Winter World (The Long Winter #1)(36)

“That won’t take two hours.”

“True. But getting you up to speed on the mission will.”

While she eats, I tell her about the second artifact—Beta. She stops chewing. She’s smart enough to realize the implications, but I state them anyway. We go over the mission objectives: to make first contact, ask for help, and if that fails, to see if we can destroy it.

Between bites she mutters, “Let’s hope they want to make friends.”

“Indeed.”

From memory, I recite what I know about the crew. I focus on the Pax since she’ll be with us, though I mention Dan Hampstead over on the Fornax since he’s the main difference.

“I’m dead weight on this mission,” she says. “Everyone else is here for a reason. I’m here because I was stranded along the road on the way.”

“Just because you’re a cosmic hitchhiker doesn’t mean you’re dead weight.”

“No. My lack of relevant skills makes me dead weight.”

“Fowler shared your file with me. You wouldn’t be dead weight anywhere, Emma. Certainly not up here. This is my first time in space. Building complex robots on Earth is tough enough. Up here, it will be a challenge. You’ve been running and maintaining the ISS for months. You’re good at working in space. And I’m going to need some help.”

“You’re offering me a job?”

“You interested?”

She smiles. “Compensation?”

“Potentially… your life, those of everyone you know, and everyone else on Earth.”

“Benefits?”

“Unlimited. Full dental too.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t take too long; we’ve got other applicants.”

“Right.”

Something catches her attention in the window behind me. “There’s another capsule.”

I spin and stare out. Harry Andrews’s face is floating in the other capsule’s window, his helmet on, visor up.

This is wrong. Harry shouldn’t be here. His capsule should be at the Fornax rendezvous point. Unless there weren’t enough capsules left to constitute the Fornax. It makes me wonder how many of the Pax crew have survived—and how many capsules we have to work with. Our mission could be over before it even begins.

The other possibility is that mission control re-routed his capsule. Why? Maybe they decided I couldn’t do the job alone. Or perhaps because they think two heads are better than one. I would agree with that; even in our brief time together, Harry and I have proven to be a good team. I like him. I like working with him.

Harry holds up a hand and waves at me, and I wave back. Whatever the reason is for his being here, I’m glad to see him.





Two hours later, every capsule except for two have arrived. Save for Harry’s capsule, they’re all original to the Pax. It’s strange. I wonder if the other two capsules impacted each other. Or if they hit capsules from the Fornax. It could be worse: both are supply capsules, and we can do without two of them. NASA wisely distributed the cargo across all the capsules, so each one contains roughly the same stuff. Overall, the solar event cost us about seven percent of our supplies. That’s manageable.

I can only hope the Fornax was as lucky. Without electronic transmissions, I won’t know until we meet up with them. And that won’t be for months.

Months before we launched, NASA devised an ingenious communications method between the capsules that requires no electronic transmissions. It uses line of sight. There are twelve “comm patches” on each capsule, on all sides, spread out, ensuring that the cameras on the other capsules can see them. The panels use electronic ink technology, similar to what the old e-book readers employed: they have a thin layer of film that holds a liquid solution with microcapsules. Electric impulses below the film cause positively charged white particles—or negatively charged dark particles—to come to the surface. Each panel shows symbols without emitting any light or microwaves or anything else; all the electrical charges are hidden below the film.

NASA devised a codebook and a series of symbols to compress and streamline messages. Each ship has a long-range telescope that can see the comm patches. The range is pretty far but nothing like an electronic transmission. That’s how we’ll communicate.

Assuming the Fornax made it.

Through the porthole, I see the comm patches changing, the complex symbols visible for less than a second before flashing to something else, like flipping through a black-and-white comic book. It’s beautiful, the subtle flashes as the capsules maneuver closer to each other, an orchestra of construction in space. This is probably the greatest feat of space engineering in history, the product of months, maybe years of planning, followed by a stress-ridden crash course of work by the world’s leading minds.

It strikes me then that it’s our darkest hours and greatest crises that push us to the highest peaks of performance and genius. Wars, hot and cold, produced the nuclear bomb and the Space Race. And the Long Winter gave us this: what will be the farthest humans have ever ventured into the solar system. I wish the world could see the beginning, this ship assembling itself in space, and know the names of the hard-working, brilliant men and women who made this possible.





The hatch opens, and Harry floats through. He raises the visor on his helmet, and so do we. The air has a metallic, artificial smell, but I’ll get used to it. I’m just glad to be breathing it.