Fenrir, page 16
He thought, perhaps, it was time for him to arrange a little insurance in that direction, as well.
Chapter 25:
A Traditional
Timetable
Time to Launch: 500 days
The force of the detonation was like a padded slap over her whole body, but Stephanie’s whole attention was focused on the massive cloud of smoke and dust—and on the squat, almost comically compressed shape emerging from it.
Another flash of detonation followed by shock wave and thunder, and the scale model of Carpathia climbed higher, a squashed-down nose cone atop a broad plate of steel, shock absorbers and springs transferring the tremendous force of the explosions to the pulse-propulsion model to make the main body accelerate steadily. Flash-boom again, and it continued its ascent, straight and steady, unlike some of the old test footage she had seen early on.
It was tiny on the scale of the real Carpathia, but it was still big—several tons of metal, plastic, electronics, and explosive propulsion.
Several more charges sent the miniature Carpathia high into the sky, and then a deliberate shift of angle followed by three more blasts, before a parachute popped out and the model began a slow drift downward. Applause and cheers rose from the two hundred or so spectators, and Stephanie felt a tiny fraction of the weight of worry lift. “That looked really good, York,” she said.
“It did indeed. Have to look over the data, of course, but stability looked excellent. Took the turn well. Daire Young’s team’s already building closer-to-accurate models for test once we clear the designs for actual antimatter-mediated detonations.”
“We have the clearance to do that? Atomic detonation in atmosphere?”
“President just sent the approval through. Took a lot of arguing even in the committee, but the clinchers were that we really, really need to know that things like the electrostatic oil jets work, and even more importantly we need data on how much fallout the charges actually produce before we use full-size ones in launch. Once we demonstrate the scalable nuclear charge capability in the tests, that’s the next step.”
Stephanie glanced toward the horizon, where the detonation tests, code-named “Boiler Pressure,” were being prepared, then behind her, where Carpathia was taking on a titanic, looming reality, gigantic shafts and springs already affixed to the drive plate, other components being steadily added, a skeleton of supports beginning to outline the gargantuan twin of the little test device that was just now reaching the ground. “Still feels unreal to me, sometimes.”
“Same here, Director,” said Angus Fletcher, squinting out at the recovery team swarming around the test model. “I’ve designed and supplied custom computer hardware for all sorts of projects, but this?” He shook his head.
“Can’t argue,” Peter Flint concurred, coming up next to Angus. “Wouldn’t trade my place on this project for anything, either.”
Seeing the two of them together, Stephanie noted that they were surprisingly similar. Both were tall, spare men with white or near-white hair, in generally good shape even if showing a touch of the extra weight middle-aged men were prone to. Both had hands calloused from work, though Peter’s showed heavier wear and a few scars around the knuckles, while Angus’s had little burn marks where the computer and electronics expert had, at one time or another, been touched by solder or other hot materials.
The main differences were that Peter’s face was square and Angus’s more long, and Angus tended to act more professional while Peter displayed a “folksy charm” that Stephanie thought had to be at least partially cultivated.
“Definitely not,” Angus said in reply to Pete. “I cannot imagine anyone on this project who would. There will never be another like it.” He flashed a quick, apologetic grin. “Love to talk, but I’ve got to get back to it. Really shouldn’t have taken the time to watch—”
“More than half the project turned out to watch,” Stephanie said. “We can’t pretend most of us aren’t in this for the spectacle, too.”
Angus’s quick laugh had a touch of embarrassment. “No, I suppose we can’t. Even the best of us can’t resist the lure of a rocket literally blowing itself up to fly.” He gave a quick nod. “But I do have to get back. Director, Doctor, Peter—see you later.”
Pete also excused himself, and for the next few minutes Stephanie was making her way through the dispersing crowd in a series of greetings, handshakes, bows, or whatever acknowledgment her teammates felt appropriate.
“So, York,” she said, the two of them now alone en route to her offices. “What’s the chances of success?”
The somewhat-portly scientist was silent for a while. “Better than I would have thought at first,” he said finally. “I give us fifty-fifty.”
That was a shock to her gut. “That low?”
His laugh was subdued. “That high, you mean. Yes, things have been going pretty well, but . . .” He shook his head.
“Steph, there are basically two development paths for spaceships. One’s the modern NASA approach: test everything, model everything, dozens of times at multiple scales, tweaking and retesting, assembling piece by piece and retesting each time you change something, until finally you’ve got a ship you figure has a ninety percent or better chance of completing the mission, before you fire up any engines. That takes years to go through, and is damned expensive for any ship, even small ones. It’s politically much safer, of course, because NASA or other government projects can’t afford too many spectacular failures.
“The other’s basically the original method, updated by people like Young. You build lots of versions, change things as you go, and keep testing one after another until you get to one that works. You blow up a lot of prototypes this way, but instead of spending a decade to build each one, you make them incrementally better each time and have several in development at any time—and you of course instrument the living hell out of each one so you get the data you need, even if—and when—they go up in smoke. That’s probably cheaper but it still takes time, and only works if your design goal is relatively inexpensive, so that you can afford to build lots of prototypes.”
York touched the security pad and opened the door for them. “We can’t really use either one. We can’t build half a dozen Carpathias and test them to destruction, nor can we take ten years of careful development. We have all the monetary and technical resources we can imagine, but we have only so much time, no possible extensions of the deadline; physics has given us the time frame and nothing, short of our Fen friends managing to change their orbit on their own, is going to give us any more time. Honestly, we want to beat that timeline so we have some time to work with the Fens and figure out if there’s any way to save the ship before everyone gets roasted.”
Stephanie frowned. “So . . . we’re kind of trusting to luck?”
“Wouldn’t say that in any of your interviews . . . but yes. We’re making probably the largest mobile object ever built by mankind, and certainly—by orders of magnitude—the largest flying object ever built.” He chuckled. “Well, ever built by humans; a few more orders of magnitude to go before we get to match Fenrir itself.” His expression sobered. “We’re going to be using technologies just developed alongside basic designs conceived in the fifties, throwing them all together with engineering and construction teams from a hundred countries, and apparently with at least one group of organized nutbars dedicated to stopping us any way they can.
“So, yes, we’re trusting to luck. Doing the best we can to get luck on our side, but as I said, fifty-fifty that we’re going to get her flying in time.”
A damn toss of a coin to find out if we can do it? To her surprise, she found herself angry at the thought, not just disappointed, and chewed that over for the few more moments it took to reach her office.
By the time she opened the door, her anger had morphed back to determination. “York,” she said.
He heard the tone in her voice. “Yes, Director?”
“We are going to make it one hundred percent,” she said, startled by the iron in her own voice. “More, we’re going to get it done fast. Cut two weeks off the deadline.”
“Steph, we’re—”
“I know we’re already pushing things. But you know, you’re right. We need as much time as we can get at Fenrir. This mission is pointless if we don’t get there in time. Oh, the vultures who just want the technology won’t care, but dammit, if they’re crazy enough to put me in charge, then we’re doing this my way—and that means we’re going to save our alien visitors, full stop.”
She looked up at the photograph of the original Carpathia. “Extra stokers to the boilers,” she said. “Damn the saboteurs, full speed ahead.”
Chapter 26:
A Worrisome Success
Time to Launch: 425 days
Jeanne stood on the review stand, Roger on one side, Director Bronson on the other, looking out over the wide red-brown-gray desert with its patches of dark green scrub; the only man-made things visible in binoculars were three squat buildings, each widely separated from the others, and each with a flag numbered 1, 2, or 3. “I would really feel better if you were in the bunker, Madam President,” Roger said in his most formal tones.
“No can do, Roger. This is one of the points we have to make on our progress; that we believe we’ve made this form of nuclear detonation safe.”
“But what if we’re wrong?” Stephanie said, biting her lip in nervousness. “Maybe you should—”
“Are we going to abort this project?” Jeanne asked quietly.
“We can’t,” Stephanie answered reflexively. “It’s the only chance we have!”
“Then we have to assume we are not wrong and that we have, in fact, taken all the necessary precautions,” York Dobyns said serenely. “Having the senior staff here shows our confidence. Also challenges all the news organizations to show they’ve got the guts to watch alongside us. Right, Captain?”
Hàorán Lín sketched a quick bow in York’s direction. “Exactly right, Doctor. If they all attend, they give tacit approval, whether that is their intent or not. And”—he nodded to the crowded press section of the stands—“it appears that they have done exactly that.”
“Boiler Pressure One, nominal ten kilotons, detonation in sixty seconds,” crackled the calm voice from the speaker. “Detonation plug in place. All personnel report clear.”
Jeanne heard a buzz, saw Stephanie take a deep breath and activate her direct comm to control. “Director Bronson here.”
“Final decision point, Director. Go or no-go?”
She closed her eyes, then nodded. “Control, we are a go. Repeat, we are go.”
“Go for Boiler Pressure One,” the speakers announced. “Detonation in thirty seconds.
“Twenty seconds.
“Ten seconds.”
As the annunciator, and the large digital display, counted down the final seconds, everyone leaned forward, eyes fixed on the expanse of desert and the distant, tiny flag with a simple “1” displayed as it flapped in the wind.
“Detonation.”
For an instant, it seemed nothing had happened. Then a puff of dust spurted up and a shock wave ran visibly outward, throwing up a ring of sand and earth as it radiated away from the flag in the center; people on the stands stumbled or swayed as the massive jolt passed. The ground there heaved upward and then dropped, sinking noticeably. Traces of steam, smoke, or fog rose from the center.
Tentative cheering began from the scientists’ area of the stands, spreading as others realized the first detonation had been a success.
Or seems to be, Jeanne told herself. The question was not so much whether the device went “boom,” but whether it had exploded in the expected manner, with the expected results.
“Initial analysis underway. Please stand by.”
The clapping and cheering faded as seconds ticked by, and soon the assembled crowd was silent, awaiting the verdict of the unseen analysts and the data they had gathered.
“Current analysis results,” the speakers finally said. “Detonation total energy nine point nine eight kilotons. Radiation release post detonation negligible—figures to follow. Detonation radiation release successfully confined.”
Now the cheers returned and redoubled, and Jeanne saw Director Bronson sink into her seat with an expression of immense relief. “Worried, Director?” she asked with a smile.
“Terrified, Madam President,” she answered. “First antimatter-triggered nuclear detonation? So much was riding on that working.”
“Director,” came the voice of Control, “Boiler Pressure Two requests the go-ahead.”
Stephanie looked over to the scientific and engineering group. “They’ll kill me if we don’t,” she said with a touch of a smile. “Setting two records today—number of nuclear tests in a short time. Control, Boiler Pressure Two is go. Repeat, Two is a go.”
“Commencing countdown for Boiler Pressure Two,” the speakers blared. “Detonation in five minutes.”
Jeanne looked out at the little building labeled “2.” Boiler Pressure Two was the smallest of the three, testing the ability of the ICAN-II derived technology to catalyze nuclear detonations at sizes lower than any produced previously.
“Boiler Pressure Two, nominal five tons, repeat, five tons, detonation in two minutes thirty seconds.”
When the second bomb went off, the shock wave was far lighter, a mere puff and rumble, and the distant flagged building barely settled at all. The analysis confirmed an explosive force of just over five tons of TNT.
Boiler Pressure Three also went off without a hitch, producing its planned one-half-kiloton blast.
“So do we expect more radiation to leak from those sites as time goes on?” Jeanne asked.
“Some, perhaps,” York replied. “However, all the current readings indicate orders of magnitude less radiation from these detonations than from any previous nuclear explosions. The starting material is ordinary U-238 and lithium deuteride, and while the explosion does generate some radionuclides, it’s far fewer than the conventional methods.”
“And each of them required only a very small amount of antimatter, yes?”
“About one nanogram each,” confirmed Stephanie. “We had a microgram shipped in for the tests, but as we expected we’ve had to use very little of it.” She pointed to a large, squat truck exiting one of the bunkers. “There it goes—transporting it to the ALTS facility nearer Carpathia.”
“ALTS?” repeated Audrey Milliner, joining the group from her seats lower in the stands; the Secret Service knew her and didn’t bar her path.
“Antimatter Long-Term Storage Facility,” Stephanie said. “That microgram’s a good stability test for ALTS; we’re of course having to develop the best long-term storage methods for antimatter possible, since we’ll be absolutely dependent on the stuff on our way out and back.”
“Speaking of coming back,” Jeanne said, “assuming you fix or otherwise rescue Fenrir, how do you bring it back? How does it land?”
“Land?” Jeanne felt a momentary surge of embarrassment as Stephanie restrained obvious laughter before getting her expression under control. “Sorry, Madam President—but even Carpathia won’t be landing again.”
“Wait. Why not? You certainly have the power to do so.”
“Power isn’t the problem.” That was Eva Filipek, who had been mostly a silent but interested observer through the tests. “The problem, put bluntly, is that if you are descending on a chain of nuclear explosions, your entire ship will end up going through multiple nuclear fireballs and immediate aftermath, rather than effectively running from all of it. The plate is proof against such things; the rest of the ship, likely not.”
“We sure don’t want to risk it,” Stephanie agreed, “not until we’ve had a good long time to study how it all works in real life, anyway. So both Carpathia and Fenrir are staying in space. If we can work it out, get Fenrir into Earth orbit, and then we can shuttle things up and down as needed; pay Daire Young to do that if we have to, but I’ll bet that Fenrir has space-to-ground shuttles of its own, and some should still be intact.”
“Excuse me, Madam President,” Roger said, “but we need to get moving. You have a meeting with FORT tomorrow morning, and—”
Jeanne sighed. Despite the importance of the event, the Boiler Pressure tests had been something of a little break for her. “Back to the grind, yes, Roger.” She shook hands all around, and then her Secret Service detail closed in as they moved off and entered the presidential limousine.
“Thanks as always, Roger,” she said as the car began to move. “You’re right; I’d also like to get back to Washington in time to have a late dinner with my actual family.”
“We’ll get you there,” he assured her.
She looked back at the viewing stands, vanishing in the distance, and frowned.
“Something bothering you, Jeanne?”
She didn’t answer immediately—not because she hadn’t heard, but because she was analyzing her own reactions. “That went far too smoothly.”
“It kind of had to, didn’t it?”
“I’m not talking about the tests themselves; Director Bronson and CENT wouldn’t have scheduled it if they weren’t as close to certain as possible that they would go off without a hitch.” She waved a hand around the entire area. “It’s all this. That demonstration had everyone who matters present, and that meant it had also drawn off huge numbers of personnel from other vital locations. Why didn’t our unseen adversaries do anything?”
“Maybe they were going to and our security measures turned them back? I’m more relieved than anything; all of you up there on the review stands made very good targets.”
Jeanne nodded. “That’s the point, though. The best security in the world can still miss things. Any of us—or any part of Carpathia—could be targeted. It’s been too quiet.”
