The Solar Sea (3 page)

John removed his baseball cap and scratched his head. “I better get Jack in here to take a look at this.” He referred to his boss, the Supervisor of Observing Support. “We're recording all this data, aren't we?"

"Does President Van der Wald get hair transplants?"

John grimaced, then picked up the phone. A few minutes later, Jack Spear stepped into the control room. “Whatcha’ got?"

John pointed at the bright object on the screen. Spear scratched his chin, then walked over to a bookshelf and picked up a copy of
The Astronomical Almanac
. He rifled the pages a few times until he found what he was looking for. “If I didn't know any better, I'd say that hot spot was Titan."

"You mean Saturn's big moon?” John's brow furrowed “So, do you think it's a glitch or a discovery?"

Jack sat down at the console and called up the instrument settings. “Hard to say. This is a really unusual frequency for planetary observation. There's really no archival data to compare it to. Who are you taking these observations for?"

John rifled through notes on a clipboard. “Some guy named Thomas Alonzo. He's with a private company that bought time on the telescope."

"Better grab a few extra minutes on Saturn—my authority,” said Spear. “I think I've heard of Thomas Alonzo. He's a real hotshot scientist at Quinn Corp. He'll be ecstatic if this is a discovery, but there'll be hell to pay if it's a glitch and we missed something because we stopped observing.” Spear stood up, looked at the screen one last time, then returned to his office. John sat down in the vacated chair, removed his thick glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose, thinking he had been working too hard.

The next day, Jerome Quinn was in a meeting with several department managers when an image of Saturn appeared in the message window of his computer. Next to Saturn was a bright, glowing ball and the word ‘Eureka!’ Quinn discreetly cleared the image, then brought the meeting to a close. The managers shuffled papers into their briefcases and left the office.

As soon as the door latched, Quinn brought up the message window and called Thomas Alonzo. The scientist was beaming happily. Quinn was taken aback by how young he looked. “You found something?” Quinn's eyes narrowed as he studied Alonzo's face.

The face vanished from the screen and was replaced by the image of Saturn. “The brightly glowing ball next to Saturn is its moon Titan. The moon is literally blanketed in chronotons."

"Chronotons?” Quinn shook his head.

"My name for the time particles,” explained Alonzo.

Quinn nodded thoughtfully and turned his chair, so he was facing the window as Alonzo's face reappeared on the computer screen. “Have you looked into the idea of constructing a solar sailboat?"

"I've drawn up a complete set of plans and run them by the engineering department for review,” reported Alonzo. “We can start construction at the factory on the Moon as soon as you give the word."

"The word is given.” Quinn stood and stepped up to the window. “I should make an announcement to the press—let them know about the ship we're building."

"I thought you wanted to keep this project a secret."

"I want to keep the time particles—the chronotons—a secret,” corrected Quinn. “People are going to notice a giant solar sailing ship when it's launched into lunar orbit. Our competitors on the Moon will, at least. We need to let them know what we're doing."

"Aren't you afraid that our competitors will try to race us to Titan?"

Quinn gave a curt nod. “Come up with a cover story, something plausible but not too interesting to our competitors."

Alonzo's eyes went wide as though he'd just been presented with a math problem beyond his abilities. “Won't our competitors be suspicious?"

"Of course they will.” Quinn returned to the chair. “The idea is simply to get them looking in the wrong direction. You have the plans for the ship and you know what we're looking for. They'll waste time confirming our discovery, then waste more time trying to figure out what we really discovered. By then, you should be well on your way."

Alonzo nodded. His glee had dissolved and he now wore a deep frown as though faced with more responsibilities than he'd ever imagined. “I'll need a crew for the ship. It's going to take time to locate the best people and train them."

"You're in charge of that, too.” Quinn sat back, folded his arms, and studied the face on the screen some more. Though he didn't want to admit certain possibilities, he found himself pleased by them nonetheless. “You're one of my most discreet employees. I trust you to see this mission through."

Alonzo swallowed hard. “I'll do my best, sir."

John O'Connell walked from his house to work, arriving early for his two o'clock shift. He took over from a bleary-eyed woman named Neriah Smith. According to the staff schedule, she'd been on duty since four in the morning. “You look beat,” said John.

"So would you after ten hours on duty."

"You should go home and get some sleep."

She rolled her eyes at the obviousness of the suggestion, then stood and yawned. She was a little too short and a little too heavy to be what most people called beautiful, but John still found her to be an attractive woman. As she collected her belongings, he sat down at the terminal and logged himself in, then pulled up the observing roster and noted it was routine stellar observations—calibration data for a new telescope being built somewhere else. He started the prescribed observing routine, then surfed the Internet for the day's news.

Neriah mumbled a goodbye and left. After the door closed, Alan Jones looked up from his computer console. “You know, you should ask her out on a date sometime."

"You should mind your own business,” retorted John, not looking up from his console. “Besides, I did ask her out once."

"Turned you down, did she?” asked Alan with a lilt in his voice.

John just shook his head. There wasn't anything of interest on the news site and he was about to move on when a link flashed. It said something about a new space mission being announced. He selected the link and a live video in progress streamed onto the screen. A man and a teenage boy stood behind a podium at a large house. John guessed it must be in California given the orange trees and the time stamp that said a few minutes after one o'clock—an hour before New Mexico's time. The caption identified the two as Jerome Quinn, owner of Quinn Corp, and his son Henry.

"It is our hope that the
Aristarchus
project will usher in a new era of space exploration,” explained the elder Quinn while his son looked on admiringly. “Quinn Corp was one of the first companies to build manufacturing facilities on the Moon. Important as our lunar facilities are, we recognize that lunar resources are not unlimited. The time has come, therefore, for us to push outward, to see what other resources are available. To do that, we have devised plans for a space vessel that will use sunlight to sail to Jupiter and then on to Saturn—the first manned mission to the outer planets."

John blinked, remembering Quinn Corp's connection to the unusual observation of Titan, two days before. He looked up. Alan Jones stood, peering over his shoulder at the news broadcast.

"Do you think this has anything to do with our Saturn observations?” asked John.

Alan shrugged. “It would make sense. Spear said we'd never observed Saturn at that particular frequency before."

O'Connell nodded. “They were looking for something."

"And they found it,” said Jones.

"O'Connell,” called Jack Spear, poking his head through the doors of the control room before Alan could speculate further. “I have a phone call for you in my office."

"Can't you just transfer it here?” John pointed to the phone next to his computer console.

Spear shook his head. “They say it's confidential.” The observing supervisor ducked his head back through the doors.

"So, how do you rate confidential phone calls?” asked Alan.

"It's gotta be Neriah,” teased John. “She's probably calling to say she's sorry we didn't keep going out and she wants to go to dinner tonight."

"Yeah, right.” Alan smirked as he sat down in the operator's chair, taking over while John was away from his post.

Stepping down the corridor to Spear's office, John wondered who was calling. He dreaded a call about his elderly mother in Nebraska who was in poor health. When he arrived at Spear's small office, the supervisor handed him the phone, then ducked out of the room.

"Hello,” said John, nervously.

"Hello,” came a voice at the other end of the line. “I'm with Quinn Corp's
Aristarchus
project. Have you heard about us?” The voice on the other end of the line had a slight quaver, as though the speaker wasn't used to spending time on the phone.

"Just now. The announcement's just been on the news."

"Good,” said the speaker. “I'm the project engineer. I'd like to schedule a meeting with you. I'm looking for some equipment operators and I believe your VLA experience would suit you well for the position I want to fill."

"I like my job here,” said John.

"You know as well as I do that the VLA's days are numbered,” said the quavering voice.

"Who are you?"

"My name's Thomas Alonzo. I'm Pilot Manager of the
Aristarchus
as well as the project engineer."

Thomas Quinn was home from college for Spring Break. He met his father walking around the grounds of the family home. Birds chirped in the distance. The hundred acres of grass surrounding the house were trimmed to perfection. Many of the fruit trees were in bloom, causing Thomas’ nose to run. Nevertheless, spring signaled a new hope. “Is it really true that you've started building a solar sail on the Moon?” he asked.

"Yes, based on plans that are very similar to the ones you showed me a few years ago.” Jerome Quinn winked at him.

Something in his father's expression caused Thomas to shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other and he looked away, avoiding his father's gaze. “What caused you to change your mind about funding that kind of project?"

"Quinnium."

Thomas turned and looked at his father with genuine confusion.

"The scientist Alonzo who works for me calls them chronotons—time particles.” Jerome smiled wryly at him, then shuffled down the path a short distance and sat on a concrete bench under a blossoming orange tree. “I think it's important that we give them a name that ties them to the company. Also, it'll obscure what they are, assuming any corporate spies see our internal memos or tap into our communications."

Thomas shuffled his feet and sniffed. He was less interested in corporate machinations and more interested in the chronotons—the Quinnium. Since his alter ego had discovered them, he'd devised even more possible applications for the particles. Doing calculations on their energy output, he realized they could be a new power source, possibly better than oil.

"Son, I was wondering...” Jerome interrupted Thomas’ reverie. “How would you like to go to the Moon and see this solar sail being built?"

Thomas stared at his father wide-eyed. He'd already begun arrangements, though it was proving more complicated than he'd thought, making his ID match his real face and creating misdirections that explained his absence from college. Then he realized he needed to say something. “That would be great, Dad!"

Jerome stood and grabbed his shoulder. “You'd better pack then. The shuttle leaves tomorrow. If you could use some more flight hours, maybe we could arrange some cockpit time."

Thomas nodded enthusiastically, wondering how much his father knew or merely suspected. If he'd felt closer to his father, he might have said something about being Thomas Alonzo. “That would be great! I'll pack right away,” he said instead.

Jerome squeezed his son's shoulder, then continued down the path. A moment later, he turned and looked at his son through moisture-blurred eyes. Thomas was already heading back toward the house. “Be careful,” whispered Jerome.

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Myra Lee

Myra Lee grew up in the desert of Arizona. As a young girl, she thought rivers were mostly mud and quicksand with little trickles of water running through the middle where minnows swam and occasionally great walls of water crashed through the channels during intense rainstorms. When she was ten years old, her father took her to Nantucket Island to be the flower girl in a wedding. While there, her father took her out on a boat. She had never seen so much water in her life. However, she saw something even more amazing—she saw a whale.

Growing up, the biggest fish she had seen in the wild were silvery minnows, little more than an inch long. Several would fit in a coffee can. The whale she saw was over forty-five feet long. It was a humpback with giant, white paddle-like fins. It rose from the depths and shot a fine spray of water, drenching her, making her laugh. She watched it swim around the boat, never once taking her gaze off the behemoth. When it finally dove back to the depths, it raised its great tail and splashed the ocean, as though waving goodbye.

That night, Myra's father brought her a compact disk of whale song and the humpback whale sang her to sleep. The next day, she asked her father what the humpback said in the recording.

"I don't know,” he said, kindly. “But it's very haunting, isn't it?"

She nodded. “I'm going to find out one day."

Thirty years later, the research vessel
Eleana
gently rocked in the frigid water of Frederick Sound, Alaska. The three-decker boat, once white, was now streaked with the brown of rust. Barnacles lined the hull's dull red bottom. Two poles jutted from the vessel's side and cables extended into the water. The black cables were attached to hydrophones, recording all the sounds of the deep. Standing in the bow of the ship, watching the deepening blue of the twilight sky was
Eleana's
captain, Lance Naftel. He wondered how many hours it would be before he could take his boat home, to Juneau. He looked up at the crescent Moon, high overhead. In the shadowed portion, he saw little pinpricks of light dotting the surface—the lunar factories. When he was a boy, he remembered seeing stars much more clearly during the dark of the Moon.