Sines
19th July 1998
The quiet voices murmured in the darkened room. NASA’s capcom, ESA’s Cologne Controller and China’s Xichang Center’s Voice quietly waxed and waned in intensity and clarity, although none of the chatter was directed towards Alpha. Unlike any time since Earth’s first permanent lunar station went on-line, no Eagles were aloft nor any researchers out on the surface. Those on duty found themselves in the very atypical situation of having empty time on their hands, unheard of even at 0200 hours. The skeleton staff of two red-sleeved junior operatives and one pilot remained seated at their Main Mission posts, reviewing already many-times reviewed status reports. Their boredom was almost palpable. It would have been a simple enough matter to use the utter lack of any activity as an occasion to socialize, or at least pull out a book and read, but for the presence of Controller Paul Marrow. The only exception to this cathedral-like stillness was Sandra Benes; having worked alongside Paul for many months now, she was no longer intimidated by his reserved manner and exacting ways.
The lull in activity was due to the cyclical spike in sunspot activity wrecking havoc with space traffic coordination, and this particular cycle was notable for its intensity. Shielding on Alpha and the Eagles was more than sufficient to protect the lunar inhabitants, but the same could not be said for the world’s various communication nets.
Paul stood behind his desk, arms crossed over his chest, watching what little activity there was going on in Main Mission.
“What are you doing, Sandra?”
The slender, dark haired data analyst looked up from her handiwork and smiled at the Controller. “Hyperbolic geometry.”
The look of confusion and doubt on the British man’s face brought a smile to Sandra’s.
“A birthday present for the
Professor. He’s been very kind and I
want to do something nice for him.” She
held up her work for Paul to see. When
enlightenment failed to cross the Controller’s face, she continued, her clear,
carefully enunciated voice carrying in the quiet space. “It’s based on the work
of Dr. Daina Taimina from Cornell University. ** She uses yarn and crocheting to represent how hyperbolic space has a constant
negative curvature from itself at every point.” Moving both crochet hook and
yarn to one hand, she tapped a few commands on her keyboard as images of red,
blue and brown fuzzy, crinkled balls appeared on the monitor’s screen. Sandra entered a few more keystrokes and the
balls started rotating, unfolding and refolding themselves in three-dimensions
to demonstrate the non-linear magic of non-Euclidean space.
Paul grunted slightly. He reached over and picked up one of the tiny creations on Sandra’s workstation and placed it in the palm of his hand. “Looks more like a mouse’s bobble hat.”
There was a sharp snort of laughter from the other side of the room. Paul looked over to see where it originated, but all heads were studiously bent studying computer screens. Paul was still looking up when an unexpected, orange-sleeve pilot entered from the far door beneath the big screen.
Three paces into the somber, cavernous room, Alan Carter froze. He looked around at the silent techs manning their desks, and the utter absence of any of the usual chatter and activity. “Alright, who died?”
Paul returned the tiny multicolored creation to Sandra. He responded to Alan’s irreverent question with a question of his own. “What brings you out tonight? All Eagles are grounded for another eleven hours. I’d have thought you’d be taking advantage of the downtime.”
“I have. Every Eagle’s been inspected and stands ready for duty.” Alan answered the quiet criticism of his laid-back manner with a grin. Just because he knew how to enjoy a good party didn’t mean his little section of Reconnaissance was run with anything less than strict attention to detail; however, it was a matter of social record that Alan had been to quite a few parties of late. He had been the senior pilot on the first successful Martian mission that had returned a mere two weeks ago, and was one of the golden boys of the ILC, at least for the next few weeks. He had been granted his request to be assigned to Alpha for an unprecedented fifth tour of duty, and given how much Commander Gorski disliked and disapproved of Carter, it had taken the Australian pilot’s recent Martian triumph to gain the coveted posting.
Waving a hand at the less senior duty pilot to keep his seat at Eagle Ops, Alan walked over and took the empty seat next to Sandra, placing an aerial photo of Alpha on the workstation before him. He glanced up at the empty Big Screen hanging high over the room, and then watched as Sandra resumed her work, a slender silver wand with a hooked end flicking in and out of a tiny, fuzzy creation, the slender thread from which it was being created pulled from an equally tiny skein of colored thread. Alan wondered if it was one of the tiny thread skeins he’d help smuggle up to Alpha on Sandra’s behalf. She seemed to have a thing for making teeny tiny needlework projects. He looked up to see Paul’s bemused expression watching Sandra at her work. Mischief caused Alan to smile.
“So, Sandra, you’ve finally
gotten around to making those hyperbolic fuzzballs. They’re looking pretty good so far.”
Paul’s face was gratifyingly surprised.
Sandra was about to say something, but Alan shook his head the smallest amount and she kept her peace.
“You know what these are?” Paul asked poking gently at one of the small objects.
“Doesn’t everyone?”
Alan’s face was bland, but the tiniest smile twitched. When Paul turned away for a moment Alan leaned in close to Sandra. “Nah, I haven’t gotta clue what they are. I just heard you right before I walked in, but he doesn’t have to know that.”
Sandra smothered a smile.
Paul turned back to face Alan. He still obviously wanted to know what brought the pilot out at this unexpected hour. “So, Alan, you just happened to be wandering about and decided to visit Main Mission?”
“More or less. Well, less actually. I’m expecting a call...” Alan looked at the chronometer on Sandra’s workstation, “in about five minutes.”
Sandra’s expression showed her confusion. Alan knew well enough not to receive personal messages in this manner, and she certainly had not been apprised of any official incoming calls for this shift. As she opened her mouth to ask for more information, an incoming-transmission beep echoed throughout the room. After a quick glance in Paul’s direction, Sandra opened the channel. Static popped and fizzled as she tried to boost the strength and pull meaning out of the jumble. Finally, an older male voice could be heard, one with a strong Australian accent.
“...Observatory calling Moonbase Alpha, do you read us? Repeating, this is the Parkes Observatory calling Moonbase Alpha.”
Alan’s face sported a wide
grin. He reached over to Sandra’s desk,
and breaking about a half dozen rules, opened the link.
“Moonbase Alpha, Parkes. We read you loud and mostly clear. Glad you could get through the sunspot static.”
“Yeah, we are, too. Wasn’t so sure we
were going to make it there for a while, even with the old lady at our back.”
Confused looks criss-crossed the room. Paul frowned slightly as Sandra focused on maintaining the fragile link. Paul looked up to the Big Screen, but the usual stand-by image remained in place. Either a visual link couldn’t make it through the sunspot interference, or this was an audio-only link.
“This is Controller Paul Marrow, with whom are we speaking?”
“G’day, Controller. This is Senator Ian Wellesley of New South Wales, Australia. Thank you for agreeing to receive our call at this hour. I know it’s early for you lot, but I realize things will start getting busy for you tomorrow, so we figured this was probably our best chance.”
Paul silently signaled Sandra to alert the Commander. Alan saw the gesture and made a frantic ‘no’ motion with his hand. Sandra looked between the men, her hand poised over her desk’s control panel. Alan gently batted her hand away and took up the conversation again.
“It’s our privilege, Senator. Is everything ready?”
“That it is. Come on over here, Rhys.”
Through the transmitted sounds of a microphone being moved, whispered directions from the man, a chair being pulled out, and the crinkles of unfolding paper, Professor Bergman’s arrival went all but unnoticed. Finally, what sounded like a child’s voice played across Main Mission.
“Hello, Alphans. Twenty-nine years ago tomorrow, man first walked on the moon. What a lot of people still don’t know is that Australia helped get those first pictures broadcast around the world, and it happened from right here at the Parkes Observatory. If it hadn’t been for our dish, no one might’ve seen what happened. I wanted to bring up a small piece of the dish, but since I can’t come now at least I can say hello. Maybe one day I can make it up there.”
Paul and Sandra were frankly confused. Alan’s expression was sad, but his voice remained steady.
“I hope so too, Rhys. I’ll send something special down with the Eagle pilot next week. Do you think you can be in Sydney when it arrives?”
“I’ll try, Captain Carter.”
“If he can’t, we’ll make sure he gets whatever it is, Alan,” Senator Wellesley assured them.
Bergman stepped up to Sandra’s desk and asked with a glance to be allowed to speak. Paul nodded his acquiescence.
“This is Professor Victor Bergman, Rhys. That was a lovely message. Thank you from all of us here on Alpha.”
“The Professor Bergman? Wow.” The awe in the boy’s voice brought a smile to everyone’s face.
Through a momentarily crystal clear connection, the Alphans could hear quiet directions being given for the boy to go lay down and get some rest. The sounds of a door opening and then closing were heard.
“Thank you, Professor, for that kindness. Now, Alan, you’re sure you won’t get in any trouble over this, aren’t you?”
Alan looked at Paul who just rolled his eyes.
“Nah, everything’s okay. How’s the old place holding up?”
“Parkes is doing just fine. She’s quite the grand old lady of astronomy, and we’re right proud of her. Even with all the fancy gee-gaws you blokes have up there on Alpha, she was the first to discover quasars. Not to mention all those interstellar magnetic fields. She’ll be forty in 2001, and I look forward to having you here, Alan, to help us commemorate the anniversary. Your aunt already has a fancy dinner planned in your honor.”
“Yes sir, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
With a final exchange of pleasantries, the link closed. Alan found himself the center of five pairs of eyes.
Paul quirked an eyebrow in Alan’s direction. “Aunt?”
“Yeah, Great-aunt Lila. Rhys was the boy who won the Australia-wide competition to visit Alpha, but he ended up being diagnosed with leukemia a few weeks back. The runner-up will make the trip next week but I still wanted to do something special for the kid. I contacted my great-uncle, he pulled a few strings, and... well, you just heard the rest. Uncle Ian got special passes into Parkes and they made a fuss over the boy. Rhys is space-happy; he was the one to remember the significance of the date and came up with his speech all on his own. We thought celebrating the first moonwalk’s 29th anniversary was pretty good, and the timing of the sunspots couldn’t have been better.” Alan shrugged. “Things would have been too busy otherwise. Anyhow, I wasn’t sure Gorski would have gone along with it, the idea coming from me and all.”
“Hmm.” Paul looked at Alan and then the Professor. He rather suspected the older man had some part in this plot, if nothing else, to deflect any anger Gorski might have leveled at Alan. Paul relaxed and smiled. “I would have helped. Just give me a heads-up next time.”
“Will do.” Alan picked up the picture he had brought and passed it around for everyone to sign. It would be part of the package along with moon rocks, some mission patches and anything else he could scrounge up and send down to the sick boy.
As the picture passed from Bergman to Paul, the forgotten images on Sandra’s monitor continued their stately dance, their geometric elegance catching the Professor’s eye. Bergman leaned over Sandra’s shoulder, reaching out a khaki arm to trace the red construct’s wrinkled edges.
“My, now that’s a unique way to visualize a black sun’s event horizon. That is an excellent representation of the current thinking of horizon fluxes.” When he spoke again, he sounded almost regretful. “But barring the rather improbable possibility of one showing up here in the solar system, we’ll never ever see it first hand.”
Sandra darted a look down to her workstation where the birthday gift in progress rested just out of sight beyond her arm. She had left the tiny crocheted creations sitting out in the open on her clipboard, never expecting Professor Bergman to show up unannounced. If the man in question looked down, her surprise would be ruined. She cast an anxious look to her friends, and then leaned forward to distract the senior scientist. With smooth, silent cooperation, Paul and Alan managed between them to surreptitiously scoop up and hide tiny crocheted balls, thread and hook. Sandra flashed a quick, grateful smile to both men, then looked back at the Professor who was still watching the screen.
“Nor would I want to see one, Professor. I’d rather not experience spaghettification first hand.”
Bergman looked at her, bemused at her choice of words, and then laughed.
“Spaghettification. Yes, I rather like that description. You’ve been keeping up on the journals then, haven’t you, my girl?”
The young Eagle Ops pilot walked the signed photo back to Alan. Alan looked at all the signatures. Each person had included any titles he or she might have and their country of origin. Alan added his name and rank with a flourish, then dated it and included a note saying everyone who had signed it had heard Rhys’s short speech. It would make for a good memento.
“Well, good night all. I need my rest if I’m to harvest a few prime moon rocks tomorrow after the all-clear is given.”
With a final conspiratorial grin for Sandra, Alan left, followed by the Professor now muttering about his new found need for spatial models to demonstrate hyperbolic space.
Sandra resettled herself in her seat. There was another five hours to wait out the rest of the shift. Picking up her crochet hook and thread, she went back to work with a few more ideas for complicated shapes. She now knew her birthday gifts would be warmly received, indeed.
28 Oct 2007
MGK
** For more information about crocheted hyperbolic forms, go to http://www.theiff.org/oexhibits/oe1e.html
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