Man's Own Star

     The largest human achievement was moments away from reaching fruition. 23,000 tons of metal, 80,000 kilometers of niobium-tin superconducting strands, 13 billion Euros and innumerable man-hours all went into the ITER project. All of this to create a toroid of plasma that will reach 150 million degrees Celsius; which will allow the fusion of atomic nuclei. This was the answer to everything; climate change, energy crisis, foreign policy, everything.
     These thoughts bounced around Michael Bake's head as he sat in the control room of the Tokomak facility. Injection of the deuterium and tritium into the vacuum chamber was well under way with only five minutes remaining before they engaged the powerful electromagnet in the core of the machine.
     “You look nervous.” The thickly accented voice of Heinrich Meier accompanied by a hearty thud on the shoulder broke through Bake’s fog.
     “And you aren’t?”
     “Of course I am,” agreed the German, “but I’ve been worrying about my little baby here every day for ten years and today she gets to stand on her own two feet.”
     Bake doubted that the German had ever worried about anything in his life. As the chief engineer he had shown nothing but confidence throughout the enter process.
     “I hope you’re right. We’ve got the world watching us you know.”
     “I know my friend. They say that there hasn’t been a global audience like this since your Armstrong stepped on the moon.”
     One of the technicians sitting at the bank of computers in front of the physicist and engineer turned around in his chair.
     “Injection is complete. We’re ready to begin phase two.” Bake looked sidelong at his stout, red-headed friend, whose mouth broke into and even wider grin.
     “Proceed.”
     A faint hum filled the facility as the magnet began to run a current through the gaseous mixture. Bake could imagine the electrons being ripped from the atoms of hydrogen and the whole mess beginning to glow as it became a swirl of plasma. He could almost see the luminescent donut spinning in the middle of the world’s most expensive machine. It was only a minute or two before the technician, without turning around, said that the toroidal and poroidal superconducting coils were being engaged. These would squeeze the plasma into the center of the vacuum chamber raising the temperature to 10 million degrees centigrade. The hum raised an octave or two, causing Bake to give a worried glance at Meier. Clapping his wide hand on Bake’s much smaller one the German reassured him with a nod and a wink. Bake pulled his hand free, a little too forcefully, hoping that his comrade didn’t notice the moistness of his palms.
     In order to achieve nuclear fusion more energy had to be added. The final step was to shoot radio and microwaves along with high-energy deuterium atoms into the mix thus reaching 150 million degrees and the world’s first manmade fusion-powered generator. The technicians observed their monitors with an astonishing intensity. Even the stalwart Meier seemed to slide to the edge of his chair.
     “Now!” the technician burst out, making Bake jump to his feet. The hum reached a deafening level but his full attention was now on the temperature readings and energy output monitor. Every second seemed to be an hour. From a dull pain in his arm he knew that Meier was on his feet as well, gripping his arm like a vice. As each second passed the temperature crept towards its goal and Bake kept a close eye on the energy output reading.
     Panic rose in his chest as the temperature reached 150 million degrees but the output read zero.
     “We did it!” Shouted Meier. “We did it my friend!”
     “No we didn’t!” Bake gasped. “Look at the energy output!”
     But his mood couldn’t be broken, he shook Bake’s limp hand and began to prance around to each technician giving them solid pats on the back.
     Anger rising from the pit of his stomach Bake cried, “All we’ve done is make a really hot oven you fool!”
     A little deflated but still with a grin on his face Meier replied, “Well, at least it didn’t explode.”
     -CRACK-
     Steven Springer was looking out of the Earth side window of the ISS when the south of France disappeared, followed shortly after by the whole of Europe. A wall of incandescent elements rushed up and over the atmosphere engulfing ocean and continent alike until the entire planet shined with the light of man’s first fusion reaction. For two minutes and thirteen seconds the solar system had another star and only six people were left to talk about it.

In Walked Trouble

In walked trouble, his hulking figure filling the doorway. From underneath a wide brimmed hat, that hung low over his face, peered a single red searching eye. It scanned the ship’s crew, darting from one face to another with an unnatural motion. Other than the low hum of the engines, silence reigned over the Command Deck where the crewmen stood frozen at their stations. Some were hunched over their control panels, visible beads of sweat rolling down their foreheads, their weapons drawn. Others kept their hands at the controls, ready for any order that their Captain may give. In the center of the room, his jaw set and eyes ablaze, stood the Captain. Now face to face with his enemy he gripped his blaster tightly with both hands.

They were behind enemy lines on a covert reconnaissance mission when the stranger’s vessel was first spotted. Thinking that it was a personnel carrier the Captain maintained their hiding place affixed to the side of a large asteroid. The Captain had relied on the massive heat sinks to mask their radiation signature, but it hadn’t been enough. The unknown pilot changed his course and began a direct intercept pattern and they were forced to flee. Dodging asteroids, calculating hyperspace jumps and putting his ship through a series of complicated maneuvers, the Captain lead his crew in an effort to lose their pursuer. Now at the end of the eight hour chase the stranger had boarded their ship and stood there, without a word, staring them down with that one shifting eye.

That red wandering eye finally came to rest on one individual. Lieutenant Starlin’s breath caught in his throat and he felt his face flush of all color. For what seemed like ages the two stood staring at each other. That’s when the Lieutenant noticed the parcel that the intruder held in his vise-like hand. Wrapped in brown paper was some irregularly shaped object. Before he could think too much about it, the intruder made a move towards the Lieutenant, extending the package in front of him. Every weapon in the room was discharged simultaneously. Quicker than lightning he hit the floor and rolled behind the engineering console. Sparks exploded just over his head as the energy beams of half a dozen weapons collided with the wall behind where he stood a moment before.

As the smoke cleared the intruder leapt from his hiding spot, abandoning all cover in an attempt to reach his mark. Hat falling from his head, he covered the distance to Starlin in a few long strides. The Lieutenant closed his eyes and tucked his arms around his head, anticipating the impact. With a shrill scream he accidently pressed the trigger of his blaster. The beam punched a hole clean through the assailant’s metal chest and he fell, with a heavy clang at Starlin’s feet.

Every member of the crew quickly huddled around the robot’s corpse. Burnt wires and melted servos were visible in the gaping hole. The scanner in the middle of his metallic head, once glowing red, was now dark. After the shock of the robot’s sudden demise wore off, the crew’s attention turned to the oddly shaped package that still lay clutched in his hand. One man gave it a soft kick, causing it to flop from his grasp and land where a white label could be read.

Every eye turned to Starlin, whose face turned a brighter red than his uniform.

“Why don’t you open it, Lieutenant?”

Grant jump at the sudden sound of the Captain’s voice in his ear. Without needing to look at his commanding officer’s face he knew that this was a command and not a question.

Grant stooped, shaking, and retrieved his delivery from next to the drone. Removing the paper wrapping the contents of the package and the reason for the failure of their mission was revealed to the entire crew.

The value sized package of tube socks was knocked out of his hands as the captain began shouting orders for the return to their homebase.

The packet of socks landed squarely on top of the drone’s serial number placard which read, “TR.0U8.1E”

Trouble always finds you.