Our Featured Author 

A native of Wisconsin and Connecticut, DT Krippene deserted aspirations of being a biologist to live the corporate dream and raise a family.  After six homes, a ten-year stint working in Asia, and an imagination that never slept, his muse refused to be hobbled as a mere dream. DT writes science fiction, dystopian, and alternate-world fantasy. His current project is set in a near future dystopia where over 95% of the human population has been wiped out by a virus, and survivors unable to procreate … until a small number of women give birth on the same day.

You can find DT on his website and his social media links, Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest.

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In Simple Terms

DT Krippene

"What's this all about," Trevor Stanhope asked his Associate Administrator.
    The click of Helen Martinez's low-heeled shoes kept cadence to Stanhope's brisk stride as they hurried along on the polished floors of NASA's subterranean levels. "The note mentioned recent information that needs your immediate attention," she said.
    Six months since Stanhope's appointment as NASA's Administrator, President Barbara Preston specifically asked him to shake things up by reining-in expensive projects and the Brainiacs who were too busy looking for ET. "Bring in some solid space science we can use while getting the Mars mission off the ground, like updated satellite reconnaissance and better asteroid killers," she'd told him.
    "Did they send a synopsis, so I can understand what they're saying when they start throwing those pseudo-scientific terms and acronyms around?" he asked.
    "All I got was something to do with all the increased meteorite activity, asteroid close calls, and TNO's . . . Trans Neptunian Objects."
    "Trans-nep-toonia objects . . ." Stanhope chuckled. "Sounds like that Christmas rock orchestra that pops up every holiday." A lawyer by education, and six-term, conservative US Congressman before President Preston handed him this job, Stanhope's grasp of science was limited to high school chemistry. Where did they come up with these names?
    "Might not want to say that in front of them," Martinez said. "They're a little sensitive after all the resignations and unfilled positions."
    Stanhope knew Martinez harbored resentment for not getting the vacant Deputy Administrator position. He almost eliminated her job as well, but he needed one senior director able to coach him on the byzantine terminology used by the space agency. Like TNOs.
    "They should be,” he said. “The President is all over my ass about missing her promise of ‘Mars in 2032’ launch. There'll be hell to pay if the Chinese get there first."
    "China spends more money on their program than we do, sir."
    "They spend their money on projects that make sense, not bullshit like snapping pictures of Planet X."
    "You mean Planet Nine."
    "Whatever."
    Two men and a woman rose when Stanhope and Martinez entered the underground conference room. First thing to hit Stanhope's nose was the smell of burnt coffee, stale pizza, and body odor. Do these nerds ever shower?
    NASA’s Director of Astrophysics, Dr. Palani Chatwal, whose wisps of white hair sprouted from the sides of a bald head, offered his hand. "Thanks for coming on such short notice, sir." He motioned to the other two standing at the table. "You know our Chief Scientist, Madeline Brightwood of course, and this is Lyle Johansson of the PCOS Science Mission Directive."
    Stanhope leaned toward Martinez. "Physics of the Cosmos," she whispered.
    An Asian-looking guy with unkempt chin-length hair studied a laptop and didn't bother to rise or introduce himself. Stanhope took a seat, glancing at a plastic tub of ping-pong balls on a corner table. Is that what they do here, play games on government property?
    Madeline Brightwood, a freckled-faced, frizzy red-haired woman and seemingly young for someone with numerous post doctorates, took over. "I'll get straight to the point, sir. There's been a development regarding an anomaly we've been monitoring for some years, and we expect it to have a major impact on Earth."
    Wearing a proper tie, and the only respectably dressed presenter in Stanhope's opinion, the tall, lanky Dr. Johansson operated a colorized 3D hologram of the solar system hovering above the conference table.
    Stanhope sputtered when the projection highlighted an artist’s conception of an anomaly commonly called Planet Nine. "You’re kidding me. You dragged me down here for this?"
    Chatwal and Martinez exchanged glances when Stanhope pushed his chair back to leave.
    "Please, hear Dr. Brightwood out, sir. It's important," Martinez urged.
    The four of them exhaled with relief when Stanhope settled back. The guy on his laptop kept reading as if uninterested.
    Johansson magnified the projection of a black, featureless sphere while Brightwood narrated. "We've had difficulty in past years observing what we thought was a low-end gas giant class planet, 17 times the mass of Earth, on the outer fringes of the Kuiper Belt. We calculate it to be near its aphelion position, about 1200 AUs from Earth."
    "Can you give me that in simpler language?" Stanhope asked.
    Martinez leaned over to whisper. "Aphelion – furthest point on its estimated 10,000-to-20,000 year orbital cycle – over a hundred-billion miles away. In simple terms, it behaves like a comet, and is suspected to be a contributory factor in Earth's abnormal tilt in planar orbit to the sun."
    “It's too dark and far away to reflect light, and until recently, it registered no infrared signature,” Brightwood added.
    Stanhope thought it was more theoretical nonsense. “I read something about it in Popular Mechanics like – decades ago. Why are we still spending money on this?”
    “We . . . haven’t, actually . . . spent much,” Martinez said. “Most of what we’ve learned is from older data, supplemented with new information from other agencies.”
    Stanhope wanted to inquire what other agencies, but he decided against it. “What about the satellite that took pictures of Pluto—what’s the name . . . ?” Stanhope snapped his fingers in thought. “Cassini.” And here they think I don’t know jack-squat about space.
    “Sir, I think you mean New Horizons,” Martinez said. “Cassini went down in Saturn’s atmosphere in 2017.”
    “We lost New Horizons' signal when it neared a KBO back in 2019," Dr. Chatwal clarified. "Extraterrestrial satellites still functioning today are concentrated on the moon, Mars of course, Jupiter, and the asteroid belt to search for mineable resources.”
    "What is a KBO?" Stanhope asked impatiently.
    "Kuiper Belt Object," Martinez answered.
    “You still haven’t told me why we’re still studying this. If it’s . . .” He turned to Martinez. “What did you say, a hundred-billion miles away? Why do we care?”
    Johansson began a holographic animation. "We've recently picked up a surge of x-rays from the position of the anomaly. Based on data from the last two years, we've observed small planetoids and ice bodies beyond Pluto moving away from established orbits."
    Martinez sighed. "Dr. Chatwal, I think you need to just tell him."
    Chatwal took a seat. “The evidence is indicative of a developing dark matter black hole.”
    Stanhope nearly choked in disbelief. "You mean like star-eating black holes?" His teenage son played a holographic game called "Galaxy Death" with a black hole as the nemesis. “You're asking me to believe a kid's game scenario, and by no longer calling it Planet Nine, you expect me to tell the President to take seriously something you can't see, because it’s . . . black.”
    Chatwall threw his head back in disbelief. Brightwood rubbed her eyes with thumb and forefinger. Johansson stared at Stanhope, grim-faced. The Asian laptop reader was still in a world of his own.
    Brightwood gave it one more shot. “X-ray emissions, which have never been detected before, and KBOs moving toward the anomaly are verifiable observations of a considerable gravitational force.”
    "Because it’s a magnet to a bunch floating rocks nearby?" Stanhope shook his head. “I’m supposed to tell the President about this, like it’s big deal?”
    The scruffy Asian dude slammed his laptop shut. He scratched his scalp, raining dandruff on his navy-blue shirt, and finally joined the discussion. "We have corroborated the same phenomena as your agency, as well as the European, Japanese, Indian, and Australian agencies," he said with a thick Chinese accent. "The evidence is irrefutable."
    Stanhope squinted at him. "Excuse me. Who are you?"
    "Dr. Deng Wei is from the China National Space Agency,” Dr. Chatwal replied. “He arrived yesterday to share their findings with us."
    Stanhope's first thought was how the hell did a Chinese national get in the building? "You didn’t think to tell me about this Dr. Dings presence?” he growled at Martinez.
    “It’s Deng,” the Chinese scientist corrected.
    Martinez jutted her chin. “He has the proper clearances and authorizations.”
    She stiffened when Stanhope leaned over to mutter an inch from her ear. “What's he here for? To spy on our progress with the Mars mission?”
    “You may be interested to know, Administrator Stanhope," Deng responded, "in view of the collective data, the CNSA has cancelled its Mars expedition.”
    Stanhope sniffed. So he says. Probably coached by China’s Ministry of State Security to keep us off balance. He assumed a posture of command. “So, Mr. Deng, would you be willing to share with us the reason why?”
    "It's Dr. Deng" he replied, before gesturing at the mysterious dark orb. “My colleagues in China, and the capable people of your NASA and other agencies, strongly suspect this to be the development of a cosmic event we have never observed before.”
    He adjusted the projector settings. The animation restarted, and as the x-ray readout increased, the black sphere shrank in size. “Our collective theory believes the anomaly has been a dormant, dark matter object since before our sun coalesced from interstellar dust and gas to become a protostar. Analysis of unique CMB radiation – excuse me, cosmic microwave background radiation emanating from the anomaly strongly indicates it may be as old as the universe itself."
    Convincing these NASA's eggheads had to be an elaborate ruse to hide what the Chinese really intended, and now he expects me to buy this bullshit too? Stanhope sat back and crossed his legs. “Okay, I’ll bite . . . Dr. Deng. Let’s say this thing is what you theorize it is. Why is the Chinese government so interested in something that far away, based on an ability to suck a few rocks toward it?”
    “It will be of interest to everyone before long, Mr. Administrator. Our survival as a species depends on what we do in the very near future. The data confirms the mass of the anomaly will increase steadily as it shrinks, until it overcomes our sun's effectiveness to sustain planetary stability." Deng unplugged a crystal flash drive from his laptop. “Allow me to show you.”
    Stanhope gave Martinez a we’ll-have-words-about-this-later glower when the room lights were lowered.
    Deng’s 3D holograph display expanded to the Oort Cloud at the edges of the solar system. Stanhope inwardly admitted the projection had strikingly detailed resolution, each planet realistically rendered from satellite photos taken over the years. Deng zoomed in on the dark matter sphere and accelerated the timeline into the future. As the anomaly shrank smaller and smaller, the x-ray, infrared, and gamma radiation readouts spiked.
    “You're theorizing this anomaly is a credible threat to Earth?” Stanhope asked, finally understanding what this meeting was about.
    “We are not speaking theoretically anymore,” Deng said.
    As the year counter ticked off, rock, ice, and asteroids of all sizes in the Kuiper Belt and Oort Cloud were pulled toward it. Changed gravitational forces altered the orbital plane of Neptune and Uranus.
    "This event appears to not follow the current known processes of black hole formation, and we believe we are witnessing a unique cosmic disturbance which will result in the eventual destruction of Earth." Deng halted the animation to make his point. “If the event remains linear, we calculate the orbital stability of the solar system will become slowly undone, and Earth will begin to experience what we call ‘lethal rain’ from the millions of asteroids and ice bodies nearest us.”
    For a long moment, Stanhope wavered with the revelation of a potential apocalypse, but the well-honed, skeptical lawyer in him refused to believe a mathematical fairytale without further proof.
    The sphere continued to shrink, until the diameter index reached the size of a tiny moon, and the view of background stars distorted. "We expect gravitational lensing as the anomaly reaches critical mass, but by then, it will be too late for us,” Deng said.
    Stanhope turned to Dr. Martinez for translation. "Extreme gravitational forces capable of bending space-time itself and light along with it," she explained.
    “Bending . . . space . . . time and light,” he parroted. She’s talking sci-fi movie shit. On a hunch, Stanhope pulled out his palm tablet and typed 'black holes' in the search option. He skipped over anything with big science words and mathematical formulas. He finished scanning and looked up with a scowl to find Deng lounging in a chair with his feet propped up.
    Deng smiled at him. “What did you find out on Wikipedia, Mr. Administrator?”
    Stanhope's anger flared. “Enough to learn it takes a tremendous amount of mass and energy to form a black hole. What you're proposing is impossible.” He waved at the paused animation. “A nice video presentation, but forgive me if I choose not to believe it until someone comes up with some hard facts, not some mumbo-jumbo theoretical algorithm.” Martinez straightened her posture in undisguised resentment. “I continue to be amazed . . . sir, of how flippant you are of vetted research corroborated by several trustworthy sources. This anomaly is not mumbo-jumbo and is not going away, just because you refuse to believe it.”
    Stanhope inhaled sharply through his nose. “Is that so, Dr. Martinez.” And soon to be an ex-employee of NASA. “So where does a thing like this get its energy if you can’t see it?”
    “We see only 4% of the physical universe. The rest is composed of dark matter and energy." Martinez' chair slid back a few inches when she abruptly rose. "Even high-schoolers know that,” she shouted.
    Neither Stanhope nor Martinez made a move to break from the showdown of glares.
    Deng brought his feet off the table with a clump. “Mr. Administrator, this planet will lose its protective atmosphere and become like the cratered surface of the moon from a tempest of meteors, comets, and planetary debris long before the anomaly even achieves critical mass. Now is the time for us to refocus our efforts to save as many humans as we can before the inevitable happens."
    Stanhope clasped hands and straightened to a trial judge's posture. "If the Chinese government wants to spend resources for life boats in space, that is your prerogative."
    "Perhaps you have a suggestion how to prevent the obliteration of all organic life on Earth . . . ” Deng glanced at the year tally. “. . . in less than eighty-years.”
    “We have orbiting, outward-facing weapons arrays for such a thing. Had to use it twice in the past year, not that I’m divulging anything you don’t already know. You can thank us anytime.” Stanhope adjusted the knot of his Italian silk necktie. “If what you’re claiming is true, we’ll choose to devote the resources of this agency to produce more asteroid busters. I suggest China do as well.”
    After several moments of stunned silence in the room, Deng nodded with a grunt. "My superiors in the government responded in a like manner when we reported our findings. Allow me then, to present you the same demonstration I gave to them when they too, thought our proposal–Yúchun.
    Stanhope glanced at his watch. Late again for another meeting because of this crap. “You've got two minutes, Dr. Deng. Keep it brief and keep it simple.”
    Deng set the plastic tub of white balls on the table. “Do you play ping-pong, Administrator?”
    “I play tennis.”
    “The principal is similar.”
    Stanhope balked when Deng handed him a paddle. “Humor me, please,” Deng implored. “It won’t take but a minute.”
    Stanhope snatched the paddle from Deng’s hand, grinding his teeth. Deng went to the opposite end of the table and gently tossed a ball. Stanhope batted it away. Deng flung three in rapid sequence. Stanhope easily deflected them, smirking when one of the balls popped off Deng’s chest.
    “Like your asteroid killing satellites, I see your tennis skills are good,” Deng smiled. "Dr. Martinez, would you assist me please."
    A sly smile arose on Martinez' face as she joined Deng and gripped one end of the tub. On the count of three, Martinez and Deng emptied balls at Stanhope with a mighty heave. Stanhope dropped the paddle and shielded his face from the onslaught.
    Chatwal and Johansson struggled not to guffaw. Balls still bouncing on the floor, Stanhope shot to his feet. "Ms. Martinez, report to my office before you leave this evening."
    "You don't get it, do you?" Martinez crossed her arms. "What we're trying to demonstrate in simple terms, is the futility of stopping a hailstorm with a pistol."
    Deng leaned forward with palms flattened on the table. “If we choose to ignore this, Mr. Administrator, it will guarantee the end of our species. Is that brief and simple enough for you?”
    Stanhope tugged on the hem of his suit coat. "Mr. Deng, my regards to the CNSA."
    His face mottled with anger, Stanhope spun about and stormed out the door.

*** 

    Helen Martinez gazed at jeweled sparkles of the capital city at night from her office window. Carefully folding the resignation letter, the emotions of a long career torpedoed by politics, and the eventual end of life on Earth, saddened her.
    She paused outside Stanhope's cracked-open office door to gather courage. The tinny voice of a newscaster stilled her hand from knocking. She gently pushed the door open. Stanhope had his back to her, listening to a cell phone held to his ear. She edged toward the news monitor, and scenes focused on what appeared to be the aftermath of a massive explosion.
    Ice crept up her spine when she read the scrolling banner. "Fragment from latest asteroid buster falls near Shenzhen. Quarter of the sprawling Chinese city destroyed—thousands feared dead."
    "Oh my God," she said aloud.
    Stanhope clicked off his cell and turned to her. His face had gone pale. Facial cosmetic surgery failed to hide age lines deepened by anxiety.
    "Happened less than an hour ago," Stanhope said. "That could have been any city in the world."
    Martinez placed the letter on his desk. "I want to apologize for . . . well, Dr. Deng is known for colorful theatrics . . . I got caught up in it." She fought the rising gorge in her belly from flash-carding devastation on the newscast.
    Stanhope switched off the monitor and set his cell phone down. "That was the President. She's called an emergency meeting with the Joint Chiefs, Secretaries of State, Defense and National Security . . . asked me to attend as well."
    "What can I do to help?" Martinez asked without a hint of reservation.
    He ran a hand threw his hair, mussing its coiffed styling. "You really believe this Planet Nine anomaly, is responsible for this?"
    "The observational evidence is conclusive of a growing disruptive gravitational force that will destroy our solar system. So yes, I do."
    Stanhope went to the window to gaze. "We've come so far, only to have it all erased in a generation or so." He rubbed his eyes. "I'm about to be a grandfather."
    He finally gets it, but it took a disaster to convince him. "I often have to remind myself that if we reduce our nearly fourteen-billion-year-old universe to the span of an hour, human civilization is only fourteen-seconds old." Martinez paused to let it sink in. "Dr. Deng believes this dark matter anomaly was written in the stars before the existence of our solar system and for all we know, it will be here long after Earth returns to cosmic dust."
    Stanhope picked up her letter of resignation and without reading it, tore it in three pieces before dropping it in a wastebasket. "Effective immediately, I'd like you to assume the Deputy Administrator position, as well as all mission directorates and research."
    Martinez's jaw dropped. He'd just handed her the keys to all of NASA's scientific efforts outside of general administration. "Uh . . . thank you."
    "Now, Deputy Administrator Martinez," Stanhope said. "We have meeting to go to at the White House. I need your help convincing the President to divert all satellite missions to monitoring the anomaly."
    He held the door open for her. "But do us all a favor. Try to keep it in simple terms."