May 30, 2035
Earth Departure Plus 46 days
09:30 Universal Time
Galley
The klaxon’s sudden blare jolted Virginia Gonzalez so hard she nearly dropped the cup of coffee in her hand.
It’s just a drill, she told herself. Still, the instant raucous blast was louder than anything she had heard in training. Maybe . . .
“This is a solar storm alert drill,” announced the silky synthesized voice of the ship’s computerized intercom system, flat and unruffled. “Report to the shelter immediately.”
Gonzalez was already through the galley’s hatch, heading for the sleeping quarters, which also served as the ship’s storm shelter.
On Earth, the planet’s enveloping magnetic field and thick atmosphere protected life on the surface from all but the most energetic cosmic radiation. Aboard the Arrow, the ship’s thin skin provided only minimal protection against the constant sleeting of cosmic ray and solar wind particles. But when the Sun burped out a solar flare, interplanetary space was invaded by a wave of deadly high-energy particles. The ship’s lightweight alloy skin and the inflated fabric structure of the galley were transparent to such subatomic bullets.
The high-energy protons and heavier atomic nuclei of a solar flare could kill unprotected humans. As the ions burrow through a human body, they could cause cancers and other somatic damage that could be fatal.
To help protect against this lethal danger, the ship’s sleeping area was surrounded by thicker fabric walls holding bladders filled with water. The water would absorb all but the most energetic of the incoming particles, protecting the fragile crew inside the shelter. Still, the highest energy particles, though relatively rare, zipped through the water-filled walls and irradiated the human crew, raising their risk of developing cancers later in life.
The ship’s electronics and other systems were hardened to survive a solar storm’s worst radiation. The human crew would have to huddle in the protected sleeping area for the hours or even days that the storm’s radiation cloud enveloped the ship.
Gonzalez saw that all seven of her crew mates were already in the sleeping area by the time she got there. The klaxon was still blazing away, but its noise was muted inside the shelter.
Bee Benson clicked the stopwatch function on his wristwatch and smiled at them. “Ninety seconds. Good job, people.”
Amanda Lynn poked a finger in Gonzalez’s direction. “You were last, Jinny. One hour on the treadmill.”
The others all laughed, while Gonzalez managed a weak smile.
In a real solar storm the crew would undoubtedly slip into their individual cubicles to relax until the radiation level outside dropped back to normal. But this was only a drill.
“Bee, how long do you intend to keep us penned up in here?” McPherson asked. “I don’t mind being close to my friends, but I have a video running.”
“A movie?” Connover asked.
“A report from the drill team at Lake Vostok,” Catherine Clermont replied. “Most interesting.”
Amanda said, “Hey, I’d like to see that, too. Have they found any new organisms beneath the ice?”
“We didn’t get that far into the video before the horn sounded,” McPherson replied.
At that moment the klaxon abruptly turned off, signaling that the threat—or, in this case, the drill—was over.
“Okay,” Benson told them. “Back to work.”