Critical Mass, page 11
Tighe raised his arms and spoke robotically to Kerner, “Take us to your leader, human.”
Kerner nodded patiently. “Yes, very amusing. Please, we have a busy schedule.” He pointed out the open garage door. “Proceed to our next appointment in telepresence, and I’ll follow shortly with the van.”
The robots looked about.
“Where’s our next appointment?”
Kerner poked at the tablet. “I put a waypoint on your HUD screen. Head to it, and I will meet you there.”
“One kilometer? How’s our connectivity with these things?”
“There’s signal coverage on this half of the island.”
Tighe clapped his robot hands. “Okay, let’s do it.” He slid his real-world feet forward and jogged his robot out the open roll-top door and onto the road between camp buildings. He glanced back to see Jin’s blue-2, Chindarkar’s green-4, and Yak’s yellow-3 rushing up from behind—and gaining fast.
Chindarkar shouted, “Race you!”
“Hey!” Tighe slid his feet farther forward, causing his robot to sprint.
Soon the four robots were dashing down the road on rubber-soled feet. Tighe heard Kerner’s voice close by, in the room where his own real body was.
“Please remember you are piloting robots! Be careful not to collide with anyone.”
“Okay, okay.”
The four robots remained neck and neck as they came up to the edge of the camp’s physical training field.
“These things kick ass!”
Jin said, “But I am already at only 90 percent charge.”
Chindarkar’s robot pointed. “Look! Our old obstacle course.”
Tighe turned his robot head to see the new class of candidates running the course, much as he had years ago, instructors barking at them. “Oh, hell yes . . .”
They veered toward it, and Chindarkar’s green-4 was the first to fall in alongside the human recruits. “Make way, please!”
The candidates stepped back, some of them too exhausted to look much surprised at the appearance of “sentient” robots on their training course.
Tighe navigated his robot over a log spanning muddy water, and the machine maintained its balance masterfully. “This is really impressive, Julian. You seeing this?”
Kerner’s voice said, “Of course I am. We have cameras everywhere.”
Tighe approached a climbing wall. Two bewildered candidates—one a South Asian man, the other a Caucasian woman—stood aside as the robots gathered. Tighe’s robot grabbed the thick rope hanging down. He “felt” the pressure of it in his hands and glanced over at Chindarkar’s robot. “This is outstanding. Priya, feel the rope?”
“It’s almost like being here.” She started climbing.
Tighe noticed the nearby trainees staring. He called to them, “Don’t feel bad. I was human the first time I ran this course, too.” Then he started climbing the wall.
It was tricky at first, but he soon got the hang of it. Navigating the summit was tougher, and as he climbed over, his robot fell more than jumped down—but the machine automatically righted itself like a cat, absorbing the impact on coiled legs.
“I feel like I’m using cheat codes.”
Kerner’s voice said, “I assure you that actual operations on the moon will be sufficiently difficult.”
Tighe was already running again, pushing to catch up to Chindarkar.
Jin’s robot started passing Tighe’s.
Yak’s robot examined its wrist. “I have under 50 percent charge from our little race.”
Kerner’s voice said, “I told you that battery life would be a constraint, but most of the time you will be on wireless power. Now please proceed to your appointment without any more detours.”
Chindarkar’s robot grabbed Tighe’s robot’s hand. “C’mon, let’s get moving.”
* * *
—
They started jogging down the camp road again at a more sedate pace. The four robots navigated roughly a kilometer toward Kerner’s GPS waypoint over hillsides of volcanic grit, buffeted by gusting winds. Given that he was still recovering from the chemo meds, Tighe was relieved to have the robot do all the actual running for him.
On a stretch of level ground up ahead they spotted a structure of wire netting suspended over poles, pulled taut by cables staked into the ground. Beneath the netting was a collection of Pelican cases, solar panels, and other gear, along with a lone figure gazing into a computer monitor.
“Over there . . .”
The quartet of humanoid robots in plastic suits and bubble helmets drew near a Japanese man in his thirties, who turned as he heard them—only to look gobsmacked as he noticed they weren’t human. They came to a stop around him beneath the wire netting, their lensed eyes whirring to focus on his face. The man stood, confused.
Jin’s robot said, “Julian Kerner sent us here.”
The man was taken aback. “Ah . . . Yes, of course.”
Chindarkar said, “Sorry about the robot avatars, but we were doing a test nearby. Do you mind?”
He shook his head and laughed. “No. It’s no problem.”
The real Tighe leaned his robot forward to extend its hand. “Good to meet you. I’m James Tighe.”
The Japanese man tried to shake the robot’s hand—but suddenly winced. “A bit tight.”
“Oh god! Sorry. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
Chindarkar said, “We’re trying to get up to speed on these new telepresence units. There’s an infirmary back at camp, if—”
The man rubbed his hand. “No, I’m fine. Thanks.”
Tighe gestured to his companions. “Well, that’s Priya Chindarkar. He’s Jin Han. And that’s Sevastian Yakovlev. Or at least their robots.”
Instead of shaking hands, they nodded their bubble-shrouded heads in greeting.
The man bowed in return and smiled. He spoke English with almost no accent. “Akimitsu Hayashi, founder of Heliosat, at your service. Mr. Kerner told me to expect you.”
Jin’s robot glanced at its wrist. “I should warn you before we begin, Mr. Hayashi, that my battery is already down to a quarter charge, and I am uncertain how long I will be operational.”
Yak’s robot nodded. “I am down to 30 percent.”
Hayashi held up his hands. “No, that is good. This is clearly why Mr. Kerner sent you.” He started moving cases of equipment. “We develop commercial solar power satellite systems. I’ve done work for Nathan Joyce in the past.” He looked up. “Mr. Joyce will be missed, but I was glad when your new CEO, Mr. Rochat, contacted me to say that you plan on building a solar power satellite in lunar orbit.”
The robots exchanged looks.
“I gather you’ll be using telepresence robots like these on the lunar surface?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Then let me give you a demonstration of our power system.” He motioned for them to look up.
Wire netting was suspended roughly 5 meters overhead atop aluminum poles, with a mesh of about 10 centimeters. Taut stay cables moored to the ground provided enough tension to withstand the strong wind. Small copper plates appeared at the vertices of each square in the net, but the sky was still clearly visible.
“Above us you see a solid-state rectifying antenna—or ‘rectenna’ for short. It’s a receiver for microwave energy.”
Tighe’s robot turned in place, staring upward. “It looks like a trapeze net.”
“Because of the wavelengths we’re dealing with, it does not need to be dense. Microwave energy is in the 12-centimeter range—roughly 5 inches. We could place the rectenna at ground level, but since 90 percent of visible light passes through, we can use the ground beneath for other things if we mount it high enough.” He gestured to planter boxes arrayed on the ground around them. “One could raise crops, graze animals, or even place solar panels beneath it.”
Chindarkar’s robot looked up at the sky. “So this rectenna is for receiving microwaves transmitted from orbit.”
“Yes . . .” Hayashi glanced at his watch. “In a few minutes I’ll be able to show you our system in action.” He brought them to a ruggedized laptop with twin holographic displays set up on a large component case. Cables ran from it to what appeared to be a transformer, as well as to various places on the rectenna grid. A hologram floating above the device showed the curvature of the Earth and the trajectory of a satellite marked “SPS-MINI.” “We have a small-scale, solar power satellite in low Earth orbit, generating 50 kilowatts of electricity, and we’ve retasked it to pass overhead in time for this meeting. Once it enters the transmission cone it will beam energy with its microwave transmitter toward a reference signal on the rectenna just above us.”
The robots gathered around him to look at the holographic display.
“Again, this is a small testbed satellite in low Earth orbit—beaming only enough energy to power a good-sized home. A production unit would be much larger and in geosynchronous orbit, where it would remain constantly overhead to beam down energy twenty-four/seven.” He brought up an image of the satellite onto the screen. It resembled a tulip in shape, but constructed from hexagonal mirrored facets facing toward the Sun, with a flat transmitter on the Earthward side. “Your CEO says you plan on building a 50-megawatt lunar sat—which would be a thousand times more powerful and a thousand times larger than ours.” He looked up from his screen and smiled. “Which would be awesome.”
Suddenly the hologram turned green as a connection was established. It depicted a satellite well above the curve of the Earth.
“Look, the satellite is now 30 degrees above our horizon—sufficient to commence transmission.” He pointed to another holographic display. “And there you see the kilowatts of electricity now being absorbed by the rectenna above us.”
The display read “23 kilowatts.” Then a few moments later, “23.5 kilowatts.” There was no sound whatsoever emanating from the wire grid above them.
“We’re now receiving electricity from orbit. You’ll notice the energy transmitted is increasing as the satellite moves more directly overhead. But already we have more than enough energy to charge batteries or for immediate use.” He looked at them. “And judging by those antennas on your robots, I should be able to help you out . . .”
Hayashi rooted around in his equipment cases, then uncoiled a cable, at the end of which was a copper-coated transmitter with a folding stand. He placed it on the ground and aimed it at the robots. “There. Are you getting a charge?”
Chindarkar’s robot nodded. “I am. The display says I’m now charging.”
Yak’s and Jin’s robots nodded as well.
Tighe glanced at his own display. Nothing. He then walked into the path of the transmitter and a charge indicator lit up in his display. “Incredible. So we could work without worrying about charge levels.”
Hayashi answered, “Yes. Exactly.”
“And this electricity is coming directly from orbit.”
“It is.”
Jin’s robot looked up. “What about the microwave beam? We are robots, but is it dangerous to you, standing there?”
Hayashi shook his head. “Oh, no. The microwaves do not make it past the rectenna. Regardless, I could stand in the path of the beam. It meets the OSHA safety limit of 100 watts per square meter. Even higher than that wouldn’t be immediately harmful—just not recommended. We’re seeking legal clearance to increase the beam intensity to 230 watts per square meter—which was the old global safety standard.”
Just then the crunching of tires on gravel came in on the wind. They all looked up to see Julian Kerner at the wheel of an electric van, which rolled to a stop not far off, at the edge of the rectenna netting.
The robots all waved.
Chindarkar turned to Mr. Hayashi. “It looks like our ride is here. Thank you for the demonstration. Very impressive. I’m sure Lukas will follow up.”
“It was my pleasure.”
The four robots headed toward Kerner’s waiting van.
Tighe checked his charge display and called to Kerner as the engineer stepped out of the van. “What took you so long? We were almost out of juice.”
“Should we stay here and charge a while?” Chindarkar asked.
Kerner shook his head and opened the van’s sliding door. “I will drive you back to the lab, where we will resume with your real bodies. Again, there is much to cover, and very little time.”
CHAPTER 7
Waterline
AUGUST 23, 2038
Route A1A ran flat and straight past a series of strip malls, budget hotels, and condo towers in Cocoa Beach, Florida. Midsummer—over a hundred degrees in the shade and as humid as vapor therapy. The joke went that the state bird was the mosquito.
Rochat wondered, Who would willingly live here?
The answer, of course, was engineers. The Space Coast was booming. Rising ocean levels were a concern, of course—if not for launch complexes, then for coastal cities—but Cocoa Beach was a short commute to Burkette’s Starion Launch Systems, Macy’s Zenith Corporation, and several other private space launch companies operating out of the Cape. However, judging by the Realtor signs on every block, sea-level, single-family homes were not in demand.
By contrast, across the street, Rochat’s SUV passed by a new condo tower whose video signage boasted: “Category Five–proof” and “Storm-surge-rated.” Never mind a pool—these condos advertised built-in, Internet-enabled storm shutters.
Makar Yegorov, Catalyst Corporation’s hulking chief security officer, spoke from the front passenger seat. “We are close, Mr. Rochat.”
Rochat nodded.
Their driver turned onto a residential street lined with mid-twentieth-century single-story, pastel-colored houses on quarter-acre lots. Every second home had hurricane damage and a “For Sale” sign in front of it—the nearest with an insert reading “Reduced!”
The SUV came to a stop.
“This is it.” Yegorov stared at the driveway of a generic little house. He pulled out a radio frequency detector. “Let me go in first to scan for devices.”
“That won’t be necessary, Makar.”
“I should check at least to see is safe.”
“No. Wait here. And . . .” Rochat removed his phone from his jacket pocket and passed it to Yegorov. “. . . take this.”
Yegorov held it up. “If there is problem, how will you contact me?”
“If there’s a problem, it won’t be one you can help me with.”
Yegorov grumbled.
Rochat exited the SUV and Florida’s climate immediately assaulted him. He might as well have stepped out onto the surface of Venus, or so it felt in his suit jacket and tie. He walked swiftly up the driveway and across a mildewed concrete porch. After he punched in a code on the front door’s smart lock, it opened with a click, and he reentered the mercifully air-conditioned space.
Closing the door behind him, he surveyed an empty sitting room with louvered swing doors on the far side. The whole place smelled musty. His footsteps echoed as he crossed the parquet floor and pushed through the doors, into the kitchen.
There, he found Erika Lisowski sitting at a dinette table, sipping an iced tea. Her physical appearance always surprised him. He consistently remembered her as more imposing than she actually was. She was older than him by a decade at least—mid-forties—and in person she resembled nothing so much as a bland, mid-level DC bureaucrat. Unremarkable in clothing and appearance. However, he knew several billionaires and senators who had made the mistake of underestimating her.
She nodded to him calmly. “Lukas.”
“Erika.” He looked at the surrounding time capsule of mid-century Americana. “Interesting choice of venue.”
“My late grandfather’s house. He bought it back in ’68.”
Rochat sat down across from her. “During the Apollo program, then.”
“That’s right.” She gazed around the room wistfully. “I spent a lot of time here as a little girl. It’ll probably get plowed under along with the entire neighborhood to make way for another bunkerminium.”
Rochat waited a beat out of respect for her lost childhood, then said, “I gather Sunday’s meeting is still on at the Cape.”
“It is. I wasn’t invited. However, the fifth floor of the C-Ring will attend.”
“I assume that’s bureaucratese for something important. Do you have our provisional immunity from prosecution?”
She reached down to her bag on the floor and pulled out a folder—which she slid across the table to him. “This won’t save you from them, Lukas.”
Rochat flipped open the folder to see the seal of the US Justice Department, along with the signature of the attorney general. He looked up. “Erika, right now it is only a matter of time until either the US or China locates those robot tugs in lunar orbit, and when they do, Catalyst will no longer have any leverage. I need to make a deal before that happens.”
“The US already knows the trajectories of your robot tugs.”
Rochat’s eyes widened.
“By now the Chinese might know, too. At this point it’s likely just a race to see who gets to them first.”
Rochat looked down at the documents. “Then what power do I have for this meeting?”
“You’re not asking the right question, Lukas. You need more than control of those robot tugs to have any power.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Because the financial system here on Earth can be used to exert control over you and your team. All your Earthly assets can be frozen at any time.”
Rochat stared. “But I thought they wanted to arrange a deal.”
“They do—for political cover. But they will still call all the shots in space.”
