Mission: Tomorrow - eARC Read online

  Table of Contents

  INTRODUCTION

  TOMBAUGH STATION

  EXCALIBUR

  THE RACE FOR ARCADIA

  A WALKABOUT AMONGST THE STARS

  SUNRISE ON MERCURY

  IN PANIC TOWN, ON THE BACKWARD MOON

  THE ULTIMATE SPACE RACE

  ORPHEUS’ ENGINES

  AROUND THE NEO IN 80 DAYS

  IRON PEGASUS

  AIRTIGHT

  WINDSHEAR

  ON EDGE

  TARTAROS

  MALF

  TEN DAYS UP

  THE RABIT HOLE

  RARE (OFF) EARTH ELEMENTS (A SAM GUNN TALE)

  TRIBUTE

  EDITOR’S BIOGRAPHY

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  MISSION:

  TOMORROW - eARC

  edited by Bryan Thomas Schmidt

  Advance Reader Copy

  Unproofed

  NEW STORIES OF THE FUTURE OF SPACE EXPLORATION. Original anthology of stories about near-future space exploration from top authors. Includes stories by Jack McDevitt, Michael F. Flynn, Sarah A. Hoyt, Ben Bova, Mike Resnick, and many more.

  In Mission: Tomorrow, science fiction writers imagine the future of space exploration with NASA no longer dominant. Will private companies rule the stars or will new governments take up the call? From Brazilians to Russians to Chinese, the characters in these stories deal with everything from strange encounters, to troubled satellites and space ships, to competition for funding and getting there first. Nineteen stories of what-if spanning the gamut from Mercury to Pluto and beyond, assembled by critically praised editor Bryan Thomas Schmidt.

  BAEN BOOKS

  EDITED BY

  BRYAN THOMAS SCHMIDT

  Mission: Tomorrow

  Shattered Shields (with Jennifer Brozek)

  MISSION TOMORROW

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  Introduction © 2015 by Bryan Thomas Schmidt; “Tombaugh Station” © 2015 by Robin Wayne Bailey; “Excalibur” © 2015 by Cryptic, Inc.; “The Race For Arcadia” © 2015 by Alex Shvartsman; “A Walkabout Amongst The Stars” © 2015 by Lezli Robyn; “Sunrise On Mercury” © 1957, 1985 by Agberg Inc. First published in Science Fiction Stories, May 1957; “In Panic Town, On The Backward Moon” © 2015 by Michael F. Flynn; “The Ultimate Space Race” © 2015 by Jaleta Clegg; “Orpheus’ Engines” © 2015 by Christopher McKitterick; “Around The NEO in 80 Days” © 2015 by Jay Werkheiser; “Iron Pegasus” © 2015 by Brenda Cooper; “Airtight” © 2015 by Michael Capobianco; “Windshear” © 2015 by Angus McIntyre; “On Edge” © 2015 by Sarah A. Hoyt; “Tartaros” © 2015 by Mike Resnick; “Malf” © 2015 by David D. Levine; “Ten Days Up” © 2015 by Curtis C. Chen; “The Rabbit Hole” © 2001 by James Gunn Originally published in Analog Science Fiction & Fact, December 2001; “Rare (Off Earth) Elements (A Sam Gunn Tale)” © 2015 by Ben Bova; “Tribute” © 2015 by Jack Skillingstead

  Copyright © 2015 by Bryan Thomas Schmidt

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

  A Baen Books Original

  Baen Publishing Enterprises

  P.O. Box 1403

  Riverdale, NY 10471

  www.baen.com

  ISBN: 978-1476-7-3701-0

  Cover art by Stephan Martiniere

  First Baen printing November 2015

  Distributed by Simon & Schuster

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data: TK

  Printed in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  DEDICATION

  This anthology is dedicated to the men and women of NASA

  who have gone before us into the great unknown,

  from astronauts to mission control, many giving their lives

  to realize a dream and make scientific advances

  which have made our world a better place.

  We salute your courage, dedication and sacrifice and thank you.

  And also for Noah, Griffin, Garrett and Pierce,

  who remind me constantly that imagining the future

  is never a waste of time.

  INTRODUCTION

  by Bryan Thomas Schmidt

  Well, I guess that you probably know

  by now—I was one who wanted to fly.

  I wanted to ride on that arrow of fire right up into heaven.

  And I wanted to go for every man,

  every child, every mother of children,

  I wanted to carry the dreams of all people right up to the stars.

  —Flying For Me, John Denver

  Those lyrics, written in tribute to the fallen astronauts of the Space Shuttle Challenger explosion in the mid-1980s, probably sum up a lot of our feelings about going to space. I wanted to go then. Even after the disasters, I still want to go now. It’s one of my greatest dreams, and one that actually seems more and more possible every day given the increasing privatization of space flight.

  And I wanted to go with NASA. See, I’m a huge NASA fan. It broke my heart when the public lost interest and funding was cut. Some predicted the death of NASA, but somehow they’ve carried on with plans for manned missions to Mars and more. And I’d give anything to go. Even if it meant I couldn’t return. What about you?

  Space travel, to me, is still the incredible dream it always was, and so the ideas for many of my science fiction stories have been born. The idea for this anthology was inspired by asking what will space travel look like in an age no longer dominated by NASA. With not only other governments taking increasing roles but also corporations and private citizens, how will that change things? What new ships, opportunities and mission goals might we see?

  Mission: Tomorrow features eighteen stories by talented authors, many you may have heard of before, imagining such missions. Near future or not so near, all take place in and around our solar system. Some involve alien encounters, others involve missions gone wrong, and still others take place back on Earth itself. From Pluto to Mercury and even the Kuiper Belt, we cover a broad spectrum. Most of the stories are serious, but a couple are humorous, and I hope they’ll all inspire you to dream, regardless.

  What would it be like if you could go up there? What awaits us out there? Who wouldn’t still like to find out? I know I would. So welcome aboard a journey that imagines the possibilities. I hope you enjoy Mission: Tomorrow as much as we enjoyed putting it together.

  To infinity and beyond, as Buzz Lightyear might say. Three . . . Two . . . One . . . Blastoff!

  Bryan Thomas Schmidt,

  Editor

  Ottawa, Kansas

  September 2014

  Our journey begins at the far end of our solar system on Pluto the past and future planet, you might say, where astronauts start dying and their colleagues investigate the incidents around . . .

  TOMBAUGH STATION

  by Robin Wayne Bailey

  The smooth, nitrogen/methane surface of Kenyata Plain glittered under the headlights of James Dayton’s ice sled as he raced alone across the solemn, frozen expanse with Tombaugh Station at his back. His thoughts weren’t on the station, though. He fixed his gaze ahead. In the distance, the Burney Mountains loomed sharp as razors against a star-flecked sky, and at his nine o’clock, half of Charon arced above the horizon, perpetually unmoving, never climbing, tidally locked in its orbit with Pluto.

  He tried not to look at those sights for too long. It was easy for a man to lose his mind out here. More than one had done so, and James Dayton di
d not want to flirt with madness. He jerked his attention back to the green and gold indicators on his console, checked his GPS coordinates, noted the temperature readouts of his environmental suit—all that kept him warm and alive. Yet, after a moment, he looked outward again.

  Like flying an aircraft back on Earth, he thought. Look at the horizon; look at the gauges; back and forth, always watchful, but never look too long at either. He missed flying. It was the only thing about Earth he missed.

  He seldom thought of Earth anymore. His home, such as it was, was here at Tombaugh Station. Nobody came to Pluto on a round-trip ticket. It was still strictly one-way. No matter—James Dayton had been the first to sign up.

  The GPS indicator on his console chimed and flashed. He cursed himself for letting his thoughts wander and for sliding a half-kilometer off course. Even as he corrected, a voice spoke through his com-set. “Are you napping out there, James? I just got tracking back online here, and you’re off your mark.”

  “You sound like air traffic control,” Dayton shot back, recognizing Kate Beck, on the other end of the com at Work Unit Three. “Always blame the pilot. It took you six seconds to notice the deviation after I corrected course. Pretty shitty ATC, if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t,” she responded. “I asked you to marry me once, but you declined. Since then, you’re lucky I haven’t run you over a crater, and don’t think I haven’t considered it.” She paused. In a quieter, more serious voice, she asked, “Are you all right out there?”

  He hesitated, unsure of how to answer. He had been off his game lately, distracted and unfocused. This wasn’t a place that forgave you for losing your focus. “Are you all right in there?” he said, answering her question with a question.

  “Sure, I’m just fine here alone in the dark.” She poured on the sarcasm. Kate Beck always had a smart mouth. “Well, not really alone, I guess, but Doctor Atsuka doesn’t look so good. He’s kind of pale and not too conversational.” She paused again, and then came back, serious once more. ”I’m getting some of the other systems back online.”

  Back on course, Dayton twisted the throttle to increase his speed. “Are you showing any other sleds are in the area?”

  “Negative,” she answered. “All the traffic is out at the Burney where it should be. Everybody’s working.”

  Dayton thought to himself as he gazed toward the horizon again. Tadeo Atsuka, head of Data Analytics and Imaging, had been on duty at Work Unit Three. Now, he was dead, the third death in three months. Death was an occupational hazard on Pluto, but usually among the newcomers. Among the Old-timers, the ones who had come down with Tombaugh One, accidents didn’t happen.

  The work unit looked like a metal shed—plain and windowless. In the field beyond it, a trio of ice movers stood, giant spidery machines that cut and sliced immense blocks of nitrogen/methane from the surface and transported them to the Burney site. They were powered down, and Dayton wondered why they were not in operation.

  As he parked close to Kate Beck’s sled, he unplugged his heating unit from his vehicle’s battery pack and retracted the power umbilical. A lighted readout appeared briefly on the inside of his faceplate to inform him of the power shift. His environmental suit’s internal batteries contained enough juice to keep him alive for two hours in minus three hundred eighty degrees, but he never relied just on his internal power longer than necessary. He was too careful for that.

  His cleated boots bit into the crisp surface as he stepped down from the sled and crossed the short distance to the work unit’s airlock. Stopping at a red panel mounted on the wall, he pressed it. After a moment, the outer door unsealed and opened, and he stepped inside a tubular chamber. When the outer door resealed, an inner door opened.

  Kate Beck, enclosed in her own environmental suit, tablet computer in hand, looked around to greet him. The lighting was still very dim. “Keep your helmet on,” she warned over the com-set. “I’ve repaired the heating systems and air generators, but they haven’t been online long enough to reach optimum levels.” She went back to work on her tablet. The way her fingers moved over it, she might have been stroking a pet.

  The inside of Work Unit Three was a maze of quantum computers, communications and tracking equipment, 3-D printers, satellite monitors and imaging stations. Tadeo Atsuka still stood over one of the consoles, his hand on the back of a chair, his face turned toward the airlock as if to greet Dayton. Unfortunately, his suit was unzipped and he wore no helmet. He was frozen solid.

  “It looks like a catastrophic power failure,” Kate Beck reported. “All the power was down and the airlock wide open when I came to pick him up.”

  “That’s not supposed to happen,” Dayton answered, fighting a tide of emotion. Tadeo was an old friend from back in the Corporate shipyards on Deimos when Tombaugh One was being built. They had come out together. Dayton cursed the torrent of memories. Tadeo had baked cookies with his rations every Christmas long after Christmas ceased to have any meaning to the crew.

  Dayton studied the smaller man’s frozen face, the familiar smile still in place, dark eyes twinkling, full of tiny ice crystals. Tadeo hadn’t even had time to look surprised.

  “The systems are supposed to be redundant,” Dayton muttered to himself.

  Kate Beck heard him over the com-set and waved her tablet angrily. “You think I don’t know that, Commander? “ She only used his rank anymore when she got upset, and Beck didn’t get upset easily. Beck was also an Old-timer, Dayton’s executive officer on the journey out, and Tadeo had been her friend, too.

  “Sorry, Kate,” he said. “This one’s got me. Got us both, I guess.” He tried to lighten the mood with a feeble comment, tapping her suit where her name was printed. “Do you write that on your underwear, too?”

  The glow of her tablet screen reflected an eerie effect on her features as she sighed and turned away. “I’ve given you every opportunity to find out, James.”

  Dayton remembered his heating unit and looked around for a working battery socket to plug into. He glanced for a moment at the power shift readout on his faceplate—always careful!—and then, trailing his thin umbilical, he began moving around the shed. Many of the consoles were still black, shut down by the sudden rush of cold. He looked at the computer nearest Tadeo’s hand. “I wonder what he was working on.”

  “Same as all of us,” Beck answered. “The Burney is scheduled to go online in seven days. He’s been something of a mad scientist about it, working long shifts alone, checking and double-checking every detail.” She hesitated, looking thoughtful. Then her voice cracked. “He joked to me once that it would see the face of God. I laughed, but then he repeated it. He said the Burney would do that.”

  Inside his suit, Dayton nodded to himself. Tadeo was obsessive. Men and women only came out to Pluto for three reasons. Either they were running from something, or they thought of themselves as pioneer-adventurers, or because sheer scientific curiosity drove them. Corporate did their best to weed out the runners. The adventurers usually weeded out themselves. Tadeo had been at the forefront of the last group.

  He walked around Tadeo Atsuka again, and stared for a long moment into those frozen eyes. That look, he knew, would haunt him for nights to come. It’s almost as if he’s seeing the face of God right now. Dayton flinched from the thought. He wasn’t a religious man at all.

  Yet Tadeo was smiling, almost mocking him.

  “Go back to the station,” Dayton told Kate Beck. “Inform Corporate. Tell them that we’ve lost a giant.”

  Kate Beck powered off her tablet and pushed the device into a pocket on her thigh. Then she unplugged her suit and let the umbilical retract around her waist. At the airlock, she paused and looked back into the shed. Despite a handful of glowing monitors, the interior was still mostly dark. “Eighteen years,” she said with strange wistfulness. “Now we’ve lost Robinson, Tucker, and Tadeo.” She shook her head. “I don’t get it, James. I just don’t get it.”

  He couldn’t see her f
ace clearly, yet he sensed that she was crying. The Old-timers, those who came out on the first mission to establish Tombaugh Station, had always shared a tight bond. They knew they were special, a unique breed, and later, when Tombaugh Two and Tombaugh Three arrived nine years apart to expand the base, the newcomers knew it, too. To them, the Old-timers were heroes and legends.

  “I seem to have run out of black humor,” she continued, rambling. “Do you want me to take him back?”

  “I’ll take him,” Dayton said.

  He waited until Kate Beck was gone and the airlock resealed. Then he pulled up a chair from one of the consoles and sat down to grieve and to share a few last moments with an old friend. Thanks to Kate, all the power systems slowly came back to life. He tapped the side of his helmet, activating his faceplate readouts, and noted the climbing temperatures and elevating air concentrations inside the shed. They were almost normal. Still, he kept his suit on and plugged in. Always careful.

  After a time, he got up, rummaged around and found a stack of thermal blankets in a storage locker. He wrapped Tadeo carefully and secured the wrappings as best he could with the power umbilical from Tadeo’s environmental suit. As he did so, the quantum computers flashed back online, and various monitors around the shed began to shine with images of deep-space objects. Dayton recognized Andromeda on one of the screens and, on another, the very peculiar galaxy called Centaurus A. On still another, a dark red cluster of nebulae unfamiliar to Dayton—maybe something entirely new.