THE DARKNESS FROM THE SUN

by Andrew Barber

 

Carrington Event: An intense geomagnetic storm associated with a massive solar flare in 1859. Auroral displays were reported from both poles all the way to the equator. It energized telegraph lines, causing fires at telegraph stations. An event of this magnitude today could cause widespread disruptions, damaging electrical power grids and critical industrial production, limiting radio communications, ceasing air travel, and destroying satellite systems. The damage could take years to repair.

 

The general alarm aboard the University of California Orbital Lab (U.C.O.L.)—but usually referred to in a sing-song tone as “U.C. zero G.”—sounded. Station Director and Chancellor Anitia Chawla, usually slow to stir from sleep, was immediately awake with a surge of adrenaline. She activated the screen in front of her in the tiny sleeping cubicle.

Stereo helio-satellites Quebec and Romeo had detected an enormous coronal mass ejection from the sun. The radiation had passed her space station one minute before. Safeguards against high-energy particles, which were due in just minutes, were automatically engaged. The station’s most critical components were largely shielded, as were the transport craft. Many other expensive and sensitive scientific instruments were not adequately protected and were being powered down and, in some cases, being physically disconnected (current experiments be damned).

Chawla hit the intercom, calling the station researchers to the galley and recreation module. As she slipped on her jumpsuit, she pulled up U.C. zero G’s position. It was just going over the Earth’s night side. That was extremely fortunate. At 750 km above the surface, they were in the sweet spot “high” Low Earth Orbit, with 40 minutes of full protection using the planet as a shield. But many critical satellites were in danger. And, uh-oh, both the Chinese station and the Sputnik space hotel were experiencing their dawn—they were not as well shielded as the university lab and were going to take a beating.

The Chinese might be able to handle this, even taking a full hit on Earth’s sun side without warning. But the Sputnik? Not likely.

She propelled herself to Cunningham, the Command and Engineering module, first. The station had five ships docked, and the pilots doubled as station crew during their visits. Those five crew plus Chief Engineer Montgomery and the medical doctor were there. Monty was monitoring the data and confirming that shutdowns were occurring and that safeguards were activated.

“Message from ground control,” one of the astronaut staff reported. “Urgent.”

Chawla drifted up to the screen. It was the Ground Director, and the Space Weather Officer behind him. “How bad?” she asked.

“Bad,” said the Director. “A lot bigger than anything we’ve ever seen.”

“Anitia,” said Space Weather, “we're still crunching the data. But this is a lot larger than the Carrington Event, maybe by a factor of five or more. Maybe ten. This might even be a thousand-year event. More. We’re going to lose satellites with light shielding at any moment. I’m not even sure the GPS and military Comsats can take this one. You’re in shadow now, but the particle wave will still be passing when you hit the day side.”

Looking over her shoulder, Chawla told her people, “If we aren’t already, point our water tanks sunward for extra shielding. Fast. I want the orientation done in 20 minutes.” This was breakneck speed for turning a space station. There would be a high cost in repairs (fingers crossed), with payment due after.

“Emergency automatic station keeping now,” ground control ordered. “And emergency return prep for the transports. We’re likely bringing you down. Oh, stand by—”

Chawla stood by.

It was a full two minutes before ground spoke again. “Anitia, it’s high sun over the Atlantic right now. That means dawn is breaking over us here at Lompoc Center and down the road at Vandenberg. We’re starting to safeguard the center. We’ll be hit in a few minutes. There may be a break in communication. We’ll get everything up and running ASAP.”

Acknowledging, Chawla nodded to Monty and the team, signaling her order to prepare. She kicked off to recreation. All 34 researchers, both professors and graduate students, had gathered. She outlined the situation in a few words. In theory, they all understood the basic dangers. “We have about 30 minutes of shadow left. You have that long, no more, to gather and shield any data or specimens.”

A young biologist started to object. “We can’t close things down now. Some of these experiments have been running for months. Mine has—”

The protest was silenced as Chawla drummed the wall half a dozen times, hard enough to sting her palms. It startled the researchers. “No protests. This isn't a game. If we're lucky, ground will downgrade it. If not, we are in serious danger. Let that sink in. The Sputnik hotel is getting hit right now. If its systems go down, the people on board won’t be going home. We may get hit like that, too. And God help planes over the ocean when they lose radio and GPS—maybe more. Move.”

*** 

As they approached their sunrise, they heard a distress call from the Sputnik, but it was just the alarm and a few staticky words. They were in a different orbit, and even if U.C. zero G could launch their ships for a rescue attempt, they couldn’t reach the hotel.

They retreated into the transport ships. These were hardy vessels, and each had docked inside a heavy shielded sleeve sent up for this and other emergencies. Chawla had them hunker down for six hours, as a precaution, with a member of the station crew venturing out to Command and Engineering each pass into the Earth’s shadow to check on the status and respond to any emergencies.

And they waited.

***

When they emerged, they found several of the scientific instruments that they had not been able to power down in time had fried almost immediately. Most of the station’s life support functions held fast. But critical components of the solar panels had failed. Repairs were not possible without major resupply from the ground and installation from the outside. They had batteries for a week to ten days. The station was going to die.

They could not reach Ground Control. Someone from the Japanese space agency reached them on a close approach over Okinawa. The signal was weak and garbled. Chawla gave them her station status in a few words. With luck it would be communicated to her own people. She learned the Chinese had evacuated their station, but no one was sure if their ships had landed safely. The Sputnik space hotel had gone silent.

Station occupants were now allowed to work in the lab itself when it was on Earth's dark side, giving them under 40 minutes of general access. When they were in direct sunlight, they returned to the transports.

It was a full 14 hours after the emergency began when Chawla was called to the Sullivan module, devoted to atmospheric, geological, and oceanographic data. Its main sensors were shut down or burned out. They still had a pair of binoculars.

“Our orbits are finally getting us over North America again. We’re about to go over the U.S.-Mexico border. It’s night,” said the chief Earth observation researcher. She and Chawla stationed themselves at the viewports.

“A lot of California’s got no lights.”

“Mexico’s doing a bit better. Comparatively.”

“Simpler power grid. That's an advantage right now, though I'd bet Mexico City’s power is gone. Los Angeles looks dark. Lompoc too. Something’s on in San Diego. Maybe the naval base? Here comes Arizona—some lights. I guess we’re over New Mexico. Not a lot.”

“My God, all of Texas is down. Nothing. Don’t they have their own power grid?”

“Not a good one. And not anymore.”

The situation was clear. They were going to have to evacuate. She informed them they would leave in 24 hours if nothing changed. They had five ships, each of which could hold five comfortably. They would be taking eight or nine people each, with inflatable crash couches added. They could do that, short-term, for an emergency landing. Delays would be deadly.

***

Dinner was cold and dark. So was the mood.

“We’re seeing fires. The flames or smoke plumes. California is now burning badly. And elsewhere, smoke that's probably from Canada. Greece. Eastern Australia."

“Not all that many lights. A lot of grids failed. Nothing's gone back up.”

“They need skills to fix power grids. Resources. Parts. A lot of coordination. It’s going to take a while. One bit at a time.”

“How long will that be?”

“Who knows?"

“Professor Yang, you’ve been pretty quiet.”

Yang chewed his ration bar and swallowed. “The grids are everything. If the power comes back, what about their fried computers and machines? If the factories stay down, production will stop. Did you know that without fertilizer, crop yields will drop by a third? More? And there isn’t a big fertilizer surplus, even if it can be moved and distributed wisely.”

“GPS increased crop yield, too,” offered a graduate student, “by about ten percent. More efficient plowing and harvesting by farm machines. And weather satellites are a big part of modern farming, too. Prediction is probably even more important than GPS or fertilizer.”

“If we don’t fix it all soon, a lot of people are going to starve.”

“Financial institutions depend on GPS and SatComs. The economy can’t function. There’s a good chance it’s already collapsed all around the world.”

“Pharmaceuticals. Hospitals. My parents both need insulin.” The student’s voice had a tone of resignation to it.

“Governments. Response is crippled.”

“Director Chawla,” a voice called her over the still functioning intercom.

“Yes, Monty?”

“A laser is pointing toward us as we pass over ground control in Lompoc. Morse code. ‘Emergency Procedure 990.’ And after that it says, ‘100 K event.’”

Chawla acknowledged. She stuck her ration bar into a pocket and maneuvered toward the module’s hatch.

“What’s 990?” asked an older professor.

“You might as well know. I need those of you here to be ready to help the others when I break the bad news. ‘100 K’ is telling us this flare isn’t just a Carrington-times-five; it means it's a 1 in 100,000-year event. And the 990 code means we evacuate and return to Earth with no ground support. We’re on our own.” Chawla pushed off toward Command and Engineering.

“After we land, how do we even get to our homes?” one person asked.

Silence. Then one young researcher started to cry.

***

“I hate to say it right now, but it’s beautiful,” said one student, a full day after the emergency started. A half dozen people took turns peering through a small porthole. The slower-moving geomagnetic storm had finally arrived.

“Yes. I’ve enjoyed the northern lights from above, until now.”

“Not so northern. They’re down past Hawaii.”

“I saw them over Gabon earlier. I grew up there. It’s on the equator.”

“We could see ground features in the dark. Reflections on bodies of water. The auroras are giving off more light than a full Moon.”

“Here comes the U.S. again.”

“A few more lights in California.”

“Look where they are. Fires.”

“No. Well, yes and no. But there, and there. That’s city lights.”

“Maybe. Here comes Texas… still dark.”

“Florida, too. Actually, Texas, Florida, and everything in between.”

“Earlier Yang saw that there’s a big hurricane forming in the Atlantic. Can anyone track it? If so, can they warn the people in its path? Or help them afterward?”

***

“OK, we can’t wait any longer,” Chawla said. “We’re going down in two hours, as soon as the craft have their final prep. Ships will disengage the station at three-minute intervals. We all fire retros at once. According to the emergency tables, we'll all end up in White Sands, New Mexico, about two hours after sunrise. We might miss breakfast, but there’s always lunch and dinner. I know a great Tex-Mex place there. First round of Margaritas is on me.” The poor joke produced a few hollow chuckles.

“These ships weren’t made for a bump down. They’re made for a splashdown!” came a protest.

“Well, we’re not going to be doing that, are we? Who would fetch us from the ocean?” Chawla was hard in her reply; some of the researchers had still not accepted how dire the situation was. She could no longer coddle them. “The capsules were designed for ground landing as a contingency.”

“I’m not sure I like the word ‘contingency.’”

“No one ever does. They’re sturdy ships built by talented people. Good luck, everyone. You’re all scientists or engineers, and brilliant ones at that, or you wouldn’t have made it up here. And you have practical knowledge. I’m pretty sure the world is going to need you.”

***

Chawla and Monty did a final tour of the station. She insisted on being the last one off the station. They took top-tier couches. Below them were three more standard spots. The cargo space under them had four passengers on inflatables, strapped in under cargo nets like they were food boxes and water bags.

The ships decoupled in sequence. Pilots aligned the craft manually using the Earth’s horizon. GPS was useless. Landmarks would help them know when to start their deorbit.

Monty said from the pilot’s seat, “There’s a city burning, Anitia. Johannesburg maybe. I’d been thinking cities would start burning. Hoped I’d be wrong. Three minutes to retro fire… Mark! We’ll be down half an orbit or so after that.”

Chawla just nodded. Then, at the proper time, she felt the weight of the deceleration rockets for 12 seconds. Then she floated again. She enjoyed weightlessness. She had never suffered space sickness aboard U.C. zero G. Right now, it felt heavenly. She knew she wouldn’t be enjoying it again.

Then Monty looked at the fall of night where the land touched the ocean. “I think it was a good burn and timed right. We should land about where we want to be. Did you see all that smoke over the city? Tomorrow they’ll be getting quite a red sunrise downwind.”

Sailors take warning, Anitia thought. “Thanks, Monty.”

“And now we’re moving into darkness.”

“Yes. Yes, we are.”