Critical Mass, page 33
There was a steady background discussion now, but Rochat raised his voice over it to continue. “All business transacted within the framework of the CCE will be denominated in lūnas, and the volume of trade as well as the derivatives and futures market at the CCE will be dictated by the resources available there. Quite simply, the CCE has the most robust commercial facilities and capabilities in deep space, and thus, it will be an ideal location for space market participants. Likewise, as a DAO, the CCE is a transparent, equitable, and international marketplace with clear rules ensured by the blockchain protocol itself—cryptographically—and not tied to the political goals of any sovereign Earth nation state.”
He scanned the room. “A founding principle of the CCE is that the entire population of Earth should benefit from space industry, not merely a few billionaires and powerful nations. We believe that the participation of the world’s people in developing cislunar industry will engender the trust and goodwill necessary for humanity to think and act globally and thus to reach the next stage of civilization’s development.
“To facilitate this, a key function of the CCE blockchain will be smart contracts built into the protocol that provide the opportunity for anyone on Earth to directly earn lūna coins, or a fraction thereof, with a modest local investment in renewable energy and off-the-shelf equipment, utilizing our CarbonExchange smart contract, which rewards removal of atmospheric CO2—based on a reverse bonding curve, relative to three hundred fifty parts per million—and which pays in lūna coins for each ton of CO2 sequestered using solar, wind, or other green energy and delivered to a CCE signatory. Payment is also modulated to some degree by location, so as to encourage geographically distributed carbon sequestration.”
The attendees scribbled notes, although several now raised their hands.
Rochat continued. “Importantly, lūna coins cannot be purchased. They must instead be earned either through CCE smart contracts or by having a business listed on the CCE, and subsequently attracting native lūna investment in deep space. No amount in fiat currency will obtain entrance to the CCE marketplace. This compartmentalization between the Earth and the deep space economy is entirely deliberate and meant to prevent monopolization of the cislunar frontier by a few powerful, Earth-based financial interests or sovereign powers and to instead foster a broad-based, global prosperity for cislunar industry.
“Governance tokens, by contrast, can only be earned through long-term, reliable performance within the CCE’s smart contract ecosystem. That is to say, those who consistently support the network and its functions earn the right to participate in its governance.”
He looked out at the attendees. “I will now address any questions you may have.”
Dozens of people put up their hands, with one of them calling out, “Is Catalyst Corporation in charge of this Cislunar Commodity Exchange—and as CEO of Catalyst, are you in effect ‘king’ there?”
There was a smattering of laughter.
Rochat shook his head. “No. I am not a king. Catalyst Corporation is a Luxembourg-based company with a subsidiary listed on the CCE; however, Catalyst does not run the CCE. Nor does anyone. As I said, it is a DAO.” He pointed. “Next question.”
A woman asked, “Why would anyone spend real money to remove CO2 from the atmosphere, only to receive these worthless lūna coins of yours in payment?”
“Lūna coins are the only currency accepted at the CCE and they are backed by intrinsically valuable commodities, energy, value-added products, or services—or an investment stake in CCE-listed companies. And since the CCE is the largest single marketplace in deep space, we are confident the lūna coin will have inherent value—particularly if economic systems here on Earth fall into recession or worse. And once completed, Clarke Station will make it possible for astropreneurs to have access to long-term habitation as well as in situ resources and energy in deep space, creating myriad, unknowable benefits. Space startups could innovate entire new industries and markets we can’t yet foresee. The idea is to have the broadest number of human beings possible invested and participating in space commerce. We want everyone here on Earth to gain a direct benefit from space.”
A man called out, “What happens if someone shuts down your off-world data centers?”
Rochat nodded. “Again, we anticipate Earth nations will have a vested interest in the success of the CCE, especially as it helps them address climate change through CO2 removal and also provides opportunities for stable investment to their citizens. That said, our network is designed for resilience and is beyond direct control by Earth authorities.”
“But not beyond missiles.”
“I believe I’ve answered your question.”
Another man asked, “Will this CCE of yours tax off-world income?”
“At the moment we operate under a policy of ‘zero-g, zero tax’; however, the blockchain itself will be maintained by transaction fees set by the market—as is the case with cryptocurrencies here on Earth. Of course, DAO token holders could vote to change this in the future.”
Another attendee asked, “Mr. Rochat, I’m given to understand the CCE has licensed or purchased spacecraft and robotic equipment from George Burkette’s company, Starion, as well as Alan Goff’s Celestial Robotics, and also mining interest Cahill Heavy Industries. Last time I checked, they’re owned by billionaires. Are these companies investors in this CCE?”
“There are no ‘investors’ per se in the CCE. There are DAO token holders, but these tokens are earned by creating and maintaining the network. As for Burkette, Goff, and Cahill: prototype equipment was provided free or at cost to the CCE-listed Catalyst Corporation in order to prove the equipment’s capabilities in the field—though, I anticipate Catalyst will secure a leasing or purchase agreement with these Earth companies at some point. But they are not investors.”
“And one of the Kangaroo landers recently crashed?”
Rochat replied, “Yes. However, Starion has another lander available, and we hope to have it sent up in a few weeks—once we can find space on a rocket.”
A government minister said, “What’s to stop Space Titans like Jack Macy outcompeting you in space—driving you out of business?”
There was another smattering of laughter.
Rochat grimaced. “I appreciate your concern. However, the significant lead enjoyed by the CCE in deep space, we believe, will make Macy’s plans—Mars colonization in particular—moot. I hardly need to point out to the individuals in this room why progress with crewed deep space missions has not been a priority. Governments and investors have had to grapple with the ‘Long Emergency’ of climate change, and a mission to Mars does not assist that effort. It’s our hope that CCE’s CarbonExchange smart contract will incentivize sequestration of atmospheric CO2 and help to alleviate that emergency—as well as usher in an era of global prosperity.”
Rochat gazed out at his audience of still mostly skeptical faces before slipping his notes into his jacket pocket. “Thank you for your time today.”
He then turned and left as the room erupted with more shouted questions.
CHAPTER 29
LOC/LOM
CLARKE STATION POPULATION: 23
DAYS TO RYUGU DEPARTURE: 998
James Tighe and Priya Chindarkar operated Talos robots close to each other on the lunar surface, electron-welding the metal framework for one of the mass-driver pylons. Their optics tinted automatically as the welder flared. Tighe then inspected his weld, and satisfied, looked up.
They were almost a hundred meters downrange from Morra Base now, slightly ahead of the mass-driver barrel, which was, week after week, being extended atop a growing number of pylons. As Tighe went to retrieve another metal brace from a pile close at hand, he looked up to regard the Earth. It hung in the black sky where it always was.
In the past several months he’d learned that the Earth appeared opposite in phase on the lunar surface from how the Moon would appear on Earth; thus, when the Moon was full on Earth, a “new Earth” was visible in the lunar sky, with the Earth’s surface in complete shadow. At the moment, a “full Earth” loomed overhead, its entire swirling hemisphere illuminated.
The inviting deep blue of its oceans were a welcome relief from the unrelenting grays and blacks of the lunar surface. However, dark gray was also spreading lately across Earth’s northern latitudes, where it was high summer.
Chindarkar’s robot joined Tighe in gazing up at the Earth.
A vast shroud of wildfire smoke, visible even from a quarter-million miles away, spread over the boreal forests of Russia and Canada—an annual disaster that had come to be known as the “crown of fire.” Millions of acres of forest back on Earth were ablaze.
Chindarkar’s robot turned to him, and he turned to regard her robot as well. Nothing needed to be said. The urgency was obvious. It was urgent that they finish the mass-driver. It was urgent that they build a rescue craft. It was urgent for nations of Earth to take action on climate change. Everything was urgent. It was numbing.
Suddenly Jin’s voice spoke close at hand, in real life. “J.T. Priya. Log off and come with me. This is an emergency.”
Shit. Tighe switched off the VR mode on his crystal and turned to see Jin. Priya was standing up just behind him.
She asked, “What is it, Han?”
He motioned. “Just follow me. Please.”
He brought them downstairs to H1 and then toward the far end of South Hab, where he entered a code for the data center—Ramón’s domain—and pushed through the security door. Tighe and Chindarkar followed him inside.
Sevastian Yakovlev and Ramón Marín were already waiting in the chilly space. There was barely room for them all to stand amid the racks of servers.
Tighe looked around. “Why are we meeting in here?”
“To avoid eavesdroppers.” Jin stood at the head of the aisle. “There has been an incident with Transit-02. We’ve lost all contact.”
Tighe knew only that both of Clarke Station’s transit crafts had been sent out uncrewed and remotely piloted to rendezvous with the lunar cycler in order to bring back Yellow Team. It would be the first new crew to arrive in almost five months. “Can you get a visual from Transit-01?”
Jin nodded grimly.
Chindarkar asked, “What’s happened?”
Jin manipulated an unseen UI and brought up a virtual video image on their private AR layer. The image showed a spacecraft tumbling erratically—fast enough to blur with motion. It looked like every nightmare about space travel come true.
“What the hell . . . ?”
Yak said, “Mission control examined telemetry log. Forward port thruster misfired and did not stop until propellant tank was empty. This put spacecraft into couple-hundred RPM spin.”
“Jesus.”
Chindarkar studied the image. “We have to help them.”
“They are still 5,000 kilometers away.”
Jin shook his head. “Gabriel tells us the crew is experiencing 15 to 20 g’s, and the irregular spin means they are being tumbled around inside. No one could survive that.”
“You’re not just going to leave them out there?”
“Their trajectory is bringing them away from us. And there is nothing we can do—their comm antennas have sheared off. We cannot approach it in that spin. It will destroy any craft that comes in contact with it. Mission control says the crew tumbling inside will eventually dampen the spin, but that may take days or weeks. They have declared the crew and the spacecraft lost.”
They all stood in silence for several moments, contemplating the horrifying implications.
Tighe studied the image. “Transit-01 is still en route to Clarke Station?”
Yak answered, “Yes. ETA is six hours.”
“Does that crew know about this?”
“Yes. They are badly shaken.”
Chindarkar was still processing the news. “How many did we lose on Transit-02?”
Jin said, “Four. Berkovich, roboticist. Sventler, life support specialist.”
“Another life support specialist? It’s like that position is cursed.”
“Miller, biologist. And Sartre, geologist.”
Chindarkar winced. “I remember her from Ascension.”
“Lukas will deal with Earth authorities, and next of kin will be notified.” Jin checked the time. “Let us hope Transit-01 arrives safely. Word will get out when they do, and we need to be ready for that—and to receive them.”
They all nodded in agreement.
* * *
—
Hours later, Transit-01 docked safely at Clarke Station, and the three survivors of Yellow Team came aboard. The least affected was a Canadian systems analyst named Grant Mason—who to Tighe’s surprise seemed to know Chelsie Birk. Birk hugged Mason in condolence for his team’s loss. The other two arrivals, a Pakistani-British metallurgist named Fatima Patel, and an Indian chemical engineer named Anaisha Chaudri were deeply distraught at the loss of their teammates.
While mission control investigated the cause of the Transit-02 malfunction, Transit-01, their sole remaining transit spacecraft, was restricted from carrying a human crew. This meant no one was leaving or arriving at Clarke Station until the investigation was completed.
Jin declared, “If necessary, we will use a Talos robot to retrieve supplies and provisions from the cycler. Hopefully mission control’s review finishes soon and the cause is found. In the meantime, Kerner’s team will need to produce a replacement transit spacecraft.”
As the weeks went by, all teams continued their telepresence work on Clarke Station’s refinery as well as mass-driver systems down at Morra Base. Kerner’s team deposed the hull and hatches of a replacement for the lost transit spacecraft, along with its propulsion module. These components cut into the limited stock of electronics and replacement parts on board, to become “Transit-03.” And all of it consumed crew hours that could have been used to work on the mass-driver.
The out-of-control Transit-02 spacecraft, meanwhile, continued on its wide lunar orbit, marked as a navigational hazard on charts and as a grave for its crew. The horror of it startled Tighe anew each time he thought of it. They would need to retrieve that crew one day.
A replacement for the crashed Kangaroo lander, meanwhile, arrived a few weeks later from Burkette’s company—along with enough advanced components to produce two additional landers in situ. These were sent up by rocket directly from Earth, and the new lander, dubbed SK-Charlie, combined with the replacement transit spacecraft, soon allowed lunar surface operations to resume.
* * *
—
Tighe found himself swimming with a full rebreather mask and aquaflash lights deep within a cave. He heard an alert sounding and glanced at his dive computer. It showed he was at a depth of nearly 200 meters—but was breathing nitrox instead of heliox-14. He tried to adjust the mix but couldn’t concentrate. He struggled for breath and then looked upward to see a decompression station hanging by a rope line on the cliff wall. The alarm continued to sound in his earpiece. He strove to reach the gas bottles dangling from the rope above, when a familiar voice came in over his radio.
Richard Oberhaus, his longtime dive mentor, spoke to him calmly. “James, help me.”
Tighe looked down to see Oberhaus just below him, above a yawning darkness, his calm expression visible in a full face mask. His voice was not distorted by helium, but came through in its rich baritone. Oberhaus’s gloved hand reached for Tighe.
“I need your help.”
But Tighe did not help him. Instead, he pushed off of Oberhaus, propelling himself upward even as he pushed his mentor down, into the blackness below them.
“James! Help me!”
Tighe continued to push off Oberhaus, striving for a light now above him.
And then Tighe woke up gasping for air. Covered in sweat.
He wept for a few moments before looking around at his cramped quarters—and finally realized where he was. An alarm was sounding somewhere still. And then he noticed it was coming from his crystal headset on the nightstand. He put the glasses on and immediately saw the emergency alert.
Tighe spoke into the channel. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”
Jin’s voice came back almost immediately. “J.T., come to the data center. Now!”
Tighe raced down the H1 corridor toward the closed data center door at the far end, but then Chelsie Birk and the new arrival, Grant Mason, suddenly came out from an open cabin door, blocking his way. In a scene as surreal as the nightmare he’d just left, both of them held printed steel knives that looked like they’d been meticulously sharpened. The blades gleamed in the soft LED light.
Tighe slowed. “What the hell . . . ?”
Birk lowered her knife and motioned for Mason to do the same. “Mr. Tighe. Don’t be alarmed. We’re station security. The others are waiting for you in the data center.” She moved to unlock the door and made way for him. “If you please.”
Tighe hesitated, and then moved past. “Security? Since when do we have security?”
Birk said, “Since I got on board.” She gestured to Mason. “Grant is my partner.”
Mason nodded. “Hey.”
Tighe pushed through the data center door and was relieved to see Jin, Chindarkar, and Yak. Ramón Marín lurked in the background as well. “What in the hell is going on? Why are Chelsie and Grant carrying knives?”
Jin said, “We are in lockdown. The Rosette has just been hijacked. It was swinging through low Earth orbit and scheduled to take on supplies, but two unidentified spacecraft showed up instead. They docked with the Rosette in LEO and a dozen armed people boarded her.”
