Black Sun by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 1

It was a small, unassuming office, near the end of the hallway. Inside, was a staff of one, a scientist, sitting in front of an antiquated computer terminal. Budget cuts precluded the administration from acquiring more modern technology, but for the department's purposes, what they had was all they needed, or so they were told. Now, on an eight-hour shift, a low-paid graduate student sat, dividing his attention between the task of polishing his doctoral thesis and watching the images on the display in front of him. Carefully editing what would be the final draft, his focus was pulled away by an alarm, accompanied by a flashing red square on the display. Spinning around in his chair, he looked at rapidly accumulating data as he was overtaken by a shocked sense of disbelief.

“That's not right,” he said.

Opening another window on the interface, he double-checked the data, and to his horror, his initial impression had been confirmed. Now in a panic, he transferred the information to the computer's print spool and watched as pages of paper slowly slid out into the printer tray. Scanning the pages, his eyes grew wide with panic. “Oh my God,” he said. “Oh my God.” Jumping out of his chair, he ran out and down the hallway. Reaching another office near the elevator lobby, he stopped at the desk of the department secretary.

Her name was Eleanor, a middle-aged woman who was more than familiar with the inner workings of the administration. Looking up from her desk, the first thing she noticed about him was his terrified, pale expression.

“Charles,” she began. “What is it?”

“Where's the boss?” he interrupted. “I need to talk to him, right now!”

His hands began trembling, as his forehead broke out in heavy beads of sweat.

“He's in a meeting with the director,” she replied. “Where?” Charles asked.

His voice became as panicked as his expression, however, Charles would not divulge the potentially devastating information he had discovered.

“Charles,” Eleanor replied. “Can this wait?”

“Eleanor,” he said.

His voice had become firm as he continued to inquire about his boss's whereabouts.

“This is serious. I need to talk to him right away.” Eleanor hesitated, knowing that such a disruption could cost her job, but realizing how much the department needed her, she finally cooperated with Charles' request.

“He's upstairs, in the director's conference room.” Darting out of the office, he ran for the stairwell, racing up, exited the door near the director's office, and foregoing the secretary's office, threw the door of the conference room open.

The table was surrounded by department managers, with the director seated at the end. Everyone turned towards Charles as soon as he appeared in the doorway, while his boss reacted with obvious irritation.

“Uh, Charles,” he began. “I'm in a meeting with the director. Can this wait?”

Not considering the consequences of interrupting the meeting, Charles walked past his boss, and straight to the director. “Sir, I'm sorry for interrupting, but we could be facing a crisis.” Looking down the table at Charles' boss, he asked about the young graduate student.

“Tom, is this one of your people?”

He tried to make excuses, commenting on Charles' exuberance for the job.

“Excuse me,” Charles began. “But, this serious.” The director managed a bit of patience and inquired about the urgency Charles had been struck with. “Alright, first, who are you, and what do you do here?” Charles tried to maintain himself, as he began his response. “Sir, I'm Charles. I monitor data from the SOHO satellite.” He clumsily began shuffling the printout and set out in front of the director.

“I just received this,” he said.

The director glanced over the information, and not being able to understand it, inquired again.

“So what's this, a new sunspot?”

Except for his boss' embarrassment, the room broke into muffled giggles.

“I wish that were the case,” Charles replied. “But, this is far more than that.”

Running short on patience, the director asked him to hurry with his findings.

“Okay, Charles, just give the short version.” Charles took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts. “Okay, in 1859, there was a solar super storm called the Carrington Event. This storm was so powerful the telegraph line burst into flames. Several operators were electrocuted, and the northern lights could be seen as far south as Cuba. Now, in 2012, there was another storm. It just missed us. If it struck the magnetosphere, it would have fried every power grid on the planet, effectively throwing civilization back to the eighteenth century. This data indicates that another is on its way, and there's a good chance of a direct impact.”

Now, the room had become quiet as everyone's attention focused on Charles. The director, however, was less than convinced. “Are you sure this isn't some kind of glitch in the software, or maybe you're just overreacting? I mean, these computers aren't exactly right out of the box. Do you have any confirmation of this?”

Sifting through the pages of data, Charles pointed out further information on what he believed could be a catastrophic event. “Yes, I was able to confirm the incoming data.” Not being a scientist, the director deferred to Tom for further an explanation.

“Well,” he began. “We get hit with solar activity all the time, so I'm sure that Charles here might be exaggerating just a bit.”

Denial is common in the face of potential threats, from any source. Even those in high-level positions of government and NASA seemed to be no exception.

“Alright,” the director interrupted. “So, how bad could this be?” Shifting through the data again, Charles presented the numbers. “Okay, normal activity is usually about minus fifty nanoTeslas. A coronal mass ejection measures at roughly minus 1750 nanoTeslas. This could be, at least, 2500.”

The director interrupted him with one last question. “So, let's cut to the chase. What will this do?” Having no understanding for the politics of science, Charles could barely believe what he was hearing.

“Sir, this is going to knock out everything – power grids, all of our satellites, the internet, anything that plugs into an outlet. This could cripple the planet for years. Any unshielded power source will be destroyed.”

The director took a few moments to absorb the information, and taking the road of caution, asked Tom for confirmation. But, Charles, once again, pressed the urgency of the issue. “Sir, excuse me, but we don't have time for that. This will happen in three phases. X-rays and UV rays will reach the planet at near light speed, interfering with radio signals and GPS. After that, there will be a massive electron storm. Then, the plasma storm. This will shake the magnetosphere, so we don't have time for further confirmation.”

Now, the director's mind went into crisis mode, and going around the table, began giving orders.

“Tom, make sure we get a second confirmation.”

“I'll handle it myself,” he replied.

“No,” the director replied. “Charles, you have the most experience at monitoring this activity, I want you on this.”

“Yes, sir,” Charles replied.

“Tom,” the director continued. “Call the Pentagon, and notify them of the situation.”

“But, what if we're wrong?” Tom asked. The director knew that every decision fell to him, and this would be no exception.

“If we're wrong, I'll take responsibility. But if Charles is right, we could be looking at a level of damage on a global scale. Now, get on the phone. I'll notify the president.” He continued around the room, ordering contact with the FCC, the joint chiefs of staff, as well as Homeland Security. Everyone in the room suddenly felt the urgency of the crisis that could affect not only national security, but the state of civilization itself, and emptying the conference room, set the wheels of damage control into motion.

“Oh, one more thing, everyone,” the director said. “This information is hereby classified. This conversation does not leave this room. Am I understood?”

Acknowledging the director's order, everyone left the conference room at a rapid pace, with muted expressions of panic. No one could afford to let on even the slightest hint of what now loomed over the entire world, something that promised a cataclysm of unrecorded proportions.