Atoma and the Blockchain Game

by Gerard O'Neill

  22

  Bullseye

  Don’t ever take anything for granted. That’s rule number one.

  Have fun while you can. That’s good old rule number two.

  And rule number three? That’s easy because all you have to do is stay alive.

  Shooting through the wormhole all I heard was a distant roar. The capsule didn’t jerk about as it did during our training when a machine spun the mock-up. So far, the ride had been super smooth. A glance at the console told me the capsule had been dropped into the wormhole two hours earlier and all systems were normal.

  I had a visual of my progress through the throat on a display to one side. The capsule was a bright blue dot looking like a comet with a tail streaming behind it. It gave a loud beep for every significant point it passed. I was about one-third my way through my journey.

  That was first noticed the blue dot had slowed noticeably. I began to fear if the fall rate continued to slow, soon enough I would approach Zero velocity. I would be virtually trapped in space and time. By the time the wormhole released me, it would be to whatever fate an old hag might face at the other end.

  When the dot passes through the center line, I allow myself to relax a little. It might also be that the computer had injected me with a tranquilizer. I didn’t mind. I felt good. I was alert. I was a falling star.

  I tried to contact the others over the radio, but the only reply was a terrible whining noise in my earpiece.

  It was three hours later when I had fallen midway through the last half of the wormhole that I heard the voice of the computer.

  “Excuse me, Atoma. This is your capsule speaking. We are now closing on the exit gate. I am now able to make a prediction of your arrival time. Do you want to hear it?”

  “Yes,” I heard myself say.

  My voice sounds strangely distant and unrelated. Perhaps a result of the drugs the computer has fed me.

  “I calculate we will pass through the wormhole exit gate in three hours, forty minutes, and twenty-two seconds.”

  Going through the mouth was rough. It began with the calm voice of the capsule giving a short warning, and the three harnesses I wore tightening so I could barely move my arm.

  “Atoma, brace for the impact with the atmosphere.”

  My heart thumped as I waited for the rough entry I had been trained to ride out.

  “We are about to pass through the exit mouth in ten, nine, eight, five, four, three, two, one…”

  More than fifty years earlier, Soyuz cosmonauts said that landing a space capsule on Earth was like having a car crash. Once the capsule popped through the exit gate, it was one endless crash.

  I was bumped and buffeted as if by a crowd of giants running past.

  I heard a loud dull thump.

  “Atoma, I detect your stress levels are too high. Do not worry. The noise you just heard was the outer skin falling away. I ejected the first protective shell. IT was over thirty percent burned-up and no longer performed a useful function. You continue to be safe. I am deploying the drag chutes now to slow down the rate of descent.”

  I listened to the small thumps and loud hum of the capsule.

  To my horror, I saw a large orange triangle light up in front of me. The 3D projection made it ridiculously large in the small cabin.

  “The jet stream outside is strong,” the computer said. “Stand by, should manual override be needed.”

  What the hell? What can I do?

  “Your stress level is too high. I am giving you—”

  “No, you don’t!” I shouted. “Don’t you give me anymore tranquilizer. Don’t give me anything.”

  “Very well, Atoma. If I might make a suggestion.”

  “Yes, go right ahead,” I told the computer

  “You should breathe slowly and deeply.”

  I took a series of deep breaths, holding each one. Until I forgot to take the next. There were stars forming in front of my eyes and it was nothing to do with a 3D display. I heard the voice of the craft once again.

  “Atoma, you must breathe! Release the panel on the right hand of your armrest.”

  “Am I now in control of the capsule?” I asked the computer.

  My heart threatened to beat its way out of my chest.

  “No, I am preparing you to take control if necessary.”

  “Run me through the instructions,” I told the computer.

  “Yes, Atoma. There are five buttons arranged in a cross. There is one button in the center of the cross. These represent the attitude thrusters. I can sense your fingers are in the correct location. Do not press them yet. Remember, you must press the buttons firmly to activate the thruster engines. Please, stand by.”

  My fingers hover above the panel as the capsule continued to take a pummeling from every direction.

  “Computer, show me the ground below the capsule.”

  “Direct eye-vision of the terrain is compromised by dust, I will construct an image by combining optics and radar.”

  A 3D image of the landscape floated above the console. There was a vast wasteland below me that must have stretched for miles.

  “Atoma, I am going to detach the chutes and fire the descent engines.”

  To my ears, the roar of the thrusters was like listening to the sweet morning chorus of twittering birds. I was no longer just an expensive package of metal and meat destined to slam into the landscape. I could choose a landing place if necessary. That’s if the computer let me.

  Based solely on the image on the display, there was absolutely nothing down there to see except dust. Was this the moon?

  I could see the ground, and it looked like a regular pattern of ripples. We were moving too fast.

  “Delay the landing,” I told the computer.

  “May I ask why, Atoma?”

  “I want to see more of the terrain.”

  “There is sand and dust directly below. The vegetation begins one mile and one hundred five-five yards from your optimum landing site. The plant life provides far too many uncertainties. It is best we land in the sand.”

  “Are you sure the sand is safe?”

  “I detect no life forms in the sand, and the structure of the dunes below appear stable.”

  The attitude thrusters fired, ending my debate with the computer.

  “We land in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one… we have landed safely.”

  That wasn’t so bad, I thought.

  “Atoma…”

  “Yes, computer.”

  “My instruments detect interference… “

  The capsule was shifted.

  “What the hell?”

  I braced myself for the second impact. When it came it was with a bone juddering shock. The capsule tilted over, leaving me hanging from the harness. The lights were out. The computer had fallen silent. Besides my ragged breathing, there was not a sound to be heard.

  I felt around for the harness release under the armrest. I found it, and snapping it open, fell onto the console. No harm was done. The console was tough and almost featureless when no power was running through it.

  I reached for the hatch release. It was not going to budge.

  Let’s not panic, I thought. I’m in a sealed suit. It’s a whole life support system. Reassuring so long as I didn’t check any gauges to see how long it would keep me alive. I saw there was enough oxygen to last… let’s see. Oh, that was just wonderful. At the rate I was going through it, I had just one hour’s remaining before it was gone. Then what? My suit could replenish the oxygen I used up, but not in such a short time.

  The way I see it, I could either choose to die inside the capsule, or outside. I’m no coward! I’m not dying inside.

  I could blow the hatch off. All I needed to do was to flip the switch cover on the console and arm the door and press the button for a count of five. Which was exactly what I did.

  The noise of the exploding charge blasting the hatch open was awfully loud. Even in the suit, it made my ears ri
ng. Bright light had filled the interior. My visor switched automatically to anti-glare mode, and I saw a horizon and above the line between land and sky hung a deep yellow burning blob. The sandstorm was having a strange effect on the sun. It reminded me of a stretched globby mass of molten metal.

  My head-up display (HUD) showed the oxygen content of the air was a little lower than I was used to breathing in Chicago. I wondered what locations could typically have so little air. I realized with astonishing and sudden clarity that the content of air in the atmosphere was about the same as I might expect if I was standing on the peak of a twelve-thousand-foot mountain. Hmm, where did that piece of interesting information pop up from? It sounded about right. I must have read about it somewhere.

  I pressed the button to release the lock on my helmet. My HUD blinked a large orange triangle at me. Yes, I needed the damn helmet release to open! I pressed the button again, and this time the visor and helmet slid away in three pieces with a great suck of air and retracted into the suit.

  I took a deep breath. The air had a curious metal taste. The real problem though was that I couldn’t seem to get enough. I focused on breathing deeper and found that helped me.

  We must have landed in the center of China. It might have been Tibet. I had never been there before, and of that I was quite sure.

  23

  Big Blast

  Shadows ran over the dunes the incoming tide racing up a beach. Long streaks of white cloud puffed into existence and just as quickly vanished. Each cloud formed a tail that thickened until the sky began to resemble a furrowed field tilled by an ancient plow. An icy wind snapped at my suit, my lips and my cheeks were already so numb I barely felt the sting of sand grains.

  There was a distant roar that was growing louder. I looked around to find the dark clouds but could see no sign of a storm. It made no sense.

  When the gust hit me it was with such a force I was knocked head over ass. Blinded by the sand that blasted my face and made breathing impossible, I began to panic as I felt for the helmet activation switch on the suit.

  The visor came down with a snap and I sucked in the sweet oxygen.

  The capsule showed up in the flickering HUD image. It was directly in front of me and not more than a yard away. The cylinder had fallen on its side, and even as I crawled for the open hatch like a frantic one-year-old to the arms of their mommy I saw it rocking to and fro as the wind pounded it.

  The force of the air stream threatened to pick me up off the ground, but I could see I had almost reached the hatch. Finally, my fingers found the grips either side of the opening. I pulled myself up and into the cramped space with no time to marvel at the incredible new strength the maneuver.

  I slammed the large red button to the side of the hatchway and watched the carbon fiber strengthened resin spray from the sides, sealing the gap in an instant. It was only just in time. The howl of the wind outside was unbelievable. The capsule shuddered as I peered through the clear compound that covered the hatchway. The dust storm was impenetrable. I couldn’t see a thing.

  The capsule gave a violent jerk, and I was slammed into the side of the wall, my lips meeting with the rim of the helmet. I climbed into the chair and snapped on the three harnesses. The console lit up the moment I was in the seat. I sighed with relief. It was a good sign. Whatever was the cause of the on-again, off-again electrics there were circuits still intact. I ran my tongue over a swelling lower lip and tasted the blood in my mouth. I was lucky not to have lingered another minute outside.

  As if to underline my thought the wind slammed into the capsule and rolled it three-hundred-and-sixty. I turned my head to peer through the compound resin window at a desert that rotating wildly with a dark swirl of green so that it spiraled like a child’s top. I was gripped by a tornado.

  The red light filling the interior of the capsule meant two things. First, the computer was functioning at some level, and that was good. Second, something had gone wrong.

  As if confirmation was needed the flat machine voice of the automated pilot chimed in my ears.

  “Emergency-emergency. Uncontrolled flight… Applying attitude control thrusters to clear the capsule from danger. Secure yourself immediately. Secure yourself immediately.”

  The autopilot attempted to correct the flight of the capsule, but the tornado had a powerful grip on the craft. The engines roared, and I was driven against the armrest by G-forces. They blasted one more time, and this time the autopilot succeeded in snatching control of the capsule from the vortex. It was over in less than a minute and I was back on the ground again.

  The red light blinked out, and the console flashed a green all clear.

  “Computer, describe the terrain where we have landed.”

  I waited in vain for the polite nagging voice of the computer to reply.

  The craft was on its side, and with the swivel mechanism of the chair not working so was I. The hatch was now positioned above my head. By turning my head in the helmet I could only just glimpse a clear pale sky through the transparent seal. At least it wasn’t raining out there.

  The radio crackled in my ears.

  “Anyone… Shit! C’mon. Oh, please tell me I’m not the only survivor…”

  “You’re not,” I told Nako.

  “Who is this?”

  “It’s Atoma.”

  “Thank goodness, you’re alive.”

  “Have you heard from the others?”

  “No, not a word. Looks like they dropped us into the middle of a storm.”

  “The other capsules must be scattered for miles,” I told her.

  I snapped off the three harnesses and sat on the armrest. If I hadn’t reached the capsule in time to seal the hatch, the interior would have filled with sand. That would have proven fatal when the tornado picked up the craft, even if I had managed to get inside, the sand would have unbalanced it.

  “I almost got my ass handed to me by a tornado,” I told her.

  “That’s strange. There’s been the odd gusty breeze where I am, but that’s about it.”

  “You’ve been outside?” I asked.

  “I’m standing outside as I talk to you.”

  “Do you know how far apart are we?” I asked.

  “It looks like there might be a mile between us. I am just east of where you are. Just a moment. I’ll send you the coordinates.”

  Seconds later the suite beeped to tell me it received the data, and a terrain map snapped up in the HUD. A bright blue circle indicated the beacon in her suit flashing at me from the other side of the ridge immediately ahead.

  “I can see you,” I told her.

  “We can meet halfway,” she said.

  Now it might only be me, but the idea of both of us making our way to a location neither of us had been to before seemed only double the odds something would go wrong.

  “Stay by the capsule,” I told her. “I’m on my way.”

  The emergency laser cutting torch was clipped into the panel beside the console. I flicked my visor onto sun mode, stood on the seat and leveled the bright blue beam at the compound covering the hatchway. I watched the laser slice through the seal in seconds then I peeled back the layer, stepped out of the way as it fell at my feet. I didn’t remember it feeling that light when I pulled it from the hatchway in our emergency practice drill.

  I looked up at the open hatch above my head. There was no way I would have the upper body strength to haul myself through it. I would need to use leg muscles as well to do it. One explosive move that combined arms and legs should do the trick. It would be best if I made it through on the first attempt. After that, I was going to get really tired. I reached up and felt around until I had placed my palms flat on the outside of the capsule’s hull. Then I counted down from five.

  I went through the door like I was fired from a cannon, tumbling down the side of the capsule and landing in a heap on the sand. I lay still for a moment in stunned surprise. How did that happen? My display showed my bio-data on the insi
de side of my visor. There was nothing unexpected to be seen. Sure, my heart rate was faster than normal. I am pretty sure it had been all day. I sat up and stared at the small mountain in front of me.

  24

  Capsule Curves

  The curves of the capsule caught the afternoon sunlight streaming through the glade, through the fresh gouge cut out of the tree canopy. The craft had come to a rest on its side with its hatch hanging open some five feet off the forest floor.

  Strips of gelatinous green, red bark and stripped foliage hung in sheets along the edges of the great slash. Although it had crash-landed, apparently without thruster engines, showed no obvious damage. The surface of the rounded capsule was as smooth and unmarked as the moment it was the moment it was dropped into the mouth of the wormhole.

  There was no sign of Jacinda.

  “I don’t think she’s here,” Nako said gasping in the thin air. “Oh, I feel like I’ve run a marathon.”

  The capsule had skimmed the treetops, its path taking a shallow angle before hitting the ground. The impact crater was a pile-up splash of splintered wood and plant matter.

  “I think she tried to bring it in herself,” Nako said. “She used the treetops to slow it as she brought it down.”

  “What could have gone wrong?” I asked.

  “The storm, or it might have lost power, or she just thought she preferred to land it herself,” Nako said. “We can ask when we find her.”

  “Have you found something?” I shouted to her.

  “Her footprints are in the dirt kicked up from the impact crater,” Nako called out. “It looks like she was stumbling about.”

  I stared down at the deep boot prints in the mounds of soil.

  “Do you think she might have been injured?”

  “I don’t see any blood,” she answered.

  “The boot heel is deep here,” I told her. “Look! She probably spun around.”

  Nako ran her fingers over the damp disturbed soil.