Delta-v, page 23
Morra and then Adisa followed.
Tighe sailed down through the hatchway, ignoring the ladder rungs, and came out on the lower floor, next to three rows of aquaponic units—healthy green lettuces, herbs, and other plants growing in receptacles set in thick PVC pipes. Reflective Mylar and indigo-colored LED lamps were suspended above and around them.
Straight ahead, against the core wall, were the hab’s computer racks. Adisa examined these, making gestures that indicated he was using his crystal to inquire as to the system status.
Tighe glided rightward, past the industrial-grade clothing washer and dryer and an on-demand water heater, and stopped alongside an accordion door for two cubicle-like workstations. He opened the first to see a familiar ergonomic office chair bolted to a slot in the deck. The desk was empty, except for the lidar sensors built into each corner.
Morra floated alongside. “Looks just like our desks back on Earth.”
Tighe floated onward past twin oxygen generators consisting of tubes, tanks, and clear plastic cylinders. Past water-treatment equipment and a 1,000-gallon plastic water tank.
He continued around the circular core to the bathroom door. He touched the lever handle and looked inside at the aluminum toilet, sink, and shower. This room had always seemed suspect in the training mock-up—as if a normal bathroom had no business being on a spaceship.
Morra looked over his shoulder. “I don’t know about you, mate, but after two weeks of shitting into a vacuum nozzle, that’s a welcome sight.”
They both rounded out the tour by inspecting the secure storage compartment—which held the time-release lockers. Part of Dr. Bruno’s “psych regimen,” these would be opened at intervals by the ship’s system or by the mission control managers. The lockers contained goodies, surprises, and other items of interest to keep up crew morale. It was a minor issue in Antarctica training, since they were only doing two-week stints with each team. However, Tighe suspected these lockers would be a lot more important on a mission that spanned years.
They floated past the other two workstation cubicles. Morra cranked open the wheel of a heavy pressure door and gazed into the ground-floor crew quarters. He called out to the others, “Everything looks shipshape!”
Tighe pointed at a yellow hatch-shaped line in the floor of the lower level. “Bilge storage.”
“Ah. After you . . .”
Tighe pulled on the hatch ring and it opened easily in microgravity. He switched on his suit’s chest-mounted LED light and gazed down into the dark crawl space.
“Do we put on our helmets?”
Tighe glanced at the air indicator at the edge of his crystal display. “Oxy levels look good.” Tighe floated down into the meter-high circular space, 2.5 meters wide, that arced around the aluminum core. The bilge was lined with plastic storage units. Tighe activated the manifest in his heads-up display, and now each storage unit he looked at displayed a pop-up window revealing its contents.
The bilge was chilly—he could see his breath as a mist—but that was by design. It wasn’t a freezer, since their food was dehydrated, but there was no need to heat the space to room temperature either. Tighe read the contents of one food container that popped up in his crystal.
“Hey, Dave.”
“What?”
“Did we have dehydrated beef lasagna at Concordia?”
“No, we did not.”
Tighe opened the case and took out a plastic pouch with attractive hikers smiling on the package. “I know this brand—not bad. Expeditions didn’t usually spring for this one. Pepper steak. Blackened chicken. Thirty-year shelf life.”
Morra glided next to him and looked at the labels on the vacuum-sealed packages. “I suppose when it costs six thousand dollars a kilo to bring anything up here, choosing the good brand doesn’t bump up the price much.”
Tighe stored the packet again. “Still, they could have been assholes about it.”
* * *
—
After an hour refamiliarizing themselves with a hab they’d spent months on in Antarctica, the crew started customizing their living space through the ship’s virtual UI. Adisa navigated the ship menus and instantiated a 3-meter-wide virtual picture window onto the wall of the hab. He brought the live image in from one of the ship’s external high-def cameras, then shared the layer to everyone else’s crystal so they would all see it in the same place.
“Whoa! Great idea, Ade.”
“That’s really something . . .”
They now had what looked like a massive picture window in the wall of their hab, revealing a breathtaking sight: the nightside of Earth—sprawling coastal cities glittering. The partly illuminated pockmarked surface of the Moon appeared somewhat larger in the foreground. The stars, by contrast, were obscured by the Sun’s glare.
Along with the others, Tighe gazed at the sight for a minute or so, but eventually he got busy inventorying supplies and tools. At some point they broke for a subpar microgravity meal while they all floated above the useless kitchen table.
Microgravity tended to dull the taste buds, and the requirements of eating in free fall also limited the menu. By comparison, the dehydrated rations in the ship’s hold looked delicious.
Abarca squeezed “beefsteak” out of a brown plastic sleeve into a folded tortilla.
Tighe chewed rehydrated spinach. “I can’t taste any of this. Can you pass the hot sauce?”
Morra batted it over to him.
Tighe caught it. “Could you imagine a four-year-long trip in microgravity?”
Everyone groaned.
An hour or so later, a virtual screen opened in their crystal displays, and a familiar face appeared: Gabriel Lacroix, mission control manager. He wore a Catalyst Corporation polo shirt. At first, he was unrecognizable due to the broad smile on his face. His French accent sounded in their ears. “Greetings, crew of ze Konstantin.”
The team laughed and clapped. “Gabriel!”
Morra called out, “So, were you in on this from the start?”
Lacroix turned serious. “I would like very much to discuss that, David. However, we have a long checklist to get through.”
Morra turned to Tighe. “That didn’t last long.”
“Our December thirteenth orbital window to Ryugu is immovable, and we dare not skip any preflight procedures. Let us get to it.”
* * *
—
The days leading to t minus zero were filled with a seemingly endless list of tasks. The crew paired up with Catalyst Corporation’s four-person construction team to inspect every corner of the ship.
Tighe and Jin met with the Konstantin’s construction manager, Julian Kerner, an aerospace engineer from Cologne, Germany. A no-nonsense type, Kerner hit it off with Jin immediately as they commenced discussing the Konstantin’s orbital assembly from seemingly separate vessels.
Crew inspections developed a growing punch list of technical concerns, and it soon became obvious that the Konstantin had some issues. In various places interior access panels did not close properly, pieces of equipment were missing, and elements of the ship’s operating system were buggy. Sensors and actuators malfunctioned.
The ship’s largest pressurized compartment—the inflated Central Hab—served as a junction for the three radial tunnels, as well as the z-axis tunnels running the length of the Konstantin. When the ship was spun up, the Central Hab would rotate slowly around an axle-like core.
Tighe and Morra floated among built-in shelving along the interior walls of the Central Hab, carrying water vapor dispensers and closely watching tiny wisps of vapor to see if they were sucked out through pinhole leaks in the exterior walls. They found and marked forty-six minor air leaks in all, but the construction team insisted this was within the design specification and that the oxygen generation system would be able to keep up.
During their next shift, Tighe and Morra ventured back to the Central Hab and then up the vertical transfer tunnel to the upper airlock. This was where the four mule utility craft, four clam suits, and four Valkyrie humanoid telepresence robots were docked.
Tighe and Morra spent twelve hours cycling through the diagnostics for each of the systems, then remotely operated the mule and Valkyrie units—utilizing their autodocking capabilities—as they’d trained to do on simulators in Antarctica. It was remarkable how faithful that simulation turned out to be.
The highlight of the testing, though, was when Tighe and Morra began their two-hour oxygen prebreathe in preparation for their own EVA. Slipping out of their lightweight blue flight suits in the suit airlock, they each climbed through the back hatch of their docked clam suits.
Going through the suit’s power-up checklist, Tighe closed the carbon fiber hatch behind him and pressurized the suit with pure oxygen. He then activated the helmet—making it virtually transparent.
Tighe now gazed out into space, his suit docked like a gargoyle on the side of the Konstantin. After checking that the suit’s two tethers were hooked into eyelets, he radioed to mission control. “Undocking, EMU-2.”
“Undocking EMU-2. Copy.”
Morra’s voice came in on the radio. “Undocking, EMU-4.”
“Undocking EMU-4.”
After a clunking sound, Tighe floated slowly away from the ship, his umbilical lines uncoiling behind him. He gazed up at the solar array towering “above” him, then turned to see Morra floating in from the far side of the airlock tower. They clasped gloved hands and laughed as they met.
“Looking good.”
Morra pointed at the distant Earth. “Can you believe this is real?”
Tighe followed Morra’s gaze. “Not entirely. No.”
* * *
—
Two days later the crew of the Konstantin was strapped into seats bolted to the Central Hab’s core.
Abarca shouted, “All right, who’s up for some fake gravity?”
The other crew members clapped and whistled.
For the moment the crew included four extra members, and they had to use folding jump seats bolted to the storage racks. However, strapping in was just a formality. Tighe knew from training exercises that in the event of a major structural failure of the ship while spun up, seat belts were just a way to find the bodies.
The capcom’s voice came over the line. “Radial arms confirmed unlocked. Deployment thrusters firing in three, two, one . . .”
Tighe watched external camera screens as plumes of gas issued from dozens of thrusters set along the length of each radial arm. Each burst was computer controlled to slowly bring the long box trusses outward and downward, extending them perpendicular to the ship’s z-axis. Opposing thrusters occasionally fired to slow their descent, ensuring the process did not exceed shearing-force tolerances.
Tighe smiled to see the Konstantin he knew so well from training take shape before his eyes. Soon, the three habs were each more than a hundred meters away from the spine of the ship.
The capcom said, “Radial arms deployed and locked.”
“Konstantin, prepare for spin-up in three, two, one . . .”
As mission control counted down, fourteen CO2 thrusters on each radial arm fired. The entire ship vibrated as the box trusses began to spin slowly along the z-axis. The outer wall of the Central Hab began to rotate around the crew, the entrance hatches to all three transfer tunnels along with it, vacuum seals cushioned by electromagnetic levitation.
The sound of metal or some other structural member shrieking and groaning occasionally came to them as the ship’s rotation increased in speed.
Adisa looked around. “That sounds alarming.”
The Konstantin flexed and rumbled as though in a storm.
A sudden loud clunk, followed by another metallic groan, caused the miners to exchange concerned looks.
Morra said, “Mission control, is this erector set going to hold together?”
The capcom’s soothing voice returned. “Spin-up proceeding within design parameters. Stress factors nominal.”
The thrusters continued to fire for several minutes until finally the outer wall was rotating around them once every twenty-one seconds. The mysterious noises had ceased, replaced by the mild whoosh of the Central Hab’s rotation.
“Mission control to Konstantin: spin-up procedure complete. You now have a-grav.”
The crew cheered and clapped.
A few minutes later Abarca, Morra, and Tighe hung from a steel cable on a cluster of carabiners clipped into their suit harnesses as a planetary winch lowered them into Tunnel 1. They’d all been assigned to Hab 1 along with Akira, Clarke, and Dahl and were the first group of three to make the transit.
There wasn’t much sensation of gravity at first, so they used ladder rungs to pull themselves along the tunnel. However, as they kept going, the sensation of “down” became more pronounced, and they naturally floated back toward the center of the tunnel. Eventually they were all suspended from the end of the steel cable as if being lowered into a well.
Tighe looked around at the 100-meter-deep transfer tunnel. “This feels different from the mock-up.”
Morra monitored their progress. “Because that was in real gravity. You ever swing a rope around your head?”
Tighe nodded.
“This cable’s like that. We hook up, and as long as we’re on the end of it, we’re swinging in a circle from the ship’s center.”
Abarca said, “And if we let go—”
“We fly in a straight line. We don’t fall straight down—at least until the tunnel wall catches up to you. Then you’ll slide down the wall with increasing speed.”
“I don’t plan on finding out.”
Abarca flexed her arms up and down. “You feel that? Like gravity.”
Tighe did the same. “Yeah, I feel it now.”
One hundred six meters down, the planetary winch clicked to a stop. They now stood in what felt like one Earth gravity atop an aluminum airlock with a hatch in the center of the floor. The group held on to one another unsteadily.
“Coriolis effect?” Morra sat.
Abarca knelt close to him. “Could be orthostatic intolerance.”
“Is that serious?” He took a deep breath.
She took out a light pen and examined his pupils through his visor. “Should go away soon. It’s caused by changes in the autonomic regulation of blood pressure and loss of plasma volume from microgravity.”
“So it’s normal.”
“Affects everyone differently.” She got on the comm link. “Crew, be aware, if you feel dizzy when you get into gravity, sit down immediately until it goes away. Otherwise you might faint. Doctor’s orders.”
Chindarkar’s voice came back. “We copy you, Isabel.”
Abarca turned to Tighe. “How about you?”
Tighe gave the thumbs-up. “Feels like gravity to me.”
As Morra stabilized, they strained to get the hab airlock hatch open in 1 g. Then they lowered themselves into the airlock using the winch. After unclipping, they raised the winch line and closed the upper hatch before pressurizing the airlock. Only then did they open the hatch into Hab 1.
Tighe checked the air. “Still looks good. We can unzip.”
He and the others depressurized their flight suits and unzipped the hoods.
After they shakily descended the ladder into the upper crew quarters, Abarca immediately dropped onto one of the beds.
“Thank god. A real bed.”
Morra collapsed onto the bed across from her and let out a groan of relief.
Tighe walked slowly across the floor. From his frame of reference the acceleration of a-grav felt natural. “I’ll be damned.”
Abarca rolled onto her side. She smiled. “We can do this.”
Tighe looked around. There were no vibrations. No hint of motion. “I gotta tell you, until this very moment, I wasn’t sure.” He turned to face Abarca. “But I think this could work.”
Abarca got up, still wobbly. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’m about to take the first hot shower in space.” She turned the wheel to the pressure door.
Tighe helped her push it open, and they moved out into the living quarters.
Abarca started singing “Gracias a la vida” in Spanish while she headed downstairs.
Tighe was surprised (and relieved) that she had a beautiful voice. He then walked over to the kitchen sink and stopped in front of the water dispenser. As he listened to Abarca sing, he grabbed a plastic cup and pressed it against the dispenser, filling the cup. He sloshed the water around, studying it.
Air bubbles rose to the surface. It looked like any glass of water on Earth. Tighe laughed and tipped it back, drinking deep. He put the empty cup on the counter. “I am so evolved for this.”
He heard the shower start on the floor below and listened to the singing.
* * *
—
As the days passed, they crossed off more and more of the items on Lacroix’s checklist.
Sitting around the galley table one night in Hab 1, Tighe recalled them all breaking bread around a table off Australia’s Sunshine Coast. Now the six crew members in Hab 1 were having rehydrated chicken and noodles, but Abarca shared out six glasses from a bottle of Chianti. The wine was a luxury afforded to them on this last night in normal gravity before the Konstantin’s departure.
Tomorrow they’d spin down the ship, refold the arms, and prepare for a burn to Ryugu. And they still didn’t know who was going to crew her and who was not. There would likely be losses at this table.
Abarca held up her plastic cup. “Here’s to the crew of the Konstantin—whoever they may be.”
Everyone clinked plastic cups. “To the crew of the Konstantin.”
* * *
