Saturn Run (The Planetary Trilogy Book 1)

by Stanley Salmons

  Comfortably restrained in his seat, Dan tried to shut out the endless announcements emerging from the communication system and concerned mainly with what the pilots would be doing – all routine stuff for him. Actually there wasn’t a lot they could do until the Flight Controller on the Orbital Dock closed the airlock and disconnected the tunnel. Then he’d release the clamps and the flight crew would take over. There was no call for space tugs on a ship this size; they’d use the auxiliaries until they were well clear of the Dock and then light the plasma engines.

  He followed the manoeuvres, sensed the smooth acceleration as the plasma engines kicked in. It was nothing like the aggressive surge a shuttle needed to escape Earth’s gravity, just a firm push that weighted him in his seat and went on and on. The announcements continued. The cabin crew served drinks in sealed canisters fitted with a straw.

  By the time the crew had cleared the drinks away they were beyond Moon orbit. There was a further barrage of announcements and the passengers were transferred to the cryosleep chambers that had opened all down the centre of the cabin.

  He was expecting it, of course. Cryosleep was the difference between commercial success and failure on a run like this. Without it they’d have to provision the ship with regular meals for a hundred passengers over a period of three-and-a-half weeks, and that meant significant cost and weight overheads. Slowing the passengers’ metabolism right down eliminated the problem. The more lightly loaded ship needed less fuel to get it up to speed and down again – it all made good economic sense. There were practical advantages, too. There was no artificial gravity on a craft like this, and nobody wanted to look after a hundred passengers all trying to eat and drink under weightless conditions. Cryosleep also averted the boredom and claustrophobia – and in some cases aggressiveness – of passengers who were cooped up for days on end. And during the crucial acceleration and deceleration phases of the journey it ensured that everyone was properly orientated and restrained.

  Inside his own cryochamber he settled back into the air cushions and dutifully accepted the cocktail of drugs given to him by the hostess. How did they cope with this trip a hundred years ago, before cryosleep and before the development of the plasma engine? Back then, of course, they had to use the Hohmann Transfer Orbit to get to the right speed and trajectory. The journey would take many months, not three-and-a-half weeks. He’d done the calculations in classes on orbital mechanics when he was at the Academy, and they’d made his head spin. Even the calculations for the direct trip weren’t that straightforward: departing from a Dock orbiting the Earth, itself orbiting the Sun, heading for orbit around another planet, also orbiting the Sun. His vision began to drift and he felt himself sinking into a pleasant warmth, descending through layer after layer…

  *

  The next thing he was aware of was an insistent pinging noise in his ears. He swam up into consciousness, tried to move – and immediately fell back.

  What the hell’s wrong with me? I feel terrible.

  His mouth was dry, his head was pounding, his joints ached, and every part of his body felt as if it were at a different temperature. Someone had told him that when he woke up from cryosleep it would be like the worst hangover he’d ever had. He decided they were wrong, it would be quite a while until he was feeling as good as that. He was vaguely aware of light beyond his eyelids but couldn’t bear to open them. When eventually he did, his vision was so blurred he thought the transparent cover to the chamber was still sealed and misted over. Gradually the fog cleared and he realized that the cover was already open. The interior of the craft was suffused with a peach-coloured light. He blinked and tried to make sense of the thoughts scattered inside his tortured brain. The thoughts coalesced. The liner must have docked in orbit.

  He sat up carefully, each movement dislodging fresh waves of pain that bounced around inside his skull. Leads and tubes, presumably already disconnected by the crew, tumbled off his body. He got slowly to his feet and propelled himself over to the nearest window. Below him was the surface of Mars. He was staggered at the clarity – there were no dust storms today and the tenuous atmosphere did little to scatter the light. The glowing orange surface was a flat plain, scattered with boulders and pocked with small craters. Further towards the horizon he could make out lines of ridges, mesas and mountain ranges. If he craned in the other direction he could see the glint of the sun reflecting from man-made surfaces, the outskirts of Tharsis City, the first and by far the largest of the Mars colonies. He tried to fit what he could see to the Martian geography he’d learned at the Academy. His physical discomfort receded into the background.

  They were in stationary orbit so it was easy to spot the first shuttle moving up against the static backdrop of the planet’s surface. The passengers stirred under the gentle but insistent urging of a recorded voice. They moved slowly in small groups, by seat number, through the airlock and into the orbiting dock to await the shuttles that would take them down. The grey faces and the occasional moan reassured him. He seemed to have come through this better than most.

  Somewhere in his excitement at the prospect of setting foot on another planet was an additional frisson of triumph: the cadets at the Academy would have to wait another two years before they’d get this trip – and he was being paid for it!

  He planned to make the most of the experience.

  *

  Rostov’s organization had arranged for him to be put up at The Hesperon, in Tharsis City; they either owned the hotel or a big share in it. His was probably the cheapest room in the hotel but it was still luxurious. He was in high spirits. He unpacked quickly and took a shower. As he dried himself, humming quietly, he happened to glance in the full-length mirror – and froze.

  He looked down at his legs and his jaw went slack. He gripped one thin, soft thigh, staring in disbelief. He’d been told about muscles wasting in microgravity, he just wasn’t ready for how quickly it had happened. Cryosleep was supposed to slow the process down, together with the rest of the body’s biochemistry.

  The hotel had a well-equipped Fitness Centre. He went there right away. The resident instructor warned him to take it slowly. There wasn’t any other way. The slightest effort seemed to precipitate cramps and exhaustion. He stuck it out doggedly but his fitness wasn’t going to return that easily. He rested for an hour and then, unable to contain his impatience any longer, went out into the street.

  In spite of his weakened state it was easy enough to move around the colony in gravity that was not much more than one third that of his home planet. Tharsis City was much more extensive than he’d expected and he was pleasantly surprised at the amount of greenery. The streets were lined with date palms. Every block was punctuated with groves of broad-leaved trees and bushes, beneath which was an understorey of curious grey-green plants with hairy leaves. On the outskirts the colony was ringed by wire-fenced plantations where they were growing green vegetables, tomatoes and citrus fruits. He recalled classes at the Academy on terraforming and colonization; plant life would be an integral part of the design, oxygenating the air and stabilizing the humidity as well as providing a renewable food source.

  Apart from his reduced weight it was easy to forget he was on Mars. The microenvironment was carefully controlled and the day-length was similar to Earth’s. He had only to look up, though, at the weird colour of the sky beyond the geodesic framework of the dome to remind himself where he was. He felt a slight sense of frustration. There would be some unique landscape outside Tharsis City, but only the geological survey crews would get to see that.

  He’d expected life out here in the colony to be much quieter, dominated by scientific activity. The electronic magazines in his hotel room and the adscreens in the major thoroughfares said otherwise. Although science was still important, valuable commercial mining and refining had been established. Many companies were setting up subsidiaries in order to manufacture on site rather than have to import everything on freightliners. That meant people, and where there
were people there was accommodation to be built, food to be produced and consumed, goods to be bought, entertainment to be provided, banks, insurance companies, and traffic. Mars was getting to be a busy place.

  *

  Between the long exercise sessions and brief excursions into the colony the time passed quickly. On the third day a call came through on his communicator.

  “Mr Larssen? We’re ready to roll. I’ll pick you up in the entrance lobby in two hours.”

  The skimmer driver who came for him restricted his communication to crisp gestures, so Dan didn’t try to engage him in conversation. They went out to the edge of the city and waited there in one of the big airlocks while everyone checked the pressurization in their vehicles; then the airlock was evacuated and they emerged onto the open highway. Martian night was already falling by the time they got to the private terminal. The driver took him straight to the shuttle.

  After his experience of Earth shuttles, acceleration in the Mars equivalent was a good deal less fierce. There was no orbiting station; they docked directly with the waiting freightliner and he boarded the ship through the airlock. While he was going through his flight checks a procession of other shuttles was coming and going, loading the cargo bays. At one point he took a moment to select the internal climate display and saw that all the holds were pressurized. That would make loading and unloading much faster; once a shuttle pilot had docked he had only to check that the pressures had equalized and then he could open the port and start transferring cargo straight away. They’d locked the airtight doors that normally connected the flight deck and pilot’s accommodation to the cargo bays, so there was no way Dan could go and see what they were doing even if he’d had the time. He’d just about finished the systems and navigation checks when the console speaker stuttered into life.

  “Freightliner Achilles, you are go for departure.”

  He acknowledged, made sure that all the shuttles were clear, and fired up the propulsion units.

  He was on course for Earth and his first trip to Mars was over. It had gone too quickly. All that remained now was for him to turn the ship and its cargo over to Rostov.

  15

  When he arrived at the assigned dock in Earth orbit he was expecting a certain amount of security. He’d underestimated it: Rostov’s people were not only thorough, they were armed. The International Convention on the Militarization of Space barred everyone but Customs officers from carrying weapons – and even Customs didn’t carry them routinely. Rostov had mentioned commercial rivalry, but surely this was taking things a bit far? He had little choice; he answered their questions and submitted to a detailed search. By now he had some serious misgivings but he brushed them aside, pretending he was interested only in the other half of his payment, which was near enough the truth. It was a relief to complete the handover, catch the shuttle, and get safely back to Earth.

  Moving around in full gravity was a real challenge in his weakened state. He joined a local Fitness Club and tried to get his muscle mass back to normal again. He knew he had to be careful, because his bones had been weakened by loss of calcium. He put into practice everything he’d ever learned in the Space Medicine course at the Academy. He ate a lot of protein. He took dietary calcium supplements and dosed himself daily with Osteoporin. He took Ligasin for any radiation damage that his chromosomes could have soaked up during the journey, despite the shielding in the walls of the spaceliner. He exercised twice a day, gently at first, and then with progressively greater intensity. After four weeks he was seeing a real improvement.

  His worries about the nature of the work began to recede. After all, he was just doing his job as a pilot. If companies wanted to wage war on each other it was nothing to do with him. Rostov had been as good as his word: the arrangements had been exactly as he’d said and the other half of the payment was given to him at the dock. So when Rostov contacted him for another trip he accepted.

  *

  The second run was a big improvement on the first. Gone were the worries and uncertainties of unfamiliar schedules and places; this time he knew exactly what to expect at every stage. Tharsis City had the comfortable feel of a place revisited and he had a chance to extend his exploration to the smaller streets and establishments. Even the security reception he received on his arrival back at the private orbiting dock seemed more routine. The whole thing was a better experience.

  In one respect, however, it was equally negative: his body had suffered all over again. Back on Earth he felt fragile and feeble and once more he had to work hard for weeks to regain his fitness. He didn’t like what this job was doing to him and he could understand why they needed a lot of pilots; there couldn’t be too many who were prepared to stick at it.

  Then he heard news that made his own concerns seem trivial. A freighter called StarTrader had run into trouble just as they were about to cross the orbit of Jupiter. It seemed the crew had altered course to avoid a rogue meteorite shower, and this had brought them close enough to the giant planet to be affected by its gravitational pull. Normally that was a recoverable situation; all it would take was a short burn from the main drive. Except they no longer had a main drive. They hadn’t managed to avoid all the meteorites and a particularly heavy strike had disabled it.

  For the next two weeks he, like everyone else, was glued to WorldNet. He knew Mission Control would be doing their utmost to deal with the situation, but all the time the ship was being drawn closer to Jupiter. After a week he knew it was hopeless. Whatever they’d managed in the way of repairs they’d passed the point where even a fully operational plasma engine could free them from the gravity well. The crew made a last ditch attempt to place the freighter in a stable orbit around Jupiter. The chemical auxiliary units fired until the fuel ran out. It wasn’t enough; they just couldn’t achieve the forward velocity for orbital insertion. A sombre Director of Public Communications made the announcement. They had run out of options. StarTrader was spiralling helplessly towards Jupiter and there wasn’t a thing anyone could do about it.

  WorldNet, newscomms, and adscreens provided continuous coverage. The streets were thronged with people, as always, yet there was an eery silence everywhere. On Earth, in the domed cities on the Moon and Mars, in homes, offices, factories and bars, people stopped whatever they were doing to listen to the crew’s final messages coming through the static. Shortly after that Ground Control lost all contact.

  Dan couldn’t help putting himself in the position of the twelve crew members who’d been lost, visualizing that huge planet growing progressively larger day by day.

  What went on in their minds? Did they commit suicide or did they put themselves into cryosleep before they were crushed to death and incinerated by Jupiter’s atmosphere?

  What would I have done? I think I’d have wanted to enjoy the view while it lasted. After all, no other human being’s ever seen a sight like that. Well, it’s one decision I hope I’ll never have to make.

  *

  Rostov’s people called him in for the third time. Despite the effects of microgravity he accepted the assignment without hesitation. One more trip like this and he’d have almost enough to register at the agency; then he could really start to fill up his flight log. By the time the other cadets in his year graduated he’d be a fully-fledged commercial pilot. In that respect, at least, he would be well ahead of them, despite never finishing the course.

  The outward trip was straightforward, the return journey was not. Things started to go wrong on Mars. When he arrived at the private shuttle terminal the Freight Operations Manager was waiting for him.

  “Mr Larssen, I’m afraid we’ve got a technical problem with your passenger shuttle.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “The last docking wasn’t all that precise. The freightliner is okay but it’s caused a bit of damage to the airlock mechanism on the shuttle.”

  “How long?”

  “Maintenance says at least six hours by the time they’ve got the parts and
replaced them and tested it.”

  “That’s no good. We’ll miss the departure slot. Don’t you have another one?”

  “Not here, no.”

  “Okay.” Dan considered it for a moment. “Look, it’s no problem. Why don’t I go up with one of the cargo shuttles? The airlock’s the same on the living accommodation as it is on the cargo bays. They can dock on the living section first to get me on board, then dock on the cargo section to unload.”

  “Not sure about that. Look, I’ll have to talk to someone first. Come and sit in the general office while I make the call.”

  Dan sat in the office wondering what the big deal was. It was such an obvious solution. Even so, ten minutes passed before the Freight Operations Manager returned.

  “Sorry about that. Yes, it’ll be okay. Pierce will take you over to the cargo hangar in the skimmer.”

  Pierce was the taciturn individual who’d driven him here from the hotel. Dan didn’t know whether that was his first name or his second and the size of the guy’s personality was such that he couldn’t be bothered to ask.

  They approached the cargo hangar. It was a very large building with some diffuse external lighting in which he could just make out the tail of a cargo shuttle sticking up above its roof. He figured it must be docked at the rear, ready to load. Pierce drove round to the side and into the biggest airlock Dan had ever seen. They joined a couple of freight skimmers there and waited. Three more freight skimmers arrived and only then did the operative close the outer doors, pressurize the area, and let them in.

  He found the pilot of the cargo shuttle in an internal office, reading.

  “Hi,” Dan said. “I’m taking the freightliner out. I believe I’m going up with you.”

  “Yeah, someone said. Grab a seat if you like. We won’t go aboard until they’ve loaded.”