by A J Marshall
The Brazilian colony is the first to reach a totally reliant subterranean population of 100,000 in South America and the 19th worldwide, and current statistics indicate that the trend towards underground-living continues unabated. The International Humanities Council has stated that based on the growing number of applications for licences to develop subsurface colonies, perhaps as much as 50 per cent of the Earth’s population could be living permanently underground by the year 2100. Heat from the Earth’s core could, theoretically, support such vast communities; it is, however, the infrastructure “that will take decades to establish,” the council official stated.
In tomorrow’s edition
“Terrorist cyber-attacks reached a new high last week,” says the chief of Space and Science Federation. Report by Phil McKabe.
The World Health Authority reports that on average one in every three people now suffers an illness related to malnutrition. In children that figure is even higher. In comparison, a recently-published scientific paper by the Lunar Authority for Health and Well-being indicated statistical improvements in all areas for its population. Report by Central Press Association.
Radiation leakage rates from condemned nuclear reactor plants and waste-processing facilities built during the European Cold War period of the last century far exceed safety levels set by the New Geneva Convention, it has been disclosed. In many cases, the contamination levels are now so high that conventional containment methods are ineffective and population centres, even outside the most stringent buffer zones, are now at risk. Report by Science Today editor Graeme Yuill.
CHAPTER 1
Operation Saviour
ISS Hera – Mineral Exploration Craft
Manoeuvring above Io – first of the Galilean moons of Jupiter
27 November 2054
“Alex, tell me!”
“It’s incredible, Commander. Main thrusters peaked at ninety-seven per cent during the approach. I thought we were going to have some trouble sustaining concentricity. I thought that we were standing into danger. But this gravitational shadow . . . it’s amazing!”
“Specifics?”
“Ion drive output has stabilised at thirty-two per cent; ancillary thrusters at less than five; and structural deformation has fallen to levels equivalent to flight in free space. The stress readings, even on the gantry, are well within parameters . . . It’s looking good Commander; I think it’s do-able.”
“Prognosis . . . can you hold it?”
“We are manoeuvring to establish the final vector . . . standby . . . standby . . . now! You have it, Commander, we’re in.” Alex Elston concluded a flurry of activity on the navigation console keyboard with an exaggerated stab on the final keypad and then looked up with a wry smile that quickly widened to a grin. “Stabilised and confirmed . . . geostationary orbit at sixty-two per cent elliopheric . . . right on the button, and what’s more, the shadow effect is better than predicted. Nine point six per cent better to be exact – so we are saving fuel too.”
Commander Jacques Duval nodded approvingly. He was a tall and lean man, but as he hunched over the central console between his Systems Officer and his Flight Control Officer, and switched his gaze between their two display screens, it wasn’t discernible.
“Prediction?” he demanded.
“At this precise juxtapose,” continued Alex Elston confidently, “Jupiter’s immense gravitational pull is being countered by that of Io’s – neutralising each other if you like. The interaction of their magnetospheres is what produced that auroral glow we witnessed in Io’s thin atmosphere a few days ago before I closed the particle shutters on the viewing portals. As you may recall, Commander, Io orbits Jupiter within a belt of intense radiation called ‘the plasma torus’, and believe me it is intense – readings were almost off the clock. Io’s unique interaction with the plasma torus and its crossing of Jupiter’s magnetic field lines also generates a powerful electric current in space that manifests itself as a tube. We’ve known about this circular tube – called Io’s ‘flux tube’ – for some time, but it’s been difficult to measure. I’m recording it now, first hand, and the dimensions are impressive to say the least. I can tell you that this tube emanates from the centre of Jupiter and envelopes Io completely, so we are right inside it . . . It’s a neutral zone, with natural shielding, like a force field in a sci-fi movie, except that it really is there. It’s a freak occurrence in our solar system.”
“So, it’s some mother of a tube Alex, and it’s helping us . . . at least at the moment.” Jacques Duval nodded again but his tone was questioning. “Your display indicates that we are over four hundred and twenty thousand kilometres from Jupiter’s core?”
“The Earth’s moon orbits at roughly the same distance, Commander. But there’s no comparison. Jupiter’s magnetic field is more than ten times that of the Earth’s. She’s the gas giant – the real McCoy. They don’t come any bigger in these parts – probably seventy-five per cent of the planetary mass of the entire solar system.” Alex leaned forward and tapped the screen of his monitor to draw Jacques Duval’s attention to some digital readings and then he drew a deep breath. “The forces at work here are almost incomprehensible . . . Normal rules just don’t apply, sir.” He shook his head.
Commander Duval shrugged. “Well, thanks for the science lesson, Alex, but what’s your prediction? Taking everything into account – fuel, radiation screen integrity, particle absorption rate, skin temperature . . . How long have we got?”
“Our prospects look good . . . as I said, better than the original prediction. The main ion drive is using less fuel than I anticipated and with little requirement for lateral burns. I estimate an additional fifty minutes over the planned time on station. That’s a safe eleven-hour window starting from now.” Alex checked his wrist chronometer and set the timer running. He looked up slowly. “Downside is that there will be no long-range communication – not while we are inside the tube. Our signals will simply bounce off its electrically energised periphery. There will be no talking to Earth or Osiris Base or even Space Station Spartacus for that matter, despite her new position this side of Mars. Not until we break orbit and clear the flux tube. Even then, and until we are well outside the effect of the plasma torus, I expect a fair amount of signal distortion.”
“That includes the accelercom . . . right?”
“Utilising light frequencies for communication makes no difference, Commander. Electromagnetic waves cannot escape this environment – even those in the ultraviolet frequencies. Super-compressing the signal and accelerating it in excess of light speed doesn’t help either. Any radio transmissions will simply come back to us as an echo. Hence the loss of communication with all those probes sent this way over the years.”
Duval nodded and then rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Okay, I understand. What about the shutters, Alex, in this neutral zone?”
“I’d say that it’s safe, Commander, but not for too long – five or six hours maximum. There’s a lot of ionised sulphur and chlorine outside – elements that are highly corrosive, even to polyspec.”
Commander Duval pushed himself up from the circular central console and stood tall. He was almost two metres, slim and good looking, having jet-black hair and an olive-coloured Mediterranean hue to his skin. At times, remnants of a French accent dropped onto some of his vowels, but having spent nearly twenty-five of his forty-six years living in Florida – mainly in the Cape – an intimation of ancestry had all but faded. He was relaxed by nature and popular. He didn’t insist on uniform – at least not this far from home – but he had no time for incompetence or excuses. He held the respect of the crew for all the right reasons.
Alex Elston was quite different: Science Officer Extraordinaire, as he was affectionately known – a title awarded by Duval himself after Alex had singlehandedly saved their lives and their mission to the Martian moon Phobos, two years earlier. Elston had jettisoned a heavy ballast tank in the nick of time and subsequently calculated the required or
bital escape velocity on a hand-held calculator after a combination of electrical power and partial thrust failure had left the survey vessel Minerva spiralling towards the planetoid’s surface. His sharp intellect and wit was acknowledged by all, especially after his latest health check found that his Mensa rating was the highest in the fleet. For any who dared challenge Elston’s mental supremacy, however, there was a sharp edge to his character. Most of the crew just never went there. Despite this, he had an easy sense of humour and was well liked.
There was a requirement to be well liked on this assignment. It was official. Personality screening for the furthest manned undertaking to date – a twenty-month mission code named “Operation Saviour” – took three months in itself. Everybody had to get along; there could be no behavioural disorders. Big on brains, big on experience and big on affability – that was the hallmark of this crew. Ten months in each direction for twelve men and five women, all cramped into accommodation the size of a three-storey, 400 square metre house, and a predicted radiation dose for the two-man Lander crew that would shorten their life expectancy by a decade, meant that the crew of Hera had received a heroes’ send-off from Cape Canaveral. Now their time had come.
Of the four Kalahari crystals that had been recovered early in the summer of 2050, the largest, used in the Nogent-sur-Seine plant in France, continued to generate electricity at close to optimum output, but the remaining three – the ‘Mars’ crystals – had again lost output after only a few years in operation and for no apparent reason. An expected five to seven years’ potential at maximum output was now predicted as only four to five. Within a few short years of salvation, and for a second time, humankind was running up an energy debt it could not hope to repay.
Since their installation, and coordinated by the ISSF, the very best of the world’s scientific community had sought an insight into the unique chemical structure of the Kalahari crystals – and with some measure of success. Subsequently, in 2051, the Earth orbital Hubble 5 telescope had been fitted with a modified spectrometer designed to sense the occurrence of this precise molecular composition anywhere in near space. For a year it had probed every corner of the solar system. Eventually, two locations were identified and their potential confirmed by spectral line analysis. The first was a site on the Martian moon Phobos, a barren, porous, crater-riddled rock believed to be a captured asteroid with its origins in another galaxy. The second was on the geologically most active object in our system, Io – innermost of the four Galilean moons of the planet Jupiter.
“You confirm that one hour in every two would be safe – unless, of course, we leave earlier?” Commander Duval ventured with a Gallic gesture.
“Affirmative, and that’s erring on the safe side,” replied Alex.
Duval turned. He looked across the bridge and nodded. “Let’s see what we’ve got. Open the shutters please.”
Alex was first to the window on this new world. He smiled in anticipation; nothing had been this close to Io, not even a probe. “This should be interesting,” he speculated, as the thick silvery-black shutters, that resembled Venetian blinds, motored upwards and out of sight. The bridge officers all looked at him as if to say the same thing: there he goes . . . the undisputed master of understatement!
At 1.7 metres, stocky, fair skinned and with ginger hair Alex Elston hailed from Lancashire. There was, apparently, some ‘Viking’ DNA in his makeup – he certainly looked the part with his wild hair and close-trimmed beard. The World Health Organisation’s Human Migration Database – a compulsory programme completed a decade earlier – had traced his origins to a 9th-century Norwegian populace. On duty, whilst his colleagues mostly wore casual clothing – tracksuits, chinos, polo jumpers and the like – Alex wore uniform, albeit his day suit. This was a mid-grey, lightweight coverall with darker trim to the pockets. Most of the crew kept their uniforms hanging in their lockers, only to be worn on courtesy visits, but Alex had worn a uniform all his life, liking the ‘tidy look’ it gave him. The three platinum bars on vivid neon-blue shoulder-boards, depicting his scientific specialisation, were an added extra on occasion of wanting to make a point about something. “I’ve earned them, so I’ll wear them!” he had been heard to say.
He liked Rose Harrington, the pretty, petite, blonde Communications Officer, but she was all business and as specified. Anyway, the ISSF rules were clear enough – while in space, relationships were banned.
The bridge crew numbered another five officers, making seven in total, although Lieutenant Mike Matheson, the Lander’s commander, and Aldrin Drake, his co-pilot, were usually to be found there too. For a vessel of its size the bridge was cramped. It sat at the apex of a raised, bell-shaped superstructure from which its occupants had a clear all-round view – ideal for orbital surveying. Eighty per cent of the Hera, however, lay behind them. Three enormous, latticed, titanium-alloy gantries extending over two hundred and eighty metres stretched seemingly into eternity. Looking back, the bright metal glinted in the reflected light of Jupiter like a stairway to the heavens. The elevated bridge overlooked the gantries’ full length and at their very end, in the distance, was a larger spherical structure that housed the primary thrust nozzle and other equipment.
There was a monorail track running the entire length and on it was a small, enclosed, two-man capsule-like carriage that was powered by a magnetic impulse system. The capsule was usually garaged unless it was being used for servicing and the entire journey took almost ten minutes. Using criss-crossing structures, the three gantries triangulated and supported a giant central tube, part of which formed the primary ion generator and the remainder the particle accelerator. Finally they provided the fixed housings for the thrust deflectors. The latter focused and precisely directed a high velocity stream of atomic particles that fired out into space like an invisible laser beam. In line with the third law of motion, the reaction drove the Hera forward at an impressive velocity.
There were also a number of directable, conventional, retro rocket nozzles interspersed along the gantries for manoeuvre control and two kilometres of pressurised gas tubing containing rocket propellant, oxygen, hydrogen and recycled carbon dioxide for the small, flat-topped bio-dome which was mounted behind the bridge.
Vegetables required CO2 and the ‘fresh’ oxygen they gave off as a result of transpiration was used to ‘invigorate’ the rest rooms. The bottled oxygen and hydrogen amalgamator for water production lay below the superstructure along with the moisture recuperator and 10,000 square metres of voltaic solar panels produced enough electricity for a small town. On the port side and central, there was a large, square hydraulically extendable platform on which the Lander was secured.
The ship had been constructed in a low Earth orbit and then transferred to a higher orbit for fitting out – a concerted effort taking almost a year and at a cost of twenty-seven billion world dollars.
There was another more advanced generation of interplanetary thrust technology available – a system utilised for the first time in the missing spacecraft Enigma – but the ion drive system used in the Hera was tried, tested and reliable and, perhaps above all, it did not require robots or robot technology to operate it. There could be no mistakes on this flight – nothing could be left to chance. Retrieving the priceless, perhaps species-saving mineral from Io had become a race; a race against time itself.
“Just look at her bubble, Commander,” said Rose, as she looked down in awe at Jupiter’s moon. “God, it’s amazing, it’s just amazing!”
“Over four hundred active volcanoes, Rose – making this place the most geologically active body in the—”
“Yes we know, Alex,” interrupted Rose. “Look at those colours,” she continued, staring out again through the viewing portal. “The yellows and the yellow-greens are just so beautiful. Remote imaging just didn’t do it justice.”
Alex chipped in again, undeterred. “Primarily it’s a sulphur dioxide frost . . . ubiquitous across the entire surface. It’s what forms all of tho
se regions you can see covered in a white or grey material.” He nodded towards the yellow and light green areas. “They are covered in sulphur, and see there?” Alex pointed to the northern polar region. “That’s where radiation damage breaks up the stable eight-chain sulphur molecule into three-and four-chain molecules so that the deposits become red.” He shrugged, knowingly.
Rose sighed. “But there are no impact craters. This place is only a little larger than the Earth’s moon, so how has it avoided meteorites and asteroids?”
He felt her trying to win a point. “Why haven’t you read the geology brief?” He looked at her surprised. Rose, in turn, was deflated and looked towards the windows while this human compendium rattled on. “The enormous gravitational effect of Jupiter causes something called ‘tidal heating’ inside Io. The molten and partially molten core is being continuously pushed and pulled. You know, like when there was wheat grain to make bread back home, before the rains – like kneading the dough. This turbulence causes frictional heating and this heat is released in the form of volcanic activity. The unstable mantle spews out onto the surface as extensive lava flows, or is deposited from explosive plumes that reach miles high into the atmosphere and spread out like an umbrella. So, you see, Io’s surface is young, craters are filled over in a relatively short period of time . . . geologically speaking . . . and just disappear.”
“So you think that’s where the crystals are formed, in the centre of this moon – where those raw elements swirl in a molten mass?”
“Exactly, Rose,” Commander Duval concurred. “The theory is that for an instant the environmental conditions and the elemental concentrations were precisely right. Possibly unrepeatable, probably totally coincidental . . . a complete fluke! The single deposit NASA identified using the Hubble 5 system is on the other side right now. This moon rotates quickly, as you can see, so by the time that Mike and Aldrin get down there we will be able to see the landing site. Apparently the outcrop we are looking for occurs in a recent lava flow. In a few years from now I imagine it will be covered over too, like everything else on this godforsaken rock.” Rose sensed his unease. “As I said, the interior conditions must have been just right, absolutely unique in this part of the galaxy. The right chemicals, the right pressures, the right temperatures, radiation, gravity, whatever . . . Everything came together! A crystal deposit formed and eventually came to the surface in a lava flow. Maybe that’s where their incredible power comes from . . . an amalgamation of primeval forces!”