Mick stands by the bed, watching the physician closely as he fills the syringe with morphine. He memorizes the dosage, then feels his stomach turn as the needle is injected into the porticath, his mother’s eyes rolling upward …

“No! No! No!”

Michael Gabriel’s screams wake every resident in the pod.

Deep Space

The lightweight probe Pluto-Kuiper Express soars through space, eight years, ten months, and thirteen days from home, a mere fifty-eight days and eleven hours from its destination, the planet Pluto and its moon, Charon. Resembling a high-tech satellite dish, the science craft continues broadcasting its uncoded signal back to Earth by way of its 1.5-meter high-gain antenna.

Without warning, an immense ocean of radio energy blasts through space at the speed of light, the low end of a hyperwave pulse bathing the satellite in its high-decibel transmission. In a nanosecond, the probe’s telecommunication subsystem and monolithic microwave integrated circuits (MMICs) are fried beyond recognition.

NASA: Deep Space Network Facility

2:06 P.M.

Jonathan Lunine, head of the Pluto Express science team, leans against a row of mission-control consoles, half-listening to Dr. Jeremy Armentrout as the engineer addresses the new members of their ground team.

“—the PKE’s high-gain antenna continuously transmits one of three possible tones. These essentially translate to: Everything’s okay, data ready to downlink, or there’s a serious problem that needs immediate attention. Over the last eight years, these signals have been monitored by—”

Lunine stifles a yawn. Three consecutive eighteen-hour shifts have taken their toll, and he is beyond ready to start the weekend. Another hour in the briefing room, then it’s home to an afternoon nap. Redskins play the Eagles tomorrow, should be a good game …

“Jon, can I see you please!” A technician is standing by his control console, signaling urgently. Lunine notices beads of sweat across the man’s forehead. The operators on either side appear to be working feverishly.

“What’s the situation?”

“We’ve lost contact with the PKE.”

“Solar wind?”

“Not this time. My board’s showing a massive power overload affecting the entire SDST communications system and both flight computers. Sensors, electronics, motive effectors—everything’s down. I’ve ordered a complete systems analysis, but God only knows what effect this is having on the PKE’s trajectory.”

Lunine signals for Dr. Armentrout to join them. “Flight control has lost contact with the PKE.”

“Backup systems?”

“Everything’s down.”

“Damn.” Armentrout rubs his temple. “First priority, of course, is to reestablish contact. It’s also imperative that we relocate and continue to track the probe before too much time elapses and we lose the PKE in deep space.”

“You have a suggestion?”

“Remember back in the summer of ‘98 when we lost contact with SOHO for about a month? Before regaining contact, we were able to locate her by beaming radio signals from Arecibo’s big dish off the satellite, then picking up the bounce using NASA’s dish in California.”