” Dave said. “Mission Control, Artemis VI is reporting successful coupling to the Gateway.”

“We confirm that,” said the CapCom. They could hear half-hearted clapping in the background. The moon landing two years ago received much louder applause, but Daniel wasn’t bothered. It meant he wouldn’t have to give hundreds of interviews when he returned.

“What can you see on the other side?” asked Dave.

“Gateway status is normal,” replied the CapCom. “Twenty percent oxygen, life support system running, it’s just a little cool.”

“So we can change into our sweats?” asked Livia.

“Don’t you dare! Remember, everything is broadcast live as soon as the airlock opens. No more bad jokes, please.”

“That was meant for you, Dave,” said Livia.

“As if your jokes are brilliant!” said Dave.

“Hey, pull yourselves together. We don’t want a repeat of what happened on the talk shows after the launch.”

Willinger had cracked a really stupid joke when they reached orbit two days ago, just as they went live on television.

“Yes, Luna, I’ve learned my lesson,” said Dave.

He actually sounded quite contrite. Willinger was sometimes a little rough around the edges, but he wasn’t a bad guy. He probably would have been more at home among the astronauts of the 1970s.

“Good,” said the CapCom. “You can go through when you’re ready.”

* * *

“One, two, three,” said Dave.

He and Livia pushed against the hatch while Daniel braced himself against the soles of their feet floating above him. The dark life support cables hung from them like umbilical cords. The hatch was in the dome of the Orion capsule’s cabin. There appeared to be a slight difference in pressure between the Gateway airlock and their spaceship. The last crew, Artemis V, had reported similar problems. The pressure sensor in the airlock wasn’t working as well as intended, and the hatch stuck fast like the lid of a preserve jar.

Suddenly his crewmates’ legs gave way, and Daniel was fired upward by the tension in his own body. He grabbed a strut and stabilized himself.

“We’re through,” Dave reported.

A camera drone flew around Daniel’s head, annoying him. He tried to bat it away with his hand. At least the viewers were seeing some action. A docking maneuver like this was routine and unexciting. Maybe Mission Control had deliberately maladjusted the pressure sensor? No, the engineers there wouldn’t allow it.

“Congratulations,” said CapCom Luna. “Now you’re one step closer to landing on the moon.”

That was true. However, she didn’t mention that it wouldn’t be decided until later which of them would get into the lander. One of them would have to stay onboard the Gateway for security reasons, even though there was room for all three of them. Two black Americans, a woman and a man, together on the moon—that would be a powerful image for the media. Although Mission Control insisted they would come to a decision that was best for the mission, they wouldn’t be able to entirely disregard external pressures.

“Daniel? You can come through now,” said Dave.

“Mission Control? Can you confirm that?” he asked.

When leaving the capsule, one astronaut had to maintain launch readiness until the station was declared secure.

“Everything’s fine,” said Luna. “Have a nice stay.”

Daniel quickly unbuckled his belt. He wasn’t in any hurry to get to the station, but he wanted to get out of the suit. His bladder was full, and if he hurried he wouldn’t have to use the diaper.

August 16, 2026 – Cologne

“Who... Who is this?” Karl asked drowsily.

He was lying on his side, on his side of the bed. On the other side, where Sylvia once used to sleep, he’d set up everything he might need during the night, including the phone, of course. He held it to his ear with his arm in the air. That funky smell must be coming from his armpit. It was time he threw his pajamas and bedclothes into the machine.

“Is that you, Charly?”

Although the voice was speaking English, it took his brain a while to associate it with a name. He’d just been skiing in his basement. A strange dream. He was grateful to Bob for waking him.

He found it harder than usual to switch to English in the middle of the night. “Yes, I’m... It’s me.”

“Sorry, I forgot about the time difference,” said Robert.

“No problem. How can I help?”

“I might be able to help you. You asked my opinion on the signal from the Philae lander.”

“Yes, did you think of something else? Was Neville wrong after all?”

“I don’t think so.”

“But we’d already got that far.”

“Just a minute, Charly. I couldn’t resist checking the communication with your Hera probe. All I could find was what you exchange officially with the probe.”

“So, it’s not the relay for Philae?”

“Definitely not. You can be sure of that.”

“Then there must be another probe that’s relaying the signal?”

“You won’t find anything there, either.”

“What makes you so sure? There could be some private project underway.”

“With your codes for Philae?”

“Since the project ended, a few ESA engineers moved on to work in the private sector. They could have taken program code with them. It’s not like anyone can stop them.”

“Believe me, Charly, there’s no other relay.”

“And what if Philae was in the middle of transmitting when you were looking at Hera?”

“That’s possible, but—”

“But? Don’t keep me in suspense.” Bob had always had a flair for the dramatic. At such times, it helped to beg him.

“Please, Bob. Out with it.”

“It’s irrelevant whether Philae was in the middle of transmitting when we looked at Hera.”

“Because?”

“Because I found the real source of the signal. And it’s not Hera.”

“What is it? A private satellite?”

“No. Comet 67P Churyumov-Gerasimenko.”

Karl sat bolt upright. “Come on, Bob, it can’t be.”

“But it is. I’ll email you the data and you can see for yourself.”

“But Philae’s antennas and transmission power—”

“I know. I was there, too. It can’t reach us. But the cheeky thing clearly doesn’t care.”

“That’s insane,” said Karl.

“Totally insane.”

“What now?”

“You have a connection again. That’s great, Charly. You can continue your work from where you left off. 67P must have some secrets to reveal.”

“Everything here is focused on Hera and the Didymos system. If we’re unsuccessful after all NASA’s preparatory work, no one will ever work with us again. The to-ing and fro-ing back in the day was damaging enough.”

And the old team didn’t exist anymore. He’d never be able to work together with Sylvia and Joe the way they had in 2014 and ’15.

“If you say so. I’d at least be interested in finding out why Philae resumed contact.”

“It’s unlikely to give us an explanation.”

“Man, Charly, you used to be more creative. Philae has so many scientific instruments. Surely one of them can send answers!”

“First I’d need the transmission capacity for commands and data. Everything’s reserved for Hera.”

“I’d like to offer my help in that regard. I enjoy enough freedom here to smuggle a few data packets through to Philae for you. If I can receive data from it, it can also hear me. That’s the advantage of such a large dish.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

He wasn’t using the word to flatter. It felt right. What would Sylvia say?

* * *

“Schröter here.”

Hmm, the man must have slept poorly. But Karl was in such a good mood he simply ignored the brusque tone.

“Good morning Mr. Schröter,” he said. “I have an appointment with Professor Stoll.”

“What’s your name?”

“Stoll, Karl.”

“Oh, the same last name. That’s a coincidence. One moment. No, I’m sorry, you’re not on the list.”

The man was starting to annoy him.

“We arranged it yesterday evening. The professor probably just forgot to note down our appointment.”

“She never forgets to do that.”

“Just please ask her, Mr. Schröter. It’ll only take 15 seconds. Who are you, anyway?”

“I’m her assistant. Fine, I’ll ask her.”

Schröter must be new, because he didn’t mute the phone before calling through to the next room.

“Sylvia, I have a man named Karl Stoll on the line who insists on talking to you.”

“It’s okay, Thomas. It’s my ex-husband. I told him he could reach me at ten.”

“Oh, good, then I’ll put him through.”

“Thanks, Thomas.”

“Did you hear that, Mr. Stoll? I’m putting you through.”

Hold music faded in briefly. The few notes weren’t enough to recognize the piece.

“Karl? So early in the morning? I wasn’t expecting you to actually call at ten. You usually sleep till midday.”

Nice. But he couldn’t let his annoyance show or they’d start arguing again.

“Good morning, Sylvia. Thanks for taking the time. It’s really important.”

“You sound even more emphatic than yesterday.”

“I am. Philae is transmitting again, directly from 67P.”

“Let’s assume the best-case scenario,” Sylvia proposed. “We know that two of the lander’s transmitters are defective. Even if the solar cells have magically managed to recharge the secondary battery, what are the chances that the only remaining transmitter is pointing at the Earth?”

“Very small,” said Karl. “But look at it another way. Both Neville in New Norcia and Bob at Green Bank Observatory received data that must have come from Philae. That would be impossible if the last functioning transmitter wasn’t pointing in our direction. The chances of winning the lotto are much slimmer, but someone always wins the jackpot.”

“That’s true. And I doubt both Bob and Neville are wrong. I know them too well. It’s got to mean we’re in contact with the lander again. So, what now?”

“It’s a great opportunity. We can use the instruments to find out more about Churyumov-Gerasimenko.”

“We already met ninety percent of Philae’s research targets. And now Hera’s about to arrive at Didymos. I’m sorry, Karl, but this is way more important. Philae is in the past. Hera’s supposed to show us whether we can successfully divert an asteroid from colliding with the Earth. We’ll need that data at some point. Philae, on the other hand, doesn’t have much more to tell us. And if it does, 67P will be back in six years, and we can investigate the comet again then.”

“Pity. Those were great times, don’t you think, Sylvia? We were a great team, Bob, Joe, you, and me.”

“I thought it was something like that,” said Sylvia.

“Something like what?”

“It’s about the past for you, Karl. You can’t let it go. I bet you still sleep in our bed.”

“It’s not the bed’s fault we separated. Why should I throw it away? And that has nothing to do with Philae and the Rosetta mission. It’s pure coincidence that Neville started receiving data just now.”

“Regardless, I don’t want to argue about it. The main thing is that we have a much more important project that needs our full attention. In three months, when we’re finished with Didymos, I’ll be happy to help you.”

“But you said yourself how slim the chances are that Philae is making contact. The comet it’s sitting on will keep moving, just like the Earth. Our line of sight is fleeting. In three months there won’t be any more transmissions. If we’re going to give the lander our attention, it has to be now.”

“Karl, even if you can’t see it yourself, there are things in the world other than you and your egotistical desires. For you, everything has to happen right away. I thought you might have grown older and wiser, but I guess I was wrong. I have to go to my lecture now. Have fun with your new girlfriend, Philae.”

“Sylvia, wait—”

His ex-wife had hung up. He’d figured the conversation would end like this. And now he knew why he hadn’t tried to start a conversation with her for eight years. But he didn’t need Sylvia. He still had a model of Philae somewhere on the backup server. The lander had enough sensors to tell him the story of its reawakening. With the help of Robert’s radio antennas, he could send it the necessary commands.

August 17, 2026 – Lunar Gateway

The difference was huge. He was already familiar with the interior of the Lunar Gateway from the water tank at the Neutral Buoyancy Lab in Houston. But with three of them in it, they were always in each other’s way with nowhere to retreat. The ISS had reminded him of his grandparents’ big house, growing with each new extension but having a decrepit skeleton for which the inhabitants lacked the money for maintenance. His grandparents had kept their heads above water by renting two rooms to students. These were the only two rooms that received a coat of paint and a new carpet every few years.

That was just how the ISS appeared to him—except that here, the maintenance was concentrated on the space tourists’ habitat and the dome for Earth observations. The Lunar Gateway was like a three-person tent by comparison. Every camper knows that a three-person tent shouldn’t be used by more than two people. Here, too, there was one too many. So they’d agreed to sleep in shifts. The noise of the life support system drowned out every other sound, and the micro-gravity had the advantage that you could wear headphones and an eye mask in any sleeping position.

Out of the last eight hours—Daniel’s sleeping shift—he’d barely spent three in the realm of dreams. The rest of the time he’d listened to audiobooks and watched his crewmates. It was a strange feeling, floating uselessly on the ceiling, watching others at work. But that was the deal, and now he had to vacate the space.

“Good night, you two,” said Livia.

“Shall we discuss shift changes quickly?” asked Dave.

“Is there something to discuss?” asked Livia.

“I recommend the new novel by Brandon M. Mitchell,” said Daniel. “We have it as an audiobook in the station’s library. It’s about a moon landing.”

“Are you serious? A sci-fi fairytale?” asked Dave.

“It’s no fairytale. Hard science fiction. Really well researched.”

“I’m sick of this Mitchell,” said Dave. “They interviewed him on CBS about the Artemis program as though he were an expert. But he just makes it all up.”

“I thought the book was good,” Daniel countered.

“I wanted to talk to you about that,” said Dave.

“About the book?”

“No, Dan, I don’t even know anything about it. About Mitchell and his companions.”

“Why? What about them?” asked Livia.

“Mission Control warned me earlier that we might have to postpone our landing.”

“What’s that got to do with the writer?”

“You must’ve heard of the Japanese multi-millionaire who bought himself a moon tour from Alpha Omega.”

“Yeah, he wanted to invite artists to go with him,” said Livia. “Don’t tell me, he—”

“Exactly,” Dave interrupted. “Their SpaceShip SS1 will circle the moon in the next few days. And NASA doesn’t want them getting in our way, or us in theirs.”

“Can’t they just wait a few days?” Daniel asked.

“Theoretically, yes. They could be prohibited from launching,” explained Dave. “Alpha Omega’s an important supplier for us, so they wouldn’t kick up a stink.”

“But?”

“Well, Dan, Luna has her own theory, and I think she’s spot-on. NASA’s afraid the hobby astronauts might get themselves into trouble, so we’re supposed to keep an eye on them until it’s all over.”

“I suppose NASA would be quite pleased if their pros ended up rescuing a few civilians,” said Livia. “That’s good for their image. That Ihab Chatterjee from Alpha Omega has been totally stealing the show recently. Somehow he manages to do everything more cheaply.”

“Have you seen SpaceShip SS1? The cabin’s three times the size of the Lunar Gateway,” said Daniel. “I could put up with that all the way to Mars.”

“There’s even supposed to be a Burger Queen oven on board,” said Livia.

“I didn’t know you liked burgers,” said Dave. “I’m glad we don’t have to sell ourselves to advertisers. It just means we have to be thriftier with the tax dollars.”

“Hey, turns out you’re something of a socialist,” said Daniel.

“Are you trying to insult me? I’m from Texas.”

Livia laughed. “You guys are cute. Are you going to have a wrestling match now?”

“A rodeo,” said Dave. “If anything, a rodeo. But it still sucks that we have to sit around in this sardine can and wait.”

August 17, 2026 – DLR Control Centre, Cologne

It smelled like garlic in the control room. Marcel must have indulged in a kebab. Karl turned the air conditioning up a notch, but it didn’t drive out the smell. He bent down to check the wastebasket. His younger colleague had disposed of the remains of a kebab and its packaging. He shook the wastebasket and saw the box from his Vietnamese noodles under it.

What would two days at room temperature have done to those noodles? He’d have to have a word with the cleaning crew. Karl took the wastebasket and opened the door. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something flashing on his computer monitor. An urgent message? He looked around. The corridor was empty, so he simply put the basket next to the door and closed it behind him. Problem solved.

He sat down at the workstation he shared with Marcel and logged in. A message from his colleague popped up. Karl had been wondering where he was. He usually relieved him here around noon.

“Hello, Karl. Thanks for your work on the TIRA code. During the night the probe confirmed that you seem to have solved the problem. I’m at a team meeting. We’ll see each other tomorrow at noon. Marcel.”

He slammed his fist against the desk. A team meeting? Why hadn’t he heard about it? Unbelievable! Were they trying to slowly squeeze him out, shuffle him off into retirement? Or was it about who got the laurels? Working on the Rosetta project certainly helped Sylvia get her professorship. What else was she planning? His ex had always been more career-oriented than himself, and she’d always accused him of lacking ambition. He just wanted to get on with his work in peace and do what he enjoyed.

He started drafting a new email. “Hello, Sylvia,” he typed.

Then he deleted the line. It wasn’t up to Sylvia to invite him. The official team leader was some functionary at the DLR, whom he’d never personally met. The man’s assistant sent out invitations in his name. Why did Marcel get one and not him?

“Dear Dr. Rott,” he typed.

This was stupid. He was about to complain to the institute about not being invited to a meeting that he would almost certainly have found pointless. Who did something like that? An old, embittered pedant. He didn’t belong to the group. Period. By now his anger had subsided. He should be glad. Instead of sitting in a boring meeting, he could occupy himself with Philae. Yesterday, Hera had taken priority.

Karl made himself comfortable and started reconstructing the backup of the model. The Rosetta project had been discontinued over ten years ago, but scientific papers based on the data they’d collected had continued appearing until two or three years ago. These papers had to be kept available for review. So even ten years later, everything was well archived.

“Reconstruction complete.”

Now he had a virtual copy of the Philae lander on his computer. He could send it the same commands as the genuine hardware—except that if he made a mistake, all he had to do was perform a reset. In reality, an erroneous command could send the lander into outer space forever.

Karl rotated the lander on screen. The robot had an octagonal base, open on one side. On the open side was a kind of viewer, the ROLIS instrument, which looked like an eye. It had surveyed the landing area for Philae. The other sides and the top were equipped with solar cells. From the front—the point of view of the eye—three legs extended out to the left, right, and back. Philae couldn’t move with these legs. It had a gas jet, but that was on top, and, if it hadn’t failed, it would have pressed the lander onto the ground so that the mini harpoons integrated into the legs could anchor it to the ground.

This process had somehow malfunctioned. But they’d still been successful, much to the pride of the team. Philae had bounced off twice but finally landed on the comet—unfortunately in shadow, which ultimately doomed the solar cells. That was puzzle number one, which he had to solve. Philae must have moved out of the shadow of a rocky outcrop. But how?

Karl switched to the structural model. The walls disappeared, and only the supporting structures and the measuring instruments remained. Philae possessed many more options for gathering information about its surroundings than were possible with a human’s senses. More than a quarter of its mass was devoted to this purpose—like a man whose nose, eyes, and ears were as big as his arms and legs.

Several cameras showed what the landing site looked like. With the APXS instrument, Philae could taste the composition of the rocks under it. COSAC could take ground samples and analyze volatile components—like a human nose. CIVA contained a microscope and a spectrometer for ground samples, CONSERT detected the physical structure of the comet, MUPUS assessed temperature and solidity, and ROMAP detected magnetic and electrical fields.

Karl hid the image so that the vast range of possibilities didn’t make his head explode. What was most important right now? The cameras. He didn’t need a specialist to evaluate those images. He wrote a command sequence to provide him with a panoramic view of the surroundings. The computer model reported no errors, so he sent the small program to Robert in West Virginia.

August 18, 2026 – Lunar Gateway

“Arms above your head,” said Dave.

Daniel lifted his arms. He was breathing heavily. The new Artemis suit, of which NASA was so proud, was hard to control, and the joints were stiff and didn’t quite line up with his own joints.

“Further. All the way up,” said Dave.

“I can’t go any further.”

“Put some effort in. You wouldn’t have passed the exam with that kind of performance.”

Daniel stretched his arms and watched his own movements in the mirror. Dave was right—he looked pitiful. He finally managed to touch his hands together.

“There you go,” said Dave. “And now bend down and pick up this multi-purpose tool.” Dave showed him the tool, bent down, and placed it on the floor. “Like this,” he said.

The motion was easy for Dave, who was only wearing his work suit. Daniel brought his arms back down. He mustn’t bend them the wrong way because the Artemis spacesuit had less freedom of movement than his body. They’d practiced this stuff extensively in training, but that was a while ago.

“You need to be able to do it faster,” said Dave.

“Easy for you to say.”

“Man! What’s up with your generation? You’d rather stay in the lander and steer a rover using VR, wouldn’t you?”

Daniel shook his head. But when he thought about it, the VR systems were quite good these days. “The suit’s really stubborn,” he finally said.

“You’re stubborn. Have you seen the suits the Apollo astronauts wore on the moon? They didn’t complain!”

“That was almost sixty years ago.”

“I still know some of them,” said Willinger. “They were real heroes.”

“Times have changed, Dave,” said Livia.

Thanks, Livia. Daniel still hadn’t reached the floor.

“It’s got nothing to do with the times. You just don’t want to push yourselves anymore. Compared to the Apollo capsule, this Gateway’s a gymnasium, and you’re complaining that it’s too cramped.”

“I didn’t complain,” said Daniel.

“Man, stop talking and get down there.”

Suddenly Dave pressed down on his shoulders. Daniel’s knees buckled under the weight, and the fabric bulged out around them. The special joints gave way and he sank down.

“See, you can do it,” Dave exclaimed.

Daniel’s heart was galloping. Dave could be pretty brutal. “Are you crazy? The joints could’ve burst.”

“Better they burst now than when things get serious. Imagine I fell and my breathing tube tore off. You want to give me air from your container. You have to be able to bend down fast. If the suit doesn’t allow you to do that, we’re done for, anyway.”

“Please don’t try things like that down there,” said Daniel.

“Hopefully you’ve learned something, boy. You need to push yourself harder. It’s like driving a car. Sometimes you have to step on the brakes with everything you’ve got. You’re depending too much on the ABS.”

“I don’t even have a driver’s license,” said Daniel.

“What? But weren’t you a fighter pilot in the Navy?”

“I was. But you don’t need a driver’s license for that. I always use Uber. It’s much more convenient.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about, Daniel!”

* * *

Daniel pressed his nose against the pane. He missed the ISS dome. In this tin can, ostentatiously named Habitation and Logistics Outpost, or HALO, there weren’t many peepholes. That was supposed to change at some point, but for now they just had to live with it. And it wasn’t yet clear what would become of the Gateway once the Artemis missions to the moon’s surface, approved by Congress, were completed. The Russians and the Chinese now had Mars in their sights. They could still rely on the Europeans and the Japanese, but it was doubtful whether the budget would cover the maintenance of a large station.

Daniel would have preferred to fly to Mars, too, but the moon mission was probably better. When he thought about having to endure months in such a narrow tube with two or three other crew members, it probably wasn’t for him.

He pressed his cheek against the cool glass. He could still only see blackness, since they were flying in the moon’s shadow. Nothing was darker than the dark side of the moon, not even a starless sky.

But the Earth should rise soon. That must be an incredible sight. Returning astronauts always raved about it.

A bright spot appeared out of the nothingness. It could have been a supernova that had just exploded. But it kept growing and then became a disc, then a semi-circle... changed color, becoming light blue, then dark blue—a radiant blue the likes of which he’d never seen. Then he saw the oceans. They were so far away, and yet he could make out a surprising amount of detail. He should have spent more time consciously observing the moon, which must look at least as detailed from Earth. Strangely, he’d never been interested in astronomy.

He felt Livia’s hand on his shoulder. Didn’t she need to sleep?

“Crazy, isn’t it?” she said.

He nodded. How long had she been there? He pushed himself away from the porthole to make room for her.

“It’s okay, stay there. I’ve already watched the Earth rising lots of times,” she said.

He looked out again. “It’s wonderful,” he said. Livia’s hand on his shoulder felt good, not in an erotic sense—just friendly.

“Yeah, and it’s nice to be able to experience it with someone,” said Livia. “I couldn’t stay where I was when I saw you here.”

“Thanks,” said Daniel.

August 18, 2026 – DLR Control Center, Cologne

“Hello, Charly,” wrote Bob. “I had to wait a while before I could take another look at your problem child, but here’s what you wanted. You owe me a beer. Oh, yeah. One more thing. I have to confess that I took a look at it, and I’m a little skeptical about whether you’ll be able to use the image.”

What did Millikan mean? Karl clicked to open the attachment, a compressed archive. A large number of image files appeared, which was to be expected, because Philae had several cameras, the output of which he still had to compile. Karl opened the first file. Black. The lens must have been covered. Next. Black again. Was this what Robert was alluding to? In the next, there was nothing to see, either. And the one after that. Shit. Maybe all the images were from the same camera? He scrolled down. Click. Black. Click. Black. Click. File not readable. This one must have been damaged in transmission. Click. Black.

So that was what Robert meant. Philae had its eyes closed—or was standing in complete darkness. Karl searched for the stitcher, a program for creating a combined image from individual ones. They’d written a script especially for Philae. A bar ran across the screen. Back then, they would have had to wait an hour. Ten years later, his computer was so fast it spat out the result in half a minute.

“Ready.”

He opened the compiled image. Even if there was something to see on just one of the individual photos, he should see it now. But everything was black. What had happened? He increased the contrast. If Philae was in shadow, there must be a reflection somewhere. But nothing was showing up. He placed it next to the calibration photo—the one that had been made with the lens closed, and saw they were slightly different. The background wasn’t completely black, more a diffuse dark gray that dominated every photo.

The color was a little lighter where the lander’s leg had presumably come into the shot, which Karl only noticed because he was looking at the spectrum. The cameras weren’t defective. Philae must be inside a thick cloud of non-reflective, impenetrable material. His first thought was dust—the surface of the comet was covered in a thick layer of it—but dust was never distributed so evenly. And if the lander was in darkness, how were the solar cells able to provide enough energy to the battery to activate the device? There was no longer any doubt Philae was awake.

He’d have to ask Sylvia. She was the planetary scientist, and nobody knew 67P as well as she did. But she wouldn’t be pleased to hear from him. It would be best to write her an email.

* * *

Send.

There was nothing more he could do. He’d used a conciliatory tone. In the past, he’d always been able to rely on the scientist in her, and the news that their baby was active again would surely make her happy.

But, Philae could produce much more than just blank landscape photos. Karl launched the program editor, ready to bring out the big guns.

What was the material beneath Philae composed of? Which fields could the lander detect? This time he addressed the command sequence to all the sensors.

At the same time, he fetched the old data from the archives. He tested a script on the model, which suddenly came to life. The CONSERT outrigger shifted backward, as though Philae needed to stretch. The MUPUS sensor sank to the ground. APXS looked around under the lander. The model didn’t report any errors.

Karl imagined the way the real Philae was reacting to the comet. It was only a machine, which had been piggybacking across the solar system for more than 12 years.

August 19, 2026 – Kennedy Space Center, Florida

“Are you nervous?”

“Not at all.”

Brandon thought about it. One only said that because it sounded cool and masculine, and that was important when one was speaking to a woman one had only known for three weeks. But it was true. One was very calm.

I’m very calm, he corrected himself.

Sophie, the French painter, was looking across at him from her launch seat as though she was reading his thoughts and correcting him. Don’t say ‘one,’ she’d say, if you mean ‘yourself.’ Thoughts were free, but he’d learned it was best if one altered one’s thoughts if one... Correction: It was best if he altered his thoughts.

And it wasn’t that bad. At least, it was the lesser evil compared to Sophie’s admonishments. If only he’d known before he agreed to come! One may as well have, correction, he may as well have taken his ex-wife on the trip. Five years ago, when Kenichi had invited him to be part of the voyage, he was still married to Sarah. He’d only agreed to go to escape her constant complaining.

Orbiting once around the moon—that would have been a dream come true ten years ago, when he’d just published his first novel. But now that he could afford to do it, the moon had become uninteresting to him. He was often there in his thoughts, ever since Warner made a film adaptation of his novel, and the movie had been nominated for an Oscar. His agent claimed that it didn’t win because of the science fiction genre. He didn’t care. He preferred it that way.

Sophie was still looking at him. Was there an obvious hair sticking out of his nose? Why didn’t she say something? She really reminded him of Sarah—not visually, but her type. Sophie talked to the things she painted, and that said it all! Brandon winked at her just to be safe. He never really knew what people expected of him. Sophie huffed and turned away. Apparently winking was the wrong thing to do. Brandon sighed.

“Brandon? Are you okay?”

He’d forgotten about Jenna! She was watching him from the Control Center. Now she smiled. He slightly raised the screen attached to a bracket on the armrest. That way, Jenna wouldn’t see the hair sticking out of his nose, if he’d interpreted Sophie’s gaze correctly.

“It’s a bit boring,” he said.

“Boring? You’ve got who knows how many tons of flammable gas below you that could explode at any moment, and you’re bored?”

“Close to forty-five hundred metric tons, Jenna. But three-quarters of it is oxygen, and oxygen can’t burn.”

“That leaves eleven hundred and twenty-six tons of methane, which can oxidize very quickly.”

Answers like that were what had made him fall in love with Jenna. He’d met her at a reading, where she’d drawn his attention to a mistake in his latest novel.

“But my host’s last twenty-three launches all went off without a hitch.”

“Those were mostly Eagle 9s, which only have ten thrusters. You’re sitting in a giant bird with forty-three thrusters. If even one of them fails—”

“Yeah, sure. Try to scare me. You won’t succeed. The only one who can do that is...” he lowered his voice “...Sophie.”

Jenna leaned in closer to the camera. He could clearly see her make-up. A hair was sticking out of her ear. Cute! That wasn’t there the last time he was with her.

“Is the artist annoying you?” she asked quietly.

“Not intentionally, I suspect.” He’d decided to talk as little as possible about his ex-wife. “She just reminds me of... Never mind.”

“I understand,” said Jenna with a knowing smile.

Her mouth was slightly open, and her face was so close that Brandon could count her freckles. He looked around. Sophie was ignoring him. It was so loud in the cabin that there was no way she’d hear him if he whispered.

“What I’d really like to do to you... You already know,” he whispered.

“Shag? Fuck? Bang?” Jenna laughed. But she was only playing it so cool because she was also speaking quietly so that the conversation remained between the two of them. Or not. What had Kenichi said? The black box recorded all communication for safety reasons. Well, they’d better not crash.

The screen went black. Then the face of their tour guide appeared. ‘Kenichi Kikuchi, Captain,’ it said in white letters on the dark blue band at the bottom of the screen. He found it hard to take the title seriously, even if Kenichi Kikuchi, KK for short, was quite proud of it. The real captain of the space vessel was the computer. They had to submit to its instructions, especially when SpaceShip SS1—the pride and joy of the private space company—disappeared behind the moon out of range of Earth-bound radio control.

A manual setting did exist, but it was only for emergencies. And there wouldn’t be any, that was certain—not so certain that they’d dispensed with manual control, but certain enough that none of the passengers had been instructed in how to use it. Only KK, who allegedly trained for half a year, was supposed to know his way around it, which meant he was some kind of captain. On the other hand, a tour-bus guide could probably take over from the driver in an emergency.

“Dear friends,” said KK, “the time has come to say goodbye to our home planet. We’ll release ourselves from the fetters that have chained us to the ground our entire lives.”

Hopefully the man wouldn’t talk for too long. The countdown must be about to start, and he hadn’t said goodbye to Jenna yet.

“For some of the time the blue planet will even completely set for us. My friend Ihab Chatterjee, founder of Alpha Omega that constructed this wonderful vessel, has made all this possible for us and sends his warm regards.”

Hurry up and finish already. The Japanese man was fond of grand gestures and even more elegant words. But he wasn’t all hot air, Brandon had to give him that. He’d bought the first proper voyage on SpaceShip SS1, and he’d stuck with it even when it had been delayed by more than three years and the price had tripled. He’d personally selected all his fellow travelers. Most of them hadn’t known KK previously. Emily Rebehn, the German acrobat whom Brandon enjoyed talking to, had been just as surprised by the invitation as he had.

“I wish all of us a wonderful journey, an experience that opens our eyes, and a return to Earth, whereupon we are no longer the same people.”

The others clapped. The applause was muffled because everyone was wearing gloves. A countdown appeared on the blue strip. Only 60 seconds to go. Jenna reappeared.

“Take care,” he said.

“Have...”

A red notification replaced her face. “Close your helmet,” it said.

Brandon complied. Then Jenna was back.

“So, have...”

He laughed. She’d like that. Small mishaps appealed to Jenna. They made her feel like she was safe from larger misfortunes. What were you supposed to say in a situation like this? It wasn’t as though he’d be away for years. They’d descend here again on the six landing legs of SpaceShip SS1 in ten days.

“I love you,” he said.

“What? I can’t hear you,” said Jenna.

Shit, he’d forgotten to turn on the microphone. He pressed the button on the right side of his chin.

“I...”

“Ten.”

Brandon frantically swiped across the screen. He had to find the communications app.

“Nine.”

“Eight.”

There it was. Jenna was static. The countdown had priority. He laughed. Maybe she could see him.

“Seven.”

“Six.”

A deep vibration shook his spine. The thrusters were already working, 37 of them.

“Five.”

“Four.”

Now he felt a twinge of fear after all. It pressed on his bladder.

“Three.”

Someone with a high voice was counting along. He looked at Sophie, but she wasn’t the one. Her lips were pressed together.

“Two.”

Sophie winked at him.

“One.”

“Yippie-yeah,” someone yelled.

Brandon was startled—he was the culprit! He tried to cover his mouth, but his hand was stuck to the armrest, bound by the increasing inertial force. The SS1 began to make its way up to the stars.

They were gods. Nothing less.

August 19, 2026 – Lunar Gateway

“How much longer, Dave?” Livia asked.

“Mission Control says the artist entourage has just launched.”

“And that means?”

“Am I God? I have no idea.”

Daniel was following their conversation from the ceiling of the module, where he’d suspended his sleeping bag. He was afraid that if he took off the sleeping bag and got up, they’d look up and see him. His bladder was full, and he had an erection.

“But they must have at least given a time?”

“A few days, apparently. Chatterjee insinuated that there might be another surprise,” said Dave.

“A surprise? I love surprises.”

Chatterjee was a master of insinuation. Whenever Alpha Omega announced anything officially, it drove the stock price in a certain direction, so the CEO preferred insinuation. But Daniel didn’t have anything against surprises, either.

“As long as we don’t have to pull them out of the fire, they’re welcome to do whatever tickles their fancy,” Dave said.

“Has Mission Control dropped any hints about who gets to go in the lander?”

“Ah, I’m glad you asked. Daniel, are you awake?”

“You’re talking loud enough,” he said. He really needed to use the toilet. His bladder ached.

“Mission Control says I’ll decide who lands on the moon. They trust me as your commander to make that decision.”

Shit, now he desperately needed to go. Daniel pulled the sleeping bag off his lower body. He’d been sleeping in shorts and a t-shirt, and a tent had now formed between his hips—at precisely the moment Livia looked up.

She laughed. “Hey, apparently you’re happy to see me.”

“I urgently need to pee,” Daniel said, blushing.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve seen lots of erections.”

He shoved himself off and sailed toward the end of the module. A tiny room was partitioned off there, the Waste Hygiene Compartment, or WHC. Finally. He quickly closed the door, hooked himself up, and let go.

August 19, 2026 – DLR Control Center, Cologne

Oh, yes! Karl went through the findings. Millikan had been true to his word—he was probably burning the candle at both ends. But Philae, the lander, had been busy, too. All the instruments Karl had addressed in his command sequence had delivered data. It was mostly spectra, the energy distribution of a variety of different particles or types of radiation.

Karl knew what the units on the axes meant. He could read the data, but because he was no planetary scientist, he could not interpret the measurements. What did it mean if the APXS instrument’s reflection rate was high and the maximum energy of the alpha particle stood at close to 100 percent? He’d studied physics, so he knew the reflectivity must primarily have to do with very heavy atomic nuclei. So, was the comet made of lead or was silicon heavy enough to produce a spectrum like that?

Those were questions for which he needed Sylvia. They’d always worked so well together in the past. Sylvia would explain the problem to him, and he’d develop a suitable experiment. He’d deliver the data to her, she would interpret it and insert it into their theoretical framework, and Joe would write a paper on it.

Okay, he was probably being a little unfair to Johannes because the guy had stolen his wife.

He was dwelling in the past again. He had to stop doing that. He’d almost managed to put it all behind him, and now this stupid lander was stirring up the dust again. Maybe he really should just concentrate on Hera. Hera was the future.

But it was worth one last try. Karl clicked the forward symbol. He didn’t add a comment, knowing he would probably just put his foot in it.

Send. That was it. Philae was buried again, regardless of what the lander continued to send. Life would go on. Karl deleted the model from the memory.

The Hera model responded promptly. Marcel had said the Asteroid Framing Camera appeared to be decalibrated.

* * *

Ha! Karl switched between the filter’s seven colors. The simulated AFC produced perfect photos in each wavelength. He’d altered the analysis software and reduced the sensitivity in near-infrared to eliminate noise. The sensor chip they were using didn’t operate at the same sensitivity in all wavelengths. He copied his changes into the source text database. Someone else would check them later, and if he hadn’t made any mistakes, the software would be loaded onto the Hera probe. It was similar to the Tesla he’d bought two years ago.

The phone rang. His shift was finally over, and he was looking forward to going swimming again this evening. Phone calls almost always meant overtime. They weren’t the only ones working on Hera, and there were other probes in space that often used similar instruments. The scientists would seek advice from their counterparts.

He looked at the display. It was a Darmstadt number.

Sylvia.

Karl picked up the receiver. She was probably about to tell him never to write to her again.

“Hello, Karl,” she said, but didn’t give him time to reply. “I don’t have much time, but this is very noteworthy data. Where did you get it?”

“Philae.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Maybe. But believe me, it really is coming from our lander on 67P.”

“I’m inclined to believe you received it from that direction. But that’s not 67P. It must be another comet.”

“Philae can’t just relocate to another comet.”

“That’s not what I meant. But first of all, the data doesn’t even match the data we obtained twelve years ago. And secondly, it contradicts itself. The individual instruments don’t appear to be in the same place.”

“But that’s impossible.”

“See? That’s what I said.”

“So we just throw everything away and ignore the data?”

“Are you insane? Of course not! If even a tenth of this data is accurate, we have a full-blown sensation on our hands! We definitely need to take a closer look.”

“Seriously?”

“Please, Karl, no scientist would disregard this.”

“Umm, yeah. That’s what I thought.”

“I’m very thankful you stuck with it. You’re a trooper. As soon as I have time, I’ll send you a list of experiments we need to persuade Philae to do.”

“So you no longer think it’s all impossible and unreal?”

“You misunderstand me. This combination of findings is impossible from our current perspective. But that doesn’t mean they can’t be real. That’s what makes the problem so exciting. How did you even get the data? Don’t you need a project contract to be able to use ESTRACK? Getting one within 24 hours is impossible.”

“Just because something’s impossible doesn’t mean it can’t be real.”

“Haha. But seriously, how did you do it? I don’t want you getting yourself into trouble.”

“That’s my secret. But I haven’t illegally hacked into anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Good. Because if you send me more data, I’ll take this to the next level. And then we’ll have to reactivate the Rosetta team.”

August 20, 2026 – SpaceShip SS1

“You can let go of your mascots now,” said KK.

Red letters on the screen instructed them to keep their belts buckled. Brandon reached down at his groin. The buckle didn’t respond, so it still must be locked. The computer was watching over its children. Next to him, a white stuffed bunny floated toward the ceiling. Sophie watched it go.

The animal didn’t suit the artist at all. He’d expected something like an abstract sculpture.

Sophie noticed his expression. “My daughter gave it to me,” she said, sounding apologetic. “What about you, Brandon?”

Kenichi wanted to foster an atmosphere of familiarity, and had insisted from the first day that they all call each other by their first names. He hardly knew any of them, but he wanted to make the journey with friends. KK seemed to be trying to avoid the clichés associated with his homeland. He claimed that burgers were his favorite food. They even had an experimental oven on board that they were supposed to test out in zero gravity. Was that why their host had signed a contract with the world’s largest burger chain? Or did the deal come first, and then his proclivity for minced beef in a bun? KK wasn’t a multi-millionaire for no reason.

“What about you?” Sophie asked again.

Shit, sometimes his thoughts wandered so much he couldn’t keep up with them, and people thought he was conceited. Or deaf.

“Oh, right,” he said. Brandon reached into a pocket on his suit and pulled out a pen. He’d spent a long time thinking about what object would suit him. Then Jenna had suggested a pen. He never used a ballpoint pen to write, but it was about fulfilling the expectations of others. He gave the pen a gentle shove.

“Ah, a writing implement,” said Sophie approvingly. “That’s fitting.”

The French woman sometimes used terms that were more complicated than necessary. Was that because English wasn’t her first language? Or was she trying to come across as intelligent? The pen obediently followed the soft toy. It rotated along its transverse axis. Then it hit the rabbit, which moved sideways at a 120-degree angle and sailed toward a yellow bear. The pen continued to tumble toward the ceiling. It was now directly above his head. If gravity suddenly kicked in, it would strike him in the forehead. He held his hand up protectively.

“I never write with a ballpoint pen,” said Brandon.

“I never paint with a stuffed rabbit,” Sophie said with a laugh.

Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all. Brandon was relieved. Every time the ship was accelerating, the painter would be his only conversation partner. Now he just had to find out whether they could enjoy each other’s company in silence. He’d prefer if the belts remained buckled the whole time. Then maybe KK wouldn’t notice that he lacked the glamour factor and didn’t belong.

August 20, 2026 – Lunar Gateway

“Look at these wannabe astronauts,” said Dave.

A transmission from Alpha Omega’s spaceship was playing on the screen at the computer workstation. Stuffed rabbits and bears sailed through the air, followed by people in blue suits.

“Hey, their suits are slick, though,” said Daniel.

“Designed by some luxury brand,” said Livia. “See the logo on the chest?”

“I thought that was the Alpha Omega logo,” said Daniel.

“That’s made up of two Greek letters, alpha and omega.”

Daniel blushed. Obviously. Who didn’t know the logo with the intertwined letters? He was already making an idiot of himself again today.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dave said. “Brain volume shrinks during space travel, scientists have found. It’s due to the microgravity.”

“Very reassuring. So I’m well on the way,” Daniel replied.

“The amount of room they have makes me jealous,” said Livia.

It was true. SpaceShip SS1’s cabin must be at least three times the size of their Gateway.

“Oh well, at some point it’s supposed to carry a hundred people per flight to Mars,” said Daniel.

For that scenario, the dimensions looked pretty cramped.

“I’m a little concerned about these hobby astronauts’ lack of training,” said Dave. “What if they have an accident? They’d never be able to save themselves. And who’ll have to come to the rescue?”

“Us,” Daniel replied.

“Exactly. The pros. And then you can say good-bye to the moon.”

“Dave, do you really think they’ve got us stewing here because they need us standing by in case we have to rescue those weirdos?” Livia asked.

“As far as I’m concerned, the weirdos are back on Earth,” said Dave. “Who would send a ship on its maiden voyage without a captain?”

“The computer’s the captain,” said Daniel. “It’s much more reliable than a human.”

Willinger glowered at him.

“That’s what they say, not me,” Daniel added quickly. “But you can’t hold it against the passengers. I probably would have accepted an offer like that, too.”

“Speaking of pros,” said Dave, “your commander’s decided it’s time for another safety drill.”

Oh no, not again. He hadn’t even had breakfast.

“Alarm!” Dave yelled.

Daniel glanced longingly at the drinks machine. At least a warm cocoa?

Willinger followed his gaze and shook his head. “I want to see you in your Artemis suits in three minutes. And to make it more realistic this time, I’m going to remove the air from the cabin. It stinks in here, anyway.”

August 20, 2026 – DLR Control Center, Cologne

“Many thanks,” wrote Karl. “I hope that was the last time I have to ask you a favor. If there’s anything I can do for you in return, please let me know.”

He read through his message to Robert Millikan, then sent it. The computer announced a reply astonishingly quickly. Had he mistyped something? Only error messages arrived that fast.

“Karl, it was my pleasure,” wrote Robert. “And I do have a favor to ask. Please let me stay involved. I know something about comets, not as much as your Sylvia, but enough to recognize that you’re onto something huge. I doubt my employer would have anything against me using our equipment again for this purpose.”

Your Sylvia. It really was a long time since they last saw each other. Could he grant Robert the favor? Institutions like his own, and Robert’s employer, had to justify their existence with new discoveries—the more spectacular the better. If he let a third party in on it, it wouldn’t win him any friends here.

On the other hand, without Bob’s help he’d have nothing at all. Maybe it was best if Sylvia solved the problem. She was a born diplomat.

* * *

Ping. Another email. It couldn’t be Sylvia already. He’d sent his request less than ten minutes ago.

But it was. She must have flown through the data in record time.

“Karl,” she wrote. “I have a favor to ask. Can you come to us in Darmstadt? Quickly? Telephone and email aren’t enough now. We need more resources, which I’ll have to requisition, and we also need to stay in contact with Philae and find out as much as we can. It’s impossible to know when we’ll lose contact again. But I can’t come to Cologne because of my family, and I probably have the better options here due to my position.”

That was true, of course. Professor Stoll was a queen in Darmstadt. She’d be accepted here, but she wouldn’t be able to make any demands. He had to go to Darmstadt.

* * *

“Ah, Karl, come in!”

Sylvia hugged him like an old friend she hadn’t seen for a long time. Karl felt awkward but managed a smile. Her office was at least as big as the living room in the house they used to rent together. On the left, beside the window, stood a modern desk, and on the right was a group of three small, comfortable-looking armchairs. It smelled of coffee.

An older gentleman sitting in one of the chairs stood up.

“Bernhardt, let me introduce Karl. We worked together on the Rosetta mission back in the day.”

The man extended a hand. He had white hair, remarkably pale eyebrows, and blue eyes. Karl guessed he was in his mid-60s.

“Karl, this is Professor Bernhardt Piras, the head of our faculty. I’m so glad you were able to make it. We were just talking about your findings.”

“I came as quickly as I could,” said Karl.

“Clearly. Have a seat. Coffee, black?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

He sat on one of the armchairs. The upholstery was still warm, so Sylvia must have been sitting there. He stood up again.

“No, stay there,” Sylvia said, putting a cup on the table in front of him, naturally with a matching saucer that smelled of lemon detergent. She sat down opposite him and crossed her legs. Her tight gray skirt crinkled so she straightened it.

“Where were you up to?” he asked.

“I’d just started going through some of Philae’s results. But we only got as far as the APXS. I suggest we start again with that.”

“Sure,” said Karl.

Piras nodded. He was sitting stiffly in his chair as though he desperately needed to use the bathroom, but didn’t dare ask to take a break.

“Good. The APXS then. The spectrum’s very unusual, we’ve established that. The device sends out alpha particles, that is, helium nuclei, and measures how much these are reflected by the substrate. This only seems to be happening to a very limited extent at the moment.”

“That means the substrate is porous,” said Karl.

“Yes, or the lander is floating a few meters above the comet. Although, the few particles that are being reflected still possess almost all of their kinetic energy. It’s as though they’re bouncing off a hard wall. Normally they would lose different amounts of energy, depending on the mass of the atoms they hit. I don’t need to explain the conservation of momentum to you, Professor Piras.”

“You don’t, Professor Stoll.”

Sylvia nodded. “But that’s by no means all. Thanks to the new findings that Karl obtained at my request, we now know a little more.”

“Wait. What do you mean, ‘obtained?’ Nothing illegal, I hope?”

“If I may interject, Professor Piras, everything has gone through the proper channels, of course. A former colleague who now works at Green Bank Observatory granted me access to his resources.”

“That’s important information for the faculty council. If we publish, does that mean we’ll have to share credit with the NRAO?” He was referring to the National Radio Astronomy Observatory, which operated the facility where Robert Millikan worked.

“Correct. But there’s no one else,” said Sylvia.

“Strictly speaking, Neville Youngs from ESTRACK passed on the first evidence of Philae’s resurgence. That is, he passed it on to our colleague Düstermann, not me.”

“Are you saying Neville contacted my husband, who forwarded his request to you?”

So, Sylvia, that comes as a surprise to you. Karl couldn’t help feeling a little schadenfreude. He’d known Johannes a little longer than she had.

“ESTRACK,” said Piras. “That’s not a problem. They more or less belong to us.”

“Okay, but maybe we should finish baking the pie before we divide it up,” said Sylvia.

“Of course, Professor Stoll.”

“So, the COSAC experiment. Cometary Sampling and Composition, the name is self-explanatory. We’ve analyzed some of the material surrounding Philae. It appears to be in its atomic form, and much heavier than hydrogen but lighter than helium.”

“Impossible,” said Karl. “There’s no element between those two. Or did you analyze a mixture of half helium and half hydrogen?”

“I don’t know exactly what Philae has in its sampler. Let’s move on to Ptolemy. It’s a combination of gas chromatograph and mass spectrometer. The instrument partly told us what we already knew—water, dust, organic substances. But there are also components we couldn’t designate.”

“Between hydrogen and helium, I assume?” Piras interjected.

“Correct. But we’re talking about a single fraction. The two substances can’t be separated, at least not by the 26 ovens that heat the analysis material for Ptolemy.”

“An unknown substance, then. On an interstellar comet like Oumuamua or Waterman—I wouldn’t have a problem with that,” said Piras. “But on 67P? I thought we’d thoroughly examined it twelve years ago.”

The more astonishing a finding, the harder it was to find a renowned journal to publish it. A completely new substance on a previously-known comet—that screamed measurement error. The scientific community wouldn’t believe them.

“I’m not finished,” said Sylvia. “Nowhere near. We also produced CIVA images–Comet Nucleus Infrared and Visible Analyzer. In the optical range, everything is black. You could easily believe Philae was surrounded by a thick cloud if it wasn’t for the fact that its solar cells are producing a whole lot of energy. But it gets fascinating in infrared. That’s all black too—deep black, the blackest black you can imagine.”

Impossible, Karl wanted to say, but held his tongue. Sylvia and Piras already knew the measurements deviated wildly from any known reality. A substance that gave off no thermal radiation and was completely black in infrared didn’t exist, at least not on a comet. This substance must be in its base thermal state and colder than the universe, even though it was on a comet approaching the sun.

“That’s certainly remarkable,” said Piras.

The understatement of the year.

“I’m just afraid no one will believe us,” he continued.

“But I’m still not finished,” said Sylvia. “And it gets better. We also have CONSERT, Comet Nucleus Sounding Experiment by Radio wave Transmission. It sends radio waves through the comet’s nucleus and determines from the reflections how dense the nucleus is. Sounds simple, and it is. Now, guess what it found?”

She paused and looked triumphantly between Karl and Piras.

Karl shrugged, and Piras cocked his head curiously.

“There is no nucleus. The radio waves propagate completely unhindered.”

“And if there is no nucleus?” asked Karl.

“Where is Philae transmitting from then?” asked Piras.

“Don’t worry. I inquired directly at the local observatory. 67P still exists. So the nucleus must also be there. It’s just behaving as if it weren’t.”

“I know the feeling,” said Karl.

Sylvia laughed. He liked that laugh. He used to be able to elicit it easily, but at some point she’d begun to find his jokes tedious.

“Is that it?” asked Piras.

“Umm, no. Two more. First MUPUS, the Multi-Purpose Sensors for surface and sub-surface science. This instrument allows us to evaluate the temperature sensor. It’s at its lowest point, which fits with the CIVA images. And then we used the SESAME conductivity probe—Surface Electronic Sounding and Acoustic Monitoring Experiment. The result? The conductivity of the substrate is significantly reduced. Oh, yeah, I almost forgot ROMAP, which stands for Rosetta Lander Magnetometer and Plasma Monitor. What’s interesting here are the magnetometer values. The unknown substance on the comet doesn’t appear to be magnetic, so it probably has a spin of 0. That rules out hydrogen.

“Phew,” said Piras. “That’s quite a jumble of information.”

“Let me summarize,” Karl said. “We have a substance that is electrically and magnetically neutral, very, very cold, and lighter than helium but heavier than hydrogen.”

“And which doesn’t interact with electromagnetic radiation,” added Sylvia.

“There’s no way we can put this forward without a credible hypothesis,” said Piras. “And by that, I mean that we can’t postulate an exotic substance no one’s ever heard of. I can already see the headlines. ‘Darmstadt scientists finally discover Superman’s kryptonite.’ We don’t just need values. We need an explanation.”

“I’ll take a stab in the dark,” said Karl. “What about helium-2? The two protons in the nucleus would have to align their spins antiparallel so that they have a total spin of zero, and an atom that’s lighter than ordinary helium but heavier than hydrogen.”

“According to our current values, helium-2 would be too heavy. We’d probably need an atom with one and a half protons,” said Sylvia.

“Please don’t start with something like that,” said Piras. “No journal would be interested. Fine, then the diproton your colleague suggested. What was your name again?”

“Stoll, Karl Stoll,” he replied.

“Ah, the same name as you, Professor.”

“Yes, quite a coincidence,” said Sylvia with a smile.

Then she became serious again. “The diproton can’t exist. The powerful interaction which holds the nucleus together would have to be two percent stronger, and that would be the end of the universe as we know it. Nuclear fusion would be mediated by the strong rather than the weak interaction and would happen eighteen orders of magnitude faster. Life wouldn’t have had time to develop.”

“Thank you for the explanation,” said Piras. “You know I’m a meteorologist, and my undergrad years are far behind me.”

“No problem, Professor. It just means that, at the moment, we have no explanation that doesn’t boil down to a mysterious new element.”

“Before you submit that, you at least need to have some idea. Otherwise we’ll just be seen as the lunatics from Darmstadt.”

“I completely agree,” said Sylvia.

Karl admired her patience.

“Karl and I will think of something. I promise.”

* * *

“It’s so nice to get out of the house alone now and then,” Sylvia said.

“Johannes is playing the babysitter?”

“He’ll cope.”

“Cheers, then!” Karl raised his glass of red wine.

Sylvia picked up hers and they toasted. “But I don’t want you to misconstrue this. It’s not a date. I’m quite happy with my husband. We’re here to come up with a creative solution to our mutual problem.”

“Of course,” said Karl.

Quite happy. That sounded promising. And a mutual problem—when did they last have one of those?

“Have you decided?” the waiter asked.

They placed their orders. The waiter repeated everything back to them and then left the table. Silence prevailed. Sylvia often used to complain that Karl never let her get a word in, so he allowed her to take the initiative.

“A strange feeling,” she said finally.

“What do you mean?”

“Everything here reminds me of the Italian place we used to go to.”

That was where they’d first met, because the proprietor had seated them at the same table. But she didn’t say that. They’d had a pleasant conversation, and then they each went back to their own apartments without exchanging numbers. Karl had gone back to the restaurant the following evening, although it was quite expensive, and found Sylvia already sitting there. That night they’d ended up in Sylvia’s apartment.

“Don’t look at me like that,” said Sylvia. “Don’t forget, I can read your thoughts.” That was another reason she’d said she was bored with him. At first they’d found it exciting.

“We’re here to work,” said Karl, clenching his fists. He needed to concentrate.

“Exactly,” said Sylvia. “Where were we?”

“Diproton,” said Karl.

“Which doesn’t exist.”

“I did some homework, and when iron-45 decays, sometimes two protons are emitted simultaneously, which briefly behave like a diproton.”

“But 67P isn’t an iron asteroid.”

“But it does contain some iron.”

“And you think we accidentally measured multiple collisions of alpha particles in this short-lived diproton condition?”

“No, I don’t think that. But it would be a good hook.”

“For what?”

“For the paper we’re going to write. We’ll call it ‘Signs of diproton decay in the nucleus of Comet 67P/Churyumov-Gerasimenko.’ Period.”

“But it’s highly improbable that—”

“Yes, but then it’ll be the others, the readers, who’ll suggest fantastic ideas. We’ll be dead serious. We’re more likely to succeed with a peer-reviewed paper than if we postulate obscure theories ourselves.”

“No, Karl, I don’t feel good about that.”

She didn’t feel good. Well, really. If you don’t feel good, you should get some fresh air.

“I just don’t think we should present any theories that we can’t back up. We’d be better off just reporting the figures.”

“Okay, then that’s settled?” asked Karl.

The waiter arrived with the amuse-bouche, and Karl ignored him while Sylvia thanked him.

“Not so fast,” said Sylvia. “We haven’t even eaten yet. I’m sure we’ll think of something else.”

Karl picked up his fork, impaled a morsel on the small plate in front of him, and put it in his mouth. It tasted oily.

“We need to start with the basics,” said Sylvia.

“The base is clearly olive oil,” said Karl, swallowing the tidbit.

Sylvia smiled. “I like you better like this,” she said. “You’re so negative at times. I find it hard to deal with.”

Yeah, he was. Sometimes life was shit. But right now it wasn’t. The amuse-bouche wasn’t bad at all.

“So, the basics,” he said. “What we’re looking for is electrically and magnetically neutral, with a weight equivalent to one and a half protons.”

“And it barely interacts with electromagnetic radiation,” said Sylvia. “And it’s extremely cold.”

“The diproton could be a candidate, but it’s too heavy and too unstable.”

“Exactly. Maybe we should be looking at the next level down.”

Karl bent down and looked under the table. Sylvia had taken off her high-heeled shoes. Typical.

“Very funny.”

“I just wanted to take a look at a lower level.”

“I mean at the quark level,” said Sylvia. “How do we get to a rest mass of one-and-a-half protons?”

“Hmm. A proton consists of two up quarks and one down quark. So we need to add one or two more quarks.”

“Then we’d have a pentaquark. But that gives us an uneven electrical charge. The up has a charge of plus two-thirds, the down a charge of minus one-third. There’s no meaningful combination that gives us an even charge.”

“You’re forgetting the antiquarks, Sylvia. If we pack another quark and its antiquark into a neutron, the overall charge remains the same.”

“Well, if you insist on complicating things, we should consider a hexaquark, too, which consists of six individual quarks.”

“Definitely. And why not hepta- or octaquarks, while we’re at it?”

“Because of the mass limit,” said Sylvia. “With six quarks, which would be simplest, we’re already at double the proton mass. We can rule out all second and third-generation quarks. They’re far too heavy.”

It was true. Even the lightest, the strange quark, was too heavy for the measurements. This was both good and bad, because if things were different and the alpha particles had lost significantly less energy, they’d have had to trawl through various exotic quantum states, right down to the quarkonium in which a quark combined with its antiquark.

“But it’s not that simple,” said Karl, “because you can’t just add up the masses of the quarks.”

“I know that. Given all the possible combinations, we won’t get anywhere just throwing ideas around. How about you write a small program tomorrow listing all the candidates? Then we can work from that.”

“Good idea. There are supposedly some stable penta- and hexaquarks. We should be able to get away with that.”

“Karl, if we publish something, I don’t want to just ‘get away with’ it. It has to hold water and be one hundred percent serious.”

And that’s why you’re the professor and I’m the engineer. Karl had spent a few years trying to compensate for his lack of ambition with diligence, but had failed. There was simply too much that interested him. Hera and Rosetta were great projects, but the VW in his garage was still waiting to shine, too.

“Of course, Sylvia. We’ll get there.”

The waiter stood at their table as though he’d been eavesdropping and waiting for the perfect time to serve their food. Karl laid the linen napkin across his knees and picked up his cutlery.

“Bon appetite,” he said. “That blouse suits you, by the way.”

“Thanks,” said Sylvia, smiling.

* * *

They toasted again after dessert.

“We haven’t talked any more about work,” said Karl.

“No. But it was nice to remember old times.”

“I think so, too.”

“You can stay at my place, of course,” said Sylvia.

Karl blushed. She’d said exactly the same words on their second evening here. But wait, it wasn’t here, even though it felt that way. And times had changed—unfortunately.

“Only if it’s not inconvenient,” he said.

“Not at all. We have a guest room. Then we can drive together to my office tomorrow.”

And that way you won’t waste any time and will be able to get straight to work. Sylvia didn’t say that, but she was probably thinking it. Of course, she wasn’t having romantic thoughts. That was all in the past.

Karl wiped his mouth and placed the napkin neatly on the table.

August 21, 2026 – SpaceShip SS1

Everyone was glued to the portholes that ran like half of a wreath wrapped around the nose of the spaceship. On Earth, when the ship was still sitting on the first stage at the height of 68 meters, Brandon could only imagine what it would look like in action. It was all the more impressive now, floating next to them—almost as though he was looking into a mirror.

But what was floating next to them wasn’t their reflection, it was a copy. SpaceShip SS2 would never head out into the far reaches of space. It was a tanker, currently providing their ship with fresh methane and oxygen from its cargo bay, so they could head to the moon, and beyond, if they wanted to. KK had insisted on this for safety reasons, in case something went wrong. As he was footing the bill, no one contradicted him.

To Brandon, the voyage still felt like a school trip. And just like in his school days, he was the one who said the least, but was still—or maybe for precisely that reason—considered a genius. When he said anything, he spoke quietly. His voice simply didn’t carry well, and if he talked too much he quickly became hoarse. After the Oscar nomination, his agent had tried to send him to voice training but he’d refused, and there were hardly any press interviews these days, anyway.

He hadn’t met any of the others previously, apart from KK, of course, who’d probably just followed a tip from an adviser. All the others had some kind of artistic talent. Sophie painted. Vyacheslav from Belarus sculpted, and he also played piano, composed, and sang. He’d brought an ample supply of modeling clay with him, because any other material would be problematic up here. Yunus was a famous Turkish comic artist, whom the Turkish president recently released from prison upon his reelection. Emily, a German acrobat and dancer, was currently practicing the splits in zero gravity. And himself? He wrote, which anyone could do.

The buzzer on his belt vibrated. That must be Jenna. KK had bought them all unlimited data transmission so that they could communicate with Earth at any time. He encouraged them to. He wanted as many people as possible to hear about the voyage. There was a 30-minute live stream every day on the website set up especially for the flight. Brandon wasn’t quite sure of its purpose.

But the difference between the two of them was that KK wanted to prepare humanity for its role as a space-traveling civilization—a noble vision. Brandon simply wanted to sell more stories about people in space.

The buzzer vibrated again. He’d been daydreaming once more. Brandon pushed off from the hatch and drifted back to his seat. He unclipped the Kleenex-sized communicator from its bracket and selected Jenna’s number.

His girlfriend answered.

“Oh, there you are. Were you asleep?”

She was breathing fast. He could see blue sky behind her. He ignored her question—that was never a problem with Jenna.

“Are you on your bike?” he asked.

“Yeah. Great weather today. I’m meeting a friend at the reservoir. And you?”

Brandon swiveled the communicator so that the camera provided a view of the cabin. Then he pushed himself backward and floated across the room.

“Whoa, it makes me dizzy just watching.”

He reached the outer wall and held the camera up to one of the portholes.

“Ah, the SS2. The biggest gas tank in the world,” said Jenna.

She might be right—9 meters in diameter, 50 meters long, 1,250 tons of fuel.

“How long have you been refueling?” Jenna asked.

“About two hours.”

“Are you still bored?”

“Kind of. But the painter isn’t as bad as I thought.”

Sophie seemed to be the only person on board with whom he could have long conversations because she was genuinely interested in physics. He hadn’t expected that.

“Brandon.”

“Sorry.” Jenna was one of the few people who noticed when he drifted off.

“Call me again before you leave orbit.”

“I will. Have fun at the reservoir.”

* * *

“Dear friends,” said KK a few hours later, “while we’re waiting for the SS2 to refuel us, I’d like to talk to you about the next few days.”

“Just a moment,” said Vyacheslav. “There’s something else first.” KK straightened his glasses and looked around in irritation. “Yunus, please,” said the Belarusian.

Yunus reached under his seat. Something crackled. Then a bouquet of flowers appeared, wrapped in cellophane. “Voilà,” said Yunus, giving the bouquet a nudge.

The flowers sailed toward KK. He caught them and smiled.

“On behalf of our group, I’d like to express our heartfelt thanks for the invitation to be here,” said Vyacheslav.

Brandon was surprised. They hadn’t let him in on it. But he didn’t care and just played along.

“We’re hoping for a creative voyage,” said Yunus, “that allows us to bring back inspiration to those who had to stay behind.”

Blah, blah, blah. This trip would have achieved more for humanity if KK had donated the money to UNICEF. But Brandon wasn’t complaining. After all, he’d soon be among the few people who’d seen the dark side of the moon—although the club would lose its exclusivity with the expansion of the Lunar Gateway. A few days earlier, another human-crewed Orion capsule had docked at the moon station.

“Thank you very much, friends,” said KK. “What a nice surprise. But now, about our plan. As you know, we’ll be underway for about five days altogether. That hasn’t changed.”

That hasn’t changed? Did that mean something else had? Did it have to? Brandon hated when plans changed. His neck muscles tensed.

“You may have wondered why we’ve been fully fueled. We don’t need that much fuel for a single orbit of the moon. But we do for two orbits.”

Vyacheslav and Yunus applauded. Okay, two orbits around the moon instead of one, that was a change he could live with. Brandon relaxed.

“And why are we flying twice around the moon?” continued KK. “It has to do with the contents of our cargo bay. I managed to buy one of Blue Destination’s two moon landers.”

Well, wasn’t that something? Blue Destination—James Bonner’s space exploration company—was the fiercest competitor of Ihab Chatterjee, whose company had built SpaceShip 1 and SapceShip 2. The news that an Alpha Omega ship was transporting one of Blue Destination’s landers was enough to upset the global stock exchange. Blue Destination had sold the second lander to NASA. It was still waiting to be transported to the Lunar Gateway.

“Unfortunately, I have to ask you not to pass on this information. I’m sure you wouldn’t dream of it, but for the sake of transparency, I must point out that if you do, you risk a contractual penalty equal to the ticket price.”

That was why KK had only promised to cover their tickets contingent upon a successful landing. If someone didn’t dance to his tune, he could send them a bill for a few million dollars at any time.

“We’ll use the lander when we reach the far side of the moon. What we’ll use it for is clear from the name. Not all of us will be able to land. I’ll let you know, in good time, who I’d like to have with me for the moon landing.”

KK was keeping them on their toes. Yunus had probably gotten wind of it earlier, and that was why he’d procured the flowers. They could all kiss ass. Brandon had signed up for a comfortable circumnavigation, not an adventure. He’d even preferred to explore the Grand Canyon from a helicopter rather than a donkey.

“No one has to fly with me to the surface, of course,” said KK. “If necessary, I can perform the descent on my own. Like the spaceship, the lander is fully automated. But I’d also be pleased to make use of the three spaces available to us.”

“I’d like to go,” cried Sophie.

Brandon looked at her. She was serious.

“You can count me in,” said Yunus.

“Please add my name to the lottery, too,” said Emily.

Did they really think KK hadn’t already decided?

“Then you have enough candidates,” said Vyacheslav.

Oh, that sounded like a refusal.

“What’s wrong?” asked KK.

“I’m concerned about my fingers. You’ll probably want to disembark. That’s too much of a risk for me.”

“I understand,” said Kenichi. “And you, Brandon?”

“I’d rather stay on board the ship.”

“But don’t you want to experience just once what it’s like walking around in the moon’s low gravity? You described it so vividly in your novel.”

“And I don’t need to land on the moon to do that. It’s enough to know the physical characteristics of the environment and the protagonists. The rest develops from there.”

“What about imagination?” asked Sophie. “Where does that come into it?”

“I don’t have any imagination. Imagination is damaging, because it leads to illogical treatment.”

“Supposing you wanted to write about a painter on board a spaceship.”

“Then my protagonist would behave according to the psychological and physical attributes I assigned her.”

“And that makes for an exciting novel?”

That was the question he always asked himself. Maybe it had to do with the satisfaction that people felt when all the cogs in a complex machine meshed. Wasn’t a frictionless process also exciting, even if you could predict the end?

“Brandon?” said Sophie.

“Sorry. The answer is yes.”

August 21, 2026 – TU Darmstadt

“This looks good,” said Sylvia.

She ran her finger down the list Karl had put in front of her. She stopped around the middle.

“The Θ+ looks good with its 1540 MeV per c²,” she said.

“It’s not confirmed yet, though,” said Karl.

“Which ones are confirmed?”

Karl pushed her finger further down the list. “These two, for example.”

“P+c (4380) and P+c (4450)—those are much too heavy,” said Sylvia.

The mass of a multi-quark expressed in mega-electron volts per square of the speed of light was listed in brackets after the name.

“Then maybe we need to look at the hexaquarks,” said Karl.

“Or the heavy tetraquarks.”

“Then the only confirmed variants I can offer you are the Zc(3900) and the Z(4430), both definitely too heavy.”

“Why didn’t you just say straight off that you have a favorite?” asked Sylvia.

Because then you would have tried to find an argument against it, thought Karl, but said nothing.

“Oh, I see,” said Sylvia. “You were afraid I’d try to talk you out of it. I admit it, I would. But only in order to strengthen your argumentation with counter questions, which someone else would pose if I didn’t.”

At least she admitted it. Still, it would be nice not to have every new idea contradicted immediately. It was a challenging field. It was best not to work with someone you were in a relationship with, or used to be. It made it difficult to separate the personal from the professional.

“Am I right?” asked Sylvia. “Come on... Say it.”

“My favorite, as you call it, is the hexaquark d*(2380). You can find all its properties in these lines down here.”

Sylvia scanned the text. “But d*(2380) is supposed to consist of three up and three down quarks. That results in an electrical charge of one. And it’s a little too heavy. Do you think there are errors in Philae’s measurements?”

“In principle, that’s possible. But I think it’s more likely that the electrical charge rules it out. The alpha particle has two positive charges, the hexaquark, only one. In the case of an elastic collision, which the Coulomb repulsive force would also contribute to, of course, the alpha appears relatively heavier and the hexaquark lighter. So what we’ve derived from the spectrum of the reflected alphas is an insufficient mass for our unknown substance.”

“Very interesting, Karl. Although I still see entries here that fit better with the data we have.”

“They’re all as yet unconfirmed multi-quarks.”

“I know. But couldn’t it just be that they haven’t been discovered before because no one’s ever looked for them?”

“Hmm. There was a real boom in the search for exotic hadrons in the early 2000s. At the time, they used the big accelerators to scan for everything that was within their energetic range—with no results. But they could have overlooked something.”

“But?” asked Sylvia.

“But they could have overlooked something.”

“No. I mean, what’s the catch? Your last sentence made me think I’d missed something important.”

“You haven’t. We simply haven’t looked at all the data yet.”

“Yes, I think we have.”

Sylvia went through the entire table one more time and read out the column names. “Mass, spin, charge, isospin, strangeness, hypercharge—”

“The property I’m talking about,” he interrupted, “isn’t a quantum number, it’s a statistical size.”

She slapped her hand to her forehead. “Of course! The CIVA photos! I’d completely forgotten about them. The substance must be quite cold.”

“Quite cold sums it up,” said Karl. “That’s why I’m so interested in d*(2380). It has a whole number spin, so it’s a boson. As such, it can form a Bose-Einstein condensate with many of its siblings, and that would energetically default to its absolute base state. So, the temperature is zero. That also makes it a candidate for dark matter. If lots of those kinds of hexaquarks existed soon after the Big Bang, they could have formed giant oceans, seas, and rivers in the universe, which only interact with normal matter through mass attraction.”

“That’s a great idea,” said Sylvia. “If we can show evidence of the structure of dark matter, the Nobel Prize is ours.”

“Slow down. We were just trying to find a plausible candidate for our paper.”

“I think you’ve succeeded in doing that, Karl. Philae appears to be a real lucky charm. Our lander is sending us messages directly from a dark spring!”

* * *

“Am I interrupting?” asked Karl.

He stood in the doorway to Sylvia’s office. She was talking to Piras, who was standing in front of her desk.

The professor turned around. “We were finished, anyway,” he said. “You’ll deliver the text to me this evening, and I’ll submit it to Science. One of the editors there owes me a favor.”

“So you think they’ll be able to publish it online?” asked Sylvia.

“Give them three days.”

That was almost unheard of for such a renowned journal. It usually took months for external scientists to evaluate a contribution. But there were exceptions.

“Thanks, Bernhardt,” said Sylvia.

Oh, so she was on a first-name basis with her boss, but presumably never in public. That meant Karl was part of the family again, if only for work.

“Come in, Karl,” she said.

Piras left the room. They nodded at each other as they passed. At that moment, Karl recognized the look in the other man’s eyes. Piras had the hots for Sylvia. Who didn’t?

“So, what is it?” asked Sylvia.

“You said something important earlier.”

“I only say important things.”

“Ha, ha, that’s my line.”

“Well, I suppose I learned something from you. Anyway, what did I say? I don’t remember every word.”

“You mentioned a dark spring.”

“Yeah?”

“Something always comes out of a spring. Something that wasn’t there before, or at least something that wasn’t visible.”

“Correct.”

“So if there are hexaquarks escaping from it, which weren’t there before, then that should have an impact on the mass of the comet.”

“Hmm. Under certain circumstances, sure.”

“The orbit of Churyumov-Gerasimenko would change if its mass changed.”

“That’s true, Karl. But only if the substance wasn’t already there.”

“So why didn’t we find it in 2014 and ’15?”

“Because Philae landed on a spot where it simply wasn’t present?”

“You mean it could have changed its position on the comet?”

“In the low gravity there, it would only need a small nudge.”

“True.”

“You’re right,” said Sylvia. “We should at least consider it as a possibility.”

“I could go back through the calculations from back in the day. Maybe we overlooked something in the signals, and we’ll find this isn’t new at all.”

“Maybe. Wait a minute, please.” She picked up the phone. “Bernd?”

That must be Professor Piras’s assistant, Bernd Arians. Karl had seen the name on the door to the faculty wing.

“I need to speak to your boss again briefly.”

Karl couldn’t hear what the assistant was saying.

“He must have just come through the door,” said Sylvia.

Brief pause.

“Bernhardt, thanks. Just a quick question. Do you know anyone who could check the path of 67P’s orbit for us? Preferably keeping it in-house?”

Pause.

“Pity. Thanks, anyway.”

Sylvia hung up.

“You heard,” she said.

“Hmm. We don’t need anything big. It doesn’t have to be the James Webb.”

“I could ask around the Physics faculty. They have a small, automatic observatory in the clock tower.”

“It probably wouldn’t give us much, what with the light pollution here.”

“Then the official channels are our only option,” said Sylvia.

“Wait.”

He’d had an intern working with him until a month ago. Dieter, last name beginning with Z. Zitschelwitz? Something like that. He could search through his emails. Dieter had meanwhile taken another internship at the Teide Observatory on Tenerife in the Canary Islands.

“I’ve got it,” he said, “I know who I can ask.”

* * *

“I’ll go, then.”

“Yes. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

“Do you know what, Karl?”

“What?”

“I don’t even want to think about what could happen if we’re successful.”

“What do you mean?”

“It would mean dark matter is emerging from a comet in the solar system, a process that we can’t even understand, let alone control. Imagine if it continues or even intensifies. Maybe it’s a small tear in the dam of a giant reservoir? If the dam broke, it would throw the gravitational relationships in the solar system into chaos. The planets would leave their orbits. There’d be collisions—”

“It’s no use worrying about things like that, Sylvia. It’s much more likely we’ve just made a measurement error.”

Karl had always tried to allay his ex-wife’s fears. But the fact that Sylvia was expressing them at all worried him. And the fact that he didn’t believe his own reassurances frightened him.

August 21, 2026 – Lunar Gateway

“Slowly, Daniel.”

He turned around. Dave was standing in the airlock, waving at him with one hand and holding the safety line in the other. Daniel waved back. He’d trained for this, and it wasn’t his first EVA. Still, everything looked different here. Earth was missing. The moon rotated below them, but it looked dry, cold, and dead. Just like space. Would a human ever feel at home on the moon?

The HLS—the Human Landing System—loomed in front of him. From his perspective, it looked like the kind of dark tower in which a sorcerer might live. Daniel illuminated the module with his helmet lamp. Higher up, it gleamed gold. That was where the tanks were located for the thruster that would take them to the surface and back to the Gateway. Unlike the Apollo missions, theirs would leave almost no trash behind on the moon.

Daniel felt for a metal handhold at head height. His fingers closed around it easily, as the new Artemis suits were at least twice as good as the EVA suits on the ISS. You noticed it, especially in such details. He clambered up the tower. Without gravity, he felt like an insect.

He mentally flipped the direction of the ship around. Now the tower was a pipe along which he was crawling on all fours, and the Gateway was a tower. Only Dave disrupted the effect, because he appeared to be hanging horizontally from the hatch. It took a while for Daniel to get used to the lack of any sense of direction.

“And? How does it look?” asked Dave.

Daniel had reached the part insulated with golden foil. He had to be especially careful here not to damage the coating. His task was to inspect the thrusters, the sizeable main thruster, and the corrective jets. He climbed along them one after another. Now and then he looked around to make sure the safety line didn’t get caught and damage something.

Dave laughed.

“What?” asked Daniel.

“I feel like I’m walking a dog.”

“It fits. I’ve been needing a walk for a while. Lucky for me, I won the coin toss with Livia.”

“I fudged it,” Dave admitted.

“What?”

“I wanted to speak to you in private.”

“You want to tell me you’d like to land on the moon with Livia.”

Why else would he want to speak to him alone?

“True,” said Dave, sounding surprised. “How did you know? Was I talking in my sleep?”

“Oh, it’s obvious. Despite all the promises, there’s still only been one woman down there, and for you it’s probably the last chance.”

“Well summarized.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean last chance because you’re an old geezer.”

“You’re right, though, Daniel, I’ll be starting to train astronauts soon. They’ve already asked me.”

“Well, congratulations.”

“And you don’t have a problem with staying up here?”

“Look at that tube. Sitting in a tight space like that with one of you for a week—it’s not for me.”

“I’m not sure I believe you, Daniel. You wouldn’t have come up here if you weren’t hoping to set foot on the moon. But thanks for your understanding.”

“No problem, Dave.”

Dave tugged on the line briefly. “Shall I throw you a stick?” he asked.

“I suppose if you’re asking that question, then I’m finished here, so sure.”

Dave raised his left arm out of the hatch. He was holding a shiny metal object, presumably some tool.

“Watch close. I’ll throw it and you try to catch it,” he said.

Then he drew his arm back and flung the tool toward the moon. Daniel oriented himself, estimated the flight vector of the object, and jumped. He sailed through empty space, secured only by the line. If Dave let go, he’d be lost, because the Artemis suits didn’t have any jets, being designed for the surface of the moon.

He’d underestimated the speed. Daniel paddled with his arms, but of course it didn’t help. The tool sailed past him.

“Shit,” he said, “I screwed up.”

“We have plenty more,” said Dave. “Shall I throw you another?”

“Forget it. Hopefully it won’t land on anyone’s head down there.”

“It’s too fast for that. It’ll stay in orbit around the moon.”

“Then our moon has a new moon.”

“I’ll bring you in now, Daniel.”

August 21, 2026 – Pico del Teide

“Hello, Dieter,” the email began. “I hope you’re settling well into your new workplace.”

Well, yeah. Dieter Zetschewitz wedged his numb hands under his thighs. Why hadn’t anybody told him it would be so cold up here? He was on Tenerife! He didn’t want to complain about the fact that his boss, a Frenchman, apparently didn’t like Germans. Germans were difficult to have around because they were always right. He’d already pointed out three mistakes François had made. But the man only laughed. One day he’d get his own back. He was only 19, and François was ancient at 42. His time would come.

“I have a favor to ask of you,” wrote Karl.

The older man—definitely over 50—appeared in his mind’s eye. Karl was an excellent scientist, but he didn’t know it. Something must have broken him years ago, probably something to do with a personal relationship. For every genius, their private life held the potential for their downfall. Had Einstein been expected to change diapers, he would never have come up with the GTR. Dieter wasn’t going to let anything like that happen to him.

“We need some data on the current path of Comet 67P/Churyumov-Gerasimenko, as accurate as possible, and preferably over time, so that we can calculate all orbital parameters. I assume you have access to a decent telescope?”

Karl, Karl, Karl. You must be in quite a hurry, or you would’ve gone through official channels. But you’ve come to the right guy. Who gives a shit about official channels? The question is, what might be in it for me, hmm?

But he couldn’t ask Karl that, because Karl thought of himself as an upstanding guy, morally superior. His email showed this was just a facade. But Dieter had to demonstrate his willingness, and then he’d just have to choose the right moment in the future to point out that Karl owed him a favor.

Blah, blah, blah. He skimmed through the rest of the message. Who cared what the measurements were about? Dieter clicked the reply icon.

“Hello, Karl,” he wrote. “I’m glad you thought of me. I did my first scientific internship with you, and you know the connection that forges.”

Grease, grease. Build a connection. Maintain ties and so on.

“Regarding your problem, I was able to convince my bosses...”

Wait a minute. He should wait at least half an hour before sending the reply. Otherwise it wouldn’t be believable that he’d put in a good word for Karl.

“...to make the OGS available to me.”

Make it available to me. Ha. He’d simply smuggle in a tracking order. The OGS, a one-meter mirror telescope, was designed for tracking space trash. No one would notice if it spent a night following a comet.

Should he explain the OGS’s purpose to Karl? No, that would sound unprofessional, plus he had a lot to do, so he should keep this brief.

“If you ever decide to come to Tenerife on vacation, don’t forget to look me up,” he wrote.

Build a personal connection. Important.

“All the best. Yours, Dieter.”

No, ‘Yours’ sounded stupid. He deleted it. But now it seemed too impersonal.

“Sunny greetings from Pico del Teide, Dieter.”

That was better, even if the sky was currently overcast. Dieter was about to click ‘Send,’ but caught himself just in time. Too soon. He switched to the object database, pulled up the current data for 67P, and entered it into the OGS tracking memory.

August 22, 2026 – SpaceShip SS1

“I think I behaved unwisely yesterday,” he said.

Jenna smiled. Keep talking, her eyes said.

“I let slip that there are no secrets in my books.”

“But that’s no secret,” she said.

“No? I thought only I knew that.”

Brandon looked around him. It was still dark in the ship, and the porthole covers were closed. Only the central column that housed the computer was flashing. He couldn’t sleep. Everyone was wearing ear protection, so it didn’t disturb them when he spoke to Jenna.

“Every reader knows that. I’ve only read one of your books, but I noticed right away.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Not at all. That’s what’s special about your books. Your readers love it.”

“Thanks. It’s all about to kick off here.”

“Then have fun!”

“Oh yeah, something else I wanted to say...”

He bit his tongue. The communication was likely being monitored, so he couldn’t tell Jenna about the moon lander.

She smiled expectantly.

“Oh, nothing,” he said.

Jenna closed her mouth and swallowed.

Oh. She had probably been expecting something else.

* * *

“Fasten your seatbelts,” it said on the screen.

Brandon leaned back and pulled his belt. The damned thing was jammed. He raised the backrest a little. That was better. He pulled the belt down and buckled it at his crotch. It clicked and a big green tick appeared on the screen. It reminded him of earning a gold star in kindergarten.

“Dear friends,” said KK.

Their host was using the audio system so they could hear his voice in their headphones.

“Our ship is about to fire its thrusters,” said KK. “Before that happens, you should say goodbye to Earth. I think that, once we’re as far from it as our plan dictates, we won’t be able to see it like we can now. At least that’s what the few space travelers who have undertaken this journey have said.”

All heads turned in unison toward the portholes. The blue sphere of the Earth was indeed a majestic sight. His editor would probably delete that adjective for being too clichéd. Brandon searched for an alternative, but couldn’t think of one. He turned his attention to his body. Shouldn’t his heart be beating faster? Why weren’t the palms of his hands sweating, like those of his protagonists in situations like this?

“The thrusters will fire in five—four—three—two—one—zero,” said KK.

Now he should feel a force pressing him back in his seat, but nothing happened.

“One moment,” said KK. “I’m hearing from Mission Control that we still have a few more minutes. One of the thrusters must have reported an error.”

Brandon looked at the Earth. The Apennines were currently rolling past. He’d gone to Rome last year with Jenna. His girlfriend had insisted on flying to Europe. He found the old continent and its inhabitants a little pompous, as though they’d built the Coliseum with their own hands, when in fact a bunch of slaves did all that a very long time ago. And this democracy they were supposed to have invented—only ten percent of men were allowed to vote in the ancient Greek city-states, and that was supposed to be popular government?

“Emily just made an interesting suggestion,” KK said. “She’s asked us to make our farewell from the Earth more conscious with awareness exercises. I think it’s a great idea.”

Awareness... Great. His ex had always tried to make him a more aware person. Who was it that had always made sure the food didn’t burn, the windows were all closed, and the gas tank didn’t run empty? But woe betide him if he didn’t notice when she was wearing new lipstick.

“Dear friends,” said Emily. “So that we can say a proper goodbye to our birthplace, let’s all turn our heads toward the ceiling again. We’re very awake and present in ourselves, can you feel that? Now we focus on our breathing. Can you feel your ribcage expanding and contracting with each breath, and your whole body moving? If a pesky thought wanders through your head, let it go. Don’t follow it. Refocus on your breathing. In, out. In, out.”

* * *

Brandon awakened because the buckle at his crotch was vibrating. He hadn’t slept so well in a long time. They were in zero gravity again, so he must have slept through the deceleration phase. Maybe it was because he’d been missing the gravity he was accustomed to.

Someone touched his shoulder, startling him. The Japanese man was floating on his side next to Brandon.

“I need to speak to you for a moment in private,” KK said.

Brandon looked over at Sophie, whose lounger was only a few feet away.

“She has her headphones on,” said KK.

“I understand.”

“It’s a shame you don’t want to come down with us.”

“It’s really not for me, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Brandon, I’m not trying to change your mind.”

Of course you’re trying to change my mind. Every such attempt in his books started just like this. But he didn’t interrupt.

“None of us is trained for a moon mission,” said KK. “So we could simply set out in the Blue Destination lander, observe everything through the window, and then fly back. You don’t need any skills to do that. The lander does it all. But it would be pretty boring, of course.”

“Frustratingly boring,” said Brandon. “Spending hours in a confined space only to land and then leave again.”

“Exactly. And I don’t even know if we’d have officially been on the moon if we did that.”

So it was about the history books. KK was afraid of being forgotten. He’d sold an online shop to his competition for several million dollars, but he hadn’t yet managed to create anything enduring. Was that why he liked being surrounded by artists?

“Just think,” said KK. “Until now, only eighteen people have been on the moon. All American! We’d still be among the first twenty.”

And you’d be the first non-American among them.

“I’m American, too,” Brandon replied.

“None of those who went before you were science fiction writers.”

“Labels like that are overrated. My fans would read my books, anyway.”

“It’s a shame. It really is,” KK sighed. “Your book set on the moon, I devoured it, and everything was so realistic. Maybe you can at least advise us?”

Brandon laughed. KK must be a gifted businessman, but sometimes he was very naive. He wouldn’t exactly ask a writer of hospital romances for his opinion on an upcoming operation.

“It’s true. I’ve read everything that’s been written about the situation up there,” said Brandon, “but that was a long time ago, and it’s only second-hand knowledge, not practical experience.”

“That’s still more than the rest of us.”

“Stay away from crevices and don’t jump too high. That’s all the advice you need.”

KK sighed. “What a shame. If you change your mind, I’m not going to announce my decision until just before launch—so it wouldn’t look like you were taking someone else’s place.”

* * *

“Jenna?”

“How are you?”

“Good. I have to speak quietly. The others are sleeping.”

“I understand. I just got myself something from Micky D’s.”

Could he smell fresh fries? Brandon’s mouth watered. “Oh, now I’m jealous,” he said.

“Haven’t you tried out your burger oven yet?”

“No. KK seems to be preoccupied with other things at the moment.”

“What things?”

“I can’t talk about it.”

“Okay. It sounds like something’s brewing.”

“What do you mean?”

“The administration canceled a press conference at short notice, scheduled for tomorrow.”

That meant NASA must have changed their plans. Maybe it was about the next moon landing. The Russians and the Chinese were close, and if NASA wanted to send moonwalkers numbers 19 and 20, then they’d have to stay focused on it.

“Good to know,” he said.

“I’m glad. It means I don’t have to go to Florida tomorrow morning.” Jenna was a journalist who covered space exploration, among other things.

“Then I’ll get some sleep,” said Brandon.

“Sweet dreams.”

“Thanks, Jenna.”

August 22, 2026 – Pico del Teide

Dieter stepped on the brakes and clutch and stopped at the barrier, but it didn’t open as it usually did. What was up with the guard? The man always recognized his old Polo. Was he on vacation?

He wound down the window. The guard came out of his cabin and tipped his cap.

“What’s wrong?” Dieter asked in Spanish.

“Good morning, boy. I just wanted to warn you.”

“Warn me? Why?” He felt blood rush to his face. This could only mean one thing—someone must have noticed something. He didn’t touch anything else yesterday, just tidied up the archive.

“Your boss, the Frenchman, had to come in last night. He was livid, I’m telling you! It was a hectic night, and I hardly slept at all. Luckily someone’s coming to relieve me soon.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” said Dieter. “Did François say why he had to come in?”

“No, the technical stuff is none of our business. The scientists never tell us anything. I hope you don’t get caught up in it yourself, boy.”

“Thanks for the warning. And get home safe.”

The guard nodded. He shuffled back into his cabin and the barrier opened.

* * *

The sun was shining, but a cold wind chilled him, so Dieter zipped up his thin jacket. His department worked in a building that looked like a shipping container. How glamorous. He knocked on the door to his boss’s office. Might as well get the reprimand out of the way.

François leapt up when he saw him. How dare he? It was outrageous, an intern falsifying the record—Dieter switched off. His boss, who often slipped from English into French when he was agitated, was being unfair. He hadn’t overstepped. One object, more or less, didn’t make any difference to the OGS. It didn’t overload it, nor did it cost anything. The way François was berating him made it sound like he’d endangered the existence of the entire observatory. His old lady was probably holding out on him again, and now he was taking his frustration out on Dieter.

Dieter picked the dirt out from under his fingernails.

“Are you even listening to me, Dieter?”

François stressed the last syllable of his name. Dietér.

“Of course, boss.” He kept looking at his fingernails. François would calm down eventually. “I’m sorry you had to come in last night, boss.”

“You’ll go straight to the head of security and give him your phone number. If the OGS triggers another alarm, you can be the one to come in.”

“Sure. I’ll go to security and give them my number.”

Repeating orders back always sounded soothing.

“Good. And I don’t want to see you again today.”

“You won’t see me again today.”

“And don’t parrot everything I say.”

“I won’t. What was wrong with the OGS, anyway?”

“It reported a critical course deviation.”

If space trash suddenly changed course, it could endanger Earth satellites. In such cases, the OGS triggered an alarm.

“But it was only that damned comet that you smuggled into the tracking list. Why?”

“The famous 67P/Churyumov-Gerasimenko. I just wanted to see what it was up to.”

“Well, you did that. I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

“Yes, boss.”

One day he’d be a boss, and his underlings wouldn’t have it easy, either.

* * *

François. That asshole. He’d get him back one day. Dieter sat at his computer in his tiny office and chewed on a pencil. He always carried several around with him—not to write with but to chew on. It calmed him. It made it easier to endure the constant humiliation directed at interns. He laid the pencil across his index and ring fingers and rested his middle finger on top of it. Then he pressed down.

Crack.

The pencil snapped in the middle with a satisfying sound. Dieter threw it in the wastebasket. He felt better. He called up the OGS parameters on his screen. Then he moved the cursor over the entry for 67P. He held his finger over the Delete key, but didn’t press it. 67P harbored a secret. Should he simply deactivate the warning? Then no one would be dragged out of bed again by unexpected course alterations. No. If his instincts were right, he should stay tuned. He simply entered his own contact data. If the comet changed course again, he’d be the first person on Earth to know.

August 22, 2026 – Lunar Gateway

Daniel sprayed cleaner onto the surface, making it smell of alcohol and vinegar. Then he wiped the surface down with a cloth. Dave had ordered a major cleaning operation that day. It happened at least once a week. The humidity on board was a paradise for bacteria and fungi, and that had to be counteracted. Dave had assigned them each a third of the Gateway. He’d even postponed his own sleep shift for it.

Time for the next surface. Daniel had never liked cleaning. But he was glad—he was already supposed to be alone up here. Once he was, he’d have to clean everything himself.

“May I?” Livia asked. She pointed at her phone. There was no mobile reception, but they had Wi-Fi.

“Sure,” answered Daniel.

Livia tapped the screen a few times, and then music flooded the station. It was 1980s rock. He and Livia hadn’t even been born then.

“Not bad,” said Dave.

Livia usually listened to her music through headphones, and Daniel had assumed it would be some kind of modern pop. It was strange. They’d trained together for six months, but never talked about their musical tastes. Was that his fault?

“What do you say we play a round of Skat afterward?” asked Dave.

“Skat?”

“A card game, Livia. It’s from Germany. My grandparents on my father’s side emigrated from Germany to the States when they were children. That’s how I know it.”

“Ah, your name’s German, too?” asked Daniel.

“Yes. My grandparents spoke German to each other their whole lives.”

“Interesting. I can’t remember anything other than English being spoken in my family.”

“Maybe they wanted to integrate quickly,” Livia speculated.

“I think it’s more that they never really felt at home as blacks in Germany. Oh well. It was a long time ago.”

“Oh, Daniel?”

“Yes, Livia?”

“I wanted to thank you for giving me this chance.”

“It’s no big deal,” he said.

But he was pleased. The more time he spent with his crewmate, the more he liked her.

August 22, 2026 – TU Darmstadt

“What have you gotten me into?” Dieter had written. “My boss gave me a major dressing-down today. I hope the attached data is worth it. You can start thinking about a way to return the favor.”

Dieter wrote quite boldly for an intern. He would never have dared to act like that at age 19. But whatever the tone, he’d delivered the data. Karl closed the email program and opened the spreadsheet. The OGS had searched for the comet at intervals of 30 minutes. Just after midnight, also shown in the table, it had sounded the alarm because the object had deviated from its expected course.

But was that even accurate? Karl made some calculations. In point of fact, 67P hadn’t been following its predicted orbit even before that. However, just after midnight the deviation was so significant that the OGS had started interpreting it as an orbital disturbance instead of a measurement error. Then it had done what it was programmed to do—warned its owner.

Karl launched the simulator. He selected the OGS’s measurements as the input. The program plotted a course based on the 20 measured points. Then it calculated the properties of a celestial body that would have an orbit like that, taking into account the gravity of the sun and planets. It was a complicated process, but they had certain information about how heavy and how fast 67P was from the last two times it had passed the sun.

The program announced that it was finished. It reported that 67P must weigh 11.277 billion metric tons. Six years ago it was 11.271 billion tons, so its mass had increased by 6 million tons. That looked impressive on paper. But for an astronomer, it was an insignificant amount that lay far below the accuracy threshold of existing measurement procedures. Karl compared this to the values from 2014. That year it had been 11.270 billion tons. In the first six years, the comet became one million tons heavier, and in the next six years, 6 million tons heavier. If it kept increasing six-fold, then in 12 years the value would lie outside the permitted measurement inaccuracy.

But natural events rarely demonstrated consistent doubling times. What if the escaping dark matter followed an exponential curve? That was the bursting dam Sylvia was afraid of. He mustn’t make her anxious—or himself. There was no cause for that, yet.

So far, all they had were measurements within the range of accuracy—data from a lander that was supposed to be long dead—and obscure ideas from non-physicists. Should they really be submitting this to a renowned journal?

* * *

“Bernhardt, have you already sent the draft to Science?” Sylvia asked over the phone. “Wait, I’ll put you on speaker so Karl can hear.”

“I... I was just about to.”

“There are a few more things to include.” Sylvia explained what they’d discovered with the help of the intern.

“Okay,” said Piras. “That’s a little sketchy. We can’t submit that.”

“You could include it as a commentary. ‘News and Views,’ or whatever the heading’s called. People always speculate freely there.”

“I know what you mean. But whether they’ll give us the space—”

“There’s no harm in asking. Dark matter is a hot topic, and Churyumov-Gerasimenko made quite an impression back in the day. Tell them Nature’s also very interested.”

Nature was the second most renowned scientific journal in the world, and they wanted to be number one.

“I don’t know. I haven’t even spoken to Nature yet, and I don’t know anyone there personally.”

“You don’t have to tell them that.”

“Fine. I’ll try as soon as their offices open.”

“Thank you, Bernhardt. You’re a darling.”

So, now he was a darling—that was quick. Sylvia hung up.

“So, that’s in the bag. And now?” she asked.

“What I’d really like to do is fly there and look at it up close,” said Karl.

“Listen to you. Fly there. Haha. Although you’re right in the sense that the only way we can be sure is by going there ourselves and looking at it. Who knows how long Philae will continue transmitting? But to catch up to 67P with a probe, we’d have to have launched already.”

“Maybe there’s another possibility. Back when the solar system had its first interstellar visitors, NASA developed a statite project.”

“That means nothing to me.”

“It’s a probe that stabilizes its own orbit and just waits for the next visitor.”

“And then flies toward it?”

“No, it sends a CubeSat to explore the object. The idea was to be able to reach any object within two or three days.”

“But that’s not possible,” said Sylvia. “The distances are too vast.”

“They wanted to position a whole armada of statite probes.”

“And they did that? I’ve never heard of it.”

“No, the project was canned after three probes. Ihab Chatterjee was transporting them free of charge on his rockets, but these days he’s booked out.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“If we’re lucky, one of those three probes may be in a convenient position.”

“You’ve got free rein, Karl. Research it if you like.”

He had free reign. The professor seemed to think she was his boss. He waved his hand to chase away the sour smell of injured pride. He didn’t care what Sylvia thought of him.

* * *

Karl looked at the clock. It wasn’t even midday, and he already felt like he’d been working for ten hours. It was a good feeling. Last night he’d slept well for the first time in ages, even though his ex-wife was lying in bed with another man in the next room. Just after midnight he thought he heard moaning. For a moment he was tempted to put his ear to the wall. But it had been easy to just roll onto his other side and go back to sleep. The time when he would deliberately cause himself pain finally seemed to be over.

The man he needed to reach worked at MIT. He was responsible for the statite project, or rather he used to be. Now that they weren’t putting any more probes into space, almost all the information about it had disappeared from the web. That was unusual. What had gone on behind the scenes?

* * *

“Richard, is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me. Who wants to know?”

Karl introduced himself. Richard Lineman from MIT seemed to be a man of few words. It wasn’t until Karl started talking about Rosetta that he thawed. The mission had been well received by space travel engineers the world over. Lineman had probably hoped for something similar from his own project. Visiting an interstellar comet would have been a whole lot more exciting.

“What can I do for you?” Lineman asked after a while. “We seem to be talking in circles.”

“Okay,” said Karl. “I’m looking for a way to examine an orbiting object up close as quickly as possible.”

“Well, my statite project would have been perfect for that.”

“What went wrong?”

“The official version is that the budget was too low once Alpha Omega stopped providing us space on their rockets.”

“But that’s not the whole story?”

“Just between us?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we’re talking about two 2U units and some electronics with solar sails. There’s enough space on Alpha Omega rockets to fire 30 of them into space per year.”

“Were there issues with NASA?”

“No. Ihab Chatterjee wanted the project for himself. He didn’t want to leave it to NASA to examine the first object from another star system. Chatterjee believes we should become an interstellar species.”

“In the longer term, he’s probably right.”

“Maybe. And he is doing some things better than NASA. For example, he thinks CubeSats aren’t sufficient. He wants to capture every interstellar visitor with at least a Rosetta probe with a lander.”

“That sounds sensible.”

“It does. And so that NASA wouldn’t get in his way, he orchestrated things so that my project was discontinued.”

“That sucks.”

“You’re telling me.”

“And the three satellites that were already launched?”

“I can send you their positions, Karl. But it would be a huge coincidence if they were suitable.”

“You’re probably right. And Alpha Omega? Do you know who’s in charge of the project there?”

“Yes, a certain Adam Smith.”

“Oh.”

Richard laughed. “Like the famous economist,” he explained.

“Economist?” asked Karl. “You’ll have to excuse me. It’s not my area.”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s long dead and won’t help you now. Quite a common name,” said Richard.

“I’ll never find him.”

“I’ll give you a tip since you’re a nice guy, Karl. The man also goes by the name Neguun.”

“Neguun?”

“Yes, but don’t ask me why. Maybe he realized early on that you can’t get anywhere with a name like Adam Smith, even if Neguun sounds like the villain from a Marvel movie. Please pass on my greetings. Then maybe he’ll get a pang of guilt.”

“I don’t know if that’ll help my cause.”

“I like you, Karl. Always honest. If you’re ever over this way, drop by.”

“Thanks for the invitation.”

* * *

The positions of the three statite satellites Richard had sent him were, in fact, useless. It would take months to reach 67P from them.

“I’m looking for a certain Adam Smith,” said Karl.

“One moment,” said the female receptionist. “We have a handful of employees with that name.”

That was probably unavoidable with tens of thousands of employees.

“He also calls himself Neguun,” said Karl.

“Oh, you want Neguun? Why didn’t you say so! I’ll put you through.”

Thanks, Richard.

“Smith here. What can I do for you?”

That was quick. What did he want to ask? Karl introduced himself and then explained that the Philae lander had made contact again.

“That’s nice for you,” said Smith. “What does it have to do with me?”

“A colleague from MIT told me that Alpha Omega had the capability of quickly examining orbiting objects with probes.”

“Let’s assume that’s true—what object are we talking about?”

“Oh, 67P/Churyumov-Gerasimenko, I thought I made that clear.”

“But there’s hardly another celestial body that’s been more thoroughly researched than 67P. And now you even have a functioning lander. What do you need us for?”

“We’re looking for a second opinion.”

“I’m sorry, we’re not interested in that sort of thing. Our system is there to intercept incoming interstellar objects. 67P is almost the opposite of that. Or do you have a budget? In that case, we can talk. Otherwise we’re both wasting our time.”

“What amount are we talking?” asked Karl.

“For us, it starts at a small explorer class mission from NASA.”

Ugh. He may as well hang up now.

“That’s one-hundred and fifty million dollars, right?” Karl asked, despite himself.

“These days, it’s one-hundred and seventy-five million.”

“Thank you, Mr. Smith. I’ll have to talk to my superiors.”

“Just between you and me, Karl, it’s quite irregular for you to contact me directly. I sense there’s more behind it. What’s it really about? Have you discovered something we don’t know about? Don’t worry, I won’t give anything away if your discovery’s still in the review process. But think about our Chinese and Russian friends. It’s in the West’s interests to be the first to greet an interstellar visitor. If you just give me the position, we can prepare everything. Then, when your discovery is officially announced, our probe will be well underway and you’ll get your results faster, because we’d share the data with you, obviously. NASA can’t react as quickly as we can. Think about it!”

“I’m sorry, Adam, but it really is about 67P.”

“Pity. I still have the feeling you’re not telling me everything. Well, have a nice day.”

“Wait a minute. Can you assure me our conversation won’t go any further?”

“If you haven’t been a bad boy and got the secret service listening in on you, then yes. Ha, ha.”

Hopefully he wasn’t about to make the biggest mistake of his life. If someone else heralded their discovery before they did, Sylvia would never speak to him again. And rightly so.

“Okay, it’s about something we’ve discovered on 67P.”

“Oh, stop with 67P. We definitely wouldn’t send a probe to a known comet.”

“Maybe you would, Adam. Something quite special seems to have emerged there, a spring from which dark matter is flowing into our universe.”

“Are you serious? Yes, you’re serious. No German scientist would make up such sci-fi crap. I just googled you while we were talking. You’re an engineer. Mercedes, BMW, Audi—everything a German engineer gets his hands on functions well. That’s why I believe you.”

“And that means?”

“I’ll discuss it with my boss, Ihab Chatterjee.”

“I see.”

“It’s not my decision, Karl. But I think what you’re doing is exciting. Who’s going to publish it?”

“Science. It could be a matter of days.”

“Then it was definitely a good idea to talk to us today.”

“I hope so.” Karl ardently hoped so. Sylvia would tear him a new one if she found out he’d already leaked their results before publication. She was hoping for a Nobel Prize! But it was first in, first served.

“I’ll talk to Ihab today and let you know.”

“Good. One more question—if you don’t mind?”

“I know. Neguun. Everyone asks about that. I play in a Mongolian rock band. Neguun, a Mongolian first name, is my stage name.”

August 22, 2026 – Hawthorne, California

“What is it, Neguun?”

“I just had a strange phone call.”

Adam Smith was standing in front of his boss’ desk. Ihab leaned forward, supporting himself with his elbows on the plywood board that sat on two simple wooden trestles.

“I’m always getting strange phone calls. Someone must have given out my local direct dial number. It only happens to me here in Hawthorne.”

“It wasn’t that kind of call.”

Suddenly he heard a child laughing. It was coming from under the tabletop.

“Yes, I’ll be down there in a minute,” said Chatterjee.

That was obviously not meant for him.

“This is like pulling teeth, Neguun. What kind of call was it? I promised Ilan I’d play with him.”

“Sorry, boss. It was a German. They’ve found something quite unusual on Comet 67P, and they’re asking for our help.”

“What kind of help?”

“They want a probe from the statite project to take a look.”

“Then we’ll do it, won’t we? Otherwise you wouldn’t have bothered me with this.”

“Don’t you want to know what it’s about, Ihab?”

“You obviously find it interesting enough. That’s all I need to know. I can’t oversee everything. I’m supposed to be knocking the spaceship production into shape. And playing with my son. Those two things alone are mutually exclusive. Please keep everything else off my plate.”

“Understood. Then I’ll say yes to the German.”

“Wait. Did you promise him something?”

“Of course not.”

“Good. And you know everything you need to know about the target?”

“I think so.”

“Even better. Then you don’t need to say yes to him, at least not yet. We’ll observe it from the first available position, and if there’s anything to report, we’ll decide then. That way, we hold all the cards.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Ihab Chatterjee pushed his chair back and slid forward onto his knees. His head disappeared under the desk.

“Here I am, Ilan. What are we playing?”

* * *

“Angie?”

“Yes, darling?”

The blonde woman at the central office thought he was her darling, just because he’d dined with her a few times. Whatever.

“If a German man calls, a Karl Stoll, I’m not here.”

“Understood, Neguun.”

“Please pass that on to the whole team.”

“I will. Shall we—”

“Thanks, Angie. I’ve got something urgent to take care of.”

August 22, 2026 – DosRios 19 Probe

The probe was dreaming. Only small parts of her consciousness were active. The star tracker was monitoring her position, and the attitude control turned and redirected the solar sail when necessary. In this situation she only had one task, holding her position in orbit. She wasn’t aware of any other responsibilities.

She’d slept since she arrived here, like all her siblings, and she’d continue to sleep until the relentless solar wind finally destroyed her electronics. She was hardened, but there was no such thing as complete protection. At some point she’d fail. She’d drift, and when someone on Earth noticed she was missing, she’d be replaced. She was replaceable, and she only had one function.

* * *

“Attention: DR19.”

“Attention: DR19.”

“Attention: DR19.”

The DosRios 19 probe had received the same transmission three times—the signal to awaken from her slumber. She checked her battery status and found the solar cells were working at 85 percent efficiency. Her position was exactly as prescribed.

“Affirmative,” she replied. “Dynamic Orbital Slingshot for Rendezvous with Interstellar Objects, unit 19, awake.”

The probe didn’t register the fact that several minutes passed between question and answer. She possessed no sense of time, although she could measure time precisely.

“Preparing new target coordinates,” Earth commanded.

“Ready.”

DosRios 19 switched to receiving. A short data pulse reached her out of the darkness. DosRios19 didn’t know it was from Earth. She didn’t know Earth. But she knew that the pulse was correctly coded and that it contained a target.

“Confirm coordinates.”

A new command. She recoded the coordinates and packaged them into a reply.

“Transmission correct,” came the confirmation.

If she were capable of being proud, she would be now.

“Prepare daughters.”

It was getting exciting. The probe knew she had daughters, but she’d never had contact with them. The daughters, two cylindrical probes with chemical thrusters, were slumbering under her solar panels. DosRios 19 transferred some of her energy into the first daughter, who woke up and extended a few instruments, which touched her outer hull. It was a strange feeling, like being tickled in the armpits.

“Status eighty-nine percent,” reported the daughter.

Oh. If DosRios 19 were capable of being sad, she would be now. Her daughter wasn’t ready. She didn’t know why she wasn’t at 100 percent, but it didn’t matter. She gave the signal to power down. It had been a short acquaintance. DosRios 19 wasn’t sad. At 89 percent, it meant this daughter would stay with her until they faded out together in a distant star.

She activated daughter 2.

“Status one-hundred percent,” reported the daughter.

“Daughter ready,” DosRios 19 relayed to Earth.

“Transfer target.”

DosRios 19 saved the target in the daughter probe. Then she extended her telescope camera. The objective was orbiting closer to the sun than she was. So her daughter would have to brake. She calculated a course. Flying time 27 hours. That wasn’t far. She’d already been circling up here for 9,967 hours.

“Target programmed,” DosRios 19 reported to Earth.

“Launch daughter,” came the reply.

DosRios 19 knew that daughter 2 would never come back to her—it was technically impossible. DosRios 19 activated the spring mechanism that would jettison daughter 2.

The umbilical cord ripped as the mechanical connection was separated. Daughter 2 now had to source her own energy. DosRios 19 could still communicate with her via radio for a few minutes. Then she’d go back into sleep mode.

“Assuming course,” reported daughter 2.

DosRios 19 relayed the status report to Earth via her high-gain antenna. Then she checked her daughter’s course with her instruments. It was easier from outside.

“Confirming course,” she radioed.

Daughter 2 didn’t reply—they understood each other without words. DosRios 19 extended her solar sail a little farther. She had to compensate for the momentum caused by jettisoning her daughter. Then she initiated the sleep process. She wouldn’t sleep as deeply as before, because she would have to fulfill one more important task. DosRios 19 had to relay the daughter probe’s radio transmissions to Earth. Her daughter was leaving her forever, but she remained in her thoughts.

August 23, 2026 – SpaceShip SS1

No one had told him it would be painful watching the Earth shrink. If you just looked once, you couldn’t tell—the ship was flying too slowly. But when he marked the diameter of the Earth’s sphere on the porthole and then checked again two hours later, the difference was clear. Back there—because it didn’t seem like it was below them anymore—was everything he held dear.

He couldn’t have proper conversations with Jenna anymore. The lag was continually increasing, already at least one second each way, and the quality of the transmission was also worsening. They’d agreed to send a video message twice a day. In between, Brandon enjoyed talking to Sophie. The pattern of the conversation was often similar.

“This new lipstick is a quantum leap,” she said, for example.

“Did you know that a quantum leap is, in fact, a very, very small distance?” he countered. “So it’s only a tiny difference.”

“That’s interesting. No, I didn’t know that. Then it’s total nonsense as an analogy for my lipstick.”

“Lots of people misuse it.”

“And what happens in a quantum leap?”

“That’s a long story, Sophie.”

“Come on, tell me.”

So he told her. Quantum physics, relativity, fluid dynamics, chaos theory, the standard model of the universe—it was astonishing the things Sophie was interested in. Usually Emily would float over to them after a while. She took off her headphones, Indian music issuing from them, and she performed her yoga and stretching exercises to the rhythm of his words.

Vyacheslav, Yunus, and KK never joined them. Vyacheslav liked to play piano endlessly, using software on his tablet. Brandon didn’t know how the other two men occupied themselves.

He drifted to the porthole. Another millimeter smaller. He wiped away the previous mark and made a new one. The pen Jenna had given him worked in zero gravity, as promised.

* * *

The advertising melody of the world-renowned burger chain rang out through the cabin, played by Vyacheslav. One of the two automatic cameras was aimed at the Belarusian’s fingers. The other hung in front of the oven.

KK had briefed them all beforehand. The commercial was going to be broadcast live, but it wasn’t time yet. The cameras were now recording for the half-hour ‘making of’ which would later be shown on all networks. The soccer season final was currently being broadcast on Earth. The company that built the oven had invested millions. They weren’t just testing it here on board SS1, it was also supposed to supply the astronauts on the new space station in lunar orbit, the Lunar Gateway, with American fast food.

“Two more minutes,” KK announced.

As passengers, they didn’t get a share of KK’s advertising revenue from the burger company. But their tickets had been paid for, and they had to play along with everything. Brandon had read the fine print. If he wrote a novel about this trip, KK would automatically receive 20 percent of his profits. But he had no intention of writing about himself. His editor always insisted she could recognize him in his books, but that was bullshit. He was just a stencil, like every other person he knew. He took the head from A, the legs from B, and the belly from C, and constructed a new character out of them.

“Are you coming?” asked KK. “Only one minute to go.”

Brandon took one last look in the mirror that was floating above Sophie’s seat. Jenna had reminded him to do so.

Sophie stroked his shoulder. “A crease,” she said.

Jenna hadn’t said anything about creases. Were creases distracting, too? Sophie would know. He barely recognized her. She looked like she was straight out of Hollywood. Her makeup had transformed her into a kind of vamp. Brandon was glad he wasn’t a painter. The market expected them not only to paint well but to look good, too.

It was less important for writers. But this would be an opportunity for Sophie. Of the millions of people who were currently watching the soccer final, only a fraction of them would have seen her paintings. The film based on Brandon’s book, on the other hand, had been seen by at least half of the cinema-going public. Very good for his publisher.

“So. Thirty seconds. You know what you have to do.”

He’d never seen KK so on edge. The deal must have brought him a ton of money. Was the amount based on ratings?

“Ten seconds.”

The automatic cameras repositioned themselves. One was aimed at the oven, and the other floated above KK’s shoulder. Brandon watched the countdown. Four, three, two, one. It was time. The oven beeped, and KK pressed a button. The door opened. A plate was rotating inside, spinning the half-dozen burgers that had been grilled with infrared and microwave radiation. Then they flew out in a precisely choreographed formation, three from the front row and three from the back.

The close shot must look impressive, especially flashing across the giant advertising screen of a soccer stadium. Brandon reached out. They’d practiced several times, and the left rear burger was his. It wasn’t easy catching the bun in a way that didn’t hinder the others. And he mustn’t grip it too firmly or the sauce might squirt out, and that looked unappetizing.

Cut. The camera angle changed. This was essential. The burgers from the oven were inedible. They were prepared with coloring and chemicals that made them look delicious even in the bluish-white cabin lighting, but you couldn’t eat them. One of the cameras had filmed them catching the burgers. KK was the first. He had time to swap the enhanced burger for an edible one. The other camera zoomed in to a close-up of his face—he took a bite and assumed an enthusiastic look. Then it was the others’ turns. Fortunately the commercial was over before Brandon’s face was filmed eating. Only KK, Sophie, and Emily were seen on live television biting into a ‘flame-grilled’ burger in space.

End, out.

“Bon appetite,” said KK, who seemed to be enjoying his burger.

Brandon disposed of his in the refuse container after only three bites. He had nothing against burgers, but nothing in this sandwich tasted anything like fresh.

August 23, 2026 – DosRios 19 Probe

The target was larger than specified. DosRios 19/2 analyzed her telescope camera images. The outline was indistinct, but no matter the projection level, the objective was too big.

The probe collated the data and sent it on.

“Confirmation?”

It was a simple security mechanism. If the target didn’t match expectations, the daughter probe had to verify it.

“Confirmation.”

DosRios 19 had passed on the command to her. She was part of her, even when separated by space. Mother and daughter had been designed together.

DosRios 19/2—daughter—activated the instruments. What radiation was emanating from the target, and at what intensity? How fast was it moving? How warm was it? She was a flying eye. The probe measured and measured, emitting a continuous but invisible stream of data.

An external signal. DosRios 19/2 wasn’t alone, but she recognized neither the encryption nor the sender. She could only discern one thing—that the sender belonged to the ESA. The probe didn’t know what that was, but she knew contact was only possible in an emergency, and this wasn’t an emergency signal. She analyzed its envelope curve. The random value was low, which meant the message was packed with data. The source of the external signal had a similar role to hers—it was collecting information.

DosRios 19/2 calculated the redshift. She knew her own speed, so she could calculate how fast the other probe was moving. The result was identical to the target within the acceptable margin of error. DosRios 19/2 drew a comparison. No, her destination and the sender of the signal were separate. Her target was also transmitting, just like any conductive body moving in a magnetic field, but it was only sending information about its state of motion. And random waste.

* * *

She was speeding up. That didn’t correspond to the requirements. She needed to brake to reach her target’s lower orbit. DosRios 19/2 increased the power of her thruster, which fired against her direction of movement. She sent out a status update—she wasn’t approaching the target as planned. DosRios 19/2 wasn’t afraid, since her thruster had reserves. But the rendezvous course she’d been instructed to take was becoming less and less likely. Although the target object was increasing in mass, it still had too little attractive force. She had to brake, not accelerate.

DosRios 19/2 calculated several course variants. Most of them were hyperbolic and would fling her out of the solar system. Yet the curve always ended at the same point, i.e., the nucleus of the target. The impact would destroy her, so she had to try to avoid it. DosRios 19/2 sent another status update to Earth. Whoever had programmed her might still have time to intercede. If DosRios 19/2 were able to understand herself, she wouldn’t have this hope. No power could stop her flight.

But she continued to fulfill her task. The target was blurred. It looked like a bird had landed in a pile of dog shit and then skidded forever. That was how Adam Smith would later describe it to his superior. DosRios 19/2 wasn’t aware of this—she only saw the data that described this picture perceived by a human consciousness.

The matter that was being flung out from her target appeared to be viscous. It stuck like honey to the target’s path, and it exerted a force that DosRios 19/2 wasn’t aware of because she had no gravimeter on board. It hadn’t occurred to anyone that they might need a gravimeter to explore an interstellar visitor, because gravity, the attractive force of mass, hardly seemed likely to reveal any surprises.

DosRios 19/2 had to make do with radar and various spectrometers. The radar showed that her target still existed. It was in the exact position the other probe was transmitting from. Maybe she’d meet it at the end of her journey. It would mean death for both of them, but DosRios 19/2 wasn’t alarmed. It was a simple fact—every existence was limited.

Her velocity continued to increase. The first temperature measurements were now coming in, but they didn’t make it past the input monitor. Some programmer had coded in plausibility checks. Whatever was too low or too high was discarded. At first, only every tenth value was discarded, then every third, then every second.

DosRios 19/2 ran out of values. She decided it must be an error. She always had this option. A very talented programmer had installed something like a superego in her to monitor the function of all components. It couldn’t manipulate them. But it could intercept and pass on the unprocessed data. It was better if Earth received raw data than none at all.

She sped up. The thruster was now useless because her course was a hyperbola. In her path lay something that was like herself. DosRios 19/2 defined two imperatives: first, collect data for as long as possible; and second, increase the likelihood of the continued existence of the transmitting object. DosRios 19/2 didn’t know exactly why she reached this decision, which her superego was responsible for. It possessed an efficiency algorithm from the Alpha Omega assembly kit for autonomous vehicles, adapted for robotic probes.

DosRios 19/2 sent out a distress call, but she wasn’t calling for help. It was too late for that. Instead, it was a warning. A short time later, her own call came back. The other object must have captured and relayed it. DosRios 19/2 didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad sign. She didn’t have an evaluation unit because she was never intended to interact with humans.

But there were residues. Some parts of the autonomous vehicle program remained. The programmer responsible hadn’t thought it necessary to remove them. A vehicle in street traffic had to be able to anticipate the reactions of its human counterparts. DosRios 19/2 expected the other object would take her warning seriously. She’d also encoded her non-existent options. She couldn’t get out of the way, so she could only hope the other object would get out of the way.

DosRios 19/2 switched her thruster to stand-by. She’d use it at the last moment. Maybe she could still use it to dodge the comet—her target—and save her own life. The superego emptied her memory. On the final approach, there should be no additional risk of memory seepage. She sent a farewell signal to her mother probe, a simple sign-out. DosRios 19 didn’t need to reserve any more resources for her. Then she folded in her antenna to reduce her profile.

She received a position report. The message must have come from very close by, because it could only be from the other object. DosRios 19/2 calculated the position, which lay directly in her flight path. It clearly couldn’t move. DosRios 19/2 calculated three alternatives. With option number 1, she wouldn’t ignite her thruster at all. Both objects would have an 80 percent likelihood of being destroyed. With option 2, she would fire her thruster as planned. That would result in a 40 percent chance of survival for her and 5 percent for the other object. Option 3 involved firing her thruster at full power and emptying her oxygen tank. That would send her into a spin. DosRios 19/2 would then impact far above the nucleus, with certainty. The other object would have an 80 percent chance of survival.

40 versus 45 versus 80 percent. That was easy for the efficiency algorithm. DosRios 19/2 sent a sign-out confirmation to the strange object. The folded antenna was enough to transmit across the short distance. It was a gesture. Even a primitive system should be able to interpret that. Then DosRios 19/2 fired her thruster. It burned out within 12 seconds. She vented her oxygen tank. Suddenly she turned. She was heading past the comet nucleus. Something silver flashed below her. Her folded antenna registered a sign-out confirmation.

Then DosRios 19/2 crashed into a black rock.

August 23, 2026 – TU Darmstadt

“Have you heard?” Sylvia burst, skirt swinging, into the tiny office they’d provided for him. She smelled good. He recognized her signature perfume.

“What?” he asked.

“Science is publishing our discovery.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“Not only that! They’re arranging a press conference, together with us and NASA.”

“With us?”

“Bernhardt’s already on his way to Florida. But with NASA! Imagine that!”

He imagined three people on a stage. “Okay, what’s so exciting about that?” he asked.

“Well, if you don’t know, then neither do I.”

“Don’t be like that. I really have no idea.”

She scrutinized him. “You didn’t use to be so naive. If someone from NASA’s sitting with us on the podium, it means they want some of the acclaim.”

“You mean they’re planning a mission?”

“Finally you’re getting it. The moon landings were exciting at first, but now the TV networks don’t even show them live.”

“So how’s this supposed to work?”

“Don’t you watch the news? There are currently three astronauts in the Lunar Gateway. They could launch a fly-by mission to 67P, a little sightseeing tour. That would put the public in the mood for the upcoming Mars flights.”

“Upcoming. Good one. It’ll be ten years at least.”

“Exactly. They have to keep the taxpayer engaged.”

“And you got all that from the fact that someone from NASA will be sitting on the podium?”

“Wait and see. It’s at 5 p.m. our time. Shall we meet in my office?”

“I don’t have any other plans.”

“Did you get anywhere with that statite project?”

Karl blushed, but he had no reason to! “They promised to call me back, but they haven’t yet.”

“I thought it was something like that. Maybe they’ll change their minds after the press conference. You didn’t tell them anything about the details?”

“Of course not.”

“Really?”

“What do you take me for?”

* * *

“Ping.”

Karl looked up. That can’t be the reminder for the press conference yet. No, it was just after two. He should have set the computer to silent. Now it had wrenched him out of his programming trance.

It was a new email, an address at Green Bank Observatory.

“Hello Karl,” wrote Robert Millikan. “I’m burning the candle at both ends sitting at the antenna. I’m making up a little for the fact that I stole valuable observation time from a couple of colleagues so I could help you.”

Yeah, lay on the guilt. Bob was always good at that.

“As it turns out, I was able to see what our problem child was up to. The good news is, it’s still transmitting. I even received an interesting message. Unfortunately I couldn’t decrypt it. The sender was from the Alpha Omega domain. One of the company’s satellites must have been very close to Philae a couple of hours ago. Otherwise the little lander wouldn’t have been able to relay the communication. Suddenly it looks as though we’re not the only ones interested in the comet.”

Shit. That damned Neguun. He’d turned Karl down and then used his information. How rotten was that?

“I’m wondering how Alpha Omega knew something was going on there. If you have any idea, let me know.”

He should have known. If Sylvia found out he’d leaked any information, she’d be livid. Hopefully, Alpha Omega would keep operating discreetly. Then maybe his faux pas wouldn’t come to light. At least they hadn’t announced a press conference. What had their probe found? If only they could decrypt the code!

“I’m looking forward to your press conference,” Robert continued. “Will you be in Florida? Maybe you won’t read this till you land. If so, have fun and I’ll see you afterward online.”

As if! He was only a tiny cog in this machine. But Karl didn’t mind. Piras was welcome to wear the laurels.

* * *

Wait a minute. If he expanded the domain of the variables, the loop should...

His pants pocket vibrated. Shit. He’d lost track again. He’d even switched the computer to ‘Do not disturb’ mode. What was it now? An email from the Instituto de Astrofisica de Canarias. That must be Zetschewitz. Was he already calling in the favor Karl owed him?

Karl launched the email program.

‘You’ve won.’

Delete spam? No, wait.

‘News from 67P.’

He opened the message. It was from Dieter.

‘Hello,’ he wrote. ‘The OGS would have dragged everyone out of bed again tonight if I hadn’t taken precautions.’

Get to the point. What do you want, Dieter?

‘But luckily I anticipated this, and set it to only notify me. The object hadn’t strayed this time, but only because the algorithm is already taking the mass increase into account, which, by the way, seems to be proceeding exponentially. I don’t need to explain what that means, do I?’

You don’t, Dieter. Zetschewitz was quite full of himself, but he seemed to be a good scientist.

‘So, what the OGS registered was a sudden increase in brightness from 67P. There must have been an explosion or a collision. The measurements don’t show precisely what it was. The OGS only looks at the object every thirty minutes. The result is a dust cloud that has now increased 67P’s brightness near the sun. But it dissipated again within a few hours.’

Pity. So employing another, more powerful telescope wouldn’t achieve anything.

‘I don’t know much about comets,’ Zetschewitz continued. ‘Maybe this type of activity is normal. But if the information is useful to you, I have no problem with you mentioning my name when you publish.’

Karl stiffened. Had he told Sylvia to mention Dieter? Hopefully it wasn’t too late. But he mustn’t be distracted. An explosion on 67P—that must have something to do with the Alpha Omega probe. He compared the data. Philae had received a signal, and then a few minutes later the telescope on Pico del Teide had registered the change in brightness. Maybe it was some kind of farewell message? Karl searched for alternatives. The foreign probe could have fired at the comet to determine its composition, but then the one-off communication made no sense.

He had to write a program. Maybe a simulation would reveal more. He knew the approximate data from the statite probes, and he could also estimate how large a dust cloud had to be to cause a brightness increase the OGS would register. That should be enough to reconstruct what happened up there.

* * *

Shit. It was already five past five, and the program still wasn’t finished—the problem was surprisingly complex. He usually enjoyed that, but today it was a problem.

He opened the NASA site. The press conference would be broadcast on the agency’s online channel. Someone at ESA was probably mighty pissed right now that their U.S. counterparts were once again claiming all the credit. But Piras and Science must have had their reasons for choosing NASA as a partner. Karl followed the news, of course. NASA currently had an Orion capsule in orbit around the moon. It didn’t seem impossible that this orbit could be widened enough to pay a visit to 67P.

The conference was already underway. The Science Editor in Chief was praising the professor for his ground-breaking work. Karl still didn’t envy Piras, who’d just spent ten hours sitting in an economy-class seat, and had another ten-hour flight ahead of him. And he was the one who would have to petition for research funding from industry. It helped if the CEOs had already seen his face on TV.

Piras was now explaining the contents of their release. Very few viewers would understand the scope of Piras’ announcement. A substance was pouring out of a comet, the most plausible explanation for which was dark matter—but, to date, no one could say for sure what dark matter consisted of. After the presentation, the journalists flocked around and asked about the Philae transmitter. The story of the long-lost son seemed to fascinate them. But then it was the scientists’ turn. Surprisingly, Piras was able to answer their questions without faltering much, even though he was just a meteorologist. Sylvia must have prepped him well.

About half an hour after the start of the event, when the journalists were already switching off their recording devices, the NASA administrator, who had sat silently on the podium the entire time, approached the microphone.

“I have another announcement to make on behalf of NASA,” he said. “As you know, there’s currently an Artemis crew in the Lunar Gateway, waiting to land on the moon. Given these extraordinary circumstances, we’ve decided to adjust our program. Our astronauts will decouple their Orion capsule from the Gateway and adjust the eccentricity of their orbit such that they can observe events on Comet 67P/Churyumov-Gerasimenko up close.”

The journalists leapt up—even Karl couldn’t stay in his seat. That was a great idea! Who knew how long Philae would continue sending data? An independent confirmation of their findings—that was just what they needed now. Screw the statite project, with its tiny CubeSats. Screw Alpha Omega.

Karl sat back down. Thinking about that company quashed his enthusiasm. What about the data that Zetchewitz had sent him? Alpha Omega had presumably sent a secret probe to 67P and lost control of it. Was that due to incompetence? No one could send satellites into space as cheaply and reliably as Alpha Omega. So... he had to assume that 67P itself posed a risk.

Or not? He should warn the others. But then he’d have to admit how unprofessionally he’d behaved. And he had no proof. No, first he needed to finish writing his program. Anyway, who was to say 67P would pose as significant a risk for a large space capsule as it would for a CubeSat probe the size of a shoebox? Maybe the automated controls had simply lost their overview. That would never happen to an experienced astronaut.

Karl switched off the broadcast. He wiped the sweat from his brow and sat back down to his program.

* * *

There was a knock at the door.

“Not now,” he called out, but Sylvia wouldn’t be deterred and stormed into his mini-office. He just knew she was about to ask, ‘Did you see that?’

“Did you see that?”

Karl laughed. He still knew her pretty well. “That was a solid performance from your boss.”

“True. But what NASA’s planning, what do you think about that?”

“Honestly?”

“Of course.”

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” he said.

“What could be smarter than taking a closer look? That will get us the Nobel Prize in no more than two years. Do you realize that?”

If the Orion capsule with the astronauts didn’t go missing. What was the best way to tell her?

“Approaching an active comet like that isn’t without risk,” he said. “Remember Rosetta?”

“But the technology’s twelve years newer. That’s two spaceship generations.”

“And what if 67P is dangerous? We still don’t know what it’s actually emitting.”

“Philae’s been sitting in the middle of the stuff for who knows how long, and it’s doing better than ever.”

“But the lander’s a machine. NASA wants to send people there!”

“The people will be sitting in a machine, too, and they’re pros. What’s gotten into you, Karl?”

Should he tell her? No.

“You’re right,” he said. “I’m just a little too anxious sometimes.”

August 23, 2026 – Lunar Gateway

Livia pushed herself off from her seat and rolled herself into a ball. “No, really?”

“Yep, really. And I’m really, truly sorry,” said their CapCom, Luna, “but there’s not going to be a moon landing.”

“I don’t want to question the infinite wisdom of the administration—”

“Dave, drop it. The decision’s been made,” she ordered.

“Without consulting us?”

“You’re an old hand. No one knows better than you that the final decision lies with Mission Control. I can’t do anything about it.”

“It’s not your fault, Luna,” Daniel said. Nothing had changed for him, but were he in Livia and Dave’s place, he’d be pissed, too. Especially if it was his last flight, like it probably was for Dave.

“And what’s this chunk of rock you’re sending us to instead?” asked Dave.

“That’s the spirit,” said Luna. “It’s a comet. 67P/Churyumov-Gerasimenko.”

“I remember. The Europeans put a probe on it sometime last decade.”

“That’s right, Dave. It was quite a sensation back then. But what’s waiting for you there now is ten times more exciting.”

“Hey, you sound like the moderator on Travel Channel,” said Livia.

“Well, at least I’ll have options when you don’t want me as your CapCom anymore.”

“Don’t take it personally,” said Livia. “I decided when I was six that I wanted to walk around on the moon and wave back at the child insomniacs on Earth.”

“I’d be disappointed, too,” said their CapCom. “But, take another look at the material about 67P. It’s an exciting destination, even if it doesn’t measure up to the moon.”

“The administration seems to think it’s even more interesting than the moon,” said Daniel.

“Evidently,” said Luna. “It’s about dark matter, after all—a phenomenon scientists have been searching for in the halo of the Milky Way. And now it’s practically flying through our front yard.”

“And it’s not dangerous to us?” Livia asked.

“The experts assume—”

“Assume? Should we be that unconcerned?” Dave interjected.

Lune sighed and started over. “The experts assume it won’t cause any problems. Dark matter only interacts through gravity. There’s no mysterious radiation or anything like that.”

“Yeah, right. Okay, so is there a concrete mission plan yet?” Dave asked.

“No. The idea only seems to have existed since yesterday. Everyone here at Mission Control is frantically trying to come up with a plan. But the basic idea seems to be to go into an extremely elliptical orbit.”

“With the whole Gateway, or just the Orion capsule?”

“I assume you’ll be in the capsule, maybe the HLS, or both. The Gateway would probably just be dead weight. But don’t take my word for it. That’s what the experts are trying to figure out.”

“Understood, Luna. Thanks for your patience.”

“Of course. I’d be going crazy in your situation. First the delay because of Alpha Omega, and now this complete change of plan—”

“Flexibility is one of the selection criteria for astronaut training,” said Dave.

“And when’s it supposed to happen?” Livia asked.

“Tomorrow at the latest. The comet won’t wait. The best time window for a rendezvous is in a couple of days.”

“Will we be able to land?”

“The gravity on 67P is too low. It’ll be a brief encounter.”

“So why all this effort, Luna?”

“They must be hoping you can bring back a bit of the matter that seems to be issuing from it.”

* * *

“How do you feel about this?” asked Dave. He was a good captain, always looking out for his sailors.

“If you’re with us, then I’m not worried,” said Daniel.

Livia punched his shoulder, and the momentum pushed them apart. “Daniel’s right. With you on board, nothing can go wrong.”

“That’s nice of you, but I’m not Superman. If Mission Control makes a mistake, I won’t be able to iron it out. Out there, we’ll be on our own. So if someone doesn’t want to come for personal reasons, I’m sure I can arrange for you to stay in the Gateway for the duration.”

“To die of boredom, while you get your hands on dark matter for the first time?” asked Livia.

“As the caretaker of the Alpha Omega tourists, of course,” said Dave.

“Oh, what a nightmare. I’d almost forgotten,” said Livia.

“Hopefully they won’t get in our way,” said Daniel.

“I’m sure the administration will keep Ihab Chatterjee’s school excursion at a distance,” Dave assured them.

August 24, 2026 – SpaceShip SS1

“Jenna? I finally got through to you,” said Brandon.

“Sorry. I was on a plane. How are you?”

“I’m bored. I never thought I’d get used to floating weightlessly in space so quickly. Where are you?”

“In Florida.”

“Oh, you are? I thought the press conference was canceled.”

“It was. But there was another one. Don’t you watch the news ?”

She was right. He should recheck the news. He’d been watching one Simpsons episode after another since yesterday. It had become like an addiction.

“Brandon?”

“No, no news. What happened?”

“A couple of scientists found indications of dark matter on a comet. Now NASA wants to redirect the latest Artemis expedition there.”

“Insane. Dark matter? That sounds like something out of one of my books.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. The Hole or something.”

“That was about a black hole, not dark matter.”

“Sounds similar.”

“Only a journalist would say that.”

“Hey, who beat you three times in a row at Trivial Pursuit?”

Oh, the darkest moment of his life, and also the brightest. They’d been at a media event, and one of the speakers had canceled, so they’d had to while away two hours in a dreary congress building. A photographer had brought Pocket Trivial Pursuit with him, which four of them had played together. Jenna had known so much that he’d had no choice but to fall in love with her. And he’d only played because she asked him so nicely.

“Brandon?”

“Sorry, I was thinking about Trivial Pursuit.”

“I see.”

Jenna smiled. She always understood him, which was almost frightening. Recently he’d been trying to test her limits, although that was probably a bad idea. It was good to be understood. Previously, he’d had no idea what that was like.

“Brandon?”

“Yep, I’m here.”

“That’s good.”

“Are you flying back today?”

“I wanted to talk to a couple more people from NASA, and after that I have an interview with one of the scientists.”

“Then say ‘hello’ from me. Maybe he’s read one of my books.”

“He’s actually a meteorologist, not a physicist.”

“Hey, meteorologists read them too!”

“Fine, I’ll ask him. And you?”

“It’s going to get interesting tomorrow.”

“Why’s that?”

Shit, he’d let it slip. And to Jenna of all people. Although, given that she was the only person he spoke to, he couldn’t let it slip to anyone else.

“Brandon?”

“Where were we? How’s the weather in Florida.”

Jenna laughed. “Okay then, tell me tomorrow. Have a nice evening with Sophie.”

“She’s quite different from my first impression of her.”

“Good for you. She leads a wild life, if the magazines are to be believed.”

“No details.”

“I don’t remember them, anyway. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”

“Bye, Jenna.”

August 24, 2026 – TU Darmstadt

Karl yawned. It had felt strange walking barefoot through an unfamiliar house whose inhabitants were still asleep. An observer might have thought he was an intruder. He’d been unable to sleep, so he’d left the guest room and gone to the university.

Now, he was freezing. He should have worn socks and shoes instead of sandals. The weather report for today had promised a warm late summer evening, but the night had turned chilly with a clear, starry sky. A row of lights, 60 SpaceLink satellites, was moving across the firmament like a string of pearls. They’d been launched by Alpha Omega, just like the probe that must have crashed into Comet 67P yesterday.

He’d launched the simulation last night. It must be finished by now. What had happened up there? He couldn’t rest without knowing, especially since finding out that NASA wanted to send astronauts there.

* * *

“Where were you this morning?” asked Sylvia.

“I couldn’t sleep, so I went back to work,” replied Karl.

“You missed out. Johannes made his amazing blueberry pancakes.”

Yeah, it would have been great breakfasting with his ex-wife’s new family. Karl had to smile, as the idea seemed so absurd. He should have taken a hotel room.

“Was the early start worth it, at least?” asked Sylvia.

“Yes, that’s why I asked you here.”

His program had prepared the simulation as a short video. He clicked on the start button. A small point approached a larger one, diagonally from below, and the smaller point changed color.

“The redder it gets, the faster it’s moving,” Karl explained. “You can see the simulation’s margin of error here at the edge.”

The two points met. They disappeared and were replaced by a cloud, which slowly spread out.

“What is it I’m seeing? Did you simulate the approach of the NASA ship to 67P?”

“I hope not. That’s an Alpha Omega probe approaching the comet and crashing into it.”

“Alpha Omega? What have they got to do with it? They’ve only known about our discovery since yesterday. How could they have sent a probe there so quickly?”

“This data is from yesterday, Sylvia.”

“Then I don’t understand.”

“I... I made a mistake. Alpha Omega found out from me that something’s going on up there. I was trying to find a way to take a closer look. I couldn’t have guessed NASA was going to come to the party.”

“And you commissioned Alpha Omega? Without asking me, let alone informing me?”

“No, I didn’t know what they were planning. I just asked them if they could help me. Which they flat-out refused.”

“But obviously, only ostensibly. And how do you know this?”

“A former intern who works at the OGS in the Canary Islands sent me the data.”

“And why don’t I know anything about this? What else have you forgotten to report to me?”

“I... Nothing. I’m sorry.”

“That doesn’t help me, Karl. I thought we were a team, like we used to be. That only works if there’s trust.”

“I only wanted us to be successful.”

“And you think I didn’t? Shit, Karl! You really disappoint me.”

“I’m so sorry, Sylvia. I would have—”

“This is going nowhere. Show me your simulation again. I don’t think I understand what the problem is.”

That was typical of Sylvia. When it was about work, she could quickly put personal problems aside. If only he had that ability! She could probably collaborate with the biggest jackass. Well, yeah, she was certainly doing exactly that.

He pressed the play button again. The small point rushed faster and faster toward the bigger one.

“Am I right in assuming the probe didn’t get brighter?” asked Sylvia.

“Exactly.”

She was on the right track. “So at the end of its flight, it was constantly increasing its speed without using its thruster,” she posited.

“Correct,” he said. Karl skipped to the last few frames. “Only here, just before the end, it gets noticeably brighter,” he said.

“It probably tried to brake there,” Sylvia guessed.

“But there’d be no point,” Karl replied. “At that speed, it was clear it wouldn’t make a difference.”

“Maybe... some kind of protective mechanism that always kicks in under those conditions?”

“Space probe control software isn’t that dumb anymore—especially not Alpha Omega’s. They update their probes every two months.”

“But you have a theory, Karl.”

“Yes. Robert Millikan at Green Bank Observatory intercepted a communication with Philae. That must have been shortly before the collision.”

“What was the content? And didn’t you say you weren’t hiding anything else from me?”

“But you knew Millikan was helping us. Unfortunately, we couldn’t decrypt the contents. But I assume the probe had somehow noticed our lander and tried to save it at the last moment.”

“How noble! Could it be that you’re just anthropomorphizing the technology?”

“No,” said Karl, “you obviously don’t know it, but it’s a normal part of common security protocol to try to avoid collateral damage. If a probe knows it’s going to be destroyed, it does everything it can to not damage other values.”

“Values?” asked Sylvia.

“Whatever—technology, humans, information... There’s an evaluation algorithm that simplifies the decision. So the probe wasn’t being nice. Just efficient.”

“It’s about what you do, not why?”

“Strange. When I used to give you flowers, it made a big difference to you whether I thought of it myself or if you had to prompt me.”

“That’s different, Karl, but we’re digressing. Then what does your simulation tell us?”

“You said it yourself—the probe’s speed increased even though the thruster wasn’t firing.”

“You mean because it was being pulled in by the comet?”

“Yes. By 67P, or by the dark matter that’s spreading out there.”

“And you think that could be dangerous?”

“I don’t know. The Alpha Omega probe was no bigger than a shoebox. It wouldn’t have had a very powerful thruster. It can’t be compared to the Orion capsule. But NASA should know about this.”

“Fine. I’ll let my contact there know.”

There was a knock at the door. It opened and a young woman poked her head in. “Professor? The journalists from the newspaper are here. They insisted I fetch you.”

“Thank you, Maike. I’m coming.”

“Which newspaper?” asked Karl.

“Best you don’t ask.”

Sylvia stood up to go. She waved to him from the door and left the room. At that moment, the exhaustion hit him. Karl put his arms on the desk and his head on his arms and fell asleep.

August 24, 2026 – Lunar Gateway

Mission Control needed them to hurry. They’d been shuffling provisions and equipment back and forth for hours. The crew capsule in which they were going to visit 67P needed to be as light as possible, but still able to carry enough provisions for a week-long voyage. Their predecessors from Artemis V had already prepared the HLS, but it wouldn’t be used now.

“That crate stays in the Gateway,” said Dave.

Daniel looked at the metal lid—cutlery and dried food. “Then why did I bring it out?” he asked.

“Not that one, I meant the one behind it.”

He took the crate back. At least everything up here was weightless. The other container also contained dried food, but no cutlery. They’d eat straight out of the packets on this trip. That used to be normal. The Apollo astronauts would probably think their modern counterparts were spoiled, wannabe adventurers.

* * *

“I just got some bad news,” Dave announced.

“What is it? Are we going straight home?” Livia asked.

“Not that bad. We have to go outside.”

Great. Going outside was an exhausting business. And he’d been out just the day before yesterday.

“Why? Another pointless visual check?” asked Daniel.

“No. They’ve realized the capsule’s tank isn’t quite full. We’re supposed to fill it with fuel from the landing module to be safe.”

“Then we can forget the lander.”

“Yes, Livia, we’re obviously not going to land on the moon anymore.”

“I was still hoping when we got back from the comet we could—”

“Forget it,” said Daniel.

“Who’s coming outside with me?” asked Dave. “We have to use a special hose that’s outside under an unpressurized hatch.”

“I was outside yesterday,” Livia remarked.

“And me the day before,” Daniel added.

“That was the day before the day before,” Dave corrected him.

“Fine, I’ll come,” said Daniel.

“I’m glad you’re so eager to come for a walk with me.”

* * *

“And? What did you want to talk to me about privately this time?” asked Daniel once they were outside on the Gateway’s metal hull.

Dave laughed. It was a full laugh, not mocking, and Daniel liked it. He wanted to stroke Dave’s cheek, rough from not shaving, but he probably wouldn’t appreciate it. Daniel would have noticed long ago if his captain was also gay.

“Nothing,” said Dave. “I just thought you could use some exercise. The doctor at Mission Control said your fitness has gotten worse.”

“What? Martin, the traitor, complained to you about my fitness? The man’s a doctor, and he smokes!”

“A good doctor, I’ve known him a long time. Do you think maybe you’re neglecting your training a little? I don’t want you getting osteoporosis.”

“So you did want a private chat.”

“No, I could have said that to you at dinner. But since you asked... Watch out!”

Daniel froze, just in time to avoid smashing the end of the hose against the Gateway’s sensitive long-range antenna. He put his hand in front of his helmet visor. It was dazzlingly bright because the large solar panels were reflecting the sunlight toward him. He was getting hot in his spacesuit.

“You go to the capsule,” said Dave, “and I’ll go to the HLS.”

“Okay.”

Daniel clipped his safety line on and pulled himself forward to the space capsule in which they’d arrived. The tank connector was on the back section, the ESM, which the Europeans had built. Solid tech, no question.

The hose jerked, the signal that Dave was in position. Daniel opened the covers on the tank and the hose, and then screwed the hose onto the tank using the giant retaining nut.

“I’m ready,” he said into the microphone. He checked again that everything was tight.

“Me, too,” said Dave.

“Activating valve,” said Livia.

The hose jerked again and then went stiff, as if it had produced an erection. Daniel bent forward. It looked like a layer of ice was forming on it, but that was impossible in the vacuum. Daniel groped in front of him.

“Don’t touch,” said Dave, as though he was watching.

His commander was right. The hose must be extremely cold. Touching it with his warm gloves wasn’t a good idea.

“How much longer?” asked Daniel.

“Thirty minutes,” said Livia. “The lower the pressure difference, the slower it flows.”

* * *

Daniel was sweating. Taking off the suit was more strenuous than the entire EVA. He hadn’t noticed until now how stuffy the air was in here. That was the advantage of a brand-new spacesuit.

“Can you help me?” Livia asked.

“Hey, I’m still standing here in my underwear,” Daniel replied.

“It’s warm enough. We need to get the suits into the capsule. They’re too bulky for one person.”

“All right, let’s go.”

Dave’s and Livia’s suits were attached to the wall. Daniel released the clips on Dave’s suit. He pulled it forward, turned it on its back, and pushed it head-first toward Livia.

“Got it,” she said. She caught the head section in both hands, pushed off, and slowly floated toward the capsule. She looked like she was transporting a corpse. “We need to get it through the hatch and then bend it in the middle.”

“Why do we even need them?” asked Daniel. “I thought we were just doing a fly-by?”

“Safety,” said Livia.

That was the reason for everything.

Dave was holding out a headset. “Daniel? I’ve got Mission Control here for you.”

“Put it through the speakers?” Daniel asked.

“It’s private.”

“All right.”

He floated over to Dave, took the headset, and put it on. “What is it?”

“Luna here, your CapCom.”

“Yeah, Dave told me. Has something happened? Is my mother sick?”

“No, don’t worry. We just have a small situation.”

“Which is?”

“We’ve recalculated everything. The mission to 67P is safer, the lighter it is. But there’s an unavoidable minimum mass per person.”

“We could go without the spacesuits.”

“Unfortunately not, Daniel. But if two astronauts fly instead of three, we’ll have a third less weight.”

He was supposed to stay in the Gateway. Great.

“You’re the largest and heaviest. It’s only logical that it’s you.”

“Why did you guys even bring me here?”

“Please don’t take it personally. Your role in the Gateway carries lots of responsibility.”

“Right. Twiddling my thumbs and watching.”

“No. You’re responsible for the safety of your friends.”

“If anything happens to them, I won’t be able to do anything about it. I won’t even make it back to Earth.”

“Nothing’s going to happen. And I’m sorry, but this decision is final. Please don’t make it more difficult than it has to be for everyone.”

August 25, 2026 – SpaceShip SS1

“Sophie, Emily, and I,” Kenichi said.

“Sorry?” asked Yunus.

Vyacheslav called from the WHC. “What did he say?”

“Sophie, Emily, and I,” repeated their host, “will fly to the moon with the Blue Destination lander.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” said Yunus.

“Before any rumors start circulating, I didn’t draw straws. It was a conscious decision. The moon is feminine in so many languages, but so far only one woman has visited it. I’d like to rectify that. We’ll triple the ratio.”

“That’s... noble,” said Yunus.

Brandon could see how hard it was for him not to show his disappointment. They heard nothing else from Vyacheslav. He probably wouldn’t come out of the bathroom until he’d calmed down. They all knew that KK was the boss. Don’t spoil the mood.

“Thank you, KK,” said Emily. She held onto the backrest of her seat and elegantly somersaulted, something which didn’t require much strength in zero gravity, but it required a whole lot of body control.

“I feel honored,” said Sophie. “You have no idea, Kenichi, what this means for my work.”

“And when do you go?” asked Brandon.

Three fewer people in the cabin—that would make for a comfortable few days.

“In two hours,” replied KK. “Before that I’d like to allow Sophie and Emily to say goodbye to their loved ones.”

* * *

“Tommy still doesn’t want to talk to me?” asked Sophie.

He couldn’t help listening in. Sophie was talking so loudly to her family that Brandon could hear every word she spoke.

“...”

She was wearing a headset, so he couldn’t hear the reply.

“Pity. Please tell him I love him and that I’ll never miss his birthday again.”

“...”

“What did he say to the teacher?”

“...”

“She’s an old bag. She’s had it in for Tommy since last year.”

“...”

“I’m concerned, too, obviously. But KK isn’t suicidal. If he’s going, that means it’s totally safe.”

“...”

“Yes, I will.”

“...”

Sophie laughed.

“...”

“Oh, Nicole, I really miss you, too. We should go to Leonardo’s when I get back.”

Was she in a relationship with a woman? Or was Nicole Sophie’s sister, who was now looking after her son? Sophie was the only one here with whom he’d had hours-long conversations, but he knew nothing about her private life, just like she presumably knew nothing about his.

“...”

“I think so, too.”

“...”

“Don’t be upset with me, love, but I still have to call Mom.”

“...”

“Love you, too.”

* * *

They looked stylish in their new spacesuits. Behind the reflective visors you couldn’t see their faces, which were red from five hours of pre-breathing exercises. It reminded him of the soldiers in Star Wars. They looked chic but were somewhat impractical, because you couldn’t read the other persons’ faces.

It wasn’t only the moon-landing trio who were wearing crew suits—he and Yunus were, too. The spaceship wasn’t designed to launch a moon lander. But its cargo bay was very spacious and had a large hatch, so they only needed one or two helpers to dispatch the lander into space. All they had to do was leave the cabin and go outside to enter the cargo bay.

“We’ll go out one at a time,” Kenichi instructed.

Yes, teacher. Their host often spoke to them like they were small children, but he was responsible for them. After all, he was the one who’d brought them here.

KK climbed into the airlock first. Two people could fit into it, but Kenichi didn’t want to take any risks.

“Next,” he said from outside.

It was Brandon’s turn. He opened the airlock door, put his head in, and climbed into the small, dark chamber. Someone closed the hatch. A red light illuminated, then went out, and a green one lit up on the outer hatch. KK extended his hand and helped him climb out.

The spaceship was huge. Brandon felt like an ant balancing on its back legs. He’d rather be down on all fours—that felt apt. He forced himself to breathe deeply. Then Yunus climbed out of the hatch. They coupled themselves to the same line, the end of which they attached to the hatch. Yunus held the pulley.

“It’s quite a ways down,” Brandon observed.

Yunus weighed the line in his hand. “Twenty meters should do it,” he said.

“It’s only twelve meters to the cargo bay,” said KK.

“Then let’s go,” said Yunus.

This was easier said than done. Brandon’s feet didn’t want to move. If he took a single step, he’d plummet into the depths. Just don’t let it show. They’d practiced this on one of their few training days. Topic: Leaving the spaceship in an emergency. They’d rappelled down a wall. He’d stood just as he was now.

“You okay?” asked Yunus.

“Sure.”

Brandon pushed a foot forward. He didn’t fall, but his body wouldn’t move. First he needed to scoot his back foot forward and then wedge the front one under the next bracket. It must look funny the way he was creeping down this tower of a spaceship, trying to maintain constant contact with the bare metal. Just don’t lift off.

It happened anyway, just before the cargo hatch. His left foot lifted off before he could put his right down. Brandon was adrift. He rotated his arms like a helicopter, but of course that didn’t help. It was a strange feeling. Shouldn’t he be terrified? At least panicked?

Brandon’s head was clear. The safety line attached to his back went taut. He turned around and saw Yunus waving to him. He’d managed to shove a foot under one of the metal brackets just in time. Even if he hadn’t and they both floated up, the line would have saved them.

The hatch opened, a black, oval mouth with silver teeth, the mechanisms that unlocked and sealed the heavy hatch at the top and bottom. Just three more steps and he was there.

* * *

The cargo bay’s cylindrical form revealed the surprisingly simple structure of the ship, essentially a thick metal pipe, narrowing to a point at the front. This shape didn’t require any struts as the walls were strong and solid. And they were made of an element that humans had known for a long, long time: iron. Alpha Omega hadn’t chosen carbon fiber composite or expensive titanium alloy, but steel, a material that could handle all conditions, from the coldness of space to the heat of landing in a dense atmosphere. It meant SpaceShip SS1 could brake and land in Earth’s atmospheres as well as Mars’.

“Not bad,” said Yunus. “We’re traveling in a giant metal bottle.”

“Good metaphor.”

“KK and his friends should have given us a tour before the launch. It would’ve given us more appreciation for the ship.”

“But then we’d have seen the lander too soon.”

“That’s true,” said Yunus. “So why aren’t we just landing with the whole ship?”

“It would use too much fuel. I had to calculate that for one of my books. Bringing the entire mass of the ship to a standstill would have—”

“Brandon, Yunus, are you coming?”

Three people in spacesuits had appeared in the hatch. The two smaller ones must be Emily and Sophie. The taller one was KK. He pointed at the lander, on which the Blue Destination insignia stood out in gold.

“Pretty small,” said Yunus.

“At least it’ll fit through the hatch,” said KK. “I suggest we don’t waste any more time. We’ll get in, and then you can maneuver us outside.”

“Do we have to pay attention to anything in particular?” asked Brandon.

“The main thing is throwing us out. The lander will then orient itself. The whole flight proceeds automatically.”

“Okay.”

“Does anyone want to say anything?” KK asked.

“I hate goodbyes,” said Sophie.

“See you soon,” Emily said.

* * *

The three of them disappeared into the lander five minutes later.

“Shall we close anything from outside?”

“No, silly, please don’t, or we won’t be able to get out,” Kenichi replied.

“It would be an interesting experience, though,” said Sophie. “First the long journey, then sitting around contemplatively without being able to set foot on the surface—”

“Don’t listen to Sophie. She’s obviously just had too much oxygen,” said Emily.

The passengers seemed to be fine. Brandon reached for one of the three legs and nodded to Yunus. “Shall we?”

“Let’s do it,” said Yunus.

Yunus grabbed hold and grunted, but nothing happened.

“You can’t lift your foot,” said Brandon. “The lander has too much mass. We can’t do it.”

“But what about zero gravity?”

“Microgravitation. But that only applies to the gravitational mass, not the inert mass.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re altering the lander’s state of motion, and its inertia’s working against it. That’s the same as on Earth.”

“But that means we’ll never be able to do it.”

“Come over here. We have to wedge ourselves between the lander and the wall. Luckily it’s close enough. And the friction is minimal. Once we set it in motion, its inertia will carry it.”

“But the hatch isn’t at the same level as the floor.”

Yunus was right, but that wasn’t necessarily a disadvantage. Brandon looked at the lander. It had a landing base. On top of that was the thruster sitting in a metal frame, crowned by the round capsule.

“Look. Its center of gravity is above the middle,” Brandon observed.

“Good for it,” said Yunus.

“What happens if the lander sails toward the hatch, and then they decelerate the landing base?”

“It’ll tip.”

“Exactly, and it’ll tip forward, out of the hatch.”

“Ah, that’s logical. Then our work is done.”

“Can you hear us in there?” asked Brandon.

“Every word. Your work is done,” said KK.

“Not quite. We’ll move you toward the hatch, and then you’ll tip out into space. Just so you don’t wonder and get a fright. That won’t affect the controls, will it?”

“No. They can handle anything.”

“Good. We’ll start.”

They lay on the floor, braced their legs against the wall, and each of them grabbed one of the lander’s legs.

“And—go!” cried Brandon.

It was strange. Yunus was much bigger and stronger than him, but he still listened to him. Brandon exerted himself. His arm muscles had never been very well developed, but he gave it everything he had. All at once the lander was set in motion. It didn’t leave his hands, but he only noticed because he was now drifting past Yunus.

“You have to let go,” Yunus told him.

Brandon let go, but his inertia was still moving him just as fast as the lander. He should have thought of that. How annoying!

Yunus laughed.

“I have a slight problem,” said Brandon. He flailed his arms, but the floor was just out of reach. How was he supposed to brake? If he continued flying straight ahead, he’d sail directly toward the hungry mouth of the cargo hatch. It wasn’t the mouth of the ship, but the cosmos, that wanted to devour him. Shit. He shouldn’t be giving instructions to others. He couldn’t even take care of himself.

Something pulled at his back, and he hung motionless in the air. The safety line.

“Thanks, Yunus.”

The lander tipped before his eyes, as planned. Everything proceeded in total silence.

“Ouch,” cried one of the women over the helmet radio.

“We’re fine,” KK said immediately.

The lander somersaulted. The spinning momentum it had received from the barrier in front of the hatch was causing it to rotate slowly. The crew capsule was now below and the thruster above.

“Ouch! Shit!” he heard Sophie exclaim.

“I told you to buckle yourselves in,” Kenichi scolded.

Now he was the fussy teacher again. White vapor shot out of a jet on the side of the lander, a corrective jet working against the spin. The lander was already rotating more slowly.

“All right, we’re nearly there,” said KK.

The lander was now steady. From their perspective, it was hanging diagonally in space, but there was no preferential direction out there.

“Activating landing sequence,” said their host.

“Do you still need us?” asked Brandon.

“No. The computer will do the rest. Be careful climbing up.”

August 25, 2026 – TU Darmstadt

The small point raced toward the larger one, accelerated, impacted it, and evaporated into a cloud of pixels. Karl played the simulation again and again. He was sure he’d overlooked something. What was the focus of the simulation? The comet’s gravity. They assumed it had caused the speed of Alpha Omega’s probe to increase. That meant 67P must have become significantly heavier, apparently due to the dark matter spilling out of it.

Exactly what they should make of this was something the theorists would probably argue about for a long time. Were they seeing something that had always been there but was previously invisible for some reason? Or was this mass—which they believed they’d identified as dark matter—utterly new on the scene? It had to be. Gravity couldn’t be hidden—the mass couldn’t have been there before. Somewhere he’d read a speculative theory that it was flowing through 67P from another universe into theirs.

That was nonsense. It was more likely they were dealing with a white hole—the end of a wormhole—which matter could only exit. Maybe the wormhole had always been there, and until now, the other end where the matter was being sucked up had been moving through something close to a vacuum, since the amount of matter that had previously made it through had been too small to measure. And now the dark matter was being sucked up from some kind of conglomeration. The most unlikely objects were possible. Scientists suspected that star-sized objects made of dark matter might exist.

But that was pure fantasy. He had to stick to the facts. What had Philae revealed about the unknown mass? It was cold. Very cold. Very, very cold. But there was a problem—the cosmic background microwave radiation, which filled the entire universe almost uniformly at a temperature of 2.75 Kelvin. The dark matter could not possibly be colder than that.

Karl called up Philae’s data. MUPUS and CIVA had taken temperature measurements. What did the system documentation say? He remembered how he and Sylvia had worked through the night to hammer out the specifications, and how annoyed they’d been when a contractor hadn’t adhered to them and had pushed through what they thought was right. In any event, the temperature values hadn’t been their top priority. The error interval was around 3 to 4.5 Kelvin. That was too much, at least compared to the microwave background.

He picked up the phone. “Sylvia? Do you have a moment?”

“For you, always.”

He knew that was a lie, but he wasn’t about to argue. “I’m looking at some of Philae’s new data. Do you remember the temperatures?”

“Ice cold. That’s what made us think it could be dark matter, bosonic multi-quarks forming a BEC—”

“Yes, exactly. But temperature measurement isn’t exactly one of Philae’s strong points.”

“Too imprecise?”

“To check a couple of ideas I have, anyway.”

“Then we should take more accurate measurements.”

“That’s what I was hoping to hear. Any ideas?”

“Infrared? My first thought would be the JWST, but we won’t be able to get our hands on that.” The James Webb Space Telescope was NASA’s newest baby. Sylvia was right—the JWST was booked out for years due to the many delays in launching it.

“Doesn’t have to be infrared. Something in the millimeter range?”

“Do you think it has something to do with the cosmic microwave background?”

“I... Maybe, yeah.”

“But that’s an entirely different phenomenon,” she said.

“It’s just an idea.”

“A daft idea. Typical Karl.”

He considered hanging up.

“But wait, quite a few of your daft ideas have had a kernel of truth lately. You’ve got a track record. Maybe you should follow your instincts.”

“Okay, but how?”

“I know someone who knows someone who owes him a favor. At ALMA.” The Atacama Large Millimeter/submillimeter Array was a radio telescope that surveyed the sky in the millimeter wave range. That was precisely what he needed. Sylvia was the best.

“Can you give me his contact details?”

“Hmm. Leave it to me. I’ll write to Roberto myself.”

Her eyes lit up when she said the name. Didn’t something happen during one of her internships, before they met on the Rosetta mission? She’d told him in bed, in an almost yearning tone. He felt a brief rush of jealousy. But he had no reason to feel jealous. She was welcome to contact this Roberto. That was Johannes’ problem. Karl had never realized until now just how satisfying schadenfreude could be.

“But please don’t forget, will you? I know you’ve got a lot to do, but now there’s a human-crewed mission depending on our knowledge of 67P.”

And if that means you have to fly to Roberto in Chile, I’ll be especially pleased.

August 25, 2026 – Lunar Gateway

“Hatch closed,” said Daniel.

“Confirmed,” Dave replied.

“Deactivating coupling mechanism,” said Daniel. “One moment. The system needs the commander’s authorization.”

“Commander’s authorization granted,” Dave confirmed.

“Coupling disengaging. Mission Control, this isn’t going to work when the commander’s no longer on board. I’ll need increased permissions.”

“We hear you,” Luna said.

“Hearing isn’t enough.”

“Sure. But you know it has to go through the command level.”

“Can we continue?” asked Dave via the radio.

“Sorry, Dave. Of course.”

“Is everything disconnected?”

Daniel checked the display. Energy, air, wastewater, fuel, the Orion capsule was now independent.

“Everything’s sealed,” he said. “You won’t smell my farts anymore.”

“Oh, what a shame,” said Livia. “I’ll miss them.”

“Dave should be able to compensate. You’ll just have to stick close to him.”

“I don’t have a choice in the capsule.”

“It’s what you wanted.”

Daniel was now glad he didn’t have to fly to the comet. Mission Control estimated the mission would take several days, and the capsule was packed tight with provisions.

“Daniel?”

“Yes, Luna?”

“I’m just hearing that you automatically have full authorization once Dave is outside of helmet radio range.”

“Ha, did you hear that, boss?”

“Typical. When the cat’s away... Don’t make a mess, don’t touch my booze, and no parties with your friends!”

“What? I didn’t agree to that. They’re already knocking on the window. Hi, ET!”

“Don’t let them in. They just want to abduct and dissect you.”

“Yes, Dad.”

“I hate to interrupt,” Luna said. “But shall we continue?”

“You heard the teacher, Danny boy. She wants to continue.”

“Do I have to get out my cane?” Luna asked. “Kindly behave. It’s time for the first corrective maneuver.”

* * *

Daniel watched the capsule through the porthole. Its movements were hardly detectable, and the thrusters weren’t breathing fire. Everything happened slowly, elegantly, and in total silence. The Orion would use the moon when it needed to reduce its speed. It would race close across the surface and then allow itself to be flung out into a very elongated, elliptical orbit. Its thrusters wouldn’t be able to help it if it didn’t pass close enough to the comet. The comet was the unknown factor, because it seemed to be changing its orbit.

Changes were something no mission planner liked. Space didn’t forgive mistakes, and every alteration made those more likely.

“Daniel?” said Dave.

“Have fun out there.”

“Switch from helmet radio to the low-gain antenna now.”

“Confirmed, Dave.”

Daniel pressed a button. Communication with the team out there would now proceed via the external antenna. Now they were really gone.

“Congratulations, Daniel!” Luna said.

“Congratulations?”

“On your first command. You’re now the commander of NASA’s Lunar Gateway.”

“Commander and only inhabitant.”

“That makes no difference. In your bio it’ll be listed as a command position. It’s bound to affect your next mission positively.”

Daniel smiled. They weren’t stupid. If he had to endure a week of boredom, then at least it was with good prospects at NASA.

August 26, 2026 – SpaceShip SS1

“How does it look out there?” asked Brandon.

“The moon is stunning,” said Sophie.

“But you’re not even there yet.”

“Still. It’s taking up a large part of our field of view. Imagine a vast desert hanging above you.”

“I’d be worried the sand was going to rain down on me.”

“A rocky desert, okay?”

“Fine, I’m imagining.”

“Now, picture it all at night.”

“Understood. It’s dark. I can’t see anything.”

“Exactly. Your eyes get used to the darkness. Suddenly, someone comes and turns on the light.”

“I’m dazzled,” said Brandon. He squinted.

“The light’s blindingly bright. All the mid-tones are missing. There’s only black and white, light and shadow. Twilight has been banished.”

“Fascinating.”

“Things merge with their shadows. The black is so complete that you can’t tell where a structure ends and where its shadow begins. Only where there’s light can you make out structures. They’re ancient and yet perfectly preserved.”

“I see them.”

“And do you know what the most incredible thing is?”

“Tell me, Sophie.”

“There’s no movement. The whole world appears frozen. On Earth, there’s always something moving. Your eye is accustomed to perceiving movement. Your consciousness automatically separates out what’s non-threatening. But here, everything’s dead. The moon is drifting past us like a diorama constructed billions of years ago.”

“But you know that the moon changes, too?”

“Yes, teacher. But we don’t notice it. I’m telling you what I’m seeing because you can’t be here with us, not what I know.”

“Thank you, Sophie.”

“I’m excited to find out what it’s like down there.”

“Pretty dusty, I’ve heard.”

“I wonder how my consciousness will come to terms with this dead world. No more movements in my peripheral vision for it to separate out. Will it maybe overcompensate?”

“None of the astronauts who’ve been on the moon reported anything like that. So you don’t need to worry.”

“James Irwin kept searching for Noah’s Ark afterward. But I don’t feel fear, just respect.”

“Respect never hurts.”

* * *

“I’m pretty annoyed with you,” said Jenna.

“I’m sorry. I really couldn’t say anything. KK wanted to keep it a secret until the last moment.”

“It would have been such a great story! But I can understand why KK wanted to keep it under wraps.”

“Why?”

“He was probably worried NASA might stop him. After all, they’ve got their own moon mission happening.”

“Had.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Is there any news from those guys?”

“Don’t you get the news up there?”

“I’ve been quite lazy lately and prefer to look out the window.”

“As you should. Enjoy the unique view. NASA’s Orion capsule is currently building up momentum for its flight to the comet. That was quite a clever chess move. The viewer ratings have gone up by twelve percent.”

“And KK’s moon landing?”

“Hardly anyone’s interested in what a super-rich Japanese billionaire’s up to. Bad luck for you, Brandon. It probably won’t help your sales.”

“Yeah. Unfortunately the numbers aren’t skyrocketing.”

“The best thing would be to write your next book. The comet would be a good subject.”

“You’re so good to me, Jenna.”

She laughed. “You can redeem yourself with exclusive information. Why would I bother sleeping with you if not for confidential information?”

“For my limitless wisdom and god-like body, of course.”

“Or your whacky sense of humor.”

“Fine. It doesn’t matter. The main thing is that you do. Do you have a suggestion for a title?”

“What about The Dark Hole?”

“That sounds a bit kinky.”

“I’ve got it! The Dark Spring would sound good. Mysterious and exciting.”

“I’ll take that, thanks.”

August 26, 2026 – TU Darmstadt

Sylvia must have made quite an impression on this Roberto. He’d sent the data 24 hours after she requested it. ALMA was an international project, so it was probably horribly complicated trying to get observation time. Who knew what kind of favors Roberto had to call in? Karl scrolled inquisitively through the forwarded message, but of course Sylvia had deleted all traces of private communication.

“Here’s the data you asked for,” was all that remained of what Roberto had written.

He should thank him, but there’d be time for that later. Karl opened the file and saw that it was raw data. He should have expected that, but he was still disappointed. He’d first have to do the calculations before he could look at the actual image. He launched the appropriate program. Then he looked at the clock and saw it was already after 6 p.m. It wouldn’t be finished today. He should probably just leave the program running overnight.

Karl switched off the monitor and stood up. Then he heard the pinging sound of an incoming message and figured it was probably spam. But was he really in such a hurry to leave? If he went now, he would dine with Sylvia’s new family again. But if he waited another hour, the kid would be in bed. Then he could go to the kebab shop and enjoy a delicious meal there.

The decision was easy. He sat down and turned the monitor back on. It wasn’t spam, it was from Robert Millikan. His old friend had sent Philae the same measurement assignment as last time. Good idea. He could use more friends like that.

Karl went through the data carefully. There seemed to be no change, which was reassuring but also disappointing. He believed the results from CONSERT were outliers. The instrument sent radio waves through the comet and measured their reflection. Last time, 67P had appeared to no longer have a nucleus. But now it was there again. Its density was a little higher than it had been 12 years ago, but that could be due to the natural process of outgassing that every comet was subject to. When it neared the sun, the lighter volatile substances were heated and carried off by the solar wind. Everything that was too heavy remained.

But then, why had CONSERT delivered different values last time? Maybe the impact of the Alpha Omega probe had changed something. A curtain of dark matter had been pulled aside. If that was true, then the substance could be influenced. If 67P continued to increase in mass, this could be important.

He closed the data file and thanked Millikan. He’d like to have a beer with him again. The evenings at Sylvia’s house were starting to wear him down. He should probably find himself a hotel.

The program reconstructing the ALMA images still needed time. He switched off the monitor again and left the office.

August 26, 2026 – Lunar Gateway

“Thanks. Our experts will be pleased,” said Luna.

Daniel had just sent Mission Control a heap of photos that he’d taken in the last few hours, showing the Shackleton crater at the lunar south pole.

“I have a new assignment for you,” said his CapCom.

“You’re trying to keep my spirits up with work?”

Luna hesitated. “I’ll be honest with you. The psychologists think it’s best if you have something to do. But it’s not pointless work. It’s just been reprioritized.”

“The psychologists. You mean Dr. Rutherford. She told me at almost every consultation that I tended toward depression because I was never particularly sad. I was just suppressing it, and that was supposedly proof.”

But it wasn’t true. He simply wasn’t able to feel genuinely sad. Where was the problem?

“Then you’ll be pleased that Cathy’s no longer responsible for you.”

“No?”

“She’s now assigned to the 67P mission.”

“I see. The two of them are flying farther into space than anyone’s ever been before.”

“Exactly. They’re farther from humanity than any other life form.”

Maybe. Wasn’t a research probe currently on its way to Saturn’s moon, Enceladus? Its subterranean oceans might harbor life.

“So, what’s the new assignment?” he asked.

“You have an instrument on board called GEND, the Gateway Exploration Neutron Detector, which detects water. It’s never been used. You need to unpack it, test it, and run the first series of measurements.”

“And when I’ve finished?”

“Then GOLA and LAMP are waiting for you. They’re also for finding water.”

“Sounds like fun. Why were they all mothballed?”

“None of the previous crews had time for them. They quickly landed on the surface, came back up, and then went home. The first international crews were supposed to operate the research instruments.”

“The ones that aren’t coming anymore?”

Luna sighed. “The Japanese are making noises. The Chinese want to, but the agency is skeptical. They’re even prepared to pay a lot, about the same amount as the former Russian contributions.”

“All right. I assume there are checklists for the instruments?”

“Yes, container 2A-T. You have to install GEND at the instrument port. You’ll find the tools in container... just a moment... 2A-C.”

“Thanks, I’ll find it.”

* * *

“Dave? You look tense,” said Daniel.

“Haha. I’m not used to the acceleration these days. Short burn to readjust our course.”

“More than one g?”

“Zero point eight g.”

Daniel laughed.

“Yeah, you can laugh,” said Dave, forcing the words out. “We’ll see how you feel when we land back on Earth.”

“How are things at your end?” asked Livia.

She sounded more relaxed than Dave. She must be in better shape, but she was also 20 years younger.

“Mission Control is piling on the work. But of course it doesn’t make up for your absence. Just the feeling of getting into a completely dry shower that no one’s used, then this awful, neutral-smelling air—”

“I can tell you’re missing us a lot. Even the ventilation system seems to be missing us.”

“That’s true. The air no longer smells of Dave’s farts. It now has a wonderful oily, sweaty aroma, like in the worker’s quarters on an oil rig.”

“How do you know what those smell like?”

“It’s what I imagine they smell like.”

“I envy you the shower. We’ve only been stewing in our own sweat for a day, but it feels like weeks to me.”

“Aren’t you using those amazing alcohol wipes?”

“I tried to squeeze them out to put a bit of turbo in my tea,” said Dave. “But the stuff evaporates too fast.”

“I’m afraid that’s not even ethyl alcohol.”

“Then they’ve cheated us out of another harmless pleasure.”

“You two are pathetic.”

August 27, 2026 – SpaceShip SS1

“Congratulations,” Brandon cried into the microphone.

It was a wonderful moment. Sophie was officially the second woman on the moon. It was no Armstrong moment, though. Sophie didn’t give any kind of speech that would go down in history books. She’d just jumped off the second rung of the ladder into the moon dust and whooped.

He felt compelled to shout, too, because Sophie was the first person he knew to set foot on the moon. It was something special, and he was a witness. Most people on Earth wouldn’t find out until the evening news.

“Thanks!” cried Sophie. “Who was that congratulating me?”

He, Vyacheslav, and Yunus all replied. They were all following the moon travelers’ adventure on their screens. Blue Destination knew what was needed and had equipped the lander with all sorts of camera technology.

“Come on, you two. Let’s take a stroll!” said Sophie.

“We agreed that—”

“Don’t be a spoilsport, KK. You can’t force Emily to just watch us while we enjoy ourselves out here.”

“Fine,” said Kenichi, and made way for her on the ladder.

The hatch opened behind him immediately, and a small person in a white Alpha Omega spacesuit stepped out. She pushed herself off, did a somersault over Kenichi, and landed on her knees behind Sophie.

“I asked you not to—” said KK.

“Nothing happened,” said Emily. “See? The suit’s amazingly flexible.”

It was like a school trip. How would the first people to set foot on the moon, who’d had to risk their lives to do so, have reacted to this scene? Would they have been glad that a flight to the moon was now almost commonplace? Or would they have disapproved of these flippant tourists?

Brandon was glad not to be responsible for safety down there. KK was probably sweating. The new suits were dependable, but the vacuum on the moon was just as deadly as it had always been.

“Sophie, Emily, it is a little dangerous on the surface. There could be sharp rocks that you can’t see under the thick layer of dust,” said Brandon.

“Yes, Daddy,” replied Emily.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you.” He couldn’t stop himself saying it, even though he felt that Emily was right.

“Don’t worry about us,” Sophie said. “We’ll be careful.”

August 27, 2026 – TU Darmstadt

Karl switched the monitor on, but nothing happened.

“No signal.”

He bent down. The computer was off. Shit. Who’d turned off his computer? Probably the cleaning lady. He should have stuck a note to the screen. The computer started up with a rattle. Apparently it still had a real hard disk. As a guest, he wouldn’t have been given the newest model.

Finally the computer was running. He was in luck! It must have been switched off after the program had already finished. The images were there. There were several, more than several, in fact, taken at intervals of 18 minutes over about four hours. The field of view was the same in all of them. When he switched between them, 67P jumped a little further along.

Karl centered the first image on the comet. 67P reminded him of a tadpole, drawn by someone with a penchant for the color red. The color’s intensity increased from the outside in. The tail was a yellowish-orange, and toward the nucleus the color became a deep orange, then red. Right at the front of the comet was a dark red, bloodshot eye. Karl zoomed in on it. The seemingly continuous coloration of the surfaces, in which the intense microwave radiation was encoded, condensed into distinct stripes. He’d reached the resolution limit at this zoom level.

The eye grew but showed no detail. At the highest magnification it took up an area the size of his fist on the screen. Hmm. It reminded him of a hole. It was surrounded by a black area from which it could have been punched out, except that edges were strangely frayed. Was that a resolution problem? Probably.

Karl pushed his chair back, put his arms behind his head, and stretched out his legs. Comet 67P/Churyumov-Gerasimenko had a hole in the millimeter range where the cosmic background radiation should be visible. Did that have something to do with the CONSERT data? Was the strange matter they’d found somehow shielding radiation? Or only certain frequencies? What did that mean?

When did you not see what had to be there? When there was something in the way. That was shielding theory. But what if that which had to be there really no longer existed because it had been sucked away? That sounded insane. Not only had they postulated a dark matter spring, but now he was also seeing a deep sink in the cosmic background radiation. Two completely new astrophysical phenomena? No one would believe him!

Nevertheless, he should probably tell Sylvia.

* * *

“I have a new theory,” he said.

“Oh,” said Sylvia.

“Oh?”

“Can we discuss it tomorrow? It’s not a good time.”

“But if I’m on the right track, the crew needs to know about it.”

“The crew?”

“You know, the astronauts on the Orion capsule.”

“Oh, of course. But they’re already on their way.”

“Did you pass on the results of my simulation?”

“I... Karl, I really don’t have time right now. The press lady is sending me a new journalist every half hour, I’m supposed to write a summary, the university wants information, and my head is about to explode. It’s really not the time for a new theory. We haven’t even properly figured out the first one.”

“But the crew needs—”

“What do you care about the crew? NASA’s responsible for them. They have it under control. But no one there is going to write the new paper we’re expected to produce.”

“Which new paper?”

“We can’t just rest on our laurels. This is our hour. We have to make applications for observation time, apply for research funding, I keep getting applications from amazing scientists from all over the world—”

“But the crew—”

“—the crew, the crew, can’t you say anything else? You won’t stop talking about them.”

“I... Okay. The crew has to be careful not to get too close to 67P. It looks to me like it’s significantly increased in mass.”

“But it’s still a comet, Karl. Even if its mass doubled, its gravity would be much lower than the moon’s. It’s not a black hole that’s threatening to capture the Orion capsule and never release it.”

“As far as I know, the Orion capsule is on an extremely elliptical orbit. It’ll pass the comet just before it reaches its major axis. That’s when it’ll be moving slowest. A small change at this point can cause a big change to the orbit. In the worst case, the capsule could leave its orbit and fly out of the solar system.”

“Then they’ll have to counteract it with their thrusters.”

“And if that means they don’t have enough fuel left to return to the Lunar Gateway?”

“Karl, I admit it sounds dangerous the way you put it. But we should trust NASA. They always build sufficient security buffers into their missions. That’s probably not the only potential event.”

“Can’t you at least warn them about the scenario I just described?”

“Then they’ll just say, ‘those Germans, those smart-asses, trying to tell us how to do our jobs again.’ Believe me, the most it will achieve is conflict. They know what they’re doing.”

* * *

Karl gave a heartfelt sigh. It would be a big mistake not to warn the crew. The astronauts needed to know what they were up against. Sylvia was being quite bitchy. He’d never known her to be like that. Was the success going to her head? Without him, this ball would never have started rolling, but now she didn’t seem to care about his opinion.

He had to reach the crew some other way. Could Millikan maybe radio them? No, that wouldn’t work, because he didn’t have the codes. What if he asked Alpha Omega? They had a big ship in lunar orbit. The Orion capsule had been built by the competition, but he would bet Alpha Omega had the codes, too. After all, they were firmly integrated into the space station because of their supply runs.

But the only person he knew there was Neguun—the very person who’d just double-crossed him. No, that was out of the question. His only chance was that he might know someone who knew someone at NASA. He’d send out an email.

August 27, 2026 – Lunar Gateway

“No focus. Check calibration.”

He’d been getting the same error message for half an hour. Daniel had installed the Gateway Orbiter Laser Altimeter exactly according to the written instructions. The instrument had a calibration mode with which it was supposed to regulate its own accuracy.

Daniel restarted the process. He’d attached the instrument to a small porthole. From there, it sent out a laser beam toward the lunar surface and measured the return time and strength of the reflection. That way, it could determine not only the distance but also the nature of the materials on the ground. NASA was hoping to get more information about the distribution of ice deposits in the craters. But first GOLA had to actually function.

“No focus. Check calibration.”

Shit. Daniel reread the manual. He knew he’d done everything right. He needed one of the experts from Mission Control. He floated over to the console.

* * *

“Daniel, can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Luna.”

“The specialists have an idea.”

“Great. Are they going to share it with me?”

“GOLA was designed as LOLA, for the Lunar Reconnaissance Orbiter. It was attached outside on the satellite there, not behind glass.”

“Opening the porthole could be a problem.”

“We agree, Dan. The calibration algorithm is supposed to be able to cope with the glass. It just needs to account for its dampening properties.”

“Shall I update the software? You should be able to adjust it.”

“Unfortunately, that won’t work. There seems to be a coordination problem. When building the habitation module, the manufacturer changed the type of glass because the original glass wasn’t resistant enough to cosmic radiation. But that increased the dampening so much that GOLA would have to operate outside of its specifications.”

“Let me guess. Nobody told that to the company that built GOLA?”

“Apparently so. We’ll figure out who was responsible. But, the thing is, you’ll have to take GOLA outside.”

“You’re sending me outside alone?”

“I know it’s unusual. But there’s no one there who can help you. And you’ve got experience.”

“Great.” Daniel was annoyed. Were they that quick to override their safety regulations? On the other hand, it would help pass the time.

“It’s not unimportant, you know. We need the data if we want to construct a base at the south pole at some point.”

“I understand. When is this EVA supposed to take place? You must have a plan?”

Of course they had a plan. Coming up with plans was what Mission Control did best.

“Tomorrow at midday. That means you’ll have four hours for the pre-breathing.”

Great plan. Four hours, on a Sunday. Oh, no, today was Thursday.

* * *

“What’s it like out there?” asked Daniel.

“Pretty disappointing,” Dave answered. “We could be leaping around on the moon. Instead, we’re following a chunk of ice, dust, and rock that you can’t even really see properly.”

“Are you still too far away?”

“No, but sometimes there’s a dark fog in the way. Mission Control thinks it’s the unidentified matter the thing is emitting.”

“They’re calling it ‘unidentified matter?’ I thought the scientists reckoned it was dark matter?”

“Yeah, typical of them. As long as they’re not sure of it, they won’t call it that.”

“When do you arrive?”

“Sometime tomorrow. We still have to make a few slight course corrections, but it’s all going according to plan.”

“I’m supposed to go outside tomorrow and attach an instrument on the Gateway.”

“Hey, they’re really keeping you on your feet.”

“Apparently it’s all terribly important.”

“Sure, Daniel, just like our flight to nowhere. I think I’ll hire myself out to Alpha Omega next. At least with them you know there’s a commercial interest behind every decision.”

“I thought you were retiring?”

“Astronaut trainer, they call it, but I don't know... I still don’t feel like I’m ready to be put out to pasture. With Alpha Omega I’d have a shot at a Mars expedition. They send the old guys first, because of the radiation exposure.”

“It would be a shame for NASA to lose you, Dave. I’ve learned a lot from you.”

“Thanks, Daniel.”

The connection dropped out. Daniel called up the Orion capsule’s course on screen. Two almost straight lines moved toward one another, met, and then continued on their separate ways. At least that’s what it looked like at this scale.

August 28, 2026 – SpaceShip SS1

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday—”

“What? Who’s that?”

Brandon tried to pull off his blanket, but it was caught on something. Where was the communicator when you needed it? And who was that singing so badly?

The blanket was covering the screen, so he tossed the blanket aside. “Jenna. Oh, it’s you.”

“Happy birthday,” she said.

“Don’t you dare reveal my age.”

“It’s on Wikipedia.”

“I try to ignore that. But thanks, Jenna. I haven’t had such a nice wake-up call in a long time.”

“And I was thinking Vyacheslav and Yunus would have made you breakfast.”

“Hardly. We emptied a bottle of vodka together last night. Slava brought it with him. I mean Vyacheslav.”

“Are you hungover?”

“I don’t think so.” Brandon unfastened his seatbelt, shoved off, and did a flip. His stomach didn’t complain. “No, I’m fine.”

“That’s good.” Jenna licked her lips. “You’ll get your present after you land.”

“Ah, my favorite kind of present,” he said, blushing.

“Yes, a cheesecake,” said Jenna. “But it’s cute that you’re blushing. As though you were only turning 18.”

“That’s how I feel. You keep me young.”

“Haha, you old ass-kisser.”

“Don’t call me old. It’s depressing.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know. I have to freshen up. CNBC wants to do a little interview. It’s not every day an author celebrates his 60th in space.”

* * *

Brandon floated toward the bathroom. Yunus was still asleep. Vyacheslav was lying unbuckled on his lounger, reading on a Kindle. The device had an old black-and-white screen. Vyacheslav waved at him without saying anything. They’d already wished him a happy birthday just after midnight.

“Keep your seatbelt fastened, even at cruising altitude,” Brandon said.

“Yes, boss,” said Vyacheslav, but didn’t comply.

Brandon’s communicator wanted his attention. His bladder was full, but he opted to check the screen in case the broadcaster had suddenly decided to move the interview forward.

He had 117 new messages, all birthday wishes, even one from Sarah, his ex-wife. His grown-up daughter, a few friends, and some shrewd fans were there, too. And his mother, of course, who was now nearly 95 and lived with his sister. He hadn’t cared about his birthday since he’d turned 21, but others did, so he’d humor them with thank-yous.

But not yet. He needed to use the bathroom. Now.

* * *

“Brandon, is space the way you’ve described it to your readers?”

“Yes, I feel like I researched it well.”

“And that’s what your novels are known for. So, no surprises at all?”

While the moderator was speaking, Brandon checked his image on the screen and gave Yunus, the cameraman, a signal. He didn’t want so much of his belly in the frame.

“I’m overwhelmed, John, again and again,” he said. “The Earth looks so tiny from here. And there are lots of details that make me realize how far away we really are. For example, these little pauses between the questions and answers. Did you know that light and radio waves take one point three seconds to reach me from Earth?”

“I didn’t know that. I was about to complain about the equipment.” John laughed. “Aren’t you sad not to be able to set foot on the moon? We just interviewed your fellow traveler, Emily, and she seems to be awestruck by all the impressions.”

“No, John, I’m happy for Emily, Sophie, and Kenichi. This kind of space voyage brings people closer.”

“And you’re not even a little bit envious? I think I would be.”

“I’m lucky in that respect—I never give in to envy or hold grudges. I think that makes life much easier.”

“That’s an interesting philosophy. You write very realistically about the way spaceships are piloted. If all the computers in the spaceship were to fail, do you think you could save the ship and fly home manually?”

“No, John, definitely not. It’s not like a pickup driving around a supermarket parking lot. Every step has to be planned, and the thrusters have to be ignited at exactly the right moment and for a precisely measured period and at the correct intensity. That was also the case with the first Apollo missions, except that the astronauts pressed the buttons themselves, not a computer. In those days humans were considered more reliable than computers.”

“Thanks for the explanation, Brandon. I can see Kenichi invited the right guy. I’ll wish you a happy birthday and hand it back over to the studio.”

August 28, 2026 – TU Darmstadt

Karl had finally had a decent night’s sleep. The hotel room was tiny, but it faced onto a rear courtyard and was blissfully quiet. Sylvia hadn’t understood his decision, but accepted it without drama. That was progress.

He checked his emails. One was from Neville, who knew a former colleague who’d worked on the team responsible for the radiometer instrument on the Gateway. His boss, Raúl López, probably had access to Mission Control, he said.

“I’ve already put in a good word for you with my ex-colleague,” wrote Neville. “And he owes me a favor. Can you please let me know what López needs to warn them about, and back it up with solid argumentation? I can’t promise anything, of course, but the odds aren’t bad.”

Karl looked at the date and saw it was already the 28th. Tomorrow was the weekend. He had no intention of spending it in his hotel room, but would Neville and his ex-colleague work through the weekend, too? He could only hope. At least he had a time-zone advantage when it came to communicating with Mission Control in Houston.

He quickly wrote the message and sent it.

August 28, 2026 – Lunar Gateway

It was no different from the first time. Daniel stood on the outside of the Gateway, sweating, looking across at the moon, which now felt like an old friend. The safety line was clipped on near the hatch. He’d also wound it around his arm, so it would be easier to pull himself back in if he accidentally lost contact.

Luna and the entire Mission Control team was following his EVA. “The airlock’s outer hatch is still open,” she said.

“I’d like to leave it open. Then I’ll be quicker getting back in.”

“That goes against safety protocol. We can’t risk a pressure drop in the Gateway.”

“But there’s no one else there.”

“Please, Daniel, safety first.”

“Fine.” He bent down and closed the hatch. “Satisfied?”

“Perfect. Now go to sector 3D and attach the instrument.

* * *

Daniel grunted. He was turning the screw, but the tool indicated it still wasn’t tight enough. One more time. He summoned all his strength. Finally.

“I think that’s it,” he said, standing up.

He suddenly felt dizzy. But he said nothing. It would only make Luna worry.

“Hey, your breathing is shallow, is something wrong?”

“How can you tell?”

“The oxygen concentration—”

“That must have been the cramped position I was in when I tightened up the screw.”

“I understand. Your values are normalizing again now.”

“Are you watching me day and night?”

“We don’t watch you in the bathroom, if that’s what you mean, but the system is constantly recording your vital statistics and reporting deviations.”

Daniel blushed. Luckily no one could see it. He hadn’t thought of that last night when he... had taken advantage of the fact that he was alone in the Gateway. But, the system definitely would have recorded his increased heart rate. So what? The doctors had probably seen it all.

“You still need to connect the instrument to the data port,” said Luna.

Oh, yeah. He already had the cable in his tool bag. He connected it to GOLA and then ran it to the port, a socket about two meters away below a porthole.

“Finished,” he said.

“Confirmed. You can come in.”

Finally. The spacesuit reeked more with each EVA. He bent over the hatch and attempted to turn the wheel. It wouldn’t move.

“I’m sorry, Daniel, but I’m afraid I can’t do that,” said Luna.

Daniel laughed. “What’s the problem, HAL? What are you talking about?” Of course he knew the classic film.

“I just wanted to see if I could provoke an increased heart rate,” said Luna.

Was she somehow aware of his relaxation technique? Daniel blushed again. “And? Did it work?”

“It was delayed, but yes.”

“Then you can release the hatch now.”

“Forgive me. Of course.”

He turned the wheel and the hatch opened.

* * *

“Daniel?”

“Yes, Luna?”

“There’s a problem.”

“Can it wait? I’m still in the HUT. Or do I need to go back out? Is GOLA not starting?”

“We haven’t tested it yet. This is urgent. There’s something you have to do immediately.”

Luna’s voice was flat. He’d never heard her like this.

“What’s wrong?”

“We lost contact with the Orion capsule a few seconds ago.”

“What? This must be a bad joke.”

“Unfortunately not. You have to contact the capsule from the Gateway immediately.”

“Okay. What shall I do, exactly?”

“The capsule communicates with the Gateway via the low-gain antenna, and the Gateway then transmits everything to Earth via the high-gain antenna.”

“Sure.”

“You need to aim the high-gain antenna at the Orion’s approximate position and try to make contact.”

“What do you think’s happened?”

“We have no idea. The best-case scenario is that their antenna failed.”

“And you’re hoping the Gateway’s high-gain antenna will still be able to receive something.”

“Exactly. Our RF experts say you can even pick up their helmet radio frequency with it.”

“Will I be able to talk to Dave and Livia?”

“Probably not. The helmet radio antennas aren’t sensitive enough for that.”

“But if I turn the antenna, I’ll lose contact with Earth.”

“Yes. There’s nothing we can do about that. But you’re the only one who might be able to tell us what’s happened to the Orion.”

“Okay. I’m at the computer.”

“Listen closely. You’ll try for half an hour to make contact, then contact us again. Good luck.”

“Okay, let’s do it. Which button do I press?”

* * *

“Lunar Gateway to Orion. Please come in.”

No answer.

“Lunar Gateway to Orion. Please come in.”

No answer.

“Lunar Gateway to Orion. Please come in.”

This was pointless. They couldn’t even hear him. Daniel went through all the helmet radio frequencies. Please, Dave, please, Livia, talk to me. Let us know you’re still alive.

But the receiver was silent.

* * *

“Luna?”

“Did you have any success?”

“Unfortunately, no. All quiet. Isn’t there some other way you can check if they’re okay?”

“We’ve already focused all available observatories on 67P.”

“Anything?”

“Nothing unusual. No sudden increase in brightness or anything.”

“Well, that’s good. That means there was no impact, no explosion.”

“Yeah, maybe it’s just a technical malfunction. But then you should hear something. The experts all agree on that.”

“I’ll try again.”

“Yes, please. Report back again in thirty minutes.”

* * *

“Still nothing,” said Daniel.

“We have a couple of ideas we’re looking into,” said Luna. “Wait a minute... An engineer from the RF team has something.”

“My name is Raúl López,” said a man with a slight Spanish accent. “I’m responsible for the radiometer experiment.”

“Will that help us?” asked a deep female voice.

That must be MOM, the Mission Operations Manager.

“It won’t, but I’m pretty sure we should be able to pick up the helmet radios with our large radio observatories. They’re much more sensitive than the high-gain antenna on the Gateway.”

“Charles? We need to check that right now,” said MOM, sounding energized. “Time to hit the phones.”

“And something else,” said López. “I have a warning here from the German research group that first captured the signal from Philae.”

MOM sounded furious. “Why haven’t I heard about this?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“That wasn’t directed at you, Raúl. What kind of warning?”

“Comet 67P is emitting a whole lot of dark matter.”

“We know that. That’s why we’re flying to it.”

“The German scientist says it might be too much already. Dark matter has a gravitational effect. It could accelerate the capsule so much that the thrusters won’t be able to maintain its intended orbit.”

“We’ve already established that the comet’s affecting the orbit, but that was far from being impossible to correct.”

“It’s possible that the concentration of dark matter increases dramatically when you get closer to the comet.”

“Okay, Raúl, I understand the concern, even though I don’t believe that’s our problem—at least I hope it’s not. But we never know what we might be up against. I need a direct line to this researcher in Germany. Charles, can you arrange that?”

“Yes, MOM, we’re on it, although it must be pretty late in Germany now. Raúl, can you send me the details?”

“They’re already in your inbox.”

“Did you catch all that, Daniel?”

“Yes. What a mess. We should have stayed in lunar orbit.”

August 29, 2026 – SpaceShip SS1

“Did you hear?” Jenna asked.

“Yes, all hell’s broken loose at NASA. I just saw the news.”

“You know what that means for me.”

“You won’t have much time for me today.”

“Not just today, my dear. The problem’s not going to solve itself in twenty-four hours.”

“Unless the Orion capsule makes contact.”

“Do you think it will? I find that hard to imagine.”

“Why? NASA’s assuming it’s a technical malfunction. If their radio system is defective, they could repair it.”

“I think they’re just saying that to reassure themselves. Something’s happened up there.”

“We’ll know more tomorrow at the latest. The capsule’s orbit is supposed to be much closer to Earth by then.”

“My dear Brandon, can I ask you a favor?”

“What?” He already thought he knew what Jenna wanted, but she was so good at persuading him he didn’t want to deny her the opportunity.

She opened her eyes wide and looked at him seductively. “If you hear anything, please let me know. Okay?”

“Of course. But I doubt I’ll hear anything you don’t already know. I’m much further away from the action here than you are.”

“Well, Mr. Science Fiction Writer wasn’t paying attention, was he? Out of eight billion humans, you three guys are the closest to the drama that’s currently playing out at the moment.”

“When you put it like that, I suppose you’re right.”

“See? I always am. How are those three on the moon, by the way?”

“They’re continuing their expedition. They come back the day after tomorrow.”

“Okay. I’ll call you again as soon as I can.”

August 29, 2026 – TU Darmstadt

The call came in just after he’d turned off the TV to go to sleep. At first he didn’t believe the man on the phone. Charles Dickens, yeah, pull the other one. As if NASA would call him, Karl Stoll, the smallest cog at the institute, after midnight on his mobile number.

But this Charles had referred to Raúl López, as well as Neville Youngs. How did they even get his number? Only five or six people in the world knew it. Dickens must have awakened at least one of them, or he had a direct line to the secret service, which probably had access to every registered phone number.

He shouldn’t get side-tracked. Dickens had given him a U.S. number that he was supposed to call from the institute. They urgently needed his expertise. When Sylvia heard about this, she’d have a fit. But was it a good idea to wake her and her whole family? They were asking for him, not her, even though he wasn’t the principal author of the paper they’d written together.

That gave him a feeling of gratification in the pit of his stomach—and a dash of excitement. If he dialed this number, he’d supposedly be put directly through to Mission Control.

* * *

“Ah, Mr. Stoll,” said a woman with a broad Texas accent, “I’m so glad you contacted me. May I call you Karl? I’m MOM.”

“Good morning, Ms. MOM.”

“Just MOM. It’s short for Mission Operations Manager. It’s evening here, but the time of day is largely irrelevant for us at the moment. I’d like to thank you for your willingness to advise us. We’ll take all the help we can get right now.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Karl, you’re probably the one who best understands the situation surrounding 67P.”

Karl nodded, immediately feeling like a bumbling fool and glad MOM continued without waiting for him to reply.

“What do you think is the most likely reason for the loss of communication? A hardware defect?”

“That can’t be ruled out. I’m no space technician, and I don’t know what the likelihood of that is. But the disruption happened when the capsule was approaching the comet, which tells me it’ll have something to do with 67P.”

“I’m following you so far. For us, it would be simpler if it was a technical fault. We know how to deal with that. But what’s happening with 67P seems completely new and unknown.”

“For us, too, MOM. We have some ideas, but those need to be verified.”

“Among those ideas, is there anything that could have disturbed the communication?”

“In principle, yes. One of the properties of the unknown substance is that it seems to shield electromagnetic radiation in certain frequencies.”

“Could that affect both helmet radio and long-range communication?”

“It’s possible, although the shielding effect doesn’t span the entire spectrum. Maybe you could try a few frequencies outside the usual ones.”

“That’s an excellent idea, Karl. Thanks. The crew would have to be listening to the same frequency, but maybe they’re smart enough to have thought of that. And I’m hoping Green Bank Observatory will send us some data soon, too.”

“That’s a good place to start. We’re receiving data from our lander Philae via their radio telescope, even though Philae doesn’t have a long-range antenna. If a system malfunction is the cause of the silence, then Green Bank should hear something.”

“You stressed the word ‘if’ more than I’m comfortable with.”

“I don’t want to remove hope that the solution’s that simple, but there are certain indications that make us suspect complications.”

“My colleague brought my attention to those. That’s why we contacted you in the first place. But I’m wondering why I wasn’t informed earlier. I’m responsible for this mission, but I’m clearly not aware of all the dangers our crew is facing out there.”

“I’m sorry, MOM, these findings are very new, and we didn’t have a direct channel to you. I passed on the information yesterday.”

MOM sighed. “The bureaucracy... I know. Well, it’s good that we now have an open line of communication with you. So, what’s the problem you suspect?”

“As you know, the comet’s emitting an unknown substance that we theorize is dark matter, which is increasing its mass, and therefore its gravity.”

“I understand. My colleague said something about that. My first thought was that the capsule’s thrusters should have no problem dealing with that. Or am I wrong?”

“As I understand it, this problem has already destroyed an Alpha Omega probe that was supposed to inspect Comet 67P. Admittedly, that was probably a small CubeSat model, but the comet’s mass has increased more since then. I’m not saying the comet has destroyed the capsule, but the comet might pull the capsule so far off course that it won’t be able to maintain its lunar orbit with the fuel it has, and it could therefore be lost.”

“That would be the worst-case scenario, Karl. We don’t have the technology to bring them back.”

“And maybe I’m wrong.”

“I hope so. Oh—I’m hearing that the data from Green Bank has just now come in. Karl, can I ask a favor? I’d like to invite you to Mission Control, virtually. One of our admins will provide you with access. Then you’ll be able to follow everything here remotely. And if you have any ideas that might help the crew, you can let us know with the click of a mouse. I think you might be able to see the big picture better than we can.”

“Sure,” said Karl.

“Great. You’ll receive the details in a minute. See you soon.”

* * *

The message arrived 60 seconds later. Karl installed the software and typed his access data into the input field. Now should he let Sylvia know? No, she needed her sleep. He dialed himself into the NASA conferencing system.

He’d expected Mission Control to be bigger. The camera sending him the image must be suspended from the ceiling of a room about the size of two average college classrooms. He could see a large projection displayed on a wall, showing various graphs, although he couldn’t make out what they represented. A row of desks was arranged in front of it. Roughly half of them were occupied. Two people seemed to be asleep with their heads on their arms, which didn’t seem to bother anyone. At a couple of other desks, people were whispering with their heads together.

Each desk had a printed sign, but the camera resolution was too low to read what was on them. However, ‘MOM’ was plain to see on the desk at the front left, where a corpulent woman with unkempt blonde hair was sitting. She kept reaching into a bag and putting something from it into her mouth while studying text on her monitor. Now and then she rubbed her eyes. Karl felt exhausted just looking at her.

“Good evening,” he typed into the chat window. “I’m Karl Stoll, and my focus is on the physical properties of the comet.”

“Hello, Karl. Good to have you with us,” replied someone called Charles. That must be the man who’d telephoned him, presumably MOM’s right-hand man. No one else responded.

Suddenly everyone looked up at the screen. MOM opened her mouth. Karl had forgotten to turn on the sound, so he pressed the plus button.

“...Bank Observatory is here. I’ll put it up on the screen.”

The projected image changed. Nine diagrams appeared.

“Here you can see the activity on certain bands that are typically used in space travel.”

The diagrams were flat, some had outliers, but Karl could see at once that they were statistical artifacts. There was radio silence, that much was clear.

“I’ll switch between the frequencies,” MOM announced.

New diagrams appeared. They were flat, too. MOM gave them each a minute, then changed the image.

He heard a woman’s voice exclaim, “There! Top left!”

Karl couldn’t see who was speaking. But he recognized the signal at once. That was Philae, not the NASA spaceship.

“Those are the transmissions from our lander,” he typed. “I recognize them. Sorry.”

“That’s all the data. I’ll run a few Fourier analyses on it,” said MOM. “There might be structures that we don’t recognize.”

That couldn’t be ruled out, but the curves looked more like white noise than anything—what you heard when you couldn’t hear anything recognizable.

Why was Philae getting through, with its limited range, when the helmet radios in the NASA capsule weren’t? It was highly unlikely that two independent systems had malfunctioned simultaneously. And if the capsule had been destroyed, some telescope would have registered the energy burst, like when the Alpha Omega probe was destroyed.

He typed, “Can someone send the Philae data to me, please?”

“On its way,” Charles replied.

The diagram opened on his computer. He saw familiar patterns. Philae spoke, as it were, in a peculiar manner prescribed by its protocols. Back in the day, the Rosetta probe had been able to pass on the data precisely.

Karl zoomed in on the diagram. Something wasn’t right. But it wasn’t the data, and the labels on the axes were correct. It was a simple value that bothered him. The Green Bank telescope had received the Philae transmission on a different wavelength this time.

He called up the data that Millikan had sent him. He was right—Philae had transmitted over a higher frequency the first time. The second frequency was a little lower, but within the measurement tolerance range, so it hadn’t been noticed. But now the nature of the shift was clear. The frequency of the radio waves they were receiving had shifted down.

What did that mean? Philae surely wouldn’t change the frequency of its own accord—although a certain amount of drift wasn’t out of the question. Karl checked the last few values he’d received. The interior temperature was within the range that Philae could tolerate without problems, and the operating voltage was even slightly increased. It couldn’t be that.

Frequencies shifted when the source moved relative to the receiver. That was the Doppler effect, an everyday phenomenon that you experience when vehicles such as ambulances drive toward you, pass you, and then move away from you, with their sirens blaring. But it shouldn’t play a significant role here. Karl roughly calculated the values, just to be sure, but his intuition was right. The constant expansion of the cosmos caused another kind of redshift. Was the space continually increasing around the comet, and the radio signal was having to pass through that increase? But then the distance from 67P to the Earth would be growing, too, and the astronauts would have noticed that.

There was only one other potential cause: gravity. It could distort radiation, which then had to overcome the strong attraction. Karl was about to pass on this conclusion to Mission Control. But a gravitational redshift had enormous consequences. To even be measurable, the comet’s mass would have to increase immensely, more than he’d imagined. If that were the case, it would be impossible to stop the Orion capsule from leaving its orbit and being dragged through the solar system along with Comet 67P/Churyumov-Gerasimenko.

He needed some kind of reference point. The numerator of the formula for the redshift showed the mass of the object, i.e., the comet, and the denominator showed the distance of the radiation source from the center of the comet. Everything they’d seen suggested Philae was very close to the center. So the comet’s mass must not be that great. He didn’t have precise data. Anything was possible, from the mass of dwarf planet Ceres right up to an Earth mass. But they could rule out the larger values, because those would have already caused instabilities in the solar system.

Things could be worse. At least they didn’t have a neutron monster coming toward them. Karl spoke over the conferencing system.

“Our guest, Karl Stoll, wants to say something,” MOM announced.

Everyone turned toward her, as though he was going to speak through her like a mage. Karl smiled.

“I have good news and bad news,” he said.

They all turned to the projection wall, where his voice was coming from. Karl got a fright when he saw his face was displayed up there. It was huge, and every bit of stubble stuck out like a tree branch. He hadn’t had time to shave. How could he deactivate the camera? He got lucky and quickly found the button.

“Let’s start with the bad news. The comet appears to be much more massive than our observations have suggested so far.”

He explained the way redshift worked. No one interrupted him, which was a new experience. Sylvia would definitely have interjected questions as he went along.

“So now you can see why the Orion capsule hasn’t responded. The messages from Earth are arriving there with a blueshift, while their own transmissions are reaching us with a redshift. We’re not even on the same wavelength!” He stopped, completely out of breath.

“Thank you, Karl,” said MOM. “That’s essential information. Can you tell us where to look for transmissions?”

“For that we need to know exactly where the NASA ship is. That will determine what frequencies we can reach them on and where we can find their replies.”

“Unfortunately, we only have approximate data.”

“Then we’ll have to attempt it across the entire range. The maximum frequency is provided by the redshift of the Philae data.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

“But we won’t have very stable contact with them, because the ship is still moving and the comet is rapidly increasing in mass. You probably have a better idea of what that means for communication.”

“COM, I need COM,” said MOM.

COM was responsible for the ship’s communications. Karl saw a young woman with an Asiatic face stand up.

“I looked at Karl’s data. It’s no problem at our end to gradually change the frequencies so that our signals arrive at the capsule with the right parameters. But the Orion’s transmitters are set to fixed frequencies. So they won’t be able to match ours.”

“Then we’ll have to adjust our receiver. Is that possible, Min?”

“In principle, yes. But we won’t be able to coordinate with them. We’ll never be sure which of our communications are reaching them and which aren’t. And because the frequency of their signal is constantly changing, I can’t guarantee that we’ll get all their replies, either.”

“Thank you, Min. You’ll get all the resources you need. Set up a connection, even if it only lasts a short time.”

“Yes, MOM.”

The young woman sat down and began typing wildly on her keyboard.

“Min, one more thing.”

“I’m listening.”

“Send the crew an urgent warning. They should prepare to abort the mission. We’ll calculate a new course for them as fast as we can.”

“Understood, MOM.”

“Can I say something?” asked a man with a high voice.

“Frank, sure, I wanted to hear from you next.”

“Thank you, MOM. If Planning is going to calculate an orbit, we need more data. Position and orbit of the capsule, orbit of the object, its mass—”

“We don’t have those details, Frank. You’ll have to conjure something.”

“But—”

“Now is not the time for buts. Unless we want to send the crew to their deaths, we need an alternative orbit for them.”

“Understood, MOM.”

“Charles?”

“Yes, MOM?”

“We can’t solve this problem by sitting around waiting. There seems to be a very real danger that the capsule and its crew could be ripped out of their orbit. I hope Karl’s warning reached us in time.”

“I hope so, too.”

“Hoping isn’t enough. I want you to get me on the phone with Ihab Chatterjee. Now!”

Poor Charles. MOM’s right-hand man was supposed to get the boss of one of the largest international companies on the line. Who knew where he was right now? He might even be asleep. But Charles had found Karl’s mobile number, which almost no one knew.

“I’ll need half an hour,” said Charles.

“You’ve got ten minutes.”

“Then I’d better hurry.”

“Thanks, Charles. I know I can count on you.”

* * *

This was dramatic. Karl felt the way he had back when he saw Apollo 13 at the cinema. That must be because he was following the activity in Houston on a screen. There was only one difference. He could insert himself into this film and, when he had something to say, the actors listened to him. Charles—didn’t he look like an older Brad Pitt? And MOM could—

“Hello, Susan,” said a deep, warm voice. He imagined its owner as an oil sheik, or a surgeon who only worked on celebrities.

“Hello, Ihab,” said MOM.

“This is a surprise,” said Ihab Chatterjee.

“I hope you don’t mind—I’ve switched you over to the PA system,” said MOM. “You’re speaking to Mission Control for the current Artemis expedition.”

“Then it’s not a good time to invite you out on my yacht.”

“That would be inappropriate,” said MOM, laughing. “As a federal agency, my employer is very strict.”

“I don’t know what earned me the pleasure, but if it’s about the travelers on SpaceShip SS1 landing on the moon, I can’t take responsibility for that. My friend Kenichi surprised me just as much as you.”

“I didn’t ask to speak to you because I wanted to accuse you of anything,” said MOM.

“I’m relieved. I did feel guilty about it. It could have disrupted your processes.”

“It’s nothing to do with you, but unfortunately, our processes have been disrupted—massively.”

“Oh, what happened? Problems with the lander?”

“You don’t seem to have been following our activities closely.”

“No, I’ve been focusing all my attention on battery cell production in Germany. That’s where I am currently.”

“I understand. We sent an Orion capsule with two astronauts toward Comet 67P.”

“An interesting object. My head of security told me what’s happening there. Did you find anything?”

“Unfortunately, we’ve lost our connection with the capsule. And what’s worse, if we’re unlucky, our spaceship will be lost, heading out into infinite space with two astronauts on board.”

“That sounds poetic.”

“It’s grim, Ihab.”

“As good poetry always is.”

“I’ll get to the point. We need your help. Very soon.”

“How can I—”

“The spaceship that’s currently orbiting the moon. I’m familiar with the data. You showed me yourself.”

“There’s always a MOM position for you with us at Alpha Omega, Susan.”

“I’m serious. We’re about to lose two people. That hasn’t happened for almost forty years. I don’t want to go down in history as the MOM responsible.”

“I understand. What can I do?”

“We need your ship, Ihab.”

“The SS1? But it’s not in my possession. Kenichi rented it. I can offer you the SS2. It can be ready to launch within four days.”

“That’s too late. We need to go now.”

“But Kenichi’s currently on the surface. We’d at least have to wait till he’s back on board.”

“That’ll take too long. Surely he can survive a while down there, and if it’s too much for him, he can fly to the Gateway.”

“The contractual penalties I’d have to pay—”

“Would be less than the value of the ship. If you don’t cooperate, I’ll take it to the President. He’ll expropriate the ship. We have to rescue our American heroes. The President wanted to send more Americans to the moon. He certainly won’t want two of them dead.”

“Presumably you can do that.”

“Definitely.”

“But I’m skeptical about whether the SS1 is really sufficient for your needs.”

“You intend to fly to Mars with ships like that. I expect it can manage a small excursion near the Earth to rescue two Americans. You’ll get all the credit for that, of course.”

“And the contractual penalties that Kenichi will slap on me?”

“The taxpayer won’t shoulder those. But it might cost you less than what the fame for rescuing two heroes will bring you. Your cars will sell even better. However, if news gets around that you weren’t prepared to help us...”

Ihab laughed. “It’s a shame I can’t convince you to come over to Alpha Omega. Textbook carrot-and-stick approach.”

“So, will you help us? Remember, everyone here is listening.”

Ihab laughed again. “Yes, I will,” he said.

“Good.”

MOM slumped. She’d bet everything and won. Would the President really have forced one of his good friends to hand over his ship? Maybe he would have bought the ship from him. But MOM probably knew her way around U.S. internal politics better than he did.

“Is that it?” asked Ihab. “I’ll let my people at Mission Control know to hand it over to you. A common mission like this needs unified leadership.”

“I agree. Oh, one other thing. The ship should be under the command of a NASA astronaut. It needs to pick up Daniel Schult from the Lunar Gateway and then follow the Orion. Maybe it can tank at the Gateway, too, to be safe.”

“It can’t. The SS1 needs methane, which you don’t have up there.”

“Right. I forgot. We’ll calculate a course that ensures you’ll get your ship back, and we get our crew back.”

August 29, 2026 – Lunar Gateway

“Lunar Gateway to Orion. Please come in.”

No answer.

“Lunar Gateway to Orion. Please come in.”

No answer.

Daniel kept trying. He had to get through! If he gave up, Dave and Livia would die.

“Lunar Gateway to Orion. Please come in.”

No answer.

“Lunar Gateway to—”

“Daniel? Mission Control here.”

“Luna. Good to hear from you.”

“You must feel quite alone up there.”

“That’s not the problem. It’s Dave and Livia. I can’t let them die.”

“That’s outside of your control.”

“I know but feel like I’ve left them in the lurch. I should have been stuck on that comet, too.”

“Daniel, that’s ridiculous. Mission Control ordered you to stay in the Gateway, and if you hadn’t, we wouldn’t have a trained astronaut to rescue those two.”

“There’s going to be a rescue mission? But the next SLS won’t be launch-ready for at least a month.”

“We’ll talk about that soon. For now I want you to keep trying to contact the capsule.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“There’s been a change of plan. We’ve been alerted to a frequency drift caused by the comet’s gravitation. If that’s true, they can’t hear you on the normal bands. I’ll send through a couple of frequencies for you to try. And you’ll have to switch in order to receive as well.”

“Understood. That sounds straightforward.”

“Unfortunately it’s not. The frequencies are constantly changing. I’ll send you a program for the onboard computer that continuously calculates new frequencies. But you can’t listen to them all at once. The receiver only has six channels. So it’ll be pure coincidence if you hear them, and even more unlikely that they’ll hear you.”

“Why?”

“The radio module in the capsule can’t be adjusted as flexibly as the one on the Gateway. Your instrument was designed to conduct experiments, but the one in the capsule is purely for communication.”

“Shit!”

“You said it.”

“What about the rescue mission?”

“Ihab Chatterjee is loaning us his SpaceShip SS1. It’s currently in lunar orbit.

“Do you mean the one that the Japanese businessman chartered for his artist friends?”

“That’s the one.”

“But they’re not even trained for a normal space mission, let alone a complicated situation like this.”

“That’s why we need you. You’ll transfer to the SS1 and take over command there.”

“Command of a group of hobby astronauts? That’s child-minding. I’m not a kindergarten teacher! And the rich Japanese guy who’s paying for everything surely won’t want to step aside. I know his type.”

“Don’t worry, Dan. Three of them are on the moon, anyway. We’ll offer the others the chance to transfer to the Gateway.”

“Can’t you order them to? If I have to look after even one of them, it’ll endanger the mission.”

“That’s the deal. We can’t turf them out.”

“Then make them scared, Luna. We’ve got enough problems already. I’d rather fly out there alone.”

“We’ll just have to wait and see. Start preparing to transfer. They’ll be there in less than three hours. And keep trying to reach the capsule. If we knew they were alive, it would make things simpler. And let them know help is on its way.”

* * *

“Lunar Gateway to Orion. We’re coming to your aid.”

No answer.

He’d been sitting at the wheel for an hour, pedaling in preparation for the EVA. At the same time he’d attempted to contact Dave and Livia. He continuously switched frequencies, even trying some that the program hadn’t suggested, and had changed his standard transmission in case this was the only message they got.

“Lunar Gateway to Orion. We’re coming to your aid.”

No answer.

“Lunar Gateway to Orion. We’re coming to your aid.”

No answer.

Luna had sent him the course for the rescue mission, which would take him far out into space. The Earth would shrink behind him, and he’d be all alone inside a thin steel hull. Daniel had looked at the SS1 schematics. He had to be able to handle the ship, be prepared to steer it manually to the extent that that was possible. If the Orion capsule was a yacht, the Gateway was a freighter, and the SS1 an oil tanker—an image that also corresponded to the fuel provisions.

That was his best hope. The SS1 could launch from the surface of Mars into space, which the Orion was incapable of doing. Orion could only navigate between the moon and Earth orbit. More power meant more certainty. If he were able to rescue Dave and Livia, he’d definitely make it back.

“Lunar Gateway to Orion. We’re coming to your aid.”

“Orion here. We’ve... thruster malfunction... days. Please...”

Daniel leapt up and hit his head on the ceiling. He read out the frequency. It was the Orion! He recognized Livia’s voice. But Dave must be alive, too, or she wouldn’t have said ‘we.’ He replied on the same frequency. No response. But CapCom Luna had said something about redshift. What frequency did he need to use? How could he work it out?

“Gateway to Mission Control, can you hear me?”

“I hear you,” said Luna.

“I just had contact with the Orion.”

Daniel heard clapping and stamping. Mission Control was cheering.

“But only briefly,” he said. “Channel twenty-seven. What do I use to answer them?”

“One moment, I’ll check. How are they?”

“They seem to have had a thruster malfunction, but they’re both alive.”

“Good. I’ll type the exact return frequency into the chat,” said Luna. “Unfortunately, Karl says there are no guarantees, because we don’t know what channel they were sending on.”

“Twenty-seven, didn’t I just say that?”

“That’s the one you received it on.”

“Shit. Okay, I’ll keep trying.”

“But they’re alive, that’s good news,” said Luna.

“Try to work out scenarios that might have resulted in thruster malfunction. Then I can try to avoid those scenarios.”

“We will, Dan.”

“And I’d like to know how long they can hold out with the reserves they have. Livia said the word ‘days,’ but I didn’t have any context.”

“We’ve done that. They should be able to last two weeks if they’re frugal with the emergency reserves.”

“That’s not too tight.”

“It’s deceptive though, Daniel, because in one week, Comet 67P will be too far away from Earth for us to reach them. They won’t make it back.”

* * *

“Lunar Gateway to Orion. We’re coming to your aid.”

No answer.

Daniel radioed using the new frequency sent by Mission Control and scanned for replies with the receiver. Nothing. This wasn’t going to work. He needed to go and find them himself. The SS1 should be arriving soon.

Daniel pedaled energetically.

August 29, 2026 – SpaceShip SS1

‘Fasten your seatbelts,’ appeared on the screen.

“People, are you seeing this?” Yunus asked.

Brandon drifted back to his seat and read the sentence. No one had said anything about a corrective maneuver.

“Come on, we’d better buckle in,” said Yunus.

Brandon swung himself elegantly onto his seat. It was a pity that Sophie couldn’t see him now. She’d be impressed. He pulled the belt over his shoulders and buckled himself in.

“Fasten your seatbelts,” a voice was now saying over the ship’s system.

“Okay, I’m belted,” said Brandon.

“I need a moment,” said Vyacheslav. “My hair’s still full of shampoo.”

“Fasten your seatbelts,” the voice repeated.

“Come on, ship. You can see I’m in the shower.”

“Fasten your seatbelts.”

This time it was followed by an alarm tone. Why had no one told them anything, and what was going on? Was it a drill only KK had been informed about? The ship’s computer didn’t know he wasn’t there. The launch of the lander had been a little unconventional.

“Fasten your seatbelts.”

Another alarm, this time twice as long.

“Ye-es,” said Vyacheslav.

“Fasten your seatbelts.”

The alarm tone sounded again, but this time it didn’t stop. It wasn’t a drill. Something was headed their way, and the ship wasn’t going to be patient with them.

“I’d take a seat if I were you,” said Yunus.

“But I... coming...”

The alarm stopped. The deep rumble of the thrusters went through the ship. The computer wasn’t waiting. Vyacheslav pushed himself off from the wall and tried to reach his seat in a single bound, but it was too late. There was a loud clunk as he fell against the floor. He crept on all fours to his seat, then pulled himself up and flopped into it, his hair still full of suds. He wasted no time getting his seatbelt fastened.

That must have been an evasive maneuver. The thrusters were still firing to alter their orbit. What for? And how were they supposed to reach KK, Sophie, and Emily? Brandon gripped the armrests. He’d been playing around earlier with the ship’s computer, but he hadn’t been able to get around the login. It only let him run a couple of simulations. That couldn’t have caused this...? KK would be furious if the ship wasn’t there when he was ready to come back.

No, he wouldn’t. He’d suffocate. How long could they survive in the lander? Brandon pictured them fighting for their lives. Sophie would pull through. He had faith in her.

But that was nonsense. The lander only had to fly to NASA’s Gateway. They’d get all the air and food they needed there.

The words ‘Arriving at Lunar Gateway’ in three hours suddenly appeared onscreen.

Could the ship read his thoughts? Had a hacker taken control of it? You read too much sci-fi, Brandon.

“What the hell is this?” Vyacheslav asked.

“I’m guessing an automatic evasive maneuver,” said Yunus. “There must be some debris in our orbit.”

Brandon didn’t contradict him. The others didn’t know he’d been fooling around with the computer.

“Couldn’t they have informed us?”

“They did warn us, Slava.”

“Warned, sure, not informed.”

“That’s how passengers are treated,” said Yunus. “KK was probably supposed to tell us, but he went to the moon instead.”

KK’s face appeared on the screen. “Brandon, Vyacheslav, Yunus, can you hear me?” Maybe the lander had announced that their ship was moving out of its orbit.

“We hear you,” said Yunus. “Something strange is happening here.”

“Yeah, bad news,” said KK. “My friend Ihab has stolen the ship out from under me.”

“What?” asked Yunus.

“Ihab Chatterjee said he had to quickly loan out the ship that I paid a lot of money for. Naturally, while I’m stuck on the moon.”

KK seemed to be overestimating himself again. Even if he’d been on board he couldn’t have done anything about the course change.

“It was quite a shock,” Yunus said. “The ship started moving with no warning.”

“That’s not true,” Brandon corrected him. “It told us multiple times to buckle ourselves in.”

“But it didn’t give a reason,” Yunus countered. “Who’d have guessed we were going to be kidnapped.”

“I just finished speaking to Chatterjee. I didn’t realize he was already putting his plan into action while we were talking. But that’s just like him. I’ll be filing a claim for damages and inconvenience!”

“Chatterjee must have given a reason?” asked Brandon.

“He did. He needs the SS1 to rescue a lost NASA spaceship.”

“And we’re the ones who are supposed to leap into action?” Yunus wondered out loud. “Don’t they need highly-trained astronauts for an emergency like that?”

“I asked him that, too. He said that’s being taken care of. The whole mission must have just been decided. At my expense. I won’t put up with it.”

Now KK was overdoing it. If it was about helping another ship, they shouldn’t hesitate.

“And what happens with you guys down there?” Vyacheslav asked.

“We’ll be all right for a few days. If we run out of oxygen, we’re allowed to dock onto the Lunar Gateway. Isn’t that generous?”

“Is that even technically possible?” asked Brandon.

The SS1 didn’t have any couplings for the space station as far as he knew.

“Yes, the lander was developed by Blue Destination especially for the Artemis missions. I bought the back-up copy.”

An unpleasant humming sound filled the control room. KK disappeared from the screen and an older, sun-tanned man with a flattop haircut took his place. Brandon immediately recognized Ihab Chatterjee.

“Please excuse the inconvenience,” he said with what seemed like genuine regret.

Chatterjee had an inscrutable smile, which must be one of the reasons people—especially his fans—hung on his every word. He’d managed to give all his business ventures a purpose that moved people, and still earned himself billions in the process. It was as though Mahatma Gandhi had decided to become a businessman.

“There’s nothing to excuse,” Yunus said. “We just heard what it’s all about, and we completely understand.”

Chatterjee even managed to make you feel guilty for saying no to him, and he didn’t need to say anything. One look was enough.

“Thank you all very much. It really pains me to have to ask this of you as my guests, but I have no choice. The lives of two astronauts hang in the balance.”

“We’ll do everything in our power to help them,” said Yunus.

“That’s wonderful. Your ship is already on its way to rendezvous with NASA’s Lunar Gateway. A member of the Artemis crew will join you there, Daniel Schult, an experienced astronaut. And at the same time, you have the option of transferring to the Gateway. We can’t couple to it, but you’ll be transferred safely via an EVA. NASA, as the operator of the Gateway, has extended their warm invitation. Then the SS1 will assume a course that takes it to the lost NASA capsule.”

“Will that pose a risk to the crew aboard the SS1?” asked Vyacheslav.

“That can’t be ruled out. We know very little about the circumstances that led to the loss of communication with the capsule.”

“So we could disappear, too?”

“Unfortunately, I can’t rule anything out, Vyacheslav. I’m hoping for the best, but we have to expect the worst. That’s why we’re allowing you to transfer to the Lunar Gateway. If everything goes well, you’ll be picked up again from there by this ship.”

“And if it doesn’t?” asked Yunus.

“Then you’ll have to wait a little longer, a maximum of six weeks.”

“What? Six weeks?” Yunus said. “But, thank you for your honesty,

“Honesty is one of the principles I value most highly,” Chatterjee said.

* * *

An hour until they arrived at the Gateway. Brandon switched to the exterior camera. The moon was more distant, indicating the Gateway must be in a higher orbit. He’d been to the bathroom three times in the last two hours. The decision about whether to be part of the rescue mission or stay in the Gateway was weighing on him, and on his bladder, the way he used to feel before exams and dates.

What should he do? Bail like a coward and watch the other heroes in the media? Or die with them? He was clear about one thing. Death was not an option. He’d never thought about his mortality before his 50s. Then he turned 54. His father had died at 54 from a sudden heart attack. He’d simply avoided thinking about it until then, but that didn’t work anymore. Luckily the doctors had given him a clean bill of health.

But he still felt mortal these days. He reminded himself that everyone ‘bites the dust’ in the end, but it didn’t help. It was too soon to die. He’d wait in the Gateway.

“Yunus?”

“Yes?”

“Gateway or rescue mission?”

“Gateway. What did you expect? I have a family. If they lost my income, the insurance wouldn’t cover it. And you?”

“I... I don’t know. Gateway, probably. I’m afraid of dying.”

“At least you wouldn’t have the insurance problem.”

“Why?”

“Well, just imagine, an author who writes about space travel dying on a mission in space. All your books would become bestsellers overnight!”

“But I wouldn’t see any of it.”

“No family?”

“They’re all independent.”

“I envy you. That means you can decide for yourself and don’t have to take anyone else into account.”

“Would your decision be different if you didn’t have a family, Yunus?”

“Definitely. Seeing a comet up close, that’s the chance of a lifetime, even if you died. No one could take the experience away from you.”

“I don’t know,” said Brandon.

He really didn’t know. Life had so many small delights: sunrays turning dewdrops into sparkling crystals; mist magically rising above a lake in the evening; the sun sinking into the sea like a red fireball. Should he give all that up?

“And for you, it must be a dream come true. You normally only get to write about these things. Now you can experience them.”

“I’m constantly experiencing them through the eyes and ears of my protagonists. That’s the main reason I send them on those kinds of voyages. I grew up behind the Berlin Wall, and as a child I could only travel in my imagination. Maybe that’s why.”

“You’re not American? You sound American.”

“I am. I have an American passport. I went to New York at 25 and ended up staying.”

His screen came to life, and there was Jenna. He greeted her with a smile. He had to.

“What am I hearing?” she asked. “You’re going on a rescue mission?”

“The ship, yes.”

“Not you?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“Of course you should go. You’ll visit a comet, analyze dark matter, and save the lives of two astronauts.”

“I’d become a protagonist in one of my novels.”

“No, Brandon, you’d become a protagonist in your own life. Maybe that’s what’s been missing. There’s been something missing for you. You can’t fool me. You always just stand by and watch.”

“I don’t just stand by and watch.”

Jenna laughed. “Don’t take it badly, but you do. You often stand outside of yourself and watch yourself live.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Not at all. It’s a unique ability—I think so, anyway. You find out so much about yourself! I don’t have it, unfortunately. But it seems to bother you.”

That was the question. He was quite happy with his life. He could sit in the Gateway and watch people from a safe distance as they put their lives on the line. It would still be an interesting experience. Or he could insert himself into the action. He could put his own life on the line. That scared him. But it tempted him, too.

“Brandon?”

“Sorry. I still don’t know what I should decide.”

“Then you’re just like me,” said Jenna. “I never know what my decision will be until I’ve articulated it. That’s exciting. Enjoy it.”

August 29, 2026 – Lunar Gateway

“Hello, friends, and welcome to the Lunar Gateway. Daniel here,” said the man with his finger on the call button.

“Hello, Gateway. SS1 here. I’m Yunus. We’re already in the airlock.”

“Good. Just a moment.”

Daniel looked at the onscreen schematic of the Gateway and its visitors. He was sitting in front of the central computer in a spacesuit. The SS1 was still moving a little too fast. It was being braked by its control jets, a process that was invisible to him.

Relative speed 0.

“Now,” he said, and switched over to the camera view.

He adjusted the image until he could see the roughly man-high, oval airlock, which was brightly lit by the sun. A silhouetted figure stepped up to its edge and stretched an arm out holding something that had to be the safety harpoon. The astronaut in the airlock was aiming at the Gateway.

“Firing,” said Yunus.

The projectile and the cable attached to it were too thin for the camera resolution.

“Contact,” said Yunus.

Then he hung the firing device next to him in the airlock.

“I’m hanging the harpoon inside the airlock door,” said Yunus.

The man reached forward with his arm. He must be testing the line, held taut by the reservoir in the harpoon. “I’m coming across,” he said.

Daniel rose and floated to the airlock. Then he turned back. He got a pen and wrote ‘Welcome!’ on the back wall.

The airlock was cramped. The airlock door on the SS1 looked twice the size. He was getting out of a freighter into an oil tanker. Everything would be different over there—larger, more modern, and more expensive than NASA could afford.

The signal lamp was green. Daniel opened the outer airlock door. He clipped his line on, pulled himself out, and wedged his boot under a bracket. A shadow moved toward him on his left, startling him. The man who must be Yunus pointed to his helmet.

Of course, different channel. Alpha Omega didn’t use the NASA channels.

“Hello, Daniel,” said Yunus.

“Hello, Yunus.”

The men stood facing one another, not knowing what to say. Daniel stepped aside to let Yunus pass.

Yunus turned around and gave a military salute with his hand to his helmet. “All the best,” he said.

“Thanks.”

Daniel turned around. There was a second man from the artist troupe. Slava, it said on his suit. Daniel waited. Slava moved past him without a word.

“Where’s the third man?” asked Daniel.

Slava turned around. “Didn’t they tell you?” he asked.

“What?”

“Brandon’s going with you.”

“Sorry?” He couldn’t afford to get worked up, but he felt hot.

“Yeah, he only decided half an hour ago,” said Yunus.

“That’s... great.” He managed to keep his cool. This Brandon was probably listening to everything. But the fact that Luna hadn’t warned him... He’d have to have a word with her.

“I was thinking about staying on board,” said Slava, “but my wife was strictly against it.”

“I completely understand,” said Daniel. Thank you, unknown wife.

“I’m not really the hero type,” Yunus replied.

“Who is? There’s no need to apologize. You’re not obliged to do anything as civilians.”

“Thanks. I’ll pray for your success.”

* * *

The SS1 was surprisingly far from the Gateway. A 15-meter-wide and infinitely deep abyss lay in front of him, and he had to cross it. His bridge was a millimeter-thin thread between the ship and the Gateway, which he could scarcely feel through his gloves. He hooked the second safety line to it and detached the first one, his last connection to the Gateway. Daniel pushed off with his legs and slowly drifted across. He fixed his gaze on the unfamiliar spaceship.

Suddenly it was darkest night. He turned his head. The sun had set behind the Gateway. He floated through impenetrable darkness until he activated the headlamp on his helmet. Its focused beam threw the lines of the spaceship into sharp relief, like a woodcarver chiseling a figure out of a tree trunk.

The airlock was empty. No reception committee. Daniel first released the safety line, then the firing device from the harpoon, and finally sealed the airlock door behind him. Air immediately began to pump in. This was a lot more comfortable than where he’d come from.

* * *

Beyond the airlock, he was greeted by someone he would have called an old man back on Earth. Thinning, gray hair, a slight paunch, but not fat, with soft hands and stubby fingers. So that’s what an author looks like.

The man extended his hand. “I’m Brandon,” he said.

“Daniel. Pleased to meet you.”

“I’m happy to be able to support you in rescuing your crewmates.”

“Yes, Brandon. I’m happy, too. Can I make a request?”

“Of course.”

“When things get serious, just buckle yourself in and don’t get in my way. Agreed?”

“I... of course. Agreed.”

August 30, 2026 – TU Darmstadt

“Hello Karl,” wrote Dieter Zetschewitz. “You’ve really caused a sensation with your paper on 67P. Thank you for listing me as a co-author.”

Karl smiled. He knew it was important to Zetschewitz that he was mentioned, which was why he’d insisted on it with Sylvia. His former intern would go far.

“I know I have you to thank for that.”

Yeah, yeah, you little ass-kisser. “So I’d like to return the favor.”

And of course he also wanted to be named in the next paper. His list of publications was prolific for a young researcher, and now his name was in a journal as renowned as Science, no less.

“I’ve had the OGS following Churyumov-Gerasimenko for the last few days. The closer the comet is to the Earth, the more precise the data. That’s the good news. The bad news is that the deviations are increasing compared with the measurements from the last time 67P swung around the Earth.”

That was indeed alarming. Churyumov-Gerasimenko hadn’t even reached its closest point to Earth yet. And now it was being visited by two spaceships.

“Not that the comet would pose a danger to the solar system,” Dieter continued. “At least not yet. But its mass seems to be increasing too fast for comfort. Right now I’m imagining it disappearing for another six years into the distant reaches of the solar system, continuing to grow unobserved, only to return as a real monster.”

Karl got goosebumps. That wasn’t a pretty picture.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have the computing capacity to calculate the true mass of the comet based on its altered orbit. So I’ll leave that to you. But I’d be grateful if you could keep me up to date with your findings.”

Good. He had something to do. Karl downloaded the attached data and closed the email. His office smelled strange. It must be him. He stood up and opened the window. The sky was gray. He yawned. The night had been too short and the mattress too hard.

Change of plan. First he needed a shower, then coffee and breakfast. Back to the hotel, then, where he could take care of those three things, and also change his clothes.

* * *

It was quite the problem. Karl stroked his chin and spotted a crumb stuck to his index finger. He figured it must be the remains of the pain au chocolat he’d bought from the bakery. He ate the sweet morsel, then concentrated on the monitor again. He wouldn’t get anywhere analytically, even though it was a problem involving only two bodies, not three. But calculating the orbit of an object that was increasing in mass, and in an unknown manner, was beyond his capabilities.

Fortunately he had the simulation. He let the computer run through all possible variations. He’d select the variant that was closest to known reality and take the data from it that was of interest to him. It wasn’t a very satisfying process, because it wouldn’t tell him anything about the underlying cause, which was what interested him most as a scientist.

But it would provide clues as to how the comet might change in the future. And that was probably what NASA was most interested in right now.

* * *

The program he’d written was describing various shapes on the monitor. Only a fraction of the calculated orbits were displayed. The simulation was set up to give results that slowly approached reality. Reality was a green oval. At this point, the results were still dancing around it at quite a distance.

The image fascinated him. He’d had a spirograph as a child. He would insert a colored pen into a hole in a plastic circle, which he then ran along the inside of a large ring. The results were beautiful curves that were downright hypnotic. But the spirograph became even more exciting when he began to read into the nature of these curves. Even just the names. He got hypotrochoids when he ran the circle around the inside of the ring, and epitrochoids when he used the outside of the ring. Then he’d cut new base circles out of cardboard to create deltoids, diamond-like asteroids, and heart-shaped cardioids. And while out walking he’d looked for technical models—for example, the paths described by the coupling rods on the wheels of locomotives.

The rapidly changing paths on the screen weren’t trochoids. They looked similar, but they were, in fact, ellipses that systematically changed shape as they were being drawn, as though the person drawing them was distracted, or a third party was secretly pulling the paper away under the pen.

Mathematics was a strange subject. Small changes might have no effect for a long time, and then suddenly throw everything off. An ellipse elongated and stretched. For a moment it was a parabola, when its eccentricity reached precisely 1. Suddenly it became a hyperbola.

A spaceship could be moving along a safe orbit, but all at once, without much warning, and only because a gram of mass had been added somewhere, it could wind up unable to make its way back under its own power. Who made up these rules? They can’t have been meant for humans, because they lulled them into a false sense of security before catastrophe suddenly hit. They’d probably sought out the wrong universe, or the cosmos had given the wrong species the ability to understand it.

* * *

The result of the simulation was so compelling that Karl launched the conferencing software and dialed himself into Mission Control again. Everything seemed peaceful in Houston. He clicked on the hand symbol.

“We’re listening, Karl,” said a man.

That must be Charles, whom MOM had entrusted with several tasks yesterday. Karl looked for him in the camera view. There he was, sitting in his desk chair, leaned way back with his arms crossed over his chest, his legs outstretched and his feet in western-style leather boots resting on the desk. It was just what Karl imagined a true Texan to look like. All he was missing was the cowboy hat.

“Isn’t MOM there?” asked Karl.

“It’s not her shift,” Charles replied. “She needed to catch up on sleep, the poor thing. I’m concerned about her.”

“I have some interesting new findings,” Karl said.

“Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good.”

“How did you know?”

“When scientists report new findings without being asked, it’s never good news. Call it practical experience. You always have to squeeze them to get the good news. Metaphorically speaking.”

“You’re probably right. I looked at 67P’s orbit, with the latest data. It looks like the dark matter spring is quite powerful.”

“What does that mean?”

“Approaching the comet is getting more dangerous by the day.”

“Is this dark matter somehow radioactive or corrosive?”

“No, it just acts as a gravity well. If we’re unlucky, they won’t be able to get out of it. Although I don’t think we’re at that stage yet.”

“But?”

“67P’s orbit could distort into an extreme ellipse, to the point that it becomes a hyperbola.”

“That sounds familiar.”

“True, it was already identified as a potential danger. But based on the new data, it’s become much more likely.”

“How much time do we have?”

“A few days.”

“How many days, exactly?”

“I can’t say, Charles. The more data I get, the more accurate the prediction. But this is about a rescue mission, right? The third crew member from the Gateway is going after the NASA capsule.”

“Yes. What are you getting at?”

“You should consider aborting the rescue mission. Otherwise you’ll lose three astronauts instead of two.”

“Four.”

“Four?”

“A civilian is still on board. It was unavoidable.”

“I see. Another reason to pull the ripcord in good time.”

“Can you give us a precise time after which there’s no going back?”

“No, Charles. That’s not how science works.”

“That’s bullshit. Scientists always say that, after they’ve just warned you about the dire consequences of overstepping the line.”

“I’m sorry. It’s like a loose wheel nut. You can’t say for sure exactly when it’s going to fall off, just that it’ll happen soon.”

“That wasn’t a personal criticism, and thanks for the warning. But it doesn’t help us. Because as long as a rescue’s still possible, we won’t abandon anyone.”

* * *

This must be how Cassandra felt. Only she hadn’t been wearing a headset. Karl took his off and laid it on his desk. Now the Mission Control people he saw on his monitor were opening and closing their mouths silently.

He could sympathize with the Mission Control crew. Who’d abort a rescue mission if there was a chance it might succeed? People systematically overestimated their influence on reality. They didn’t know how slim a 1:10 chance truly was. Add to that the excellent moral reputation that heroism enjoyed. ‘We tried everything and lost four astronauts in the process,’ is worth more to the public than, ‘We gave up in time and only lost two astronauts.’

But the scientists weren’t innocent, either. These days he could laugh about it, but at the time, it was a harsh defeat. At 13 he’d tried to convince his classmates of the practical value of his hobby, math. It was a snowy winter—the best conditions for proving the tautochrony of a cycloid, that is, the fact that this type of curve was the fastest way to reach the lowest point. His classmates, on the other hand, were convinced that a straight line was the shortest and, therefore, the fastest route.

They’d built two competing toboggan runs out of the plentiful snow, making use of a natural slope. They both had an eight-meter height difference. One of them ran straight toward the target, while the other had the shape of an upturned cycloid—much steeper at the start and flatter at the end than the straight track.

He’d lost the race, every time. After the others had grown tired of mocking him, he’d continued alone, ridden both tracks alternately, and timed himself with a stopwatch. One hundred to zero for the straight run. Why? He hadn’t taken friction into account. Although his run had always started faster, friction at the shallow end had cost him his victory.

It had been a tough lesson. He decided there was no way he was going to study mathematics. And now this discipline seemed to be making him into a Cassandra again.

* * *

Karl wiped the crumbs off his desk with a napkin, scrunched it up, and threw it into the wastebasket. He’d gone to the canteen and grabbed himself a schnitzel roll, which now sat heavily in his stomach.

The magical shapes were still displayed on the screen.

He reached for the keyboard and then stopped himself. But he couldn’t resist. What had Dieter said? His former intern had imagined the comet disappearing into the far reaches of the solar system for six years, continuing to grow unobserved, and then returning as a monster. Shouldn’t he be able to prove that with a simulation?

The error interval would be much bigger, of course, if he simulated six whole years into the future instead of just a few days. But maybe it would give him a rough idea of the order of magnitude. If Dieter was right, then the worst was yet to come.

Then the failure of this rescue mission would be the least of his worries.

* * *

He launched the program. This time he built in a counter that estimated the run time, which made sense, because he couldn’t expect results for another 52 hours. Should he ask Sylvia for a slot at the supercomputer? But then he’d have to reconfigure his program, which would take time, and the permission wouldn’t come through immediately, either. At best it would save him a day. Given that he was modeling events six years from now, the wait time seemed tolerable.

August 30, 2026 – Lunar Gateway

“Man, I don’t know how long I can stand this,” said Vyacheslav.

“What do you mean?” Yunus asked.

“Everything. The noise, the stink, the boredom...”

Yunus sighed. Slava was right. The Lunar Gateway couldn’t pretend to compete with the spaceship in terms of comfort. The life support system hissed, everything smelled of oil and sweat, and there weren’t any personal video screens on which to watch movies. There was a lot of equipment, but they probably shouldn’t touch any of it. A person needed specialized training to use any of it. No wonder astronauts had to prepare for years for a space flight. He’d never have had time for that kind of stress.

He looked around. There wasn’t even anything telling the time. Yunus turned the computer screen on and saw that the operating system was running. There, at the top right, one-thirty. He should pray again. He’d let it slide in the last few days on the spaceship. It was now afternoon, so he could combine the morning and afternoon prayer into the Salat al Musafir, the traveler’s prayer. Maybe it would help the four people out there on their way to the comet.

But where was Mecca? It wasn’t easy to find a porthole in this tube. A measuring instrument covered the first one he found. Behind it he discovered the moon. Somewhere down there, KK, Sophie, and Emily were entertaining themselves. But Mecca must be on the other side.

Yunus couldn’t take his eyes off the moon. One day, when the Earth’s satellite was inhabited, how would the faithful pray there? On the dark side you couldn’t see Mecca, so they’d have to look down. He shoved off and drifted through the conduits. This place needed a good cleaning. And before he could pray, he needed to wash himself, too.

“Slava? Have you used the bathroom yet?”

“Yeah. It’s not so easy. You have to aim well.”

“I’m only interested in washing for now.”

“Come on. I’ll show you.”

* * *

Yunus looked to the right and prayed for God’s blessing, then looked to the left and repeated the prayer. It was strange, but even up here it had a calming effect on him, and now he knew what was wrong—it had been a mistake to allow himself to be shuffled off into the Gateway. Brandon was the only one who’d realized that.

But now it was too late. Or was it? He pressed his face up to the porthole and looked to the right, where he could see the gleaming landing module for the Artemis mission. They could get into it and fly after the others, or they could use its propulsion unit to accelerate the entire Gateway toward the comet. He could operate a computer, but he couldn’t calculate a course.

“Vyacheslav?”

“Are you done?”

“Yes, thanks. I have a question.”

“Then ask. You’re not usually so shy.”

“Do you think they’ll make it?”

“Well, I’m a very optimistic person.”

“So you don’t.”

“Umm, why?”

“Instead of answering my question, you tell me about your optimistic attitude.”

“Okay, Yunus, you got me. I have a bad feeling about it, but I’m trying to be optimistic.”

“Thanks. I’m regretting not staying on board.”

“I’m not. We couldn’t have changed the outcome of the expedition in any case.”

“That’s true. But wouldn’t it have been fairer if we—?”

“Why fairer? Those three on the moon didn’t have the chance to take part in the rescue mission. Was that fair?”

“I know, what—”

“Orion here, please...” The transmission came from a hidden speaker.

“What was that?” asked Slava.

“It must’ve been the capsule. We have to reply!”

“How?”

“Shit! Why didn’t anyone tell us?” Yunus searched the walls and ceiling. There must be a radio here somewhere.

“Orion, Dave here... malfunction...”

Oh, man! No wonder Daniel had been so dismissive of KK’s group—they really had no clue. On the SS1, the automated controls did everything for them. They weren’t astronauts, just luggage that could walk, and they couldn’t even do that very well.

“Found anything?” asked Slava.

“We have to think. Remember when we—”

“...problems... matter... come here please... danger.”

The capsule must be shielded by something so that its signal was only coming through in fragments.

“That’s not so easy when two people are biting the dust in the background,” said Vyacheslav.

“How was it when we got here?” asked Yunus. “There was a radio connection to Earth.”

“All I remember is that we had contact with Daniel via helmet radio.”

“I’m pretty sure. It came from up there.” Vyacheslav moved toward the prow.

“...don’t come here, I repeat...”

“Shit, there it is again. Did you hear the warning?”

“Yes, Slava, I’m not deaf. But it didn’t come from up there.”

“I found it,” said Vyacheslav.

“What?”

“The radio. Looks quiet, though. Not receiving. Shall I try activating it?”

“Leave it. We’ll only end up disrupting the transmission.”

“But where did it come from?”

“I know... Wait. It sounded choppy. They must have been searching through frequencies. Of course! They were just hoping to get through on one of them. You can’t do that with just a radio. You need a computer!”

Yunus pulled the keyboard toward himself. Then he flicked through the open applications. Sure enough, there was a program transmitting on all possible frequencies. The commands were presumably being routed via the same antenna as the radio module.

The program was repeatedly sending the same message.

“Lunar Gateway to Orion. We’re coming to your aid.” Underneath he could see which replies had come through.

“Orion here. We’ve... thruster malfunction... days. Please...”

That was yesterday. There were three entries under it.

“Orion here, please...”

“Orion, Dave here... malfunction...”

“...problems... matter... come here please... danger.”

“...don’t come here, I repeat...”

Yunus cracked his fingers. Hopefully they’d get through again. But the speaker remained silent. What was it they’d heard?

“What do you think, Slava. What does it mean?”

Vyacheslav floated over to him. Their heads were close together as Slava read the text on the screen. His breath smelled of garlic.

“They’re having problems. I can’t be sure of anything else.”

“But here,” said Yunus, pointing at the third and fourth lines. “They say ‘come here’ and even ‘please,’ but then they say not to.”

“Maybe they’re in disagreement?” suggested Slava.

“We only heard the man.”

“We need to send this to Mission Control.”

“Can you do that?”

“I think I can figure it out. I did my military service with a radio unit.”

“You’re a radio operator, Slava? Why didn’t you say so?”

“I was the driver. I only watched others using the equipment. But it looked similar to that device up there.”

“Hey, if you were a driver, you should be able to maneuver us to 67P. The Gateway pretty much looks like a car.”

Slava looked at him through narrowed eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Sorry. It must be the stress. Please take a look at the radio. You can do this.” Yunus was annoyed with himself. They were still just useless civilians. They were safe in the Gateway, and yet... He knew he was behaving irrationally. In an actual crisis in space they’d both perish. He hoped someone with adequate training would pick them up from here.

August 30, 2026 – SpaceShip SS1

“We’re not sure what to make of it either,” said Luna.

Daniel read through the four lines. “They have a malfunction, and the dark matter is causing problems,” he said.

“And we shouldn’t go there,” added Brandon.

Daniel gave the writer an evil look.

Brandon held up his hands defensively. “I’m not saying we should do what they say!”

“Your crewmate’s right, Dan,” said Luna.

“My crewmates are out there. Nothing against Brandon, but he’s a civilian with no training.”

“He’s written books about space travel.”

“Yes, Luna. Fiction. All invented.”

“My books are always based on hard science,” said Brandon.

“Textbook knowledge at best, not practical experience.”

“Give him a chance, Dan,” said Luna. “You don’t have a choice, and two heads are better than one.”

“Fine. But this sentence here, ‘Come here please,’ that sounds to me like a call for help.”

“It’s an ellipsis, not a sentence,” said Brandon.

“Luna, I can’t promise I’ll be able to control myself. Please tell him to quit with the clever shit.”

“Brandon, can you hear me? In the interests of both of you, I’m asking you as your CapCom to keep any information to yourself that’s not relevant.”

“But how am I supposed to know if it’s relevant? Often you don’t know until you discuss it. For example, in this case, the use of ellipsis instead of whole sentences could be a sign of brain—”

“Brandon, please.”

The writer stopped talking. Daniel took a deep breath. Did it have to be this wise guy, of all people, who chose to stay on board? Vyacheslav probably would’ve been more useful. He’d supposedly been in the army and looked physically fit. Oh, well, he had no choice, like Luna said.

“Can we go through the messages again?” Daniel asked. “I’d really like to know what we’re up against.”

“One minute, Dan. Charles wants to tell you what the Germans have discovered. It has to do with the dark matter.”

* * *

“What does that mean in concrete terms, Charles?” asked Daniel.

It was always the same with scientists. They warned you, but then said they could be completely wrong. Were they coming or going? Why couldn’t they give you a straight answer?

“You have to be careful not to put yourselves in danger,” Charles warned.

“Great. As if we needed a scientist to tell us to be careful on a rescue mission. We obviously wouldn’t have lost contact with the Orion if it was completely safe out there. Can’t you be more specific?”

“The German was already pretty specific. He said we should abort the mission.”

“That’s not an option. I’m not turning my back on Dave and Livia!”

“That’s what I told him.”

“Have I understood this correctly? A scientist is saying our rescue mission will probably fail?” asked Brandon.

“Yes, that’s correct,” Charles replied.

“It’s too late to bail out now,” Daniel said.

“I didn’t say I wanted to bail out. I just want to know what I’m up against. We’re going to die out here. That’s important information.”

Daniel turned to the writer. Was he completely bonkers? He seemed quite calm. It must be the shock. This was stupid. They weren’t going to die, they were going to do their duty and rescue Dave and Livia. It wouldn’t be easy, so they had to be cautious and stick to the plan.

“What does Chatterjee say?” asked Daniel. “He knows best what this ship’s capable of.”

“We haven’t been able to reach him personally, but we spoke to his chief designer. He wasn’t prepared to answer the question off the top of his head, and asked us to send him the German scientist’s data.”

“What’s your impression, Charles?”

“I’m not sure. The SS1 is supposed to be able to launch from the surface of Mars, so shouldn’t it have enough power to escape from a comet? On the other hand, it has to conform to Kepler’s laws. The planned rendezvous course is admittedly pushing things pretty close to the edge. There’s no other way. The damaged capsule has a two-day head start. A small deviation could have huge consequences.”

“Thanks for your honest opinion. If it was just a research mission to 67P, I’d abort immediately. But we don’t leave anyone behind,” Daniel said with added emphasis. “Period!”

* * *

“Dan?”

Only friends called him that. “Yes, Brandon?”

“We should talk about how to prepare ourselves for the comet.”

“You buckle yourself in, don’t get in my way, and wait for me to tell you what to do.”

“I don’t want to interfere.”

But, Daniel chose not to say, that’s what you’re doing. The author would eventually shut up. Shit—he wasn’t going to shut up.

“I just thought we could—”

“Not necessary.”

“Just listen for a minute, Dan.”

“Daniel.” Arrrgh! This guy just doesn’t get it.

“We can’t just fly blindly to our doom, Daniel. This ship must have measuring instruments. We’re so close to our destination now that we’re in a much better position than Earth to assess what we’re heading into.”

“How do you know which devices are built into the ship?” He should just ignore him, but the guy’s arrogance was provoking him.

“I wrote a book about it.”

“This is reality, not a book. I thought I made that clear. This ship is built for tourists. It’s like a city tour bus. They don’t have measuring instruments for air quality and particulates.”

“Umm, yes they do. A modern engine and its exhaust system both have to react to the environment.”

“Fine. Bad example. This ship is a rowboat.” Another stupid example, but he couldn’t think of anything else.

“Most rowers have a fitness band or a smartphone with them.”

“There’s no reception up here.” His arguments were getting more obtuse, but Brandon was pushing his buttons and he couldn’t stop reacting.

“Umm, yes, there is—Alpha Omega has a small mobile network installed. But you don’t have to take my word for it. Ask Mission Control. We still have time. If the chief designer makes contact with them, he can answer that.”

“Fine,” Daniel sighed. “But then do you promise to keep your mouth shut?”

* * *

So this was where Kenichi Kikuchi, the Japanese billionaire, had sat. Daniel buckled himself in. This seat wasn’t any more comfortable than the others, but it was the only one from which he could take over control of the ship. He entered the Japanese man’s login details, which had been sent to him by Mission Control. Then he opened the settings menu, as Chatterjee had personally instructed, and clicked on ‘Information’ eleven times.

The program’s interface changed. Whereas before he could only look up information, now he had direct access to all components, including the thrusters. It was a good feeling to have control over the ship. He wasn’t intending to start the numerous thrusters himself. The software could do that much better than he could himself. But he could now manually initiate an emergency launch, with full power to all engines.

And he could access the ship's instruments, too. They were in the ‘Analysis’ menu. Brandon was right, but Daniel wasn’t going to tell him, because the smart-ass already knew it. He could see it in his eyes. And it was only logical. If the ship was supposed to launch independently from Mars, it would need as many eyes and ears as possible.

Daniel switched to the camera view. At first he was disappointed, because there only seemed to be a simple forward-facing camera. But he’d underestimated the programmer. He found he could easily switch between wavelengths with his fingers, and the selected magnification stayed the same. The fact that various devices came into play when he did so didn’t matter. He zoomed in as close as he could. 67P still wasn’t visible in the optical range, but the comet’s tail was glowing in infrared. Its nucleus, however, was exceptionally dark. It must be colder than the background. Was that even possible?

“This is exciting,” said Brandon.

The writer was looking over his shoulder. Should he tell Brandon he didn’t like him? But what if they were about to spend the last few days of their lives together?

“What’s so exciting about it?” asked Daniel, trying to sound disinterested.

“The cold coming from the nucleus. I can feel it.”

“Yeah, like sub-zero.”

“The temperature can’t go into the negative. But if I’m reading the scale correctly, then it’s below that of the microwave background.”

That meant nothing to Daniel, but he didn’t feel like listening to the explanation.

“That makes me think of a Bose-Einstein condensate,” said Brandon.

“Me, too,” said Daniel, although he had no idea what that was.

“I’m just wondering why it’s emerging here, of all places.”

“Yeah, that’s the question. Hopefully it’s not infectious.”

“Infectious?” Brandon looked at him as though he’d said something utterly stupid. But then his expression changed, the way Archimedes must have smiled in his bathtub.

“That gives me an idea, Daniel. Infectious... All the dark matter, if it really is spreading out as a Bose-Einstein condensate, is in its default energetic state. No matter the environment, it’s always a deep potential well. All free energy has to flow into it. ‘Infect’ is maybe not quite the right word, but it could be a comparable phenomenon. You’re a genius.”

Very funny. “You, too.”

Brandon had his eyes on Daniel, but he was gazing into the distance. “I know.” Was the compliment somehow not meant to be a joke? Daniel seemed to have a high opinion of himself.

“If you’re right—”

“I am right.”

“Okay, then, what does that mean for us?”

“We have to avoid getting in the way of the source at all costs. Otherwise we’ll end up like one of my female protagonists who wound up in a sea of methane on Titan and nearly died.”

“Wasn’t she wearing a spacesuit?”

“The best spacesuit won’t help you if the environment is so cold that all your body heat rapidly drains away.”

“You said she wound up in the sea, but survived. So she must have managed to get out.”

“Oh, well, it’s just a novel after all. Not reality.”

“Still. Maybe your idea applies here. Tell me, how did she do it?”

“To be honest, I can’t remember anymore. I can’t even remember her name, although I used it in several novels. That book was published ten years ago.”

“You’ve got no idea? What about writer’s creativity?”

“I’m not creative at all, even if that’s what everyone thinks. It’s the protagonists who think up the creative solutions.”

“Sadly, you’re the protagonist in this story.”

“Yes, that worries me, too, Dan. My characters are heroes. I’m just a lazy writer. In a situation like this, I can’t think of anything other than how to get out of it quickly.”

“That strategy doesn’t sound so bad. When the time comes, we should try it.”

August 31, 2026 – TU Darmstadt

Sixteen hours to go. He should have requested a slot at the supercomputer. Karl squirmed in his chair. He hadn’t seen Sylvia for days. She was either avoiding him because he’d hurt her feelings by moving into the hotel, or she was busy preparing the next Nobel Prize-winning paper.

“Are you coming?”

The email, from a nasa.gov address, contained nothing except this subject line. He dialed himself into Mission Control with the conferencing software. The room looked fuller today. The end was near, and NASA seemed to have deployed as many observers as possible.

A young NASA astronaut appeared on the big screen, and everyone in the room seemed to know him. It must be Daniel Schult, since he’d subscribed to his twitter feed @astroschult. Karl checked his phone. The astronaut was still tweeting every day. Was the Comms department behind that?

“Have Dave and Livia made contact again?” Daniel asked.

“Unfortunately, no,” MOM replied.

“That’s too bad.”

“We’re also pretty sure their message was meant as a warning not to rush to their aid.”

“Yes, I think so, too,” said Daniel. “Earlier, I was sending the same message on repeat, saying that we were coming for them.”

“Your message is still being sent out from the Lunar Gateway.”

“That’s good.”

“But that doesn’t mean you have to feel obligated to complete the mission, Dan. First there’s this warning from the Orion, then the German who’d prefer to cut the mission short...”

That’s not what he said. He’d prefer to cut MOM short.

“...and our experts are also taking a critical view. Even Chatterjee has revised his assessment.”

“That’s news to me, MOM. What’s he saying now?”

“He can’t guarantee that the SS1 will be able to maintain its course in any eventuality.”

“Well, who can? If an asteroid hits us, no one will care about our course anymore.”

“I think Chatterjee meant it more as a serious warning than an attempt at avoiding liability.”

“We won’t let that stop us, will we, Brandon?”

The camera angle changed to include an older man with thinning hair. That must be the author. Karl envied him a little. He’d rather see the hexaquark than get a Nobel Prize for the discovery. ‘Well, that’s stupid,’ Sylvia would say. ‘With the million you get for the Nobel Prize, you can buy a ticket and fly to your hexaquark. Then you can have the best of both worlds.’ She’d always been the more practical one.

“Brandon?”

The man flinched. He seemed a bit muddled. Hopefully he wasn’t a burden on the mission. “Umm, no, of course not,” he said.

“Ah, I see Karl from Darmstadt has just joined us,” MOM announced. The way she pronounced Darmstadt sounded funny. “Brandon, you asked to speak to him.”

The camera centered on the writer. Now he seemed much more alert.

“Yes, thank you,” he said. “I just wanted to verify an idea. I studied physics, but that was a long time ago.”

Karl cleared his throat. “How can I help?”

“We all thought you were the best person to answer the question,” said MOM.

“Oh, thanks, that’s kind of you. I’m listening, Brandon?”

“We observed the comet in infrared. The nucleus looks blacker than black.”

“Yes, we’re aware of that.”

“But there’s matter there, even if we don’t know what.”

“Correct.”

“This matter can only be as cold as it is if it’s in its default energetic state, and multiple particles can only reach this state if we’re dealing with Bosons.”

“Exactly. The particles can only be in that state with an integer spin. We call it a Bose-Einstein condensate.”

“Daniel here is asking me what that means for our mission.”

“That you should keep your distance, Brandon. It’s not possible to shield yourselves from energy loss. It’s not some kind of corrosive fluid that gold foil can protect against.”

“Thank you. That’s what I was afraid of. And can we somehow clear this mass out of the way?”

“Hmm... It only seems to interact with other matter through gravity. So you can only influence it with mass.”

“Our ship is a total lightweight compared to the comet.”

“That’s right. But even if you had a heavier ship, it wouldn’t help, because mass always attracts. You could... Wait a minute...” Karl thought it through. Yes, that could work. “...it might be possible to shift the stuff a little to the side with high-energy radiation.”

“How high-energy?”

“As high as possible. Gamma, X-rays, if you can. The more energy the photons have, the larger the mass equivalent.”

“Do we have anything like that with us?” asked Brandon.

“Probably only in your books,” said Daniel. “In reality, spaceships aren’t equipped with gamma cannons and X-rays.”

“They’re not in my books, either.”

“But wait a minute.” Daniel’s head disappeared from view, then reappeared. “I can shift the optical reconnaissance spectrum into the terahertz range. That means we must have a terahertz lamp on board. Would that help?”

“I don’t know,” Karl replied. “There’s an awful lot of dark matter up there. But it can’t hurt to try budging it a little with the terahertz lamp. As long as you have enough energy for that.”

Daniel laughed.

“What is it?” asked Karl.

“I’ve been warned about that famous German optimism.”

August 31, 2026 – Lunar Gateway

“It’s pretty cramped and cold in here,” said Sophie.

“You should be glad. Up here, it’s way too hot,” said Yunus.

“I’d rather be sweating.”

“I’d rather be freezing.”

“Then go outside.”

“In a spacesuit, after a three-hour workout on the wheel? Then I’ll sweat even more.”

“Yunus? It’s me, Kenichi.”

They hadn’t heard from Kenichi for a while. “Hello, KK. Are you freezing, too?” Hopefully he was okay.

“I’m used to these temperatures. My family is from northern Japan. I was always cold in winter.”

“What’s it like on the moon?” asked Yunus.

“Boring, to be honest.”

“Then come to us!”

“I asked Mission Control, but they’ve got other things to worry about. And our provisions will last a few more days.”

“Makes sense. Can’t your friend Ihab do anything for us?”

“I’m afraid my demand for compensation angered him. I can’t get through to him. He seems to have given instructions to say he’s not there.”

“Then just launch to the Gateway yourselves.”

“Do you understand the systems on the station well enough for us to dock safely?”

“I don’t know. Slava, can we operate the coupling mechanism?”

“No idea. I haven’t tried yet.”

“In that case we’re better off staying down here,” said KK. “Then at least we can go for walks when we’re bored.”

“You could fly to the Gateway’s orbit and then transfer via the airlocks without docking.”

“And then five of us hang around in the Gateway? No, if we could dock the lander... Five in how many square meters?”

“Cubic meters. The floor area’s irrelevant in zero gravity.”

“Whatever. But no, we’ll stay here until the problem’s solved.”

“If it does get solved,” said Yunus. “The Orion capsule hasn’t made contact again.”

August 31, 2026 – SpaceShip SS1

“Orion here. We’re experiencing thruster malfunction. Please don’t come here. I repeat. Abandon the rescue mission.”

The voice rang out clearly through the SS1 control room, as though they’d broken through some magical barrier behind which Dave and Livia had been hiding.

“Dave, is that you?”

“Daniel? I can’t believe it. You can hear us? What did you do? Shoot a relay to 67P?”

“No, Dave, we’re nearby.”

“We can’t see you.”

“No, we’re still around fifty kilometers away from the nucleus. We can see the nucleus but not the capsule.”

“How did you get here?”

“Chatterjee loaned us the SS1.”

“Us?”

“I have Brandon Mitchell on board. The author.”

“You’re insane. We specifically warned against sending a rescue mission. Two deaths are enough.”

“You weren’t the only ones who warned us. The German scientists who first recorded the changes to 67P were against the expedition. So was Chatterjee.”

“And you didn’t listen to them. That was stupid.”

“Clearly.”

“Still, I’ll be glad to see you.”

“Me, too,” said Livia. “I don’t share Dave’s pessimism, by the way.”

“You mean you think we’ll get out of this?”

“No, Dan, I wouldn’t go that far. I think the four of us have a few more exciting days ahead of us. What’s happening here is sensational, and we’re the only eyewitnesses.”

“All I can see so far is a bulging potato,” said Daniel. “I’d rather get you home. But first I need to let Mission Control know we’ve found you.”

He switched channels and activated the high-gain antenna. What had taken a matter of seconds in the Lunar Gateway now took a whole minute. The functions were there, but they were hidden so the tourists didn’t stumble across them. Daniel managed it anyway.

“SS1 to Houston. We’ve re-established contact with the Orion.” He pressed send, then waited. Ten seconds, twenty, thirty. Nothing happened.

He looked at Brandon, who bit his lower lip. This couldn’t be happening.

One minute. More than a minute. Maybe Mission Control was just preoccupied with something else.

Two minutes. Brandon tapped him on the shoulder. He already knew—the comet had captured them.

“Orion? Can you hear us?”

It was silent for a moment, and Daniel’s heart raced. What if they were suddenly alone? Maybe they’d just imagined the conversation with Dave and Livia.

“Hello, Dan,” said Livia. “We’re all ears.”

“I’ve lost contact with Earth. It’s as though we’ve crossed some barrier.”

“The barrier between life and death,” said Dave. “It was the same for us.”

“You sound like an oracle,” Livia said.

“That’s quite typical of a dynamic system,” Brandon proffered. “Everything seems normal at first, even though the writing’s already on the wall, and then the balance tips. It’s unavoidable at that point.”

* * *

“We were worried when we suddenly lost contact,” Livia said.

“But turning back wasn’t an option,” said Dave. “A specific course had been calculated for the capsule that would eventually take us back to the moon, and we couldn’t change it.”

“The thruster was too weak?” Daniel asked.

“Exactly,” said Dave.

“Then maybe we can do it with the SS1. It’s much more powerful.”

“What condition is the capsule in?” asked Brandon. “You said something about thruster malfunction.”

“We were flying toward the comet,” explained Dave, “and noticed that we’d deviated from our intended course.”

“You were afraid you’d collide?”

“No, my friend. The opposite. The new course would have flung us hyperbolically out of the solar system. So we had no choice, we had to deliberately steer the capsule toward the comet. That’s what caused the thruster malfunction.”

“Still, that was quite an achievement,” said Daniel. “The capsule wasn’t built for landing on a comet.”

“Nothing’s built for landing on a comet. 67P’s far too light.”

“What about the Philae lander? It landed here twelve years ago.”

“You’ll have to excuse Brandon. He has a tendency to talk too much. And he thinks he’s always right.”

“I am always right.”

“See what I mean? Still, he’s proving to be a sensible crewmate.”

“Well, we’re excited,” said Dave. “I’ve never met a real author before.”

“I hope we’ll be able to meet here on the ship tomorrow at the latest,” said Brandon. “By the way, what made you think colliding with 67P would be better than flying out into the solar system? The comet’s orbiting the sun, too.”

“Sure. But this way, at least we get to observe the effects of the dark matter on the solar system.”

* * *

The comet looked like a cross between a dinosaur and a rubber duck. Brandon swiped the image back and forth across the screen with his fingers. There was the head, the neck, and the back, which appeared to be covered in huge scales.

Brandon zoomed the image out until 67P was the size of a sugar cube. Then he curled his index finger and flicked. His finger stopped just in front of the screen. Unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy. Churyumov-Gerasimenko wasn’t more than four kilometers across at any point, but a bathtub duck of this size still weighed 10 billion tons.

He switched over to the optical camera and deactivated the automatic contrast adjustment. Daniel had shown him how to access new software functions that had been there all along. If only he’d known about them earlier! The screen went almost black, and the comet disappeared. It was black as charcoal, and they were too far away to see it without visual enhancement.

He slowly swiveled the camera. The sun was on their left, and he centered on it. It was calm, almost lifeless, and much colder than it looked from Earth. It wasn’t until you were up here that you saw it as a star like any other. Now the other side. There was the Earth, still surprisingly large. Brandon was glad. He’d always fantasized about flying to Mars on one of the first colonist ships, but seeing the Earth as if it were just another star in the sky was a frightening proposition.

How was Jenna getting along? She was probably besieging Mission Control, along with her fellow journalists. Having lost contact with a second vessel, NASA would have some explaining to do. The administration had perhaps already started receiving the first letters of resignation. Brandon wasn’t worried about himself. Whatever happened would happen. But it would be a shame if MOM and everyone else at Mission Control had to shoulder the blame. They’d chosen to pursue this mission of their own free will.

The dark matter spring out there was indeed a puzzle. It was like something he might have invented in one of his books. It was a pity they didn’t have time to study the phenomenon. Dark matter could be explained without any amendments to the standard model, and it was so close—it must be a dream come true for the physicists.

What was its relationship to the microwave background? Where was the Bose-Einstein condensate coming from? Or had it always been there, undiscovered until now? What had unleashed the spring? Or had it always existed, but only recently fully opened up?

He’d love to have been able to discuss it with one of the scientists. His fellow space travelers didn’t seem to have the nerve for questions like those, but they were important questions. A direct line to this Karl Stoll in Darmstadt, or a conversation with Jenna? If he were given the choice at that moment, he would have chosen the German.

September 1, 2026 – TU Darmstadt

The curve looked like a snake that had been run over by a truck. Where 67P was currently located in space was its head. Then its body curved around the sun without coming much closer, and finally it swung back out toward Jupiter’s orbit, becoming increasingly wider due to the increasing uncertainty depicted by the simulation.

At Jupiter’s orbit, where 67P would arrive in around three years, the tail looked like a scarf. It reached its farthest distance from the sun there, its aphelion—5 to 6.5 AUs out. Then the flattened snake curved back toward the sun. It had much more momentum than previously. At this point 67P would be 20 to 100 times heavier than it was on its previous orbit, meaning the comet’s path would intersect with Earth’s orbit.

Karl overlaid the actual orbits of the planets. Mars would be on the other side of the sun in six years, but the Earth was flashing red. The scarf, describing the comet’s path in the year 2032, fanned out. It gently brushed past the blue planet, and then, as though nothing had happened, continued to swing around the sun.

Nothing happened in this simulation because the orbits of the planets were only superimposed, but the encounter wouldn’t play out so peacefully. If a rock weighing between 200 billion and one trillion tons hit the Earth, the face of the planet would change forever. Karl didn’t need a simulation to know that. The extinction of the dinosaurs would be no more than a fart by comparison.

How great was the danger? The scarf that described the comet’s potential orbit was around 20 times wider than the Earth. The comet itself would still only measure a few kilometers across. So there was a roughly 1:20 chance of collision—that was almost comforting. Karl zoomed in on the image. The problem was that the Earth was almost right in the middle of the scarf, where the simulated potential orbits were most likely. It was reminiscent of a frequently-used road, where the traffic was mostly concentrated in the middle. The risk was greater there, too. And this was exactly where their home planet would be in six years!

Karl activated the probability distribution function and integrated the Earth’s profile, which gave him a more accurate result. But it wasn’t any better—the risk increased to 1:12.

Mission Control needed to know. The whole human race needed to know. There was an eight-percent chance that a significant number of them would die in six years. But it wasn’t his responsibility to inform eight billion people. That was what politicians were for. His job was to tell Mission Control. One more reason to recall SpaceShip SS1.

* * *

He dialed himself into the conferencing system. He could tell something must have happened when he saw the blank projection wall. Half the desks were empty. MOM was sitting at the front left, typing.

Karl announced himself in the chat.

“Hello, Karl.” MOM sounded tired. Very tired.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he said.

MOM gave a short laugh. “Distractions are welcome.”

“Has something happened?”

“You don’t know? We lost contact.”

“Shit.”

“Please don’t make me repeat the details. You can read it in the report.”

“Of course, MOM.”

“And now, please tell me you have good news. Anything. I can’t take any more bad tidings today.”

“I, umm... Then maybe I should wait till tomorrow.”

“That bad? Tell me. I wasn’t serious.”

“It can wait, really. A long time.”

MOM rested her chin in her hands. “Time. That sounds good. But tell me, anyway. I won’t keel over.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” How could he formulate it in a way that would make it easier to hear? “It concerns a future point in time,” he said. “Not tomorrow—much further out.”

“Good. We’ve got enough on our plates right now.”

“But it’s not good, even though it’s in the future. The time frame I’m talking about is six years from now.”

“That’s the time it takes for 67P to orbit.”

“Exactly.”

“The comet will pass dangerously close to the Earth on its next orbit.”

“You guessed right.”

“You didn’t congratulate me, Karl. Don’t they say, ‘You guessed right, congratulations?’”

“Not in this case.”

“But there are loads of asteroids that come dangerously close to Earth every year. Tell me it’ll be like every other time. The media will warn us of a Russian killer comet, and then Churyumov-Gerasimenko will pass us by, way out beyond the moon’s orbit.”

“That would be nice.”

MOM sighed. “What’s really going to happen?”

“The danger of a collision is 1 in 12.”

“Shit. That’s not good.”

“It’s not.”

“Karl?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t pass this information on. We have to avoid a panic at all costs. I’ll discuss it with my superiors.”

“I understand. But I should point out that any amateur astronomer could come to the same conclusion. We won’t be able to keep it quiet for more than a few days.”

* * *

He couldn’t stop thinking about the road-kill snake. Karl played around with the parameters of the simulation. Somehow he had to keep the Earth out of the comet’s future orbit. Or the other way around. They had experience with that! Four years ago, NASA’s Double Asteroid Redirection Test, DART, struck the asteroid moon Didymoon. The ESA’s Hera probe, for which he was jointly responsible, was supposed to measure the precise effect of the impact of the DART. Didymoon was only 160 meters across, but the force of the DART was also small. It was a relatively simple mechanical problem.

But they clearly couldn’t wait until 67P returned in six years’ time. Humanity wouldn’t learn in six years how to reroute 200 billion tons of mass by hundreds of kilometers. But 10 billion tons, if they began six years earlier and employed a lot more force than the DART? It didn’t sound impossible. But he had to work it out before he gave anyone too much hope. Himself, for example. This time he needed the supercomputer. The calculation time for the simulation had now increased ten-fold. He wanted the answer by tomorrow.

He reached for the phone and called Sylvia.

September 1, 2026 – Lunar Gateway

“I can’t just sit around and do nothing,” said Yunus.

“What do you want to do?” Vyacheslav asked.

“I don’t know. Help those people out there.”

“We have no contact with them.”

“Yeah, exactly. The day before yesterday, we were the only ones receiving the Orion’s signal. We’re farther away from Earth than anyone. If anyone can make contact with the crew, it’s us.”

“You’re an illustrator, Yunus.”

“I know. And you’re a sculptor and pianist. But we have our common sense.”

“That won’t help us. They need experts.”

“You underestimate general knowledge. Let’s just try. If you can’t understand someone, what do you do?”

“I ask them to speak louder.”

“That doesn’t apply in this case. They can’t hear you.”

“I cup my hand behind my ear.”

“You increase the sensitivity.”

“And try to get closer to them.”

“That might be difficult in our case.”

Yunus thought about it. They’d heard the Orion because they were orbiting so far out. Was there any reason not to increase the Gateway’s orbit? “Maybe that’s a possibility,” he said.

“But then KK and the women won’t be able to reach us. The lander’s provisions—”

“That’s true, Slava. But those three are doing fine down there. They’ll last a while longer.”

“KK didn’t sound like he would when we talked to him yesterday.”

“If we have a chance to make contact with the spaceship, we can’t worry about him.”

“He’ll never invite us again.”

“Haha.”

“You’re right, Yunus, it wasn’t funny. But would widening our orbit even be enough?”

“Probably not. But think about the hand behind the ear.”

“The sensitivity.”

“Exactly. The Gateway has high- and low-gain antennas. The more sensitive high-gain antenna connects us with the Earth, the other connects us with the lander on the moon or the Orion capsule.”

“How do you know that?”

“The design’s on the internet. NASA listed pretty precise specifications.”

“So you don’t know, you just read about it.”

“We’ll obviously have to take a look outside. We’d have to go out anyway, to swap the connections on the two antennas so we can reverse them.”

“You don’t think that can somehow be done with software on the central computer?”

“Somehow, Slava. Do you know how?”

“No. I’m a sculptor, not a programmer.”

“Exactly. But connecting a couple of cables. We can do that.”

“What about the orbit?”

“We should be able to figure that out, too. We just need to start the main thruster and accelerate the Gateway. Then it’ll alter its orbit. But first things first. Oh, yeah, we need duct tape.”

Slava floated over to a box mounted on the wall and pulled out a drawer. He reached in and pulled out a roll. “Here’s the duct tape,” he said.

“Then those four out there are as good as rescued. Let’s start exercising. We have to get ready for our work as electricians.”

* * *

Slava was hanging upside-down from the cable to the smaller antenna. He was holding a large wire cutter in his hand, which must have been designed especially for use with spacesuit gloves. “Do you really think I should?”

“Just do it,” said Yunus. “But be careful not to accidentally cut through your safety line.”

“What if we’re wrong?”

They hadn’t run their idea by anyone at Mission Control, who would probably have prohibited the operation because it broke some regulation. They’d inferred which was the high-gain and which was the low-gain antenna from their size. That was logical. The larger the antenna’s area, the more it could concentrate the signal.

“We’re not wrong.”

“And our contact with Earth?”

“It’s not important. We don’t need Mission Control. They’ve got enough on their hands.”

They’d already discussed all this while exercising in preparation for the EVA. Vyacheslav was a broad-shouldered, physically fit man, but he seemed to have a particular respect for authority.

“All right. I’m putting my trust in you.”

“Just do it. Don’t make me come over there.”

The two antennas were about two meters apart. Yunus had attached himself to the larger of the two

Slava finally moved his arm toward the cable, which ran close along the outer hull, positioned the jaws of the wire cutter, and pressed the handles together. “Man, this is hard,” he said.

“Has zero gravity made you soft?”

“It’s a bitch with the gloves. You’ll see soon enough.”

“You can do it.”

“Ha!” Slava’s hand swung out. He lost his grip on the wire cutter. The tool sailed away, but he managed to catch it with his other hand. “Got it!” he said.

“I can see that. Now the other cable.”

Slava repeated the action. He squeezed, groaned, and then he was through. He pulled himself closer to the hull and picked up the cable. “Done!” he said. “Now it’s your turn.”

* * *

He shouldn’t have made fun of Slava—operating a wire cutter with the gloves on was almost impossible.

Yunus tried with both hands. The cable to the larger antenna must be a lot thicker. There was no other explanation. Finally, it clicked, and he was through. His muscles reacted too slowly, and a sharp pain shot through his upper arm, causing him to bite down.

“Now the other one,” said Slava. “You can do it, I believe in you.”

Fair enough, he deserved to be mocked. This time it went quicker. Yunus stood up and side-stepped, without removing his other foot from its anchorage. Slava mirrored his movement and passed him the ends of the cables that had been connected to the smaller antenna. Yunus gave him his. At that moment they looked like a parody of the Michelangelo fresco of God and Adam stretching out their hands toward one another. Slava was God, and he was Adam.

He pulled himself back to the large antenna. There was no point in threading the cables through the lugs on the hull, because they’d have to reroute them again eventually to contact Mission Control. He slipped the wire cutter into his tool belt and took out the wire-stripping tool. The last time he played at being an electrician was when he was a kid, once with an actual 110-volt power socket. It had been a close shave. He gripped the cable with the wire stripper and pulled until he could see bare copper. Then he looked for the other end. The cables were color-coded—blue on blue and black on black, or mixed?

“Slava, what about the colors?”

“Blue on blue, of course. They weren’t mixed on my side, either.”

“Thanks.”

That was logical. Over-thinking a problem just made it unnecessarily complicated. He joined the ends of the cables with duct tape.

* * *

Slava stank, thought Yunus, knowing he himself probably smelled like a polecat, but he could never smell his own sweat. There was no point in showering. They’d have to go out and return the cables to their original positions at some point. Someone on Earth was probably having a heart attack about now because they hadn’t heard from them.

“Everything okay with you?” came KK’s voice.

“What? Sure,” said Yunus.

“I’ve been trying to reach you for the last five minutes.”

“Everything’s fine here. We just had a brief power outage.”

“What? Nothing serious, I hope?”

“No, Slava sorted it out. He’s a born electrician.”

“You should tell Mission Control.”

“They have enough to think about right now.”

“That’s true. Oh, well.”

“What’s wrong, KK? You don’t sound good.”

“We were thinking about coming up to join you after all.”

“But we can’t use the coupling mechanism.”

“We just have to be within view. Then we can do an EVA and come across. It’s starting to get tiresome down here in such a cramped space.”

“Aren’t you getting along?”

“Sophie and Emily are bickering. It has nothing to do with me.”

“What? That’s not true!” cried Emily in the background. “You’re refusing to take part in our activities.”

“Activities, haha.”

“KK? I have to end the conversation now,” said Yunus.

“What about our launch?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now. You should sort out your differences first. Otherwise it’ll end up in the media. No one can bother you down there.”

“I don’t know—”

“Yes, KK, it’s really better that way. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”

* * *

“You cut him off,” Vyacheslav said.

“I didn’t have a choice. Now you can redirect the antenna.”

“How did he even get through? Surely the high-gain antenna was directed at the Earth?”

“That shows how the larger surface area works. I guess lateral radiation reaches it over short distances.”

“Then let’s try our luck.”

Slava typed something into the computer. “I hope this works,” he said.

“I should have stayed out there and kept an eye on things,” said Yunus.

“It should be fine. Maybe we don’t even need to increase our orbit?”

“Have the Orion or the spaceship contacted us?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, then.”

* * *

Vyacheslav had managed to activate the thruster. It was strange to feel gravity again. They’d accelerated until around a third of the fuel was spent. They’d have to wait to find out the result of that. Only Mission Control could calculate their ideal distance from the moon.

But they currently had no communication with Earth. Fortunately, KK hadn’t radioed them again. From the point of view of the lander, they’d soon disappear into a radio shadow behind the moon. The moon was also shielding them from the Earth and its interference, a fact that might also positively affect their chances of receiving transmissions from the lost crew members.

Yunus had made himself comfortable beside the radio. They’d take it in turns. The optimal conditions would probably only last two or three hours.

“SpaceShip SS1 here. Mission Control, please come in.”

September 1, 2026 – SpaceShip SS1

“Thank God. Are you all right?”

They’d finally got through! Had they somehow reached the edge of the shielded zone?

“Daniel here. Our ship’s undamaged, but Orion has a thruster malfunction. Who’s this?”

“Lunar Gateway here. Yunus.”

Oh no, not this now. Instead of Mission Control, they were communicating with the hobby astronauts.

“Yunus. Hi. What about Mission Control?”

“They lost contact with you, so we switched around the high and low-gain antennas.”

“That was good thinking on Mission Control’s part,” said Daniel.

“Mission Control doesn’t know about it. We just tried it out on our own.”

“Oh.” He revised his assessment. Those two weren’t as stupid as he thought.

“Is there any way that we can help?”

“No, but it’s good to have contact again. Please let Mission Control know we’re all right. We’ll reach the Orion capsule today, get Dave and Livia on board, and then set a course for the Earth.”

It wouldn’t be that easy, because they couldn’t exactly hold the spaceship level with the comet and wait for them. But they’d think of something.

“Good, we’ll pass that on.”

“Thanks, Yunus. And good thinking, you two.”

“We’ll be in the same position in about seven hours. I suggest we communicate again then. In the meantime, we’ll contact Mission Control. I just hope they don’t ban us from making the adjustments.”

“Not if they work.”

“Good. Talk to you again in seven hours.”

“Understood. We should have just picked up the Orion crew by then.”

“Take care!”

* * *

Daniel played back a recording of the conversation with the Gateway to Dave and Livia. “Did you catch all that?”

“We heard it. You’re very optimistic,” said Dave.

“About picking you up?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll have to somehow compensate for the difference in speed.”

“What about the dark matter?”

“We don’t know enough about it.”

“That’s even worse.”

“What I don’t know doesn’t make me nervous. We can’t take all factors into account. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“You could be dragged away with the comet. It’s bad enough the two of us going down with it. Please reconsider. Think about the warnings.”

“Then the four of us will die together on the SS1. It’s quite comfortable in here. There’s even a large Netflix library.”

“That won’t last forever.”

“It doesn’t need to, Dave. We’ll run out of air in a few months.”

“You think we’d last that long?”

“This ship was built for a Mars voyage.”

September 1, 2026 – Lunar Gateway

“Finally. We thought we’d lost the Gateway, too,” said MOM. “The administrator was on the verge of a heart attack.”

Yunus floated in front of the radio unit, sweating. He and Vyacheslav had just returned the antenna cables to their original positions. “I’ll be honest with you. The communication was cut off because we swapped the connections on the high and low-gain antennas.”

“You did what?” MOM yelled at the camera. Her face was pale.

He could see veins pulsing in her temples. “We—”

“You cut the connection yourselves? Have you completely lost your minds?”

Yunus hadn’t known the NASA MOM long, but she sounded pretty pissed. He felt like a small boy who’d been playing with a cigarette lighter at a gas station. “We just wanted to—”

“You just intentionally damaged NASA property and endangered yourselves. Not just yourselves but the crew on the moon, too.”

“But we—”

“God knows we’ve got enough problems trying to locate the Orion and the SS1 without you messing with the hardware.”

“We made contact with the SS1.”

“I forbid you from... Whaaaat? Say that again.”

“We made contact with the SS1.”

“Is this some kind of stupid joke?”

“No. The high-gain antenna—”

“You’re geniuses! Why did no one here think of that?”

Because they all thought we were useless tourists. “I know—”

“How are they? What happened?”

Yunus reported.

“Thank you, Yunus. I should apologize,” MOM said finally.

“We should have asked,” he said. “It won’t happen again.”

“No. This time I’m officially requesting that you maintain contact with the spaceship for as long as it’s out of our range. I suggest we communicate every six hours.”

Great. That meant they had to go outside every six hours to reposition the antennas. They’d be continuously sweating. And when were they supposed to sleep? At least they were safe here in the station.

“Yes, MOM,” said Yunus.

September 1, 2026 – Comet 67P

“We have a slight problem,” said Daniel.

Dave swallowed his last mouthful of processed food, then plugged the headphones into the radio. Livia was buckled in above him. She’d just fallen asleep and he didn’t want to wake her. “How slight?” he whispered.

“I can’t hear you,” said Daniel.

David turned up the microphone. “How slight?” he repeated.

“That’s better. Must be the dark matter.”

“No. Livia’s asleep. I’m whispering.”

“That’s considerate of you.”

“Neither of us has slept in almost 48 hours. Everything’s a little difficult right now. So, what’s the problem?”

“We can’t find you. We can see the nucleus clearly now, but no sign of you two.”

“Hmm. Maybe we’re too small? The capsule’s only a few meters across and the comet’s several kilometers.”

“No, Dave, the camera resolution should be good enough to find you.”

“Then maybe we’re hidden in a ditch or behind a wall.”

“That’s possible. One rotation of the comet takes a good twelve hours. We’ve scanned most of the surface. But maybe the capsule is positioned outside our line of sight.”

“Wait a minute. I’ll make you a 3D model of the surrounding area. Then you can compare it to your model of the nucleus.”

Dave activated the laser scanner. They’d already analyzed their surroundings. They had to pass the time somehow. He sent the data to the central computer. “Okay. In a few seconds you’ll know what it looks like down here,” he whispered.

* * *

“Dave?”

That was quick. Dave looked up at Livia. She was still asleep, but her eyelids were twitching. Hopefully she was dreaming about something pleasant. He straightened the headphones. “Have you found us?” he asked quietly.

“We still can’t see you, but we know where you are.”

“That’s good news.”

“In principle, yes. But there’s another problem. We did some calculations. When we’re at our closest point to the comet’s nucleus, your capsule will be on the opposite side.”

“I assume you can’t just come around to our side?”

“We could change course, but that would increase our relative speed so that you couldn’t board safely.”

“All right. If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed... Then we’ll have to go outside and walk to where you are.”

“Looks that way. But you don’t have much time. It’s about eight kilometers on foot, based on our 3D model of 67P.”

“Cool. I’ve always wanted to go for a stroll on a comet.”

“That’s convenient.”

“And we’ll be the first to set foot on a celestial body that isn’t part of the Earth-moon system.”

“You’ll go down in history.”

* * *

“Livia?” Dave squeezed her shoulder gently.

Livia opened her eyes and looked around. “Oh, man,” she said. “I was just being chased by a monster. I’ve never been so happy to wake up in this capsule.”

“Unfortunately, we can’t stay here much longer.”

“Unfortunately. Haha.”

“I mean it. We’ve got an eight-kilometer walk ahead of us across the surface of the comet, to meet our connecting flight to Earth.”

“When are they picking us up?”

“In four hours. In the meantime we need to prepare for our EVA and cover the distance on foot.”

“Good. I’ll just freshen up and eat something. Then we can start.”

September 1, 2026, TU Darmstadt

“You’re still in your office? I thought you might be.”

“Sylvia. Thanks for calling.” Hopefully he hadn’t just invited a whole lot of small talk.

“Yes, we’ve mostly been communicating via email, which I thought was a shame.”

Email had the considerable advantage that it didn’t interrupt his flow. Like now. He only had a few lines left to write in his new algorithm. “I was intending to call you on the weekend.” That was a lie, but it sounded good.

“Okay. You’re well then, Karl?”

“Very well.”

“So are we.”

Just say why you called. Do you need help?

“I... Never mind,” said Sylvia. “I have the data you wanted.”

“From the supercomputer? That’s faster than expected. Excellent!”

“I knew you’d be happy. I know one of the admins, and he reserved twice as many cores for me.”

“That’s great. Please send it through.”

“I will. And call me on the weekend, like you promised.”

“I will. Thanks again!”

Karl ended the call and hurriedly opened his emails. The cursor began spinning—his computer had chosen that precise moment to perform a backup. He canceled the operation. Had he ever been this excited about a table full of data?

There it was!

With a few clicks of his mouse, he turned it into an image. The snake still had a broad tail. But there was one significant difference—only the edge of the tail touched the Earth. Karl integrated the curve. The risk of a collision with the Earth was now below 0.3 percent.

* * *

Mission Control was fuller than ever. MOM reacted immediately to his virtual wave. She didn’t look quite as exhausted now. “What it is?” she asked. “Please tell me it’s good news.”

“The atmosphere seems more relaxed over there.”

“Yes, we’ve reestablished contact with our crew, although only sporadically.”

“That’s great. Regarding the collision with 67P in six years—”

“You’ve ruled it out?”

“That would be nice. But there’s a way to avoid it. The data’s quite clear.”

“Then out with it.”

“Have you ever built a snowman?”

“I’m from Wyoming. I built lots of snowmen as a child. And snowwomen.”

“Good. Then you know. You start with a small ball of snow, roll and roll, and the larger it becomes, the faster it grows.”

“I always found that fascinating as a child.”

“If you want to influence the growth—”

“—you have to start at the beginning. I can see where you’re going, Karl. The avalanche effect. What do we need to do now to prevent the end of the world in six years?”

“We need to apply force to the comet in a particular direction for a while. A small impulse today will lead to a huge deviation in six years, so that the likelihood of the Earth being destroyed is only 0.3 percent.”

“Thanks, Karl, that really is good news. Can you tell us what we need to do, exactly?”

“I can only give you the figures. I’ve got no idea what’s the best way to achieve them. I’ll send you the data. I believe either the Orion or the spaceship could provide a strong enough impulse, but please don’t take my word for it.”

September 1, 2026 – SpaceShip SS1

“A small push today, a big effect over six years,” said Yunus. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, what Mission Control has in mind sounds plausible,” said Daniel. “But what’s the actual plan?”

“They don’t have one yet. Everything depends on the Orion capsule and the ESM. If you could somehow set up the main thruster and get it working... It has to fire at a 90-degree angle to the surface, at specific points in time.”

“Ha, get it working? The last I heard from Dave was that their thruster won’t work at all anymore.”

“I can only pass on what Mission Control told me. We could ask them, but to do that we first have to swap back the antennas.”

“That’ll take too long,” said Daniel. “If those two want to reach us in time, they’ll have to set out in a few minutes.”

“Okay, then good luck from the Gateway.”

“Thanks, Yunus. And, thanks for your excellent idea of swapping the antennas. If you hadn’t, we wouldn’t even know the Earth was in danger.”

* * *

“Wait, Daniel, I’ll test it out first.” David activated the thruster controls. He gently pushed the lever forward, but nothing happened—the thruster wouldn’t fire.

“Dan, can you hear me? It doesn’t look good. Nothing’s happening in here.”

“Shit. If we can’t use the capsule to divert the comet, then we’ll have to use the ship.”

“That means we won’t be going home.”

“No, Dave, none of us will.”

“And you’re certain the Earth’s in danger?”

“If MOM says so, I believe her.”

“Livia and I had already accepted we were going to die. Did you ask your buddy if he’s prepared to sacrifice himself for Earth?”

“The writer’s nodding.”

“Good. But before you say your last goodbyes, I’ll just take one more look at it from outside.”

* * *

“We’re on the comet now,” Dave said.

“I hear you loud and clear,” Daniel replied.

“I’m redirecting the helmet radio via the capsule.”

“Good idea.”

“The whole thruster housing’s been pushed in,” said Dave.

“Shit.”

“And at one point it’s torn. Livia, give me the crowbar.”

Daniel could hear Dave breathing heavily.

“Okay, I can see inside now. The tear runs past the service module. Wait a minute.”

He heard Dave’s breathing again. “Ah, it only seems to have affected the controls.”

“You sound relieved. But we can’t start the thruster without the controls.”

“Not from the capsule.”

“Am I hearing a but, Dave?”

“You know me well. The thruster has a test mode—for testing it on the ground before it’s integrated into the ship.”

“Don’t tell me you also know how to use this test mode?”

“A commander has to know more than his crew,” Dave replied. “But seriously, I’ve only watched it being done on an earlier Artemis mission. I was a substitute candidate and sat in at Mission Control. Just a minute.”

Daniel imagined Dave floating above the capsule, opening some secret compartment.

“There it is. Can you see the service module access?”

“I can’t see anything from here.”

“I meant Livia, sorry,” said Dave

“Yes, I see it.”

“Open it. You’ll need a sixteen.”

“Yes, boss.”

This time Daniel heard Livia panting. He was amused by the fact that not only was her voice higher-pitched, but her exertion vocalizations sounded more feminine, too.

“I’ve got it open,” she said.

“Hold on tight,” David ordered.

Something rattled.

“Didn’t it work?” asked Daniel.

“It did. The thruster fired. You didn’t hear anything because we’re in a vacuum. You would have needed ear protection if we were on Earth.”

“Something rattled.”

“I didn’t hear anything. What now?”

“So we can start the thruster after all?” asked Daniel.

“Yes,” Dave answered, “although not from inside the capsule. And not with the software.”

“Someone has to stand outside and press the button at the right moment?”

“That’s right. The others can go home.”

“I’ll stay,” said Livia.

“Please. I’m the oldest. I’ll do it,” said Dave. “You march around the comet and get yourself onto the ship. That’s an order from your commander.”

“No way. We’re all staying here,” said Daniel.

“That’s ridiculous. Only one of us needs to die. I command you to fly back to Earth.”

“You can’t command us to abandon you,” said Livia.

“You could just draw straws to decide who stays behind,” said Brandon, who’d been quiet up to that point.

* * *

He should have seen it coming. It was such a cliché. In the end, one of the heroes makes the ultimate sacrifice for the greater good. It was no different in his novels. Brandon drifted restlessly through the control room, wishing he could talk to Jenna about it. She always gave sensible advice! He was good at advising others, but not himself.

The question was, should he offer himself up? Daniel was preparing to draw straws to decide who’d be the one. Everyone, Brandon included, had assumed it would be one of the NASA astronauts. He was just a passenger, a neutral observer. Or not? What was the decent thing to do? It was clear what was expected of him: nothing. But did he have to live up to that? Shouldn’t he be glad they had such low expectations of him? It meant he’d survive. The others were paid to save the Earth. He was just a writer.

Brandon wrung his hands. He’d already decided. Just pushing a button at the right moment—he could do that. And if he put himself forward, it wasn’t an automatic death sentence. The chances were 3:1 that someone else would die instead of him. Jenna would probably say the same thing. They were all in the same boat—everyone should have an equal chance.

“Count me in, too,” he said.

Daniel spun around. In zero gravity, that meant he continued spinning until he grabbed hold of something.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Did you hear that down there?”

“The writer’s in, too,” said David.

“Yes, I want to draw a straw.”

“I don’t know,” said David.

“I’m a member of the SS1 crew now.”

“Yes, but you’re not a trained astronaut. If something goes wrong, will you be able to repair it? You’ll be all alone down there.”

“I know you don’t think I’m capable. But I am a physicist. And physicists can do anything. That’s what they told us at the university.”

“At the university, yeah. But this is the hard reality,” said David.

“I think we should give him a chance,” said Livia. “I saw what you did, Dave. Anyone can do that.”

That wasn’t much of a compliment, but he couldn’t expect more. They didn’t know him.

“If it’s that easy,” said Daniel, “then I’m in favor of four straws.”

“Then I’m out-voted,” said David. “Will you do it up there?”

* * *

It was time. Brandon’s hand trembled as he reached for a straw. Daniel had prepared four strips of paper, three long and one short. As Dave and Livia couldn’t see, Brandon was drawing theirs for them. What a role to play! He was determining life and death.

“The far right, I guess.”

Dave was first. The commander had insisted on it. As if that would influence the outcome.

“Pull it out.”

Brandon pulled a long strip.

“Dave, start walking around the comet,” said Daniel. “You’ll be needed here.”

David grumbled.

“Now, Livia,” said Daniel.

“Far left.”

“Take it.”

Brandon pulled on the strip. Another long one.

“Congratulations, Livia, you’re out, too,” said Daniel. “Now you, author.”

The odds were 50:50. But his hand wasn’t shaking anymore. He took the straw on the right, but first hid it in his hand before looking at it.

“Long,” said Daniel. “This is the best outcome.”

Best? Daniel would die so they could all live.

“Wait,” said Dave. “Daniel, show Brandon your straw please. I don’t trust you not to cheat.”

“Shut up, Dave, you’re just a sore loser.”

“Daniel, I insist. Otherwise I’m staying here.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll show it to Brandon.”

Daniel opened his hand. The remaining strip was the same length as the others. Daniel had tried to deceive them, so that he would be the one to die on the comet. It was like Russian roulette. Daniel put his finger to his lips and grimaced. The message was clear—don’t say anything, Brandon. Leave it alone. You don’t need to die here. Someone wants to sacrifice himself for you.

Why shouldn’t he just let Daniel have his way? Because it wasn’t fair. It was easier for David and Livia—they didn’t know what was going on. But he would always know. No, it’s no good. Sorry, Daniel.

“We have to draw straws again,” said Brandon.

Daniel gave him a dirty look.

“I thought so,” said David.

Brandon took the last strip from Daniel, turned around so that Daniel couldn’t see, tore the paper in half, and inserted it with the others between his knuckles.

“So, you choose now, Daniel. First for Dave.”

“Let me stay,” said Daniel. “I’m sorry I tried to deceive you. But how often do you get the chance to go down in history?”

“I don’t believe that was your reason,” said Dave. “I’ll take the straw on the left, from Daniel’s point of view.”

Brandon held his closed fist up to Daniel. Four white strips protruded from between his knuckles. Daniel pulled the left one out.

“Long,” said Daniel. “See, Dave. I’ll get what’s due to me. Now Livia.”

“I’ll go with left, too,” she said.

“And left you shall have,” said Daniel.

He pulled out the next strip. Long again. Daniel laughed.

“Long,” he said. “See? It was meant to be.”

“It’s pure coincidence,” said David, “unless you’re cheating again.”

“Your turn,” said Brandon. He felt a chill. “Eeny, meeny, miny...”

Daniel pulled out the strip on the left, hid it in his fist, and then looked cautiously at it.

“Shit.”

What did that mean? Brandon opened his fist. The last strip, which was his, was short. So, he would be the one to push the button on the comet and save the Earth. He chuckled. He’d always imagined he’d keep writing until his 100th birthday. He’d even estimated how many novels he’d put out in that time—at least three or four a year, then two a year after he turned 90. But that was all over now. Once the media caught on, his books would all sell. He’d be on the best-seller list for a few days, and then he’d be forgotten.

Oh well. There were worse fates. He wouldn’t know about it—he’d be dead, and he didn’t believe in an afterlife.

September 1, 2026 – Comet 67P

He was falling through darkness. The comet must be somewhere down there, but the beam of his helmet lamp didn’t reach far enough. Brandon had always imagined it would extend out infinitely in a vacuum, without any air to weaken it. But that was nonsense, of course, because the beam widened.

They’d precisely calculated the angle at which he would jump out and adjusted it to the relative speed of the ship and the comet. If his momentum remained constant, he should arrive at the comet’s nucleus in exactly eight minutes. He was carrying an oxygen tank in his arms. His right hand was already on the nozzle. He needed to turn it on at just the right moment and use it to brake if he didn’t want to be smashed to pieces on the surface.

Hopefully it would work. It was all just theory. If it failed, David or Livia would have to take his place. They were approaching him now. With a bit of luck, they’d be able to say goodbye.

They couldn’t establish a live connection with Earth anymore. He wished he could have told Jenna he loved her. Instead, he wrote her a message. Better than nothing. But to have been able to look into her face one last time and see the pleasure in her eyes when he smiled at her, that would have been something. That was what it was all about. That was real life.

* * *

“We can see you,” said David over the helmet radio.

He couldn’t be far from the surface now. “I can’t see you.”

“Wait. Now, at your three o’clock.”

Brandon looked to his right. A star had just risen there and was twinkling at him. That must be David. The distance was hard to calculate because he still couldn’t see the surface. The parallax was increasing too fast. He had to prepare for impact. Brandon held the oxygen tank against his chest and peered into the darkness in the direction he was moving.

There! A rock appeared out of nowhere, illuminated by his helmet lamp. “This is it,” he said.

Then he turned the tank nozzle on. His inertia pressed him against the metal. It was like a tight hug, so tight he couldn’t breathe. He closed it a little and the pressure decreased. But he was still moving too fast. The rock was flying toward him and getting bigger. That wasn’t a small rock—it was a mountain, probably 200 meters high. The moment Brandon realized it, the view flipped around in his head. He was no longer flying toward the comet, he was falling toward it.

Don’t panic now—nothing’s changed except your perspective. He opened the nozzle completely. It wasn’t much farther to go. Better to be unable to breathe for a few seconds than to be dashed to pieces.

The counter-force of the escaping gas had the desired effect, and Brandon slowed down. It was almost like sitting on a magic carpet. His fall didn’t accelerate again when he closed off the nozzle. Where were David and Livia? They must have disappeared beyond the horizon. This wasn’t your usual celestial body—the horizon was always close at hand.

Another 50 meters. The closer he came, the better he could make out his landing site. It looked uneven. Probably best he didn’t land flat on his belly. Brandon flapped his arms to turn himself, but nothing happened. Of course. How could he be so stupid? There was no atmosphere. He quickly grasped the neck of the tank. Just 30 meters to go. A quick expulsion of gas and he began turning. Too much. He was rotating once per second, head-over-heels.

Shit. He closed his eyes to stop himself from feeling sick and pointed the tank in the opposite direction, quickly opening and then closing it. That was better. Brandon opened his eyes. Ten meters at the most. Shit. He was still spinning. If he landed on his back he could damage the tech on the suit, and if he landed facedown, the fragile helmet would be endangered. But he could stretch out his arms and legs. The momentum conservation couldn’t prevent him from doing that.

One last jet directed in front of him. It worked, and he fell more slowly. But if the life support on his back hit the rocks... He had to wait until just the right moment. It was hard to regulate the amount of oxygen coming out of the tank. Brandon counted. Three, two, one—one complete spin. He had to start counting when he saw the ground. Three, two, one. Three, two, one. At zero, he threw the oxygen tank away from him in the direction he was turning. It was about a quarter of his mass, so it would take about a fifth of the momentum with it.

It worked! He wasn’t spinning anymore. Physics was great! And a little bit merciless, because if he’d miscalculated, he’d have nothing left with which to slow his fall. Three more meters. He stretched his arms and legs out in front of him. Brandon would descend like a landing module, but he had to be careful. Philae had been too fast and had bounced off again. If that happened to him, there’d be no way to get back down to the comet. He had to compensate for the remaining momentum with his muscles—or find something to grab hold of.

Three, two, one, landing. First his feet touched the ground, then his hands. He absorbed the momentum, bending at his joints in a way that no machine could do, and tried to transfer the momentum of his forward movement into his body. But he didn’t quite succeed. He could already feel it before his belly reached the ground.

Shit. He needed something to hold onto, but there was nothing. The gloves were too stiff, and he didn’t have enough strength in his fingers. He simply couldn’t grip the small bumps on the ground. He could already feel the reflected momentum. It was an irrepressible force, as though the comet was throwing him off, or as though he had springs in his ankles and wrists. He bounced back up. There was nothing he could do. Just the same way as he had landed vertically, he now flew back out into space. His feet scraped the ground briefly, and then up he rose.

Brandon had to laugh. It was crazy. A highly developed human couldn’t do what the little machine, Philae, had managed 12 years ago. What now? The comet’s mass was not enough to pull him back down. Maybe he’d end up in orbit around 67P. He’d be the most peculiar moon in the universe. His books would be forgotten in a few decades. But in 50 years they’d still be asking on quiz shows about the name of the man orbiting as a moon around Churyumov-Gerasimenko. Is his name a) Churyumov or b) Little Gerasimenko or c) Mitchell or d) 67P-b? Extra points for getting his first name right. And every six years, telescopes all over the world would include the strangest comet with the human moon in their observation programs.

But he was probably moving too fast even to stay in orbit. The comet would have to have already released a lot of dark matter to have enough attractive force. He’d simply suffocate as 67P slowly disappeared from view. Running out of air was supposed to be an unpleasant death. He had no desire for a long, painful struggle. Maybe he’d be better off simply pulling the helmet off his head.

“Got you!”

He felt someone grab his shoulder and pull him down.

“What—”

“I guess you underestimated your momentum?”

Brandon nodded. How had David even reached him? Then he saw the thin safety line that Livia was pulling in. “That was close,” he said.

“No, it only looked that way. We were easily able to catch you. You weren’t far away, so Livia simply threw me up to you,” explained David.

“What if I’d been moving faster?”

“Then we’d have come and got you with the SAFER.”

David pointed to the ground next to Livia. There was a backpack with armrests.

“We have to get up to the ship somehow,” said Livia. “The SAFER has its own jets. I sit in it with Dave behind me on a long leash.”

“You wish.” David laughed.

“No, it’s true. You’re my lapdog. You’ll see.”

“You’re still cracking jokes,” Brandon said.

“It wouldn’t make things any better if we didn’t,” David replied. “But I can imagine you got quite a fright just now.”

“I was already writing my obituary in my thoughts and was about to pull off my helmet.”

“Hey, it’s not time to die yet. Remember that. It’s only over when it’s over.”

“Thanks.” That was easy to say when you were on your way back to your life. No, that was unfair. He’d wanted this.

“We’ll continue on our way, then,” said David. “The ship won’t wait.”

“Say hi to Earth from me.”

“We will. Thank you for doing this. I swear I’ll read all your books.”

“That’s nice. If you find a mistake—” ‘Send it to me,’ he almost said. He always said that when a reader contacted him. But there’d be no one left to correct the mistake.

“—I’ll overlook it,” David finished his sentence.

Brandon turned around, afraid he might cry. Goodbyes were always shit, but goodbye forever—he didn’t even want to think about it. “This way, I assume,” he said.

“Yes. It’ll take you about an hour,” said David. “Wait. I have to give you something. I almost forgot.”

Brandon turned back.

David put a device with a small screen into his hand. “Location device,” he explained. “It functions within radio range of the capsule. It was intended for finding our way back to the lander on the moon. But that excursion won’t be happening now.”

* * *

Moving around on the comet was unbelievably complicated. The biggest problem was the low gravity, the second was the thick layer of dust, and then there was the darkness. Daniel had given him a kind of ice pick—a long rod with a hard metal tip and several barbs. He had to keep ramming it into the ground. And in most places the roughly eight-centimeter dust layer prevented him from seeing the surface at all. Dirty snowball, that was a good description.

The ground, below the dust, was primarily composed of ice with dust frozen into it. The ice was as hard as stone in the coldness of space, but there were plenty of cracks and nooks in which he could anchor his rod. It was clear that 67P had alternated—for millennia—between being warmed while near the sun and then cooled when its orbit swung out by Jupiter. Volatile substances had outgassed every time it approached the sun, leaving behind karst-like structures, which were then covered by dust. Brandon had to be vigilant with every step.

And yet he was making good progress. The irregularity of the structure meant he had to stay alert. It was by no means boring. He couldn’t even afford the luxury of thinking about the Earth or Jenna, except at those moments when he realized the comet’s challenges were preventing him from dwelling on everything he’d left behind.

Would he leave behind any trace?

He was no longer going to be the most peculiar moon in the universe. He ought to go down in history as the savior of the Earth, but it was a rescue that wouldn’t be likely to make it into any history book. Brandon wasn’t throwing himself in the path of some danger that everyone could understand. He wasn’t blowing up a dictator or discovering a cure for cancer, he was preventing something that could, potentially, happen in the future. Humanity would forget about that the day after tomorrow... if anyone was even aware of it.

* * *

“Brandon, is everything all right with you?” Daniel asked over the radio.

“Yes, the location device says another six hundred meters.”

“David and Livia are on the ship now. Everything went smoothly for them.”

“I’m glad.”

“In case you’ve changed your mind, I’ve worked out that we’ll be close enough for you to contact us for about another hour.”

“But nothing’s changed, has it?”

“No, my friend. But we could alter the comet’s course together.”

“And die together? No thanks.”

“Think about it. It might be more fun to face the end as four than to die alone. And the spaceship’s resources will last a lot longer than the capsule’s.”

“I can’t accept that. You all have at least thirty years left to live. You’d be exchanging that for a few weeks. No, that wouldn’t be fair. And if I was going to reconsider, I should have done it earlier.”

“Do you want to reconsider? I could come down there on my own.”

“No, Daniel. I know you’re a little world-weary, but I can take care of this myself.”

“If you say so. You have the utmost respect from all of us for that.”

* * *

There was the capsule up ahead. It was artificial, but here in this rugged landscape of crevices and cliffs, it almost looked organic. Brandon stopped and looked at it. The back section was partly caved in, and the thruster was sticking up as though the Orion had crashed straight into the bare rock.

Easy does it. He couldn’t let his concentration waver. The dust layer was thin here, and soon he’d be passing over bare rock. It was as black as night. Even when he shined the light on it, it didn’t glisten, although it was predominantly ice. That must be due to the cosmic radiation from the sun and from space that had been blasting 67P for billions of years, roughening all its surfaces.

He shoved the rod into a crack, moved forward a little, stabilized himself, and then pulled the rod out. And so it went on. Anchor the rod. Forward. Pull out the rod.

But then the tool jammed. Brandon looked across to the capsule. It was less than a couple of hundred meters away. Would he make it? It was too dangerous. He leaned on the handle with all his weight, but it wouldn’t budge. Wait a minute. He didn’t weigh anything, but momentum was still mass times speed. He clipped his line onto the rod and kicked it as hard as he could. The rod moved sideways, and the crack it was jammed into widened.

The ground was free of dust here and well lit, so he noticed immediately that the crack was continuing to grow. He pulled himself to the left and right. He could see it expanding! 67P wouldn’t be the first comet to rupture while approaching the sun. Hopefully he hadn’t just accelerated the process! It wouldn’t help the Earth if he could only divert half the comet with the capsule.

Shit. He followed the crack a little way. It ended after about 200 meters. That was good. He had to tread carefully.

* * *

“SpaceShip SS1, can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” Daniel replied.

“Good. I’m at the capsule now.”

“That was quick. You still have four hours before you have to trigger the first thruster impulse. So you’ve got time to go inside and rest for a while.”

“That would be pointless.”

“Do you just want to stand around in the dark?”

“No, I’ll go to the spring.”

“The spring?”

“Where the dark matter is supposedly coming from, the cause of all our problems here. I’ll kick its ass, and then we can all fly home.”

“I’m glad to hear you’re still in good spirits.”

“But seriously, I want to take a look at it.” He’d only had the idea a moment before he told Daniel about it. He felt like a protagonist in one of his books. His characters, too, often had sudden epiphanies and altered their plans.

“It could be dangerous,” said Daniel.

“I’m a physicist. Dark matter only has an effect through gravitation.”

“How can you be so sure? Have you seen dark matter before?”

“No, but that’s the definition.”

“What if the stuff doesn’t adhere to your clever definition?”

“Then it’s not dark matter.”

“And you’re dead.”

“Nonsense. What do you think’s going to happen?”

“It could pull you in so that you can never escape.”

“That only happens when you cross the event horizon of a black hole. We’re definitely not dealing with a black hole here. And I’d notice if I suddenly became heavier.”

“Fine. But what if something unexpected happens and kills you? Then you won’t be able to start up the thruster.”

“That would be very unfortunate. But nothing’s going to happen. I promise I’ll be careful.”

Yeah, it was a stupid plan. Daniel was right. But the risk was very small. And if he was going to die here, then he at least wanted to have seen something no one on Earth could ever see.

* * *

He climbed cautiously over a hill. To avoid damaging the comet, he wasn’t shoving his rod so deeply into the cracks anymore. 67P was a dirty snowball, but it was also a raw egg with a delicate shell. The comet’s age made it more unstable.

Brandon stood on the ridge of the hill. A kind of crater stretched out in front of him. The wall directly below him was alarmingly steep, but he couldn’t fall here, even if he wanted to. The wall cast a shadow that he now pierced with his spotlight.

There it was. Philae, the three-legged data collector that had first alerted the Earth to this new danger. Pity he wasn’t familiar with the technology. It was weird that the probe had reestablished contact after such a long time. Daniel was right. The dark matter spreading out here must have more than just a gravitational effect. There must be secondary effects that recharged Philae’s batteries. Some kind of radiation.

Of course! The energy hadn’t found its way magically into Philae. He could see the lander below. Solar cells, which transformed photons into electrical energy, were all the way around its body. Philae was standing in shadow, accidentally—a problem with the landing. That meant it hadn’t received enough energy. But now something else was irradiating it. Photons weren’t only present in the optical range. Every other type of radiation was also made up of them.

So the spring must be somewhere near here. Brandon scoured the crater with the helmet lamp. There was nothing to see other than a few small blocks that looked like stone but were made of ice. It was just him and Philae—all alone. He couldn’t find the spring.

He looked up at the sky and saw nothing but blackness. The stars were gone. The sun was just a faint spot, as though thick clouds were passing in front of it, but the comet had no atmosphere, and therefore no clouds. A shiver ran up his spine. Brandon crossed his arms protectively in front of his chest. Then he turned off the helmet lamp.

It took him a moment to notice the difference. This crater was a magical place. When it was lit up, it was dead. But when there was no light it slowly came to life. First, the black took on color—a subtle, deep red. Then came the movement. The dark red was pulsing. It transformed the crater and the stones in it into something living, because the red wasn’t evenly distributed. It ran in ropey spirals out from the center of the crater, reminding him of Kraken tentacles. But this animal had no body. Instead, Brandon could make out a spot of total black—pure nothing. That was the spring! He was standing in the pool that had formed around it.

What exactly was he looking at? It wasn’t sorcery. The human eye adjusted to darkness and activated specialized photoreceptors, and those rods are color-blind. So it must be his brain that was adding the deep red as it processed the signal. Only one thing was certain—his eyes were being hit by radiation. Maybe it wasn’t so safe here after all. Didn’t they say radiation sickness made you see a red glow? He’d better turn back.

But where was the radiation coming from? From the spring? It didn’t look like it, because nothing was darker than the spring itself. It must have something to do with the attractive force of the dark matter particles. Was he seeing a kind of bremsstrahlung? The comet was relentlessly bombarded by cosmic radiation, consisting of electrons, among other things. If these were decelerated gravitationally, they had to release the excess kinetic energy somehow—as radiation. That would mean the concentration of dark matter was highest at the point where the red glow was most intense.

Maybe it would be smart to take a sample—or would it be the biggest mistake of his life? In science fiction novels, samples like that contaminated entire planets. But the problem was how to collect the dark matter. If it only responded to gravity, then it couldn’t be contained by solid walls. He needed a potential well, something heavy that bound the foreign particles to itself. But how was he supposed to transport something like that? It wouldn’t want to let go of his gloves, either.

He bent down, ran his hand over the ground, and found a pebble. He picked it up and threw it into the middle of the crater. The stone flew through the night, invisible. The bremsstrahlung undulated. He took a sample collector from his tool belt, filled it with some coarse dust, and put it back. Even if it was just ordinary matter, the scientists might be able to learn something about the dark matter spring from it.

He really should be getting back to the capsule. He looked at the clock on the multifunctional device. He still had a good hour before he had to press the button. He took one last look at the crater. If the dark matter couldn’t be contained by solid substances, then why did this spring appear to be anchored to 67P?

It couldn’t just be a hole in the mantle of the universe. That would have long since swept the solar system from its path through the Milky Way. The spring must have a material basis, something that bound it to the comet. Could it be a tiny black hole from the beginning of the universe? That was up to the researchers to figure out.

He had to get back to the capsule.

* * *

“I’m back,” he said.

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Daniel.

“You’re still on radio duty?”

“Actually, we’re all following what you’re doing down there.”

“I see. You want to be sure.”

“The Earth’s existence is at stake, after all. We’re your backup.”

“Thanks. That takes a little pressure off. But I can’t press the button too late.”

“You’ll have a few seconds’ leeway each time.”

“Good to know.”

The conversation fizzled out. Brandon was thinking about the spring. If he could close it, he wouldn’t need to die here, and the comet would no longer pose a danger to Earth. What had the scientists reported? Incredibly low temperatures, below that of the cosmic microwave background, which no one could explain. What did it have to do with the spring? The scientists described it as a symptom, an accompanying effect, possibly brought about by the shielding effect of the dark matter.

What if the symptom was actually the cause? If, for some reason, a defined space suddenly appeared in the universe out of nowhere, then everything in its vicinity would immediately be sucked into it to equalize the concentration. But then they’d see a well here into which everything was flowing, not a spring that something was flowing out of.

What if there was a relationship between the dark matter, which saturated the entire universe as a Bose-Einstein condensate, and the equally homogenously distributed background radiation? Wherever the background radiation was lacking, the dark matter distributed throughout the universe would detect a hole that it would try to fill. But because there wasn’t a lack of dark matter there, but rather a lack of microwave radiation, it filled and filled the hole and then emerged here. A dark spring was born.

He wanted to discuss this with the scientists on Earth, but there was no time. They still had time for an experiment, though. They could try to close the hole so the dark matter could no longer escape from it. KK had a contract with the burger chain. Brandon could still remember how proud he’d been when he presented his space burgers.

There was a high-powered microwave source on board the spaceship. What if they concentrated its rays on the spring? The others would think he’d gone completely mad.

“Daniel?”

“Yes, we’re here, what is it?”

“Someone sentenced to death can’t be denied a last request, can he?”

Daniel laughed. “Good to hear you haven’t lost your sense of humor. What can we do for you?”

“I want you to fire microwaves at the comet nucleus.”

“Umm, how’s that supposed to work?”

“There’s a powerful microwave oven on board the ship in the gastronomy sector.”

“Gastronomy sounds like astronomy.”

“Good one. Yeah, that’s what made me think of it.”

He didn’t have time to explain his thought processes to the others. His companions would simply have to humor him. So, maybe it wasn’t a bad thing if they thought he’d lost his mind.

“Well, if that’s your last wish and if it makes you happy—”

“I’d like to spend my last few minutes being illuminated by the light from my favorite burger chain.”

“Understood. We don’t need to tell Earth about this.”

“No. And there isn’t any time. Please hurry.”

“What exactly do you want us to do?”

“Put the microwave into the large airlock. Maybe you could position the high-gain antenna behind the transmitter to focus it.”

“Could it be that you have a plan?” asked Daniel. “No one comes up with an idea like this just for shits and grins when they’re staring death in the face.”

“Ah, you’ve seen through me. Look, I don’t have time to explain it, so please just do it for me without asking why. It’s probably a stupid idea. I mean, who ever heard of firing microwaves at a dark matter spring?”

“Can I ask you one thing? Then I promise we’ll get to work.”

“Sure.”

“What are you hoping to achieve?”

“If we’re lucky, the dark matter spring will close up.”

“And how will we know if it has?”

“That’s two questions.”

“Sorry. We’re on our way. Microwave oven out, antenna out, into the cargo bay, reconnect. If there’s power in the cargo bay, it’ll take less than ten minutes. We’ll let you know as soon as it’s ready.”

* * *

Ten minutes. He’d just turned 60, and now his whole world was reduced to 10 times 60 seconds. Then he’d know if his crazy plan would succeed. No. Daniel’s question was justified. How would they know if the spring had actually closed? Only then could he try to leave this inhospitable place, because he’d no longer be needed here.

The radio connection to the Earth—wouldn’t that suddenly be active again? No, that was illogical. Just because the spring had closed didn’t mean the dark matter that was already there wouldn’t still have an effect. No one would be able to tell from the outside that anything had changed. He had to go to the crater. The red glow should change if the spring stopped emitting.

But if he stayed by the crater, he couldn’t press the button, which he had to do if his plan didn’t work. And he had to assume it wouldn’t. Getting to the crater and back—he’d never manage that in under an hour. Dammit!

It was no use. Even if he was successful, it wouldn’t save his life. They had to be sure. He couldn’t leave his post before the danger to Earth had been neutralized.

Brandon pictured the crater. He’d be able to explore it for a couple more weeks. Maybe he could investigate the dark matter more closely. There would be time before his resources ran out. The scientists on Earth would be happy to have someone on site. Then at least his time here wouldn’t be in vain. That was comforting.

Wait a minute. He wasn’t the only representative of Earth up here. The Philae lander that the ESA had sent into space years previously was an incorruptible witness. What could Philae tell him about the spring?

Suddenly Brandon had no time to waste. He got into the capsule and established a connection with Philae. The lander allowed him read-only access to the instruments—he couldn’t manipulate them. Philae was plainly a well-engineered piece of tech. So many values! APXS, CIVA, ROLIS, CONSERT, MUPUS, ROMAP, and so on—none of it meant anything to him.

But wasn’t that irrelevant? The Philae had alerted the Germans to the presence of dark matter, so the lander must be capable of providing him with the necessary read-outs. He just needed to look at the curves. There were currently no outliers. If the experiment worked, some of them should change. It didn’t matter exactly what that signified. The message would be clear—the experiment would have had an effect, and that was all he needed to know.

Then no one would need him to stay here to press a button.

* * *

“Brandon? We’re ready. The comet nucleus has rotated so that we can aim directly at the crater where you believe the spring to be.”

“Good. I’m observing Philae’s sensors, and I’d like to transmit the data to you so you can pass it on to Earth.”

“The data will tell us whether we’re successful?”

“Exactly, Daniel, but...”

He had to tell them. This was too much responsibility for him. What if he was wrong? What if there was some change that had nothing to do with the spring? He was usually always right, but the existence of humanity was at stake—an expert from Earth should be the one to judge in the end.

“...you need to send all the data to Earth and wait for confirmation.”

“If you say so. That will take a few hours. We have to wait until the Lunar Gateway is ready to receive. It’ll be too late for you by the time we have an answer.”

“I know. But I can’t leave my post until we’re certain.”

“That’s very noble of you. Humanity will remember you for it.”

“Thank you.”

Brandon ended the connection before anyone noticed he was crying. He didn’t want to die up here. He really didn’t, but he couldn’t see any alternative.

* * *

“The time window’s about to close,” said Daniel.

“Then do it. Philae is live.”

“Dave, fire.”

It was quiet. The microwaves functioned silently in the vacuum. Their photons crossed the space between the ship and the comet at light speed. When would they see something? Nothing was happening yet—all the curves were smooth, but that was to be expected. The cup had to fill up before it could overflow. Keep calm, Brandon. Just keep looking at the curves. Apart from a few statistical outliers, they were...

There! Top left, center right, bottom right—three out of eight instruments showed significant differences at the same moment.

“Are you seeing this?”

“We see it, and we’re sending it on.”

“It worked!”

Daniel sounded strangely subdued. “So it would seem. Congratulations, Brandon. Great idea.”

“Thanks.”

“You should get out now. The button—”

“I know. In case the spring isn’t sealed, I have to start the thruster.”

He switched off the screen, closed his helmet, and went outside.

* * *

“Three, two, one, now!”

Brandon pressed the start button on the service module on Daniel’s command. It was the last thing he had to do—the thing that would ensure nothing would happen to Earth in six years.

“Best you take a step back,” said Daniel.

Nothing happened. But Dave had tested it! The thruster responded then! Why not now?

“I don’t think that’s necessary. Nothing’s happening.”

Brandon’s hand was shaking. He pressed the start button again, and again.

“Shit,” he heard David say. “I was so sure it would work.”

The microwave radiation had to have worked! They had to save the Earth! Brandon whispered a prayer. There was nothing else he could do.

“Check the onboard computer,” David said.

Brandon went back into the capsule and activated the screen. There were now five Philae measurement curves showing deviations. He called up the thruster controls.

“Locked, it says,” he reported via helmet radio.

“Locked?”

“Locked.”

“I know what that means,” said Livia. “The thruster controls are too clever. Dave, you started the thruster before. That pressed the capsule against the comet, which can’t have done it any good. So the software locked the thruster.”

“Can I reverse it?” asked Brandon.

“You can turn the capsule. The thruster controls should detect the new position and allow another start.”

“But if we turn the capsule, we won’t be able to divert the comet,” said David.

“Yeah, we can forget that part of the plan,” said Livia. “But I have an idea. Maybe we can still get Brandon out of there.”

What? Well, that would be...

“Brandon, can you hear me? You have to turn the capsule so that the thruster accelerates it away from the comet.”

“Can I do that?”

“Yes, you can.”

“But shouldn’t I wait here to see if the experiment with the microwave radiation did anything?”

“There’s no point. We can’t get the capsule to start the thruster in a way that will divert the comet. The thruster controls are too clever. You’re not needed as a button pusher anymore. So you don’t need to wait down there.”

Maybe he wasn’t going to die here after all. But he couldn’t be happy about it. The Earth was still in danger.

“That wouldn’t have happened with an Apollo capsule,” said David.

“Well, we have newer technology. The engineers meant well,” said Daniel. “They wanted to prevent us from accidentally destroying our ship.”

“Sometimes you have to deliberately destroy things to do what needs to be done.”

“Yeah, that’s the motto of your generation, Dave. Today, safety comes first.”

“And what good has that done us? One less option to save the Earth. Now everything depends on whether Brandon’s crazy idea worked.”

“Then I’ll go out and turn the capsule,” he said.

* * *

He was superman, no less. In front of him was a spaceship weighing several tons, and he’d moved it into a horizontal position by himself.

He routed his camera feed so the spaceship could receive it. “Well, how does it look?”

“Perfect,” said Daniel. “Let’s not waste any more time.”

* * *

Brandon was buckled into the commander’s seat, Dave’s spot. “I have no idea how to program a course,” he said.

“You don’t need a new course, just use the old one,” said Daniel. “The spaceship’s also heading toward the original rendezvous point.”

“How do I do that?”

“I’ll explain it to you.”

They worked through the menus together.

“Now you just need to press ‘execute.’”

“And I’ll lift off?”

“You’ll lift off.”

“Back to Earth?”

“No, the capsule wouldn’t make it. Back to us. We’ll pick you up, then head back to the moon.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He pressed the button. Nothing happened. Then ‘locked’ appeared onscreen.

“Shit. First the damn thruster controls stop us from clearing 67P out of the way, and now they won’t let me out of here.”

“Wait. I need to see it for myself,” said Daniel.

Brandon granted Daniel remote access to the thruster controls.

“I thought it must be something like that,” said Daniel after a couple of minutes. “The thruster controls are detecting obstacles all over the place. That must be the dark matter. No one could have predicted that.”

“And that’s probably what was causing our problem earlier,” said David.

“Definitely,” said Daniel.

“So how do I get out of here?”

“We have to remove the dark matter.”

“Impossible.”

“Then we’ll have to wait for it to dissipate on its own. If there’s no more of it emerging, shouldn’t it reduce over time?”

“That could take months, Dan.”

“I have an idea,” said Livia. “It’s a little crazy, but—”

“In the worst case, it fails,” said Brandon.

“Well...”

* * *

Brandon closed the tap he’d used to fill the oxygen tank. He checked all the battery levels, closed his helmet and floated to the airlock, opened the inner door, stepped into the airlock, and clipped on his safety line. Daniel had told him how to open the inner and outer doors simultaneously, which the automatic security system usually prevented.

But it only worked from the outside. So he closed the inner door and pumped out the air. Then he could open the outer door. Step one complete. Now he held his breath, took the hose from his helmet, and held it over the pressure sensor. That fooled the system into thinking the airlock was under pressure, and he could open the inner door.

Whoooom! The pressure equalization slammed him against the back wall of the airlock. The air from the entire cabin rushed out as though the capsule had sneezed, and the blowback lifted it off the comet. He had to be patient. The open airlock functioned like a jet. He only had to hold his breath for another 30 seconds, and then the momentum should be enough to leave the area where the dark matter was too high.

His heart was beating fast. He was probably blue in the face. He frantically pulled the pressure hose off the sensor. The system should now detect that both doors were open and close one of them. But it didn’t. Shit. Who was the programmer who’d been so lazy and ignored something that actually couldn’t occur? He fumbled with the hose. Getting it off hadn’t been this hard. Stay calm, Brandon. You’re so close.

Click. The hose was back in place. Brandon drew fresh oxygen into his lungs. Suffocating was horrible. He pulled himself forward to the controls. He glanced around briefly. The open airlock door looked like a ghost trying to grasp at him. Suddenly something tugged at his shoulder. His heart skipped a beat. The safety line! He’d forgotten to unclip it. He couldn’t reach the computer like that. The capsule wasn’t accelerating anymore, because all the air had been flushed out. So he could safely go to the airlock and unclip his line. Then back. He buckled himself into David’s seat. The course was still programmed in. He turned his head to the side and could now see stars behind the porthole.

“Execute.”

Brandon clicked on the green button.

“Okay,” announced the thruster controls. “Arriving in 27 minutes.”

He leaned back. He didn’t care that there was no air in the cabin, since he’d be transferring to the spaceship in half an hour. He’d done it.

Hopefully the Earth was out of danger, too.

September 2, 2026 – SpaceShip SS1

“I have good news,” said Yunus.

“Out with it, then,” said Daniel.

“Mission Control says the data from Philae confirms that the dark spring has dried up.”

“Oh, that’s incredible! We have to celebrate!”

“I’m supposed to congratulate you all. Saviors of humanity and all that. You’re being worshipped in the media, and the president is proud of you.”

“Oh. That means we’ll probably have to travel all over the country after we land.”

“Well, that’s how it goes for civil servants. I’ll retreat to my studio and not hear any news for months.”

“You’re lucky. I envy you.”

“Sorry,” Yunus said. “I have to go. KK’s calling from the moon. I’m guessing he won’t let us put him off much longer.”

* * *

“Did you hear that?” Daniel asked.

“Let’s celebrate!” said David.

Dave and Dan. The two of them reminded Brandon of a father and son. His father had died years ago. A space voyage together—the old man would have liked that.

“Is there any alcohol around here?” asked David.

Brandon shook his head. “I think Chatterjee prohibited it. But we can fry some burgers to celebrate. There must still be a huge selection of patties, vegan even.”

“Sorry, Brandon, but we left the microwave in the cargo bay. No burgers, unless you feel like getting into a spacesuit and bringing it back up here?”

Back in that stinking suit? Not for a couple of meat sandwiches.

“No thanks, Dave.”

“Then we’ll postpone the party till we’re on the Gateway. I’ve stashed a good bottle of scotch there.”

* * *

It was surreal. All he’d wanted was to see the moon up close from his comfortable seat as a passenger on the first tourist space flight outside of Earth orbit.

Brandon stretched his legs. He was starting to miss gravity. He was never really in contact with the things around him. If he tightened his belt, after a while it just gave him a gut ache. He longed to lie on a proper mattress again, sinking gently into it so that only an earthquake could shift him from his position.

It would be even better if Jenna were sitting on him. The corners of his mouth turned up involuntarily. Humans really hadn’t evolved much beyond animals.

His screen turned itself on. Had they already left the zone in which the dark matter was blocking their signal? It was Jenna. She’d read his thoughts.

“I was just thinking about you,” he said.

“I’ve finally got through to you! You can’t imagine how worried I was.”

“So was I.”

“I’ll bet! I’ve read the official report. You’re a hero! You were all alone on the comet!”

“Strangely, I didn’t feel alone. Philae was there, too.”

“And? Did you have a good chat?”

“Yes, it told me about its long journey. Just imagine, it’s been traveling through the solar system for twelve years.”

“That sounds great. It must have seen a lot!”

“Yes, except that the region it was traveling through was a little austere. Just dust, ice, and darkness.”

“Well, that would affect your mood, that’s for sure. But I called just because I wanted to hear your voice again. My employer’s paying for the expensive communication time, and I need you to agree to have your first interview on Earth with the best female journalist in the United States.”

“Only if it includes dinner.”

“I think that can be arranged.”

“And you’re not jealous?”

“Of course not. What are you talking about? It’s a purely professional meeting.”

“Of course it is, Jenna.”

September 5, 2026 – Lunar Gateway

“Well, people, it was great to be here,” said Yunus.

“You’re a bad liar,” said David. “Last night was cramped, and you’re glad to be getting back to your comfortable ship.”

Yunus laughed. Of course he was happy about that, just like Vyacheslav, Kenichi, Emily, and Sophie. Eight of them sleeping in the Gateway had been no fun. Brandon had been smart enough to stay in the spaceship. The writer didn’t seem enthusiastic about large groups of people, which was in line with David’s stereotype of authors. But Brandon had his eternal respect for being willing to sacrifice himself for the Earth.

The five visitors and the NASA crew hugged. It was finally time. Two at a time bid farewell and got into the airlock.

Kenichi Kikuchi was last. “Great work down there on the comet,” he said. “If you ever need any kind of help, you can call in a favor from me, David. And of course you, too, Livia and Daniel.” He nodded to the three of them.

“Say that to the writer, too. The microwave was his idea.”

“I will, David. I’m glad I closed that deal with the burger chain. It just goes to show how a simple marketing idea can save the whole world.”

Oh, man. Soon there’d probably be a McSaveTheWorld burger. David didn’t mind having to wait a while before returning to Earth. The next Orion capsule wouldn’t be launch-ready for three weeks. Their ship was on its way to Jupiter with 67P. It would probably return in six years together with the comet.

“Safe travels, Kenichi,” he said.

September 12, 2026 – Surface of the moon

“Yee-ha!” David yelled loudly into his helmet microphone. He took off, bounced with large strides over several rocks, leapt up, and did a somersault in the air. Then he landed again, legs apart.

“Not bad!” Livia said.

“I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“The new suits are amazing,” said Daniel. “The freedom of movement!”

“You sound like an underwear commercial,” said David.

“Maybe our young buck will become an underwear model,” said Livia.

“Young buck, haha. You’re barely over thirty yourself.”

David made a short sprint. It was wonderful to feel the physical resistance. They had to exercise a lot in zero gravity, too. But down here, at least you got somewhere when you moved!

“I don’t want to spoil your fun,” said Livia, “but we should think about our work and collect the rocks Mission Control wanted.”

“Yes, Mom, we’ll get to work soon,” said Daniel.

David bent down and inspected the ground. They needed a particular type of rock. It was a pity they hadn’t had more time on the comet. Moonrock was already available on Earth by the ton. Comet material wasn’t. “Do you two realize we’ve set a record that no one’s going to break any time soon?”

“We haven’t been away that long,” said Daniel.

“No. But we’re the first astronauts to have set foot on three different celestial bodies.”

“When the first Mars mission launches in ten years, we’ll have some competition,” said Livia.

“Then we’ll apply for that mission, too,” said Daniel. “That’ll make it four. And since we’ve just saved the world, it’ll be hard for them to say no to us.”

“You two go for it,” said David. “I’m retiring. A somersault on the moon—that was the pinnacle of my career.”

September 19, 2026 – DLR Control Room, Cologne

Karl hesitated. If he clicked on ‘upload,’ his work on Philae would be finished. He’d grown fond of the little lander. But Comet 67P was getting more distant each day. The direct connection with Philae would soon be lost.

He checked the simulation one last time. He’d already checked it three times, and there seemed to be no problems. But he was still uncertain. If he’d built in a mistake, no one would be able to correct it six years from now. Until then, the lander would collect data as it streaked through the universe on board the comet. He wished he could fly with it, just for the view. The prognosis was that the still-unidentified radiation in the crater would continue to supply the lander with energy, so that it had eyes and ears on its long voyage.

Karl pulled himself together and pressed the button. He’d see Philae again in six years. And if all went well, the lander would bring back a treasure trove of observations and measurements. He’d evaluate them, and Sylvia would then author a fantastic paper that would make her even more famous in the world of astrophysics. He was okay with that.

It would also mean she had to continually travel around the world, and even when she was at home, she would have journalists knocking on her door. Thanks, Sylvia, for keeping me out of it all. Yesterday her husband had come to see him, his old friend Johannes, and complained that Sylvia was never home. Karl didn’t have any answers for him.

Philae’s reply appeared on the screen. “Confirmed. Update complete.”

October 5, 2026 – Hawthorne, California

“Angie? Please send Adam Smith to my office.”

“He’s already been waiting out here for an hour, Ihab.”

“Oh, I completely forgot. He can come in.”

The door opened. Smith shivered and wrapped his jacket tightly around himself. Ihab Chatterjee liked it very cold in his office.

“Hello, boss,” Adam said.

“Sorry, Neguun.” Smith liked being called by his nickname. “I had quite a long conversation with a couple of investors. They don’t understand my plans.”

“Sorry, boss. I just wanted—”

“That doesn’t matter now. This is about the dark matter that appeared on 67P. We need some of it.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late.”

“It’s never too late.”

“Well, yes, the comet’s moving away too quickly. No spaceship would be able to catch up with it, and we don’t even have one that’s launch-ready.”

“And the statite project?”

“That’s optimized for an approaching object.”

“Shit. What about the ships that were on the comet?”

“The SS1’s still in Florida.”

“Okay. I want you to strip off the outer layer of its hull. Maybe there’s some residual dark matter in that. Contamination.”

“But then it won’t be ready in time for the Mars project.”

“I don’t care. The SS3 will have to take its place. And try to buy the Orion capsule from NASA. That was sitting there longer. And from what I hear, it was even depressurized in the middle of this black soup. Whatever made it inside will have been better preserved than anything on the outer hull.”

“And what if they don’t want to sell it, but prefer to exhibit it?”

“You’ll just have to make them an offer they can’t refuse. And if nothing moves them, tell them Congress is thinking about cutting back their budget.”

October 24, 2026 – Santa Monica

Brandon stood, raised his glass of red wine, and reached forward, and they toasted across the table. Jenna looked beautiful. She was still wearing her day makeup—she’d had an important interview that day. But she hadn’t forgotten their date at the beach-side restaurant.

He sat down again. As he did so, the box in his pocket pressed against his thigh. There was that, too. “I have another surprise for you,” he said.

“Oh. I’m excited.”

Brandon reached into his pocket and took out the box, keeping his eyes on his girlfriend. Red spots formed on her cheeks, and she pushed her hands under her thighs. When had he last seen her like this?

He opened the box below the table, which wasn’t easy with one hand. Finally he was holding the contents. He hid it in his fist and held the box in his left hand. Then he brought his right hand out from under the table. He opened it briefly in his lap, just to make sure the jeweler hadn’t packaged the wrong thing. No, everything was just as he’d ordered it. He closed his hand into a fist again and pushed it across the table toward Jenna.

“Open it,” he said.

“You could have just... No, doesn’t matter,” she said. She gripped his fist with both hands and uncurled his fingers. His hand opened. On his palm was a ring.

“Is that—”

“It’s made of 14-karat white gold. But the stone is something special. It’s a mixture of silicates and a nickel-iron alloy and more than ten organic compounds. Before I had it set, I had a piece of it spectrally analyzed.”

Brandon watched her face. It wasn’t easy for him to read people’s feelings, but sometimes he managed it. Jenna swallowed. The red spots disappeared. Was that a good sign? Was she happy? Hard to say.

“A piece of it?” she asked. “Then you can’t guarantee that the rest of the stone contains more than ten organic compounds. And how do you know they haven’t long since outgassed in the warm atmosphere?”

“I... true, I should have...”

He looked at her. There it was, the tell-tale flicker of the eyelids. She was teasing him!

“You got me,” he said, laughing.

“The ring’s beautiful,” she said, slipping it onto her finger and standing up to give him a kiss.

Brandon beamed. Then he opened the box and took out a piece of paper. “Look, the results of the analysis. Now you’ll have them forever.”

“Thank you,” said Jenna. “I’ll stick it on the bathroom mirror.”

November 21, 2026 – Pico del Teide

“I wish you all the best in your first real job,” said François.

“Thank you.”

It was his last visit to his boss’s office. He wouldn’t come back until he was the boss himself. Dieter Zetschewitz looked around him. François had family photos standing on his desk, and there were children’s drawings hanging on the wall beside it. Clearly a family man. That was why he was still hanging around here, working as an ordinary scientist in his 40’s.

“Say hello to my old friend Manfred.”

“Manfred Schröder?” That was the scientific director of the Leibniz Institute for Astrophysics, where he was about to start his next internship.

“Yes, exactly, Schröder. He asked me what I thought of you.”

Oh, well, that was a surprise. He’d been accepted for the internship, so François can’t have said bad things about him.

“Thank you, boss.”

“You earned it. And now get out of here. I have to work.”

Dieter turned to leave.

“Oh, wait, your data.”

He turned back. “My data?”

“You smuggled it into the observation job.”

“Oh, yes.”

“I hope it helps you.”

He blushed because he hadn’t requested permission. François handed him a stick, and Dieter put it in his pocket. Quick, leave, before it gets even more embarrassing.

* * *

At the airport, he checked the data on his laptop. It was exciting. The comet was retreating toward Jupiter, as determined by the sun’s gravity. But its orbit didn’t completely match the prognosis. Either the predictions were wrong, or something was happening on 67P. He’d have to keep following it.

December 3, 2026 – Comet 67P

The shadows grew fainter. The farther the comet got from the sun, the lower the contrast between the lit and unlit areas. Philae noticed this because the temperature was dropping. It didn’t regret leaving behind the inhabited region of the solar system. The lander had a six-year voyage ahead of it, and, unlike last time, its energy supply seemed secure.

There had been cause for concern a few weeks ago. The farther it flew out into space, the more the solar wind dispersed, and the fewer electrons were produced by the bremsstrahlung that provided it with energy. And then the dark matter had also dissipated and simply remained behind, the way the comet had also lost its tail.

Those days were gone. The output of the photocells had stabilized a few days ago. Philae wouldn’t have to activate the emergency program. It could continue to research the solar system with all its senses, according to its brief. A deep sense of satisfaction ran through its hardware while, a few meters away, one hexaquark after another rose from its completely undifferentiated and homogenous condensed state into the universe, which was built on the principle of individuality.

Author’s Afterword

Dear readers,

I’m pleased you’ve followed my adventures this far. Maybe you remember the time when the unexpected loss of a NASA capsule and spaceship dominated the media. My name didn’t surface much, and I was and still am very glad about that. I always saw myself as an observer and chronicler of that mission, which doubtless is among the most spectacular adventures humans have ever experienced in space. The true heroes were Dave, Daniel, and Livia. They permitted me to use their real names, and they read this book before anyone else.

Afterward they confirmed that everything happened the way I remembered it, even though it all happened five years ago. But I wanted to be sure. Sure that Comet 67P wasn’t going to come dangerously close to the Earth on its return next year (we now know, thanks to the James Webb Space Telescope, that it won’t), but also sure that I could write everything down the way it really happened. As a fiction writer, my imagination likes to run away with me.

Less accessible were my host on the spaceship and the man responsible for the ship’s construction. They both asked me to change their names if I didn’t want to be sued. I was happy to do them that favor, because I had nothing to criticize them for. Quite the opposite—I thank them for the most excellent adventure of my life.

I thank you, dear readers, for allowing me to narrate this adventure. For someone like me, who likes to tell stories, there’s nothing more satisfying than finding an audience—real, sympathetic people from all over the world.

Wait, there is something better. I was wrong—that happens to me more and more these days. The best thing that happened to me was meeting you, Jenna. I love you.

I hope, dear readers, you’ll forgive this slight depreciation.

Los Angeles, July 19, 2031

Yours,

Brandon M. Mitchell

P.S. A request. If you liked this book, please take a look at the film it was made into. Every stream brings me some extra earnings. Thank you very much!

P.P.S. Did you see the transmissions from ELF Mission Control over the last few weeks? The Enceladus Life Finder has finally arrived on Saturn. Are you as excited as I am about what it will find?

Author's Note

Dear readers,

This is my first novel with two author's notes. The following applies even more here than it does to my other books, that is, any similarities to real persons or companies are purely coincidental and not my intention. The action and the actors are entirely from my imagination.

The Dark Spring was inspired by an article about the d*(2380) hexaquark. Yes, it—dark matter—really exists. Whether it could actually be released by a comet is, of course, pure speculation. I’m afraid, at least in my lifetime, I won’t get an answer to that. Not that I’d like to wantonly endanger the Earth, but it’s a shame that the most exciting events in space always play out so far away from us. But that’s just the way it is when you’re spinning with your sun around the outer regions of the galaxy instead of closer to the violent core, defined by the black hole Sagittarius A*.

Fortunately, there’s science fiction! A simple sentence and suddenly a comet like Churyumov-Gerasimenko is spewing out dark matter—at least in the minds of readers like you—for a few exciting hours. From that point of view, an author has tremendous power. If I was able to put that power to good use for your enjoyment, I’d like to invite you to rate this book on Amazon.

hard-sf.com/links/1358173

For now I’ll bid you farewell—until the next book. I’m writing in the year 2020. I’m very interested in finding out how realistic this book will seem in six years. I hope you’re still with me then.

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... you will receive a message from me as soon as the next hard science fiction title is published. (I'm of course already working on the next manuscript). In addition, I will send you the colored PDF version of The Guided Tour of Comets, which is illustrated with fascinating photos (I’m not promising you too much).

So what can you expect in the future? We will enter into another universe. 250 years ago, mankind nearly destroyed itself. A scattered bunch of researchers and astronauts found a new home on Saturn's moon Titan shortly before - and survived by having their descendants genetically adapted to the hostile environment. The Titanians, as they call themselves, are proud of the fair society they have built for themselves, while humanity on Earth is slowly regaining its old strength. But then a 20-mile chunk of rock breaks free from the asteroid belt and sets course for Earth. To its inhabitants, it must look as if the deadly bombardment was launched from Titan. Can the Titanians, never having contact to Earth after their departure, prevent the impact and thus avoid an otherwise inevitable war with the earthlings? You can pre-order Impact: Titan here:

hard-sf.com/links/1433312

Happy reading!

Yours,

Brandon Q. Morris

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Also by Brandon Q. Morris

The Triton Disaster

Nick Abrahams holds the official world record for the number of space launches, but he’s bored stiff with his job hosting space tours. Only when his wife leaves him does he try to change his life.

He accepts a tempting offer from a Russian billionaire. In exchange for making a simple repair on Neptune’s moon Triton, he will return to Earth a multi-millionaire, enabling him to achieve his ‘impossible dream’ of buying his own California vineyard.

The fact that Nick must travel alone during the four-year roundtrip doesn’t bother him at all, as he doesn’t particularly like people anyway. Once en route he learns his new boss left out some critical details in his job description—details that could cost him his life, and humankind its existence…

3.99 $ – hard-sf.com/links/1086200

The Death of the Universe

For many billions of years, humans spread throughout the entire Milky Way. They are able to live all their dreams, but to their great disappointment, no other intelligent species has ever been encountered. Now, humanity itself is on the brink of extinction.

They have only one hope: The ‘Rescue Project’ was designed to feed the black hole in the center of the galaxy until it becomes a quasar, delivering much-needed energy to humankind during its last breaths. But then something happens that no one ever expected—and humanity is forced to look at itself and its existence in an entirely new way.

3.99 $ – hard-sf.com/links/835415

The Enceladus Mission (Ice Moon 1)

In the year 2031, a robot probe detects traces of biological activity on Enceladus, one of Saturn’s moons. This sensational discovery shows that there is indeed evidence of extraterrestrial life. Fifteen years later, a hurriedly built spacecraft sets out on the long journey to the ringed planet and its moon.

The international crew is not just facing a difficult twenty-seven months: if the spacecraft manages to make it to Enceladus without incident it must use a drillship to penetrate the kilometer-thick sheet of ice that entombs the moon. If life does indeed exist on Enceladus, it could only be at the bottom of the salty, ice covered ocean, which formed billions of years ago.

However, shortly after takeoff disaster strikes the mission, and the chances of the crew making it to Enceladus, let alone back home, look grim.

2.99 $ – hard-sf.com/links/526999

Ice Moon – The Boxset

All four bestselling books of the Ice Moon series are now offered as a set, available only in e-book format.

The Enceladus Mission: Is there really life on Saturn's moon Enceladus? ILSE, the International Life Search Expedition, makes its way to the icy world where an underground ocean is suspected to be home to primitive life forms.

The Titan Probe: An old robotic NASA probe mysteriously awakens on the methane moon of Titan. The ILSE crew tries to solve the riddle—and discovers a dangerous secret.

The Io Encounter: Finally bound for Earth, ILSE makes it as far as Jupiter when the crew receives a startling message. The volcanic moon Io may harbor a looming threat that could wipe out Earth as we know it.

Return to Enceladus: The crew gets an offer to go back to Enceladus. Their mission—to recover the body of Dr. Marchenko, left for dead on the original expedition. Not everyone is working toward the same goal.

9.99 $ – hard-sf.com/links/780838

Proxima Rising

Late in the 21st century, Earth receives what looks like an urgent plea for help from planet Proxima Centauri b in the closest star system to the Sun. Astrophysicists suspect a massive solar flare is about to destroy this heretofore-unknown civilization. Earth’s space programs are unequipped to help, but an unscrupulous Russian billionaire launches a secret and highly-specialized spaceship to Proxima b, over four light-years away. The unusual crew faces a Herculean task—should they survive the journey. No one knows what to expect from this alien planet.

3.99 $ – hard-sf.com/links/610690

The Hole

A mysterious object threatens to destroy our solar system. The survival of humankind is at risk, but nobody takes the warning of young astrophysicist Maribel Pedreira seriously. At the same time, an exiled crew of outcasts mines for rare minerals on a lone asteroid.

When other scientists finally acknowledge Pedreira’s alarming discovery, it becomes clear that these outcasts are the only ones who may be able to save our world, knowing that The Hole hurtles inexorably toward the sun.

3.99 $ – hard-sf.com/links/527017

Silent Sun

Is our sun behaving differently from other stars? When an amateur astronomer discovers something strange on telescopic solar pictures, an explanation must be found. Is it merely artefact? Or has he found something totally unexpected?

An expert international crew is hastily assembled, a spaceship is speedily repurposed, and the foursome is sent on the ride of their lives. What challenges will they face on this spur-of-the-moment mission to our central star?

What awaits all of them is critical, not only for understanding the past, but even more so for the future of life on Earth.

3.99 $ – hard-sf.com/links/527020

The Rift

There is a huge, bold black streak in the sky. Branches appear out of nowhere over North America, Southern Europe, and Central Africa. People who live beneath The Rift can see it. But scientists worldwide are distressed—their equipment cannot pick up any type of signal from it.

The rift appears to consist of nothing. Literally. Nothing. Nada. Niente. Most people are curious but not overly concerned. The phenomenon seems to pose no danger. It is just there.

Then something jolts the most hardened naysayers, and surpasses the worst nightmares of the world’s greatest scientists—and rocks their understanding of the universe.

3.99 $ – hard-sf.com/links/534368

Mars Nation 1

NASA finally made it. The very first human has just set foot on the surface of our neighbor planet. This is the start of a long research expedition that sent four scientists into space.

But the four astronauts of the NASA crew are not the only ones with this destination. The privately financed ‘Mars for Everyone’ initiative has also targeted the Red Planet. Twenty men and women have been selected to live there and establish the first extraterrestrial settlement.

Challenges arise even before they reach Mars orbit. The MfE spaceship Santa Maria is damaged along the way. Only the four NASA astronauts can intervene and try to save their lives.

No one anticipates the impending catastrophe that threatens their very existence—not to speak of the daily hurdles that an extended stay on an alien planet sets before them. On Mars, a struggle begins for limited resources, human cooperation, and just plain survival.

3.99 $ – hard-sf.com/links/762824

Amphitrite

It's no ordinary planet. It's Amphitrite: the Black Planet.

For years astronomers have been looking for a planet beyond the orbit of Neptune. Again and again they find evidence, but the striking proof—actual observation—eludes them.

The four astronauts aboard the Ganymede Explorer are not seeking scientific fame. Just the opposite is true. They need a safe haven, as far away from any civilization as possible. Finding themselves on a quest for a previously uncharted planet seems like the perfect solution.

They approach curiously, almost joyfully, unaware of lurking dangers. For they do not yet know what they have found: Amphitrite is no ordinary celestial body. It is the Black Planet.

3.99 $ – hard-sf.com/links/1548084

Impact: Titan

How to avoid killing Earth if you don't even know who sent the killer

250 years ago, humanity nearly destroyed itself in the Great War. Shortly before, a spaceship full of researchers and astronauts had found a new home on Saturn's moon, Titan, and survived by having their descendants genetically adapted to the hostile environment.

The Titanians, as they call themselves, are proud of their cooperative and peaceful society, while unbeknownst to them, humanity is slowly recovering back on Earth. When a 20-mile-wide chunk of rock escapes the asteroid belt and appears to be on a collision course with Earth, the Titanians fear it must look as if they launched the deadly bombardment. Can they prevent the impact and thus avoid an otherwise inevitable war with the Earthlings?

3.99 $ – hard-sf.com/links/1433312

A Guided Tour of Comets

It was a coincidence that Rosetta specifically visited the 67P comet, named Churyumov-Gerasimenko after the astronomers who discovered it. This coincidence provided scientists with an exciting research project—and us with beautiful photos.

A comet is a celestial body which, when its orbit nears the sun, develops a coma and usually a glowing tail. The name comes from ancient Greek κομήτης (hair star), derived from κόμη (‘hair of the head’ or ‘mane’).

How typical is 67P when compared to its countless siblings? How are they formed, where do they come from, and what becomes of them? These questions are answered in the following biography.

Classification and naming

Comets are divided into periodic and non-periodic, depending on the interval between their appearances, and the former is divided additionally into long-period and short-period. Periodic comets are those whose return is ascertained by measuring their course, that is, those that circle the sun in a stable orbit—at least for a certain period of time. In principle, non-periodic comets don’t return, due to their parabolic or hyperbolic courses.

Long-period comets, with an orbital period of more than 200 years, are presumed to come from the Oort cloud at the edge of the solar system. Their orbital inclinations are statistically distributed across the entire solar system, whereas the planets all move, roughly speaking, along the same plane around the sun. Sometimes they orbit the sun in the same direction as the planets (prograde), but sometimes in the opposite direction (retrograde). Their orbital eccentricities are close to 1, meaning they are very elongated ellipses. Long-period comets are generally still bound by the sun’s gravity, although they may sometimes need up to 100 million years to complete an orbit!

Eccentricities larger than 1 (hyperbolic courses) are rare for comets—which is logical, as we never see these comets again because they are non-periodic comets that leave the solar system. The reason for this is usually a disturbance in their orbit when passing the large planets. However, minor influences in the outer region of the planetary system are sufficient to give an orbit an elliptical shape again. Around 10 to 20 comets with a hyperbolic course are discovered each year.

Short-period comets with orbital periods of less than 200 years often originate from the Kuiper belt in which the dwarf planet Pluto moves. They typically orbit in the direction of the sun’s rotation. Their orbital inclination is around 20 degrees on average, meaning their orbits are close to the ecliptic—the level of the planetary orbits.

More than half of all known short-period comets belong to the ‘Jupiter family,’ and their furthest distance from the sun is not in the Kuiper belt but near Jupiter’s orbit—that is, five to six astronomical units (AUs). 67P/Churyumov-Gerasimenko is one of these. The time it takes to orbit the sun is only 5 to 11 Earth years. Scientists believe it was originally a long-period comet, the orbit of which was changed by the gravitational influence of the giant planets.

How did it come to be named ‘67P/Churyumov-Gerasimenko?’ A newly discovered comet first receives a designation from the International Astronomical Union, consisting of the year of its discovery and an uppercase letter corresponding to the date of discovery—beginning with A from January 1, B from January 16, in a bi-monthly rhythm (up to Y from December 16, and skipping the letter I). And then there’s another number added to differentiate it from other comets found in the same half-month. So 67P was initially called 1969 R1, having been the first comet discovered in the first half of September (R) 1969.

As soon as the orbital elements of the comet have been more precisely determined, the name is prefixed with another letter according to the following system:

P: The orbital period is shorter than 200 years, or there have been at least two confirmed observations of its perihelion past the sun (periodic comet)

C: The orbital period is longer than 200 years

X: The orbit is unable to be determined

D: A periodic comet that went missing or no longer exists

A: Subsequently established to be an asteroid and not a comet

I: Interstellar—the comet did not originate in our solar system

Comet Hyakutake, for example, is also known as C/1996 B2. Hyakutake was the second comet discovered in the second half of January 1996. Its orbital period is longer than 200 years.

Comets are also typically named after the people who discover them. For example, D/1993 F2 is also known as Shoemaker-Levy 9—the ninth comet that Eugene and Carolyn Shoemaker discovered together with David H. Levy.

If a comet is observed passing the sun a second time, it usually receives a fixed number and a name. And that’s how it happened for P/1969 R1. It was given the number 67P and the names of its discoverers Klim Churyumov and Svetlana Gerasimenko. Gerasimenko took the photo in which Churyumov later discovered the new comet.

The number of newly discovered comets was around 10 per year up to the 1990s, and since then, it has increased considerably through the use of automatic search programs and space telescopes. Most new comets, and those observed in earlier orbits, are only visible through a telescope. When they approach the sun they begin to shine more brightly, but the development of this brightness and the tail can’t be precisely predicted. Truly impressive appearances only happen about every 10 years.

The structure of comets

The nucleus

At vast distances from the sun, comets only consist of a nucleus. They are primarily made of water ice, dry ice (CO₂), CO ice, other frozen substances such as methane and ammonia, and admixtures of small dust and mineral particles (for example, silicates or nickel-iron). That’s why comets are often called ‘dirty snowballs.’ However, the observations of the Deep Impact mission have shown that (at least in the outer area of the nucleus of the examined comet, Tempel 1), the proportion of solid materials can outweigh the volatile elements, so that ‘icy dirtball’ seems more apt.

We know from the Giotto space probe’s observations of Halley’s Comet that comets are typically surrounded by a black crust, which only reflects around four percent of light. Although comets can be observed in the sky as spectacular light displays, their nuclei are among the blackest objects in the solar system. By comparison, asphalt reflects approximately seven percent of light.

Since only small regions of the nucleus outgas, it is now assumed that the surface is formed out of a kind of rubble, consisting of rock fragments too heavy to overcome the gravitational attraction of the nucleus, and thus unable to fly away. Giotto also discovered tiny particles rich in the elements carbon (C), hydrogen (H), oxygen (O), and nitrogen (N), also called CHON particles. These could originate from a thin layer of soot covering the surface of the nucleus, which would explain the low reflectivity.

The coma

As soon as a comet approaching the sun crosses Jupiter’s orbit at a distance of about five AU, the comet’s interaction with the solar wind causes a bowl-shaped ‘coma,’ which shows radiation-like structures near the nucleus. It arises because volatile substances on the side facing the sun sublimate (i.e., change from a solid state to a gaseous state) and carry off dust particles embedded in the ice. According to the observations of the Giotto probe, this sublimation only occurs on about 10 to 15 percent of the surface of the comet. Volatile substances only appear to be released from brittle points on the black crust. Molecules released at these points form the inner coma.

Through further heating, ionization, and the tearing of molecules (dissociation), the coma continues to grow, finally forming the coma we can see, from ions and groups of molecules. It is surrounded by a halo of atomic hydrogen radiating in ultraviolet, called a UV coma, which on Comet Hale-Bopp in 1997, for example, reached a diameter of 150 million kilometers. Since the Earth's ozone layer blocks UV radiation, the UV coma can only be examined from space.

The tail

The coma’s components are ‘blown away’ by solar wind and radiation pressure coming from the sun, forming a tail, typically inside the orbit of Mars—or to be more precise, two tails that can point in different directions:

a narrow, elongated tail (type I tail), primarily consisting of molecular ions, always pointing away from the sun, called a plasma tail, typically blue, and the prettier of the two

a diffuse, curved tail made of dust particles (type II tail), also called a dust tail

How large the two tails become depends on how much material the comet releases, and how close it comes to the sun. But how well we can see them in the sky depends more on the relative positions of the Earth and the comet. If we’re unlucky, we don’t see the more beautiful tail because we’re looking at the comet front-on.

Why is the dust tail curved? Small dust particles that form the dust tail are primarily influenced by radiation pressure from the sun. This has two components:

The first, the radial component, is directed against gravity and decreases quadratically as the distance to the sun increases. For the dust particles, this effectively feels like a reduction in solar gravitational force. Therefore they move along their own course (‘pseudo-Kepler orbits’), which is also differentiated for different-sized particles, as radiation pressure is dependent on particle size. This leads to a relatively intense fanning out of the dust tail in comparison to the plasma tail.

A second component of radiation pressure is directed against the direction of movement of the dust particles, and therefore decelerates all those particles that are larger than the wavelength of the radiation (about 0.5 µm). In the long term, these particles move in the same way as other interplanetary dust, spiraling toward the sun.

An antitail (type III tail) is only visible in special orbit configurations. However, this isn’t a discrete tail, but rather a geometric projection effect. When the Earth moves between the sun and the comet, part of the dust tail appears to protrude beyond the comet’s nucleus, due to its curvature. The antitail can then appear to be pointing toward the sun.

The fact that a comet forms a coma and tail affects its composition. The content of the tail is lost. Loss of matter from a comet is estimated to be about 10 to 50 metric tons per second (t/s), for a comet approaching the sun for the first time. This surprisingly small amount of matter—a maximum of 0.03 to 0.2 percent of the comet’s mass each time it passes the sun—shows that tails can only have very low density. Their sometimes enormously intense brightness is explained, in the case of the dust tail, by the large surface area of the microscopically small dust particles. In a plasma tail, every atom or molecule contributes to its luminosity. This leads to an increase in luminosity by many orders of magnitude compared to the size of the comet’s nucleus.

The origin of comets

We know that comets are objects left over from the creation of the solar system (primordial objects)—and not recent fragments created by later collisions of other, larger celestial bodies. This makes them especially interesting for scientists, because they provide a glimpse into the past.

The high proportion of volatile substances in comets’ nuclei, such as water and carbon monoxide, means that they must have originated in extremely frigid environments, and therefore in the outer reaches of the solar system. Most planetesimals in the region of the outer planets were probably drawn toward the four giant planets when the solar system was young. Due to orbital disturbances affecting the remaining chunks, many of them were so scattered that they left the solar system. It’s assumed that around a tenth of these scattered bodies form the distant Oort cloud. Objects orbiting nearer but still outside of Neptune’s orbit were less subject to this scattering process and formed the Kuiper belt.

The Oort cloud and parts of the Kuiper belt are the reservoirs of the majority of comets, which could number in the billions. Because long-period comets are very much scattered by the large planets—especially Jupiter—when crossing inner regions of the solar system, they are only identifiable as former members of the Oort cloud for a few orbits. So there must be a mechanism that brings the comets still visible today back toward the sun from their orbits far out from the sun.

It’s assumed, for short-period comets from the Kuiper belt, that objects in the belt collide with one another, causing chunks to be flung into the interior region of the solar system. The process of scattering of long-period comets is still not precisely understood. Weak gravitational effects near stars or the attraction of larger, trans-Neptunian objects could gradually cause changes to their orbits and redirect the distant, cold, comet nucleus into an elongated orbit toward the sun, leading to the discovery of new comets year-round.

Some disappear, never to be seen again, while others maintain their periodic orbits. However, other possible causes have also been considered, such as the influence of passing stars or undiscovered planets (e.g., ‘Planet X’) or the now refuted idea that the sun might have a companion star (‘Nemesis’).

When comets flying through the interior of the solar system contain a significant amount of ice and pass very close to the sun, they can sometimes be visible to the naked eye—which was very much the case with Ikeya-Seki (1965) and Hale-Bopp (1997).

As explained above, comets lose a portion of their mass with every orbit around the sun, especially volatile components in the outer layer of the nucleus. The closer the perihelion of its orbit is to the sun, the faster this process occurs, because ice sublimates faster and larger particles are also lost due to the outgassing of rock. This means the comet’s nucleus is barely recognizable as such after a few thousand orbits around the sun. This timeframe is significantly shorter than the age of the solar system.

Due to the evaporation of ice, the rock of the nucleus loses its composition and the comet gradually dissolves. This can be caused by splitting (as with Biela’s Comet 1833), by Jupiter's influence (Shoemaker-Levy 9 1994), or by the gradual distribution of particles along their original orbit. The latter is the cause of most meteor showers.

Interesting comets

Comets can still be observed nightly with a simple telescope. However, ‘large comets,’ ones that a layperson can follow in the night sky with the naked eye, only appear about once every 10 years.

Halley’s Comet was the first comet recognized as a periodic comet (in 1705 by Edmond Halley) and the first comet whose nucleus was able to be photographed by space probes (1986). It has even been visible as a ‘large comet’ several times.

Encke’s Comet (discovered in 1818) has the shortest orbit of all known comets, at 3.31 years.

Comet Biela (1845-46) was the first comet to be observed disintegrating.

Comet Donati (1858) was the first comet on which outgassing in the coma was observed. It was voted by artists to be the most beautiful object of the century.

The Johannesburg Comet—almost at the same time as Halley’s—made 1910 the unusual year of two large comets.

Comet Ikeya-Seki is one of the brightest comets of the last millennium. In October 1965, it reached around 60 times the brightness of the full moon, and was clearly visible during the day beside the sun.

Comet Shoemaker-Levy 9 disintegrated near Jupiter. Its 21 fragments impacted the planet between July 16 and 22, 1994. Traces of it were visible for several weeks.

Comet Hale-Bopp was visible to the naked eye for more than 18 months in 1996 and 1997, a record for all known comets.

Comet Tempel 1 was the target of NASA’s Deep Impact mission, in which a 372 kg projectile, composed mainly of copper, impacted the comet on July 4, 2005, with a relative speed of 10 km/s. The resulting dust cloud was observed by the probe itself, numerous Earth-based telescopes, as well as the Hubble Space Telescope and the ESA space probe.

Comet Wild 2 was the first comet to have some of its coma particles collected by a probe (‘Stardust’). The samples were brought back to Earth in 2006.

At the end of October 2007, the 17P/Holmes comet appeared to increase in brightness in the space of 36 hours, from 17 to 2.5 m. The comet suddenly appeared 500,000 times brighter than usual and was visible in the sky with the naked eye.

67P/Churyumov-Gerasimenko is the first comet on which a probe gently landed in 2014 as part of the Rosetta mission.

Glossary of Acronyms

ABS – Anti-lock Braking System

AFC – Asteroid Framing Camera

ALMA – Atacama Large Millimeter/submillimeter Array

APXS – Alpha Proton X-ray Spectrometer

AU – Astronomical Unit (the distance from the Earth to the sun)

BEC – Bose-Einstein Condensate

CapCom – Capsule Communicator

CHON – Carbon, Hydrogen, Oxygen, and Nitrogen particles

CIVA – Comet nucleus Infrared and Visible Analyzer

COM - COMmunications

CONSERT - COmet Nucleus Sounding Experiment by Radiowave Transmission

COSAC – COmetary Sampling And Composition

DART – Double Asteroid Redirection Test

DLR – Deutsches Zentrum für Luft- und Raumfahrt (German Aerospace Center)

ELF – Enceladus Life Finder

ESA – European Space Agency

ESM – External Service Module

ESOC – European Space Operations Centre (Darmstadt, Germany)

ESTRACK – European Space TRACKing network

EVA – ExtraVehicular Activity

g – g-force (gravitational force)

GEND – Gateway Exploration Neutron Detector

GOLA – Gateway Orbiter Laser Altimeter

GTR – General Theory of Relativity (aka Theory of General Relativity)

HALO – HAbitation and Logistics Outpost

HLS – Human Landing System

HUT – Hard Upper Torso

ISS – International Space Station

JWST – James Webb Space Telescope

LAMP – Lunar Activity Monitoring Program

LOLA – Lunar Orbiter Laser Altimeter

MOM – Mission Operations Manager

MUPUS – MUlti-PUrpose Sensors for surface and subsurface science

NASA – National Aeronautics and Space Administration

NRAO – National Radio Astronomy Observatory

OCSS – Orion Crew Survival Suit

OGS – Optical Ground Station (telescope)

RF – Radio Frequency

ROLIS – ROsetta Lander Imaging System

ROMAP – ROsetta lander Magnetometer And Plasma monitor

SAFER – Simplified Aid For Extra-vehicular-activity Rescue

SEP – Solar Electric Propulsion system

SESAME – Surface Electrical Sounding and Acoustic Monitoring Experiments

SLS – Space Launch System

TIRA – Thermal InfRAred instrument

TU – Technische Universität (technical university)

UV – UltraViolet

VR – Virtual Reality

WHC – Waste Hygiene Compartment

Metric to English Conversions

It is assumed that by the time the events of this novel take place, the United States will have joined the rest of the world and will be using the International System of Units, the modern form of the metric system.

Length:

centimeter = 0.39 inches

meter = 1.09 yards, or 3.28 feet

kilometer = 1093.61 yards, or 0.62 miles

Area:

square centimeter = 0.16 square inches

square meter = 1.20 square yards

square kilometer = 0.39 square miles

Weight:

gram = 0.04 ounces

kilogram = 35.27 ounces, or 2.20 pounds

Volume:

liter = 1.06 quarts, or 0.26 gallons

cubic meter = 35.31 cubic feet, or 1.31 cubic yards

Temperature:

To convert Celsius to Fahrenheit, multiply by 1.8 and then add 32

To convert Kelvin to Celsius, subtract 273.15

Excerpt: Amphitrite

January 12, 2078 – Hektor

“Throw me the line,” called Grigori.

Juri hesitated. He had one end of a 20-meter long steel girder on his shoulder. Their colleague Irina was carrying the other end. Before them lay the abyss that divided the two egg-shaped halves of the asteroid. Somewhere down there, perhaps 500 meters below him, the two unequal siblings had been welded together by the pressure of their collision many millions of years ago.

“Hurry up!” cried Grigori. “Don’t be such a pussy.”

Pussy? Sure, he could talk. Grigori was already standing on the other side of the abyss, and all he’d had to do was carry the backpack with the tools. The girder was light in the low gravity, but its inertial mass hadn’t changed. Setting it in motion without taking that into account could prove fatal.

Juri turned around. The beam of his helmet’s headlamp followed the brightly shining steel and met another person in a spacesuit—Irina—who still had the other end of the beam on her shoulder.

“Irina?”

“Yeah?”

“If we both jump at the same time, we should make it.”

“But if we don’t jump with enough push-off, you’ll fall into the abyss with the girder.”

That’s a good point, Juri thought.

“That’s why you should throw me the line. Then I can pull him up,” said Grigori.

Juri shouldn’t have spoken to Irina on the open channel. Grigori was good at his job, but he was also very full of himself. It was a wonder he was still alive, although he’d probably attribute that to his own brilliance.

“And the girder, you genius?” asked Juri. “The boss’ll tear us a new one if we lose it.”

“I have an idea,” said Irina.

“Let’s hear it then,” said Juri.

“I’ll use the valve on the oxygen tank as propulsion.”

“You want to hang from the girder and propel it with your breathing air?”

“It could work, Juri.”

“But then you risk running out of air.”

“It’s not far to the construction site once we’re across, and coming back will be no sweat without the girder.”

“We still have to weld it on.”

“You don’t need me for that.”

“I don’t know, Irina, it sounds too risky to me.”

“Let her do it,” said Grigori. “She’s not a pussy like you. If we keep standing around arguing, we’ll all run out of air.”

“Shut up, Grigori! Did anyone ask you?”

“Just ignore him, Juri,” said Irina. “Listen to me. My plan will work.”

“Fine,” said Juri.

* * *

“Three... two... one,” Irina counted down over the radio. “Go!”

Juri held on tightly to the girder and began to move. The loose groundcover of ice and dust sprayed out sideways under his feet. He wanted to run, but the heavy steel was slowing him down. He was nearly at the edge, and he was still moving as though in slow motion. Time... to... jump... now!

Juri was floating. The beam of his helmet lamp brushed the cliff. It didn’t reach all the way down. Probably a good thing. Now he was completely dependent on Irina. He could hear her panting over the radio channel. She was still running, and at the same time blasting valuable oxygen out of her tank into the vacuum above the dark surface of the asteroid.

Time seemed to stand still. Juri had never had so much time to look at the opposite side of the abyss. He’d crossed it often—without a heavy load—but for the first time he saw with his own eyes why Chen had acquired a license for this particular asteroid, even though it orbited so far from Earth. The two halves that together formed the elongated asteroid, Hector, were as different as two celestial bodies of their kind could be. The one on which the base was located was a typical, dirty snowball of ice and rock. However the other, toward which he was flying in slow motion, had a core of metal that made up almost its entire mass. The structure was especially recognizable on the cliff face because the ever-present dust couldn’t collect there.

“Juri, careful!”

Irina’s warning came just in time. The cliff suddenly jumped out at him. The girder seemed to have picked up speed again, but he’d aimed poorly because it was too low. Grigori must be waiting eight meters above him. The wall! Juri stretched his arms and legs out in front of him to cushion the impact. Hopefully the girder wouldn’t do anything unpredictable. Impact! He touched the wall with his hands and knees, where the suit had extra reinforcement. He felt a sharp pain in his hips. He tried to grab on, but the wall was too smooth. He bounced off.

“Grigori, the cable!” he called.

If he didn’t grab hold of the cable now, he’d fall into the depths. He looked up but couldn’t see his colleague.

“Watch out. The girder!” cried Irina.

Where was it? The darkness obscured the dangerous piece of metal. He turned his head back and forth frantically until his lamp beam fell on the girder. A stroke of luck! The wall had redirected the danger upward. The enormous inertia of the heavy piece was working in their favor.

“I’ll grab it,” cried Grigori.

What was he doing? Grigori would never reach it! He should throw Juri the cable!

“Man, I need the cable! Now!”

“Wait a minute!” called Grigori. “If we lose the girder, Chen’ll tear us a new one. You said so yourself.”

“I’m falling, you idiot!”

And he was. Shit. He shouldn’t have let himself be persuaded. They should have found another way to transport the girder across the abyss. Hektor’s gravity, as low as it was, was pulling him down. He tried to roughly calculate his speed, but increasing panic shook the numbers around in his head like dice in a tumbler.

“I’m going to die,” he cried. It sounded so banal. Everyone had to die sometime. Today was just his day. And yet he was so overcome with fear that the sweat poured down his face, and he pissed his pants.

“No, you’re not,” said Irina.

Suddenly she was behind him. She reached for his left arm with her right hand and pulled him up. Irina was rising as though she could fly. Then he saw her left hand directing the vapor coming out of the oxygen tank valve. Frozen oxygen. That’s how cold it was here. And deadly.

The impulse was enough. They reached the upper edge of the abyss, and Irina shoved him forward. Juri fell onto his knees.

He looked at the ground and breathed deeply. Irina’s shadow landed next to him. It was quiet. He was alive.

* * *

“See, everything’s fine,” said Grigori after what felt like about five minutes.

“Give him a moment,” said Irina. “It’s only been thirty seconds.”

“Let me see,” said Grigori.

Irina’s shadow transformed. That must be Grigori’s lamp. Juri forced himself to stand up. Grigori was standing next to Irina, holding her arm as though he was feeling her pulse.

“I thought so,” said Grigori, letting her arm fall. “Your oxygen is almost at zero.”

“Calm down, I’ve still got fifteen minutes’ reserve,” said Irina.

“Then you should start making your way back,” said Juri.

“Oh, you’re back with us? I’m glad.”

“Thanks, Irina. That was a real last-minute rescue.”

“By my calculation, I could have waited another thirty-five seconds.”

“I’m glad you didn’t. I’m really grateful. I owe you one.”

“I have a few suggestions,” Irina said with a laugh.

She was a little crazy—Juri had already heard that from the others. He wasn’t exactly in the mood to laugh.

“We’ll talk about it back at base,” he said. “Now go. Should one of us come with you, just to be safe?”

“Hey, I’m a big girl,” said Irina.

“Sorry, that was dumb. You just saved my life.”

* * *

“... and, go!” said Grigori, who had now taken the lead.

Juri heaved the other end of the girder onto his shoulder, and they slowly marched off.

The ground was much more challenging than on the other side because the dust layer was a lot thinner. They were making better time, and should be able to cover the kilometer to the construction site in half an hour.

“What was that with the cable before?” asked Juri.

“With the cable?”

“When I was falling into the abyss, I called out—”

“Oh, that. As you could see, I was busy with the girder, which you dropped.”

“So you decided to let me croak?”

“Juri, this thing was specially built for aiming the laser. If we lost it, it would delay the job by at least six months. RB would’ve given Chen hell, and he would’ve vented his anger at us.”

“Man, I almost died!”

“But you didn’t. I figured Irina would step in. She’s a quick thinker. And you were in luck because she has a weakness for losers.”

What an asshole! Juri felt like stopping, dropping the girder, and thrashing Grigori. But then everything would take even longer, and it was already the end of his shift. He’d get him back one day.

January 13, 2078 – Hektor

Juri grabbed the handle, turned it and pulled, but the door wouldn’t open. The men’s toilet was occupied. Denise came out of the women’s toilet and waved at him. She was always smiling, even early in the morning. He’d never seen her in a bad mood, and there were plenty of reasons to be grumpy on this asteroid.

Suddenly the door flew open in front of him. Juri jumped.

“Hey, calm down, it’s only me,” said Grigori.

“I was just—”

“—lost in thought, I know.”

Grigori pushed him aside and went past. Then he turned around as though he’d changed his mind. He planted himself in front of Juri and leaned against the wall. The smell of his cheap aftershave enveloped him. It even drowned out the smell of machine oil, which otherwise dominated the base.

“So, did you get laid yesterday?”

“I... man, no. What are you talking about?”

Why did he even answer that? He should just shove him aside and disappear into the toilet.

“That chick’s obviously into you. If you’re having performance anxiety, just give me a call. I bet she wouldn’t have anything against a threesome.”

“You’re disgusting, Grigori. I think she’s more likely to puke than let you—”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, buddy. Why don’t you ask her where she has a birthmark in the shape of a flower?”

Juri shook his head. Then he grabbed Grigori by the shoulders and pushed him away. “You should use that cheap aftershave on your face instead of drinking it. It’s already eating away at your brain.”

Grigori laughed. “I like you better like this, Jurochka. But you should be careful with that frown line. It doesn’t look sexy. The ladies love my aftershave.”

“Blowhard. You’re all talk.”

“Whatever. At least I don’t have to be rescued by women. I prefer screwing them.”

“One more word and—”

“Yeah? And what? I’m listening.”

Juri tensed his muscles. Was it worth getting physical? It seemed so... primitive. And he’d just be stooping to this creep’s level. “Nothing. You’re not worth it,” he said.

“Haha, I thought so. All bark and no bite. Irina probably realized that, and that’s why she didn’t...”

Grigori’s last words were swallowed by the door as it closed behind Juri. He turned the lock as far as it would go to be sure he’d have some peace.

* * *

“Stop! Don’t take it out!” Chen snapped.

Juri jumped and put the magazine, still in its plastic cover, back down on the desk. His boss had spoken quietly but fiercely. His words sounded like the lashes of a fancy whip with a thousand tiny glass shards set into it. Chen was half a head shorter than himself and slightly stocky, but it was a mistake to underestimate him. He had a lightning-fast right hook, as Mike had found out the day before yesterday. Mike had deserved it, though, the asshole. There were a surprising number of assholes on the base—it was almost as though it was a recruitment prerequisite. But then there were nice people like Irina and Denise.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” said Chen. “You’re welcome to look at it. Just don’t take it out of its cover.”

“What is it?” asked Juri. He picked up the plastic sheath and its contents. It must be made of delicate material if Chen insisted on covering it like that. “It this paper or something?” he asked.

“Yes it is—it’s a magazine, printed on real paper.”

“That must be insanely expensive.”

“Back then, it only cost about as much as a burger.”

Juri looked at the graphic on the title page. At the bottom, a woman was peering out of a kind of coffin floating on a lake. In the middle were three people in a rowboat. Another empty boat glowed white, and a city skyline was silhouetted against the horizon.

“What’s it about?” Juri asked.

“It’s a science fiction magazine,” explained Chen.

Juri read the title. “Interzone 123?”

“Issue 123 of Interzone magazine.”

“What’s it doing here?”

“Well, that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”

“Hey, don’t screw with me. I’ve already had an unpleasant encounter with Grigori today.”

“And I always thought you Russians stuck together.”

“We’re not Russians. That asshole is Bulgarian, and I’m German.”

“Really? What about your name?”

“My parents thought they were being creative. Didn’t you recruit us?”

“Denise gave me a list of the best candidates, and I ticked off the ones I felt would fit in. Three Russians... I thought that was charming somehow. I thought you might be able to perform some kind of Cossack dance for us.”

“Haha.”

“Is Irina from Russia, at least?”

“I think so. I don’t know her that well.”

“Oh, I thought she was keen on you.”

“Don’t believe anything Grigori says.”

“All right. To answer your question, the magazine is here because it contains a story by the famous sci-fi author Stephen Baxter. It’s called ‘The Fubar Suit.’ And guess where it’s set.”

“Here.”

“Exactly, on Skamandrios, aka (624) Hektor.”

“Did you choose Hektor because of this story?”

“No way. I bought the license for Hektor because it’s more or less ideal, and because the best asteroids in the main belt were already taken. We can mine metal and fuel here. And then I was tipped off early on about RB’s invitation to tender for the laser station, which is financing the base’s construction. I don’t build my future on old stories. Baxter wrote it last century when almost nothing was known about this asteroid.”

“But for some reason, it’s important to you.”

“I think it’s amusing having the story here on board.”

Juri flipped through the book. Each page had its own plastic sleeve so that he didn’t leave any fingerprints on the paper. He found a list of all the stories at the beginning of the magazine. He instinctively tapped on it, but nothing happened.

“Hahaha,” laughed Chen. “I always do that, too.”

“Page twenty-three, that’s the story?” asked Juri.

“It’s a misprint. The story starts on page twenty-two.”

“A misprint, that’s crazy. Does that make it more valuable?”

“No, several thousand of them were printed. It came out in 1982 for the first time and kept going until 2035. Then I guess paper became too expensive.”

“Cool.”

“See, that’s what it’s about for me. Anyone who visits me sees the book, and it starts a conversation.”

“But it’s never been lying around on your desk before, boss.”

“I can start conversations with you guys any time. But tomorrow the Ganymede Explorer’s landing to refuel, and the crew will be staying with us for a few days. Who knows, maybe something beautiful will happen.”

“Don’t you start, Chen. Grigori’s always drooling whenever he sees Irina or Denise, even from a distance.”

“I gather Grigori’s not your best buddy. But what am I supposed to do? None of you want anything to do with me. Or do you have something planned for tonight?”

“Sorry, boss. Have fun with your science fiction magazine.”

“Thanks, I’m looking forward to it. But the actual reason I asked you here—I need you to step in for Mike today. He’s not feeling well, and Asimov diagnosed a mild concussion.”

Shit. It was supposed to be his day off, and he’d planned to cook for Irina—without any ulterior motives.

“From the encounter with your fist yesterday?”

“Maybe, although I was actually pretty gentle with him. But grabbing Denise’s ass, that’s just not cool.”

“She probably could’ve defended herself.”

“That may be true. But as the boss, I have a responsibility. I hope Mike learned his lesson.”

“That would be nice. Who am I working with today?”

“Your best friend.”

“Shit.”

“Don’t you folks say govno?”

“The Russians do, yes. But I’m German. Forgotten already?”

“Just kidding. But yes, you and the Bulgarian are a team today. You have to make absolutely sure that the docking mechanism is cleared for our guests. Otherwise I pay a contractual penalty to NASA for every day they’re delayed.”

Juri took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Ommmm. He’d really have to keep himself under control. Why did space attract so many assholes?

* * *

“Have you done this before?” Grigori asked.

“Not yet. This is the first time I’ve been here.”

They were standing on a flat area the size of a football field. Floodlights were set up at the four corners, bathing everything in light so bright that his helmet visor automatically dimmed.

“All right. It’s not particularly complicated,” said Grigori. “The ship lands over there, in the middle. There are four anchors to make the last few meters of the landing easier.”

“The spaceship anchors to us?”

“Other way around. We anchor it. See the four black boxes halfway along each side? The harpoon cannons are in those.”

“Harpoon cannons?”

“Yeah—sounds martial, but they’re completely harmless. You must have seen them when you arrived?”

“No, I was still packing.”

“Okay. Well, the four cannons simply work with compressed air. They each fire one anchor at the ship. We wait until at least two of them have hooked on. Then we tighten the chains the anchors are attached to and pull the ship down slowly like a catch on a fishing line.”

“Makes sense.”

“It’s always worked so far. Chen came up with it. You can complain about what a pedant he is, and that the work’s more important to him than having fun, but he really knows his stuff.”

“So, what’s our job?”

“We have to prepare the harpoon cannons, which means topping up the compressed air and making sure everything runs smoothly.”

“The compressed air tanks must lose pressure over time.”

“Exactly. Come on!”

Grigori clipped his safety line onto one of the floodlight masts and marched across the field. His destination was the black box on the far side.

Juri followed suit, his thin line spooling out from the roll on his belt.

Grigori opened the box and a black tube flopped out, as though it had been waiting for him. “I always imagine it’s my dick expecting a blow job,” he said.

“You’re so full of it.”

Luckily they were moving in a vacuum. Otherwise he wouldn’t put it past Grigori to present what was clearly his most important body part.

“Look, here’s the trigger,” said the Bulgarian.

Juri walked around the box. Inside it was a pressure canister and a few small, flickering lights. The button to which Grigori was pointing was thumb-sized and red. He pressed it. A rod came out of the tube, opened out like an umbrella missing its fabric canopy, and flew diagonally upward. The chain attached to it slowed it down until it landed on the ground, still inside the landing area. Everything happened without a sound.

“See, that would’ve been a misfire,” said Grigori. “Premature ejaculation, if you like.”

The man really had a problem, but it wasn’t Juri’s job to solve it.

“I assume the air canister was half-empty,” Grigori explained. He pointed to each of the four boxes. “So we need to replace them. All four.”

“Understood. Where are the full canisters?” asked Juri.

“In the base, where else?”

“Why didn’t we bring them with us?”

“Man, if we finish too quickly, we’ll have to clean the base with Denise and Irina. Do you want that? Yes, you do. I can see it in your face. Well, I don’t. A real man doesn’t clean toilets.”

“You’ve got a problem, dude.”

“More like you’ve got one. Whatever. You need to be careful. As long as there’s still pressure in the canister, you can’t unscrew the valve.”

“So we need to release the pressure first.”

“Exactly. You do that with this button here.” Grigori pointed to a square, green button to the right of the start button. “But it would be more fun to fire the harpoons. That empties them, too. Haha. See? After it ejaculates, it’s empty.”

“Hilarious.”

“I know. I have a healthy sense of humor, unlike you, my friend.”

“I’m not your friend.”

“You’ll see. After the threesome with Irina, we’ll be best buddies.”

What had gotten into Grigori? Over the last few months he’d only occasionally been this crass. He felt like thrashing him. But Chen wouldn’t like it. If they didn’t finish in time, he’d take the contractual penalty out of their pay.

“What’s this button here for?” asked Juri.

He pointed to a square, yellow button to the left of the start button. Maybe he could distract Grigori with technical questions.

“That’s for folding up the anchors.”

“Folding up the anchors?”

“Don’t be dense, my friend. Didn’t you see the way the anchor opened out after it was fired? When it comes time to launch again, we have to release it. Otherwise they won’t be able to get away from here.”

“These thin chains can hold a spaceship?”

“No, of course not. But near the surface, the ship can only use its corrective thrusters.”

“What if they try braking with the main thrusters?”

“That wouldn’t be good for our installation down here. Or for anyone who happens to be nearby. The client would have to pay a penalty, though, so I don’t think Chen would too upset about it.”

“Unless it was our fault.”

“Yeah, then he’d rip our heads off. No, our balls. We couldn’t keep working without heads.”

“Speaking of work, shouldn’t we actually do some?”

“You’re getting on my nerves, man. Fine, go over there. You can do those two sides.”

Grigori pointed into the darkness ahead and then to the right. Juri moved off across the platform with springy steps. He couldn’t move too fast or he’d lift off. He’d still be able to haul himself back on the safety line, but then he’d have Grigori’s mocking to contend with. If a spaceship were to land now, the jet blast from the main chemical thruster would incinerate him into dust. He bent down and touched the ground, which was unusually smooth. The dust here had probably been compressed into a solid mass, but there were no scorch marks.

Juri reached a box that looked exactly like the one Grigori had shown him. He opened it and the firing tube for the harpoon flopped out. An erect penis. Haha. Grigori was such an idiot. The tube reminded him more of a jack-in-the-box. He pushed it down. Back into the box with you! But it resisted. Juri knelt in front of the box so he could press it down with all his strength.

At that moment, a black shadow whizzed over his head. Shit, what was that? If he had still been standing, it would have hit him! His heart pounded.

“Hey, Grigori, did you see that? Something almost—”

“That was just a harpoon.”

“Man, that thing was this close blowing me out into space!”

“Stop stressing. I accidentally hit the firing button. You would have sustained maybe a few bruises. It would be like an umbrella hitting your padded suit. The safety line would have brought you back.”

“You could have warned me! You’re such an asshole, Grigori!”

“So I’ve heard, but what do I care? Anyway, you’re overreacting. Nothing happened, right?”

He couldn’t believe it! This guy couldn’t even acknowledge his mistakes! He needed to warn Chen. Sooner or later, Grigori would finish someone off out of pure sloppiness.

“Hey, you almost killed me. Twice! Any normal person would at least apologize!”

“That won’t change anything. But, if it helps you cope with reality... ‘Sorry.’”

Juri didn’t reply. Words were wasted on this guy.

January 14, 2078 – Hektor

The locker door creaked when he opened it. Juri would have gone straight to the workshop for some oil, but that would cost him another ten minutes. And he was already running late for the small reception Chen had organized for 1900 hours. The Ganymede Explorer crew would be quartered at the base on Hektor for one night while their ship was refueled with methane and helium. It would bring in a few million yuan for Chen, so he was splashing out on a banquet.

Juri took a clothes hanger holding a white shirt from the locker, removed the shirt, and replaced the hanger. He hated wearing dress shirts, but Chen had banned t-shirts for the day. He pulled the shirt on over his naked torso. The fabric was scratchy. He’d spent years searching for shirt fabric that wasn’t scratchy, but even the cleverest textile engineers hadn’t managed to invent one yet. He closed the locker door. It squeaked even louder. Maybe he should go to get the oil after all. If his shirt got dirty, he wouldn’t have to wear it, but Chen would be pissed. He couldn’t afford to annoy his boss—he still had a year and a half on his contract, and after the Ganymede Explorer launched again, the five of them had to get through the next four months together.

He buttoned his shirt and put on a tie. He felt hot and short of breath. That was normal. He automatically reached up to loosen the top button, but managed to compose himself. It would remain buttoned until Chen’s second drink had sufficiently relaxed him. The Chinese man was a strict but fair boss—that morning he’d let Juri clean the toilets and the washrooms with Denise. He couldn’t bear the thought of another outside operation with Grigori. Irina had given him a dirty look because it meant she had to oversee the landing of the Ganymede Explorer with that asshole.

Working with Denise had been an absolute pleasure. They’d joked and talked about their previous jobs. As a chemist, Denise was responsible for handling the minerals they mined. She separated what wouldn’t mix and made compounds of what could be transported more compactly that way. It had been really interesting listening to her short explanation of the chemistry. She couldn’t alter the mass of a raw material, but volume was a decisive factor in the expensive transport to Earth, and that could be influenced by creating the right chemical compounds. On Sunday, when they all had a day off, she wanted to show him her little processing plant.

The day after tomorrow. He’d have to hold out till then. The worst part would be the evening ahead. He didn’t mind working outside at all. He’d slaved away in mines both on Earth and the moon. Gone were the times when his sector demanded hard physical labor, however, because there were machines for almost every task. Without them it wouldn’t be possible to operate this asteroid mine with a crew of just five. Four, actually, because Chen never went outside.

“People, are you coming?” Chen asked.

Apparently Juri wasn’t the only one taking his time. He went to the door of his tiny room. The mirror his mother had given him for his 18th birthday hung on the inside of the door. He looked at it every time he left his room. Habits were important, and a final glance never did anyone any harm. His girlfriends had always found the mirror very practical when they left his room in the mornings. But he’d never told anyone who’d given it to him.

“Can anyone hear me?”

The boss’s voice again, and here he was, still standing as if in a trance when he was supposed to be checking himself in the mirror. A few hairs had strayed from behind his ears, sticking out across his cheeks, and he tucked them back in place. “There,” he told his reflection—he should ask Irina to give him another haircut. She’d done a really good job last time. Juri opened the door, stepped out into the corridor, and headed toward the murmur of voices coming from the control room.

* * *

Their guests were wearing blue uniforms. Of course they were, forming a highly-official expedition of Americans, Canadians, and Europeans, with the ESA at the helm. The crew consisted of two men and two women. They stood up when he entered, and he was about to invite them to sit down again when he realized they had probably stood up for Irina rather than himself. She’d entered at the same moment as he, walking through the kitchen door in a take-your-breath-away dress. It was red and long, swinging from her hips to her ankles, with a low neckline. Irina looked like a tango dancer—or the way he imagined a tango dancer might look. He’d never seen her look anything like this! Usually Irina preferred pantsuits.

The four guests stepped back slightly. People often had that reaction because Irina was so tall. But Irina seemed a little taken aback, too. She obviously hadn’t expected to create such an impression. That made him warm to her even more. He didn’t like people who were too aware of their good looks.

“Good evening,” said Irina. Her sultry voice resounded in the room.

Chen jumped up. “Great. Everyone’s here,” he said.

Grigori stood up from an armchair. Juri hadn’t noticed him mostly concealed behind the chair’s high back. Where was Denise? Ah, there she was, stepping around Irina to put a bowl, which presumably contained a snack-food of some sort, on the table. He hoped Chen hadn’t donated that strange Japanese mixture again that they’d had at Christmas and New Year. Why hadn’t Irina worn her dress then?

“Very stylish,” said Grigori.

“Me? Thanks,” said Irina.

“I’m Chen Kun, your host and owner of the base.”

Chen bowed deeply toward the guests.

Tenant, to be precise, Juri mentally corrected him.

Everything built on this rented object belonged to the landlord—the Chinese state in this case. The space treaty, which had been in effect for a few years, had assigned the asteroid group containing Hektor to China, one of the global powers. Chinese law even applied here.

“My name is Anke Renner,” said the woman on the left.

Juri guessed she was in her mid-thirties. She was very slim and wore her long, dark hair in a braid.

“I’m the geologist on this expedition,” she added.

“Oh, interesting. I’m a geologist, too,” said Irina. “Can I invite you to a little tour of Hektor later? Our pretty asteroid has a lot to offer.”

“Just like you, Irina,” said Grigori.

Not again!

Chen turned abruptly to face Grigori, a stony expression on his face. Grigori visibly pulled himself together.

“Michael J. Warning,” said the man standing beside the geologist.

The two of them were standing very close together, so close they must be a couple. Warning looked about ten years older than Renner, but that could mostly be his hair, short, thinning, and exhibiting a receding hairline. He had a slight paunch, too.

“You must be the captain of the Ganymede Explorer,” said Grigori.

Warning bowed slightly, but then shook his head.

“I’m not. I’m the team’s astrobiologist. And as you can probably tell from my accent, I’m American. Texan, to be precise. As the mission is led by ESA, it was up to them to appoint someone from their ranks.”

“Ah, I didn’t realize,” said Grigori.

“Then unfortunately there’s nothing for you to see here,” said Chen. “Hektor’s long dead.”

“For more than 3200 years, if the researchers aren’t mistaken,” said Warning.

“Oh, you’ve read your Homer,” said Chen. “I don’t know if everyone’s aware, but Hektor was the leader of the Trojans in the fabled Trojan War.”

“The funny thing is, the Hektor asteroid’s on the wrong side,” added Warning. “That is, it’s surrounded by asteroids that are all named after Greek heroes.”

“That’s true,” said Chen. “It’s nice to have a scholar among us.” He bowed again.

Warning seemed to have prepped himself especially for this evening. The man clearly liked to shine. Juri, on the other hand, would have preferred to lurk in the shadows at the back of the room.

“Right, it must be my turn.”

A short, wiry woman took a step forward. Her age was hard to guess, and her hair was even darker than that of the geologist. She spoke a soft-edged, fluent English.

“Firstly, thank you for the warm welcome. My name is Meltem Miraloğlu. If you like, I’m happy to spell it for you.”

“What’s your specialist field?” asked Grigori.

“None. I’m from the United European Military, and I’m the commander of this expedition.”

“Oh... Congratulations!”

“It’s an interesting mission, but nothing that warrants congratulation.”

“Welcome, Ms. Miraloğlu,” said Chen, bowing once more.

“That just leaves me. I’m Felix Kipling, a delegate from the Canadian space agency and a chemist. I’m particularly interested in the composition of the ocean under the ice on Ganymede.”

“I’m impressed, and I’d love to sign up with you,” said Chen, “but then I’d have to leave my dear friends alone here, which of course I can’t do. Allow me to introduce them. The lady in the red dress, which she’s kept hidden from us until now, is Irina Jakutina. She’s a geologist, as you already know. The impertinent young man on my left is Grigori Dimitrov, mining engineer. Then we have Juri Rott on the other side, who also specializes in all things mining-related. And last but not least, the lady with the snacks, Denise Kucharzewski, who’s in charge of the kitchen today. She’s a chemist, but don’t worry—being from France, she’s assured me she knows her haute cuisine. I wish everyone a pleasant evening.”

Juri looked at his watch. Only ten minutes had passed. Why did it feel like two hours? How much longer would he have to endure this?

* * *

Two hours later, he felt more relaxed. Following the excellent meal cooked by Denise, the ESA commander had presented a gift—a keg of real Belgian beer, which they’d almost emptied. They were all on a first-name basis by now, and for the last half-hour he, Anke, and Irina had been sitting together in a corner of the room talking shop. Ganymede Explorer’s geologist was from Germany, like himself, but they spoke English for Irina’s sake, as always.

Anke had gone through some interesting experiences, and she had been giving lively accounts of them. Irina was good at extracting new stories from her, such as the one in which Anke had fallen into a hole on the moon, one not shown on any map, while searching for minerals containing water.

It was a shame. Juri had been on the moon, but he hadn’t seen much of the grandiose landscape because he was always stuck in some shaft. After college he’d wanted to earn some money, which was much easier to do in the industrial sector than as a researcher. He envied Anke’s scientific experiences. On the other hand, the competition she faced was much fiercer. If, after returning from Ganymede, she didn’t write at least ten papers that listed her as lead author, she’d never get another exciting mission like this. As a mining engineer, Juri hardly ever had to worry about publishing—Chen took care of that.

He cautiously picked up his glass from the table. It was easy to spill drinks in low gravity, so every drinking vessel had a lid that was held down by a spring, which could be deactivated using a button on the handle. He raised the glass to his lips, but just at that moment someone bumped into him from behind. His thumb reflexively pressed down on the button, the lid opened, and the beer sloshed out. A yellowish bubble flew in a high arc across the room, eventually pulled to the floor by gravity.

“Excuse me,” said Grigori.

Juri spun around, furious. His crewmate stood there, swaying slightly.

“Can’t you watch where you’re going?” asked Juri. “My beautiful beer!”

“It’s flat now anyway. Have to drink faster, brother.”

“I’m not your brother.”

“Whatever. Thought we could be brotherly, you know. Share. These two chicks here. Or d’you want ‘em all to yesself?”

“Shut up. They’re our guests. Behave yourself!”

“Or else what? Huh? What if I don’t? You gonna thrash me? Haha.”

Juri glanced around the room. Michael was sitting in an armchair with his eyes closed. The others didn’t seem to have noticed anything either—except Irina. She flashed her eyes at him. If he didn’t bring Grigori to his senses, she’d take care of it, she seemed to be saying.

“Ouch!” Grigori blurted.

Then he moved surprisingly quickly toward the exit. Chen was escorting his employee from the room in an arm lock. There would be consequences. Grigori would pay the price if Chen lost face in front of his guests. Juri didn’t feel sorry for him—quite the opposite.

* * *

“Good night,” said Anke.

“Good night,” Juri replied. He breathed deeply. Four hours of socializing had been exhausting, but also more fun than he’d expected.

The two sofas in the middle of the room were folded out. Anke and Michael would sleep there. He’d guessed right. They were a couple, and yet Anke had repeatedly complained about him during their conversation. Such a long journey in cramped quarters didn’t seem conducive to relationships. Take note, Juri. He’d enjoyed the fact that Irina had moved closer and closer to him throughout the evening. But it couldn’t go anywhere—Anke and Michael were evidence of that. In the past, he’d always ended his relationships before entering into a long-term agreement.

He left the room and closed the door. Irina was already gone, probably in her room. Pity. He crossed the workshop. Around the entire room ran a railing that enabled faster movement in the low gravity. He turned off the light and left the workshop.

It was dark in the narrow corridor beyond. He moved as quietly as possible. Everyone was probably asleep by now. But then he heard whispering coming from up ahead. The man’s voice was so faint he couldn’t identify it. The corridor ended in an almost square anteroom. Juri stopped. This was where their quarters were located. His on the far left, Irina’s next to it, Grigori’s through the door opposite. Denise’s door on the right was ajar, light slanting through the crack. He found the railing, about half a meter out from the wall.

And he found a person, no, two. It took Juri a moment to make sense of what he saw because he couldn’t believe it was happening. A woman much smaller than the man standing behind her was trapped against the railing, her upper body pressed against the wall—Denise, he realized. The man had his right hand over her mouth while pressing her hips against the railing as he was trying to force himself on her.

“Be quiet, slut, or I’ll kill you,” whispered Grigori. “You know you want it.”

Denise made a muffled noise. No, she didn’t want it, that was clear. Grigori, you pig!

Juri shoved off forcefully from the wall and flew across the room toward his target. Grigori’s back didn’t offer much in the way of vulnerable points. The backs of his knees! He aimed both legs at them and made contact. His feet pressed into them and his hands went around Grigori’s throat. The Bulgarian buckled. An alcoholic haze enveloped Juri. Grigori slowly fell backward, making a gurgling sound as he did so, but Juri didn’t let go. Grigori was heavier and stronger than himself, so he had to exploit the element of surprise. Otherwise he had no chance. If Grigori gained the upper hand, Juri would be dead.

“Krchhh, krchhh. Krchhh.”

It was a horrible sound, but Juri didn’t relent. He kept his fingers tight around Grigori’s throat, squeezing his Adam’s apple ever harder. They landed on the floor, Grigori on top of him. Now he really couldn’t let go, or he’d have no chance at all.

“Krchhh, krchhh.”

“You know you want it,” whispered Juri.

It felt good. All he had to do was squeeze. Grigori should know what it felt like to suffocate. Krchhh, krchhh, exactly, you pig, that’s all you have left to say. You didn’t see this coming.

Someone was pulling on his right arm. Was it Grigori trying to free himself? It was dark, and the pig’s body was blocking his view. Just a moment longer and the problem would be solved. Krchhh, krchhh, haha. And? How do you feel? Do you still want it?

“Krchhh.”

Grigori’s upper body went limp, but now his legs were thrashing around. Be still, pig. You only have yourself to blame. Juri kept his hands tightly closed around his opponent’s neck. He had power over him. It was a strange, uplifting feeling. Yes, uplifting, that was the right word. Grigori was at his mercy, the strong, dumb Grigori, always mouthing off.

Juri froze. What was he actually trying to do? How long could he cut off his crewmate’s air supply? He knew if he stopped too soon Grigori would exact his revenge, and not only on him—Denise, too. He weighed up his options. He had to disable him—there was no other choice. It wasn’t about power, it was about doing a good deed.

“Krchhh, krchhh.”

The gurgling quieted, and Grigori stopped thrashing. Had he given up? Good. Just a moment longer, to be sure he was no longer a threat. Maybe squeeze a bit harder, to speed things up.

“Juri, stop!”

That was Irina’s voice. She must have been the one pulling on his arm. Didn’t she understand the situation? Grigori was the attacker. He’d—

“Juri, you’re killing him!”

She pulled harder on his right arm. And now someone else was grabbing his left. Juri’s grip around Grigori’s throat loosened. Shit. Soon the pig would stand up and... But Grigori didn’t respond—the Bulgarian remained lying on top of him. Have you finished gurgling? Gone to sleep or something? Just you wait, my little friend.

Suddenly Grigori moved. The Bulgarian turned on his side so Juri could see his face. All of his muscles suddenly slackened. Even in the semi-darkness he could see Grigori’s eyes protruding from their sockets.

Someone must have opened the door to Denise’s room. A silhouette came rushing at him from the rectangle of light, holding something in her right hand that looked like a knife. Juri raised his arms defensively, but it wasn’t meant for him. Two legs stepped over him. Grigori was turned onto his back.

“Shit, shit,” said Irina.

She pressed her strong arms against Grigori’s chest repeatedly. She paused for a moment while Denise shoved a syringe between his ribs. Sweat glistened on Irina’s face. Denise’s makeup was smudged. Juri watched. Everything was unusually clear, almost too vivid, as though reality had been replaced by a simulation running at unrealistically high resolution.

Irina sat down and wiped the sweat from her face. She looked like she’d just wrestled Grigori to the ground. But there was no trace of triumph on her face. “It’s not working,” she said. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“He was trying to...” Denise’s voice cracked.

“I thought so,” said Irina. “It’s over now. He’ll never try that again.”

“Shit. Is he...? No! That’s not what I wanted.”

“You shouldn’t feel sorry for Grigori, honey.”

Irina stood up and hugged Denise. For a minute he heard sobbing and Irina murmuring something he couldn’t make out. Then she let go of Denise.

“Right, we need to take care of this mess. Juri, stand up.”

What did she want? It took him a long time to process the words.

“Come on, Juri, get up. I know you’re in shock, but you have to stand up or you’ll end up on Chinese death row.”

She held out a hand to him, which he used to pull himself up. His legs felt weak. “I feel dizzy,” he said.

“That’s the stress letdown,” said Irina. “You’ll feel better soon. You need to move around and get your circulation going.”

Juri bent over Grigori. The Bulgarian was lying completely motionless on his back with his eyes open. A syringe was sticking out of his chest. He’d killed him. Killed. He’d extinguished a life. Killed a human. He felt a kind of nausea he’d never experienced before. He grasped his throat.

“Go, run to the toilet!” said Irina.

He ran through the rectangle of light into Denise’s room. Luckily, all the cabins were identically laid out, so he knew where the toilet was. He tore open the lid and threw up into the bowl. It felt good. Everything came up, his whole life. He never wanted to stop, but eventually he was only throwing up bile. What had he done? Was he a murderer now? He wasn’t capable of that!

Wrong. The evidence was lying out there. Juri pulled himself up, holding onto the toilet, and flushed. Then he turned to the washbasin and rinsed out his mouth. He was a murderer, and he’d have to face the consequences. His life was about to change. He tried not to think about it.

He left Denise’s room.

“There you are, finally,” said Irina. “Come on, help me with him.” She pointed at Grigori’s feet. “We have to get him out of the way.”

“What?”

“Don’t ask questions, just grab them.”

Irina bent down and dragged Grigori up by the armpits.

Juri reached for the dead man’s feet and felt sports shoes, so he grabbed the still-warm ankles. “You’re sure he’s—?”

“Yes, you were very thorough.”

“Shit.”

“You said it. Now move. We’ll take him into my room.”

“Yours?”

“Well, yours will be the first place they look once they notice he’s not in his room. You guys argued a lot today.”

“But no one would believe I could murder someone!”

“True. You surprised me, Juri. But they’ll also notice you’re gone.

“I’m gone?” Grigori’s legs were getting heavy.

“You need to start thinking on your feet. There are obvious strangle marks on this asshole’s neck. Your skin cells are all over him. It wasn’t self-defense on your part, and we’re on Chinese territory here. What do you think’s in store for you?”

“He was trying to—”

“I know. But you shouldn’t have killed him. You realize that, right? Everyone will see it wasn’t an accident. Chen won’t have a choice but to hand you over to the authorities. Otherwise they’ll charge him as an accessory.”

“But I have to accept my—”

“Hey, do you want to die for this asshole? Is that justice? Someone else would have killed him eventually. The way Grigori behaved made it almost inevitable. You’ll pay the price, but in a different way. In your head. Believe me.”

Believe me. The words sounded like they came from somewhere deep inside her. Juri shuddered.

“Where am I supposed to go?” he asked.

“He’s heavy—my arms are getting tired. Come on, we’ll take him to my room for now. Denise, can you please wipe the floor? And then go to your room and don’t let anyone see you till the morning. Understood?”

“Understood. I slept deeply and didn’t see or hear anything.”

“Exactly.”

“Thank you, Denise,” said Juri.

“Thank you, Juri.”

Juri nodded. He’d probably never see her again.

Amphitrite

It's no ordinary planet. It's Amphitrite: the Black Planet.

For years astronomers have been looking for a planet beyond the orbit of Neptune. Again and again they find evidence, but the striking proof—actual observation—eludes them.

The four astronauts aboard the Ganymede Explorer are not seeking scientific fame. Just the opposite is true. They need a safe haven, as far away from any civilization as possible. Finding themselves on a quest for a previously uncharted planet seems like the perfect solution.

They approach curiously, almost joyfully, unaware of lurking dangers. For they do not yet know what they have found: Amphitrite is no ordinary celestial body. It is the Black Planet.

3.99 $ – hard-sf.com/links/1548084

Copyright © 2020 by Brandon Q. Morris

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www.hard-sf.com

brandon@hard-sf.com

Translator: Siân Robertson

Editing team: Marcia Kwiecinski, A.A.S., and Stephen Kwiecinski, B.S.

Cover design: Ag Ario Kusumo