Callisto Deception

by John Read

Stairs zigzagged up the side of the machine, steps covered in dust.

  Commander Tayler took the first step. He stood on the machine and gazed up as if looking for trouble. He then nodded for the rest of us to follow. We climbed past several landings where one would expect to find hatches leading into the body of the machine. There were none.

  Jamaal Nash turned to me and said, “Does this thing have a door?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It might only be accessible from the inside.”

  “Why don’t we blow a hole in the side and check it out?”

  “Oh no,” I said. “We’re not decompressing the machine to feed your curiosity.”

  We continued up until we reached the roof. Climbing this high with hundreds of pounds of gear would have been near impossible in Earth’s gravity. But on tiny Callisto, the assent was a breeze.

  Gangplanks on the roof provided an overhead view of the construction project. Gaps in the Ring exposed the surface below, where panels had yet to be attached.

  “That’s our way in,” Tayler said, pointing at the gap. “Follow me.” He climbed over the edge of the gangplank, stepping down amongst the conveyors.

  I hopped down next, offering a hand to Serene. She grabbed it, and practically leapt into my arms as I lowered her onto the panel.

  We laid out eight coils of rope, letting the ends dangles over the edge. We fastened the ropes to the base of several robotic welding arms and prepared for our descent.

  “Let’s do this,” Nash said, his back facing the gap. He set his boots on the ledge and leaned back, transferring his weight to the rope. A moment later, he’d slipped over the edge. The rest of us followed his lead, sliding down to the surface.

  In front of us, a barrier stretched from the floor to the ceiling. Steel girders connected the wall to the machine and a poly-fiber gasket contoured perfectly to the ground.

  I took my first steps inside the Ring and looked at the others. “We’re still inside the Universal Constructor,” I said.

  Amelia walked up to the wall, placing her hands on the giant gasket. “What is it?”

  “It’s the pressure barrier, the vinyl polymer that prevents decompression,” Kevin said.

  “Which means there’s atmosphere on the other side,” Luke Singer said.

  “Yup,” I agreed, looking around.

  Jamaal Nash walked over and hammered his fist on the barrier. “So, you’re saying if we blow a hole in it, it’ll immediately stretch to fill the space.”

  “What is it with you and blowing holes?” Serene said.

  “Just sayin’ ...” Jemaal replied.

  I looked around. A ladder rose over the rubber seal where the barrier met the wall. Tayler saw it, too. “Airlock, over here,” he said.

  We ascended to the airlock. I half expected to find it locked, but, as Tayler twisted the wheel, the hatch popped open. The airlock was barely large enough for all our gear. We squeezed in, and I closed the hatch behind us.

  “Clear?” Tayler said.

  “Clear,” I replied. Tayler cranked a valve and atmosphere filled the room. A red light on the ceiling turned green as the airflow stopped. Avro spun the front hatch and it opened.

  Avro stepped into the Ring, and the rest of us followed, to gather on a metallic platform connected to the pressure barrier. There was light on the other side, but not much.

  Out to the horizon, and in every direction, stretched a brown nothingness of desert.

  Upon first observation, the Ring appeared empty.

  25

  “Keep your helmets on,” Avro said, monitoring his augmented displays. I checked my screen. The air inside the Ring was breathable, but it swirled with a grimy fog, like dust behind a Mac-truck on a dry summer’s day.

  “What’s causing the wind?” Amelia said.

  “Temperature and pressure differentials,” I said. “The better question is, why is there wind?”

  We stepped out of the airlock onto a metallic deck, as a waterfall of wet black dirt fell from the receding wall. A gable shielded us from the stream.

  “Synthetic topsoil,” Kevin said, grasping a glove full of falling soil then tossing it out into the Ring. “The wind probably spreads it around. The extreme weather prevents vegetation from growing up near the barrier when the machine is not in use.”

  “How do you know this?” Amelia said.

  “Asimov,” Kevin replied.

  We stepped down onto freshly laid dirt; the wind pelting our suits with dust like a heavy rain. I knelt down, also grabbing a handful of soil in my glove. It was peppered with tiny seeds.

  We trudged further into the Ring, shaking synthetic topsoil from our suits, and monitoring the air quality readings. As we got father from the barrier, the wind began to calm.

  In the distance, liquid water poured from the Ring’s roof in heavy sheets. The water flowed into all the low-lying areas, creating a bog. Mist billowed above the water’s surface, and a fog bank rolled in our direction, consuming us. Condensation formed on our helmets, and I found myself constantly wiping it away with my glove.

  As we pressed on through the fog, I noticed the atmospheric rating on my HUD changing from yellow to green. The water had filtered the air.

  I removed my helmet, and took a breath. The limestone aroma was like freshly mudded drywall. The air was so humid that droplets formed on my nose and began dripping into my suit. The fog cleared, and a lake shimmered in the distance, reflecting a grey, artificial sky. We definitely wouldn’t be lacking water.

  “I bet that half the power of that machine is dedicated to melting ice,” I said.

  “And electrolyzing the water to produce oxygen,” Kevin added.

  “What do they do with the hydrogen?” I said.

  “Make complex carbon chains,” Kevin said. “The carbon comes from the limestone.”

  “Organic compounds?” Amelia said.

  “Sort of,” Kevin replied. “They’d make fertilizer and printer filament first. The organic stuff takes care of itself.”

  I looked around, thinking deeply about what had been constructed here. The Ring, as a concept, was beginning to make a lot more sense. At first, the idea had seemed so grand, I’d thought it impossible. But now I realized something. The scale of the endeavor allowed for simplicity. The Ring was its own ecosystem, something that would have been impossible in a small habitat like the Martian colony.

  As we walked further east, we began to transition to a living world, and the roof became blue. A holographic sun appeared, warming my face, and grass began popping up under our feet. Another kilometer or two, and shrubs and small trees grew past our knees. The further we went, the taller the trees got, until they were fully grown.

  We walked until the holographic sun began to set at the horizon to the south. A river traced an S through the landscape while a dense forest fully covered the land. The trees were maple, but taller than any I’d ever seen. It must have been the low gravity. Down by the water, deer gathered on the shore, and I swore I saw a fish jump.

  We left our spacesuits in a pile by the northern wall, and I walked with Serene down to the water. It was the first time we’d actually been alone together in the real world. Somehow, being with her in reality felt different. On the spacecraft, we had a joke: “What happens in VR stays in VR.” I suddenly felt guilty, and thought of Marie. It’s like being unfaithful to her. But I let the guilt pass, convincing myself that it served no purpose.

  A stream trickled over rocks before flowing into the lake. I squatted down, cupping the water in my palm, and bringing it to my mouth. The water was fresh and freezing cold. It was probably the freshest water I’d ever had in years.

  Dark clouds moved in waves along the sky, and the temperature dropped several degrees. “I think it’s going to rain,” I said.

  Serene adjusted the rifle slung across her back and turned to look. “We should set up camp.”

  Moments later, it began to pour. It had been years since I’d felt rain. I closed my e
yes and tilted my chin towards the sky, letting the drops stream down my face.

  “You’re awfully sentimental,” Serene said, and began trudging back towards the trees.

  “And you’ve been on Earth within the past two years,” I said.

  “I guess I’d miss the rain, too,” she replied. “Help me make a shelter, would you?”

  The rain lasted for an hour. We waited it out under a tarp draped over a branch. When the clouds departed, the last traces of daylight had vanished, and the stars, or the simulated projection of stars, appeared in the sky.

  The temperature dropped to about twelve Celsius. Avro and Nash gathered wood and started a fire. Luke Singer had somehow caught a wild pig, which we cooked over a makeshift spit.

  I helped Serene build a lean-to using a Mylar thermal coving. There were emergency blankets in our packs, and we made a bed. We slept side by side, experiencing real human contact; the first in months.

  All I did was hold her hand; for now, that was enough. But my mind was accepting what my heart was fighting. Serene was now my girlfriend.

  We awoke and ate a breakfast of apples and oatmeal rations. Commander Tayler discovered a Coffea arabica plant and roasted the beans over the fire. He dropped the roasted beans into his thermos, making a crude cup of java.

  We sat around the fire drinking our morning brew and planning for the day ahead.

  Luke activated his holographic chess board, and both Kevin and I lost to him at clock chess. I blamed the clock; I like time to plan ahead. “You think before the game begins,” Luke said more than once. “When you play, play on instinct.”

  Kevin still wore his AR visor that he’d used to protect his eyes while cutting wood.

  “Okay Luke, one more game,” Kevin said.

  The two sat by the fire. Kevin made the first move, pawn to king four, then knight to bishop three on his second.

  “The Ruy Lopez,” Luke said, smiling with approval. The two exchanged moves in rapid succession until, about forty seconds into the game, Luke swiped his hand across the board, smashing the holographic pieces into nonexistence. “No freaking way!”

  “Why think before the game,” Kevin said, “when you can have something else do the thinking for you?” He lifted his AR glasses and winked.

  “You cheated,” Singer said.

  “Call it a home field advantage,” Kevin said. “Like forcing us to play speed chess.”

  “Speaking of home field advantage,” Amelia said, “do you think anyone knows we’re here?”

  “I don’t think so,” I replied. “If they did, they’d have sent someone to meet us by now.”

  “So, what’s next? We just walk until we run into someone?”

  Tayler said, “The wind is from the east. From what I can tell, it always blows west.”

  “We’re going to build a raft,” I said.

  Tayler nodded. “We’ve all got hatchets in our survival kits. I recommend we get to work.”

  “Hatchets? You’ve got to be kidding me,” Kevin said. “How low-tech is that?”

  “You’ve got a better idea?” Amelia said.

  “Yeah, I do,” Kevin said. “How about a saw? Like this one that I used to cut firewood.” Kevin held up the saw, which I figured was just another cool NASA tool we’d brought along for the trip, but this one had a small gas tank on the side. All our tools were electric.

  “Where the hell did you get that!” Jamaal Nash said.

  “You know those pipes along the wall? I followed them. Turns out, one of them is for filament. Metallics and synthetics.”

  “You found a 3D printer,” I said.

  “While you guys were hunting for rodents last night, I followed the pipes,” Kevin said.

  “Why didn’t you print us a frickin’ tent?” Serene complained.

  “Come on, it’s like twenty Celsius. It looks like every few miles there’s a printing station embedded in the wall.”

  “Anything else you’d like to tell us?” Serene said.

  “The printing stations have a bathroom,” Kevin said.

  “Now that would have been nice to know,” Amelia said.

  “Well,” Tayler said, “I guess we’ll print our boat then.”

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Kevin said. “One of those pipes contains methane.”

  “Well, Kevin, what do you suggest?” Avro said. “This brush is too thick to allow any vehicle, so we’re pretty much limited to walking, or traveling by water.”

  “By my count, three of us are aerospace engineers, and we all work for NASA. We’re on a moon with barely any gravity. We’re got access to an industrial 3D printer, and unlimited fuel.”

  “What’s your point, Kevin?” I said.

  “For the sake of the gods, we’re building something that flies.”

  Avro smiled, and slapped Kevin on the back. Luke looked up from a chess game he was playing against the computer, shrugged his approval, and then made his next move.

  Serene didn’t look impressed at all. “Print planes?” she said.

  “It makes sense,” I said. “In this gravity, we could strap wings to our arms and fly like birds.”

  “This isn’t Titan, John,” Kevin said. “The planes will require a fixed-wing design.”

  “I was kidding,” I said.

  “What about the element of surprise?” said Nash. “We don’t want to lose the upper hand.”

  Avro looked at Kevin. “Can you make a silent engine?”

  Kevin nodded.

  Luke Singer closed his chess board, grabbed the shovel from his pack, and scooped sand onto the fire.

  Tayler grabbed his gear, slung it over his back, and said, “Kevin, show us the printer.”

  The printer wasn’t much more than a filament pool and a laser. It sat in a metallic barn like an aircraft hangar from the Third Gulf War.

  A display in front of the pool glowed with a generic screen saver. I touched the display, and the interface appeared. I scrolled through a list of preloaded designs.

  “There’s not much here,” I said as Kevin walked over to join me. “It’s mostly farm equipment. Tractor, combine, tractor, tractor. There’s even a section for barns; here are roof trusses and shingles.”

  “I got this,” Kevin said, pushing me to the side. He stood in front of the display, took off his wristwatch, and placed it the consul.

  “You always have something up your sleeve, don’t you?” I said.

  “Yes,” Kevin said, “my watch.”

  “No one’s ever designed an aircraft for gravity this light,” I said. “Where do we start?”

  “Think of it as cooking,” Kevin said. “I have several aircraft in my database. I’m going to borrow components from different planes to create an aircraft idea for these conditions: one hundred kilopascals of barometric pressure, and gravity of 1.236 meters per second, squared.”

  Kevin’s plan gave me a strange deja vu. I’d seen this somewhere before. Then I remembered reading the history of Lockheed’s Skunk Works division, led by aviation design legend: Clarence “Kelly” Johnson. Back in the 1950’s, Skunk Works had a shoestring budget, yet was tasked with the impossible: designing an aircraft that could fly higher than Russia’s missiles. With off-the-shelf parts, and the front end of an F-104, a small team of engineers created the U2.

  I leaned in to get a closer look. Kevin scrolled through several gliders until he came to rest on a Schleicher.

  Amelia leaned over my shoulder to see what he was doing. “A glider?” she said.

  “For the wings,” Kevin replied. “A high aspect ratio will reduce the stall speed, enabling the plane to fly as slow as ten KPH.” Kevin may very well have read the same book. The U2 had wings like a glider, vastly improving drag characteristics at high altitudes and slow speeds.

  Amelia looked confused. “Aspect ratio?”

  “Long wings,” I said.

  With a flick of a finger, Kevin tossed the Schleicher to the left, saving it for later. Next, he scrolled thou
gh a list of training aircraft, stopping at a Javelin Jet trainer. “For the cockpit,” he said. The Javelin cockpit sat the pilot and copilot one ahead of the other while maintaining an aerodynamic profile.

  “Simplicity is essential here. We’ll have no retractable landing gear, no trip tabs, or even flaps. Just ailerons, elevators and rudder. A go-cart would be more complicated.”

  “I like it,” I said. “Reminds me of my Katana.”

  “A Katana, good thinking, John, we’ll use that for the T-tail.” After adding the last aircraft, he chose a silenced Mark V engine and brought his “ingredients” to the foreground. He selected each aircraft in turn, grabbing the required components and fastening them to the new model until he had constructed his aircraft.

  Kevin pivoted the image, inspecting his design from every angle, and then made the final adjustments to ensure the design was airworthy. “What do you think, John?” he said.

  “I like it,” I said. “What’s it called?”

  “I’m calling it the Shakuna Vimana, a flying machine from Hindu Sanskrit texts.”

  “I’m not sure I can pronounce that,” Amelia said.

  “It’s common to state the manufacture’s name before the designation,” I said, “so how about we call it the Patel - Shakuna Vimana, or P-SV.”

  Kevin nodded his approval. “Just one more thing,” he said, opening a color pallet on the display.

  Using gestures in the air above the display, Kevin coated the commander’s plane in blue and yellow, like a Blue Angel. The second, Avro’s plane, he decorated in green and white, colors of the Mexican soccer team. The third, Nash and Singer’s plane, he painted in a black and gold checkerboard pattern, placing a knight’s silhouette on the tail. My plane, he decorated yellow and orange, like the Pelican I flew back on Mars.

  “Much better,” he said.

  “So much for keeping a low profile,” I said.

  Kevin executed a command and the printer shot a laser into the filament pool. The filament solidified upon contact with the beam. Components rose from the filament, ejecting onto a staging platform. The computer printed the fuselage first, and Avro and I carried it the assembly area in front of the barn. Next came the wings. We set these in the slots on the sides of the fuselage. Finally came the rocket engines, and empennage.