Delta-v, page 30
“We are harvesting water.” Adisa gestured to the walls. “We can fill the bladder tanks to shield us.”
Jin stared hard across the table at Chindarkar. “Fear is not a valid reason to return to Earth.”
“Oh, and your reason is—because we broke the law? Han, if I always obeyed authority, I would have been disposed of in some arranged marriage.”
“You took up a spot on this expedition.” Abarca looked to Chindarkar. “Priya, remember that day out on the cliff back at Ascension Island?”
“Of course.”
“You didn’t panic on that rock face—although you were facing death then, too.”
Chindarkar stared into the memory. “That was different.”
“How was it different?”
Chindarkar looked up. “I was in control on that cliff. Here we can be snuffed out any second. It’s only a matter of time. There could be a supernova, or a—”
“It’s the same back on Earth, Priya. And I have news for you: it’s the same everywhere. You could get cancer, you could die in a tsunami or an earthquake. You could get struck by a car. We just accept this is a risk, and we get on with it. You’ve had too much time to obsess over this meteor strike, and Nicole’s right; you should have shared the information so we could help give you some perspective. We’re all in this situation together, and as far as I can see, you’re the only one who’s panicking.”
Chindarkar stared at the table again.
“I’ve seen this happen to the bravest climbers I know. When you start to obsess, start to believe you can control for everything—that’s when the fear strikes.”
Chindarkar said nothing.
“Let me spoil the ending for you, Priya: you’re going to die.”
Everyone around the table looked up in surprise at this tack.
“I’m going to die, too. So is J.T. So is Nicole . . . So is everyone at this table and everyone on Earth. But strangely, we’re not panicked about that. It’s a given. You want control? Living your life to the fullest is the only thing you can control, and I don’t think you’ll find a better chance to do that than here.”
The crew sat in silent contemplation for several minutes.
Eventually Tighe poured himself another cup of water. He swirled it around and studied the bubbles forming, then rising in the artificial gravity. He looked around the table. “You guys can decide to do whatever you want, but I’m staying. I don’t care if I have to set up camp on the side of that rock. I will mine it with a fucking pick and shovel, if I have to—because this is what we humans need to do.”
The others remained silent.
“I’ve taken risks before, but never for a very good reason. I lost . . .” The words caught in his throat for a moment. “. . . my dearest friend—a man who was a father to me—just for a chance to see what was around the bend in a cave. Well, for once in my life, I not only know why I’m here, at this place, I finally know why I exist. I’ve always wondered why I was so odd. What possible evolutionary purpose could a person like me serve? No kids. Focused on my own experiences.” He pressed his hand on the table in emphasis. “This is my purpose. This has always been the purpose of people like us. We blaze trails. We chart oceans. We push back frontiers. Without us, humanity slowly dies.”
The entire crew stared at him.
Eventually Clarke looked around the table. “If we are going to do this, we must be able to rely on one another absolutely.” She took a steadying breath. “So . . . please, do not vote yes unless you truly mean yes.” She checked the countdown clock. “We’ve got hours more. There’s no reason to vote yes now if you are not ready.” She looked to Chindarkar. “Or ever, if you are not.”
The crew of the Konstantin stared at one another.
Clarke raised her hand. “Who here wants us to stay, to see this out for the next four years? To fully commit to this expedition—though it might bring our death?”
Chindarkar looked Tighe in the eyes and, to his surprise, raised her hand.
Clarke was taken aback. “You’re certain, Priya?”
She nodded. “Just lost my perspective there for a moment. It’s sometimes easy to forget that the purpose of life isn’t just to stay alive.”
Tighe also voted to stay, as did Morra, Abarca, Adisa, and Tsukada. Everyone turned their eyes toward Jin.
Jin took a deep breath. “I have complete faith in all of you. I just—”
Morra leaned in once more. “Would you just raise your hand already?”
Clarke glared at Morra. “Don’t pressure him, Dave. Everyone must decide on their own.”
Morra threw up his hands. “He knows he wants to. He just won’t admit who he really is. If I thought for one second I was wrong, I’d shut my mouth, but, Han, I’ve lived with you long enough to know you were made for this. I haven’t seen a smile on your face more than two seconds in the past year, and we get outside in a space suit and you’re like a six-year-old in a candy store. I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you’re not an obedient son. Or a follower of rules. You’re an adventurer. It’s in your blood. If you go back now, you will be miserable for the rest of your life. And you will make everyone around you miserable, too. Believe me. I know.”
Jin gave Morra a sideways look. After nearly a minute Jin said, “I am selfish.”
“Yes. You are. So am I. So is everyone.”
Jin shook his head. Then he raised his hand.
Clarke asked, “Are you certain, Han?”
“I am certain. I wish I was not, but I am.”
Clarke nodded. “Then it’s official: we’re staying for the duration.”
With that, the crew stood. They looked from one face to another—and finally breathed a sigh of relief, hugging and slapping one another on the back. Jin alone remained stone-faced.
Clarke looked up at the agitated faces of Catalyst mission controllers and a now snow-filled Nathan Joyce video feed. She turned off the mute button. “They’ll find out in a hundred seconds or so.” She looked up at Lacroix’s image. “Mission control, the crew of the Konstantin has made a go, no-go decision. We are here for the duration. The Ryugu mining expedition is a go.”
* * *
—
Nathan Joyce’s San Luis Valley, Colorado, ranch was more than 50,000 acres. Nestled in the Rocky Mountain Foothills and surrounded by lodgepole pines, the luxurious log cabin main house sported eleven bedrooms, with a high-ceilinged great hall and a massive fieldstone fireplace. The view across the valley was like something from an American Western—clear open vistas, cattle dotting the lowlands. Lukas Rochat relished his time here.
One corner of the great hall was cluttered with satellite hookups and computer equipment intended to capture Joyce’s image, encrypt it, and then broadcast it to a satellite in geosynchronous orbit—where it would then be beamed 10 million kilometers to the laser receiver atop the Konstantin’s solar mast.
Nearby hewn-log tables were cluttered with notes and diagrams. Aerospace and mining engineers as well as Dr. Angela Bruno were on hand to help Joyce convince the crew of the Konstantin to continue their mining expedition. None of them necessary, as it turned out.
Now that the matter had been settled, and Joyce had had a chance to speak—albeit on delay—with the crew and with mission controllers, he was in a triumphant mood.
Several of Lacroix’s mission control managers moved about pouring champagne from incredibly rare bottles of 1841 Veuve Clicquot. Rochat enjoyed every sip because he knew just how much had depended upon this expedition not ending tonight.
Crisis avoided. Joyce might pull off his greatest trick yet by creating several fortunes not just out of thin air but out of the vacuum of space itself. It would be the entrepreneurial story of the millennium. Rochat imagined SpaceNews magazine asking for an interview about his own role in the great expedition. Rochat’s eyes glazed in reverie, imagining all the people who had looked down on him now seething with envy.
Joyce finished speaking to the mission control staff and grabbed a champagne bottle from a table. He motioned for Rochat to follow him out onto the terrace, into the chill evening air.
Joyce seemed to enjoy gazing up at the heavens these days, particularly in the evening, when planets like Venus and Jupiter were bright on the horizon. The planets were, after all, no longer mere concepts to a man like Joyce; they were future markets. Perhaps for this reason, tonight there was a sizable telescope mounted on the stone deck.
Rochat exchanged satisfied grins with Joyce as they leaned against a log-and-fieldstone railing overlooking the twilit landscape.
Joyce raised his champagne flute. “We made history tonight, Lukas.”
Rochat smiled.
They clinked glasses and drank deeply.
Rochat stood side by side with his idol at one of the greatest moments in space exploration. (He’d had a small role in this, surely.) He turned to face the valley as the light began to fade, stars now twinkling on the horizon.
Joyce handed the antique champagne bottle to Rochat, who gladly accepted it. He then watched as Joyce took out two Cuban cigars and a combination cutter/lighter. Joyce trimmed the end of one and then offered it to Rochat.
Rochat waved it away. “It will be wasted upon me, Nathan.”
“Suit yourself.” Joyce put the unclipped one away and subjected the tip of the other to a blue-hot heat from something more akin to a rocket engine than a lighter. He puffed rhythmically.
Rochat’s Swiss accent was thick from drinking. “Nathan, I haf not seen you smoke before.”
The cigar now lit, Joyce leaned his head back and puffed languorously. “Special occasion.” He took another puff to his evident satisfaction. “If those miners can live dangerously, then who am I to play it safe?”
Rochat let out a loud laugh. “You haf hardly played it safe. We both know you haf cheated the devil himself.”
Joyce smoked with relish as he beheld the world—his world, Rochat realized. At least as far as the eye could see.
“I must say—and you must forgive me, Nathan—but you are the most remarkable man I have ever known.”
Joyce turned slightly. “That means a lot to me, Lukas. That really does. I don’t think I could have accomplished this without your help.”
Rochat held on to those words. Joyce’s validation was the pinnacle. This was it. He had arrived.
“The risks you took. How did you know these were the right people? How did you know you could trust the crew of the Konstantin with such awesome responsibility, so far from Earth?”
Joyce nodded as he appreciated the cigar. Then he said, “I’ll tell you, it was a calculated risk. But one I knew had to be taken for the expedition to proceed properly.” He took another puff of the cigar. “Besides, you didn’t think I’d be stupid enough to actually give them enough fuel to get back, did you?”
Rochat’s smiled faded. He waited for Joyce to laugh—but it never came.
Instead, Joyce slapped Rochat on the back and started to walk back to the house—then he turned and said, “To send tons of extra fuel just to allow the crew to do something they must absolutely not do—well, that doesn’t make sense. Instead, I provided them with extra supplies, which could very well make all the difference. And my having faith that they would make the right decision might very well save all their lives. Yes, Lukas, selecting the right people is everything.”
With that, humming happily, Joyce entered the house.
Rochat stood in shock, shivering in the evening air.
CHAPTER 30
Gremlins
APRIL 17, 2034
Klaxons and strobe lights jolted Tighe awake in the middle of the night. A female robotic voice said, “Warning: bang-bang control failure. Repeat: bang-bang control failure. Ship off station.”
Tighe was now assigned to Hab 1 with Jin, and they both sat up and put on crystals.
It was the sixth time in two days the crew had been disturbed in the middle of the night by alarms, and both stress and lack of sleep were beginning to take a toll on them all.
The Klaxons suddenly reduced in volume.
Clarke’s weary voice came over the comm link. She’d lately been looking more careworn than any of them—the weight of command showing. “Ade, these readings say the ship is 2 kilometers off station and nearly upside down.”
Adisa’s voice also sounded groggy. “It is not possible. A half hour ago the ship was on station. The gravitational attraction of Ryugu to the Konstantin is only 1.9 newtons. That could only place us at most . . . 36 meters off station.”
Tighe brought up exterior cameras and was relieved to see Ryugu, and the silhouettes of two Honey Bee mining bots, right where he expected them to be. “Nicole, CCTV cameras show everything normal outside.”
Jin said, “Catalyst engineers need to fix these software problems.”
Adisa said, “Nicole, we must not mute our bang-bang alarm. It is too important.”
Morra piped in, “We need to be able to get some sleep, Ade.”
Clarke sighed in irritation and opened a laser comm channel. “Mission control, mission control. We have a station-keeping alert. This is a false alarm. Repeat: yet another goddamned false alarm. I need Gabriel Lacroix to contact me. Wake him up if you have to—it cannot wait. Over and out.”
Several minutes later the capcom on duty warned, “Konstantin, Konstantin. We show you 2 kilometers off station and off axis. Please respond. Over.”
“It’s like talking to a senile grandparent with this signal delay.” Tighe placed his feet on the deck and shielded his eyes against the cabin lights.
Several minutes later the appropriate response came in, but it still wound up taking two and a half hours to get Gabriel Lacroix on the line.
Clarke unloaded on him. “Gabriel, I’m looking at our alarm log and it’s . . . 6,432 alerts long. Either we’re orbiting in a burning barn or something is seriously wrong with our software. We’re using up hundreds of man-hours chasing down nonexistent faults—hours that could be used trying to fix the SCADA system. And no one can get any sleep because of these false alarms. Over.”
After a several-minute delay, Lacroix’s voice returned. “We are doing everything we can, Nicole. The ship’s operating system has been reuploaded several times. We cannot replicate your errors. Over.”
Chindarkar said, “Sounds like a hardware problem.”
Clarke’s voice replied to Lacroix. “Gabriel, for the last time: give Adedayo Adisa admin rights to the Konstantin’s OS. He’s a systems expert, and unlike your engineers, he’s physically here. Over.”
After the transmission delay Lacroix’s voice said, “Negative, Nicole. I cannot authorize local administrative control of the Konstantin. You have all the system permissions you need to perform your work. Over.”
Clarke sent her answer immediately. “Then we need to do a hard reboot of the ship. Ade believes that one or more of the computer processors may have been physically damaged by cosmic radiation. We have spares for this very reason. It’s worth a try to power down the ship, replace them, and reboot. Over.”
After transmission delay, Lacroix responded, “Negative to a hard reboot, Nicole. The Konstantin’s OS is a hypervisor—a collection of virtual machines that are instantiated on demand with integral failover capability. The ship was designed for continual uptime. The OS has never had a hard reboot—at least not in deep space, and there is a small chance that the Konstantin would not come back online if we power it down completely. In which case, we would not be able to reestablish contact with you. Over.”
Clarke opened the channel to Earth. “Gabriel, Ade tells me we could switch the processors individually without having to reboot the ship, but he needs admin rights to do that. Over.”
After another tense delay Lacroix replied, “Negative, Nicole. There will be no chip swap except as a last resort, and we are far from that. Over.”
Clarke responded, “Gabriel, the ship’s OS has become too unreliable. If you will not help us hot-swap the chips, then we have no choice but to do a hard reboot. Over.”
Clarke spoke to the crew over the local comm link. “I don’t know about all of you, but I don’t think we can wait until they agree to this.” She paused. “Do any of you object to our swapping out processors without approval from mission control?”
Jin frowned and spoke over the comm link. “You propose to disobey orders?”
“This isn’t the navy, Han. We’re out here, and they’re not. And so far they’ve got no answers.”
Suddenly another alarm appeared, and the Klaxons blared all over again.
Tighe checked the active alarm list. “Spin-down in Central Hab.”
Morra’s voice quickly followed. “That’s madness! We still have gravity in the habs. There’s no spin-down.”
Clarke sounded exhausted. “This is only going to get worse. There’s something wrong with the ship, and we need to act. Does anyone object to Ade performing a hard reboot of this ship?”
No one spoke.
After a moment more Clarke said, “All right. Everyone suit up and go on oxygen. We need to prepare for temporary loss of life support.”
As the crew prepared, Lacroix’s voice came in over the Konstantin’s PA speakers, his French accent thicker than usual. “Nicole, this is irresponsible and unnecessary. You are violating your contractual agreement. If you reboot the ship without authorization, there will be financial penalties. Over.”
Clarke replied, “I have reason to believe the Konstantin is in imminent danger unless we take action. That is in our contract under force majeure, Gabriel. Read it. In the meantime, we’re rebooting the ship. Or are you going to help us hot-swap the chips? Over.”
No reply came. Tighe assumed it was because Lacroix was busy trying to get Nathan Joyce on the line. “Gabriel’s not going to take the chance to authorize this on his own.”
