Delta-v, page 22
“Yes—or at least to a lunar orbit 40,000 kilometers from the surface.”
“You’re kidnapping us?”
“Absolutely not. Commander Willis and Commander Mendoza are standing by to bring back down to Earth anyone who wishes to leave. You can either take a weeklong trip to the Moon or you can return to Earth right now.”
No one budged. No one spoke.
“I see there are no takers.”
Tighe said, “Then the mining expedition to Ryugu . . . is really happening?”
Joyce’s hologram pivoted to look at Tighe. “Yes. It is, J.T.”
The team struggled to process this news.
Yak looked up. “But crew of Konstantin would need only eight—four in each hab.” He glanced around the compartment. “Why are there twelve of us?”
“Good question, Sevastian. The company psychologists have already selected the optimal crew of eight individuals from among you twelve. Four women and four men, chosen for key personality traits, group cohesion, critical skill sets, and poise under pressure. When we reach the Konstantin two days from now, those who are willing will participate in one week of dress rehearsal training with the real ship’s systems. You’ll work with your mission controllers on Earth, test equipment, inventory supplies, troubleshoot last-minute problems, and then . . .”
Everyone hung on his words.
“. . . the crew of eight will be announced. The other four are alternates—in case we have any who decline the honor.”
Tighe asked, “And then what? The Konstantin leaves for deep space?”
Joyce nodded. “On December thirteenth.”
More gasps.
Dahl said, “That’s nine days from now!”
“Yes. There is an ideal orbital window to Ryugu on December thirteenth—one that won’t happen again for another century. On that day, from a lunar DRO the Konstantin can reach Ryugu in just forty-eight days with a delta-v of only 1.7 kilometers per second, and a postinjection burn of 1.9 kilometers per second to circularize your orbit as you arrive on January 30, 2034.”
Adisa said, “Less acceleration than it takes to reach our own Moon.”
“Very good, Adedayo.” Joyce studied the faces around him. “And that circumstance will not occur again in our lifetimes. It’s a singular opportunity for the right people.”
The crew floated in silence for several moments.
Clarke spoke first. “What if the whole thing doesn’t work? What if there’s a problem when we get there?”
“After you arrive, you’ll have a ten-day window to prove whether we can extract water and other resources from Ryugu. If not, you turn back before Earth gets too far away in its orbit. If you can extract resources from the regolith, then you’ll have plenty to sustain yourself until the Earth comes back within range four years later—and you’ll also have plenty of fuel. All that’s required to change humanity’s future are a few people with the courage to carry out this plan.”
The crew considered this.
Dahl glided up next to Tighe. “The news said your plan is reckless, bordering on insane. To stay in deep space for four years. It’s never been done.”
“Then why did you sign up, Eike?”
Josephson answered in her British accent. “Frankly, we didn’t think you were serious, Nathan.”
Jin scowled. “The record stay in space is just 438 days—and that was in low Earth orbit, within the protection of Earth’s magnetic field.”
Yak nodded. “Cosmonaut Valeri Polyakov. My father knew him.”
Jin stayed focused on Joyce. “You really think we’ll survive solar flares and galactic cosmic rays for four years out in deep space? We will be receiving a year’s worth of radiation every nineteen hours.”
Joyce remained serene. “My engineers have specifically designed the Konstantin to sustain you, sheltering in the shadow of Ryugu against solar flares, and using the materials you harvest and process to create a shield against cosmic rays. If you mine Ryugu successfully, you will not only have performed the most incredible feat in all of human history, but you will also never want for money again. For those willing to go, Catalyst Corporation is offering quadruple the completion bonus: six million US dollars each—plus production bonuses. Our estimates show it’s possible to produce 3,000 tons of water ice, 3,000 tons of iron and nickel, 600 tons of cobalt, 1,200 tons of ammonia, 1,200 tons of nitrogen—this could amount to hundreds of millions in crew bonuses.”
That news took the edge off.
Clarke grabbed at nearby grillwork to steady herself, even though she was already floating. “We’re heading toward the Moon right now?”
“Two and a half days, then you’ll transfer to the Konstantin.”
Adisa asked, “What do we do until then?”
Joyce shrugged. “I suggest you decide whether you want to go on the greatest voyage in history.”
Adisa nodded. “I see.”
Joyce pivoted to take in the assembled crew. “We’ll speak again after you’re aboard the Konstantin. Get to know your ship. Until then, safe travels.”
With that, Joyce’s hologram winked out.
The miners exhaled, as if having suddenly remembered to breathe.
Morra stared at the spot where Joyce had been. “Hard. Fucking. Core.”
* * *
—
Tighe kissed Dahl gently as he floated next to her in a cocoon bag. He tried to rest his head on her shoulder—although she kept floating away whenever they moved. He could feel how frustrated she was.
“Microgravity sex is awful.”
He looked around in the semidarkness. “I think we both need to grab on to the grillwork.”
Tighe noticed Dahl’s mind was elsewhere. “What’s wrong, Eike?”
She looked at him and spoke softly. “You’re seriously considering this, aren’t you?”
He floated next to her, feeling her warm skin against his cheek. “Someone has to be first.”
“Yes, but next week? This isn’t the only deep space expedition in the works. Burkett and Macy are preparing to mine the Moon.”
“But they aren’t doing it—not yet. Joyce says it’ll be stuck in litigation for years. Those years could make the difference.”
“Can we even trust Joyce? Everyone says—”
“That he’s irresponsible. I know.”
“This isn’t just money he’s risking—it’s our lives.”
“Eike, you jump off of cliffs in a flying squirrel suit and glide between trees, where one wrong move means instant death. For what?”
“That’s different. The variables are known. I can ride the edge of those variables to express my joy at being alive.”
“But someone had to do it first, right? It was insane until someone proved it wasn’t. That’s what this expedition is.”
“This isn’t a wing-suit dive, J.T., or a cave dive. This isn’t a few minutes or hours. This is years. The novelty will wear off, believe me. And there are so many moving parts. Even the mock-up of the ship had problems. The real ship will be even more complex, and it’s not flight proven. So many dangers. Radiation. Micrometeors. The unknown.” She gripped his shoulders. “It’s almost certainly going to fail. You do realize that? And even the smallest failure out there will kill us.”
He contemplated her face for several moments. “I know.”
* * *
—
After a few sleepless hours Dahl finally took a pill to fall asleep. Tighe was still wide awake and floated “down” to the rec/meeting compartment. There he found Morra and Jin levitating in silent contemplation. Tighe nodded to them.
Morra was gazing at a family photo floating in front of his face, stowed among the kilo of personal effects he had taken to orbit.
This was the first time Tighe had seen Morra’s family. The daughters looked to be about six or seven—twins—and adorable. Morra’s ex-wife was a red-haired Caucasian woman, in a polka-dot dress, as she smiled, hugging her girls on a sidewalk.
“Beautiful children.”
Morra nodded. “Thanks. They’re older now.” A shadow crossed his face. “I want to leave them something.” He paused. “My wife, too.” Another pause. “Ex-wife.”
“It might be a lot more than just something.” Tighe noticed Morra was holding a plastic squeeze bulb filled with caramel-colored liquid. “Is that what I think it is?”
Morra nodded. “It cost a few thousand dollars to put this much kinetic energy into a bottle of scotch. So they sent the good stuff.” He turned and called out, “Captain! Can J.T. get a grog ration?”
A voice returned, “Yes. I vill bring it in a moment.”
“Thanks.” Morra looked over at Jin. “Hey, Han. You sure you don’t want a jolt?”
Jin spoke without turning. “I told you, I do not drink.”
“Not even to celebrate going to the Moon?”
“Especially not then.”
“Han. Han Solo!” Morra laughed.
Jin turned and frowned at him.
Morra grunted. “Not a Star Wars fan. All right. I’d pack a sense of humor if you’re going on this trip.”
Tighe addressed Jin. “What do you think about all this, Han?”
The taikonaut rubbed his face.
“If you do go, you’ll come back with more experience than the entire Chinese space program.”
Jin hesitated and then said, “I am ashamed. That is what I think.”
“Ashamed?” Morra frowned. “What do you mean, ashamed? About what?”
“I had every advantage. I even had guanxi. And still I failed as a taikonaut.”
“I don’t know what guanxi is, but bureaucracies are unfathomable. Besides, look how far you’ve come on your own.”
Jin seemed vexed. “It is your Western mind that says this. It is not only about me. I am my parents’ son. Their only child. They put all their hopes into me. I should remain on Earth.”
Tighe and Morra exchanged looks. Tighe asked, “So, if you’re asked, will you go?”
“It would be selfish for me to go.” Jin struggled mightily with something. “But I want to go. More than anything. To show them they were all wrong. This is antisocial behavior. To put my own desires ahead of others. Ahead of my nation. Ahead of my parents. To simply leave.”
Tighe and Morra said nothing. When it came down to it, each of them would decide for themselves whether they would go. Instead, the three men floated in silence, lost in their own thoughts.
CHAPTER 23
Konstantin
James Tighe caught his breath at first sight of the Konstantin. The ship’s massive solar array gleamed in the sunlight, as did the Mylar sun shield near the stern that shadowed a cluster of spherical fuel tanks.
Their transfer capsule approached the Konstantin from the bow and glided along her length at a distance of 200 meters. It was hard to get a sense of scale until Tighe caught sight of two workers in orange clam suits, silhouetted by welding flash.
The ship looked different from the holographic models that Tighe had become so familiar with in Concordia because the radial arms were presently folded up against her central axis. At just over 250 meters from rocket nozzle to antenna tip, she resembled a massive folded construction crane, made from carbon fiber box-truss girders. There were the inflatable hab units, manufactured by Halser’s company—for real this time, not mock-ups or computer models.
The Central Hab was in the same position, but with the three radial arms folded upward, toward the solar mast, their hab modules were bundled together like a cluster of marshmallows stabbed onto erector set girders. The name “Konstantin” was painted across the outer surface of the Central Hab in gray letters. License numbers were printed in smaller letters below that, as well as a national flag consisting of three horizontal bars: red, white, and blue.
“Luxembourg.” Abarca gazed out the porthole alongside Tighe.
“So Luxembourg is leading the world in space exploration now?”
“Apparently.”
The transfer capsule’s thrusters popped intermittently as the commander piloted them toward the docking port above a module labeled “Hab 1.”
After a few minutes they heard the clunk-clunk of the docking collar clamping down, followed by checks for the integrity of the seal before capsule commander Willis unbuckled and moved to open the hatch door. She turned to her passengers.
“Welcome aboard the Konstantin.”
Still in their blue flight suits and helmets, Tighe, Abarca, Morra, Jin, Yak, and Adisa gathered near the hatchway.
Yak was first through, and he called out as he entered, “Now, this is a spaceship!”
Tighe followed and entered an all-white circular airlock that he remembered well. It was identical to the mock-up in Antarctica—a squat aluminum cylinder 6 meters tall and 5 meters in diameter, lined with storage compartments, emergency gear, and batteries in charging units. Tighe floated across the compartment to gaze out of the fused silica and borosilicate porthole. The Sun’s glare was so bright no stars were visible in the void beyond, only the nearby Moon and irradiated blackness.
“Look.”
Yak and Abarca joined Tighe to gaze at the Moon. At this distance, about 40,000 kilometers, it was the size of a golf ball held at arm’s length.
The distances out here were unfathomable. The team was “close” to the Moon, but you could still fit eight widths of the continental United States in the gap. No wonder nobody had spotted the ship. Tighe didn’t resolve the Konstantin with his naked eye until they were within 50 kilometers. Even then the ship was a speck.
Glancing over his shoulder, Tighe saw the other team members had entered, too. Jin was helping the capsule commander secure the airlock hatch, while Morra stared at the reality of the ship.
“It is real!” Yak laughed and did a somersault in midair, then broke out in an exaggerated microgravity Russian dance. His shout echoed. “Joyce, you magnificent bastard!”
Tighe pointed quizzically at a hatchway marked “Transfer Tunnel 1.”
The commander instead gestured “down” at a hatch marked “Hab 1.” “Keep your helmets sealed until we’re in the crew hab.”
Adisa helped Tighe with the interior hatch—which, unlike in Antarctica, was easy to lift in microgravity.
The capsule commander glided up to them. “With twelve crew instead of eight, we’ll be doing a warm-bed rotation. Sleep schedules will be posted on the duty roster. The other capsule’s headed to Hab 2.”
Tighe looked through the open hatch and realized he didn’t have to worry about falling down the ladder. Instead he glided straight in.
As he reached the Hab 1 vestibule, he looked back “up” at the commander. “When do we spin her up and get some gravity in here?”
The others murmured in agreement.
Willis waved them off. “Not for a couple days yet. There’s lots to cover on the punch list first.”
Tighe continued “down” into the familiar aluminum-walled inner core of the hab unit. Here, the circular walls were lined with numbered supply cabinets. A couple of beds occupied the floor to either side, with a smaller interior hatch in the decking between. This led to the first-floor sleeping quarters.
Ahead of him was the lozenge-shaped pressure door with a laminate porthole. He braced himself against the bed frames to either side and gripped the circular metal wheel in the door’s center. He glanced back at Adisa, who had just floated into the chamber. “Turning this wheel isn’t as easy in free fall.”
After a bit of struggling, they both got the pressure door open, and Tighe moved out into the upper floor of the hab—straight into the surreal sight of a modern-looking apartment—complete with curving sofa and egg-shaped reading chairs.
He looked around as the others floated in behind him. “I’ll be damned . . .”
To the left, on the far side of a folding wall, he could see the edge of the hab’s medical bay, with exercise equipment in the next section. To the right, past the reading chairs, was a galley table with chairs stacked against the curving hab wall, and an actual kitchen counter, cabinets, sink, and a microwave, with a pantry just beyond.
Adisa, Abarca, Morra, and the others spread out, floating like ghosts through the living space.
Morra gazed down on the galley table. “I’ll like it better when we can have a proper seat.”
Suddenly the crystal Tighe wore came to life—scrolling computer script information before presenting a display of software-defined light.
Adisa nodded. “There we go.”
“Your crystal just linked to the ship?”
“Yes. We should be able to interact with the Konstantin now.”
Tighe gestured to navigate familiar virtual UIs until he reached atmospheric readings for Hab 1’s atmosphere. He examined the values. “One thousand thirteen millibars pressure. Seventy-eight percent nitrogen, 21 percent oxygen, 1 percent argon, and 0.04 percent carbon dioxide. O2 partial pressure of 21 kilopascals. N2 partial pressure, 49 kilopascals.” Tighe looked to his companions. “Air looks good.” He popped the pressurization seal on his flight suit and unzipped his helmet—then took a deep breath of the hab’s air.
The others looked at him.
“Furniture’s off-gassing a little, but it’s nice. Smells like a furniture store.”
The others depressurized and unzipped their helmets, pulling them back like sweatshirt hoods to rest between their shoulder blades.
They all floated in the living room and kitchen, hovering above furniture designed for normal Earth gravity.
“Let’s check out the downstairs.” Tighe pulled himself along to the gangway hatch that he knew lay just beyond the kitchen.
“You’re kidnapping us?”
“Absolutely not. Commander Willis and Commander Mendoza are standing by to bring back down to Earth anyone who wishes to leave. You can either take a weeklong trip to the Moon or you can return to Earth right now.”
No one budged. No one spoke.
“I see there are no takers.”
Tighe said, “Then the mining expedition to Ryugu . . . is really happening?”
Joyce’s hologram pivoted to look at Tighe. “Yes. It is, J.T.”
The team struggled to process this news.
Yak looked up. “But crew of Konstantin would need only eight—four in each hab.” He glanced around the compartment. “Why are there twelve of us?”
“Good question, Sevastian. The company psychologists have already selected the optimal crew of eight individuals from among you twelve. Four women and four men, chosen for key personality traits, group cohesion, critical skill sets, and poise under pressure. When we reach the Konstantin two days from now, those who are willing will participate in one week of dress rehearsal training with the real ship’s systems. You’ll work with your mission controllers on Earth, test equipment, inventory supplies, troubleshoot last-minute problems, and then . . .”
Everyone hung on his words.
“. . . the crew of eight will be announced. The other four are alternates—in case we have any who decline the honor.”
Tighe asked, “And then what? The Konstantin leaves for deep space?”
Joyce nodded. “On December thirteenth.”
More gasps.
Dahl said, “That’s nine days from now!”
“Yes. There is an ideal orbital window to Ryugu on December thirteenth—one that won’t happen again for another century. On that day, from a lunar DRO the Konstantin can reach Ryugu in just forty-eight days with a delta-v of only 1.7 kilometers per second, and a postinjection burn of 1.9 kilometers per second to circularize your orbit as you arrive on January 30, 2034.”
Adisa said, “Less acceleration than it takes to reach our own Moon.”
“Very good, Adedayo.” Joyce studied the faces around him. “And that circumstance will not occur again in our lifetimes. It’s a singular opportunity for the right people.”
The crew floated in silence for several moments.
Clarke spoke first. “What if the whole thing doesn’t work? What if there’s a problem when we get there?”
“After you arrive, you’ll have a ten-day window to prove whether we can extract water and other resources from Ryugu. If not, you turn back before Earth gets too far away in its orbit. If you can extract resources from the regolith, then you’ll have plenty to sustain yourself until the Earth comes back within range four years later—and you’ll also have plenty of fuel. All that’s required to change humanity’s future are a few people with the courage to carry out this plan.”
The crew considered this.
Dahl glided up next to Tighe. “The news said your plan is reckless, bordering on insane. To stay in deep space for four years. It’s never been done.”
“Then why did you sign up, Eike?”
Josephson answered in her British accent. “Frankly, we didn’t think you were serious, Nathan.”
Jin scowled. “The record stay in space is just 438 days—and that was in low Earth orbit, within the protection of Earth’s magnetic field.”
Yak nodded. “Cosmonaut Valeri Polyakov. My father knew him.”
Jin stayed focused on Joyce. “You really think we’ll survive solar flares and galactic cosmic rays for four years out in deep space? We will be receiving a year’s worth of radiation every nineteen hours.”
Joyce remained serene. “My engineers have specifically designed the Konstantin to sustain you, sheltering in the shadow of Ryugu against solar flares, and using the materials you harvest and process to create a shield against cosmic rays. If you mine Ryugu successfully, you will not only have performed the most incredible feat in all of human history, but you will also never want for money again. For those willing to go, Catalyst Corporation is offering quadruple the completion bonus: six million US dollars each—plus production bonuses. Our estimates show it’s possible to produce 3,000 tons of water ice, 3,000 tons of iron and nickel, 600 tons of cobalt, 1,200 tons of ammonia, 1,200 tons of nitrogen—this could amount to hundreds of millions in crew bonuses.”
That news took the edge off.
Clarke grabbed at nearby grillwork to steady herself, even though she was already floating. “We’re heading toward the Moon right now?”
“Two and a half days, then you’ll transfer to the Konstantin.”
Adisa asked, “What do we do until then?”
Joyce shrugged. “I suggest you decide whether you want to go on the greatest voyage in history.”
Adisa nodded. “I see.”
Joyce pivoted to take in the assembled crew. “We’ll speak again after you’re aboard the Konstantin. Get to know your ship. Until then, safe travels.”
With that, Joyce’s hologram winked out.
The miners exhaled, as if having suddenly remembered to breathe.
Morra stared at the spot where Joyce had been. “Hard. Fucking. Core.”
* * *
—
Tighe kissed Dahl gently as he floated next to her in a cocoon bag. He tried to rest his head on her shoulder—although she kept floating away whenever they moved. He could feel how frustrated she was.
“Microgravity sex is awful.”
He looked around in the semidarkness. “I think we both need to grab on to the grillwork.”
Tighe noticed Dahl’s mind was elsewhere. “What’s wrong, Eike?”
She looked at him and spoke softly. “You’re seriously considering this, aren’t you?”
He floated next to her, feeling her warm skin against his cheek. “Someone has to be first.”
“Yes, but next week? This isn’t the only deep space expedition in the works. Burkett and Macy are preparing to mine the Moon.”
“But they aren’t doing it—not yet. Joyce says it’ll be stuck in litigation for years. Those years could make the difference.”
“Can we even trust Joyce? Everyone says—”
“That he’s irresponsible. I know.”
“This isn’t just money he’s risking—it’s our lives.”
“Eike, you jump off of cliffs in a flying squirrel suit and glide between trees, where one wrong move means instant death. For what?”
“That’s different. The variables are known. I can ride the edge of those variables to express my joy at being alive.”
“But someone had to do it first, right? It was insane until someone proved it wasn’t. That’s what this expedition is.”
“This isn’t a wing-suit dive, J.T., or a cave dive. This isn’t a few minutes or hours. This is years. The novelty will wear off, believe me. And there are so many moving parts. Even the mock-up of the ship had problems. The real ship will be even more complex, and it’s not flight proven. So many dangers. Radiation. Micrometeors. The unknown.” She gripped his shoulders. “It’s almost certainly going to fail. You do realize that? And even the smallest failure out there will kill us.”
He contemplated her face for several moments. “I know.”
* * *
—
After a few sleepless hours Dahl finally took a pill to fall asleep. Tighe was still wide awake and floated “down” to the rec/meeting compartment. There he found Morra and Jin levitating in silent contemplation. Tighe nodded to them.
Morra was gazing at a family photo floating in front of his face, stowed among the kilo of personal effects he had taken to orbit.
This was the first time Tighe had seen Morra’s family. The daughters looked to be about six or seven—twins—and adorable. Morra’s ex-wife was a red-haired Caucasian woman, in a polka-dot dress, as she smiled, hugging her girls on a sidewalk.
“Beautiful children.”
Morra nodded. “Thanks. They’re older now.” A shadow crossed his face. “I want to leave them something.” He paused. “My wife, too.” Another pause. “Ex-wife.”
“It might be a lot more than just something.” Tighe noticed Morra was holding a plastic squeeze bulb filled with caramel-colored liquid. “Is that what I think it is?”
Morra nodded. “It cost a few thousand dollars to put this much kinetic energy into a bottle of scotch. So they sent the good stuff.” He turned and called out, “Captain! Can J.T. get a grog ration?”
A voice returned, “Yes. I vill bring it in a moment.”
“Thanks.” Morra looked over at Jin. “Hey, Han. You sure you don’t want a jolt?”
Jin spoke without turning. “I told you, I do not drink.”
“Not even to celebrate going to the Moon?”
“Especially not then.”
“Han. Han Solo!” Morra laughed.
Jin turned and frowned at him.
Morra grunted. “Not a Star Wars fan. All right. I’d pack a sense of humor if you’re going on this trip.”
Tighe addressed Jin. “What do you think about all this, Han?”
The taikonaut rubbed his face.
“If you do go, you’ll come back with more experience than the entire Chinese space program.”
Jin hesitated and then said, “I am ashamed. That is what I think.”
“Ashamed?” Morra frowned. “What do you mean, ashamed? About what?”
“I had every advantage. I even had guanxi. And still I failed as a taikonaut.”
“I don’t know what guanxi is, but bureaucracies are unfathomable. Besides, look how far you’ve come on your own.”
Jin seemed vexed. “It is your Western mind that says this. It is not only about me. I am my parents’ son. Their only child. They put all their hopes into me. I should remain on Earth.”
Tighe and Morra exchanged looks. Tighe asked, “So, if you’re asked, will you go?”
“It would be selfish for me to go.” Jin struggled mightily with something. “But I want to go. More than anything. To show them they were all wrong. This is antisocial behavior. To put my own desires ahead of others. Ahead of my nation. Ahead of my parents. To simply leave.”
Tighe and Morra said nothing. When it came down to it, each of them would decide for themselves whether they would go. Instead, the three men floated in silence, lost in their own thoughts.
CHAPTER 23
Konstantin
James Tighe caught his breath at first sight of the Konstantin. The ship’s massive solar array gleamed in the sunlight, as did the Mylar sun shield near the stern that shadowed a cluster of spherical fuel tanks.
Their transfer capsule approached the Konstantin from the bow and glided along her length at a distance of 200 meters. It was hard to get a sense of scale until Tighe caught sight of two workers in orange clam suits, silhouetted by welding flash.
The ship looked different from the holographic models that Tighe had become so familiar with in Concordia because the radial arms were presently folded up against her central axis. At just over 250 meters from rocket nozzle to antenna tip, she resembled a massive folded construction crane, made from carbon fiber box-truss girders. There were the inflatable hab units, manufactured by Halser’s company—for real this time, not mock-ups or computer models.
The Central Hab was in the same position, but with the three radial arms folded upward, toward the solar mast, their hab modules were bundled together like a cluster of marshmallows stabbed onto erector set girders. The name “Konstantin” was painted across the outer surface of the Central Hab in gray letters. License numbers were printed in smaller letters below that, as well as a national flag consisting of three horizontal bars: red, white, and blue.
“Luxembourg.” Abarca gazed out the porthole alongside Tighe.
“So Luxembourg is leading the world in space exploration now?”
“Apparently.”
The transfer capsule’s thrusters popped intermittently as the commander piloted them toward the docking port above a module labeled “Hab 1.”
After a few minutes they heard the clunk-clunk of the docking collar clamping down, followed by checks for the integrity of the seal before capsule commander Willis unbuckled and moved to open the hatch door. She turned to her passengers.
“Welcome aboard the Konstantin.”
Still in their blue flight suits and helmets, Tighe, Abarca, Morra, Jin, Yak, and Adisa gathered near the hatchway.
Yak was first through, and he called out as he entered, “Now, this is a spaceship!”
Tighe followed and entered an all-white circular airlock that he remembered well. It was identical to the mock-up in Antarctica—a squat aluminum cylinder 6 meters tall and 5 meters in diameter, lined with storage compartments, emergency gear, and batteries in charging units. Tighe floated across the compartment to gaze out of the fused silica and borosilicate porthole. The Sun’s glare was so bright no stars were visible in the void beyond, only the nearby Moon and irradiated blackness.
“Look.”
Yak and Abarca joined Tighe to gaze at the Moon. At this distance, about 40,000 kilometers, it was the size of a golf ball held at arm’s length.
The distances out here were unfathomable. The team was “close” to the Moon, but you could still fit eight widths of the continental United States in the gap. No wonder nobody had spotted the ship. Tighe didn’t resolve the Konstantin with his naked eye until they were within 50 kilometers. Even then the ship was a speck.
Glancing over his shoulder, Tighe saw the other team members had entered, too. Jin was helping the capsule commander secure the airlock hatch, while Morra stared at the reality of the ship.
“It is real!” Yak laughed and did a somersault in midair, then broke out in an exaggerated microgravity Russian dance. His shout echoed. “Joyce, you magnificent bastard!”
Tighe pointed quizzically at a hatchway marked “Transfer Tunnel 1.”
The commander instead gestured “down” at a hatch marked “Hab 1.” “Keep your helmets sealed until we’re in the crew hab.”
Adisa helped Tighe with the interior hatch—which, unlike in Antarctica, was easy to lift in microgravity.
The capsule commander glided up to them. “With twelve crew instead of eight, we’ll be doing a warm-bed rotation. Sleep schedules will be posted on the duty roster. The other capsule’s headed to Hab 2.”
Tighe looked through the open hatch and realized he didn’t have to worry about falling down the ladder. Instead he glided straight in.
As he reached the Hab 1 vestibule, he looked back “up” at the commander. “When do we spin her up and get some gravity in here?”
The others murmured in agreement.
Willis waved them off. “Not for a couple days yet. There’s lots to cover on the punch list first.”
Tighe continued “down” into the familiar aluminum-walled inner core of the hab unit. Here, the circular walls were lined with numbered supply cabinets. A couple of beds occupied the floor to either side, with a smaller interior hatch in the decking between. This led to the first-floor sleeping quarters.
Ahead of him was the lozenge-shaped pressure door with a laminate porthole. He braced himself against the bed frames to either side and gripped the circular metal wheel in the door’s center. He glanced back at Adisa, who had just floated into the chamber. “Turning this wheel isn’t as easy in free fall.”
After a bit of struggling, they both got the pressure door open, and Tighe moved out into the upper floor of the hab—straight into the surreal sight of a modern-looking apartment—complete with curving sofa and egg-shaped reading chairs.
He looked around as the others floated in behind him. “I’ll be damned . . .”
To the left, on the far side of a folding wall, he could see the edge of the hab’s medical bay, with exercise equipment in the next section. To the right, past the reading chairs, was a galley table with chairs stacked against the curving hab wall, and an actual kitchen counter, cabinets, sink, and a microwave, with a pantry just beyond.
Adisa, Abarca, Morra, and the others spread out, floating like ghosts through the living space.
Morra gazed down on the galley table. “I’ll like it better when we can have a proper seat.”
Suddenly the crystal Tighe wore came to life—scrolling computer script information before presenting a display of software-defined light.
Adisa nodded. “There we go.”
“Your crystal just linked to the ship?”
“Yes. We should be able to interact with the Konstantin now.”
Tighe gestured to navigate familiar virtual UIs until he reached atmospheric readings for Hab 1’s atmosphere. He examined the values. “One thousand thirteen millibars pressure. Seventy-eight percent nitrogen, 21 percent oxygen, 1 percent argon, and 0.04 percent carbon dioxide. O2 partial pressure of 21 kilopascals. N2 partial pressure, 49 kilopascals.” Tighe looked to his companions. “Air looks good.” He popped the pressurization seal on his flight suit and unzipped his helmet—then took a deep breath of the hab’s air.
The others looked at him.
“Furniture’s off-gassing a little, but it’s nice. Smells like a furniture store.”
The others depressurized and unzipped their helmets, pulling them back like sweatshirt hoods to rest between their shoulder blades.
They all floated in the living room and kitchen, hovering above furniture designed for normal Earth gravity.
“Let’s check out the downstairs.” Tighe pulled himself along to the gangway hatch that he knew lay just beyond the kitchen.
