Read Online Space by Stephen Baxter - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Stephen Baxter
Tags: SF
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never really got the stink of the Beltway out of their nostrils, she was prized by corporations like Bootstrap as an opinion former, perhaps a conduit to power. But she was, officially, retired. Perhaps she should sit back and stop thinking so hard, and just let the pretty light shows from the sky wash over her.
But that wasn't in her nature. And, after all, Reid Malenfant was older than she was, and she knew he continued to agitate for a deeper engagement with the mystery of these Gaijin, for more probes, other missions. If he was still active, then perhaps she should be.
But, in this complicated universe, she was too damn old. The more complicated it was, the more likely it was that she would never live to see this puzzle -- perhaps the greatest mystery ever to confront humanity -- unraveled.
Now a technical feed faded up in Maura's other ear. "Closing with the target at two meters per second, range just under a klick, one meter per second cross-range. Hydrazine thruster tests in progress: +X, -X, +Y, -Y, +Z, -Z, all check out. Counting down to the thruster burn to null our approach and cross-range velocities a klick above the ground. Then we're on gyro-lock to touchdown..."
With an effort of will, Maura tuned out the irrelevant voices.
The asteroid became a wall that approached her in slow, dusty silence; the tether lines twisted before her, retaining their coils in the absence of gravity. She made out surface features, limned by sunlight: craters, scarps, ridges, valleys, striations where it looked as if the asteroid's surface had been crumpled or stretched. Some of the craters were evidently new, relatively anyhow, with neat bowl shapes and sharp rims. Others were much older, little more than circular scars overlaid by younger basins and worn down, presumably by a billion years of micrometeorite rain.
And there were colors on Ellis's folded-over landscape, spectral shades that emerged from the dominant gray-blackness. The sharper-edged craters and ridges seemed to be slightly bluish, while the older, low-lying areas were more subtly red. Perhaps this was some deep-space weathering effect, she thought; perhaps eons of sunlight had wrought these gentle hues.
She sighed. It really was lovely, in a quite unexpected way -- like so much of the universe she found herself in. By God, I love it all, she thought. How can I retire? If I did, I would miss this.
And now, with a kiss of dust, the Bruno reached its destination.
The techs began cheering tinnily.
A year before the Bruno 's arrival -- after the AAAS meeting -- Malenfant had returned to the Johnson Space Center for the first time in two decades.
The campus looked pretty much unchanged: the same blocky black-and-white buildings, with those big nursery-style numbers on their sides, scattered over square kilometers of grassy plain here at the southeast suburban edge of Houston, all contained by a mesh fence from NASA Road One -- though it wasn't called the NASA Road anymore. In the surrounding streets there were still run-down strip malls and fast-food places and 7-Elevens.
But inside the campus itself, there was no sign of the tourists who used to ride between the buildings in their long tram trains. And though there were plenty of historic-marker plaques, nobody was making history here anymore.
The cherry trees were still here, though, and the green grass still seemed to glow.
He wasn't here to sightsee. He had come to meet Sally Brind, who ran a NASA department called the Solar System Exploration Division. He made his way to Building 31.
Inside, the air-conditioning was ferocious, a hell of a contrast to the flat, moist Houston heat outside. Malenfant welcomed the plummeting temperature; it was like old times.
Reid Malenfant had loomed over Sally Brind. He was leaning on her desk, resting his weight on big, bony knuckles. He was around twice Brind's age, and he was a legend out of the past. And, to her, he was as intimidating as hell.
"We've got to
But that wasn't in her nature. And, after all, Reid Malenfant was older than she was, and she knew he continued to agitate for a deeper engagement with the mystery of these Gaijin, for more probes, other missions. If he was still active, then perhaps she should be.
But, in this complicated universe, she was too damn old. The more complicated it was, the more likely it was that she would never live to see this puzzle -- perhaps the greatest mystery ever to confront humanity -- unraveled.
Now a technical feed faded up in Maura's other ear. "Closing with the target at two meters per second, range just under a klick, one meter per second cross-range. Hydrazine thruster tests in progress: +X, -X, +Y, -Y, +Z, -Z, all check out. Counting down to the thruster burn to null our approach and cross-range velocities a klick above the ground. Then we're on gyro-lock to touchdown..."
With an effort of will, Maura tuned out the irrelevant voices.
The asteroid became a wall that approached her in slow, dusty silence; the tether lines twisted before her, retaining their coils in the absence of gravity. She made out surface features, limned by sunlight: craters, scarps, ridges, valleys, striations where it looked as if the asteroid's surface had been crumpled or stretched. Some of the craters were evidently new, relatively anyhow, with neat bowl shapes and sharp rims. Others were much older, little more than circular scars overlaid by younger basins and worn down, presumably by a billion years of micrometeorite rain.
And there were colors on Ellis's folded-over landscape, spectral shades that emerged from the dominant gray-blackness. The sharper-edged craters and ridges seemed to be slightly bluish, while the older, low-lying areas were more subtly red. Perhaps this was some deep-space weathering effect, she thought; perhaps eons of sunlight had wrought these gentle hues.
She sighed. It really was lovely, in a quite unexpected way -- like so much of the universe she found herself in. By God, I love it all, she thought. How can I retire? If I did, I would miss this.
And now, with a kiss of dust, the Bruno reached its destination.
The techs began cheering tinnily.
A year before the Bruno 's arrival -- after the AAAS meeting -- Malenfant had returned to the Johnson Space Center for the first time in two decades.
The campus looked pretty much unchanged: the same blocky black-and-white buildings, with those big nursery-style numbers on their sides, scattered over square kilometers of grassy plain here at the southeast suburban edge of Houston, all contained by a mesh fence from NASA Road One -- though it wasn't called the NASA Road anymore. In the surrounding streets there were still run-down strip malls and fast-food places and 7-Elevens.
But inside the campus itself, there was no sign of the tourists who used to ride between the buildings in their long tram trains. And though there were plenty of historic-marker plaques, nobody was making history here anymore.
The cherry trees were still here, though, and the green grass still seemed to glow.
He wasn't here to sightsee. He had come to meet Sally Brind, who ran a NASA department called the Solar System Exploration Division. He made his way to Building 31.
Inside, the air-conditioning was ferocious, a hell of a contrast to the flat, moist Houston heat outside. Malenfant welcomed the plummeting temperature; it was like old times.
Reid Malenfant had loomed over Sally Brind. He was leaning on her desk, resting his weight on big, bony knuckles. He was around twice Brind's age, and he was a legend out of the past. And, to her, he was as intimidating as hell.
"We've got to
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