Primordial Threat, page 1
Primordial
Threat
M.A. Rothman
Copyright © 2018 Michael A. Rothman
Cover Art by Paul Pederson
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Author’s Note
Addendum
For those who boldly go where nobody has gone before....
Special thanks go to:
Dr. Charles Liu, Professor of Astrophysics – I wanted to especially thank you for keeping me relatively honest from a physics point of view and also for giving this book its title.
Lieutenant John Grimpel, NYPD – thanks for your patient responses to my seemingly never-ending questions on all things police and NYPD procedures.
I also want to thank Dr. Harold “Sonny” White, working out of the NASA Johnson Space Center, as well as Dr. Miguel Alcubierre for both inspiring key scientific elements in this novel.
Chapter One
“Doctor Radcliffe, I was wondering if you could take a look at the data I just got from my latest survey. Something’s not right.” Carl, one of the new hires for 2066, loomed over Burt’s desk, sounding puzzled. Not unexpected, since he’d been on the job for less than a week.
“Did you talk to Jake Parish?” Burt didn’t even look up. “He’s maintaining the database for all the Near-Earth objects.”
“He’s on sabbatical.”
“Oh.” Burt looked up from his own stack of astronomical survey data and took in Carl’s six-and-a-half-foot form. He noticed the man’s concerned expression and sighed. Even though Burt was only fifty, he’d found himself getting more and more cranky when people wasted his time. Trying to keep the annoyance from his voice, he carefully measured his words. “What exactly do you mean, something’s not right? Can you be a bit more specific?”
Carl hesitated for a moment, then placed two printouts on Burt’s desk. He pointed at an image from one of the observatories and explained, “Well, as you can see, this was the survey image I took yesterday.”
Burt leaned closer, scanned the text describing a surveyed comet, its location, and its approximate size. Below the text was a dark image showing nothing but empty space.
“I was surveying the area where comet Kowalski C/2011 S2 was supposed to be, but there’s nothing in the imaging system’s field of view.” Carl tapped the other image. “Here you can see the same region but this time I used the Hubble2 satellite, and I got nothing there as well.”
Burt felt anger building within him as he turned his attention to the terminal on his right. There was no way an object multiple miles across had simply disappeared. He typed the name of the comet and yesterday’s date. The data, projected at eye level, showed the space object’s uneven shape, chemical composition, trajectory and estimated location. He glanced at the printout and compared the coordinates. They matched. With a huff of frustration, he handed the papers back to the confused researcher. “This doesn’t make any sense. Take this to Doctor Patel and have her double-check your information.”
The young researcher’s eyes widened when Burt mentioned Neeta’s name.
With some effort, Burt suppressed a smile. Neeta Patel was one of the other department heads at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Labs, and she was known for having much less patience for wasting time than he did. He waved Carl away. “Tell Doctor Patel that I asked you to go to her with this.”
The hulking researcher turned and trudged out of the office.
People learned the most by making mistakes, Burt thought, and Neeta would be a great teacher. She’d tell the newbie exactly what he did wrong and be pretty blunt about it. A lesson Carl wouldn’t forget.
Burt chuckled lightly, but his amusement faded as he turned to the large stack of papers on his desk.
“I hate sabbatical coverage.”
###
“You what?” Burt stared open-mouthed at Neeta, who sat on the far side of his desk. She was in her mid-thirties, had long black hair, and dressed in jeans and a black-and-orange CalTech hoodie. He’d only worked with Neeta for a few years, but she’d already proven herself to be one of the most brilliant people he’d ever met.
Neeta leaned back against her chair and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. “I agree with him. That guy you sent to me with the ‘missing’ comet, he wasn’t being a total muppet.” Her British accent rang pleasantly on Burt’s ears. “I was actually tracking an anomaly with another comet when he found me. Burt, something is up, and I don’t necessarily understand what’s going on yet. All I can tell you is that I expanded the survey areas for both of the near-Earth objects and managed to find them in totally different spots than they should have been.”
“You found them...” Burt trailed off, frowning at the improbability of what Neeta was describing. “That doesn’t make sense. It’s almost infinitesimal odds that something could have hit one of the comets and knocked it from its trajectory, though I suppose it could happen. But two knocked from their trajectory? Could they have somehow collided?”
Neeta’s hair swayed back and forth as she shook her head. “No chance. They haven’t crossed orbital planes since the last time we verified their positions.”
“I don’t need to tell you that we’ve got to figure out what’s going on. That’s kind of our job.”
“Of course.” Neeta waved dismissively. “I already put a few people on surveying that area to see if we have any more unexpected path deviations. It might take a while because we don’t have twenty-four-hour telescope or satellite access. Besides, those comets are way out past the planets, near the Oort cloud.”
Burt placed his elbows on the desk just as his phone rang. He tapped the wireless receiver in his ear and a woman’s voice suddenly broadcast loudly in his head.
“Doctor Radcliffe?”
“Yes, this is Burt Radcliffe.”
“This is Anita Wexler, Doctor Phillip Johnson’s admin. He asked me to make arrangements for you to have a face-to-face meeting with him here in Washington DC at your earliest possible convenience. When’s the earliest I can send a car to pick you up?”
Burt tapped on his ear, muting the call. He leaned further over his desk and whispered, “Why the hell does the new head of NASA want a one-on-one with me?”
Neeta shrugged. “Why the bloody hell are you asking me? Maybe you should ask him.”
Burt tapped again on his ear. “Anita, is tomorrow morning early enough?”
“I’m sure that will work. I see a flight leaving LAX at 8:00 a.m., I’ll arrange for a car to pick you up at your house no later than 5:00. Is that okay?”
“That’s fine.”
“Okay, Doctor Radcliffe. I’ll book your flight, and you’ll have a driver waiting for you upon your arrival.”
The phone disconnected, and Burt glanced down at the jeans and t-shirt he was wearing. “I guess I need to get home and make sure I have something decent to wear.”
###
Jon Stryker slipped into his windbreaker, peeked at himself in the bedroom mirror, and ran his fingers through his dark-brown hair.
Not bad for a thirty-four-year old cop with two kids living with his sister.
“Shit, who am I kidding?”
It was only 6:00 a.m., and as he walked across the hallway into his kids’ room, he heard the light sound of Emma, the six-year-old, snoring in bed.
He smiled. His youngest had lived up to her household nickname, “Blanket Thief.” Sometime during the night, she’d managed to steal the blankets off her brother’s bed, and was now lying underneath them and a heavy comforter, happily snoring away.
Turning his gaze toward Isaac’s bed, he spied the eight-year-old dressed in his flannel pajamas. His arms were wrapped tightly around his ragged teddy bear, yet the lack of blankets had left him unfazed. He’d be howling about the blanket thief as soon as he woke up and noticed his sister’s burglary.
Blowing a kiss at them both, Stryker clos
He followed his nose downstairs to the kitchen and was greeted by the sight of his sister and ex-wife drinking from steaming mugs at the small breakfast table.
Seeing his ex was always a jolt. Every time he saw Lainie’s pixie-like face framed by her blonde tresses, his mind flashed back to the moment when he’d received the divorce papers while deployed overseas.
Though that had been four years ago, the hurt hadn’t dulled. It didn’t help that she still looked as stunning as ever.
Stryker leaned over, gave his sister a peck on the cheek, and did the same to Lainie. “I guess it’s Saturday, eh?”
Lainie raised an eyebrow and gave him a crooked grin. “Why else would I be here? I’m taking the kids to my parents for the weekend.” She hitched her thumb toward Stryker’s sister. “Jessica was filling me in on how they’re doing in school.”
Stryker’s sister taught at an elite prep school in Midtown, not far from his regular patrol of Times Square. The kids were lucky enough to both go there tuition-free because of his sister’s job, a fact that Stryker was ever-grateful for.
Jessica motioned toward the half-full coffee pot. “Today’s batch is pretty strong, if you want some.”
He glanced at his watch and shook his head. “Thanks, but I can’t. I have a rookie assigned to walk the beat with me today, so I need to get to the precinct early.”
“You’ll be back by four, right? You promised to help me hang stuff up in my classroom.”
“I’ll be there.” Stryker grabbed his keys off the kitchen counter and turned to Lainie. “Expect Isaac to start yelling when he wakes up. Emma stole his covers again.”
She smiled, and for a moment, Stryker saw the woman he’d married fourteen years ago.
He steeled himself against her brilliant smile and reminded himself how much resentment they held for each other. She’d hated that he risked his life to make a living, and he’d hated that she couldn’t respect his choice of career.
But they had kids together. They both still had responsibilities ... if not to each other anymore, to the kids.
With a final wave, Stryker turned and headed for what he figured would be yet another uneventful day with the NYPD.
###
It was a crisp spring morning as Stryker walked the streets of Midtown Manhattan.
He’d lived his entire life in the same neighborhood and so many things had changed since he was a kid. It had always been a tourist Mecca, especially with Times Square, the Empire State Building and Grand Central all within walking distance.
Stryker missed the gritty atmosphere, the sound of honking cars and revving engines, but those noises were long gone, especially since the city mandated the Automated Vehicle Routing systems for all cars within the city limits. Nowadays, cars were almost all electric, and built with an AVR system. The system saved untold lives by taking commuters safely from point A to B, and traffic flowed flawlessly through the boroughs, but oddly enough, Stryker still thought New York was strange without its snarled streets, sirens, and people yelling about the traffic.
“Hey, Jonny,” a woman’s husky voice called from across the street. “You up for a good time?”
He glanced across the street and saw a young woman in her late teens. Stryker walked across the street and shook his head as he approached the stunning brunette. She was wearing a skin-tight red dress that highlighted her substantial curves.
He’d seen her hundreds of times near Times Square, but here on Madison Avenue, she was a bit astray from her normal place of business.
As he approached Sheila, he caught a whiff of her jasmine perfume and her sly smile grew.
Stryker glanced at his watch. “Listen, Sheila, it’s not even 7:00 on a weekend. People are still asleep. Do me a favor, if you’re going to hawk your wares, do it in Times Square, or do it quietly when you’re around here.”
Sheila put her hands on her hips and took a gliding step closer. “That wasn’t a no,” she purred.
He showed her the time on his watch and winked. “My shift starts in thirty minutes. Sorry, honey.”
He turned away and shook his head at how things had changed. Sheila was one of the neighborhood kids he’d watched grow up. Even though prostitution was legal nowadays in the city limits, the street cops tried to keep things civilized. After all, this was still his home, and his kids played here.
He turned right on East 35th and strode purposefully past the Empire State Building, the edge of Koreatown, and eventually into the Garment District where the Midtown South Precinct was located.
Stryker walked into the locker room, where a dozen other officers were getting ready for the day. He opened his locker and began changing into his uniform.
“Hey, Stryker, did you hear about last night?”
He glanced at Brian Decker, who was staring at himself in a mirror. “No, what’d I miss?”
“Jenkins and McCullough had to use OC on a bunch of whackos demonstrating in the lobby of the Grand Hyatt.”
“Ouch,” said Stryker. “How many people were demonstrating?”
“I think they brought in almost a dozen.”
Stryker shrugged the Kevlar vest around his trim six-foot frame and shook his head. OC stood for oleoresin capsicum: pepper spray. It was something he’d rarely had to use in his four years on the street.
“Any idea what they were belly-aching about?”
Still staring at himself in the mirror, Decker lightly slapped his own cheeks and let out a loud yawn. “Nah, I just heard the basics from Sharon at the booking desk.”
Doing a final check to ensure his firearm was securely holstered, Stryker followed the rest of the officers out of the locker room, grabbed a cup of coffee and prepared himself for roll call.
###
Burt had never had a reason to meet the previous head of NASA, but now he found himself standing in front of Phillip Johnson’s desk. The man had recently been placed in charge of nearly 20,000 civilian employees, and Burt couldn’t fathom why he’d been asked to talk face-to-face with what was likely his boss’s boss ... or maybe it was his boss’s boss’s boss. He couldn’t quite be sure, especially the way upper management played fifty-two-card pickup with NASA’s org charts.
Johnson stood, and Burt felt a bit startled. The administrator was nearly a half-foot taller than Burt’s own six-foot frame and looked like at least 250 pounds of solid muscle.
“Damn, Radcliffe, you look wound up tighter than a banjo string. Have a seat.”
The Administrator’s strong southern accent caught Burt by surprise. He sat on one of the two padded leather chairs in front of the desk and focused on keeping the nervousness from his voice. “Doctor Johnson, I flew over as soon as your admin called, but I’m not really sure why I’m here.”
Johnson leaned forward over his desk and smiled, his teeth a brilliantly white contrast to his otherwise dark complexion. “Burt, I’ll cut to the chase. I just signed off on you becoming the new Director of the Near-Earth Object program. You’ll be reporting to the Director of JPL, but I want all of your future status reports coming to me as well.”
The blood drained from Burt’s face. He blinked, uncertain if he’d heard the man correctly. “But, sir, why me? I think—”
Johnson laughed. “Do you remember working on that Bayesian learning computer system? It was being pitched by some generals as a new way of getting soldiers out of the business of war. Saving lives and all that.”
For a moment, Burt stared at the man, trying to remember what he was talking about, and then it hit him. “Sir, that was over twenty years ago. December 18th, 2045 was when I scrapped that part of my life and started over. I remember it well. I couldn’t be a part of deploying a Turing-capable computer system. But what does that have to do with you wanting me to be the new Director?”
Johnson drummed his fingers on his desk and nodded solemnly. “I was a colonel in the Army doing research at the US Army War College at the time, and I’d been charged to evaluate some of what you’d created. It was brilliant, if you don’t mind my saying so. Frankly, it scared the bejeezus out of many of us. I read one of your academic papers on what might happen if computers were empowered to handle life-and-death choices. I vividly remember the warning you gave in your paper, ‘What if the machines figured they were less expendable than we were?’” Johnson leaned back in his chair and ran his hands over his clean-shaven scalp. “Anyway, I talked to the head of JPL and he gave me a list of likely candidates for the Directorship. When I saw your name on that list, that was good enough for me.”
