The Ethics of Hope

By Rachel Lulich

Jacob froze. Something was very wrong.

Stranded in uncharted space after the malfunction of their experimental Hawking Engine, Derek, Jacob and Vicky struggle to survive in their damaged spacecraft and hold onto the impossible hope that they will make it home.

Several hundred lightyears away, their fr

• Language: English
• Publisher: Broken Top Books
• Release date: Dec 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781734237948

Book preview

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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

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Landmarks

Cover

The Ethics of Hope

© 2021 by Rachel Lulich

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, audio recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the author, with the exception of brief quotations in published reviews, articles, or educational materials.

Cover design by Christopher Doll

Interior design by Kyle Shepherd

ISBN, paperback: 978-1-7342379-3-1

ISBN, ebook: 978-1-7342379-4-8

ISBN, hardback: 978-1-7342379-5-5

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or people, living or dead, is coincidental.

The Ethics of Hope

Rachel Lulich

Circular logo with a ship flying between the sun and Earth. Around the blue border are the words Abrams, Williams, and Mendez.

Chapter One

Major Amy Ong pulled into a visitor’s parking spot at Buckley Air Force Base’s Space Operations Annex headquarters. Someday the facility would transfer to Space Force control, but for now, the founding service branch still owned it and Amy felt a little out of place with her Space Force nametapes and insignia. But the Air Force had called in representatives from every organization that had anything to do with the Pioneer’s mission, and Amy, a computer and electrical engineer who’d helped develop the cutting edge laser on board the spacecraft, had been tapped for this temporary duty in Colorado.

Amy grabbed her paperwork off the passenger seat and her multi-cam hat off the dashboard. Making sure the bun she’d put her sleek black hair into was still in place, she settled her cover on her head and stepped out of the rental car for the short walk up the sidewalk to the main door of the building.

The 480th Expeditionary Space Group’s offices were predictably tidy and utilitarian. The light brown walls were adorned with large, generic posters of impressive-looking aircraft and rockets in flight against blue skies, superimposed with proclamations like, I am an American Airman and Excellence: More than a core value.

From the entry, Amy could hear the usual hum of activity she associated with such

places—

voices of varying intelligibility reaching her from the rooms off the hallway, the sound of a printer running, and a phone that rang twice before being answered. The soft, jumbled din grew louder as she approached the main office space. A young airman on duty at the front desk welcomed Amy and asked what he could do for her.

I’m Major Ong. I’m here for a TDY with the 3rd ESS. Amy handed him her ID and paperwork.

Thank you. The airman unearthed a clipboard from the many paper trays on his desk and had just started scanning the top page when the phone rang. He picked it up and tucked it under his neck without looking away from the clipboard.

Senior Airman Clark, GCHQ, 480th Expeditionary Space Wing, how can I help you? He spoke quickly enough that Amy could only just follow. He found her name on the list as he listened and held the clipboard out to her.

Sign here please, Ma’am, he said de sotto and, without missing a beat, replied to the caller. No, sir. That would be the 3rd ESS. I can connect you if you’d like. He accepted the clipboard back from Amy. Just a moment.

The airman pressed a sequence of buttons on the phone platform and hung up.

Sorry about that, Ma’am, he said as he handed back her ID and orders.

No problem.

The young man pulled open a deep desk drawer full of file folders. He rifled through it a moment before plucking out a thin manila envelope.

This is your welcome packet, he said, handing Amy the envelope, which had her name and rank printed neatly across the top in black marker. "It contains basic facility

information—

emergency phone numbers, rules about parking, et cetera. We aren’t sure how long you’ll be here and there’s an increased press presence in town, so leadership doesn’t want you to leave the base during your TDY unless absolutely necessary. Inside the envelope, you’ll find an access card for the

DEFAC—

uh, the dining facility on the base. It’s pre-set for three meals a day as long as you’re here. There are also some fast food options and you can get groceries at the Commissary, but those are all out of pocket."

The phone rang again.

Any meals you eat at the DEFAC will be subtracted from your per diem and you’ll need to return the card here at GCHQ before you leave at the end of your TDY. Senior Airman Clark, 480th Expeditionary Space Group, can I put you hold? Thank you.

The airman punched a button and hung up the receiver. You’ll also find your visitor badge for the Bluebridge building inside. You’ll notice it’s green, he said. "This designates you as a visitor with clearance. The badge gives you access to the main building, the conference rooms, and I think the simulations suite. If it doesn’t work in those places, the front desk guard will help you, or you can come back here if you can’t get into the building. You will not be able to access the building without this badge. Do not lose your access badge, give it to anyone else, or use it to let someone else into the building. Also, do not prop open any doors at any time."

Amy nodded her understanding of the standard spiel.

Please sign this form acknowledging receipt of your badge.

Amy signed the second proffered clipboard, thinking this had to be the fasted-delivered welcome briefing she’d ever received.

This is a map of the base, the airman continued as he took the clipboard back with one hand and handed her a black-and-white map printed on plain computer paper with the other hand. The phone rang and with a quick excuse me, he paused to answer it and put the new caller on hold. Amy started to think the seemingly normal hum of activity in the building might have been deceptive.

We’re here, the airman said, circling locations on the map with the same speed as he talked. "This is the main gate. Lodging is over

here—

parking in front. That’s a one-way street but it’s wide and people sometimes get confused. The SFs love to give tickets right there, so I advise taking Gordon Street around the back of the base hotel instead of exiting by the main route out front. Bluebridge is over here behind the

BX—

it has a big lot, so your welcome packet also includes a visitor’s pass for your dash board that allows you to park in one of the designated visitor spots near the front entrance. And that’s it! Any questions?"

Just who I should talk to next, Amy answered briefly. No need to further burden the swamped airman. She could get her questions answered at her next stop.

I recommend checking into base lodging and dropping off your things first, and then head over to Bluebridge. You can make sure your badge works on the main doors and go to Conference Room Three-Alpha. There’s someone set up in there at all times and they should be able to direct you further. OCPs are fine, he added, referring to the utility uniform they were both wearing, but Mondays are ‘blues.’ I don’t know if they’re enforcing that for TDY-ers.

Alright. Thanks very much.

Have a nice day, Ma’am. The airman smiled pleasantly and was on the phone with those he’d put on hold before Amy had a chance to turn away.

Amy left GCHQ, returning the salute of a passing airman on her way to her car. The intensity with which she’d been welcomed had her slightly on edge and she debated driving straight to Bluebridge before telling herself she should take the airman’s advice and get into her hotel room first. She could even take a few minutes to decompress from the trip before getting into work mode. Something told Amy she was going to need the energy.

---

Colonel Elizabeth Fischer pulled into her reserved parking spot at the joint squadron and group headquarters building and cut the engine with a quiet sigh of relief. She’d left home a little earlier than usual. The reporters who had suddenly started camping out in their news vans in front of her house a few days ago had already figured out her schedule, so Liz fell back on her anti-kidnapping training and decided it was time to start varying her schedule and route to and from work. She was pleased with the initial result; the reporters had been caught off guard and she’d been able to pull out of her garage and driveway with a fraction of the mob she’d experienced the previous couple of days, and consequently much less concern about running over anyone.

The reporters at the Annex were more orderly. Their presence on base was very much at the pleasure of the Air Force, prompting them to be on their best behavior. Security Forces had cordoned off a section of the parking lot at the Visitors’ Center just inside the main gate. They directed each news team exactly where to park, creating a more-or-less orderly forest of vehicles, equipment cases and folding chairs, watched over by the security cameras and an irregular schedule of patrols to ensure that the vehicles’ occupants toed the line. They had been briefed: anyone caught breaking curfew or wandering around the base without an escort would have their gear confiscated and their base access pass revoked. So far, there had been no incidents, but Liz found herself looking over her shoulder even as she cut off her engine and reached for her cover.

There were no reporters in sight, though. In addition to the diligence of their Security Forces, the Buckley PR office had sprung into impressive action, keeping the news crews busy attending ad hoc facility tours and death-by-Power Point briefings during much of each day, and the reporters had learned quickly to attend them

all—

occasionally someone important from Ground Control or Wing leadership would show up unannounced to throw them a bone. Nobody wanted to be the only news crew not reporting some new tidbit.

Today, it was Liz’s turn to surprise the obedient press teams. She wasn’t looking forward to it, but she knew managing the media was important. Slowly but surely, the American public was learning about the Top Secret mission their service men and women had undertaken, and the unforeseeable complications they’d encountered. The buzz was only beginning, and it was in everyone’s best interest if the government was already out in front of the media storm when it really hit.

Liz put on her cover and got out of the car. She opened the back door and collected her service dress uniform before making the short walk up the path to the building entrance. It was a Wednesday, but she would be in blues for her meeting with the press: service coat and all. Leadership wanted to project the most professional image possible whenever anyone interacted with the outside world during this time of increased scrutiny. That meant wearing the full suit. There was no sense wearing it all day, though. It would only get wrinkled. Liz would put it on shortly before show time. Meanwhile, she had a squadron meeting to attend, a briefing to give several newly-arrived military and civilian scientists, and her team to check up on at Ground Control. She was also eager to hear the news from Crewcom.

It had been a week since they’d reestablished communications with their colleagues aboard the lost spacecraft, using the entangled particles experiment the crew had taken upon themselves to retrieve from the Mars Storage Module attached to the Pioneer. It had been a risky gambit, performing a spacewalk without support from Ground Control. But it had paid off. Now they could relay information back and forth with relative ease, using the binary Braille system devised by Liz’s navigator, Major Paul Brightman, and a team of other scientists.

As a result, Ground Control had been able to assist the Pioneer in planning a second spacewalk to replace a solar panel that was damaged in the meteorite cloud that had forced the crew to use their experimental engine to ‘jump’ to another, unknown segment of the galaxy to avoid their spacecraft bleeding to death. They should nearly be finished with the repairs by now, and Liz was itching to know if the extravehicular excursion was going more smoothly than the one the Pioneer had undertaken without support from Ground Control.

Twelve hours away from work had never felt so long.

But first: coffee.

---

Jacob gave the new solar panel a final once-over before returning the pistol grip tool to its place on his belt. It was a tight fit, with the tool covered in three layers of insulating tape to prevent electrocution from the solar array’s live current. He glanced over at Vicky, who was completing a visual inspection of the rest of the panels while he replaced the one most severely damaged by the micrometeorite cloud they’d flown through at their previous location. Several panels had taken damage, but so far, only one actually needed to be

replaced—

which was good, because they only had a couple spare solar panels on board.

How’s it look, Mendez?

Looks good, sir, Jacob said, replying to their mission commander and pilot, Derek Williams. I’m about done here. Just doing the final check.

The Colonel was watching them from inside the craft, relaying notes on their progress to Ground Control via the entangled particles experiment.

Unlike last time, they’d had help planning this spacewalk. Ground Control had sent instructions for Vicky to fix the tear in her EMU

sleeve—

and a hundred other minutiae, down to how many layers of insulating tape to use when covering every metal surface of their EMUs to prevent electrocution, and which handholds they’d use to get to and from the damaged solar panel. It was more like the type of planning they’d trained for, and Jacob had felt much more confident than he had on their self-planned, ad hoc walk out to the Mars Storage Module.

Abrams?

I don’t see any other extensive damage, Vicky answered. Are we a go for checking the rest of the exterior?

Jacob knew from their time hacks that they wouldn’t be allowed to continue into the second part of their spacewalk. It had taken too long to remove the mangled panel, which turned out to have gotten its anchor lines twisted up with the neighboring panels. Jacob knew Vicky was also aware that they’d passed their time limit, but she liked to verify things. Personally, Jacob agreed that they should at least check the command module exterior before heading inside. But Ground Control had final say in the matter, via the protocols they’d set for the spacewalk ahead of time.

Negative. Derek’s voice was firm; almost grim. Egress to the airlock.

Roger that, Jacob said crisply, followed by a resigned yes, sir, from Vicky. He waited for her to reach the beam the solar panels were anchored to. Vicky was closer to the ship than he was, and would enter the airlock before him, so Jacob took a moment to enjoy the panoramic view he had of the space around

him—

not around the Pioneer. Around him. Their previous spacewalk out to the MSM had been more stressful, despite the risk of electrocution this time, and he hadn’t really had time to revel in the fact that he was in space, nothing between him and the vast vacuum except a few layers of fabric. His cheeks started to hurt and Jacob realized he was grinning madly. But who could blame him? The black fabric of space was full of white dots representing stars and planets, the constant nuclear explosion that was Bombur burned red, and the Pioneer glided peacefully through space at record-breaking speeds while he and Vicky clung to its side. It was incredible.

I’m back on the beam at handhold twenty-two delta, Vicky said. Heading in.

Derek acknowledged the progress report promptly. Roger. Relaying to Ground Control.

Jacob started back toward the airlock behind Vicky, progressing a little more slowly than he normally would. They had to return to the relative safety of the Pioneer’s interior, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t give the exterior a once-over on their way in. He kept his eyes peeled for signs of damage near where he knew vital systems and supplies were stored, but as far as he could tell from his vantage point, they already knew about the worst damage the craft had suffered.

You alright, Mendez?

Derek’s voice over the radio alerted Jacob that he had fallen farther behind Vicky than he’d intended. He did a quick check of his instruments to confirm all was well before answering. Yes, sir. I’ll catch up.

Negative. Continue at pace.

Roger. Jacob did pick up his pace a little, though. He knew the Colonel was just telling him not to

rush—

he didn’t want Jacob to miss a handhold or get snagged on a sharp corner in his haste. But it wasn’t rushing to refocus on the task of getting to the airlock so Vicky wasn’t left waiting long. As it was, she reached their destination a few minutes before him. She didn’t turn around to watch his progress, though. Instead, she leaned away from the craft, still facing away from him, toward the Hawking Engine. Jacob had a strong suspicion she, too, was taking advantage of the time to check for damage, only she’d decided to focus on her particular area of expertise.

Jacob thought about asking what she could see, but decided not to interrupt her limited visual inspection with unnecessary comms. They could talk about it later. Instead, he let her know when he was a few handholds away and she turned away from her observations to pull herself through the external hatch into the airlock. Jacob followed suit, feet first, and closed the hatch behind them. The spacewalk was over.

Chapter Two

Liz tried to make eye contact with everyone in the conference room, one person at time. She had just finished her briefing to the unique mix of representatives from NASA, the Space Force and Air Force, MIT, Purdue, various private corporations, the Jet Propulsion Lab, and the National Academy of Sciences. Everyone in the room represented a whole team of people who’d helped make the Pioneer’s mission possible, in one way or another, but most of them hadn’t known what the mission actually was. Some didn’t even know that the spacecraft they’d been seeing on the news was the very craft they’d helped launch. They looked suitably shocked at what Liz had just told them.

One of the Air Force officers raised his hand slightly off the table and Liz nodded at him to proceed.

Captain Tyler, 480th Expeditionary Space Group Safety Officer, he said by way of introduction. So we’ve lost three personnel and a multi-billion dollar spacecraft, and we’re supposed to figure out if it’s worth trying again?

Liz tried not to bristle at the assumptions.

Not quite, she said politely, bearing firmly in place. "We haven’t actually lost the crew or the

craft—

they’re still out there, and they’re still alive. You’re here to help us figure out how to keep them that way. We’ve already figured out how to communicate without faster-than-light technology, but Ground Control is not