Critical Mass, page 40
Tighe leaned forward eagerly. “You have a ship design?”
“Da, tochno.” He looked up, paused for dramatic effect—and then gestured to instantiate an AR model of an enormously impressive spacecraft. It rotated slowly above the middle of the boardroom table.
Tighe stared at it. “Wow.”
Where the Konstantin had composite box trusses and small inflatable habs, this vessel had a sturdy superstructure of gleaming metal, with sets of elongated fuel tanks, and a sizable, cylindrical habitat up near the bow, along with docking ports, communication masts, and half a dozen rocket engines at the stern.
“It has spin-gravity, of course . . .” With a gesture from Yak, the habitat expanded with beams unfolding between segments. “A solid habitation ring so that it can be occupied even while under acceleration.” He pointed. “Titanium superstructure. Lighter. Stronger. Dry mass of 463 tons. Drop tanks for multistage propulsion. Fully fueled with hydrolox, is 3,300 tons. One hundred twenty-eight meters in length.”
It was a shockingly impressive vessel. Tighe couldn’t help but smile as he beheld it.
Jin turned to Chindarkar. Then to Tighe. Then said, “Thirty-three hundred tons—that’s more than 2,000 tons of propellant.”
Yak nodded. “It will require much energy to make the 60-million-kilometer crossing to Ryugu in reasonable time. However, with drop tanks, this design has delta-v of 13.6 kilometers per second—enough to accomplish a sixty-day trajectory to Ryugu in June 2042. It also has substantial radiation protection.”
Tighe looked with surprise at Chindarkar and Jin, who were considerably less enthusiastic than he was. “I think it looks amazing, Yak. My biggest concern is whether we can build it in time.”
“That’s not my main concern,” Jin said.
Yak held up his hand. “I know what you are going to say.”
“You’re an astronautical engineer, Sevastian. You should know that we—”
“This design can bring back everyone alive. What purpose is there to rescue someone, only to cause them to perish with you on return journey?”
Chindarkar looked up from doing the math. “You’d need just about every liter of water we’ve got to fuel this thing. In fact, we’d have to split some of our ammonia to scrounge up all the hydrogen necessary.”
Tighe said, “But we have the propellant.”
Jin turned to him. “We have plenty of oxygen, yes. But not hydrogen. And we will have even less two years from now.”
Yak said, “Amy Tsukada tug will have water.”
“For the last time: we cannot count on the arrival of the Amy Tsukada.”
Tighe said, “What about the mass-driver?”
Chindarkar said, “We get lots of oxygen from the regolith, J.T., but almost no hydrogen. In fact, the volatile tanks down at Morra Base are not even full yet.”
Jin added, “We have about 7 tons of volatiles stored there. That’s out of 35,000 tons of regolith processed.” He gestured to the hologram. “How much work has been done on this?”
Yak expanded the graphic, showing its interior. “Conceptual and preliminary design work only.”
Tighe held up his hand. “Hang on.” He turned to Chindarkar and Jin. “Are you telling me you want to rule out this design because it uses up most of our hydrogen? The entire purpose of what we’re doing up here is to launch a rescue ship.”
Jin said, “It is not the entire purpose. Remember Lukas’s observation on the airship. If we expend all our resources on the rescue mission, what would the purpose have been for Nicole’s and David’s and Amy’s sacrifice? Do you really want to burn through all the water and ammonia they gave their lives to harvest, just to go back to Ryugu?”
“That’s not the situation. There’s a lot more water and ammonia out at Ryugu.”
“We cannot count on anyone gathering and refining asteroid regolith out there. We do not know what happened after the North Koreans arrived, J.T. Isabel and Ade might already be dead.”
The room suddenly got quiet.
Jin sighed. “That is not what I meant to say. You know that I believe in this rescue mission. I am simply saying that we must not destroy all that they worked for in the process.”
There was silence for several moments more.
Tighe finally said, “If we need hydrogen, then let’s just go buy a metric fuckton down on Earth and have it launched up here.”
Jin sighed again. “J.T., even Macy’s Galleon rockets consume 95 percent of their mass in fuel just climbing out of Earth’s atmosphere. To fill up a single Galleon rocket with hydrogen in LEO would require dozens and dozens of launches. And who knows how many months. Maybe years.”
“So? We have the money, don’t we?”
Chindarkar said, “It would also damage the atmosphere. Macy uses methalox—that’s hundreds of tons of carbon in the atmosphere with each launch. And we would be spending lūna lavishly down on Earth. Giving it directly to Jack Macy, of all people.”
“You mean that cryptocurrency Lukas made up? Fine! Who gives a damn?”
“J.T., have you even gone through the training for the CCE blockchain yet?”
“No! I haven’t had the time. I’ve been operating Talos and Badger robots to keep the mass-driver up and running.”
“You think we haven’t all been working?”
Yak looked to Jin. “I will revisit this design—scale it down.”
Tighe shouted, “Scale it down? Then why the hell did we do all this? We have the resources to build this huge space station, but no resources to build a proper rescue ship.”
Chindarkar said, “This space station did not consume most of our propellant. We’re not trying to launch Clarke Station halfway across the inner solar system to catch a flying rock, J.T.”
Jin held up his hands. “Everyone, please. I know tempers are running high, but let us remain civil.”
Chindarkar took a deep breath. “We must not transfer a large percentage of lūna to a single entity on Earth, or they will gain major influence over the course of the cislunar economy. And thus, the CCE.”
Tighe held his head. “Now you sound like Lukas.”
Chindarkar thought for a moment before saying, “What if we sent an uncrewed vessel out to Ryugu in 2042?”
Yak frowned at her. “Uncrewed?”
“Yes. That would reduce the ship’s mass. We could provide—”
Jin shook his head. “Priya, we have no assurance that Isabel and Ade could make their way to the ship or even detect its arrival. What if they are incapacitated?”
“True.”
Tighe leaned back in disgust. “Do you even want us to go on this rescue mission?”
“Don’t you dare say that to me. I’m trying to make sure this rescue actually happens. Do you think those international observers in North Hab are up here to root for us? We will have to be very careful in our dealings with them, because mark my words, they still have designs on our entire operation. The situation on Earth has gotten worse, not better. In the wrong hands, what’s in our supply yard could ensure domination of cislunar space. And using up our propellant supply would make us sitting ducks.”
They all sat in silence for several moments.
Tighe looked to Chindarkar. “Look . . . I’m sorry I said that. It was out of line, and I didn’t mean it.”
She nodded. “You’re upset. I understand. I am, too.”
Jin said, “Let us reconvene later.” He looked to Yak.
Yak gestured and the model of the impressive spacecraft winked out. “Pity. I guess I will go back to drawing board.”
* * *
—
Several days later, news came that Fatima Patel’s pregnancy had ended in a miscarriage. Aside from being personally devastating to the mother, it was a serious blow to the crew. After the months of hardship and constant work, things had been looking up—and now this sad news. Humankind’s first “star child” was no more.
Back on Earth the media turned instantly from Clarke Station boosterism to unfounded suspicions of forced abortion and essays on the irresponsibility of conceiving children in deep space—an accusation not without merit, given the frontier conditions on board.
Earth-first activists, meanwhile, had a field day, splashing fake blood onto the lobby doors of Catalyst Corporation’s offices in Luxembourg. It was as though the public resented the optimism they’d been given, now that it was revealed to be so fragile.
But as with all news from Earth, the public’s attention soon turned elsewhere, and a devastating drought, followed by waves of economic and climate refugees on the borders of Europe and the US, chased the death of the first space child out of the headlines.
Tighe shared his relief with no one. Aside from the media circus the first human birth in space would have caused, he had sat awake at night wondering about the embryo developing in spin-gravity and being exposed to galactic cosmic rays several times higher than on Earth, even behind the protection of Holstad’s radiation-eating fungus. It didn’t seem fair to do such experiments with an innocent. The crew, after all, had chosen to be here. The fetus had not.
Within a month, Fatima Patel returned to Earth on the Let’s Be Friends lunar cycler, and from then on new crew on Ascension Island were required to go through counseling with Dr. Bruno to screen for wannabe “star mothers” and “star fathers.”
This safeguard was better than nothing. But not by much.
CHAPTER 36
Biosphere
CLARKE STATION POPULATION: 37
DAYS TO RYUGU DEPARTURE: 661
RESOURCES LAUNCHED TO L2: 51,400 TONS
Clarke Station compartment NNE (which stood for “North by Northeast”)—commonly known as “Ag Lab”—had not been finished long, and yet it was clearly Lynne Holstad’s domain. Or at least it had become the domain of the half dozen biologists and botanists whom she directed. Nominally part of an Iowa State University project funded by the US Department of Agriculture, the Ag Lab was more accurately a collection of research projects and astropreneurial endeavors that crossed many different disciplines, organizations, and nations, and it was increasingly coming to be known as “the Biosphere”—a project that Holstad had spearheaded and helped to shape. Its goal was the preservation and re-creation of the basic building blocks of Earth’s various biomes beyond our home world, to make life flourish in space. And the scientists involved in this effort had an almost spiritual zeal in its pursuit.
As admirable as she found this goal, Priya Chindarkar had to admit that she could just as easily have supported it out of sheer selfishness—because walking through Ag Lab’s rows of seedlings, flowering plants, and grow chambers filled her with joy. Unlike the other compartments in Clarke Station, this place was bursting with life. Not all of it was as natural as home; there was the indigo lighting and vertical farm flats, where researchers in lab coats monitored various species of plants in different stages of growth, watching as robotic systems cared for them with reproducible precision. But there were still sections filled with greenery where Chindarkar could brush her hand across leaves and feel herself part of a greater whole.
But the most popular place on Clarke Station was the Terrarium—a two-story-high chamber being cultivated as a rain forest oasis, or what the team called “syntropy” agriculture, using filtered sunlight beamed in via fiber optics. In a masterstroke of station-wide relations, Holstad had created a refuge here where those on board could feel human again in deep space. One could “vacation” there among the living things, pruning branches and reconnecting with Earth life. The Terrarium would no doubt help to ensure Ag Lab’s continued funding.
And it was here in the Terrarium that Holstad chose to hold today’s event, briefly halting her team’s research to honor a request from Chindarkar. It had become clear that Holstad—like Jin, Tighe, Chindarkar, Yak, and Marín—was here for the duration. Here until her purpose was achieved. And there was no telling when that would be. Until then, a return to Earth would have to wait. In fact, Green Team had returned to Earth three months ago—without Holstad. For this reason, Chindarkar had invited her to join Gold Team, the permanent team.
It was with great joy that Chindarkar received word that Holstad had accepted. There were no real benefits to speak of. It was an informal, made-up thing, these teams. But the sense of belonging, the feeling of common purpose, seemed to matter to everyone, and Chindarkar wanted to share that bond with Holstad.
A couple dozen people had gathered in the nascent Terrarium for an informal “ceremony.” Chindarkar stood at the center of the room amid polite applause. Jin, Tighe, Yak, and Marín stood to her right. Holstad and her senior assistants stood on the left. After a few very brief words of appreciation for Holstad’s contributions to life on the station—and on Earth—she presented the professor with an embroidered arm patch denoting her as a member of Gold Team.
The gathering clapped and whistled, the surrounding plants muffling the echoes.
Holstad nodded and took the floor, gazing down briefly at the embroidered patch in her hand. After the applause died down, she said, “Thank you, Priya, for allowing me to join with you all. I feel honored.” She did not, however, acknowledge either Tighe or Jin. Instead, Holstad looked out at her audience, a collection of the international observers on board the station, as well as astropreneurs and fellow scientists.
She gestured to the surrounding Ag Lab. “What you see around you is the result of thousands upon thousands of years of human experience. Knowledge and wisdom passed down to us from all our ancestors. And while the crisis back on Earth may be human-made, the story of life is the story of crises. Of facing them. Adapting and surviving. There have always been blights and pestilences that challenged our forebears. It now falls to us to use the knowledge they bequeathed us, to find a path to flourishing.” She gazed at the lush plants. “Here we have begun the process of learning how to build from scratch the biosphere from which we evolved—to build, beyond Earth, environments consisting of hundreds of thousands of interacting species—bacteria, fungi, invertebrates, plants, mammals, fish, birds, and more. This will be the key to safeguarding Earth’s legacy, of which humanity is just one small part. We are its stewards, but we cannot save ourselves alone. We must preserve it all and convey it into the cosmos.”
Chindarkar felt herself overcome with emotion at the love that this woman had for all living things. For what she had accomplished despite her personal pain.
Applause filled the Terrarium.
* * *
—
After the ceremony, the other Gold Team members rode an elevator back to West Hab. The group was uncharacteristically silent—especially given their recent debates.
Chindarkar finally said, “Lynne would like to request the Northeast compartment as well, once it’s complete. So that they can have one large, contiguous facility.”
Jin looked up from some reverie. “She wants two whole compartments for the Ag Lab?”
Tighe spoke without looking up. “I say give it to her.”
The others looked to him in surprise.
“Can you think of a better use for it?” Tighe exited the moment the doors opened.
CHAPTER 37
Topping Out
CLARKE STATION POPULATION: 85
DAYS TO RYUGU DEPARTURE: 606
RESOURCES LAUNCHED TO L2: 66,400 TONS
James Tighe tried to recall what it felt like the first time he’d come aboard Clarke Station, not quite two years earlier. It seemed impossible that it could have been that long already. Back then the station was just a sinuous torus of steel beams with only two compartments out of sixteen finished, and yet those compartments had seemed cavernous compared to what Tighe, Priya Chindarkar, Jin Han, and their crewmates had endured on the Konstantin.
Now the entire circumference of Clarke Station was fully enclosed by pressurized double-hull plating, with racked layers of radiotrophic fungi between the inner and outer hull as radiation shielding. Each of its sixteen compartments consisted of four stories, 600 square meters in size—38,000 square meters of pressurized area in total. Building out the living quarters would require more time, but the mere existence of that much room was an unimaginable extravagance over what he remembered from those early days, and all of it was possible for one reason only: none of it had to be lifted up from Earth. Instead, the core steel that formed this station came from resources harvested and refined at the asteroid Ryugu, while the hull plating that enclosed the remaining compartments and aluminum that partitioned its inner spaces had been shot up from Morra Base. In total, over 15,000 tons of metal had been used in its construction.
That feat had been remotely directed from Earth by a man whose transit craft was just now arriving in Clarke Station’s hangar bay. A man who had, in fact, built the transit craft itself. As well as the Konstantin.
Jin, Chindarkar, and Sevastian Yakovlev floated alongside Tighe at the microgravity arrival gate, as did several other station crew.
Soon the gateway hatch opened and pushed inward. After a moment, several wide-eyed new crew members floated through—part of the thirty-strong Red-2 Team that had ridden billionaire Jack Macy’s lunar cycler up from low Earth orbit. Half a dozen transit craft had been sent out to rendezvous with this Galleon rocket as it swept through L2 a few thousand kilometers from Clarke Station, before the cycler fell back toward Earth again.
A member of the station’s orientation team greeted the new arrivals as they came in, while Tighe and the others watched the hatchway closely.
Before long, their indispensable construction foreman, Julian Kerner, glided gracefully through the opening.
Chindarkar shouted, “Julian!”
