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

you could order to go with your beer. Peter stretched, leaning back as best he could on the bar stool. He was not used to being a student anymore. Francesca—she’d put them on first-name basis—might be a good pilot, but she was less gifted as a teacher. He could tell she’d rather be in the cockpit than in the classroom.

But he was now well-informed about all the risks and side effects. It had been made clear that Virgin envisioned purely passive roles for the passengers. They were allowed to look at the Earth from every angle, take selfies, and buckle up again when the seatbelt signs lit up.

This time, however, it would be different. It had to be. But he alone knew how different!

“A Parasol, please!”

He recognized that accent. Peter turned around, and there was Francesca. The waiter greeted her with kisses on both cheeks, making it clear she was a regular here. She went to the bar to buy her drink, and only after she sat down did she look in Peter’s direction.

Francesca hesitated briefly. She was apparently uncomfortable, and he could sympathize. After all, she was off work, but knew the German was likely to approach her. The bartender brought his beer and set it in front of him. Peter raised it in a silent toast to Francesca. She nodded in acknowledgement. He could imagine how she was feeling. After all, he was a customer, and even though she was off duty, it would be rude of her to ignore him.

“A Parasol Golden Ale?” she asked.

Peter nodded.

“I drink that too, whenever they have it available.”

“So you come here often?” asked Peter.

“An Italian in a beer bar... does that surprise you? I was in Germany for a fairly long time during astronaut training, in Cologne, so I got used to drinking beer.”

He took a sip, then another. Something was missing—not enough hops for his liking.

“Pretty good,” he said.

If it was Francesca’s favorite beer, he’d better stifle the criticism.

“I like it because it’s not too hoppy,” she said. “You’re not going back to El Paso or Albuquerque?”

Francesca didn’t strike the buddy-like tone she’d used at the Spaceport, so he responded in kind.

“No, I found Truth or Consequences more interesting.”

“Most of our passengers prefer to stay overnight in a bigger city.”

“What about you? I would have thought you lived in the Spaceport.”

“That would be terrible. No, I have a small bungalow here. I’m quite happy to have my peace and quiet after work.”

“I see. I’ll leave you alone.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. How did you get on board with us in the first place? You don’t seem like the typical space tourist. I mean, you have to be able to afford it, first. Sorry—please don’t take this the wrong way.”

“That’s alright. I sold my mother’s house to pay for it.”

“She died? I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s been a while. Don’t worry.”

“And then why go to space of all places? For the money, you could have traveled around the world. Five times. In first class. Excuse me—for some odd reason, I have the financial questions in mind today. You don’t have to answer.”

“No problem. I’m a teacher, math and physics, and an amateur astronomer.”

“So that’s where the connection to space comes from. Then I don’t have to explain that this flight doesn’t bring us much closer to the stars and planets. There really are people who expect to see Mars as a sphere up there. Or even the stars.”

“No, I don’t expect anything like that.”

He paused. Peter wondered if he could talk to her about his true motives. Francesca was the pilot, and tomorrow he would see her for the last time in his life. It didn’t matter if she thought he was a lunatic. And he’d acted normal enough today that she wouldn’t report him yet for his weird ideas.

“Strictly speaking, I booked the flight because of a pretty serious problem that I hope to solve while we’re up there.”

“Interesting. What’s it about?”

“It’s a long story. Do you really want to hear it?”

“You have as much time as it takes for me to drink two beers. After that, I have to go to bed. You’ll need a well-rested pilot tomorrow.”

Francesca had just ordered her third beer when he finished his saga about the satellite alignment problems.

“So since yesterday, the beacon has been losing altitude?” asked Francesca.

“Yes. You don’t think I’m crazy?”

“You’re not exactly normal, that’s for sure. You have to be crazy to put all your eggs in one basket like you did. I’m just wondering how you’re expecting to solve the problem...?”

I’m sure she already suspects it, even though she hasn’t said it.

“I want to try to hijack the space glider.”

Francesca laughed heartily. “With that rubber gun in your luggage? I was in the military long enough to recognize such an obvious fake.”

“How do you know what’s in my luggage?”

“The bags are all x-rayed, along with the vehicles as they drive onto the Spaceport site. At the guard house as well! The guard probably thought you were training with it.”

“That probably wouldn’t have worked then,” he said.

“And you would have gone to jail for a few years, Peter, even with a fake. Everything that happens in that cabin is recorded. I would have knocked you out and strapped you down in your seat.”

“Then it’s a good thing we talked about it.”

“But the solar system is going to be destroyed—”

“—if I’m right. Unfortunately, my evidence is pretty thin. The main problem is that there is no physical process whatsoever that could just ‘blow out’ a star without leaving a trace.”

“That which cannot be, must not be.”

“Well...”

“I could help you.”

“What? That would be great. You believe me?”

“I didn’t say that. I don’t know if your theory is correct. But if it is correct, no matter how small the odds, the consequences would be deadly. So I’m inclined to take the low .”

“Low risk?”

“I am the pilot. I don’t have to hijack the VSS Astra to change its