Critical Mass, page 10
* * *
—
Tighe, Yak, Chindarkar, and Jin stood in a large room containing half a dozen tables covered with an array of space suits, helmets, and other components. Kerner paced between tables while the running songs of distant recruits came to them through the open windows.
Tighe grabbed a helmet off a table and examined it. Unlike the large ruggedized mining helmet integrated into the EVA suits back on the Konstantin, the helmet in Tighe’s hands was detached and also lighter, with a clear faceplate visor instead of an opaque shell studded with arrays of tiny plenoptic cameras.
Tighe looked up. “Julian, why not keep the virtual visor helmets we had on the Ryugu expedition? Those were tough as hell, and the augmented reality system gave us near perfect visibility.”
Jin studied an identical helmet at his own table. “I agree with J.T. This faceplate might shatter if struck by debris. Our old extravehicular mobility units were better.”
Kerner stopped pacing and picked up one of the helmets. He then rooted around a nearby workbench until he came up with a pointed rock hammer. He placed the helmet facing visor-up on the table, then without warning proceeded to pound on the clear visor with all his strength, causing the contents of the tabletop to bounce with each hit. After half a dozen blows he picked up the helmet, wiped the visor with his hand, and showed it to them.
The faceplate looked barely scuffed.
“Transparent aluminum. As tough as the helmet itself. Integrated crystal display, much lighter weight, better battery life, and all of the features of the old EMU headgear.”
Tighe looked back down at the helmet in his hands. “Get out of town . . .”
Yak nodded. “Extravehicular activity tech has advanced since you have been away.”
Jin ran his finger along the helmet’s coupling ring. “But this is not integral to the spacesuit like the EMU.” He dropped the helmet and picked up a white undersuit spread out on the table. “So this cannot be an EVA work helmet.” He looked up. “And it is overkill for a flight suit.”
Chindarkar nodded. “Han’s right. Aboard ship, a detached helmet is just something you have to search for in an emergency. I prefer the attached, zippered hoods on our old flight suits.”
Tighe examined the fabric of the white undersuit on his table. It was thicker and coarser than he was used to. It had sections of denser fabric that looked like Kevlar reinforcement. “And for flight suits, these are too heavy.”
Kerner regarded them. “They are not flight suits.”
Tighe and the others exchanged puzzled looks.
Yak laughed. “Is EVA suit.”
Tighe picked the suit up off the table to study it closely. “This?”
It was more substantial than a typical flight suit—which would only be worn inside a spacecraft to guard against sudden pressure loss—but nowhere near the weight of a traditional spacesuit. The industrial EMU spacesuits they had used on the Konstantin massed 150 kilos without life support packs and never came inside the ship; instead they docked to the ship’s exterior like a small spacecraft. They didn’t so much put them on as “enter them” through a hatch in the back.
Kerner nodded. “The helmet and suit you are holding is a fully capable EVA suit that masses just 41 kilograms.”
“Forty-one?” Chindarkar whistled and held the suit up in front of her. “It looks formfitting. How do you slip into this while wearing an LCVG?”
She was referring to the long-johns-like liquid cooling and ventilation garment that they wore beneath their space suits to distribute heat.
Kerner was poker-faced. “The LCVG is integral.”
“This includes the LCVG?” She appeared skeptical.
Tighe looked up. “What about internal pressure?”
“That’s why it’s so light.” Kerner lifted up a nearby suit. “This is called an MCP—or mechanical counterpressure—suit. Instead of atmospheric pressure against the vacuum of space, the formfitting material of the suit presses in on your body. Which means you don’t need a pure oxygen environment in your suit to maintain mobility and breathability. It also means you can use normal air in your helmet—so no need for a pure oxygen prebreathe prior to an EVA.”
“No two-hour prebreathe before suiting up?” Tighe was impressed. He took another look at the garment in his hands. “We just put on the suit and go straight out of the airlock?”
“That’s correct.”
Jin raised his eyebrows. “That is a game changer.”
Chindarkar studied the fabric. “It means we could EVA in emergencies.”
Jin said, “But there was a reason the suits remained outside the spacecraft at Ryugu. Positively charged regolith particles get into everything. They’re an inhalation hazard. Hazardous to electronics. We can’t wear these suits in and out of an airlock.”
“They have a charge dissipation system for that, but they aren’t meant for surface work. They’re meant primarily for open space. You’ll see next what we’ll be using for lunar surface EVAs.”
Jin looked closely at the fabric. “What about micrometeor and debris protection, or radiation shielding?”
“The laminate includes layers of boron-10—which has four orders of magnitude-greater cosmic ray stopping power than hydrogen. Plus, boron and carbon nanotubes for puncture resistance, and aerogels for temperature insulation. It’ll stop a micrometeor as well as the EMU, but has better rad protection. All wrapped in a polyethylene skin. There are also outersuits you can pull on for additional protection under more extreme conditions. And these you can actually slip into and out of even while on EVA.”
Chindarkar laid the suit back on the table. “Well, whoever came up with this tech really outdid themselves.”
Jin looked up. “What does it cost?”
Yak answered instead of Kerner. “Per unit price of three million US dollars—helmet not included.”
Chindarkar winced.
Kerner pointed. “Those are samples. We’ll need an updated full-body scan from each of you today for a perfect fitting. The manufacturer will require several months to produce your suits. We intend to purchase two copies each.”
Tighe placed the suit back on the table. “Twenty-four million for the four of us. That’s some wardrobe budget.”
Kerner checked the time. “And worth it. Come . . .” He gestured. “Let’s get those body scans done and move on.”
After disrobing, they each stood in a 3D scanning booth for several minutes to endure a detailed body scan. After years in deep space together, modesty was not a factor among them. Afterward, the team dressed and rejoined Kerner in front of the building, where he waited at the wheel of a golf cart. He immediately set off as they boarded, driving down lanes between the buildings.
Kerner spoke without taking his eyes off the road. “As usual, you won’t be going on EVAs often. Let me show you what you’ll be using for work on the lunar surface.”
* * *
—
Tighe and his colleagues walked through an echoing concrete robotics lab among half a dozen humanoid robots wrapped in ruggedized polymer carapaces that resembled medieval armor. Each robot was of average human height, numbered, and painted in various neon colors—red, green, blue, orange, and yellow—with the word “TALOS” stenciled across their chest plates. The machines stood in charger units, and each one had twin whiplike antennas rising half a meter from their shoulder blades. Tighe pounded his fist on the chest of one of them.
It didn’t budge.
“These things are tanks compared to the old Valkyrie telepresence robots we had on the Ryugu expedition.”
Kerner came up behind him. “Ryugu had one-sixty-thousandth of Earth’s gravity. The Moon has one-sixth Earth gravity. So you’ll need a more powerful humanoid telepresence robot to get useful work done on the lunar surface. These weigh just over 150 kilos with a standard loadout.”
Chindarkar studied one up close. “Can we try them out?”
“That’s why we’re here.” Kerner gestured to a row of chairs and accessories nearby.
She approached and grabbed a crystal headset and pulled on haptic feedback gloves from a nearby table. “So they’re operated like the Valkyries, then?”
Kerner nodded. “VR user interface. Log on and the system will activate your crystal—you’ll need to remain seated during operation.”
“Then how do we make it walk?”
“Slide one foot forward to walk—both to run. The software will handle foot movement and navigation over obstacles. You need only handle upper-body movements.”
“Fancy.” She sat in a nearby operator chair.
Tighe, Jin, and Yak all donned their own gear and sat in operator seats.
Kerner approached. “Select any robot with a full charge.”
Tighe could see that Chindarkar was already jacked in, and her crystal headset had turned opaque, indicating she was in VR mode. She moved her arms as she interacted with an unseen user interface. “Got it . . . Linking to unit four . . .”
In a moment, the green Talos robot marked “4” seemed to come alive, its servo motors whining as it stepped clear of its charger and looked around the room.
Chindarkar said, “Wow. These feel like military-grade motors. What’s the response time?”
Kerner answered, “Sub-millisecond. At 60,000 kilometers from the lunar surface, you’re talking a transmission lag of about a fifth of a second. Human response time to direct stimuli is about the same. So the near-instant servo response is important to keep telepresence as close as possible to being there in person.”
Her robot stroked its own shoulder antennas. “And bandwidth?”
“Five hundred megabit main channel, with a hundred megabit secondary.”
Tighe interacted with his own crystal display to put it into VR mode. Once it went opaque, he navigated to a UI listing of available Talos robots, selecting red unit six. In a moment he was suddenly gazing through the stereoscopic vision of the robot’s eyes to see his own human form sitting in a chair across the room. The vertigo he felt made him briefly nauseous—which he immediately noticed from the robot’s POV. “This is freakier than usual.”
Jin spoke on Tighe’s right. “We are normally not in the same room as our avatar.”
Tighe could see Jin had powered up the blue robot marked “2,” while Yak powered up yellow “3.” As Tighe turned, he also experienced the response time. “Man, Priya’s not kidding. These motors are incredible.” Tighe looked down to examine his robot hand as he opened and closed its fist. He turned his robot head, and it responded as fast as his neck muscles could in real life.
Tighe slid one foot forward, and his robot walked toward Jin’s robot. He didn’t need to literally walk; instead, his Talos took this foot gesture as the command to move. The farther forward he slid his foot, the faster it moved. When he drew back one foot or the other, the robot turned. When he slid both feet back, it stopped—or moved backward if he shifted them far enough. “Wow. Our old Valkyries were like invalids compared to this.”
Chindarkar’s and Yak’s robots joined them so that they were now standing as a quartet, examining each other up close—poking robotic hands into each other’s components.
Chindarkar’s green “4” robot grabbed Tighe’s robotic head and “stared” into his eyes. “What about optics?”
Kerner answered, “Stereoscopic 4K displays. Infrared and ultraviolet modes. Lidar scanners.”
Tighe brushed her hands off. “Inappropriate touching, Priya. Didn’t you get the memo from HR?”
She laughed and shoved him back, but his robot immediately recovered its footing. “Nice recovery.”
“Woah. That wasn’t me.”
Kerner pushed Tighe’s robot. Again it staggered backward, but recovered automatically without falling. Kerner said, “Unlike V-2’s, Talos units automatically handle all balance, standing, and recovery from slips or falls. It’s built into the software. You just aim where you want to go, and it will navigate the terrain while remaining upright. Lets you focus on upper-body tasks, not lower-body movement.”
Jin’s robot was examining its open hands. “Are these pressure pads I feel on the fingers and palms?”
“Tactile feedback sensors—you’ll feel pressure when you hold things.”
His robot grabbed at a handrail. “Impressive. That will be useful for situational awareness.” Jin’s robot then opened the service panel on the back of a unit still in its charger. “What sort of battery life? More than the Mark II Valkyries, I hope.”
Kerner looked up from his tablet. “Less, actually—but it’s also less of an issue because these robots can be continuously charged via a microwave beam.” He pointed to the antennas.
Tighe said, “Wait, so we can operate continuously?”
“As long as you’re line of sight to a transmitter—which you can transport with the robot itself. The transmitter is on a hardwired cable to a power source.”
Chindarkar’s robot walked in front of Kerner. “But it does have an onboard battery?”
“Yes. Two, in fact.” He opened the front plate of another nearby robot in its charger, revealing two battery packs. “They have a front-facing dual battery configuration. So you can swap out one of your own batteries for a freshly charged one, even while remaining operational.”
Tighe looked down at his own robotic chest, pressed a marked latch, and opened the chest plate to reveal the battery bay. “Man, we could have used these on Ryugu.” He closed his own chest back up.
The telepresence robots now circled each other like suspicious inmates in an exercise yard.
Tighe called out, “Han! High five!” He held up an outstretched robotic hand.
Jin’s robot turned to him, raised his hand, and they clacked the palms together with sufficient force to send them both momentarily backpedaling.
They all laughed uproariously.
“Couldn’t do that with V-2’s.”
Kerner moved back. “Please don’t break them.”
Chindarkar asked, “How much per unit?”
Kerner answered, deadpan, “Less than the cost of dying on the Moon. But only barely. These are prototypes on loan from the manufacturer—who is eager to have a customer field-test them on the lunar surface. Which is why they’ll be paying to transport them there. However, longer term, we’ll need to build all but the most advanced components of such robots—the chips and optics—in situ, to save on launch costs from Earth.”
“So these units are free to us?”
“For testing purposes. And with some strings attached.”
“What sort of strings?”
“Testimonials. Promotional endorsements. This sort of thing.”
Yak’s robot was performing what looked like tai chi, making slow, graceful motions. “These machines will behave differently under Moon gravity.”
“They have a useful feature for that.” Kerner started tapping at a computer tablet. “The control software allows us to dampen or amplify your movements to compensate for variable gravity environments. On the Moon, for example, we can dial down the force of your movements to one-sixth actual. That way you won’t suffer physics disorientation after a long telepresence work shift.” He tapped a button.
Suddenly Tighe’s robot felt like it was wading through molasses.
“That’s you on a setting for Moon gravity, but of course, you’re experiencing it under full Earth gravity.”
Tighe’s robot trudged along the floor, as did the others.
Chindarkar laughed. “Ugh. I hate it! Put it back, Julian.”
“As you wish.” Kerner poked at his tablet.
Tighe’s robot was once again agile. “Much better.” He shadowboxed with a nearby robot.
Kerner said, “I suggest you give them a field test, but before you go outside, please put on a jumper . . .” He pointed to a row of white garments hanging on racks on the far wall. Above each hung clear-plastic bubble helmets.
“A jumper?” Tighe guided his robot there, grabbing at the sleeve of one of the garments. They resembled nothing so much as footed, vinyl pajamas. “Why does a robot need pajamas?”
Chindarkar’s robot came up alongside. “Or a helmet?” She tapped at one of the clear-plastic bubbles.
Kerner replied, “You do remember your asteroid training, yes? Lunar regolith is even finer than Ryugu’s—finer than talcum powder—and as abrasive as diamond dust. On the Moon you’ll need to prevent the regolith from destroying your robot’s joints and optics. These garments are made of aramid fiber.”
Jin’s robot joined them, examining a jumper as well.
Kerner continued. “You dispose of them when they are worn. You will notice a menu item labeled ‘Suit Up’ in your HUD display. Each jumper and helmet has a unique radio frequency identification—or RFID—chip. Select the ‘Suit Up’ command and your robot will automatically detect and pull on the nearest jumper and helmet. There is another command to disrobe.”
Tighe activated the command and suddenly his robot behaved as one possessed—the label “Auto-Operation” flashing in his HUD display. With the VR headset the experience was nauseating. “Well, this is unpleasant.”
Kerner sighed. “Then close your eyes. I assure you, it is infinitely easier than trying to put the jumper on manually.”
Jin commented, “It does seem to be doing the job.”
Tighe risked a peek and could see that his robot had already put both feet into the legs and was putting its arms into the sleeves. Very shortly it sealed up the garment and pushed the clear-plastic bubble helmet over its head. Moments later he regained control of his robot. “Huh. It worked.”
He turned to see Chindarkar’s and Jin’s robots were already donning their own jumpers. Moments later all three of them resembled retro spacemen/robots.
Chindarkar laughed hysterically, her robot staggering as it slapped its leg and clutched its belly. “You should see yourself, J.T. You look like an invader from Mars.”
