Critical Mass, page 24
Once Ramón got his turn on a computer, he navigated to the website of a local mobile phone store just a few blocks away from the aid station—one that he knew accepted bitcoin. Back in Caracas he’d rehearsed what followed dozens of times: ordering an iPhone and filling in his personal details, navigating to payment, and copying the store’s bitcoin wallet address. He then accessed a wallet he had hosted at a cryptocurrency exchange using his memorized password. There he’d stored a modest fraction of bitcoin, which he used to pay for the phone. He printed out the confirmation, and collected his brother and sister.
“Aren’t you going to eat, Ramón?” His little brother pointed to an aid worker handing out sandwiches.
“Later. We must do something first.” He thanked the aid workers, and then picked up Gabriela in his arms and led Luis through the bustling streets of Cúcuta’s business district. He felt like he was hallucinating as they walked among Colombians going about their daily lives in a functioning society. Stores lined every street. The smell of roast chicken emanated from a nearby bistro. A glance down at his brother and sister showed their eyes widen as they pointed and whispered excitedly to each other. This was a whole new world to them and a long-ago memory for Ramón.
“Hurry now.” He pulled them onward and soon reached the mobile phone store he was looking for. The manager there was deeply suspicious of his battered and bandaged face—and penniless Venezuelan migrants were everywhere—but Ramón presented the printout with the payment confirmation as well as his photo carnet de la patria ID card.
The manager nodded as he handed over the phone. “I can’t sell you a phone plan without Colombian identification.”
“Then sell me an hour of Internet access, and we can do more business today.”
The man looked at Ramón and then his siblings. He finally nodded. “Thirty minutes.”
With the new iPhone in hand and a Wi-Fi password, Ramón began to set up his new device. He could scarcely believe he had a new, high-quality phone, into which he immediately began installing a series of apps that he’d learned about from friends in the offshore coding and crypto community.
It wasn’t long before he had access to another one of his accounts on a crypto exchange. He spotted a sticker printed with the QR code of the store’s bitcoin wallet and captured it with his phone’s camera. “I’ll need a phone case, charger, and some other accessories.” He focused on his phone screen. “And I’ll send you three hundred USD worth of bitcoin for two hundred fifty USD in Colombian pesos.”
The man thought for a moment. “One hundred fifty in Colombian pesos.”
“Deal.” Ramón sent the funds to the address, and after confirming the transfer, the man peeled off the bills from a wad in his pocket.
Not long after, Ramón left the store with Luis and Gabriela and his new gear.
Luis looked up at him quizzically. “So we have money again?”
Ramón nodded.
“How?”
He knelt down to look his little brother in the eye. “I’ll teach you when you’re older. I’ll teach you that and a lot more.” Then he noticed Gabriela staring at the window of an ice cream parlor next door. A boy and his father were leaving, eating ice cream cones.
He took her hand. “You’ve never had ice cream, have you, chamita?”
She shook her head—though he already knew the answer.
He looked to Luis and took his hand as well. “Then let’s change that . . .”
JULY 2028
Ramón looked up from his laptop as Luis called out to him.
“Come out with us!” Luis waved as he and his friends carried surfboards out to catch the swells of high tide.
“I have work to do, little brother!” He laughed as Luis waved back.
“Your loss!”
How buff his brother was now. Eighteen years old and nearly a head taller than Ramón, but then Luis hadn’t been malnourished through puberty. Neither of his siblings had been. Ramón had seen to that.
From the vantage point of his beach house deck, Ramón could see the entire strand. Gabriela was talking with her friends as they sunned themselves on a beach blanket. Ramón felt a grim pride and wondered if his father and mother would be proud of him. It had taken years, but he’d learned what he needed to know to build a business. To make a place for himself and his siblings in the world.
Blockchain systems had made that possible. The skills he’d first developed building mining rigs and then managing crypto funds, secure token offerings—these had changed his life. It had made it possible for him to provide security for his family, and now all he thought about was how to make this decentralized system work for the billions of other unbanked people in this world, suffering under corrupt regimes or the chaos of war or climate upheaval.
A voice called to him in English, “Hey, Ramón! There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Ramón turned to see his business partner, a young American named Bill Paxton, coming through the beachside gate, another person in tow—a fit and handsome man in his thirties. The man nodded at him as they came up the steps.
Paxton gestured toward him. “Ramón Marín, I’d like you to meet Nathan Joyce.”
Ramón paused in shock. “The Nathan Joyce?” He stood.
“And I’m told you are the Ramón Marín.”
Ramón laughed and extended his hand for a firm shake. “Mr. Joyce, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m a big admirer.”
“Then it’s mutual.” Joyce gripped his hand firmly and smiled. “I wanted to meet the guy who designed the wyvern architecture. You’ve earned yourself quite a reputation here in El Zonte, and I found your personal background inspiring. You’ve done a lot to help the community here.” He looked at the nearby chairs. “I wonder if we might chat. I have a special project I think you might be interested in . . .”
CHAPTER 19
Visitors
DAYS TO RYUGU DEPARTURE: 1,220
Priya Chindarkar, Jin Han, and James Tighe floated in Clarke Station’s arrival gate, alongside the docking hatches. Chindarkar was excited, but tried to appear calm as clanking and movement was audible on the far side, until finally an inner hatch swung open.
The first person through was a familiar and welcome face from Chindarkar’s candidate selection training days—Dr. Elizabeth Josephson, a British former ESA flight surgeon. Josephson spotted Chindarkar and smiled wide. “Look at you!” She moved along handholds to finally embrace Chindarkar in microgravity. They rolled end over end, laughing. “Last time I saw you, you were just another ascan.”
Chindarkar knew that Josephson had missed out on the Konstantin expedition only in the final selection—just like Sevastian Yakovlev. If not for that, she would have been the flight surgeon on the Konstantin expedition instead of Isabel Abarca.
Jin caught Josephson’s ankle to stop them tumbling. “Liz, careful. There are still sharp edges in here.”
Josephson detached from Chindarkar and hugged Jin. Then hugged Tighe as well.
“J.T., I heard about your genetic surgery. How are your cancer symptoms?”
“Gone, mostly.”
“I’d love to talk more about it if you’re willing.”
Just then another woman wearing a blue flight suit emerged from the transit craft hatchway. Her eyes went wide at the size of the gate area.
Josephson gestured toward her. “Team, this is Monica Balter, out of the University of Sydney.”
Balter’s eyes turned to them. She smiled broadly, grabbed Jin’s hand, and spoke with an Australian accent. “Lizzie’s told me all about you. Regular legends!”
Chindarkar asked, “You’re our solar satellite expert?”
“That’s right.” Balter gestured to the surrounding station. “I thought it would be decades before we’d see something like this. If ever. You’ve all been busy up here, haven’t you?”
Another face appeared in the hatchway behind her—this one also familiar: Ramón Marín, the Venezuelan systems architect Lukas Rochat had introduced on the airship journey to Ascension. Marín seemed as quiet as ever, with wavy black hair and a diminutive frame. He nodded silently to the crew as he floated in, clutching a small black backpack close. Marín oriented himself to match the others in microgravity.
Josephson pointed. “This is Ramón Marín, IT specialist.”
Chindarkar nodded. “Yes, we met back on Earth.” She clasped Marín’s hand. “You really went through orbital training fast, Ramón.”
He spoke with a Spanish accent. “I have been preparing for some time, actually.”
Tighe and Jin shook his hand as well. “Ramón, welcome.”
Another woman followed Marín, smiling brightly as she came through. She looked vaguely Middle Eastern to Chindarkar.
Josephson pointed. “And this is our chemist, Sofia Boutros.”
“Oh!” Chindarkar grasped Boutros’s hand. “Wonderful. There’s so much we need to synthesize. Great to meet you, Sofia.”
“Likewise. Very nice to meet you all.” Boutros nodded to the team. Her accent was part British and part something else.
Tighe shook hands with her, as did Jin. Then Tighe looked to the second docking hatch. Beyond it waited another transit craft. “So, do we let these international observers on board now, or what?”
Chindarkar gave him a look. “Of course, J.T. Yak’s in there, too, and they’ve all been in microgravity for a week.”
Jin stared at the hatch. “Perhaps we tell Yak to search them.”
“Han, they’ve already been searched and scanned for weapons and electronic devices. What is Yak going to find that mission control’s security team didn’t?”
After a moment, Jin nodded. He interacted with virtual controls in his crystal’s UI, and the second hatch unlocked with a click. Then he spoke into his bone mic. “Yak, the hatch is unlocked. Come aboard when you are ready.”
“Fabulous!”
Clanking noises emanated behind the second docking hatch, and finally it, too, pushed in, revealing the beaming face of Sevastian Yakovlev—almost unrecognizable without his familiar beard.
He and Jin clasped in a hug and slapped each other’s backs. “What happened to your whiskers?”
“Face mask seal comes before rugged good looks in space. You know this.” He hugged Tighe heartily. “J.T.!”
“How was the trip up?”
“Magnificent! I am in deep space again, where I belong.” He gazed around. “And this station! It is new wonder of civilization.” He hugged Chindarkar and kissed her cheeks. “Priya, kotyonok. Good to see you safe.” He looked up. “It echoes like mad in here, though. We must fix this.”
Chindarkar watched as two more people emerged from Yak’s transit craft. They both wore dark blue flight suits with United States Space Force insignia and rank. The first was a short-haired, fit blond woman in her late thirties or early forties. “Permission to come aboard?”
Jin nodded. “Of course.”
She extended her hand. “Major Susan Cadot, Royal Canadian Air Force, on assignment with US Space Force. You must be Jin Han. It’s an honor to meet you.”
He shook her hand. “Good to meet you as well, Major.” He pointed. “That’s James Tighe, and that’s Priya Chindarkar.”
“So great to finally meet you all.” She shook hands. “What you’ve accomplished is historic.”
The second observer, an African American man in his thirties, emerged from the transit craft, smiling broadly as he extended his hand. “Major Charles Lawler. Great to meet you, Han. Priya. James.”
He shook hands with them each in turn.
Lawler looked around at the station. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around this place. We’ve both been fully briefed, but . . . wow.”
Jin spoke up. “You have probably all had your fill of microgravity in the past week. Let us go below and get you a sit-down meal.”
Yak clapped his hands, causing an echo once more. “Spin-gravity. Excellent!”
The echoing voices continued as ten people floated near the elevator, holding excited conversations. Jin led the first group of five down, leaving Tighe, Chindarkar, and Yak waiting behind with the US observers.
Tighe gestured to the elevator doors. “It’ll be a few minutes. They’ll need to acclimate to spin-gravity before they exit the elevator.”
The two majors nodded.
The group then floated in awkward silence.
Chindarkar finally said to the observers, “I know it may seem like we’re a gang of privateers up here trying to lay claim to the Moon—but we really just want to get our crewmates at Ryugu back home safe.” She gestured around them. “This station is the logistical base necessary to accomplish that.”
“Understood.” Lawler gestured to himself and Cadot. “And we realize you’re probably not thrilled that we’re up here, but for what it’s worth, I’m impressed as hell at what your crewmates achieved on the Konstantin expedition. You should all be famous. In fact, I’m sure you will be, and I hope you get your crew back safe.”
“Thank you.”
The elevator doors opened—sooner than anticipated.
Tighe floated inside, motioning for them to follow.
Lawler and Cadot studied everything around them.
Cadot laughed. “An actual elevator. Like at the mall . . .”
“Not quite. Grab the handrails . . .” Chindarkar hit the H4 button.
As they descended, she watched the looks on all their faces—the slowly expanding smiles as the sensation of gravity returned, followed quickly by gripping harder onto the handrails.
Cadot and Lawler held each other up. “My god.” She tried to stand, and to her credit did so almost immediately.
Then the elevator doors opened, and Lawler’s and Cadot’s eyes widened. Chindarkar walked out first, with Tighe helping Yak along.
“C’mon, comrade scientist. You’re going to like this . . .”
Yak laughed in amazement as he emerged.
The two Space Force observers, still leaning on each other, moved forward until they finally stood on the elevator landing among the rest of the team, gazing out over the railing.
Chindarkar gestured toward the cavernous space below. “It’s a bit basic for now, but it’s home.”
Lawler gripped the railing and slid down to his knees, staring in astonishment at the wide-open area curving gently upward to spinward. He extended his arm and seemed to observe the heft of it. “Spin-gravity beyond the Moon.” He laughed uproariously, then turned a smile at Chindarkar. “It’s . . . incredible. And the size of it. I . . .”
The other new arrivals were laughing, talking excitedly, and pointing at the floor 10 meters below the platform.
Cadot sat next to Lawler and stared out at the pressurized volume all around them. She gave him a look. “You can study the sat imagery and read the intel reports, but until you’re actually here . . .” She paused, then nudged Lawler. “Feel that in your sinuses? I think my sense of smell is returning.” She breathed deeply through her nose.
Lawler smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m clearing up, too.”
After a moment her expression changed. “What is that smell?”
He took a deep sniff. “I think it’s . . .” He turned toward Chindarkar. “Sewage?”
* * *
—
After unloading a ton of equipment and supplies from the two transit crafts, the new arrivals were assigned quarters, split between the North and South Habs. Tighe, Jin, and Chindarkar decided to remain together in South Hab, adding their chemist, Sofia Boutros, and their introverted systems architect, Ramón Marín. Meanwhile, Sevastian Yakovlev, flight surgeon Elizabeth Josephson, and solar satellite expert Monica Balter joined the two Space Force observers in the North Hab. Even with only the wall partitions and ceiling installed on the first floor, there was still more than enough room for five people in each hab. However, the interior walls were still merely framing. Silvery emergency blankets clipped to the frames had to suffice for privacy in the restrooms and showers.
That is, when those facilities were working. Almost immediately upon arrival, the newcomers encountered problems with the station’s plumbing. The modest additional usage seemed to tip a fragile balance. Toilets backed up and water mysteriously oozed up out of the shower drains, creating pools of cloudy, standing water. And Lawler was correct about the odor of sewage in South Hab, where the team had been living for the past month. Chindarkar smelled it almost immediately after returning from North Hab. It occurred to her that they must have simply gotten accustomed to the smell. There was so much else on their minds.
Yak, Jin, and Tighe videoconferenced with mission control to identify the source of the problem. The fact that plumbing issues were occurring in both the North and South Habs suggested a design flaw—the only question was where.
Chindarkar, meanwhile, helped get the US observers settled in. Majors Cadot and Lawler insisted on using an encrypted line to communicate with their superiors on Earth, and Ramón Marín seemed to understand what they needed. Rochat had negotiated a “no transmitter” policy for outside observers, meaning that they would not be permitted to broadcast radio signals of their own while on board, so as to avoid interference with telepresence robots; thus, their comms would need to go through the main laser line back to low Earth orbit (and from there back to mission control on Ascension Island). However, that line was to be available to them “at all times,” according to the agreement Rochat had struck. If it ever went offline, alarm bells would sound back in DC.
Soon after his arrival, Marín installed surveillance cameras overlooking the common areas in both habs, ostensibly to detect emergency situations.
