Anno Stellae 1996 & Anno Stellae 2024: RetroStar Chronicles, #1

By R.D. Ginther

Chronicle 11 of Volume 1, starts off with a lull which didn't last very long. Bigwigs of the CIA, NASA and other alphabet groups gathered together to discuss an impending doom heading towards earth. It took unorthodox strategic planning which catapaulted an unexpected character into the arena with the Alien Entity. How exactly will this all play out?

 

Chronicle 12  Volume 1, begins with devastating news of Canada's disappearance from North America, leaving only a few scattered territories; impoverished and barely surviving. Man landed on Mars and made an amazing discovery but will anyone ever believe what Commander Kipp Mina found there? So many questions yet the excitement continues to mount with these two chronicles totaling about 60 pages.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: K.A.Edwards
• Release date: Mar 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393033110

Book preview

CHRONICLE 11

ANNO STELLAE 1996

1  Flyby of the Blue Centaur

The Blood-Hatchet Star ?  The Blue Horse Star?  The ancient  Hopi nation in the Southwest U.S.  had long known of this latter-day convergence at the close of the ages.  Yet the Hopi were few in number, and the surrounding culture really could not care less about such things—until the Blood-Hatchet and the Blue Horse suddenly appeared together  on mankind’s horizon. 

Kennedy Space Center.

Shuttle Mission Commander Centioli completed the last checklist of items for the Discovery launch at 001.26.53.222 and paused to check his horoscope for that day.  He had a special link with a dial-a-psychic reading via Houston and it came up immediately on his intercom:

Aquarius (Sept. 23-Oct. 22):  Co-workers are responsive to your ideas.  Listen to your hunches and discover something important.  Follow through on them in regard to a work-related matter.  TONIGHT:  Stay home,  avoid the hot date.  Read a book to kill the time.  No excitement of any kind.  Cool does it best in this stretch, the stars say.

Mission Control at Johnson Space Center overrode the channel and boomed: 

CENTIOLI, THIS IS HOUSTON.  YOU FOLLOW THAT ADVICE NOW!  YOU MAY NEED YOUR SLEEP FOR THE NEXT MISSION, GETTING THAT SECOND SATELLITE UP IN TIME FOR CHIRON, RIGHT?

Happily married for over twenty years, a grandchild not far off, Centioli turned up his eyes as the mission specialists strapped in chairs behind him burst out laughing.  There was no more time for reaction as ME-1 ignited at 26.47.222.

Next day they deployed the first Chiron astronomical observation satellite, sent it on its way to intercept the in-coming comet, and conducted an array of  zero-gravity experiments.  The crew was half-way through the week-long assignment when Houston broke in with special message for the commander.

We are doing something you may not like,  said Houston.  We have to abort the rest of the program.  Discovery is needed earth-side, now.  And forget about Chiron II for the Smithsonian,  it won't be needed.  As soon as you land, we'll have more details.  Sorry.

But, sir, if we scrub the rest of the mission, we've compromised some  $650, 000, 000 from our sponsoring clients.  They've paid into the mission for the experiments and will be greatly disappointed.

No problem, commander. We appreciate your objection, but we've already talked to Grumman and the others and they understand perfectly that this is necessary.  Now please abort.  We need you back here as soon as possible—Criticality 7,  Double X.

The main conference room at Edwards Air Force Base was under heavy security.  Press had gotten wind because of a leak from a custodian with a good ear and the ability to capitalize on it, but they could be kept waiting at the gates, fortunately.

Commander Centioli was rushed from the dry lake landing strip to a conference that apparently had been going on for some time.  To avoid the press, he was let in at a side gate.  His escort quickly gave way to a general who led him into the room.  He was dropped off at his  chair and the confab continued.

Where did they get this big a slab of solid mahogany?  he wondered.  He could hardly see the end of it, and it was packed on both sides.  Fortunately, he was seated only a dozen places from the head, so he could see the officiating general's expressions clearly.

Steve,  said General Howell,  turning to an admiral after noting Centioli's entrance.  What if it hits the ocean instead?  We'd have some big tidal waves, I suppose, but a whole ocean could absorb most of the impact, right? 

The admiral shook his head and gave a boyish smile that made him look decades younger. 

Sorry, I can't say that would be a good idea,  to let that happen.  It wouldn't stop at the sea bottom, sir, which is kind of thin compared to continental crust.  No,  the collide would keep going, right through the mantle, at least twenty miles, and contact the magma.  That, we know, would initiate an explosion that would take out most of the atmosphere as we now know it and possibly displace a thousand or two miles of the crust.  Besides tsunami  initially a hundred or two hundred feet high would sweep in from all the coasts adjacent at least a hundred miles and—

Howell rubbed his chin ruefully.  I see.  I was hoping, Steve,  that's all.  But we have Dick here.  He'll think of something if we've missed it.  What with his experimental craft flying experience and being liaison officer with the Skunk Works, he's known for fixing things—a true veteran of sticky situations!  He'll know if we're on track or not.

Everyone chuckled obediently,  even the ambitious Nano-tech expert who had come prepared with a scheme for disassembling the threat on the molecular level, reducing it to a  harmless flying  gob of spit.  They were dead serious as they all turned like a many-bulbed spotlight on a lone performer set on a stage too big for him.

Centioli began to feel the room was maybe too warm.  He shifted in his plush chair and eyed what he could see of the gathering.  Top army and navy brass, plus CIA,  a brigade of consultants,  even his chief of  NASA sitting next to someone looking pretty strange and out of place in Hopi Indian costume.

What is the problem specifically,  gentlemen? he said lamely.  I’ll do what I can.

Howell exploded. What? You mean nobody briefed you on the way here?

Affirmative,  sir. We came directly and no one would say a word about why I was called here.

Howell took a handkerchief and started to raise it to his perspiring brow,  then gulped a glass of ice water instead as he stared at the Hopi’s feathers and elaborate beadwork. 

Dick,  Chiron is going to be NO flyby this time. Some blame thing knocked it a hair off course and now we're targeted.  Targeted!  Did you get that?

You could hear a pen being drawn across a piece of notebook paper. Though it was old news to the others by this time, hearing it spoken so authoritatively sent high doses of adrenaline rushing all over again,  from one end of the room to the other.. 

Centioli digested the news, then turned to the consultants,  the Hopi soothsayer included.

Howell noticed his glance and flicked his pencil toward the phalanx of astronomical and engineering wonks, and,  surprising Centioli,  the Hopi fellow looked Centioli in the eyes gravely as he spoke up for the others.

General Howell is correct.  Chiron's nucleus, as you know, is 25 times bigger than Halley's.  It has been flying harmlessly by us every 50.7 years.  But this time something happened to deflect its trajectory.  It's headed straight for us and will impact October 23,  2347 hours,  EST. Thanks to Hubbell II, we were able to get an exact reading far enough away to be able to hold this meeting, in the hopes that this comet, which we in our nation traditionally call the Blue Horse Star—

Thank you,  Chief  Morning  Sky,  said Howell, turning back to Centioli. Now your job is to input whatever information or strategy you think is most pertinent.  Well?

Centioli, in all his years testing secret Black Project anti-grav craft and coordinating  various projects with NASA, had never been so challenged. He needed