the exact site of impact.
Tens of thousands of R osa s specialized in complex mathematical theory went to work on the problem while the venerable betting site LuckyNumber sponsored amateur calculations by posting figures for the weight, shape, and mass distribution of the module, the speed of the Hammer’s rotation, and the exact moment of severance, along with continuously updated reports on conditions in the upper atmosphere.
Initial estimates established the impact zone as a very long, very broad corridor running in a diagonal swath across the Pacific, from the Aleutian Islands to the South China Sea. Kathang compared this track to the geographic locations of past incidents that had drawn Ela’s interest and came up with a medium-high rating. This combined with the incident’s high news value to stimulate Kathang to action. The R osa sent an audible signal through Ela’s farsights, a faint beeping that swiftly rose in volume.
Ela lay on her back, wrapped up in a light sleeping bag on the hard, damp floor of Phuong’s platform, still wearing her farsights from the night before. At the alarm’s third pulse she opened startled eyes onto the beautiful, deep blue vault of the predawn sky, blinking at the white fires of lingering stars. “Enough,” she murmured. “I’m awake.”
As she stretched and rubbed the sleep from her eyes Kathang whispered, “ News alert .” The R osa displayed a LuckyNumber graphic map explaining, “ An object is falling from orbit, with an estimated impact corridor that includes this area .”
Ela eyed the map, smiling at the R osa ’s optimism. Their sliver of coastline barely made it into the corridor. She would be lucky to see even a faint glimmer of reentry. Still, she was awake. She might as well look into the incident.
She sat up, pushing her hair out of her face. Phuong lay asleep against a pile of boxes, but several of the fisherfolk on neighboring platforms were stirring. A few had already put out to sea, the tiny lights on their boats looking like stars come down to the ocean. Ela tapped her fingers, summoning the articles Kathang had gathered. She skimmed the facts, while the LuckyNumber map updated once again. The estimated impact corridor had narrowed and shortened to a brushstroke that paralleled the Chinese coast, before sweeping through the South China Sea, to end at Borneo, just north of the equator.
She cocked her head, turning to gaze at the northern sky. A wall of black clouds hid the horizon, their western edges aglow with a pearly lining of moonlight. The module would come from the north.
Ela stood up, whispering to Kathang to record. “And get me a contract for this video.”
But Ela had responded too slowly: By the time Kathang posted her readiness, the major news agencies had already contracted a host of ground-based observers. Ela refused to accept the tiny fees offered by smaller outfits, reasoning that if she scored good coverage of the event, she could sell the vid afterward for real money, and if she didn’t, the tiny fee she had lost would hardly matter.
Next she linked to NetFlash News, where she accessed a static-slashed image relayed from a camera on the outside of the falling module. The image showed twilight arctic wastes, and then afternoon in Canada. The estimated impact corridor narrowed again, closing in on the sea south and west of Hong Kong. For the first time, Ela felt a flutter of concern. If the debris came down in a populated area, people would die. If it came down here, these people could die.
She could die.
She told herself the odds were long against it. Still, her heart beat in an anxious rhythm as she watched the feed from the falling module. There wasn’t much to see anymore, just a tangle of white clouds over an ocean that seemed to go on forever until finally, daylight began to fade. The module was chasing a fleeing night across the Pacific. Time seemed to run backward as the clouds in the image grew pink with the light
Tens of thousands of R osa s specialized in complex mathematical theory went to work on the problem while the venerable betting site LuckyNumber sponsored amateur calculations by posting figures for the weight, shape, and mass distribution of the module, the speed of the Hammer’s rotation, and the exact moment of severance, along with continuously updated reports on conditions in the upper atmosphere.
Initial estimates established the impact zone as a very long, very broad corridor running in a diagonal swath across the Pacific, from the Aleutian Islands to the South China Sea. Kathang compared this track to the geographic locations of past incidents that had drawn Ela’s interest and came up with a medium-high rating. This combined with the incident’s high news value to stimulate Kathang to action. The R osa sent an audible signal through Ela’s farsights, a faint beeping that swiftly rose in volume.
Ela lay on her back, wrapped up in a light sleeping bag on the hard, damp floor of Phuong’s platform, still wearing her farsights from the night before. At the alarm’s third pulse she opened startled eyes onto the beautiful, deep blue vault of the predawn sky, blinking at the white fires of lingering stars. “Enough,” she murmured. “I’m awake.”
As she stretched and rubbed the sleep from her eyes Kathang whispered, “ News alert .” The R osa displayed a LuckyNumber graphic map explaining, “ An object is falling from orbit, with an estimated impact corridor that includes this area .”
Ela eyed the map, smiling at the R osa ’s optimism. Their sliver of coastline barely made it into the corridor. She would be lucky to see even a faint glimmer of reentry. Still, she was awake. She might as well look into the incident.
She sat up, pushing her hair out of her face. Phuong lay asleep against a pile of boxes, but several of the fisherfolk on neighboring platforms were stirring. A few had already put out to sea, the tiny lights on their boats looking like stars come down to the ocean. Ela tapped her fingers, summoning the articles Kathang had gathered. She skimmed the facts, while the LuckyNumber map updated once again. The estimated impact corridor had narrowed and shortened to a brushstroke that paralleled the Chinese coast, before sweeping through the South China Sea, to end at Borneo, just north of the equator.
She cocked her head, turning to gaze at the northern sky. A wall of black clouds hid the horizon, their western edges aglow with a pearly lining of moonlight. The module would come from the north.
Ela stood up, whispering to Kathang to record. “And get me a contract for this video.”
But Ela had responded too slowly: By the time Kathang posted her readiness, the major news agencies had already contracted a host of ground-based observers. Ela refused to accept the tiny fees offered by smaller outfits, reasoning that if she scored good coverage of the event, she could sell the vid afterward for real money, and if she didn’t, the tiny fee she had lost would hardly matter.
Next she linked to NetFlash News, where she accessed a static-slashed image relayed from a camera on the outside of the falling module. The image showed twilight arctic wastes, and then afternoon in Canada. The estimated impact corridor narrowed again, closing in on the sea south and west of Hong Kong. For the first time, Ela felt a flutter of concern. If the debris came down in a populated area, people would die. If it came down here, these people could die.
She could die.
She told herself the odds were long against it. Still, her heart beat in an anxious rhythm as she watched the feed from the falling module. There wasn’t much to see anymore, just a tangle of white clouds over an ocean that seemed to go on forever until finally, daylight began to fade. The module was chasing a fleeing night across the Pacific. Time seemed to run backward as the clouds in the image grew pink with the light
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