The Beacon: Hard Science Fiction by Brandon Morris (red white and royal blue hardcover TXT) 📕

It looked as if the rocket was holding back with great difficulty. In just a moment it was going to launch.

Five more seconds.

The flames grew and spread around the launch platform. For a moment, it looked as if someone was about to sacrifice a virgin rocket in a fiery ritual.

Then the illusion dissolved. Gravity ceased. Even Peter felt lighter for a moment. He alone sprang to his feet, and all at once, everyone in the room stood and clapped, except for three people who remain seated in the front row. The clapping quieted—the danger was not over yet. The rocket rose and rose. It had become a dot on the screen as it continued to soar.

“First stage successfully separated,” the Rockets Plus CEO exclaimed.

Clapping resumed, and then the room went dead silent. The rocket was no longer visible to the naked eye.

“Second stage successfully separated,” Bintzew said. “Waiting for payloads to be ejected.”

Silence. The launch of the rocket was a success, but the company made money only when it successfully launched the payloads. Up to now, everything was an expense.

“CubeSat launcher reports success,” Bintzew finally announced.

Again, everyone jumped to their feet, the excitement especially evident in the front rows where the company’s employees were. They exchanged hugs and pats on the back. German words flew around the room.

Peter sat down first, then got up and went outside. No one stopped him. His job was done... Or was it? He felt a strange calm. He had done what he could. No one could ask more of him, not even himself.

The restaurant was called ‘Space Inn.’ It looked like a canteen, and that was an accurate perception. Today's main course consisted of a turkey cutlet with rice, and a salad buffet, moderately priced by Swedish standards. Peter carried his tray to a place on the edge of the uncrowded dining room. Some of the employees who came in bought hot coffee and then unpacked food they had brought with them.

He had even more time than planned. Everything had gone so smoothly that he could hardly believe it. The flight from Rovaniemi didn’t leave until the next morning. For tonight he had reserved a room in the Finnish city. He really could have forgone this trip entirely. He now realized it would have been better to spend the weekend in the garden with Franziska.

He looked at the clock. There were still more than 24 hours until he saw her again. The plane would land in Munich at half-past one. At least it was vacation time, so they still had two weeks to themselves. He had to use the time to get everything back on track. He didn’t want to lose Franziska.

His smartphone vibrated in his pocket. It was a message from Miguel from SigmaLaunch, congratulating him on the successful launch. He put the phone away again and continued eating.

Suddenly, someone spoke to him from behind. “May I?” asked Peter Bintzew in German.

“Ah, you’ve come to hear the story.”

Bintzew sat down in the seat opposite him. He had a coffee and a piece of cake on his tray.

“First of all, I would like to congratulate you on your successful launch,” said the CEO.

“I’m happy to return that sentiment. Without your new rocket, everything would have been too late.”

“Too late?”

Peter had almost let the cat out of the bag. He was annoyed with himself, because he knew he mustn’t tell his true story to anyone. “Quite brave to start a space company in Germany,” he said. Maybe he could manage to distract Bintzew.

“Not at all. The conditions were perfect: trained engineers, a research environment, it’s no problem to get any specialist to move, plus the investors and public funding. After all, I come directly from the university myself.”

“You seem older than that.”

“Thank you for the ‘compliment,’ Bintzew said with a chuckle. “But you are right. I studied first in my hometown of Kiev. Space technology, in Germany, was my second degree. But now it’s your turn. How did you come to launch your own CubeSat?”

“Shouldn’t every man, in his lifetime, father a child and launch a satellite?”

“‘Plant a tree,’ my friend. But no one spends almost half a million on that. Not that I’m in the least upset about it, but there must be more to it than that.”

Bintzew paused and reached into his pants pocket. “Excuse me, this is important. The control room.”

Bintzew stood up and listened for a minute.

“And that is absolutely certain? No reaction?” he then asked in English.

Peter could not hear the answers from the other side, but Bintzew did not seem to be pleased. He was probably about to say goodbye and run to the control room. Instead, the CEO sat down again, looking at him seriously.

“We have a problem. Sören just called in from the ground station, which has since taken over the CubeSats.”

“A problem that also affects my satellite?”

“It affects only your satellite.”

“Oh, great. Is it not broadcasting?”

“I can’t say. It’s probably transmitting. It just can’t be controlled from the ground.”

“How can that be?”

“The satellite would have to do a half turn to get the long-range antenna pointed in our direction. That doesn’t seem to be working.”

“But if it’s broadcasting, what’s the problem? That’s what I wanted, isn’t it?”

“Each satellite has a DEO built in, a deorbiting device. This allows it to be nudged into the atmosphere at the end of its life, where it burns up—waste avoidance. But sometimes satellites just don’t respond. In that case, the DEO acts like a dead man’s switch. If the satellite does not receive an acknowledgment from Earth, after a certain amount of time the DEO activates, destroying the satellite before it can get in the way of others. A defective object should leave its orbit as soon as possible.”

“But my satellite is not defective. It’s doing its job!”

“The DEO knows nothing about the task. Without communication with us, the DEO will react—it has no alternative. It’s hard-wired to do that. With an additional long-range antenna, this wouldn’t have