Delta-v, page 24
—
The next day, after spinning down the ship and going through lockdown procedures, all twelve miners were called to the Central Hab. As they floated in microgravity, the construction team joined them. What everyone had worked so long for was about to happen, and there was a festive atmosphere.
However, a thinly veiled tension was present among the crew. Not everyone was going. Whether that was good or bad was impossible to know.
At six p.m. UTC, mission control manager Gabriel Lacroix’s head and shoulders materialized in holographic form, floating near the center of the hab. “Attention, crew of the Konstantin. Attention, please.”
Everyone fell silent and floated to the periphery so all could see.
“Thank you.” Lacroix paused. “Before we begin, I want to say how well you have all worked together in the past week. This ship could not have been made ready in time were it not for your teamwork. And tomorrow the Konstantin will begin an historic voyage.”
The assembled crew and workers clapped and whistled. Several of the construction workers recorded the moment on their phones.
Tighe tried to contain his nervousness. Looking out across the faces, he realized these people were as close to family as any expedition he’d ever joined.
Morra grabbed him by the shoulder. “All right, you wanker. Shall I put in a good word for you?”
Tighe laughed. “If you think it’ll help.”
Lacroix’s hologram gazed off camera for a moment and then said, “Before I announce crew assignments, a brief word from Mr. Joyce.”
As Nathan Joyce’s hologram glowed into place, the workers and crew applauded. Some whistled. Tighe couldn’t help but notice that Abarca again floated at the edge of the group with her arms crossed, expression unreadable.
“Good evening.” Joyce gazed out at the assembled crew and the ship’s builders. “Consider this: for decades humanity has possessed the capability to expand into our solar system—but we have not.” He let his words sink in, looking from face to face. “It’s not because explorers like you weren’t willing to shoulder the risk. Instead it was a blindness among our leaders that prevented them from seeing the true risk. And yet on Earth, we spend a trillion dollars on war without blinking an eye. With each passing year, the chance of a global catastrophe mounts—the climate, an epidemic, a financial crash, or a war that shrouds Earth in space debris and prevents us from reaching space. Possibly ever again. Humanity’s future depends on going—now, not later. I have invested literally everything I possess to provide you—courageous people—with this ship that can carry you to the most promising asteroid in the inner solar system—one that contains enough resources to jump-start an entire cislunar economy. Enough to establish a toehold in space.”
The enormity of the moment was now fully apparent to those gathered around.
“All of you have taken lethal risks before for so much less. I ask you to take this risk for the best reason of all—to secure the lives of countless generations to come. To finally embark humanity into the cosmos.” With one more gaze at those assembled, Joyce nodded and then disappeared.
Lacroix returned. He focused on his crystal as he spoke. “After careful consideration of all relevant factors, the first crew of the Konstantin consists of the following individuals.”
Tighe tensed. So did those around him.
Lacroix took a breath. “Nicole Clarke.”
Clarke blanched but nodded.
“Isabel Abarca.”
Tighe noticed she had no reaction.
“James Tighe.”
And then Tighe felt a flash of shock—but also of joy.
“Katsuka Akira.”
Sighs of relief and gasps of shock.
“Jin Han. Adedayo Adisa.”
Jin remained grim-faced, but Adisa’s bright smile flashed immediately. “Amy Tsukada.”
She screamed in joy, and the others laughed.
“Eike Dahl.”
Dahl stared into space.
That was eight. The eight.
Tighe snapped a look at Morra—who appeared devastated by not having his name called. Tighe looked around the room and saw everything from anguish to joy. He caught Dahl’s eye and smiled slightly, but she turned away. Yakovlev wrapped his head in his hands at being left behind, as did Josephson. The room began to buzz with murmured discussions. Tighe and Morra locked eyes.
Morra made a brave face and gave a thumbs-up. “Congrats, brother.”
Lacroix shouted. “Quiet, please. Thank you.”
The hab quieted down.
“Among the eight crew members chosen, are there any who, after considered reflection, do not wish to accept?”
Dahl’s voice immediately answered, “Me.”
Katsuka raised his hand as well.
Dahl turned to Tighe again but spoke to Lacroix. “I can’t do this. And there are others who want to go.”
Tighe realized he wasn’t surprised. It was a moment he’d known was coming.
“Are you certain, Ms. Dahl?”
“I am.”
“Mr. Akira, are you certain you wish to decline your position?”
Katsuka nodded. “I am certain, Gabriel. Thank you.”
Then Lacroix announced, “Very well, the replacement crew member for Eike Dahl is . . . Priya Chindarkar.”
Chindarkar put her hands to her mouth momentarily, but when she lowered them, there was a smile of relief. She floated over to Tsukada and they hugged.
“Will you accept this honor, Priya Chindarkar?”
She looked up. “Of course! Yes.”
Lacroix continued. “Very good. The replacement crew member for Katsuka Akira is . . . David Morra.”
“Yes!” Morra shouted and raised his arms and brought them down as fists. “Goddamnit, yes!”
Tighe and Morra embraced, slapping each other on the back. “Holy shit.”
Lacroix looked around. “Tonight is the last night for any changes of heart. Barring such changes, we now have the first crew of the mining ship Konstantin. Congratulations to you all.”
Those in attendance clapped and hugged one another. They even hugged Jin, who didn’t seem particularly comfortable with the familiarity, but he went along with it, acknowledging the historic nature of the moment.
Kerner took photos of the gathered crew, floating arm in arm, smiling.
On the periphery, Yak now looked devastated.
Lacroix let the group celebrate a bit, and then he said, “For those not called or who declined, please know that you are still under contract with Catalyst Corporation, and aside from being at the top of the list for future expeditions, your services will be required to aid your former crewmates in a capcom role. This evening is not good-bye. It is simply, until you meet again.”
This brightened Yak’s expression considerably. Tsukada floated over to console him further.
Near Tighe, Josephson floated up to Abarca and extended her hand. “Congratulations, Isabel. I suppose the Konstantin doesn’t need two surgeons. I hope we meet again.”
Abarca kissed Josephson on both cheeks and hugged her in true Argentinian fashion.
Lacroix then said, “One more piece of business.”
Yak called out, “Quiet, everyone! Quiet!”
“Although mission control will remotely handle piloting and astrogation for the Konstantin, it is nonetheless important that the first commercial asteroid-mining ship have a captain.” Lacroix looked to Clarke in the crowd. “Nicole Clarke, as a licensed ship captain back on Earth, Catalyst Corporation has determined that you possess the expertise most suited to this role. Will you accept the position of captain of the Konstantin?”
Clarke stared dumbfounded, but then looked out at the seven others searchingly. Tighe gave her a thumbs-up, as did Morra, then Abarca, and the rest followed suit—although Jin looked a bit put out, considering he was actually a trained astronaut. However, he finally did as well.
Still stunned, Clarke said, “I . . . accept?” She resolved. “Yes, I accept.”
CHAPTER 24
Confidant
It was the self-assured calm Nathan Joyce projected with investors that impressed Lukas Rochat most. As Rochat had become more knowledgeable about Joyce’s business over the last six months, he had realized one of the keys to Joyce’s success was managing what his investment partners knew, and when they knew it—all without seeming to care. Yet, it was this information imbalance that Joyce guarded even more closely than his percentage of a given enterprise. The confident demeanor, the patter before and after meetings, even a dropped pen while signing contracts were all intended to misdirect attention from what mattered. Joyce’s proven track record encouraged trust, from which he wove his future success, stretching its fabric thinner each day.
As a result, the ouroboros tattoo on Joyce’s bicep had taken on new meaning for Rochat. The billionaire’s empire was as much temporal as it was financial. As one venture faded, another rose. Administering Joyce’s business interests was like juggling chainsaws: one miscalculation would bring disaster. That Joyce managed it at all was astounding—without even factoring in Joyce’s biggest play: the asteroid-mining ship, Konstantin.
Rochat wasn’t privy to Joyce’s entire plan, but he had begun to piece together the basics from government filings and contract negotiations he’d carried out on behalf of Catalyst Corporation. Joyce planned to vault ahead of the other Space Titans by taking bigger risks—principally by sending human beings to figure out things in situ. It was bold even by Joyce’s standards, and now that Rochat knew the scope of it, he also knew that its success meant life or death not just for the asteroid miners but for Joyce as well. The money invested in the Konstantin was supposed to be invested elsewhere and would sooner or later be missed.
In the meantime, Rochat’s space-law practice was now a success. He’d staffed up and opened offices not only in Luxembourg City (just off Space Row) but also in Washington, DC, and Los Angeles. Other NewSpace startups had noticed Rochat’s rise and started hiring Sirius Legal Services as well. A dozen admins, paralegals, and junior associates now managed thousands of pages of filings and revisions for Catalyst. With Joyce’s asteroid-mining scheme widely derided as unserious, those filings were met with bemused skepticism by Luxembourg officials, who barely had a chance to evaluate them before Rochat’s firm submitted still more—totaling hundreds of thousands of euros in fees.
As the departure date neared for Joyce’s secret spaceship, he had insisted Rochat stay physically close by him. Whether it was caution, suspicion, or, as Rochat preferred to believe, a growing bond between them, was unclear.
From Hong Kong to London to New York, Rochat accompanied Joyce as his “associate” and watched Joyce good-naturedly brush aside questions about his space ambitions from the many business and political leaders with whom he met—clarifying for investors that his real business was here on Earth.
However, in private Joyce appeared to relish Rochat as a confidant—the only one who knew their true purpose.
One evening, at a cocktail party on the eighty-eighth floor of a glass tower overlooking New York’s Hudson Yards, Joyce leaned on a terrace railing and gazed at the Moon in the evening sky. Rochat stood next to him.
Joyce seemed contemplative. Behind them a glass wall revealed party guests chatting in a penthouse flat while a beautiful Asian woman played Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” on a grand piano. The movers and shakers were all inside, but Joyce seemed to have limited interest in Earthly matters.
“Lukas, you probably think I’m insane.”
Rochat cocked his head. “Do you really think me so judgmental?”
Joyce smiled and grabbed Rochat by the scruff of his neck affectionately—momentarily crumpling the collar of his Brunello Cucinelli cashmere suit.
Rochat wondered if others suspected they were lovers. They were not, of course, but perhaps if outsiders knew the secret they both carried, the intimacy of their discussions would make more sense. And although Rochat was not physically attracted to men, he did not find it entirely unappealing for others to think that Joyce held special affection for him.
Joyce looked up at the Moon again. “This leap . . . this great leap that humanity must make. It’s necessary. More than anything we’ve ever done before.” He was obviously struggling. “I’m not a monster. You know that, right?”
Rochat nodded. “Of course, Nathan.”
“Remember this, Lukas: I’m sending people for a reason; agile aerospace—faster failure. The ability to adapt in situ will increase the overall chance of success. Humans can pick up a malfunctioning robot, fix it, change it, improve it, and try again without having to launch a whole new mission. I know it’s dangerous, but I’m sending them for a reason.”
Rochat just listened.
“Yes, I’ll leapfrog Burkett and Macy and the others, but that’s not the purpose. Doing so will force them to take bigger risks, too, and that will pick up the pace of this entire process.” He looked away.
Rochat knew that Joyce wasn’t wrong—but he also knew it wasn’t the entire story. The big picture was the Hail Mary pass this expedition represented for Joyce’s enterprises. Rochat suspected it was why the economist Korrapati’s message resonated so powerfully with Joyce—Korrapati was a financial high priest offering absolution.
Among the few financial statements Rochat had seen from shell companies and Catalyst subsidiaries, Joyce’s enterprises were an iceberg of debt. And his working cash flow seemed to stem from difficult-to-untangle international deals—particularly reverse mergers with Chinese companies.
Rochat’s tenure in mergers and acquisitions back in Vevey meant he was well acquainted with the practice of merging with offshore firms that had ceased business operations but were still publicly listed on US exchanges—thus avoiding the lengthy vetting process for an American IPO, and using a fictional balance sheet to attract investors. The big accounting firms would confirm that the fictional numbers added up, but eventually the companies would collapse. Hundreds of billions had been funneled to unseen hands this way over the years.
As Rochat listened to Joyce, he knew the truth: Joyce had secretly funneled so much into his space ambitions that his other ventures were getting impatient for expected returns. No doubt he hoped that the Konstantin would settle all accounts. In truth, Rochat could think of nothing else that could.
Joyce was a convincing liar because the first person he lied to was himself. Undisciplined, egotistical—and yet, willing to risk everything for a greater purpose. It was finally clear to Rochat why so many people both hated and loved Joyce. Rochat was one of them.
Joyce spoke to the Moon. “I need to keep my ship afloat for at least another year, Lukas. One more year.”
Rochat knew Joyce wasn’t referring to the Konstantin.
“If you don’t know certain things, then you can’t be held responsible for them.” He turned to Rochat. “So do yourself a favor and stop looking.”
This was as sincere a communication as Rochat had ever had with Joyce.
“Do you know why I trust you, Lukas?”
Rochat did not.
“Because, like me, you know what it’s like to be seen as no one of consequence. And like me, I don’t think you ever want to go back.”
They regarded each other.
“Protect me, Lukas. On the other side of this, there is a future. I promise you.”
CHAPTER 25
Departure
James Tighe slept fitfully in microgravity, his cocoon bag velcroed to a bed in the second-floor crew quarters of Hab 1. As he floated in the semidarkness, he thought of all the things that could go wrong on the journey he was about to embark upon. Yet no matter how many ways he thought the expedition through to disaster, he never imagined himself not going.
He glanced across at Jin Han, who was cocooned on his own cot a meter away. The dim light of charger LEDs revealed that Jin’s eyes were also open.
“Can’t sleep either?”
Jin slowly shook his head.
“You’re not thinking of backing out, I hope.”
Jin stared at the ceiling. “I am going.”
“Once you do, there’s no looking back. Agreed?”
Jin paused a moment, then nodded. “Agreed.”
The next morning the capcom on duty summoned the eight-person crew of the Konstantin to gather in the Central Hab. Tighe, Abarca, Jin, Morra, Adisa, Tsukada, Clarke, and Chindarkar transferred from their habs in the now-folded ship. They noticed that all but one of the construction crew capsules had departed from Konstantin’s docking ports.
In the Central Hab they found the construction manager, Julian Kerner, floating alone, tapping at a virtual UI. He looked up and nodded. “We have some legal matters to finalize.”
The crew exchanged doubtful looks.
Kerner made one last tap and a hologram of a young blond man in a fashionable suit and tie floated before them. “You’re on, Mr. Rochat.”
After a several-second transmission delay, the young man nodded. “Greetings from Earth.” He chuckled at his own joke. “I am Lukas Rochat, Catalyst Corporation’s legal counsel for space affairs.”
Morra sighed. “I told you the space lawyers would come.”
Rochat was still talking, oblivious due to the delay. “. . . you depart. Captain Clarke, as a commercial vessel under the legal jurisdiction of the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg, the crew of the Konstantin will need to maintain hard copy of its Maritime Supervisory Authority Endorsement on board at all times.”
“Is he kidding?”
Kerner passed Clarke a zipped polymer documents bag.
She laughed. “Sure, in case we’re boarded by customs officials. Thanks.”
The next day, after spinning down the ship and going through lockdown procedures, all twelve miners were called to the Central Hab. As they floated in microgravity, the construction team joined them. What everyone had worked so long for was about to happen, and there was a festive atmosphere.
However, a thinly veiled tension was present among the crew. Not everyone was going. Whether that was good or bad was impossible to know.
At six p.m. UTC, mission control manager Gabriel Lacroix’s head and shoulders materialized in holographic form, floating near the center of the hab. “Attention, crew of the Konstantin. Attention, please.”
Everyone fell silent and floated to the periphery so all could see.
“Thank you.” Lacroix paused. “Before we begin, I want to say how well you have all worked together in the past week. This ship could not have been made ready in time were it not for your teamwork. And tomorrow the Konstantin will begin an historic voyage.”
The assembled crew and workers clapped and whistled. Several of the construction workers recorded the moment on their phones.
Tighe tried to contain his nervousness. Looking out across the faces, he realized these people were as close to family as any expedition he’d ever joined.
Morra grabbed him by the shoulder. “All right, you wanker. Shall I put in a good word for you?”
Tighe laughed. “If you think it’ll help.”
Lacroix’s hologram gazed off camera for a moment and then said, “Before I announce crew assignments, a brief word from Mr. Joyce.”
As Nathan Joyce’s hologram glowed into place, the workers and crew applauded. Some whistled. Tighe couldn’t help but notice that Abarca again floated at the edge of the group with her arms crossed, expression unreadable.
“Good evening.” Joyce gazed out at the assembled crew and the ship’s builders. “Consider this: for decades humanity has possessed the capability to expand into our solar system—but we have not.” He let his words sink in, looking from face to face. “It’s not because explorers like you weren’t willing to shoulder the risk. Instead it was a blindness among our leaders that prevented them from seeing the true risk. And yet on Earth, we spend a trillion dollars on war without blinking an eye. With each passing year, the chance of a global catastrophe mounts—the climate, an epidemic, a financial crash, or a war that shrouds Earth in space debris and prevents us from reaching space. Possibly ever again. Humanity’s future depends on going—now, not later. I have invested literally everything I possess to provide you—courageous people—with this ship that can carry you to the most promising asteroid in the inner solar system—one that contains enough resources to jump-start an entire cislunar economy. Enough to establish a toehold in space.”
The enormity of the moment was now fully apparent to those gathered around.
“All of you have taken lethal risks before for so much less. I ask you to take this risk for the best reason of all—to secure the lives of countless generations to come. To finally embark humanity into the cosmos.” With one more gaze at those assembled, Joyce nodded and then disappeared.
Lacroix returned. He focused on his crystal as he spoke. “After careful consideration of all relevant factors, the first crew of the Konstantin consists of the following individuals.”
Tighe tensed. So did those around him.
Lacroix took a breath. “Nicole Clarke.”
Clarke blanched but nodded.
“Isabel Abarca.”
Tighe noticed she had no reaction.
“James Tighe.”
And then Tighe felt a flash of shock—but also of joy.
“Katsuka Akira.”
Sighs of relief and gasps of shock.
“Jin Han. Adedayo Adisa.”
Jin remained grim-faced, but Adisa’s bright smile flashed immediately. “Amy Tsukada.”
She screamed in joy, and the others laughed.
“Eike Dahl.”
Dahl stared into space.
That was eight. The eight.
Tighe snapped a look at Morra—who appeared devastated by not having his name called. Tighe looked around the room and saw everything from anguish to joy. He caught Dahl’s eye and smiled slightly, but she turned away. Yakovlev wrapped his head in his hands at being left behind, as did Josephson. The room began to buzz with murmured discussions. Tighe and Morra locked eyes.
Morra made a brave face and gave a thumbs-up. “Congrats, brother.”
Lacroix shouted. “Quiet, please. Thank you.”
The hab quieted down.
“Among the eight crew members chosen, are there any who, after considered reflection, do not wish to accept?”
Dahl’s voice immediately answered, “Me.”
Katsuka raised his hand as well.
Dahl turned to Tighe again but spoke to Lacroix. “I can’t do this. And there are others who want to go.”
Tighe realized he wasn’t surprised. It was a moment he’d known was coming.
“Are you certain, Ms. Dahl?”
“I am.”
“Mr. Akira, are you certain you wish to decline your position?”
Katsuka nodded. “I am certain, Gabriel. Thank you.”
Then Lacroix announced, “Very well, the replacement crew member for Eike Dahl is . . . Priya Chindarkar.”
Chindarkar put her hands to her mouth momentarily, but when she lowered them, there was a smile of relief. She floated over to Tsukada and they hugged.
“Will you accept this honor, Priya Chindarkar?”
She looked up. “Of course! Yes.”
Lacroix continued. “Very good. The replacement crew member for Katsuka Akira is . . . David Morra.”
“Yes!” Morra shouted and raised his arms and brought them down as fists. “Goddamnit, yes!”
Tighe and Morra embraced, slapping each other on the back. “Holy shit.”
Lacroix looked around. “Tonight is the last night for any changes of heart. Barring such changes, we now have the first crew of the mining ship Konstantin. Congratulations to you all.”
Those in attendance clapped and hugged one another. They even hugged Jin, who didn’t seem particularly comfortable with the familiarity, but he went along with it, acknowledging the historic nature of the moment.
Kerner took photos of the gathered crew, floating arm in arm, smiling.
On the periphery, Yak now looked devastated.
Lacroix let the group celebrate a bit, and then he said, “For those not called or who declined, please know that you are still under contract with Catalyst Corporation, and aside from being at the top of the list for future expeditions, your services will be required to aid your former crewmates in a capcom role. This evening is not good-bye. It is simply, until you meet again.”
This brightened Yak’s expression considerably. Tsukada floated over to console him further.
Near Tighe, Josephson floated up to Abarca and extended her hand. “Congratulations, Isabel. I suppose the Konstantin doesn’t need two surgeons. I hope we meet again.”
Abarca kissed Josephson on both cheeks and hugged her in true Argentinian fashion.
Lacroix then said, “One more piece of business.”
Yak called out, “Quiet, everyone! Quiet!”
“Although mission control will remotely handle piloting and astrogation for the Konstantin, it is nonetheless important that the first commercial asteroid-mining ship have a captain.” Lacroix looked to Clarke in the crowd. “Nicole Clarke, as a licensed ship captain back on Earth, Catalyst Corporation has determined that you possess the expertise most suited to this role. Will you accept the position of captain of the Konstantin?”
Clarke stared dumbfounded, but then looked out at the seven others searchingly. Tighe gave her a thumbs-up, as did Morra, then Abarca, and the rest followed suit—although Jin looked a bit put out, considering he was actually a trained astronaut. However, he finally did as well.
Still stunned, Clarke said, “I . . . accept?” She resolved. “Yes, I accept.”
CHAPTER 24
Confidant
It was the self-assured calm Nathan Joyce projected with investors that impressed Lukas Rochat most. As Rochat had become more knowledgeable about Joyce’s business over the last six months, he had realized one of the keys to Joyce’s success was managing what his investment partners knew, and when they knew it—all without seeming to care. Yet, it was this information imbalance that Joyce guarded even more closely than his percentage of a given enterprise. The confident demeanor, the patter before and after meetings, even a dropped pen while signing contracts were all intended to misdirect attention from what mattered. Joyce’s proven track record encouraged trust, from which he wove his future success, stretching its fabric thinner each day.
As a result, the ouroboros tattoo on Joyce’s bicep had taken on new meaning for Rochat. The billionaire’s empire was as much temporal as it was financial. As one venture faded, another rose. Administering Joyce’s business interests was like juggling chainsaws: one miscalculation would bring disaster. That Joyce managed it at all was astounding—without even factoring in Joyce’s biggest play: the asteroid-mining ship, Konstantin.
Rochat wasn’t privy to Joyce’s entire plan, but he had begun to piece together the basics from government filings and contract negotiations he’d carried out on behalf of Catalyst Corporation. Joyce planned to vault ahead of the other Space Titans by taking bigger risks—principally by sending human beings to figure out things in situ. It was bold even by Joyce’s standards, and now that Rochat knew the scope of it, he also knew that its success meant life or death not just for the asteroid miners but for Joyce as well. The money invested in the Konstantin was supposed to be invested elsewhere and would sooner or later be missed.
In the meantime, Rochat’s space-law practice was now a success. He’d staffed up and opened offices not only in Luxembourg City (just off Space Row) but also in Washington, DC, and Los Angeles. Other NewSpace startups had noticed Rochat’s rise and started hiring Sirius Legal Services as well. A dozen admins, paralegals, and junior associates now managed thousands of pages of filings and revisions for Catalyst. With Joyce’s asteroid-mining scheme widely derided as unserious, those filings were met with bemused skepticism by Luxembourg officials, who barely had a chance to evaluate them before Rochat’s firm submitted still more—totaling hundreds of thousands of euros in fees.
As the departure date neared for Joyce’s secret spaceship, he had insisted Rochat stay physically close by him. Whether it was caution, suspicion, or, as Rochat preferred to believe, a growing bond between them, was unclear.
From Hong Kong to London to New York, Rochat accompanied Joyce as his “associate” and watched Joyce good-naturedly brush aside questions about his space ambitions from the many business and political leaders with whom he met—clarifying for investors that his real business was here on Earth.
However, in private Joyce appeared to relish Rochat as a confidant—the only one who knew their true purpose.
One evening, at a cocktail party on the eighty-eighth floor of a glass tower overlooking New York’s Hudson Yards, Joyce leaned on a terrace railing and gazed at the Moon in the evening sky. Rochat stood next to him.
Joyce seemed contemplative. Behind them a glass wall revealed party guests chatting in a penthouse flat while a beautiful Asian woman played Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” on a grand piano. The movers and shakers were all inside, but Joyce seemed to have limited interest in Earthly matters.
“Lukas, you probably think I’m insane.”
Rochat cocked his head. “Do you really think me so judgmental?”
Joyce smiled and grabbed Rochat by the scruff of his neck affectionately—momentarily crumpling the collar of his Brunello Cucinelli cashmere suit.
Rochat wondered if others suspected they were lovers. They were not, of course, but perhaps if outsiders knew the secret they both carried, the intimacy of their discussions would make more sense. And although Rochat was not physically attracted to men, he did not find it entirely unappealing for others to think that Joyce held special affection for him.
Joyce looked up at the Moon again. “This leap . . . this great leap that humanity must make. It’s necessary. More than anything we’ve ever done before.” He was obviously struggling. “I’m not a monster. You know that, right?”
Rochat nodded. “Of course, Nathan.”
“Remember this, Lukas: I’m sending people for a reason; agile aerospace—faster failure. The ability to adapt in situ will increase the overall chance of success. Humans can pick up a malfunctioning robot, fix it, change it, improve it, and try again without having to launch a whole new mission. I know it’s dangerous, but I’m sending them for a reason.”
Rochat just listened.
“Yes, I’ll leapfrog Burkett and Macy and the others, but that’s not the purpose. Doing so will force them to take bigger risks, too, and that will pick up the pace of this entire process.” He looked away.
Rochat knew that Joyce wasn’t wrong—but he also knew it wasn’t the entire story. The big picture was the Hail Mary pass this expedition represented for Joyce’s enterprises. Rochat suspected it was why the economist Korrapati’s message resonated so powerfully with Joyce—Korrapati was a financial high priest offering absolution.
Among the few financial statements Rochat had seen from shell companies and Catalyst subsidiaries, Joyce’s enterprises were an iceberg of debt. And his working cash flow seemed to stem from difficult-to-untangle international deals—particularly reverse mergers with Chinese companies.
Rochat’s tenure in mergers and acquisitions back in Vevey meant he was well acquainted with the practice of merging with offshore firms that had ceased business operations but were still publicly listed on US exchanges—thus avoiding the lengthy vetting process for an American IPO, and using a fictional balance sheet to attract investors. The big accounting firms would confirm that the fictional numbers added up, but eventually the companies would collapse. Hundreds of billions had been funneled to unseen hands this way over the years.
As Rochat listened to Joyce, he knew the truth: Joyce had secretly funneled so much into his space ambitions that his other ventures were getting impatient for expected returns. No doubt he hoped that the Konstantin would settle all accounts. In truth, Rochat could think of nothing else that could.
Joyce was a convincing liar because the first person he lied to was himself. Undisciplined, egotistical—and yet, willing to risk everything for a greater purpose. It was finally clear to Rochat why so many people both hated and loved Joyce. Rochat was one of them.
Joyce spoke to the Moon. “I need to keep my ship afloat for at least another year, Lukas. One more year.”
Rochat knew Joyce wasn’t referring to the Konstantin.
“If you don’t know certain things, then you can’t be held responsible for them.” He turned to Rochat. “So do yourself a favor and stop looking.”
This was as sincere a communication as Rochat had ever had with Joyce.
“Do you know why I trust you, Lukas?”
Rochat did not.
“Because, like me, you know what it’s like to be seen as no one of consequence. And like me, I don’t think you ever want to go back.”
They regarded each other.
“Protect me, Lukas. On the other side of this, there is a future. I promise you.”
CHAPTER 25
Departure
James Tighe slept fitfully in microgravity, his cocoon bag velcroed to a bed in the second-floor crew quarters of Hab 1. As he floated in the semidarkness, he thought of all the things that could go wrong on the journey he was about to embark upon. Yet no matter how many ways he thought the expedition through to disaster, he never imagined himself not going.
He glanced across at Jin Han, who was cocooned on his own cot a meter away. The dim light of charger LEDs revealed that Jin’s eyes were also open.
“Can’t sleep either?”
Jin slowly shook his head.
“You’re not thinking of backing out, I hope.”
Jin stared at the ceiling. “I am going.”
“Once you do, there’s no looking back. Agreed?”
Jin paused a moment, then nodded. “Agreed.”
The next morning the capcom on duty summoned the eight-person crew of the Konstantin to gather in the Central Hab. Tighe, Abarca, Jin, Morra, Adisa, Tsukada, Clarke, and Chindarkar transferred from their habs in the now-folded ship. They noticed that all but one of the construction crew capsules had departed from Konstantin’s docking ports.
In the Central Hab they found the construction manager, Julian Kerner, floating alone, tapping at a virtual UI. He looked up and nodded. “We have some legal matters to finalize.”
The crew exchanged doubtful looks.
Kerner made one last tap and a hologram of a young blond man in a fashionable suit and tie floated before them. “You’re on, Mr. Rochat.”
After a several-second transmission delay, the young man nodded. “Greetings from Earth.” He chuckled at his own joke. “I am Lukas Rochat, Catalyst Corporation’s legal counsel for space affairs.”
Morra sighed. “I told you the space lawyers would come.”
Rochat was still talking, oblivious due to the delay. “. . . you depart. Captain Clarke, as a commercial vessel under the legal jurisdiction of the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg, the crew of the Konstantin will need to maintain hard copy of its Maritime Supervisory Authority Endorsement on board at all times.”
“Is he kidding?”
Kerner passed Clarke a zipped polymer documents bag.
She laughed. “Sure, in case we’re boarded by customs officials. Thanks.”
