Critical Mass, page 43
Her voice came in over a comm link. “Yes. Daisy is mostly mirrors, but we’re turning all solar panels away from the Sun—or at least we’re trying.”
Jin was cycling through virtual screens. “Julian, how long will it take to spin the station down?”
“Thirty-seven minutes once thrusters are activated.”
Tighe looked up in surprise. “You’re putting us into microgravity?”
“Yes. If a computer malfunction occurs in the mass equalization system during the storm, the station could wobble out of control. So we’re spinning down.”
Tighe looked around. “How can I help?”
“Batten down Morra Base. After that, walk the ring and make sure everything in the habs is ready for microgravity.” Jin noticed an incoming call. “Here is Space Force.” He opened the video line and made the screen visible to everyone in the ops center.
Their current US Space Force observer, Major Erol Vasquez, appeared in a virtual video window. He was clean-cut with a Texan accent. “Captain Jin, CSpOC just beamed these up to me.” An image came in to Jin’s inbox and he tossed it up among the other virtual screens. It showed a blue-hued silhouette of the Sun, with fiery tentacles reaching out from it. “Coronagraph imagery. This CME is a monster.”
Yak sucked in a breath as he examined the coronagraph. “Aurora borealis will be lovely in Svalbard tonight.”
Jin studied the image also. “How many rads could we be facing, Major?”
“They estimate anyone caught in open space could get a dose of radiation equivalent to three hundred thousand chest X-rays—and forty-five thousand is enough to kill. This might be the biggest storm since the Carrington Event back in 1859. Certainly bigger than the CME in 1956. The difference is, we now have thousands and thousands of satellites and billions of low-voltage precision devices running society down there on Earth.” He looked up from the images. “And if it’s bad down there, it’s going to be living hell up here, without the protection of atmosphere and the Earth’s magnetic field.”
Jin frowned. “The other lunar stations will be in great danger.”
Vasquez nodded. “I copy that. The Shackleton bases should be fine—they have regolith shielding. But Lunar Gateway has two ESA crew on board at the moment. The Chinese station has four crew on board. They won’t be able to get down to Peary Crater in time. So they’re going to attempt evacuation in a capsule—try to put the Moon between them and the Sun. The timing’ll be tricky, though.” He looked up. “In other words: both of those teams might be in trouble.”
Jin said, “And they cannot reach us in time?”
“It would take days.”
Jin turned to Yak. “Reach out to Roscosmos. Let them know we might be able to render aid, if they need it. I’ll reach out to CNSA.” He turned to Vasquez. “Same with ESA and NASA personnel.”
Vasquez nodded. “So what’s the plan here on Clarke?”
* * *
—
Over the next several hours, Tighe and the others scrambled to secure Morra Base and Clarke Station. Jin made an announcement over the emergency PA system instructing crew to take refuge in the station core, after which tensions ran high. Not long after, Tighe moved through the station’s outer compartments in his flight suit, checking for anything that could become dangerous in microgravity, when he noticed several researchers and astropreneurs making tearful calls to loved ones back home. Others comforted panicked colleagues. Word of the chest X-ray dose estimate had gotten out.
Chindarkar’s voice soon came in over the PA system—sounding more soothing than Jin’s. “A major solar storm is anticipated to arrive in approximately four hours. Station spin-down will commence in five minutes and continue for thirty-seven minutes. Please secure your work and living area in preparation for microgravity, unplug all electronics, and don your protective flight suit—though it does not need to be pressurized at this time. If you need assistance, please notify Clarke Station staff.”
The thought of sudden microgravity among a crowd of people had Tighe concerned. Undoubtedly one or more of them would vomit, and in the confines of the core compartment, packed with over a hundred crew, that could start a very unpleasant chain reaction.
A few minutes later, Clarke Station rumbled and the floor quivered slightly under Tighe’s feet. Voices in nearby cabins expressed alarm. Tighe called to them. “It’s just the spin-down! We’re okay. Free fall in thirty minutes!”
Ramón Marín passed by carrying a rack computer while simultaneously tapping at virtual screens.
“Hey, Ramón . . .” Tighe tugged his arm to stop him. “Get your flight suit on.”
“Yes, I will. Once I get the satellite constellation secured.”
“Put the flight suit on first.”
Marín nodded and hurried off. “I will.”
Tighe called after him. “And get to the core!”
Alarms whooped for several moments before another PA system announcement began. “Please move to the station core. This is an emergency. Move to the station core immediately.”
As the sensation of gravity slowly decreased, Tighe was eventually floating through the station corridors. Few people remained in the ring, and those he saw were hurrying toward the elevators in something like a panic. He monitored their departure. The sounds of booms and clangs throughout Clarke Station’s hull didn’t help calm nerves—but were most likely just equipment on the exterior of the station being stowed or removed by robotic craft.
Outside, Tighe knew, polymer bladder tanks from the supply yard were being gathered into a shield, clustered between the station’s core and the Sun. Not only had those resources made building a rescue ship possible, but they might now save all their lives. Tighe had difficulty imagining a solar storm that could penetrate tens of thousands of tons of mass.
And although Clarke Station had stopped spinning, its solar thermal station was still functioning—though at diminished capacity as more and more of its mirrors were shaded from the sunlight. Emergency battery backup had only recently been installed, and those batteries were estimated to only last an hour or so, and even then with only critical systems online.
Another set of alarms whooped.
Then Jin’s voice came in over the PA system. “Attention: this is your captain. The Deep Space Climate Observatory just detected the leading edge of the CME magnetic field. The storm has now been calculated to strike us in sixteen minutes. Clarke Station is now switching to emergency power . . .”
The lights dimmed and small emergency lights kicked on.
“Within the next ten minutes, remove and power down your crystal headset. Power down all electronic devices. Do not panic, but proceed to the station core compartment immediately.”
Chindarkar’s voice came in over Tighe’s comm link. “J.T. I’m looking at a map of RFID tags. Almost everyone is in the core.”
“Who’s left?”
“You and Ramón. He’s still in West Hab, and he’s not answering my messages.”
“Damnit. I told him to get to the core. I’ll swing through West Hab and grab him on the way to the elevator.”
“Hurry.”
Tighe pulled himself along the corridors via handles placed for microgravity use, consulting a pop-up map of the ship to locate Marín’s RFID tag.
As he floated into West Hab’s H1 level, he entered the computer room. Marín was there, frantically pulling servers as he braced himself against the racks in free fall.
“Ramón! Time to go. We’ve got less than ten minutes until this thing hits!”
“I’m staying out here on the ring.”
“Bullshit!” Tighe noticed he was strapping the servers to a cart with bungee cords. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I must move these servers to safety.”
“Why the hell didn’t you do that hours ago?”
“Because they must not be accessible to other crew members.”
“They’re computers. I’m sure you have backups. Now, c’mon.” Tighe could see Marín had dozens and dozens more servers to pull. “We don’t have time for you to finish that. We need to get to the core.”
“There’s a 10,000-liter water tank next to the elevator column. I will be sheltering behind it—with these servers.”
“This far from center you might not be shielded by the supply yard tanks.”
Marín looked up. “I cannot bring these servers into the core—among all those people. There are intelligence agents among the observers on this station.”
“Forget that—we can’t even fit these things in the core with all those people!”
Marín kept pulling servers and lashing them down to the cart. “This is too important, J.T.”
Tighe moved up to him, getting in Marín’s face. “Enough of this crypto bullshit. Whatever get-rich-quick scheme Lukas has you doing for him doesn’t matter. It’s only money, Ramón. Now come on . . .” He moved to grab Marín’s arm.
But Marín drew away. “Let go of me!”
“Just how greedy are you?”
“This has nothing to do with greed!” He went back to pulling servers. “You don’t even know what money is.”
“I know that being willing to die for it is stupid.”
“You are confusing money with wealth. Money is a technology that keeps billions of people alive.”
“You won’t be alive if you stay here.”
“I don’t matter!” He pointed at the servers. “This matters.” He looked pained. “You don’t know because you have not seen what happens when money fails. My country went from the most prosperous nation in South America to absolute destitution and societal breakdown in a single generation. People I loved died before my eyes. It was failure of money that did that. That was all it took.”
Tighe could tell Marín was hurting. “I’m sorry to hear that. But we need to go.”
“Without money, social order dissolves—because it is just the shared hallucination of money that allows human society to expand beyond mere tribal affiliations. That permits us to mediate transactions beyond those we know. And industrial civilization requires that. The billions of people alive now on Earth require that. In its absence, they will perish.”
He looked up. “Earth money is going to fail, J.T. And when it fails, there must be something to take its place.” He went back to pulling servers. “This new economic engine could preserve our civilization. Prevent a catastrophic war. It could save the Earth’s biosphere. It could save all of us. The industries being financed on this station—we must prevent this candle in the darkness from being snuffed out. This could make life possible for a thousand generations to come. Can you not see that?” He struggled with emotions. “I must not fail them.”
Tighe stared at Marín and realized that he wasn’t the only one on board Clarke Station with a singular focus. That perhaps Marín’s was more rational than his own focus.
Just then Chindarkar’s voice came in over the comm link. “J.T., what the hell is going on? You’ve got five minutes left! Get to the core!”
Tighe sighed. He spoke into his mic. “Negative. Ramón and I are going to ride this out behind one of the water tanks on the ring.”
“J.T.! That’s crazy. You—”
He muted the comm and looked to Marín. “How can I help?”
Marín glanced up and, after a moment, nodded to the racks. “By pulling these servers. Thank you.”
After working together frenetically, they gathered the last of the rack servers with only a couple minutes left. They then floated the overloaded cart of servers to the elevator and rode down to H1. There, Marín powered down the elevator and unlocked the nearby pump room. They pulled the cart inside—into what would become the “shadow” of a polymer water tank several meters in diameter and barely taller than either of them.
As they floated next to the stack of servers, Tighe checked the time. “Thirty seconds to spare.” He looked up. “So is it crazy to ride this out here?”
“We have 3 meters of water and 17 millimeters of radiotrophic fungi shielding us. Plus, whatever parts of the supply yard extend this far out. That is not insignificant.” He extended his hand. “Thank you, J.T.”
Tighe shook his hand. “Let’s just hope this works.”
Marín pulled a dosimeter out of his shirt pocket and took a deep breath. “We’re about to find out whether Clarke Station has a future.”
“Yes we are.”
When the CME came, it began with erratic behavior by the emergency lighting. First the LEDs dimmed, and then they glowed and pulsed brightly.
In the shade of the water tank, Marín’s dosimeter began clicking faster—but not alarmingly so. They both exchanged concerned looks, because the storm was just beginning.
Strange noises emanated from distant portions of the station—the sound of arcing electricity and sparks. The emergency lighting continued to throb and pulse. A distorted alarm could be heard somewhere.
However, without their crystals, neither of them could know what was going on beyond their little compartment. This was clearly one drawback to a virtual command and control interface. It occurred to Tighe that now that they had more mass available, it might be smart to add more physical instruments.
The radiation storm continued for several minutes, but Marín’s dosimeter never rose to dangerous levels. Then its clicking began to fade slowly away, until finally returning to normal background radiation.
Moments later Jin’s voice came in over the PA. “SWPC reports the CME has passed. We are now powering up station systems. Fire-safety teams, please conduct your sweeps and submit your reports. All other personnel remain in place.”
Marín looked at his dosimeter, closed his eyes, and mouthed silent thanks to someone.
* * *
—
To their great astonishment, damage from the largest CME to graze human civilization in modern times was manageable. True, the solar blast didn’t score a direct hit on Earth, and so the casualties among satellites in LEO were few, and there wasn’t terrible disruption to systems and services on Earth.
The region of the Moon, however, took a direct hit.
Jin turned to flight surgeon Zara Volkova. “Any injuries?”
She replied, “We have four suffering extreme anxiety, but other than that, no visible radiation sickness. Dosimeters in the core compartment were within rad limits. So the shielding plan worked.”
“A hundred thousand tons of mass has its uses.” Jin turned to Chindarkar, Yak, and Kerner. “And damage to the station? Equipment?”
Kerner said, “We lost a mule; it was slightly exposed to a direct blast from the CME and its systems got fried. We had voltage spikes along the supply yard latticework, but we placed wiring to direct it away from volatiles.” He looked through a virtual list. “Six small electrical fires on board, but we evacuated atmosphere from the main electric vault, so nothing spread. We’re inspecting the power system, but so far the damage appears to be contained. Breakers functioned as intended.” He looked up. “We’ll want to order replacement parts as we go through our inventory, but we should be able to restore full operation.”
Jin slumped in relief. “So we survived it, and we are still operational.”
The group nodded to one another in grim recognition of their close shave.
Yak interjected, “However, we have lost contact with taikonauts and cosmonauts in lunar orbit.”
Vasquez added, “Crew on the Lunar Gateway blew past their career rad limits in that one event. Their dosimeters show they’re in trouble. We need to get them to Clarke Station for treatment. If they only develop cataracts from this, they’ll be lucky.”
Jin said, “We should rescue them.”
Vasquez said, “I’ll go. It’s what I signed up for. If you can lend me a spacecraft, that is.”
Jin turned to Kerner. “Do we have any working transit craft?”
Kerner nodded.
Jin then turned to Yak. “If Roscosmos can’t reestablish contact, be prepared to head out in Transit-05. Meanwhile, keep trying to raise those taikonauts and cosmonauts. Let everyone know we can provide aid.”
CHAPTER 40
Legacy
CLARKE STATION POPULATION: 137
DAYS TO RYUGU DEPARTURE: 461
RESOURCES LAUNCHED TO L2: 113,500 TONS
In the days following the great solar storm, radiation victims—some of them in critical condition—arrived at Clarke Station from spacecrafts throughout lunar orbit. Cosmonauts, taikonauts, and astronauts received emergency treatment in the only spin-gravity hospital—or indeed hospital of any kind—in deep space. Likewise, over the past year a genetic surgery wing had been formed in the East Hab med lab to treat James Tighe’s cancer, and now it was put to work repairing genetic damage experienced by the spacefarers. One cosmonaut died, but the other injured survived to return to Earth.
The one consolation was that the radiation storm established beyond all doubt the resilience and utility of the CCE’s communications network and Clarke Station’s logistics. Over the months that followed, the US, UK, Australia, Russia, EU, Japan, and India officially recognized the legitimacy of Clarke Station’s Luxembourg ship license, and the lūna was listed on several Earth exchanges—though most holders did not want to sell, preferring to invest their lūna off-world instead.
Bizarrely, in the midst of all this, the Chinese government declared that they were “gifting” Clarke Station (or as they called it: Nónglì gōngdiàn) to the entire world, and that it would be administered by the CCE as a DAO. It was a surreal bit of political theater, but it handily sidestepped the issue of the station’s ownership and resolved a thorny problem. Now who was to say who owned Clarke Station?
US Space Force, EU, and Russian observers performing rescue operations out of Clarke Station following the storm later inspired the creation of an international Cislunar Search & Rescue Corps (or CSR). Jin Han and Priya Chindarkar encouraged this, and after consultations with Lukas Rochat, as well as Tighe and Sevastian Yakovlev, the CCE endowed the CSR with transit spacecraft and an entire floor in East Hab. The CSR’s charter declared it an international body committed to the protection of life and property anywhere in cislunar space, staffed on a rotating basis by astronauts from several nations.
