Saving proxima, p.27
Saving Proxima, page 27
“Very well, do what you need to do, but don’t get me into some interstellar diplomatic concern. Hell, Ambassador Jesus should be here and involved in all this. XO!” He turned to Artur’s station.
“On it, sir!” The XO switched about some virtual icons. “Ambassador Jesus to the bridge. Ambassador Jesus to the bridge.”
“While you’re at it, Artur, get Commander Rogers up here too.”
“Aye sir!”
“Captain! Engine all-stop in six, five, four, three, two, one, all stop,” Zhao reported. Crosby suddenly felt his stomach floating. He choked it back down.
“Great work, Zhao.” Crosby flipped a channel open. “CHENG, this is Crosby.”
“Aye, Captain?” Cindy Mastrano replied over the comm channel.
“Pilot says we’re all-stop and no more corrections needed. You are free to begin Samara Drive all-stop protocols and repairs. I want this ship ready to move as soon as you can get it so.”
“I’m on it, Captain. Anything else?”
“Nope. Crosby out.”
* * *
“The first thing we need to do, Captain, is to have Chief Walker and Colonel Ping take the OSAMs and drop our ISR”—intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaisance devices—“our comm relay, and global positioning satellites into low Earth—uh, Fintidier?—orbit. I guess that’s a new acronym, LFO instead of LEO; doesn’t roll off the tongue as well, sir.” Rogers walked through the steps they needed to follow before making first contact with the Fintidierian people in person. Landing with an entire complement of civilians on an alien planet was all new to everyone. Rogers had been given the mission of making it happen safely and without creating an interstellar incident—honestly, it was Ambassador Jesus’s job to keep diplomatic incidents from happening. Rogers just had to keep them safe so they could do it.
“Right. LFO.” Crosby thought it was in good humor. “Walker and Ping, take the Orbit and Surface Access Modules. Are the payloads prepared and ready for deployment?”
“We’ve been awake for a month, Captain. SEALs don’t like boredom.”
“Good. I guess.” Crosby laughed. He wasn’t actually used to military on his ships. He was a corporate spaceman. “Okay. You deploy the satellites. Then what?”
“We bring the sats online and collect data for several orbits. We have thirty-two birds so a day should be enough to give us a good mapping and topography data as well as all the signals intel that Tarasenko could ever want. It will take a couple of days for the global positioning systems to settle in to high resolution, but we should get meter resolution within a few hours.” Rogers was starting to feel a bit queasy from the microgravity and was doing his best to clench his abdominal muscles and work his jaw to help. He’d been on naval ships at sea thousands of hours and never had problems. He’d only had a few hundred hours in microgravity and they were never his favorite. “Then, we can make our planetary descent to the designated location. Once we are certain it is safe and secure, the scientists and other crew can start settling in.”
“Alright. Let’s make this happen. Get your first landing party ready to drop first thing day after tomorrow.” Crosby moved a couple icons about in front of him. Rogers just stood at ease with his magnetic shoes holding him in place. He continued to clench his jaw as he thought he was on the verge of getting space sick. “Are Walker and Ping ready to go?”
“Yes sir.”
“Then don’t wait on me to tell you to go. Go,” Crosby told him. “And Mike . . . ”
“Captain?”
“Go get a micrograv patch from medical. We can’t have you tossing your cookies all over the ship.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“In fact, have your whole team do it.”
“On it.”
“Go.”
CHAPTER 45
December 10, 2099 (Earth timeline)
December 10, 2099 (Ship timeline reset to Earth)
approximately 4.24 light-years from Earth
0 light-years from Proxima, aka Fintidier
“As soon as we land, everybody exits the shuttle as quickly as possible. Ingress and egress are the most vulnerable points of operations. While we don’t expect hostilities, we’ve also never been here before. So, we’re going to move forward with each step, expecting hostilities until further notice. I want the drones immediately deployed the second we crack the door. Our first footpaths will be checked by the drones for anything unusual: booby traps, tripwires, and so on. While we don’t expect to have issues here and this is expected to be a cordial invitation, we’re not taking any chances. We are doing a complete sweep before letting the rest of the crew drop down.”
Commander Rogers swiped to the next image. A path was highlighted in light green from the landing zone, marked LZ, toward the objective location for the Tactical Operations Center, marked TOC. He marked several positions with red X’s and continued talking.
“You will take cover at this point here by the entrance to the quarantine housing unit. We move to this specific building here in the quarantine quarters at full pace. Intel and Ord teams will all sit tight right there until my team completes sweep and clear. At that point, we’ll call in you specialists to sweep the quarters for transmitters, CBRN”—chemical, biological, radiological, or nuclear hazards—“of any sort, and any other forms of INTs”—intelligence collection devices—“or hidden surprises. We’re doing this with Mission-Oriented Protective Posture Environment suits until the bio teams approve the atmosphere for standard uniform. Nobody removes the MOPP-E—and I mean nobody—or cracks a face shield until bio gives the all clear.” Commander Rogers paused and scanned the hangar bay. All eyes were on him and paying close attention.
His plans all along had been to drop in, sweep the area, check it for hazards and eavesdropping, and then bring in the first wave of crew. He knew that the scientists were all very eager to get off the spaceship as soon as possible, but he had been sent there to keep them safe and he figured if all those people waited seven effective years to get here, a few hours more wouldn’t kill them. If he skipped those few hours it might get them killed. And he wasn’t going to let that happen on his watch.
“Victor, you have any details from the ISR you want to fill us in on?” Rogers turned to the Russian intelligence expert.
“Nothing particularly interesting, Commander Rogers. Being at nighttime here is best for infrared sweeps and we have identified zero persons thus far on this continent as has been expressed by their leadership. There are some local animals we’ve detected, only one of which seems large enough to be of predatorial concern,” Tarasenko explained. He switched the data-screen view to show a different area of the map. “Also, there are no signals here either. The area is completely radio silent unless the Fintidierians make contact. The area is fairly quiet from ambient radio. We might pick up some of their old amplitude modulation radio broadcasts as they do have an ample ionosphere. Which reminds me, the planet has a strong magnetic pole oriented even closer to geographical north than on Earth. Old-school compasses will work well here.”
Tarasenko swiped the slide to the next one and pointed out a couple of locations. One in particular he circled and spent more time on.
“All the power for the facility appears to be coming from this location, here. It is the only main heat source anywhere. It appears to be a geothermal vent that is running three turbines. By my estimation, the thermal vents are supplying roughly twenty kilowatts of power, which is being transferred via these large power lines here leading to this building. I suspect those lines are carrying power from the geothermal turbines to charge a battery bank that must be inside. Multiple lines then run from this building underground across the complex. I am guessing that this is how all the lighting and other systems here are powered. What you might have noticed from the images is that the lighting is very dim.”
“I caught that, Vic.” Rogers nodded.
“The Fintidierians have different eyesight, I believe. Having evolved in predominantly infrared light, they must see farther into the IR than we do and less of the visible. Contact lenses will be required until we get some of our own lighting in place,” Victor added. “And I would recommend that security teams maintain their IR contacts while on duty.”
“Understood,” Rogers said. “Anything else?”
“Nyet.”
“Very good. Dr. Ash, as soon as we get in place, you start the electric infrastructure. I say we take down a couple of our own generators so we aren’t dependent on the Fintidierians.”
“I have three one-hundred-kilowatt fission generators loaded and ready. Also, we’ve got a complete tactical operations center compliment of Wi-Fi, uplink/downlink equipment, Vic and I have put a package of sensors together, and Chief Jones and I have a bag of goodies with us in case things go sideways,” replied Dr. Carol Ash, the New Zealand Special Forces war machine subject matter expert.
“Master Chief Jones, what about medical?”
“We have a full combat field kit packed as well as about three pallets’ worth of gear that Doctors Kopylova and Thomaskutty had prepackaged as the first field hospital gear. We’ll take it and find a place to set it up. The map that the Fintidierians sent us show this building here on the southwestern side of the runway to be a hospital ward. We’ll check it and see if it makes sense to be a hospital or not.”
“Petty Officer Third Class Visser?”
“Aye?”
“Once we’re down and unloading, you and PO1 Slater will take the ATVs and the drones and maintain perimeter. Understood?”
“Hooyay!”
“Alright, then. We’re good to go. Let’s move out.”
CHAPTER 46
December 10, 2099 (Earth timeline)
Proxima b, aka Fintidier
“Air quality is clean.” Master Chief Petty Officer Havier Jones looked at the air-quality device and pointed out the all-green indicators. “All greens. No CBRN, nothing. Little less nitrogen than Earth but not much. Trace gasses about the same. There are some pollen spores and other biologicals, but they seem to be inert according to the instruments.”
“Great, Chief. So, we can remove MOPP-E?” Commander Mike Rogers asked.
“Yep.”
“Alright.” Mike used some eye movements to click on the open comm channel. “Away team, Master Chief Jones has cleared us to breathe the air. MOPP-E can be removed. Standard combat-ready uniforms, and civilian away team is authorized from here on. Anything else, Chief?”
“Nope. If we’re good here, Mike, I’m going to start setting up the hospital.”
“Good idea.” Mike switched channels. “Visser, anything to report on the perimeter?”
“No, Mike. Drones should be sending you feeds now. Zeke and I have it covered by patrolling on the ATVs, but this complex is pretty big. We need to put up some fences or get some more guys,” PO3 Daniel Visser replied.
“Copy that. Keep the drones on it. We’ll start pulling the feeds here at the TOC.” Mike turned to Lieutenant Commander Geni Holland, who was on her back underneath a table they’d moved into place and was routing cables between instrument panels. “Geni, as soon as you get that done, pull up the drones.”
“Sure thing, Mike. Hey, could you hand me that wire stripper on the end of the table . . . no, the one on the right side,” she replied.
“Here.” Mike dropped it down to her and then slipped off his MOPP-E headgear. “I might have to break out a jacket. What do you think it is, ten or twelve degrees C?”
“My AI says it’s eleven point five.” Geni crawled out from underneath the table. Her muscular frame moved fluidly. She pulled the MOPP-E headgear and dropped it beside her, running a fingerless gloved hand through her three-centimeter-long bleached blond hair. “Don’t be such a wuss. It isn’t that cold.”
“Let’s run the list.” Mike sat down in a metal chair the Fintidierians had provided. “Perimeter, check. Hospital, check. All buildings have been cleared and sniffed, check. Tactical Operations Center is almost up and running, check. I think we’re good here.”
“You asking or telling, Mike? Hard to tell.” Geni dragged a heavy metal chair across the concrete floor next to him. The chair screeched with a high enough pitch that Mike’s skin crawled.
“Neither. Both.” Mike hesitated for second. “How much longer do you need here?”
“About . . . ” Geni tapped at several virtual icons and then depressed a couple of keys on a keyboard on the table. “ . . . that long. TOC command systems are operational.”
“Good. Have Martin, Henry, and Maksutov got the high-gain antenna in place yet?” he asked.
“Let’s see.” Geni turned and activated one of the new monitor screens she’d just put into place. The screen came online quickly. After a moment or so of her moving icons about, Mike could see a spectrum analyzer screen with a waterfall chart beginning. “There’s the Samaritan’s beacon from the low-gain antenna, and . . . yep . . . feed is good. High gain is up and running.”
“Great. Open a channel.”
“Done.”
“Samaritan, this is Proxima One, do you copy?” Mike could see his transmission on the spectrum waterfall jump up and down as he spoke.
“Copy you loud and clear, Commander,” the XO’s voice replied.
“We’re good to go down here. You can start bringing down the crew at your leisure.”
“Great news! We’ve got a bunch of space-sick eggheads up here wanting some solid ground under their feet.”
“Copy that. Proxima One out.” Mike leaned back in the chair and relaxed a bit. “Damn, I’m out of breath.”
“All of us are. We’re at about one point one Earth gravities here and we’ve been on the ship at a little less than a gee for years. We’ll have to get back in shape, Mike,” Geni agreed with him. “I wonder if the Proximans, uh, Fintidierians have barbells and such.”
“We’ll make do if not.” Mike looked around the concrete-block building they’d chosen for the command center. “It looks like they have plenty of concrete on this planet. We can always make forms in the sand and pour some plates.”
“Speaking of sand, Mike, we’re only about five kilometers from the beach here. We should check out the ocean. I mean, are there alien shark monsters, or can we go swimming and fishing?” Geni laughed. “We need to figure out more about what is safe on this planet and what isn’t.”
“We need a guide. As soon as we get situated and through our two-week quarantine, I’m sure the Fintidierians will provide us with one.”
“Right.” She looked as if something had alerted her and then started swatting at icons only she could see. “Drones just connected. We’ve got eyes in the sky now.”
“Good. What about the sats?”
“Still handshaking. Give it another minute or two; there might not be one directly overhead. The constellations give us a ten-second refresh,” Geni said.
“Use the Samaritan as the channel. It should always have line of sight with several of the birds,” Mike said.
“Are you bucking for my job, Commander?” Geni smiled at him but from the tapping away she was doing, Mike was certain she was implementing his suggestion. “There. Satellite constellation feed is online. We have a full-up operational TOC command center here.”
“Well, we’ll want to get more permanent perimeter cams and motion trackers out, but I’m going to take a breather right now.”
“Looks like the other OSAM just dropped from the ship. We’ll have people here soon.” Geni pulled up a view of the air traffic system. “Look here, there are, I guess, aircraft flying about on the other main continents. They’re slow.”
“Remember, these people are like early 1900s to maybe 1950s. Fossil-fuel, propeller-type vehicles. How’d we ever manage that?” Mike reached out in front of him and opened up a window from the drones’ lidar maps and had it overlay the complex map given to them from the Fintidierians. “Hobbs?”
“Yes, Mike?” his AI responded.
“Pull up the personnel roster for the Samaritan and let’s start finding them living quarters based on this map.”
“Right away, Mike.”
CHAPTER 47
December 13, 2099 (Earth timeline)
Proxima b, aka Fintidier
Roy was a spaceship design, build, and test systems engineer. He wasn’t a colonist, an explorer, a geneticist, or, for that matter, anything that this mission particularly needed. But he didn’t want to spend another minute on that damned spaceship if he didn’t have to. He’d pressed Captain Crosby to let him go down on one of the first OSAMs. Crosby had agreed to the third one. By the time he’d gotten to the base, Proxima One they were calling it—Roy laughed at how unimaginative that was—he was afraid all the good living spots would be taken. As it turned out, that wasn’t the case at all.
The Fintidierians had built a complex designed for hundreds, not tens, of people. In fact, Roy wasn’t so sure that there wasn’t room for thousands there. He was given a choice of one of twenty different living spaces. They were all the same and lined up in street blocks on a perfect grid with streets between them that were wide enough for what the aliens considered automobiles. They were amusing versions of fossil-fuel vehicles. Roy was glad they’d brought their own transportation from Earth. Several electric six-seater all-terrain vehicles had already been brought down from the ship. More were on the way.
The living-quarter buildings were single-story, ten-meter-by-ten-meter concrete-block buildings with what appeared to be some type of petroleum-based roofing material. They were all painted a dull gray color and the roofing was as close to obsidian black as possible. Roy just randomly picked one of the unclaimed quarters on a street corner. He figured that way, he’d only ever have one neighbor to deal with. Each living-quarter building had a small front “yard” covered in sand about ten meters deep between the roadway and the door with a single sidewalk leading to the front door. There was an equal space behind each house with a small chest-high privacy fence made of some type of wood. There was about ten meters between each house down the street.
