fast.”
Powell sighed. “Show me what you have.” Another student mangling some linear algebra. He should let his assistant deal with them.
Emma stood up and picked up her tablet, turning it around, she opened an orbital view. “At the speed we’ve estimated, it’s traveling nearly eighty-thousand kph. That’d almost put it in Mars Orbit, but it’s much further out.”
“How do you know that?”
Now Tam was fidgeting.
Em cleared her throat. “I’ve been following this thing for over a week now. There’s definitely parallax transition. It’s in slight retrograde compared to us on Mars. It’s moving against the stellar background in a way that means it can’t be close to Mars or in our orbit. It’s also traveling much faster than the asteroids nearby. It’s passing them.”
Powell frowned, his eyebrows threatening to cover his eyes. “But it could be a comet.”
Tam blurted, “I thought so too!”
Emma nodded. “We considered that. But there’s no coma. It’d be fuzzy if it were in this close and would probably be brighter all around. This thing’s blinking.”
Powell thought for a minute. “It could still be an asteroid on a large elliptical orbit. The speed could mean it’s near periapsis.” He rubbed his chin and started drawing an ellipse on his screen, frowning harder.
Em nodded. “It could be. But I don’t think it is anymore.” Tam blinked at her.
Powell. “What do you think it is?”
Emma shrugged. “I’m not sure. It could be some space junk.” She trailed off, unsure. “… or maybe a probe?” There was certainly no shortage of flotsam in the solar system. Remnants of Earth’s heady days of colonization and exploration. Every major power in the world had sent up probes and robots into the belt to search for resources. Many of them had crashed out there or got stuck in orbit.
Tamra sniffled. She felt unusually warm in the cramped office, but shivered in spite of the heat. She remembered Greg’s apartment last night and the tricky thermostat. Maybe Greg hadn’t messed with it. She hoped she wasn’t getting sick.
008
The Terror.
Captain Francine Pohl was worried about her son Greg. She was checking her feeds and hoping for a message from him. Instead it was just streams of news from the colony about food shortages and a new flu strain making the rounds. It never ceased to amaze her that their well-planned colony with all the safeguards and protocols that were in place when it was created still had to deal with the common cold and various flu viruses.
Life would indeed find a way.
She put down the pad and dealt out another round of solitaire.
Reggie was in the cockpit on watch. Avery was in his bunk, reading or sleeping. Quiet. Macgregor was doing maintenance on their suits.
The Terror was burning under gentle acceleration riding her pre-programmed route through the belt towards Mars. They were two and a half weeks out after a tour in the deep belt. They’d been out for six weeks and were bringing back a passenger in their hold: a big block of dirty snow and ice to top up the station’s reservoir. Enough water to keep them going for another two months until the next supply run.
Francine sat at the folding dining table in the galley, her cards laid out in front of her. Deal three, flip one. The dishes were all packed away after dinner, the room clean but still showing years of use. Worn cupboards. Worn counter. The steel stovetop had a blue and green patina that shone through the dull finish. The table’s plastic laminate scratched and worn smooth by decades of hands and the objects they held. The whiteboard on the small refrigerator stuck into the wall by the cupboards had a list of the crew and their next scheduled kitchen duties. Reggie was up for dinner tomorrow. That was usually interesting.
Deal three, flip one. Move some cards around.
Some light clattering from the equipment room below drifted up through the hatchway. Vanessa dropping some tools as
Powell sighed. “Show me what you have.” Another student mangling some linear algebra. He should let his assistant deal with them.
Emma stood up and picked up her tablet, turning it around, she opened an orbital view. “At the speed we’ve estimated, it’s traveling nearly eighty-thousand kph. That’d almost put it in Mars Orbit, but it’s much further out.”
“How do you know that?”
Now Tam was fidgeting.
Em cleared her throat. “I’ve been following this thing for over a week now. There’s definitely parallax transition. It’s in slight retrograde compared to us on Mars. It’s moving against the stellar background in a way that means it can’t be close to Mars or in our orbit. It’s also traveling much faster than the asteroids nearby. It’s passing them.”
Powell frowned, his eyebrows threatening to cover his eyes. “But it could be a comet.”
Tam blurted, “I thought so too!”
Emma nodded. “We considered that. But there’s no coma. It’d be fuzzy if it were in this close and would probably be brighter all around. This thing’s blinking.”
Powell thought for a minute. “It could still be an asteroid on a large elliptical orbit. The speed could mean it’s near periapsis.” He rubbed his chin and started drawing an ellipse on his screen, frowning harder.
Em nodded. “It could be. But I don’t think it is anymore.” Tam blinked at her.
Powell. “What do you think it is?”
Emma shrugged. “I’m not sure. It could be some space junk.” She trailed off, unsure. “… or maybe a probe?” There was certainly no shortage of flotsam in the solar system. Remnants of Earth’s heady days of colonization and exploration. Every major power in the world had sent up probes and robots into the belt to search for resources. Many of them had crashed out there or got stuck in orbit.
Tamra sniffled. She felt unusually warm in the cramped office, but shivered in spite of the heat. She remembered Greg’s apartment last night and the tricky thermostat. Maybe Greg hadn’t messed with it. She hoped she wasn’t getting sick.
008
The Terror.
Captain Francine Pohl was worried about her son Greg. She was checking her feeds and hoping for a message from him. Instead it was just streams of news from the colony about food shortages and a new flu strain making the rounds. It never ceased to amaze her that their well-planned colony with all the safeguards and protocols that were in place when it was created still had to deal with the common cold and various flu viruses.
Life would indeed find a way.
She put down the pad and dealt out another round of solitaire.
Reggie was in the cockpit on watch. Avery was in his bunk, reading or sleeping. Quiet. Macgregor was doing maintenance on their suits.
The Terror was burning under gentle acceleration riding her pre-programmed route through the belt towards Mars. They were two and a half weeks out after a tour in the deep belt. They’d been out for six weeks and were bringing back a passenger in their hold: a big block of dirty snow and ice to top up the station’s reservoir. Enough water to keep them going for another two months until the next supply run.
Francine sat at the folding dining table in the galley, her cards laid out in front of her. Deal three, flip one. The dishes were all packed away after dinner, the room clean but still showing years of use. Worn cupboards. Worn counter. The steel stovetop had a blue and green patina that shone through the dull finish. The table’s plastic laminate scratched and worn smooth by decades of hands and the objects they held. The whiteboard on the small refrigerator stuck into the wall by the cupboards had a list of the crew and their next scheduled kitchen duties. Reggie was up for dinner tomorrow. That was usually interesting.
Deal three, flip one. Move some cards around.
Some light clattering from the equipment room below drifted up through the hatchway. Vanessa dropping some tools as
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