Okay. I've got 43 minutes to type this.

My name is John David Sanders. I was recruited by NASA for astronaut training. It's something I'd wanted to do since I was a kid, but as I got older I never really thought I'd get into the program. So many apply, so few get in. But I got in.

At least, I thought I did. They did the usual health and mental screening, then they had me working on simulators a lot. It all seemed normal, and they kept wearing stuff with NASA patches around me, with NASA symbols on stuff. Maybe it seemed kind of like they were over-branding, but hey, NASA. What's to over-brand, right?

The simulators were kind of specialized, though. There was the general takeoff stuff, the re-entry stuff, the three-axis navigation stuff and all, but as I got further along it got more specific. Navigating toward certain objects in space and docking with them. Navigating toward certain objects and attaching to them. Then the sims covered navigating toward asteroids and attaching to them.

When they started teaching me about moving the asteroids, angling in certain directions and thrusting to propel them, I thought, "This is so cool! It's space mining! They're training me to do something other than just go out and be in a can! I'm gonna be part of something that's doing something in space!"

That was only partly true. Yes, I'd be doing something in space, but it wouldn't be mining.

Some time ago, people had discovered moving anomalies in space, things causing disruption in view, like a blurry lens getting in the way of stars. They were really tiny at first, so they were hard to verify, but then they started to get bigger. Over time, people figured out that that meant they were getting closer.

As far as anyone can tell, they're like bubbles of energy, huge hollow spheres of subatomic particles held together in a field by some sort of surface tension. Like gigantic soap bubbles. Not quite as big as Jupiter, but a lot bigger than Earth. And, yes, bubbles plural, because there appears to be more than one of them, in a line.

The concentration is enough to distort light. We can see the stars through them, but out of focus and misshapen. Which suggests it would be really bad if one of them came in contact with Earth. It could scour away the Van Allen belts, the ozone layer, perhaps even the atmosphere. The surface of the Earth would be exposed to unfiltered solar radiation, cosmic rays and who knows what else.

Even if we could somehow shield people from all that and get them into airtight shelters, there's the possibility the bubble would encompass Earth, which would block the sun's energy and maybe cause a nuclear-winter-type event. The people telling me all this weren't clear on exactly how big the sphere was, so they didn't project how long Earth would be inside.

Not all the bubbles would hit Earth. They're coming in sort of a straight line, so there's times Earth will be in the path of one and times it'll just pass us by. But there's enough to worry about a collision with one.

Fortunately someone figured out they could be popped. A sufficiently charged rock flung at sufficient speed would rupture the bubble rather than just pass through its wall. The whole thing would collapse from that point into a mass on the other side that would just burst apart from the recoil, dissipating into a celestial gas cloud.

The trick was flinging the rock. That's where this program came in. They called it the David program. And the bubbles are the Goliaths.

I don't know exactly who they are. Government, yes. NASA, maybe, or maybe NASA was just a gatekeeper for candidates. A lot of the NASA trappings started to go away the further I got into the program. And it wasn't a NASA rocket that launched me.

I don't know who else is in the program. I don't know how many guys were sent out as backups in case I failed, or if I was someone else's backup. All I know was that my flight was programmed to target a particular asteroid. It was a lot closer than I expected...I'd read that it could take months to reach a belt asteroid, but I got to my targeted rock in mere days. Maybe there's some other program that breaks up asteroids and sends chunks toward Earth.

I rendezvoused with the rock and triggered the anchors. I followed the directions for thrust to change the velocity and orientation of the rock. It and I headed back to Earth.

The plan sounded simple, but I'm sure it involved a lot of math: approach Earth, use its gravitational field to slingshot the rock toward the bubble, fire up the energy field in the lander, then disengage and land on Earth. Once gravity took hold and the manouevre began, I would have a five-minute window to launch off the rock. Too soon and it would affect the rock's trajectory; too late and I wouldn't hit Earth.

The craft had a window. After days of getting the rock onto the right path I could actually see Earth approaching. When gravity took hold, the world went by my view impossibly fast.

Then it was time to disengage. Ground Control was in range by then and could give me real-time directions, and they did. Disengage now. Disengage now! Your window is closing...disengage!

I didn't disengage. I told them I wasn't going to. I told them I wanted to see.

They didn't argue. They said they understood. They said the four pilots that came before me hadn't disengaged either.

I don't have much time left to transmit this. If I send it too late the energy field charging the rock from the craft will interfere with the signal.

This was my first hunting trip ever. I guess, unless I hit the next bubble in line too, it's my last.

I'm going to go enjoy the view.