Indeed, everything looked like the valuable liquid was moving into the old barge all right. The computer reported increasing fill levels. Artem compared source and destination and noticed a decrease of about one-fifth of the volume arriving than had left the yacht. That didn’t include the volume in the pipeline. So he would have to be content to lose one-sixth of the fuel volume over the course of the project.
Three men were loading modules into the first level. It looked like sixteen modules were going to fit. That was one sad number, because it meant just barely missing the reward for improvement by one week. But the computer at base camp had chewed on optimizing the process and had come up with this number. He trusted the program, unlike the RB Group that would cheat him out of the prize if it could. But it didn’t matter. The money had no importance. Once the modules were in place he’d regain his peaceful routine.
It did not explode. Artem removed the pipeline from the tank. The ship computer reckoned there was enough fuel to take off and land again. Nine hours work in a spacesuit! He was tired to the bone and couldn’t wait to get back to Sobachka, whom he had left at base camp today. But first he wanted to watch lift-off. His colleagues had been back in their bunks for a while now.
Artem pulled the end of the pipeline after himself, marching toward base camp. A hundred meters distance would be enough. The other ship hadn’t sat further away, either. He took down the tarpaulins and hung them across his shoulders. They dropped down in front and back. If he had a third one to wrap around his head, one might think he wasn’t wearing a spacesuit. Sobachka would enjoy that. Would she recognize him? He doubted it.
After a while he turned around. The barge was well over 100 meters away now.
“Artem calling base camp, go ahead. Environment secured.”
“Understood, starting countdown.”
Apparently Mikhail was on shift again at launch control. Artem watched intently. Every launch came with a risk, even if 999 out of 1,000 went well. Maybe one of the fuel pipes had clogged during the refill, or one of the jets had been damaged on landing the last time? Absolute safety did not exist. And then there was the human factor, a whole set of issues in its own right.
The countdown was at 15 when Artem spotted movement to the left of the rocket. Had he forgotten one of the tarpaulins? Impossible, but even if he had it would not move. At the count of 12 he realized it could only be Sobachka moving out there. Was she looking for him?
“Abort countdown, base camp, abort immediately,” he called out over his helmet microphone, and started running simultaneously.
“What’s up? All systems green. Launch is great. No reason to abort.”
“Sobachka! She is right by the barge!” He gasped for air. Maybe five seconds to go. Mercury let him run in huge leaps but the spacesuit was a hindrance.
“What are you talking about? I just see you running toward the barge. Stop right there, Artem!”
No time for explanations. While he ran for the life of the dog he was waving his arms furiously. The tarpaulins had fallen off a while back already.
“Sobachka, come here!” he commanded. Her helmet radio—would it be working?
“Artem you idiot, stop right there! The company will give me hell for any delay you cause!”
“5… 4… 3…”
She had seen him, Artem guessed 30 meters distance from the ship. Would it work out? Sobachka came running toward him. Countdown was at 0. He threw himself over her, turning his back toward the ship.
Oh boy, Sobachka, what have you done? he thought. Tears ran over his face and his ragged breathing was all he could hear. He did not dare to turn around. Behind him a rocket was taking off. Hydrogen burned at 2,700 degrees. The resulting hot gas was invisible. It would cool down and condense to water, eventually forming a steam cloud. Meanwhile the hot exhaust gas would throw up lots of dust from the launch site. Artem pictured the transport barge slowly lifting on a gray cloud into the black sky. The cloud would be brighter on the edges, drops of water glistening, and from the right angle one might even see a rainbow. How long until the cloud would reach him? Would his suit, built for 450 degrees to withstand Mercury’s relentless exposure to the sun, be able to protect him from this heat wave?
“I think you can get up now, Artem,” came from launch control in the base camp.
“Which one of you buttheads let Sobachka out?”
“It was me,” a woman responded.
“Irina?” The woman was part of the mining team.
“Yes. She whined so much about you leaving her here. I wanted to do her a favor,” she said.
“You could have warned me.”
“I wanted to do that, but an assignment interfered with it.”
“Oh boy,” said Artem, “you guys sure make life interesting.”
“Nothing happened, fortunately,” said Mikhail.
Artem released Sobachka and stood up. He checked his suit while the dog happily danced around his legs. She was unaware of the commotion. Perhaps she had been a bit surprised by the sudden cuddling session, but who knew what a dog would be thinking... Their spacesuits were full of dust with sparkling ice crystals mixed in. He patted them down as best he could.
Yet another day on which he had not died.
May 10, 2074, Earth Orbit
The routine on board the Ark made her suffer more than she would have considered possible. Zero gravity had lost its charms. It required her to do four hours of cycling and all kinds of other exercises just to keep fit. The systematic training had revealed to her a few muscles she had completely forgotten about. The nondescript food also did its part to make some muscles visible on her arms and legs. She still wished for some culinary variety, though. Some entrepreneur had started to build a private space station in one of the Lagrange points, where gravity from Sun and Earth were balanced out. It was rumored that this ‘Orbital Station Blue’ was going to attract tourists with a gourmet restaurant. Heather hoped that would work out quickly—but apparently delays were stretching timelines already.
To escape boredom she resorted to meeting Callis regularly after shifts. He was a real gentleman. His presence felt more and more comforting, yet he did not try to persuade her to do something she did not know if she was ready for yet. Yes, her thoughts could be rather contorted sometimes. She felt attracted to him, but at the same time she feared too much closeness. Who knew what was going to happen tomorrow? Callis had to leave with the ship they were busy assembling out of scraps. She missed him already—how much worse would that be if they were closer?
Her current project was the construction of the periscope that would allow peeking around the heat shield. She was not involved in assembly—there were more experienced people for that. Her job as an astronomer was to ensure it would be able to cope with whatever might come up during the trip.
The special heat-resistant glass was a good example. It worked up to 1,800 degrees Celsius and had been developed for smelting ovens. Its optical parameters were atrocious, however, preventing an attached telescope from achieving any useful magnification. Software corrections were out of the question with the refractive index being non-linearly-related to the wavelength. Yesterday she had spent an hour discussing the issue with the supplier. As a result they were sending a new glass to the Ark. That created a delay of two days during which the problem was stuck on the list.
“Heather, would you join me, please?” Callis called via onboard radio. That meant some official event.
Mike, the drone, activated its face.
“Would you like me to accompany you?”
“No, thank you.”
He deactivated the screen. Was it time to ask the head of security to reassign Mike? She knew the Ark well enough now. On the other hand she liked having him around. After the first three days of constant monitoring he had readily entered sleep mode whenever she requested it.
She left the workspace. Callis had a very small individual office with a large wall display. Of course it was a shared space
, swapping owners with every shift. He activated his screen as soon as she entered his office.
“Great that you could make it so quickly. We have an important call.”
The screen showed a young lady who seemed familiar. She connected the dots when the name was dropped.
“My name is Maribel Pedreira,” she said. “I need to discuss the solar mission with you.”
“You need to?” asked Callis, “I thought it was a NASA mission?”
“That changed yesterday. The U.S. representatives on the United Nations Security Council have been persuaded to let other nations get on board. There were… security concerns. And I was asked to take care of the aspect of international cooperation.”
An excellent choice, thought Heather. The young Spaniard had gained a lot of respect, worldwide. She had even managed to keep the big conglomerates in their place.
“And how might we help with that?” asked Callis.
“There are side conditions. Since your country pays for 90 percent of the mission cost, it was insisted that only one person from another nation would be let on board. To satisfy all the other UNSC members, we need an internationally respected crew.”
“… that is also still technically competent,” amended Callis.
“I agree with you, Callis, but the politicians don’t put that much weight on this aspect.”
“A delicate mission,” said Heather.
“Especially since the candidates must be available on short notice, and for at least three months,” continued Maribel. “Who can do that these days? The mission is set to leave next week.”
“In one week?” Heather wrung her hands. “I’m not positive that the ship will be ready by then.”
“It will,” declared the young lady on the monitor. “The President’s Office has given me assurances.”
“Well, it will be exciting to put a crew together by then,” said Callis.
“That is why we are talking. I was hoping to be half done with my job right now.”
“You speak in riddles, Maribel.” Heather groped for the wall as she had the feeling she might topple. Callis looked at her.
“I guess you have just this moment figured it out. Yes, I would like to have both you and Callis on board. Callis is the technical lead with his expertise on the solar probe, and you are the solar specialist to keep an eye on the scientific side of things. Besides, you have a unique advantage, being in space and ready to go. We’d just need to shoot two more people into space.”
“I… I don’t know,” said Heather. “I can’t imagine me being the right person.”
“You can sleep on it, but we need your decision tomorrow, unfortunately. It feels odd to give you advice since you have seen more of life than I have... But believe me, whether you are up to a job only becomes clear once you have started it. You should not wait until you feel ready.”
“Yes, well, no. I don’t know. Are you ready, Callis?”
He nodded. “Yes, I’ll be flying. Not because I desperately want to go, but because it is the most practical solution.”
“That’s great,” said Maribel.
“And who else do you have in mind? Who will be coming with us?” he asked.
“I am not sure if I should tell you, they might refuse.”
“I still would like to know.”
“Do you remember the Enceladus expedition in the forties?”
“I sure do. I was finishing college then. That expedition is what put me in JPL, in fact.”
“The head of mission, Amy Michaels, is a biologist and doctor.”
“And an excellent commander, too,” added Callis. “She would be over 70 now?”
“She’s 71, to be precise. But these days that isn’t an issue anymore.”
Maribel has a point there, thought Heather. In most developed countries the retirement age was set at 70. China had just increased it to 72 due to its aging population.
“Didn’t she give birth to a son in space?” mused Heather.
“Yes, he must be around 30 now,” said Callis. “And who is the second candidate?”
“We need a non-American in that spot,” explained Maribel. “If we invite a Chinese, the Russians complain. If we take someone from India, the Chinese will veto him.”
“So how do you plan to work around that?” asked Callis.
“We invite the person who got the ball rolling, Alain Petit. He is an engineer, albeit a sewage engineer, and he is a Frenchman. The French have a good reputation, they really moved Europe forward, and their reaction to the crisis in Catalonia was exemplary.”
“Isn’t Alain Petit retired?” asked Heather, “I remember him writing something to that effect.”
“That’s great, it means he has the time. And he is only two years older than Amy Michaels.”
May 11, 2074, Ishinomaki
“Look, there!” Amy Michaels pointed to a wooden bench standing in the brush bordering a sandy path on the cliffs.
Maribel Pedreira took in the panorama. The small village to the right had to be Ishinomaki. It had not been difficult to find the legendary commander of the Enceladus expedition there. Amy Michaels had lived in the small fisherman’s village ever since her return.
“I often sat here with Hayato, and I especially remember when we were discussing the second expedition. It was not easy to leave my family for two years. But one of us had to stay with our son.”
“I can relate to that,” Maribel said. Hayato had died five years ago according to her research, apparently from cancer. It was believed that the radiation levels in space had taken their toll on his body.
“He lies over there, on the other side. His spot overlooks the bay. We are lucky today. Usually it is too hazy to see the other side.”
Maribel’s eyes swept the landscape. The open sea was to the left, a large tanker making little waves. They seemed to play with the sunlight. The air was ripe with the aroma of pinewood from the patch of forest they had traversed to come up here. Amy appeared to be in great physical condition, leading all the way.
“You are surprisingly fit,” blurted Maribel.
“For my age. Is that implied?” Amy smiled.
“In general. I wouldn’t have guessed you were older than 65.”
“That is very kind of you. I am sure you have researched my true age.”
“Of course, Amy. Did you know that it was your fault that I became an astrophysicist?”
“How come?”
“When I was 12 my dad arranged a family trip to the Kennedy Space Center in Florida, complete with an astronaut tour guide. The astronaut was you.”
“That must have been 15 years ago, more or less?”
“Oh, more than that. I am somewhat over 30 now, so it is more like 20 years ago.”
“You didn’t decide to be an astronaut, Maribel?”
“It was more the role that you were playing, I found that fascinating.”
“Well, I am glad you did. Who knows, if you hadn’t chosen that career, Earth might not exist anymore.”
“You give me too much credit. I just did my job. And that is what I am doing today. I would like to ask you something.”
“Well, I am not surprised. There had to be more behind a 10-hour flight than a visit to an old woman.”
“It’s not a question, it is more of a request. It may sound a little presumptuous, but let me say it as it is: I am here to kindly request that you take command of the upcoming international mission to the sun.”
“Oh, but that is… a surprise indeed. I was expecting something in the context of the mission, but I had been thinking more along the lines of some consulting.”
“Oh, but you will be consulting. Day and night! You will be the only crewmember with significant space experience. But it won’t take as long as last time. We estimate about three months.”
“Hmmm. Any alternatives?”
“Plan B? No, Amy, I’ll be frank with you. We are under incredible political pressure, and the clock is ticking loudly. You
would be the solution to both of those issues, and a perfect commander at that. We couldn’t possibly hope for more.”
“I accept.”
Maribel jerked in surprise. Did I hear that correctly? She looked at Amy. No, she wasn’t pulling her leg.
“That is excellent news, thank you very much!” Maribel said while standing up and shaking Amy’s hand. How could she possibly communicate her gratefulness? A huge worry had just been lifted.
“Well, you said there is no alternative, so I am trusting you all the way.”
“And you don’t need time to think it through?”
“Hayato agreed last time. He can’t object this time. My son is a grown-up. My in-laws enjoy good health despite having just turned 96.”
“It would be most helpful if we could leave today.”
“We can manage that. But first you must come visit my in-laws over a cup of tea and some biscuits. They can’t wait to meet you.”
May 12, 2074, Paris
The bell rang. Alain Petit came up from the sofa with a start. He had fallen asleep just moments ago. Who would visit him in the afternoon? He checked his watch. His son would still be working. And reporters hadn’t reappeared since the throng ten days ago.
He pressed the button on the intercom. “Who is it?”
“It’s me, Arthur Eigenbrod. Could I speak with you, please?”
Eigenbrod? What would this journalist be after, and why hadn’t he called ahead? Alain pressed the buzzer to open the main door and went to his apartment door to watch for his visitor.
Eigenbrod was breathing heavily as he reached the landing below the apartment. He didn’t sound good at all. Alain never had trouble taking the few steps leading up to his home.
Silent Sun: Hard Science Fiction Page 10