The Beacon: Hard Science Fiction by Brandon Morris (heaven official's blessing novel english .txt) 📗

March 27, 2026 – Passau

His cellphone rang. Another call from that same blocked number! He’d already ignored it twice in class today. Answering it wouldn’t be a good example for his class. Peter swiped the green-handset icon to the side.

“Hello, Miguel from SigmaLaunch here,” a voice announced in English. “Good to finally reach you.”

He didn’t recognize the voice. Had they replace the chatbot, or was this a real person?

“Peter here. Am I talking to a human being?”

“Of course, Peter.” The man laughed as if he had made a great joke.

“What can I do for you?”

“I have good news for you. Your CubeSat has arrived in Kiruna.”

“Great.”

And for that, he calls me multiple times?

“There’s still a little problem with the documents.”

“What do I have to do?”

“Declaration of space debris-based risks is lacking.”

“I thought it was enough for the satellite to have a DEO?”

“Without the DEO, it wouldn’t be allowed to launch. But without the declaration, Rockets Plus cannot integrate it.”

“But I have no idea how to fill out something like that. Where do I get the form? Can’t you do it?”

Peter hated bureaucracy.

“You are the operator. We’re not allowed to take that over from you. It’s not like we’re even EU-based. If we were the operators, we’d have to put in a request to transfer the waste budget.”

Since the increasing amount of garbage in Earth’s orbit had become a problem a few years ago, each space nation had a certain garbage budget. It was not permissible to send new satellites into space until others had been brought down.

“Okay. What do I have to do?”

“You need to download the DRAMA program. In it, you will enter all the data of the CubeSat. The software will then generate the certificate that you need to forward to Rockets Plus.”

“When?”

“Today. Now. You’re holding up the entire launch preparation of the rocket at this point.”

If only he had answered the phone sooner. This DRAMA software had been aptly named, even if it was an acronym for ‘Debris Risk Assessment and Mitigation Analysis.’ Just creating the account and downloading and installing the software took 20 minutes.

The program asked him for data, some of which he’d never heard of. Peter could only answer the questions by copying them into a parallel chat window, where a SigmaLaunch employee picked out the appropriate data for him. He’d been able to keep up through the classic orbital elements, but after that it got tricky.

It was all the more surprising that, at the end, the software readily calculated what it needed: The probability of a collision with space debris during the lifetime of this mission, and the approximate time the CubeSat had until it burned up again in the atmosphere, as well as the risk that it wouldn’t be completely destroyed on re-entry. Peter saved the results in a PDF file and emailed it to the address SigmaLaunch gave him.

He fervently hoped he had not made a mistake. If the data did not arrive in Kiruna today, his CubeSat would remain in the warehouse.

March 28, 2026 – Passau

Peter was excited and tired at the same time. He got the mat from the cellar and laid it on Franziska’s deck chair. Then he adjusted the lounger so that it would face toward the sun at ten o’clock. He opened out a flat-folding table next to it. On top, he placed the bouquet of tulips he’d bought yesterday and the note he’d written. “Sparkling wine and Aperol are in the refrigerator,” he had noted in his spidery handwriting. Around it he’d drawn a heart. It looked awkward. He’d never been very good at drawing. He moved the vase on top of the note so the paper couldn’t fly away if the wind should pick up. Then he got the red blanket and a pillow from the living room.

There. Now it looked as if Franziska had been sitting in her garden for a long time and had only gone into the house briefly. His heart warmed. Peter imagined her, sitting there waiting for him when he came home on Tuesday. But that was nonsense, of course. With his latest refusal, he had probably blown it once and for all.

Peter sighed. Then he tore himself away from the sight of the empty deck chair. He had to go to the airport. He pulled the suitcase, already standing on the terrace, to the garage and loaded it into the trunk. He hadn’t packed very much, but the winter clothes he’d known he would need were so heavy that he couldn’t transport the suitcase as hand luggage. He slid behind the wheel. Crap! Peter got out again because he had forgotten to lock everything. He ran back and locked the house and cellar doors.

Have a good trip, honey, he imagined Franziska’s voice saying softly.

March 28, 2026 – Kiruna

The airport in Rovaniemi, where his flight had landed on schedule, was surprisingly large and modern. The Sixt counter was near the exit. The clerk greeted him in dialect-free English. Peter signed the rental agreement, took the keys, and exited the building, his rolling suitcase in tow. When he exhaled, a plume of steam escaped his mouth. It was cold outside, but it was a dry cold that he could handle pretty well, especially once he got his winter jacket out of his suitcase.

The rental car was parked in the well-lit parking lot. It was only 150 steps, so he wouldn’t reach his usual 10,000-step goal today. He put his suitcase in the trunk, got in, and the car greeted him.

“What can I do for you?” it asked in English.

“Drive me to Reindeer Lodge in Kiruna, Sweden,” he replied.

“I’m navigating you to Reindeer Lodge in Kiruna, Sweden,” the car said. “Autonomous driving mode is only available during daylight hours and on ice-free routes.”

Had he heard that right? Were the roads icy? This was going to be fun.