Critical Mass, page 29
She studied his face. “Why are you being so absolute about this?”
“Because we don’t have any margin for error.”
“Remember that Ade has brothers and sisters in Lagos. It was to protect them from his oga that he joined the Ryugu expedition in the first place. He saved both our lives, and he would want us to do something to save their future. If it came to it, I think he would willingly sacrifice his own life for that.”
Tighe stepped away from the basin for a moment, took a deep breath, then turned to face her again. “That’s not the choice. We will build the mass-driver, rescue Isabel and Ade, and then help save the world. In that order.”
“What good would it do to rescue Isabel and Ade, only to bring them back to a doomed world—when we could have acted early enough to save it?”
“Priya . . .”
“Just promise me we will factor that into our priorities if we get the mass-driver working.”
Tighe stared. “You mean when. Not if.”
CHAPTER 24
Green Team
CLARKE STATION POPULATION: 24
DAYS TO RYUGU DEPARTURE: 1,136
By the third week of April little had changed with the interior of Clarke Station. However, with the help of the Blue and Red Teams and Kerner’s telepresence construction team back on Ascension Island, big changes were underway outside the station. The solar power satellite was nearing completion next to the supply yard. Likewise, the refinery, located on the central axis between the station and the thermal power plant, was now half finished. Prefabricated components of the lunar base were also accumulating in the supply yard less than a kilometer from Clarke Station, ready for transport to the Moon’s surface.
And it was at this point that the Rosette cycler delivered a fourth crew to the vicinity of L2, where they were picked up by twin telepiloted transit craft sent out by Clarke Station, and a day later the Green Team arrived.
Captain Jin Han and Sevastian Yakovlev met the new arrivals at the docking bay, but Priya Chindarkar opted instead to watch via surveillance camera in South Hab as the group floated through the docking hatches.
Green Team consisted of seven people—including yet another pair of international observers foisted on them as part of Rochat’s deal with Earth authorities: the first of these was Lieutenant Colonel Hardik Katri of India’s ISRO, and the second was Maximilian Huber, a German astronaut with the European Space Agency, here as a representative for the EU.
The other five members of the Green Team were Ascension Island grads and included Lynne Holstad, an agronomist in her fifties from Iowa State University whose passage was being paid through a NASA research grant. There was Braam de Jong, a Dutch roboticist and astropreneur with a company called Life-Bot—some sort of automated space rescue robot. He was apparently going to earn his transport to Clarke by helping to prepare coils for the mass-driver before his own work could begin. Then there was Milena Jakubec, a former ESA life support specialist from the Czech Republic, and also Wu Meiling, a Taiwanese microchip designer—another astropreneur and founder of a company called Bootstrap; she was here to research silicon wafer production in microgravity using in situ resources. And finally, there was Robert Ecklund, the retired NASA physicist and designer of the mass-driver that they’d be building on the lunar surface. Chindarkar had spoken to Ecklund several times in video meetings. At fifty-eight, he was the oldest of the crew, but he looked well acclimated to microgravity after a week in transit, and was all smiles as he laughed and hugged Jin and then Yak in the gate compartment.
The Catalyst board had unanimously agreed that Ecklund’s participation in telepresence construction on the lunar surface would be invaluable—something he couldn’t do from back on Earth, given the lag time for effective surface operations. So here he was, clearly thrilled to be in space.
Some minutes later, after dividing up the Green Team between North and South Habs to equalize mass distribution, exclamations of wonder and amazement could be heard as the new arrivals stepped out on the South Hab elevator landing at H4. The Blue and Red Teams had gathered below to watch the spectacle, remembering well their own amazement on first sight of the station’s interior.
Tighe stood alongside Chindarkar and they both looked up with some amusement as first Holstad and Wu, then De Jong and Ecklund, looked out over the H4 railing at the cavernous compartment and crew assembled below. Jin came up behind them (presumably Yak was off escorting the others to North Hab).
Ecklund shouted, “Hello, Clarke Station!” And it echoed through the compartment.
The Red and Blue Teams shouted greetings and waved. It was a festive atmosphere.
At that point, Ecklund uncoiled what looked to be a tether line linked to his belt and clipped the carabiner on one end to the metal railing. He looked up. “According to my calculations, this should be perfectly safe . . .”
At which point Ecklund climbed the railing.
Jin called out, “Bob!” And raced toward him.
Before Jin could intervene—and to the horror of everyone—Ecklund launched himself off the elevator landing and into empty air above the gathered crew 10 meters below. People screamed and fled from the impact.
However, even though Ecklund fell “downward” initially, the fact that they were in a spinning space station was brought back to them all as his downward motion slowed about halfway to the floor, and then transitioned to a sideways glide, anti-spinward—toward the back wall. This occurred gradually at first but began to pick up speed before he pulled the tether taut in his hand. “At this distance from the station’s core, we are spinning at roughly 70 miles per hour . . .”
Ecklund floated as he fed the taut line through his hands, gently correcting his course, and he began to ease downward once more. Loosening and tightening the tether modulated his downward speed. Until finally he alighted onto the steel deck with both feet—perfectly fine. He smiled broadly and held up his hands. “Ladies and gentlemen—physics!”
The relieved crew roared in laughter and applauded. This was interrupted by a shout from above.
“Bob!”
Everyone looked up to see Jin—captain of Clarke Station—as upset as Chindarkar had ever seen him.
“We did not fly you up here just to have you kill yourself performing a stupid stunt.”
Ecklund gestured to the tether still in his hand. “There was no danger, Captain.”
“You will follow all safety restrictions while you are on this station, and I forbid anyone else here from doing what they have just seen. Is that understood?”
The assembled crew nodded and said in unison, “Yes, Captain.”
Ecklund released the tether and faced Tighe and Chindarkar. “I thought it was a good demonstration of centripetal motion.”
Tighe extended his hand, a slight smile slipping. “Bob. Quite an entrance.”
“J.T. Great to finally meet you in person.” He gripped his hand. “Priya, you too.” He shook her hand vigorously. “I’m not really in trouble, am I?”
“Don’t worry about Han. He’s just touchy because the slightest mistake out here can be fatal—and because we’re all counting on you.”
“Ah. Right. Well, I’m happy to dig right in once I get a meal and a hot shower. Eight days in microgravity was enough for me.”
Chindarkar held up a pausing finger. “Bad news there, Bob. The plumbing doesn’t work. There’s no toilets. No showers. No sinks. It’s all basins and bottled water.” She spread her hands. “Welcome to Clarke Station.”
He looked at her and Tighe. “Seriously?”
Just then the elevator door opened, and Jin arrived on H2, helping De Jong along, while Holstad and Wu assisted each other. Jin gave Ecklund an annoyed look as one of the other crew members took charge of De Jong, who was still struggling to get acclimated to a-grav.
Ecklund turned. “I just heard about the plumbing situation, Captain. How long has that been going on?”
“Since we first arrived. Mission control is working on it.”
“Well, that’s unacceptable. It has to be fixed. It’s a health issue.”
Tighe said, “We have chamber pots. Just pray the spin-grav doesn’t give out.”
“Mission control might be working on it, but they’re down there. We’re up here. Let me look into it.”
“Yak already has.”
Jin seemed annoyed once more. “Bob, we brought you up here to manage construction of the mass-driver.” He pointed at Sato’s assembly operation not far off, where half-finished superconducting coils were laying on tables. “We have a tight schedule and cannot lose time with you pursuing a plumbing problem that mission control is already handling.”
“Handling poorly, from the sound of it. It’s been months?” Ecklund held up his hands as Jin was about to respond. “Captain, lack of proper plumbing has got to be a productivity killer. How much time do you waste emptying and moving chamber pots around? Filling and moving water barrels?”
Chindarkar looked to Jin. “He’s got a point, Han.”
Ecklund gestured to the pipes running up the elevator column. “Look, give me a day or two. If I can’t find the problem, I’ll grab a bucket, but if I do and this space station can have hot and cold running water—well, that’s going to be a big productivity and morale boost. Agreed?”
After a moment Jin nodded. “You have three days, Bob. Then you concentrate on the mass-driver coils. Exclusively.”
* * *
—
It wound up taking Ecklund two days to find the source of the plumbing problems. The fixes just three more, making him something of an instant hero on board. The entire crew celebrated by taking long hot showers.
The solution wasn’t as complicated as mission control believed because what Ecklund discovered in crawling around the conduits of Clarke Station was that mission control had been referencing a newer version of the water system blueprint than the one Kerner’s CVD robots had actually built in deep space. In fact, the newer version had been developed specifically to avoid the problems they’d been experiencing—problems caused by the inclusion of automatic water level controllers in the initial design; devices that assumed constant gravity and thus behaved unpredictably in the varying spin-grav throughout the system. However, in the chaos of Nathan Joyce’s death and the subsequent corporate bankruptcies, the corrected plans had never been conveyed to Kerner’s team. And no one had thought to ask.
Ecklund’s replacement of the controllers with programmable pumps he drew from spare-parts inventory resolved the issues.
After having her first hot shower in months—as well as access to a working toilet—Chindarkar sat in the South Hab crew lounge on H1 and relished the comforts of civilization. She also caught up on news from Earth in her crystal. Most of it was depressing—conflicts, economic chaos, drought, wildfires, mudslides, and storms. It was tempting to just watch a sitcom instead, but she had to keep up with planetside events.
The crew lounges in both the North and South Habs consisted of a few inflatable sitting chairs and plastic tables printed and assembled by those off duty. By the time Chindarkar settled in to relax, it was late, and the only other person present was Holstad, the recently arrived agronomist, who sat on the far end of the lounge. She, too, had apparently just taken a shower and was sipping tea meditatively. Chindarkar didn’t want to disturb her, so she sank down into her own chair to remain unseen.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor leading past the lounge.
From across the room, Holstad spoke. “Mr. Ecklund.” The footsteps stopped. “Thanks for the running water.”
“Bob. Call me Bob.” There was a pause. “You’re looking better. Spin-grav seems to agree with you.”
“It does. My vestibular otoliths are much happier here than they were on the cycler.”
“Your vestibular whats?”
“The small stones in our inner ear—vestibular otoliths. They’re balanced within a fluid; when we move our head, gravity makes them move. It’s how humans perceive motion.”
“Ah. Well, since your otoliths are happy, may I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
His footsteps entered the lounge, and Chindarkar heard him sit.
“What’s an agronomist doing up here? It seems a bit premature, if you don’t mind my saying. We’re nowhere close to growing crops in space.”
She laughed slightly. “I’m as surprised as you. I certainly never thought I’d be going into space.”
“Me neither. Strange where life brings us. Isn’t it? This is a dream come true for me.”
“My younger self would never have considered doing this. Too dangerous.”
“What changed?”
“The world. Me.” Silence for a moment. “In answer to your question: I have samples of a radiotrophic fungi—Cladosporium sphaerospermum—that I have to figure out how to grow within Clarke Station’s double hull.”
“Radiotrophic—meaning it feeds on radiation?”
“Yes. It’s a species that thrived around Chernobyl and attenuates ionizing radiation better than hydrogen—and without the mass of water ice. I’m to test its effectiveness as radiation shielding. And to cultivate it.”
“Huh. Interesting. Do you know yet where you’ll be setting up?”
“No. I don’t think they have room for my lab yet. Longer term, I’m up here to attempt to grow crop plants from in situ nutrients—particularly off-world phosphorus.”
“Phosphorus, like in fertilizer.”
“It’s more than fertilizer. Phosphorus is integral to life. It’s used to create cell membranes and all DNA. Without phosphorus, life as we know it can’t exist.”
“And it’s present on the Moon, I believe.”
“Yes, and potassium. Those, along with nitrogen—which I understand we also have—will give us the ability to sustain living things here in deep space. Meaning we could expand life into the cosmos.”
“Well, that’s quite a mission you have. I’m just here to build a piece of equipment.”
Momentary silence. “You’re here to build the mass-driver on the Moon.”
“That’s right.”
“How does one train to do that?”
“I spent thirty years designing systems for NASA, and to be honest, in all that time, not one of my designs was ever built.” A pause. “You have kids?”
Silence, which Chindarkar assumed was a shake of the head.
Ecklund continued. “I have a daughter. She’s a lawyer in Houston. But I’m long-ago divorced and at a point in my life where I look back on my body of work and . . . It’s like it never happened. Then out of the blue these crazy astropreneurs contact me, and now I have the chance—for once—to see something I designed become real. Something that might make a positive impact on the world.”
As he said this, Chindarkar looked up at an augmented-reality window on the station’s common layer. It displayed a live view of the Moon, with a smaller Earth visible in the distance, sourced from one of Clarke Station’s exterior cameras. Chindarkar imagined Ecklund’s mass-driver on the Moon’s surface.
After a few moments, Holstad said, “Back in the ’20s I ran a research lab at Iowa State, where I simulated growing crops under the conditions of present-day Earth. It revealed that current CO2 and temperature levels would devastate crop yields. That we would have to figure out new ways to feed billions of people. And to preserve our biome.”
“So you’re here to establish greenhouses? Aquaponics?”
“Sure, aquaponics can grow plants, but we’re going to need soil if we want to preserve Earth’s entire biosphere. And learning to build soil of the complexity found on Earth—from scratch, using deep space resources—will be critical. If we can do that, we can re-create Earth’s biosphere anywhere.” A nervous laugh escaped her. “But to be honest, I hardly know where to begin. I can’t help thinking someone made a mistake choosing me for this.”
There was a pregnant silence. Then Ecklund said, “I took a pottery class once.” Another pause. “I know . . . retirement, right? But the teacher divided the class up into two groups. The first group, he said, would be graded on producing a single pot—which they were to make as perfect as possible. The second group—my group—would be graded only on the number of pots we produced; quality didn’t matter.”
“Sounds like your group got shortchanged.”
“Ah. You might think so. But you know what happened? Our group wound up making the best pots. We just kept working and gaining experience until eventually spinning a pot became second nature to us—while the other group mostly theorized and planned.”
“Hm.”
“That’s what I thought, too. Down there on Earth, our research is just theory. But up here, it’s time to put theory into practice.”
They both sat in silence for quite some time afterward. Chindarkar was content to sit with them.
CHAPTER 25
Surface Operations
CLARKE STATION POPULATION: 24
DAYS TO RYUGU DEPARTURE: 1,101
James Tighe gazed at a large virtual screen alongside most of the population of Clarke Station in the South Hab’s videoconference area. No one wanted to miss the big event.
On-screen, their 185-ton chandelier-shaped solar power satellite was finally being moved from the supply yard to its intended location at EM-L1 on the opposite side of the Moon—the side facing Earth. The massive satellite’s dozens of hexagonal facets glittered in the sunlight, which was, after all, their purpose. The event was being monitored by a second transit spacecraft at a distance of several hundred kilometers with the aid of powerful optics. A propulsion module mounted to breakaway scaffolding had nudged the massive satellite fourteen days ago onto a trajectory that would bring it around the Moon’s equator and toward the EM-L1 point. Clarke Station’s location at the edge of the Moon’s gravity well meant the maneuver had required only 140 meters per second of delta-v, which was helpful, given the mass of the thing. The logic of using Lagrange points was becoming clearer every day to Tighe.
