The Falcon Project

By Gabriel Timar

Aficionados of science fiction will find this novel intriguing. In particular, those of you who thrive on the intricacies of engineering solutions to tricky unearthly problems will have a field day. Right from the start the reader is treated to a nearly catastrophic accident when a Mars mission crew and their spaceship are accidentally shrunk to a twentieth of their original size. What a challenge! More so, when Mike, the project Director, decides to keep the shrinkage a big secret, not just from the public, but from the crew. This generates terrific conflict for Mike and the few in the know as well as interesting technical problems to be overcome.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: May 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613092422

Book preview

One

MIKE, THIS IS BERNIE. We have a major emergency.

What happened?

There was a crack in the titanium shell of the reactor in Goose Bay.

So what?

The conlonium leaked into the pressurized dome.

It should not pose any danger, other than perhaps a little rise in radiation. The shielding of the module should have taken care of it.

That was not the problem—

Is the crew alright? Mike shouted, interrupting.

We don’t know for sure.

What do you mean?

Ilse vented the dome and sent in a two-man repair crew. At first they could not find the training module.

How could the damn thing disappear? It’s the size of a bus.

THE LEARJET CARRYING the crew of the spaceship Falcon reached the Labrador Coast. The giant geodetic dome of the training facility peeked through the low-lying clouds.

Fog is rare in this part of the continent, Mike Carnavon, the project director, said.

I don’t understand why. In the good old days, I used to fly freighters into Newfoundland. It’s the foggiest place in North America, lying just across the straights of Bell Isle. How come the fog stops there? Jeff Stuart, the pilot of the Falcon asked.

Nobody knows. The USAF built Goose Bay airport during the Second World War. All transatlantic ferry-flights started there. This was supposed to be fog free, Carnavon replied.

Meteorology is still a mystery, Jeff remarked.

Well, guys, tighten your seat belts, this may be a rough landing, the pilot of the Lear announced over the intercom.

As long as I can walk away from your landing, it’s okay, Jeff remarked cheerfully.

The objective of the International Space Exploration Authority’s project was to send the manned spaceship Falcon to Mars, and gather environmental data with colonization in mind. The project became feasible when Professor Conlon of the MIT designed a lightweight, gas-shielded fusion reactor. This relatively small, unique contraption, about the size of a conventional automobile engine, generated enough energy to power the rocket engines to lift the giant Falcon off the launch pad and convey it to Mars, Saturn, or Jupiter. The heart of the device was its conlonium shielding — a gas perpetuating the name of the brilliant scholar who synthesized it.

A globular titanium shell with three electric outlets and a small square attachment to hold the refined fuel cell encased the reactor. After the experts installed all devices, they filled the shell with conlonium and sealed it under extremely high pressure. The only opening was the matchbox-size refueling chute, where the operator could slip the inert fuel blocks into the bowels of the reactor. One fuel block was enough to take off and propel the spaceship half way to the moon.

The International Space Exploration Authority assigned a four-person crew to train for the mission in a huge geodetic dome where the construction crews installed a replica of the control module of the ship, attaching it to a flight simulator. It was about the size of a Greyhound bus. In the huge domed structure, the test controllers could simulate the conditions in space, or create a variety of environmental conditions to test the crew’s reactions and the functioning of the control module.

Although the duration of the mission was only four months, the crew had to undergo six months of isolation exercise. A large Conlon reactor supplied the energy requirement of the dome, and a smaller standby unit, identical to the one on the actual spaceship, powered the controls, the life support, and navigation systems in the training module.

The Learjet landed smoothly and taxied to the terminal building.

Here we are, lady and gents, Carnavon announced. Home sweet home.

How about the dancing girls? Tom Weiner asked. He was the youngest man, and the only bachelor, in the crew.

They are waiting for you inside the module.

The passengers disembarked and entered the building.

In case you didn’t know, fellows, many years ago this was an elegant terminal accommodating a great number of passengers. Goose Bay served as a U.S. Air Force tanker base during the Cold War. Decades later, as the contribution of the Canadian Government, the facility became the training center of the International Space Exploration Authority, Carnavon explained.

The new arrivals entered the office of the site manager, a sour faced, middle-aged woman. She shook hands with Carnavon, and pointed at the comfortable chairs around the conference table. When the members of the crew had taken their places, she stood at the head of the table.

Welcome to the Goose. I’m Ilse Probst, the director of the program. I’ll look after the training and if you have any problems, please do not hesitate to ask. Kindly introduce yourselves, she said, speaking with a slight German accent.

I’m Commander Fred Weston of the Navy. For all intents and purposes, I’ll be in charge of the spaceship’s operation, one of the new arrivals stated.

This is not a military operation, Mr. Weston, Ilse said, interrupting. Kindly dispense with military ranks and jargon. That goes for all of you. I repeat: this is a civilian operation.

Understood, Fred nodded and continued. Let me introduce the rest of the crew; Jeff Stuart, the pilot, navigator and backup engineer, Tom Weiner, flight engineer and co-pilot. Last but not least, Professor Linda Carlton, mission specialist. I’m her backup.

I must say again, this is neither a military establishment nor an educational institute. Ms. Carlton is not a professor here; she is simply the mission specialist, period. Kindly refer to her as such, Ilse Probst, said in a menacing tone.

Would you care to dispense with names, madam director of the training program? Linda retorted.

Mike Carnavon interrupted, his voice cold and threatening, All right, she was just explaining her preferences on the course of emergency communications. Weren’t you, Ilse?

Of course, Mr. Carnavon. Ilse turned to the crew and continued. Let me outline the procedures. First, you’ll go to the medical center down the corridor, the third door to your left. The doctors will insert and test your implants. This should not take long, an hour max. Any questions?

The crew remained silent.

Following your visit to the medics, you may have lunch at the cafeteria. It’s at the end of the corridor. Your special high-energy low residue meals are prepared. Following lunch, you should come back here, and I’ll take you to the changing rooms where your kits are being prepared. You may ask questions if you have any, then you’ll proceed to the training module. The initial briefing is finished, thank you very much for your attention. Kindly proceed to the medical center. Ilse signaled the end of the conference.

The crew filed out. In the corridor, Jeff remarked, I’d hate to have her as commanding officer in any army.

A regular SOB, Tom added.

If she were my dean at the university, I’d start thinking about a career change, Linda said.

In the medical center, the doctors carried out the well-practiced procedures; checking, calibrating, and turning on the crew’s implanted micro-monitors. Through these devices, the medical team could check their body functions, and in case of a problem, suggest remedies. The interruption of the training for any reason was not in the cards, although Ilse or Mike could order it if the crew members’ lives became endangered.

After lunch, they filed into Ilse’s office. Although Mike still sat there, he did not give a speech, as one would expect. When everybody was seated, he just said farewell to the astronauts and left the room. Ilse took the crew over to the changing room. Despite the fact a woman was on the team, she did not allocate separate facilities for her.

To the questioning looks of the crew, she remarked, You will see each other dressing and undressing in the next six months often enough, might as well get used to it.

I don’t mind, but how about them? Linda asked. With her thumb, she pointed at the men.

They’ve seen women dressing and undressing before, I’m sure of that, Ilse said, brushing Linda’s remark aside. First, check your kit. Make sure you have all the regulation underwear and coveralls. They are identical, unisex. Each garment is spandex and fits any of you.

I’m sure I’d look irresistible in them, Tom stated.

No doubt, Ilse said, continuing. You should wear the brown outfit and the sneakers during EVA activities and when going in and coming out of the module. The everyday apparel should be the white coverall. You’d better start changing.

Here it goes, Fred said. He started undressing.

Thirty minutes later, the crew of the Falcon stood ready to enter the module. They wore their brown coveralls with the appropriate emblems and crests. Fred and Stuart pinned their Navy pilots’ wings on.

Fred gave Ilse a challenging look. He hoped the woman would make a snide remark, and he would be ready with a deadly riposte. Apparently, Ilse knew when to keep quiet.

The end of the dressing room joined the airlock to the dome. At this point, there was no pressure inside, and the Falcon’s crew just walked through.

In the immense facility, larger than a baseball stadium, she escorted the team to the airlock of the training module.

The gravity net is already in place. You should switch it on to simulate weightlessness during the take off exercises. As soon as you enter the module, seal the airlock. Although it can be opened from the outside, I’ll do it only in case of emergency, Ilse said.

Let us hope there will be no need of that, Fred remarked.

Well, best of luck to you, Ilse stated. She turned and walked away.

I love her style, Jeff remarked.

I adore the fanfare she gave us before our departure, Linda said.

Okay, folks, it’s time to embark on the greatest adventure. Let us go inside, and Tom please, seal the airlock, Fred directed.

The astronauts quietly filed into the training module. As soon as Tom sealed the airlock, the mission clock began the automatic countdown, starting at 4,320 hours.

Two

After the crew entered the training module, Mike discussed the schedule of the exercises with Ilse, and early in the afternoon, took off to fly back to the Houston Command Center. Goose Bay and Ilse Probst were depressing.

The Ilse’s despicable manners were known throughout the project team, but the management also knew that no one could organize the strenuous, exacting training better than she could.

I wouldn’t want to be stuck on a desert isle with her. Although she is unpleasant, I must admit she is most competent, Mike said to the pilot.

You and me both, the fellow replied. The way she treats outsiders like me is horrendous.

After the plane landed in Houston, Mike took the limo to his home. He did not bother to check what was going on at the office. He knew there was nothing urgent coming up. Betsy, his wife, was already home.

Hi, darling, she said. Did you visit the moon or any exciting place today?

They kissed.

"No, I took the Falcon’s team to Goose Bay. Did you convict an Al Capone today?"

Not exactly. I indicted a couple burglars and a rapist, she said. Betsy was a deputy district attorney for the city of Houston.

Did you interrogate them?

Of course. They were tough cookies. One has an attorney who claims his client is a victim of racial discrimination.

How come?

Last night, the cops got a call about a burglary in progress. They went there and saw a man hurrying from the scene carrying a heavy knapsack. The police apprehended him on public property, searched, and found all the missing items on him.

Why does he claim racial prejudice?

The shyster said there was no reason for the cops to stop and search him on public property.

Is the guy black?

No. He’s white, but all the cops were black.

Amazing. The greatest thing on Earth is to be married to a prosecutor. I don’t need to watch TV. I get the best crime stories from you.

How about the fringe benefits? Betsy asked.

Mike picked up his wife, and without saying anything, carried her into the large bedroom for some of the aforementioned fringe benefits.

THE NEXT MORNING, THE Houston contingent of the Falcon Project Team had virtually nothing to do.

Mike sat in his prestigious office on the penthouse floor of the brand new project service building. The color scheme was blue and gray, creating a soothing image even if the temperature climbed a degree or two higher than prescribed for maximum efficiency, as the project director preferred a warmer than usual working environment.

He contemplated the skyline of Houston through the automatic shutters, which were still open. His personal assistant, Bernie Hauser, a nervous young man with two doctorates in management engineering from Harvard, entered.

Hi, Bernie, sit down, Mike said. What’s new?

The guy sat down on a comfortable guest chair, fidgeting nervously as always.

"I checked all the reports and found the construction of the unmanned Mars probe, the Forerunner, well ahead of schedule. They put a miniaturized Conlon reactor on it and managed to increase the payload by two thousand pounds, he started his report."

Thanks, Bernie. Is there anything else?

Yes, sir. Ilse Probst reported the main reactor starting up successfully on schedule, and the dome is being pressurized. There are no leaks anywhere, and the trainees are doing very well practicing the preflight routine.

Any visitors?

Yes, the new psychologist, Ms. Ellen Frost has arrived. She is studying the profiles of the trainees in Goose Bay.

"Very well, Bernie, tell her I’d like to see her after she has settled in. By the way, did we get a progress report on the construction of the Falcon from Starwest?" Mike asked. He picked up a pen from his desk, and started doodling on a notepad.

No, but I spoke to the project manager yesterday. He wants to make some drastic changes on the cargo holds. He thinks they should not be pressurized.

That is no good. The stuff stored there would spoil.

He suggested using pressurized containers instead.

This means that if the team needs a goddamned tube of toothpaste they have to dress up for EVA. No way, this is a major alteration. Doesn’t the idiot realize that if we accepted his recommendation, we’d have to construct an air-lock?

It would be extra money to them... Bernie’s voice trailed.

I’m not sure the saving in weight and energy would be worth it.

He doesn’t care. He’d charge us a couple of millions for the air-lock.

He’s a greedy bastard. How soon does he need the decision? Mike asked.

In a couple of weeks.

Good, we’ve time to think about the strategy. Anything else?

"I checked all reports and the e-mails coming in from various departments. There was nothing important. The engineers are still feuding about the soft landing device of the Falcon, although they agreed on the retro rockets doing the trick, but Stevens wanted to include a hydraulic device for changing the attitude of the ship after landing. He claims it will make the lives of the crew more comfortable."

It’s a topic we have to take up with the committee. Please, include it in the agenda for next week’s meeting.

Yes, sir.

Thank you, Bernie. Please ask Hannah to get me some coffee, would you? Mike said. He leaned back in his chair. As the assistant left, he had some time for himself.

In a few minutes, Hannah, Mike’s secretary, came in carrying a tray with his morning espresso coffee and the cookies he always had. The radical feminist groups would have his head if they knew about Mike’s secretary making and serving his morning coffee. However, nobody in the command center made better espresso than Hannah. Consequently, she had certain privileges, like extended lunch breaks, and a free run of the bachelors in the project team. Just like her predecessor, she planned on marrying one of the up-and-coming young technocrats, then passing on the art of making coffee to the next executive secretary.

He barely finished the espresso when the intercom came alive, Ellen Frost is here to see you, sir, Hannah said.

Please send her in.

In a few seconds the door opened and a pleasant looking woman entered. She was not the international beauty-queen type, but any man with red blood in his veins would turn and look at her. She was medium built, wearing pants and a blazer, the most un-feminine attire developed, especially for the sexless female executives. However, the sway of her hips was, to say the least, sexy. Actually, many would consider her walk lewd.

I’m Commander Ellen Frost, Navy psychologist, she said.

My name is Mike Carnavon. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Please have a seat.

She sat, crossed her legs, and placed her large black leather-bound notebook on the edge of the desk. Mike had a hard time keeping his eyes off Ms. Frost.

"I’m sorry for barging in on you, Mr. Carnavon, but after studying the psychological profiles of the Falcon’s crew, I believe we have a problem."

What do you mean?

I believe there is a person on the crew who may precipitate serious conflicts.

It’s surprising; a team of experts studied their compatibility for more than two months. They looked at all possible scenarios, Mike said.

Nevertheless, they made a serious mistake.

Could you explain, Commander?

Most certainly...Professor Carlton is the odd person on the team.

She’s a female, if that’s what you mean, Mike said, interrupting impatiently.

This would not make any difference, sir. We have records of men and women working side-by-side on long missions without any conflict. I’m worried about Professor Carlton’s excessive preoccupation with her sex life. She divorced her husband two years ago, and has had many lovers since. The crew consists of two married men and a bachelor. As she’d have nothing to do during the trip, she’s liable to make unwanted advances to the rest of the crew, which may lead to conflict, resentment, and perhaps violence. I’d like to suggest withdrawing her immediately.

How come the others did not realize this?

Professor Carlton did not tell them the truth. Somehow, she managed to cheat your polygraph. I happen to know the facts and all the dirty little details, since I acted as her personal analyst when she tried out for a Navy assignment. When I arrived and saw her name on the crew’s roster, I immediately checked out her psychological profile. I found serious errors and omissions in it. In fact, the Navy turned her down for an environmental research project on the South Pole for the same reason, Frost explained.

You may be right, Commander, but how am I going to order her withdrawal? You are not supposed to reveal any of her record; there is such a thing as patient confidentiality, you know.

"I’m aware of that, Mr. Carnavon, but she signed a release when she applied for the position on the Falcon Mission. According to the documents on her file, I’m legally authorized, in fact obligated, to reveal my findings."

Can I have your conclusion in writing? Mike asked.

Most certainly, sir. I already prepared it and added a paragraph on the urgency of the matter. She is totally unfit for this assignment. I believe if you replaced her immediately, the mission clock would not have to be reset.

No disrespect, Commander, but I’m not going to make the decision immediately on your say so. I must have the details investigated further, and confer with the leader of the team preparing the crew’s psychological profiles.

I understand that, sir, but again I’d like to draw your attention to the urgency of the matter.

Thank you, Commander, I’m going to put the wheels into motion, and let you know the outcome.

As she left, Mike’s eyes followed her to the door, mentally removing her clothes one piece at a time. Immediately after the psychologist left, and Mike recovered from the infatuation with Ellen’s curves, he dialed the CIA representative attached to the project. According to the letter of the law, the CIA had no business operating within the geographic boundaries of the U.S., but when it came to military matters or space