Energized (41 page)

And so, the necessary, crucial, life-altering conversation had yet to happen. Did Marcus even know what they had to discuss?

But the delay was almost over, Marcus due any minute. So that they could talk, Simon was at a friend's house for a sleepover.

And then headlights turned into her driveway. They were in each other's arms, once more lost in a passionate
now,
the moment not yet arrived for words.

But eventually …

They had dressed, and had a snack, and settled onto the living room sofa. Valerie cuddled at Marcus's side, his arm around her.
Now
was bliss.

And ephemeral. “We need to talk,” she said.

“Four words that never go anywhere good.”

She shrugged off his arm, edged away so that she could see his face. “The thing is…”

“What is it, Val? Straight out.”

“The observatory. My job. With the big dish destroyed, many of us have been given notice.”

“That's awful.” He reached for her hand. “And?”

And? Men could be so obtuse.

She would move in with him in a minute. In other circumstances, she would (she told herself) propose it herself. But not these circumstances. Not unemployed. Not appearing desperate rather than committed.

Would Marcus ask? Did he even want to ask?

“NRAO runs several observatories, not only Green Bank. I was offered a position at one of them, the Very Large Array, in New Mexico.” She hesitated: having, and hating, to justify herself. Somehow she held her voice steady. “I need to take care of Simon.”

Over to you, Marcus.

*   *   *

New Mexico?

Something had been on her mind for weeks, but Marcus had not known what. Okay, maybe he had been too busy, too preoccupied to ask. In his defense, he was not preoccupied solely with powersats.

New Mexico? Not if
I
have anything to say about it.

He said, “It seems like ages ago, but I remember promising I would always come back to you. Do you remember?”

“All too well.”

“I couldn't have kept that promise without you.”

“What are you saying?”

That we make a hell of a team. He would get to that. “Will
you
always come back?”

She began to cry. “I'm not talking about a trip, Marcus. It's a
move
. Cross-country. Maybe forever.”

“You and Simon should come live with me. Or I'll go with you—if you'll have me, that is. Only maybe there is someplace you'll be traveling. I'll want you to promise to come back.”

“Of
course
I'll, we'll, come live with you.” With the sudden sunny smile, her tears were a lot easier to take. “But what are you
talking
about? What travel?”

“Remember the day we met? That little surprise you sprang on me? Simon wasn't feeling well. You had to leave early to pick him up from school.”

“I remember.” She sighed. “I was awful to you that day. I'll never understand why you came back for more.”

“After you left, one of your colleagues, I forget who, said something like, ‘powersats will mean the end of astronomy until there's an observatory on the far side of the moon.'”

“A bit dramatic,” she said.

“Patrick thought so, too. He told the guy, basically, to get a life.”

“Poor Patrick.” She began sniffling.

Marcus handed her the box of tissues from the coffee table. “You don't see where I'm going with this? Truly?”

She wiped her face and blew her nose. “You asked me to move in with you. Where but Virginia would I be going?”

“The country is claiming the high ground,” he said. “And it won't be only Phoebe. Think lunar resources.”

“A far-side observatory? Really?”

He answered her question with a question. “Why rebuild the big dish in what's going to become a noisier and noisier neighborhood?”

“And you're saying that I…?”

“That
we
have the president's gratitude. And, as it happens, also his promise. Who better than you and I to be the chief scientist and the chief engineer of the Patrick Burkhalter Lunar Far-Side Observatory? The president will announce the program next week.”

“I can't be going to the
moon
. Simon is only—”

“Not to worry.” Marcus had seen this one coming. “After the previous big dish collapsed in 1988, it took, what, twelve years to construct a new one? I think you can count on Simon being in college or out on his own before any big dish on the lunar far side is ready to use.”

Valerie stared at him, looking … what? Sad, maybe. Confused. Conflicted. What the hell?

“What's wrong
now
?” he asked.

“I forced you into asking me to move in. While
you
were getting me a wonderful opportunity and even thinking ahead about Simon.”

“You feel like you forced my hand. You can't be sure that I truly want us to live together.”

“Uh-huh.” Sniffle. “It's all so messed up.”

Women could be so obtuse.

Marcus went to the hall closet to retrieve the little box from his coat pocket. He had carried around that box for two weeks, in the so far vain hope that proximity would inspire the right words.

The contents could speak for themselves.

“Well,” Valerie said, on finding the diamond engagement ring, “I
might
be mistaken.”

 

AFTERWORD AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Stories often sneak up on me. Not this one. I know exactly how and when this novel began: at a dinner three years ago with Tom Doherty, my publisher. Tom threw out a challenge for novels focused on energy issues and alternate-energy resources; I countered with the Crudetastrophe and the first notion of what became
Energized
.

Thanks, Tom.

At another level, perhaps
Energized
was destined. Once upon a time I was a physicist and computer scientist. I've seen, up close and personal, how government contracting—and in particular, NASA contracting—works. Along the way, I toured a satellite factory, flew the space-shuttle training simulator, wandered around the space-station trainer, and backed out, in dismay, from the space-toilet trainer. (In those primitive days, step one on the toilet's instruction placard read,
Load film in camera.
)

That background did not relieve me of doing research. Quite the opposite: it helped to show how much I needed to investigate. Technothrillers are not at all like writing about a galaxy long ago and far away. For this story, I wasn't free to make up the tech or the background.

NASA's Near-Earth Object (NEO) Program has, as of this writing, cataloged more than eight thousand NEOs. More than eight hundred NEOs measure at least a kilometer across. It has been estimated that a one-kilometer asteroid strike would kill up to a billion people. (The rock believed to have doomed the dinosaurs is estimated at ten kilometers across.) But as the story just concluded shows, NEOs can also provide precious resources.

Either way, what can humans do about a NEO that has our names written all over it?

Attending the 2008 Asteroid Deflection Research Symposium in Arlington, Virginia, gave me lots of useful background. Experts came from the government (NASA, the Air Force, the National Science Foundation, and other federal entities), academia, and industry—and most participants stressed that their presentations and comments reflected personal opinions and not the official viewpoints of their organizations. Without naming anyone, I'll thank … everybody.

I attended the symposium as a member of SIGMA, a group of SF authors providing futurism consulting, pro bono, to the federal government. So, thanks to the Department of Homeland Security, Science and Technology Directorate, for sponsoring me.

Gravity tractors are among the technologies in serious contention for deflecting a NEO. But, ugh: what a mundane name. Before I hijacked a spacecraft as my unauthorized gravity tractor, I pondered names for a long while. The only spacecraft named for Jules Verne is an orbital automated transfer vehicle—an unmanned cargo ship—built by the European Space Agency. Sorry, that's not good enough. The
Verne
should do something great. If only in fiction, now it has.

In 2009 I contacted the public affairs office at the National Radio Astronomy Observatory in Green Bank, West Virginia, to request a tour and perhaps meet a radio astronomer or two. They more than obliged. One highlight: The technical staff not only welcomed me to their weekly group lunch, they spent their lunchtime brainstorming about science and technology for the novel. (We'll chalk up to hard times post-Crudetastrophe Marcus's adversarial first encounter with the Green Bank technical staff.) To everyone at the observatory: thank you.

If you're ever in the neighborhood, I suggest that you drop by for the public tour. The Green Bank Telescope must be seen to be believed.

For input to the novel's medical aspects, I'd like to thank cardiologist and science-fiction author Henry G. Stratmann.

On to powersats …

Science-fiction author Geoffrey A. Landis is, in his day job, a NASA scientist who has published several papers about powersats. Geoff graciously answered many questions for me. He also reviewed and fine-tuned my preliminary concepts for PS-1, Phoebe, and the mechanics of capturing such an object. Thanks again, Geoff.

Speaking of Phoebe … when, someday, humanity does snag another satellite for Earth, I fear that all the good classical mythological names will have been taken. The major moons of Saturn, for example, are named after the titans of Greek mythology. Including “golden-wreathed Phoebe,” the daughter of Gaia traditionally associated with
the
moon. Phoebe fit my purpose, and I'm sticking to it. In this instance, whatever my astronomer friends may think.

It's impossible to major in physics or to be a lifelong science-fiction aficionado without absorbing some astronomy, but I had never studied the subject systematically. This book has lots of it. (Case in point: When your turn comes to play space tourist, a surprise coronal mass ejection
is
worth worrying about.) So: I was pleased to attend Launch Pad 2009. Launch Pad is a NASA-funded astronomy workshop for writers, run by SF author Mike Brotherton, aka University of Wyoming astronomer Michael S. Brotherton. Thanks for having me, Mike.

Where the novel gets the details right, thank the experts. As always, responsibility for extrapolations, errors, simplifications, and fictional license lies with the author.

My appreciation also goes to Bob Gleason, my editor, for his encouragement, and to Eleanor Wood, my agent, for her support.

Last but certainly not least, I thank my first and favorite reader: my wife, Ruth. This book kept me more preoccupied than most, so thanks also for bearing with me.

—Edward M. Lerner

January 2012

 

BOOKS BY EDWARD M. LERNER

Probe

Moonstruck

Creative Destruction
(collection)

Fools' Experiments
*

Small Miracles
*

InterstellarNet: Origins

InterstellarNet: New Order

Countdown to Armageddon / A Stranger in Paradise
(collection)

Energized
*

WITH LARRY NIVEN

Fleet of Worlds
*

Juggler of Worlds
*

Destroyer of Worlds
*

Betrayer of Worlds
*

Fate of Worlds
*

*
Published by Tor Books

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

EDWARD M. LERNER
worked in high tech for thirty years, as everything from engineer to senior vice president, for much of that time writing science fiction as a hobby. Since 2004 he has written full-time, and his books run the gamut from techno-thrillers, like
Energized,
to traditional SF, like the InterstellarNet series, to, with Larry Niven, the grand space epic Fleet of Worlds series of
Ringworld
companion novels.

Ed's short fiction has appeared in anthologies, two collections, and many of the usual SF magazines. He also writes the occasional nonfiction technology article.

Lerner lives in Virginia with his wife, Ruth.

His website can be found at
www.edwardmlerner.com
.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

ENERGIZED

Copyright © 2012 by Edward M. Lerner

All rights reserved.

An earlier version of this novel was first published in
Analog Science Fiction and Fact
in 2011.

A Tor Book

Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC

175 Fifth Avenue

New York, NY 10010

www.tor-forge.com

Tor
®
is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

ISBN 978-0-7653-2849-6 (hardcover)

ISBN 9781429947503 (e-book)

First Edition: July 2012