The Solar System

By Gregory L. Norris

Across a Vast Distance or 5.9 Billion Kilometers or the Equivalent of 39.5 Astronomical Units... At Mercury, the massive solar satellite Heliopolis and its heroic station commander battle both renegades and enemies from within to steer the course of humanity' s future. On Earth, one man and his giant robot alter ego stand alone against the overwhelming onslaught of ruthless alien invaders. Jupiter' s malevolent red eye scrutinizes the approach of an unsuspecting scientific expedition, while a journey to the seventh planet heals shattered hearts. A reporter uncovers terrifying truths about terraformation plans for Mars. Miners in the asteroid belt harvest something other than precious metals— a strange substance not only dangerous but seeking human blood. Saturn and the ongoing conflict between pioneers and pirates tests the resolve of a disillusioned patrol captain, and, at the outermost limits, a clone learns an unexpected truth about the value of family during a night without end. These are only some of the wonders and adventures to be experienced from Sol to Pluto within The Solar System.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Woodhall Press
• Release date: Oct 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9781954907577

Book preview

1. SUN

THE SUN STRUCK

The two comets chased one another on the final approach to Sol. The first, a bulky, inelegant mass of dust and ice, exuded a dirty tail for a hundred thousand-plus kilometers in its wake. The second was sleek and symmetrical in design, its hull a polished platinum color, the four massive V-light engines powering it forward, expelling a pale blue contrail nowhere near as long. Solar shields cut through the intense and growing sunlight and channeled nearly a third of the energy back through the second comet’s light vitrification collectors. At present capacity, the Nor-Hem light-ship Constellation could run to the Oort Cloud and back to the inner solar system on her present energy stores.

Norberto Krishnard faced the bright, bloated orb of the sun visible through the direct-vision windows. As they neared Mercury flight space, the glare shields compensated.

We’re on track within our estimated arrival time to Heliopolis, twelve hundred hours, Lieutenant Howard said.

Captain Alysson Fanning wandered from the crescent of control boards to the space windows. So far, so good.

So far, Krishnard said. For thousands of years, ancient cultures like our good friends in the Eight-Star Confederation used to believe comets were bad omens. Blamed them for deaths, blights, war.

It sounds like you’ve had enough of dogging space debris, Captain.

Krishnard faced her. "Captain only until our arrival to Heliopolis. And yes, I’ve seen enough of the sights. Anytime you’re ready."

Fanning assumed the military parade rest posture and turned toward the four officers in charge of the light-ship’s helm. Prepare to alter course.

Lieutenant Brantly responded with a sharp, Aye, Captain.

Take us in along the direct route.

Adjusting course.

"Captain Krishnard. Commander, said another member of his former crew. Gillis, the comm officer. You have an incoming call from Heliopolis on secured channel. I can patch it through for you at Terminal E."

Krishnard shook his head. Send it along to my quarters. I’ll take it there.

Yes, sir, Gillis said, tapping the appropriate sequence of buttons.

Krishnard marched out of the Constellation’s bridge and down the throat of the light-ship, a walk he’d taken hundreds of times. Somehow, this instance seemed the longest.

Sunlight streamed through the set of space windows in his quarters adjusted to a third of the actual glare. The radio chimed, letting him know there was a voice, a face, waiting for him to answer.

Krishnard tapped a button on the terminal and the space windows darkened fully. The illusion of a sunset fell over the captain’s quarters. For an instant, Krishnard imagined that he was home in Bangladesh, standing in his loft apartment within the Nor-Hem airbase, taking in the incredible view.

The suitcases neatly stacked in one corner of the main room and the chimes from the radio soon shattered the illusion. Krishnard activated the link to Heliopolis. The 3-D signal formed cleanly, sharply. A man not much younger than Krishnard’s thirty-eight years materialized in the room with him, looking solid enough to touch. Or embrace, which Krishnard wanted nothing more than to do. The two men faced off.

Krishnard studied the caller’s chestnut hair, military short, and the way his blue medical division uniform fit his body in a way that should have been criminal.

Commander, the man said.

Krishnard choked down a dry swallow and nodded. Doctor Bendewald. I had hoped it would be you.

Bendewald smiled, a curl of the lips that was crooked on one side. I understand you’ll be arriving to the station within the next three hours.

Unless Sol tosses an unexpected prominence at us, yes.

Good. I know this is a secured channel…

But there’s no telling who might be out there between Earth and Mercury listening in, especially now.

"Would you report to Central Medical once you’re off the Constellation and gotten your bearings? I’d very much like to discuss mission status with you, face-to-face."

Krishnard smiled too, in response. Face-to-face, one-on-one. Expect me the moment I disembark and am briefed by Commander Ronson, Doctor.

I look forward to catching up.

Me too, Krishnard said.

Their eyes met and held. In that bottled gaze, everything they hadn’t said, hadn’t dared, passed between them without the need for words, a rare moment of telepathy shared nearly ninety million miles, almost an entire Astronomical Unit, from the planet Earth.

Krishnard reached toward the 3-D representation of Darren Bendewald. Instead of touching warm male skin, photons crackled around his fingertips. Bendewald straightened, then the image evaporated as the signal cut out. Krishnard closed his eyes, aware of his galloping heartbeat as well as the ship’s, courtesy of Connie’s V-light engines, feeling it through the deck plates, his boots, his bones.

The interstellar light-ship readying to launch at Mercury dwarfed Constellation and all of her sister ships in the Nor-Hem fleet. With the threat of war looming, Krishnard would give the order to launch soon after setting foot on Heliopolis, and Darren would board the Messenger and feel its massive heartbeat and, he hoped more than he prayed, miss him equally as much as the commander already missed the station’s Chief Medical Officer.

Heliopolis, the City of the Sun, rose ahead of their prow, growing more distinct by the second. The telltale, jeweled glow of the massive satellite construct announced its presence well before the actual details of its Christmas bulb superstructure pulled free of the glare. The network of solar collectors and shields cast a kaleidoscopic wash of color visible even through the sun’s brilliance.

Two solar tankers, the Zhivago and the Sequoia, circled the satellite, guarded over by the light-ship Effulgence. The Constellation slowed her approach, matching the insane track of the city-sized satellite, itself coordinated and in synch with the smallest planet in the solar system’s wobbling orbit around the sun.

"Heliopolis Command welcomes you, Constellation, a crisp British female voice declared. You are cleared to assume orbital path at reference 3-11."

Krishnard faced Fanning. "Connie’s all yours now."

I’ll take good care of her, Commander, Fanning said. Then she saluted.

Krishnard returned the salute. You’d better.

He picked his duffel bag from the top of his cases and marched the distance to the hanger, where the light-shuttle waited.

Over the past three years, Krishnard and the Constellation had made the run between Earth or Moon City and Heliopolis numerous times, mostly to escort light-tankers safely between the Nor-Hem territories. Emiracy galleons had taken more than a few potshots at their tankers over the years, usually in the Venus corridor. Lately, it was the Eight-Stars testing their defenses. But it had been some time since he’d actually stood in the city proper.

Krishnard disembarked from the light-shuttle and entered the Arboretum. Fresh air infused with a sweet green fragrance embraced him. Situated at the top level of the satellite between the main collectors and above the strut of the first of Heliopolis’ trio of outer loops, the Arboretum prospered beneath three sections of transparent dome. Glare shields tempered the intense sunlight to the perfect consistency. An entire tropical forest thrived beneath the cascade, and colorful birds sang and soared between the branches. The grand glass fountain, a symbol of the light vitrification technology that had led to the building of the city and Nor-Hem’s space fleet, sprayed crystal-clear water several meters up into the air from the center of the courtyard.

Commander Ronson’s delegation met him near the fountain. Krishnard noted the absence of Doctor Bendewald among the station’s former Commander, Lieutenant Commander, and Operations Manager, as well as the somber looks on the faces of those assembled.

Commander Krishnard, welcome to Heliopolis, Ronson said.

Krishnard shifted his duffel from one shoulder to the other and extended his hand. He and Ronson shook. I’m happy to be back, Commander. I only wish it was under better circumstances.

I agree. Ronson introduced the others, though it was merely a formality, as Krishnard already knew the woman and the other man from his mission briefing as well as through his earlier runs onboard the light-ship. Commander Keidi, Chief Ukiah, he said, shaking their hands as well.

This makes it official, Ronson said. Heliopolis has its new commander.

Krishnard glanced around, drinking in the details. Not much had changed, though the trees looked taller and the green space denser since his last visit. It might have been an illusion, he agreed; the result of too much time spent onboard Constellation. I understand you’ve got a light-ship to command.

Ronson nodded, and they began their brisk walk past the fountain and green space, into the inner workings of Nor-Hem’s most vital instillation throughout the inner planets. "The Light Brigade. She’s presently one of two keeping watch over Messenger, along with the Effulgence. It will be nice to be in motion again, after too long being stationary. Not that Heliopolis nor Mercury are."

I know what you mean, though for me it’s been the exact opposite. Too much time racing forward and not enough looking back.

Curiously on the heels of the statement, Ukiah said, "Your CMO’s replacement in Central Medical, Doctor Hollingstead, is due in on the NLS Radiant in two weeks’ time. In the meanwhile, Doctor Bendewald is dividing his duties between us and Messenger."

Krishnard didn’t comment. On the approach to the network of maglev carriages connecting the space station’s decks and destinations, Keidi said, "I wish you had more time to settle in and get reacquainted with the city, Sir, but there are several pressing matters that need your attention. Nor-Hem briefing is at one hundred thirty hours. Also, though the Eight-Star ambassador cleared out last week onboard the light-ship Brilliant, the Emiracy representative is still here and has requested a meeting with you as soon as possible to discuss the present crisis."

Krishnard drew in a deep breath. The scent of the green space was gone, replaced by the antiseptic ozone smell of the maglev carriage. Fine, but I’ll deal with the sheik—

"It’s Imam, Commander."

I’ll deal with him later. First…

Krishnard boarded the maglev and sent it gliding at top speed into the heart of the city. He had another meeting to keep. Time was short enough and growing shorter.

He took a wrong turn.

Signs pointing toward the Central Medical section led Krishnard to the next maglev station. He doubled back, trying not to think of the missed connection as representative of a bigger picture or problem. There had been plenty of wrong turns between Earth and Moon City, the Constellation, and Heliopolis. And soon, Darren would be leaving on the Messenger, headed toward Planet Gamma in Proxima Centauri, and the distance between them would grow from millions of kilometers to whole light years.

A receptionist greeted him at the welcome area, her uniform a bright pop of blue in an otherwise white expanse. Congratulations, Commander, on your new assignment to Heliopolis. We’re excited to have you in charge.

Krishnard thanked her as another cobalt-blue uniformed body entered the scene, and the butterflies in his stomach took flight.

Like the comet, the waterfall in Darren Bendewald’s office seemed an ominous omen, an endless cascade of tears.

So, Darren said, arms folded.

Krishnard caught his own reflection in the waterfall’s glass: neat, dark hair going silver above the ears, chocolate eyes, strong jaw, his Indian heritage clear, sharpened by his charcoal Nor-Hem uniform and flat top. So, he responded in like.

It’s great to see you again.

Krishnard moved closer. Darren matched him. They met at the center of the office in an embrace, arms winding tightly around one another.

Reconsider, Krishnard whispered at the other man’s ear. I’m here. We’re together. Stay and we can finally pick things up and put them in the order where they should have been all along.

We’ve been over this.

Then let’s go over it one more time.

"It’s too late. Messenger’s leaving in two weeks. Given what’s happening out there, it’s more important than ever that we reach our objective."

Put man on Planet Gamma, Admiral Dunne had reminded Krishnard during the briefing. No one knew their duties and what was expected of them more than he, the commander silently mused. Send the backup. What’s her name? Elizabeth Campbell.

Doctor Campbell wasn’t chosen first out of the Nor-Hem medical division pool to go to Planet Gamma. I was, and I am.

Krishnard seized Darren’s face between his hands and gently thumbed his cheeks. This isn’t what I wanted. I know I should have done something more to be closer. You and me…

Norberto, let’s not waste the little time we have left together.

Together, Krishnard parroted before crushing his mouth over the doctor’s, briefly silencing the old argument.

Heliopolis Command fanned out beneath his new office. 3-D images rose up from the staggered crescent of duty stations: a live feed of the satellite and the four behemoth vessels in orbit; another displaying Heliopolis’ wobble-course around Mercury; one transmitted from Moon City’s powerful Landau Telescope showing the distant green dot of Planet Gamma; and, finally, one from the Caloris Basin, the largest impact crater on Mercury where the Messenger hovered at the shipyard as final preparations were made to launch.

Krishnard moved around the observation balcony outside of the office, his eyes settling on that final image. The intergalactic light-ship was nearly five times the scope of the pair of Nor-Hem military vessels flanking her. A vast network of solar collectors charged the giant’s V-light engines—six enormous pods, each considerably larger than the size of the four on Light Brigade and Effulgence. A pull-down window in the 3-D image noted that the fueling and power-up process was thirty-nine percent completed, enough to reach Planet Gamma one way or the Earth a few thousand times.

Darren would soon walk onto that ship and wouldn’t walk off it again until he and four dozen other mission specialists became the first human beings to set foot on a planet outside Sol’s solar system.

Light mining. Sun and glare shield readings. Light-ship and light-tanker arrival and departure schedules. With Sequoia’s and Zhivago’s V-light conductor holds nearly at fullest charge, two more would soon arrive, assuming their place in orbit around Heliopolis. The Chaparral and Acropolis, he remembered from the briefing reports. More promising data from Proxima Centauri streamed in from the long-range unmanned probe in orbit around Gamma. A hundred other equations and demands, everything from water recycling, oxygen scrubbers, and the tense political situation back on Earth ricocheted around Heliopolis Command.

Sir, Imam Zaher is asking to speak with you, his new comm officer, Ahearn, said, making it a hundred and one.

Krishnard again faced the screen displaying the Messenger. Tell Imam Zaher I can meet him at the Islamosphere embassy in… He glanced at the clock among the readings being broadcast from the Caloris Basin. In twenty-five minutes.

Sir, he’s requesting to join you in your office in five.

Krishnard’s expression hardened. Lieutenant, I said twenty-five, at the I-Sphere embassy.

Yes, sir.

Captain Fanning would be onboard Constellation, sitting in his former chair in command of his former ship, pride of the Nor-Hem fleet. Ronson had by now taken the reigns of Light Brigade. And here he was, running a city with an office and a nerve center twice the scope of what he had known, but in a way, he was static, stranded, cornered. They’d fed him a line about being the man who’d see to it that the intergalactic light-ship got safely on her way, only they’d trapped him in a position where the greatest threat wasn’t sneak attack by massing Eight-Star fleets or I-Sphere Galleons but being buried under a ton of red tape and paperwork.

One last look at the vessel that would lead Nor-Hem to another solar system and also take the man that mattered most from him, and then Krishnard exited the nerve center, headed for the maglev and Level 7. At the last second, instead of boarding the carriage, he kept on walking, opting to take the long way to the I-Sphere embassy.

Ibraham Zaher was a tall man who smiled from the moment they met until the two men parted company. Behind the smile, Krishnard sensed motives, the obvious and the hidden.

Commander Krishnard, the man said, extending a well-manicured hand.

Krishnard studied the gesture and hesitated from accepting it long enough that Zaher eventually withdrew the offer, which suited him fine. You wanted to see me?

Zaher’s eyes narrowed. "You’re Hindi, are you not? Hindu as well, if I may be so bold as to inquire."

I’m the new commander of Heliopolis and a Nor-Hem officer. Whatever personal religious views I might or might not uphold are irrelevant to this conversation.

Zaher’s smile inched wider. I see. If you’d like— He extended his denied shake toward a sitting area set beneath a row of space windows that looked out on a desolate stretch of the void. You’ll excuse the lackluster view. Part of the wobble maneuver, I am told, though I think it has more to do with the political situation than anything scientific.

Krishnard followed. We wouldn’t want I-Sphere looking down on Mercury and growing jealous, would we?

Direct and without unnecessary platitudes. I like that, Krishnard. You know, I’m used to taking meetings in the commander’s office, and Ronson never kept me waiting.

I’m not Ronson.

Zaher’s eyes