Critical Mass, page 46
“No thanks. I like to stay sharp when I’m talking to you.”
“Suit yourself.” They both moved toward the edge of the gathering, while in the near distance Morten pontificated to outstretched smartphones.
The elder statesman gestured. “Look at him. These guys all act like they invented this stuff. We were designing skyhooks back in the 1980s.”
“But they didn’t happen. Did they?” She sipped her wine.
“No. They didn’t.” He turned back to her.
“Because you lacked the critical mass in orbit. That problem is now solved.”
“I suppose this scheme of yours worked. My son-in-law won’t shut up about increasing his ‘exposure’ to the lūna. Applications to engineering and math programs at US universities are spiking. My grandkid no longer wants to be a YouTuber. You made a Gordian knot out of our ‘China problem,’ and now the CCP will have to grapple with a decentralized commerce monster in space—which will cause them to doubt the loyalty of anyone they send up there.”
She leaned her glass toward him and then took a sip.
“So we disrupted our own markets. Now what?”
She gestured to Morten. “We invest in the future—instead of fearing it.”
He shook his head. “Oh, I don’t think it will be that simple. Fear is a great motivator.”
“So are pre-IPO stock options.”
“And does this ‘cislunar Renaissance’ create more or less enemies for America?”
“Less. Much less. It will weaken the appeal of authoritarian ideologies, including those within our own borders.”
“Hmph.” He leaned against a cobblestone wall overflowing with bougainvillea. “We’re helping establish great powers in space that are not beholden to us. That’s going to come back to bite us.”
“Only if we live in the past. This step was inevitable if we want humanity to thrive. We now have a chance to fix the climate. To not go extinct. You saw the news about that African solar sat?”
“Oh, right. Nigerians with a space death ray. Like that’s a good idea.”
She laughed into her wine. “It’s a geosynchronous power satellite, not a death ray. It’ll bring 2 gigawatts of clean energy to the African continent. If you’re going to fearmonger, you’ll need to be more scientifically rigorous . . . and sound less racist. What the Star of Africa project shows is that average people worldwide can now earn fractions of lūna coins by pulling CO2 out of the air—helping to solve climate change—and then invest it off-world—in a rapidly growing economy. It’s a good thing.”
“Fine. I get it. Political power is shifting. Let’s just make sure the US doesn’t become helpless in this new cislunar economy you’re creating. Your asteroid miners, for example, are poised to become the first nuclear power in deep space.”
She laughed again. “You mean the Morra Base reactor? It’s thorium powered. It can’t be easily weaponized—especially with IAEA inspectors monitoring it—and breeder reactors aren’t portable.”
“No, but I’ll tell you what is portable . . .” He looked around. “Three-ton uranium reactors.”
Lisowski gave him a confused look.
“I’m told that, along with the thorium your miners sifted out of the moondust, they also refined a few hundred kilos of uranium. What’s to stop them from enriching it? They’re already building a nuclear thermal rocket ship up at Clarke Station. This ‘NTR-01.’ ”
“The NTR-01 isn’t a secret. They’ve sought approval from Earth authorities for enrichment.”
“And do you think they’ll receive that approval?”
She gave him a look.
“We now have an off-world organization that technically isn’t ‘owned’ or controlled by anyone, possibly sitting on top of a strategic nuclear stockpile in lunar orbit. You don’t see the danger in that, Doctor?”
Lisowski was surprised that she was surprised by his perspective. “They’re just trying to rescue their lost crewmates.”
“And what happens after that? You need to understand that we will not allow your asteroid miners to enrich uranium in lunar orbit. We wouldn’t allow it here on Earth, and we aren’t going to allow it out there.” With that, he walked away, melding back into the crowd.
Lisowski pondered his words as Morten drew another laugh from the global press nearby.
CHAPTER 44
The Amy Tsukada
CLARKE STATION POPULATION: 110
DAYS TO RYUGU DEPARTURE: 181
RESOURCES LAUNCHED TO L2: 204,000 TONS
Mission control on Ascension Island first detected the autonomous cargo tug Amy Tsukada on December 1, 2041, at a distance of 100,000 kilometers from the Moon—a task made easier because the tug was on the precise trajectory where it was expected. If all went according to plan, on December 3 the monstrous 6,000-ton vessel would fire its eight engines retrograde as it reached EM-L1, decelerating enough to be captured into a lunar distant retrograde orbit.
The fact that Catalyst Corporation was not the only one who knew of the existence of this spacecraft, or its trajectory, had been a source of concern for some time. And yet, whether the robot tug would appear at all after all these years had been an even bigger worry for Priya Chindarkar. This third and largest of the Ryugu expedition resource tugs had been waiting on a timer for years a few hundred kilometers away from Ryugu, and when its low-delta-v orbital window opened on March 17, 2039, its engines were programmed to fire, imparting 551 meters per second of delta-v, and putting it on a two-plus-year trajectory back to cislunar space. That is, if nothing went wrong.
But here it was.
Chindarkar, James Tighe, Jin Han, Sevastian Yakovlev, Ramón Marín, and Julian Kerner sat in the Catalyst Corporation ops center—a collection of chairs and desks surrounded by a swarm of virtual screens, large and small—that had been set up in a closed room in West Hab. Half a dozen Catalyst technicians sat with them, monitoring radio traffic, telemetry, and radar scans. Ascension Island mission control was on the laser comm link as well, along with Catalyst Corporation CEO Lukas Rochat in Luxembourg City.
All of them were focused on a shimmering dot emerging from deep space on the main screen. A dot that was a rich prize for any of the participants in the current astropolitical contest between the US, China, Russia, the EU, India, Brazil, and their proxies—or for that matter any of the billionaire Space Titans. Nathan Joyce’s maxim had never felt more true to Chindarkar than today:
In space, possession is 99.99999 percent of the law.
The Amy Tsukada, 40 meters in length and 20 meters in diameter, consisted of dozens of multiton, 7-meter and 2-meter polymer bladder tanks, and one of the innumerable virtual screens hovering in the Ops Center displayed its detailed manifest:
Resource
Metric Tons
Water
3,800
Ammonia
700
Nitrogen
750
Iron
300
Nickel
280
Cobalt
180
Silica
450
Total Tonnage
6,460
The tug was, itself, fashioned from the resources it carried—with the silica and some of the iron providing the latticework to hold the bladder tanks and its rocket engines in place. Thus, it resembled an elongated bunch of grapes, but was instead a vast treasure of water ice, ammonia, nitrogen, and metals in the form of liquid carbonyls. Even by the current standards of the CCE market, this much water, ammonia, and nitrogen was worth billions—and much more to non-signatories of the CCE, who did not have access to lūna coins or the Exchange where these resources could be traded. And as of yet, these resources were just floating in space—free for the taking.
Marín got busy on his own unseen UIs. “I need to set up an incoming NFT for the futures market . . .”
Chindarkar couldn’t help but wonder how many interested parties had learned of the existence of this shipment over the past two years. And then there were the Konstantin’s new owners, who’d had access to its onboard records. Likewise, the low-delta-v Hohmann transfer that the tug was following was hardly a secret; the tug’s trajectory could be derived as the optimal course from Ryugu for a year to either side.
So Catalyst sent spacecraft of its own to secure it early.
The team’s focus shifted from screen to screen. Radar showed a cluster of dots on an interception course to the tug. This was the small flotilla of spacecraft that Clarke Station had sent to retrieve the Amy Tsukada—a respectable portion of the spacecraft in the CCE’s fleet: four propulsion tugs, three teleoperated mules with robotic manipulators, two transit craft, plus a couple of humanoid Talos robots and video drones riding along for close-up inspections and repairs, if necessary.
Tighe muttered, “We should have gone in person—to greet her.”
Jin looked to him. “A fine sentiment, but one that would have angered Amy.”
Chindarkar nodded. “Han’s right. She wouldn’t have wanted us to take unnecessary risks—especially this close to saving Isabel and Ade. Six days out and back. And what are you going to do out there that we can’t do from here with telepresence?”
Yak said, “Die, most probably.”
Tighe sighed impatiently and crossed his arms.
The team remained in the Ops Center for hours watching screens, and then in the wee hours of December 2, the CCE’s satellite network detected a worrisome contact.
A beep followed by a message from mission control that roused them all.
Radar contact. No transponder.
Tighe focused on the screen. “What is that?”
Jin turned to Kerner. “How long until we intercept the Tsukada?”
Kerner checked a few virtual interfaces, then said, “Nineteen hours, eleven minutes.” He looked up at the new dot on the radar screen. “The interloper will encounter the Tsukada in just under eighteen hours.”
“Goddamnit.”
* * *
—
The team did not budge from the Ops Center. Instead, they had food and coffee brought in. Tighe paced the room. Finally, early on December 3, they got their first actual visual of the Tsukada.
Chindarkar felt trepidation as she strained to discern its outline against the blackness of space, but as their craft closed in, the Tsukada came into focus—intact—and furthermore, it had already rotated to position its engines sternward for a retrograde burn. This was expected.
She shouted, “There she is! Look. She’s beautiful.”
Yak added, “A bit faded from cosmic radiation, but intact.”
Jin said, “That unidentified radar contact has already closed with her. We need to locate it.”
Kerner directed their flotilla of spacecraft to spread out and pass the Tsukada on three sides at a distance of 1 kilometer.
The entire team held their breath as the robot tug came closer and closer.
Kerner pointed. “There! Look—linked to the forward docking port.”
Tighe sat alongside the others. “Can we magnify that?”
In a few moments, the techs zoomed in to reveal a modular spacecraft with box truss frames, gold-foil-wrapped fuel tanks, thrusters, antenna dishes, and solar panels. It was a fifth the length of the Amy Tsukada, but much less massive—like the head of a bee compared to its abdomen.
More and more screens in the Ops Center zoomed in to the unknown craft from various angles.
Chindarkar sucked in a breath. “It’s a parasite ship.”
Jin studied a close-up, pointing where it connected to the robot tug’s docking port. “They must have had access to schematics for our tugs. This vessel has linked to her.”
Rochat’s voice came over the comm link. “That’s possible. Those spacecraft designs could have been stolen by any of several governments or groups over the past eight years.”
Yak said, “Easier still: our supply yard and docking standards have been filmed by international observers. Video is all over Internet.”
Kerner nodded. “It’s behaving like one of our own robotic craft—possibly preparing to alter the Tsukada’s course.” He zoomed closer. “It doesn’t look like a crewed vessel.”
Tighe leaned in. “Ram it. Knock it off the docking port.”
Jin answered, “That could damage the Tsukada. Or destroy it.” He turned to Kerner. “Does the vessel have any identifying marks?”
“Negative.”
Tighe said, “They’re pirates.”
Chindarkar also opened up a listing of their spacecraft. “We could come in close and try to disconnect them. I’m taking control of Talos-11. Can someone bring Mule-06 in alongside the Tsukada?”
Jin said, “Wait, Priya. Let’s find out what we’re dealing with first.”
Tighe started interacting with unseen UIs as well. “If we wait, the Tsukada might commence her retro burn—and then we won’t be able to shake that thing off. It’ll be pressed down into the docking port by deceleration.”
One of the zoomed-in camera insets showed side thrusters on the parasite vessel outgassing.
Kerner said, “It is altering the Tsukada’s course slightly.”
Tighe hissed angrily as he worked unseen UIs. “To hell with this . . .”
Jin talked into the comm link. “Lukas, can you confirm that no sovereign nation claims responsibility for this craft?”
“I will make inquiries, but do not let that craft claim our robot tug as salvage.”
“How do we prevent that?”
Chindarkar glanced to Kerner. “How long until the Tsukada does its retrograde burn?”
Yak answered instead. “Two minutes, thirty-three seconds.”
“Shit!” Chindarkar sat down and put her crystal into VR mode. In a moment she was looking out from the perspective of a Talos robot standing on the running board of one of the mules a kilometer away from the Tsukada. It was rather breathtaking seeing it again, close-up. She was diagonally above it, but then she could also see the parasite craft affixed to its front—hooked to the docking port just beyond the tug’s mirrored solar shield.
Yak said, “Retro burn in two minutes.”
Jin said, “Julian, broadcast on hailing frequencies that this craft must disconnect immediately.”
Suddenly Chindarkar’s view lurched as the thrusters on her mule fired, turning the craft to face the Tsukada. “Woah! Who’s controlling Mule-06?”
Tighe’s voice came from nearby. “I am, Priya.”
The mule started accelerating toward the robot tug.
“Good! My Talos is tethered to the running board. Bring me in alongside.”
“Negative. Hop off.”
“What do you mean, ‘hop off’? J.T., bring me alongside. I’ll try to disconnect them.”
“What good would that do? As long as there’s a docking collar, they’ll just come back again.”
She could see that the mule was angling toward the parasite craft at the front of the Tsukada—and was accelerating. They were barely 500 meters from it now and coming in fast. “J.T., slow down!”
“Hop off, Priya.”
Jin shouted, “J.T., do not ram that spacecraft! You could destroy the Tsukada!”
Chindarkar watched in horror as the Tsukada and the parasite craft at its bow loomed in her headset. She unclipped her Talos robot’s tether and pushed off from the mule’s running board, activating her attached SAFER harness to slow her forward velocity, thrusters blasting. The mule zipped past her, still accelerating.
“J.T., turn aside!”
Then Chindarkar saw the mule silently slam into the parasite craft just forward of the docking collar, shearing the connectors and buckling the aluminum box truss as the two vehicles came apart—but also crushing the mule and causing its thruster tank to burst, sending it spinning away like a bottle rocket. A scintillating debris cloud expanded from the point of impact, and the parasite vessel’s remaining thrusters stabbed out erratically.
Yak’s voice said, “Parasite craft disconnected from Tsukada and drifting to port.”
Jin called out, “Damn it, J.T. That was reckless!”
Chindarkar brought her Talos to a relative stop 50 meters from the Tsukada and watched as the parasite vessel drifted away amid debris. Its docking port had been sheared off and torn hose lines vented white gas.
The Tsukada’s docking port was also torn half off.
“Well, we’re not docking with the Tsukada anytime soon.”
Tighe’s voice said, “And neither are they. We can fix ours.”
Jin’s voice asked, “Does that ship look occupied, Priya?”
Tighe answered, “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does indeed matter. We are obligated by law to render aid, if they are disabled.”
Tighe said, “To hell with them.”
Chindarkar took her crystal out of VR mode and looked at Tighe in surprise.
Jin glared.
Tighe looked defiant. “You and I built that tug, Han—along with Dave and Ade.” He turned to Chindarkar. “We all harvested the resources in those tanks, and some of our friends died doing it.” He pointed at the screen. “It’s ours, and we need what’s on it.”
Yak nodded. “The ammonia.”
“That’s right—fuel for the NTR-01.” He watched the parasite vessel slowly tumble away. “Look! Now they show up. Now that we’ve proven this—now that it’s obvious. They try to hit us where they think we’re weakest.” He turned back to Jin. “Sixteen people are dead since we started building Clarke Station, and I’m not going to let these weasels undermine that sacrifice—along with everything we’ve accomplished.”
