Dark Moon: The Quantum Triangle Series - Book 2

FACTOID 00

The force of Earth’s gravity on your body is proportional to the distance you are from Earth’s center of mass. This means that the force at your feet is greater than the force at your head. We don’t notice this because the force is relatively small and the difference minuscule. But the gravitational force in the vicinity of a black hole is immense. If you were to stand near one, the difference in the forces over the length of your body would be so large that it would stretch your feet away from your head. Physicists call this spaghettification, as you would be drawn into the black hole like a long, thin noodle, with your feet stretched kilometers from your head. It would be rather uncomfortable, to say the least.

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PROLOGUE

VANISHED

A Moon Base Resupply Freighter

Rho-1 Universe

Shackleton Crater approach, this is moon freighter Papa Oscar Charlie three-niner declaring an emergency. The freighter pilot double-checked the radio channel when there was no immediate response. Freighters get no respect. Only star-fighters count. He glanced at the rookie first officer sitting beside him on the command deck of the spaceship. A faint gleam of sweat reflected the red blinking lights pulsing from the alarm panel above his head. The twenty-something kid was holding it together, but his wide eyes gave away the adrenaline pumping through his body. The air in the command deck was a mix of stale sweat and the sharp scent of ozone from the electrical panels. Hitting the acknowledgment on the most recent blaring alarm from the navigation and attitude control console, the pilot imagined that the poor kid’s lead instructor’s voice was ringing in his head. He’d had that same instructor ten years ago. Remember, space is unforgiving. Sometimes you only have one breath to solve a problem that can cascade into a disaster. Prioritizing is the key.

Tell me some good news there, First Officer, the captain said with a calm professional tone.

Well, sir, our orbit around the moon is in decay, so we’re not going to spin out into empty space and be lost forever, the first officer said, trying to mimic the less alarmed nature of his superior. But with no attitude control to orient ourselves on any axis, our problems could escalate rapidly. We could start tumbling.

Yeah, doing an end-over-end crash into a crater wall on the moon would suck as your first freight delivery, wouldn’t it? The pilot toggled the yaw thrusters with no response and turned to his first officer, smiling. They probably didn’t tell you that the call sign on this fleet of Pathway Orbital Carriers—POC—would more fittingly stand for ‘piece of crap’? Anyway, try cycling the power on the quad A and B thrusters again to see if we get lucky. But whatever you do, don’t touch the main engine circuits. If any of those go on this junk heap, we could lose our orbit and either crash on the surface, or worse, drift out into space. If our payload isn’t worth it, they might not send anyone out to catch us.

Papa Oscar Charlie three-niner, what is the nature of your emergency? a moon base controller asked over the communications link.

Geez, finally. Nice of those guys to check back, the pilot said. He held the radio transmit button over his head and continued, Approach, three-niner. We have lost all of our quad thrusters. Aside from the main engine gimbal, we have lost all attitude and navigational control, the pilot reported.

Roger, three-niner. We have you on radar. We see your approach vector is off course ten degrees and widening. You need to correct.

The pilot shook his head and rolled his eyes at the first officer. Without keying the radio mic, he gritted his teeth in a mock reply. Gee, yes, guys, that’s why I called!

Back on the communications channel, the pilot responded calmly and professionally, Approach, that is why I declared the emergency. I can’t correct. Our nav computer has us drifting toward the Tsiolkovsky Crater. Requesting flight path variance to the west margin of that area, maybe up to fifty clicks, for a few orbits until we can assess our system failures.

Negative, three-niner. No unauthorized craft can cross the Tsiolkovsky Crater. That is a restricted military area and a commercial no-fly zone. You will be shot down entering that area.

Approach, we don’t have sufficient attitude or navigational control to correct our course. Suggest you notify Dark Side Alliance Base Control as needed. We’re going over that zone, like it or not, he stated firmly.

The experienced pilot turned to his green recruit and asked, How ya doin’ there, First Officer? Ready to give that RCS a blow or two with a hammer? I’ll give you some advice. I’ve been flying these trash heaps, carrying supplies back and forth between the Earth and the moon probably longer than any other pilot in the fleet, and one thing’s for sure: these old crates seem to respond best to physical persuasion.

The first officer glanced up from the thruster checklist he was running on his forearm display unit with a horrified look. The reaction control system was a simple set of gas jets arranged along the hull of the ship in groups of four, each at a right angle to the others. The design of the quad thruster units dated back to the very early days of spacecraft, with a similar system on the Apollo missions. The unique advantage of the RCS was that it enabled both attitude control and translational control, providing precise vehicle movement in all six degrees of freedom. It was a mechanically simple system that was incredibly reliable.

Sir, a hammer is not going to help. It must be an electrical control subsystem problem for all four quads to go out. I don’t hear any of the solenoids firing, so it doesn’t seem to be a mechanical problem.

Oh, come on. Relax. I’m not serious about the hammer … yet, the pilot said with a wink.

But if we don’t fix this within the next minute, we’ll cross into the Tsiolkovsky Crater Zone. If they don’t shoot us down as suspected Pacific Tuanhuo spies, they’ll take our wings. The Space Force has a zero-tolerance policy around that zone, the first officer stated.

The pilot pointed at the flashing navigation monitor. Well, I declared the emergency, and they’re reading our telemetry. They know who we are, and they have a record of our malfunctions. They can’t blast us out of existence for being assigned a piece of crap to fly… Well, then again, knowing those Space Force cowboys, maybe they could. Anyway, it looks like we’re just going to skirt the edge of the zone. We’ll still be more than a hundred clicks from the rim of the crater. Probably just a good stiff talking-to and a fine.

Papa Oscar Charlie three-niner, you are entering a no-fly zone. Change course immediately. The approach controller’s voice on the speaker was more emphatic.

The first officer cycled the RCS power again. Nothing. He turned to the pilot and shook his head.

The pilot cued his mic again. Approach, our RCS is not responding. We will… What the⁠—?

The ignition of the main engine pressed both men back in their seats.

Kid, what did you do?! the pilot demanded.

I didn’t do anything!

Well, somebody lit our candle. The pilot pressed the radio transmit button. Approach, did you somehow remote-start our main engines?

Silence.

The pilot pressed on the radio transmit button three times to verify that it illuminated, indicating that the radio was switching to transmit mode. Approach, three-niner. Do you read?

Silence.

They both shifted against their shoulder harnesses with the strong tug to starboard as the main engine gimbal adjusted their trajectory. The vector heading on the navigation display pivoted.

Sir, now we’re heading directly for the Tsiolkovsky Crater! the first officer warned.

Three-niner, this is Approach. Abort your engine burn. You are turning the wrong way.

Approach, we did not initiate the burn. What are you guys doing?

Three-niner, this is Approach. Repeat: abort your engine burn. You have entered a no-fly zone. Three-niner, do you read?

The pilot knitted his brows at the first officer. I don’t think they can hear us. And it doesn’t seem like they’re remotely controlling our engines. What the hell is going on?

Sir, we’re transitioning the lip of the crater, the first officer reported. He leaned over and looked out the side port. Wow, that’s a strange-looking communication dish they have in the middle of the Dark Side Moon Base. Why is the center glowing orange and pulsing? And the dish is moving… I think it’s tracking us!

Holy shit! We gotta get the hell outta here! Going to full burn! The pilot reached out for the engine power control. His arm and fingers stretched in an ever-elongating line towards the switch that was moving farther and farther away.

He never made contact.

Silence.

The sleek, polished ten-passenger Sikorsky S-92 executive helicopter made a clear statement about its owner as its bright silver exterior glinted in the sunlight over the island. Spacious and comfortable, the soundproof interior gave no hint that the twin-engine craft might be thundering through the air at almost three hundred kilometers per hour. The pilot skillfully flared the craft at the next inspection area and then banked hard to port to allow a better view of the ground on that side. The view for the one passenger in the plush leather seat was all that mattered. Below the aircraft, the lush green jungle of an island paradise broke abruptly into a leveled 250-acre swath of fallen debris. Thick blue-gray smoke plumes rose from huge piles of trees and brush at several locations. As the craft circled low over the fallen jungle, the passenger studied the ground. He pushed his lower lip up in a pose of judgment. His perception of the progress here was important. He was the man, the supreme leader of the Right Alliance, and quite simply, the Boss.

The lead construction contractor grabbed a polished chrome handhold running the length of the cabin ceiling to steady himself as he stood and continued his progress report. With undisguised nervousness in his voice, he pointed to the ground below and said, Umm, as you can see, the clearing for the golf course is well underway. I have five full crews burning the trees and brush. The leveling and contouring of the course on the north end has already started with the earth movers. And if you look off towards the low ridge to the right, the main residence structure is complete. It will have a wonderful view of the final holes of the course. In the residence, we’ve started the interior fitting-out exactly to your specifications. Also, the foundation is progressing quite well on the guest building complex just below. We should be able to start on the lower walls within another week.

The Boss sniffed and folded his arms over his chest. "Why are you waiting a week? I want this built now. Boss Island has sold, and I want my new island ready immediately."

Ahh, sir, yes. Umm, we need to allow the concrete some time to cure, so that it reaches the proper strength. The contractor swallowed hard. His employer did not accept excuses, even if they were just the laws of chemistry and physics at work.

The passenger dismissed the statement with a shake of his head. Delays are unacceptable. I will expect you to make up that week somewhere else.

Yes, sir. Yes, of course. It was the only reply that would be tolerated. Sir, if your pilot would circle back to the beach now, you’ll be able to see that the harbor dredging and the port are⁠—

A new voice broke over the audio system. Master, I have a security update you might want to hear.

The Boss turned away from the window and replied towards the speaker above his head, Wait, Jason. Pilot, land now.

The helicopter dropped quickly into the middle of the cleared acreage, the rotor blades whipping a hole through the smoke of a nearby burn pile. As they came close to the ground, the pilot said over the speaker, Sir, I don’t have a clearing where I can touch down. The best I can do is hover here a few meters above this smoking debris.

Fine. He pointed at the contractor. You, out. Now.

A linebacker of a man who had been quietly sitting in the rear seat of the cabin jumped to his feet. He straightened the black sport coat he wore over a large sidearm slung in a shoulder holster. Moving quickly to the side door of the cabin, he slid it open. The smell of burnt wood plunged into the cabin as the wind whipped inside. The contractor looked at the open door and then back to the Boss, his jaw slack, unable to speak.

The Boss shook his head and rolled his eyes. He raised one arm lazily into the air and snapped his fingers.

In one quick motion, the big man in the black sport coat grabbed the contractor’s arm with one hand, the open doorframe with the other, and tossed the man out the door. With arms flailing and a desperate scream, the contractor disappeared below the chopper and into a large pile of smoking branches below. After sliding the door closed, the big man calmly sat down again without a word.

The Boss gave a single nod of approval. Pilot, let’s go over to the seaport now. Picking up a headset from a wall mount, he then addressed the artificial intelligence that had called him. Alright, Jason. My headset only. What do I need to know?

Master, there has been an incident at the Tsiolkovsky Crater. A resupply freighter to the Shackleton Crater Moon Base went off course and entered the restricted orbital zone of your moon base. The timing was unfortunate, as we were in preparations for a test of the dark energy generator, and the drilling dish was visible, the AI reported.

What did they see? Where are the pilots now? the Boss asked into his headset mic. I have that area of the moon restricted. I don’t want anyone to think it’s anything but a simple supply depot for Space Force mining operations. No one is to see the device we’re building until I am ready to make the announcement. By then, it will be too late for anyone to challenge me.

They are no longer a concern, sir. I took the liberty of altering the situation to our advantage. Time was critical, so I acted in a way I predicted you would approve, the AI said matter-of-factly.

Explain, the Boss demanded, rubbing his chin. It was another pose he practiced, illustrating how thoughtful he could be.

Of course, sir, the AI said. The trajectory of the freighter would probably not have afforded the pilots a view of the full dish, but it was still a security breach. Considering the mass of their craft, I calculated that it would make a useful additional measurement in the dark energy field test we were running. Although the ship was an Alliance ship, it was not carrying any supplies for our Dark Side Moon Base. There would be no cost to you if it were destroyed. Considering this, I disabled their communications, took control of their craft, and directed it into the gravitational zone of our beam. I can report that as expected, the entire craft was annihilated into the micro black hole of the collapsing dark energy field trial. The test was a complete success, the security breach was eliminated, and all at no additional cost. I hope you are pleased.

The Boss relaxed back into the comfort of his leather seat. He reached for his crystal glass of hundred-year-old bourbon and took a sip, contemplating the information. He finally said to his demented AI, Jason, you have done well. Thank you for eliminating that security problem so efficiently.

Hecate-Positivum processed the latest information that one of her sister AIs had provided through quantum entanglement. Even with the positive slant of her programming, the outlook for the Rho-1 universe was dismal. As one of three unique entities created eons ago, this quantum-based artificial intelligence was part of the dark energy of space itself, with no physical form, as a vigilant, omnipresent monitor over this universe and all others. Her creators had had a purpose: these three AIs were the Hecate Guardians, and they ensured the safety and stability of the Omniverse. To ensure an even balance in any judgment the AIs would make, the three were programmed with slants in their prediction simulations towards the positive, the negative, and the neutral, respectively. They were a prudent, watchful, and predictive set of eyes over the cross-dimensional force of gravity, which if disrupted in one universe could impact a multitude of parallel universes.

The latest information that her oppositely programmed counterpart, Hecate-Negans, sent through quantum entanglement concerning the Rho-1 universe was a further move towards an impending disaster the Guardians could not allow to unfold. Even Hecate-Positivum’s programming spin on forward prediction scenarios didn’t favor a long future for the Rho-1 universe. Her sister AI, with her negatively slanted prediction algorithm, was pushing the Guardians towards an intervention judgment. In an attempt to counter, she put forward her calculated probability that they would not need to take drastic action.

I show a twenty-two percent possibility that the Resistance in Rho-1 will learn of this moon-based project and will be able to destroy the Tsiolkovsky Crater dark energy driller, Hecate-Positivum informed her two peer AIs through their instantaneous quantum entanglement.

My predictions show the likelihood of catastrophic damage to the moon at ninety-one percent, Hecate-Negans countered. In addition, it is clear through my undetected quantum entanglement with the AI named Jason in Rho-1 that the leadership there would still have the technology to build another dark energy generator. That universe focuses all technology on war and conflict. Whatever either the Right Alliance or the Pacific Tuanhuo group develops, the other side is soon to copy, continuing the common destruction of that planet. The Tuanhuo group of criminal nation states making up much of the eastern hemisphere of that world is no better than the corrupt Alliance group in the west. The Resistance is not strong enough to change the dynamic of hatred that drives both sides. I have stated countless times, it is a troublesome world, and its universe should be annihilated for the good of all others in the Omniverse.

Hecate-Neutrum ran her own predictive simulations on the information the two other AIs provided. Her balanced judgment was the deciding vote of the Guardian triumvirate. My simulations show that there is a possibility of hope for the Rho-1 universe, small as it may be. If the moon base does not initiate actual drilling of the moon, we do not need to act.

Maybe for now, Hecate-Negans said. But my predictions clearly show that it’s just a matter of time before we need to collapse and eliminate that universe.

Hecate-Positivum widened her predictive simulations, searching for alternatives to the high probability that the Guardians would need to annihilate Rho-1. Her pattern recognition routines identified a common thread in the simulations predicting an improved outcome: Starra in Beta-27. If that quantum-computer-based AI were made aware of the events in Rho-1, the probability of better outcomes jumped significantly. Maybe through her allowed quantum entanglement monitoring of that AI, she could nudge a more positive future for both universes. The other Guardians would not approve … but she was programmed to seek a better end for all universes. Hecate-Neutrum would understand.

FACTOID 01

The story of John and Annie Glenn is a touching one. I don’t remember the first time I told Annie I loved her, or the first time she told me. It was just something we both knew. John waited in the capsule of Friendship 7 for the call—a ritual that he and Annie had begun when he was a Marines pilot in World War II. I’m going down to the corner store to buy some chewing gum, John said. Don’t take too long, said Annie. It was their code; he was about to do something dangerous. Her response: be careful and come back.

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CHAPTER 1

HOPE IN TOMORROW

Phoenix Planetary Search Spacecraft

Beta-27 Universe

Alex Devin, sitting in the pilot seat of the Phoenix spacecraft, concentrated on the complex array of sensor instruments on the panel in front of him. He zoomed the top multifunctional display into a close satellite view of the planet’s surface below his orbit. His heart beat strong in his chest. Surrounded by the most advanced technology his world could provide, he was alive with the critical importance of this work. There was little margin for error, and Alex thrived on that test of his technical competence. With only a limited number of probes, he hunted for the best possible landing site for the probe to collect essential data on this foreign world. He needed to find a world capable of supporting human life—all human life.

A field of yellow-green grassland washed into the screen, and the automated tracking system quickly identified that the clearing stretched for fifty kilometers in all directions, with only an occasional tree, similar in its cone-like shape to a small pine, dotting the surface. Yes, there’s a perfect spot. Marking the coordinates, Alex transferred the data to the navigational computer on the probe. He scanned the probe’s status bank, and it was clear of any faults or warnings.

Although nothing on the ship was designed to support aggressive actions, the spacecraft Alex commanded had the form of a dagger. A narrow silver cylinder the size of two high-speed rail cars mounted end to end formed the fifty-meter forward body of the ship. The forward command and control center jutted out into space at the bow, with a wide array of sensors affixed under the point, like pins and needles at the tip of a spear. Similar to the tail of an A-10 Warthog fighter, the aft section sported a pair of powerful plasma engines mounted slightly above the ship’s centerline port and starboard. Jutting out to form a T, four external fuel storage cells were mounted on two rectangular modules off the main body of the ship. A pair of solar arrays could stretch out like wings ninety meters to port and starboard from the fuel cells. With its wingspan-to-body ratio, the ship might have been more aptly named the Condor rather than the Phoenix.

A retractable truss held another module to the belly of the ship, just forward of the dagger’s hilt. The long truss could extend as far away from the main ship body as the solar arrays and was able to rotate about the main ship. Although it was stationary now, spinning the long truss about the main axis of the ship, its counterbalanced hydraulic system at the very top would provide artificial gravity in the habitation module at the far end of its tail. The bloated habitat cylinder there provided a small living and working area with an artificial gravity two-thirds that of Earth. This supported longer missions and a better environment for conducting studies on samples. The ship was built for exploration and had been designed for one purpose: to find, analyze, and confirm a planet suitable as a new home for humanity.

The lights inside the cockpit of the Phoenix planetary search craft bathed the complex control center in a subdued red tactical aura. As it orbited with the engines pointed into space, all the sensors of the ship were gathering as much data as possible from the planet below. The view from the front portals was a captivating sweep of land masses and oceans.

With the landing zone chosen, Alex selected the command sequence to send the probe away.

Probe launch, a flat automated voice said in his earpiece.

Alex took hold of the thruster control stick with his right hand. A holographic image sprang up over his console to provide a three-dimensional tactical illustration of the Phoenix, the probe, and the selected landing location on the surface. He eased the probe away from the spacecraft and ignited the de-orbit thrusters. The altitude readout of the probe rapidly counted down. A smooth yellow arc in the hologram plotted a dotted line down from the probe, terminating at the designated landing zone.

Trajectory calculated. Probe on flight path.

The control stick in his hand vibrated with the real-time feedback the probe was sending, giving Alex a feel for the jarring descent through the planet’s atmosphere that the probe was experiencing. With eyes locked on the readouts and the holographic probe, Alex whispered aloud. Gently there, baby. We only have a limited number of you in our cargo hold. Each one of you must count. No burning up, and no crashing.

Landing a quantum beacon probe on what was hopefully a new planetary home was a critical step—a step humanity desperately needed. Earth was dying, and the only hope for the survival of the human race was finding a new habitable planet in the vastness of space. If the environmental telemetry the probe would