The Imperative Chronicles, Books One and Two: The Mars Imperative & The Tesserene Imperative

by Mark Terence Chapman

At least Cap had had the sense to realize that cramming five of us around the generator would be counterproductive. The pounding of another set of footsteps behind me followed immediately. Seconds later we were in Engineering.

  “Where do we look first?” Sparks asked.

  “How should I know? You start on the right and I’ll start on the left. Look for anything out of the ordinary. Let’s hope something obvious broke—obvious and easy to fix. We can’t afford to be without power for long.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  For the next ten minutes we checked every valve and fitting for leaks, we inspected every electrical junction for a short or loose connection, and I ran all the battery-powered diagnostic routines available. Nothing. The generator should have been working.

  With no power for air circulation, I was sweating in the heavy, still air. At least, I told myself that was the reason. “I don’t understand this, Sparks. There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with the generator. So why isn’t it working?”

  Sparks shrugged. “Hey, as you said, it wasn’t designed to run nonstop for days at a time. Something was bound to fail eventually.”

  “But that’s just it. Nothing’s failed as far as I can see.”

  “Could it have run out of fuel?”

  “I don’t see how. We had plenty of fuel last time I checked. That was one of the few ship’s systems the swarm missed.” I walked over to the gauge that displayed the thruster fuel capacity. “See, we still have half of our fuel supply. So that’s not the prob— Wait a minute. It shows one tank full and the other completely dry. They’re supposed to drain equally.”

  “So?”

  “So it means we may have found the problem with the generator.”

  “We did? You lost me.”

  “It’s simple. Hang on a second while I check it out.”

  I pulled the appropriate wrench from its wall bracket and unscrewed the fuel-feed valve. “Yep. Thought so. The valve got stuck closed, so only the fuel from the aft tank was draining. When the tank ran dry, the generator quit. Even worse, when the fuel ran dry, the thrusters stopped working.”

  “Should be easy to fix, right?”

  “Ought to be. Why don’t you go tell Cap that I should have the generator back up in five minutes.”

  “You bet.”

  “And cross your fingers.”

  In fact, it took me only four minutes to get a replacement part from the supply locker and install it. But I wasn’t completely sure I’d fixed the problem. For all I knew there was a cascade effect and something else had broken “downstream.”

  “Come on, baby. You can do it.” I held my breath as I initiated the generator.

  The overhead lights flickered on, then held steady. I let out a shaky breath and said a quick prayer.

  It was going to take some more sims to figure out how to compensate for the loss of power in the middle of deceleration, but I was sure we’d manage. We’d gotten this far, hadn’t we?

  Then a nasty thought slithered unbidden into my mind.

  What would go wrong next?

  CHAPTER 7

  12:18:56

  Blink, blink, blink. Those damn numbers!

  Nerves are a funny thing. One minute I was perfectly fine and the next I was a quivering wreck. Then as quickly as it came, the fear would disappear again and I’d be back to normal. For the most part it seemed to alternate between a low-level apprehension that just wouldn’t go away—that gnawed at me and made it difficult to eat or concentrate—and the heart-clenching, mouth-drying, paralyzing sort of terror that made it impossible to do anything. Good thing those episodes were brief, but they were occurring more often the lower our oxygen supply got.

  * * * *

  08:47:11

  It was time for another status meeting in the Commons, and Cap spoke first. “Lads, we’ve done everything we can to get us to the asteroid as quickly as humanly possible. We should reach the asteroid in about four hours.”

  The mood in the room had lightened somewhat. It was still iffy whether we’d survive, but at least we felt like we were doing something about it. At least we had an outside chance. That was more than any of us truly believed sixty hours earlier.

  “Cap,” Guido called out, “I’ve just gotten the scrubber online. It’s not going to eliminate the CO2 contamination, but it’ll slow it down some.”

  “That’ll have to do for now. Good job!” Cap replied with a tired smile.

  This was the first encouraging news we’d heard in hours. The CO2 we were exhaling was building up to dangerous levels, and it was only going to get worse if we didn’t do something about it.

  “How much time does the scrubber buy us?”

  “Not a lot at this point,” Guido responded. “We have less than seven hours before the air is unbreathable. We’re already suffering from the effects of hypercapnia—a build-up of CO2 in the blood and body tissues. It starts with feelings of anxiety, followed by impaired mental capacity, then loss of consciousness, convulsions and eventually death. I imagine we’d all be feeling anxious anyway, given the circumstance, but is anyone suffering from headaches yet?” We all nodded, including Guido. “That’s just the beginning. It’ll get a lot worse.”

  “Then we’d better hurry up and get some new O2,” Cap said. “Keep working on the scrubber—see if you can improve its efficiency.” Guido nodded. “Sparks, is that pod going to be ready in time?”

  “It should be, Cap. The engine’s working. We’re finishing the repairs on the control panel now. It’s just a matter of waiting for the fabricator to spit out the last part and then installing and testing it.”

  The fabricator was a 3D printer that could manufacture most basic ship parts from raw materials that we had onboard.

  “Okay, good. Everyone else, make sure anything that needs to be done before we reach the asteroid is done ASAP. We can’t afford any mistakes from ‘impaired mental capacity’ as we get down to the wire.”

  The rest of us responded, “Aye, Cap!”

  “There won’t be much time to get down there and set up the equipment. It’s gonna be close,” Cap continued. “Tom, I need you ready to go as soon as we get there.”

  “I will be, Cap, don’t worry. All the same, I’m still concerned that we won’t find enough hematite to do the job. I know there’s some there; I just can’t be sure how much.”

  Cap shrugged. “We don’t exactly have any other options. If we find any at all, it might keep us alive long enough to find and refine some more elsewhere or to fix the drive.” He turned to me. “Swede, is the refinery going to be able to do the job?”

  “I don’t know how efficient it’ll be, Cap, but it’ll run.”

  “Good, good. All right, mates, you know what you have to do. Let’s get it done!”

  It wasn’t the most inspiring pep talk I’ve ever heard; but it didn’t have to be. Impending death is a great motivator.

  * * * *

  07:58.33

  We were still almost three hours from the asteroid. We had about eight total hours of oxygen left, including the five-plus hours of air in our external suit tanks and the emergency air bladders; however, CO2 poisoning would kill us before that. When we first started talking about extracting oxygen from the hematite, we had nearly three days of breathable air remaining. At that time it was almost an academic discussion: We have X hours of oxygen left and it’ll take Y hours to reach the asteroid and another Z hours to extract some oxygen. Very mathematical, very analytical. It felt a lot more personal now.

  One bit of good news: Guido had managed to improve the efficiency of the scrubber by another thirty percent. It was finally making headway on the ship’s CO2 content, but not enough to save us by itself. We still needed the new oxygen to help reduce the percentage of CO2 in the air to a safe level.

  Now we were down to mere hours of life left and it was really beginning to hit us that we could be dead before tomorrow. I saw Guido’s hand shaking when he didn’t know I was watching, and Tom had deve
loped a tic under his left eye. Cap and Sparks appeared as composed as ever, but Sparks’ jokes seemed more strained than usual, and Cap hardly said a word except to give orders.

  As for me, I was sure the others could hear my knees knocking in my suit. The headache was intense and unrelenting. It was also getting difficult to concentrate. Fortunately I wasn’t doing anything that required mental keenness. My prep work was done.

  It was now all up to Tom, Cap and Sparks.

  * * * *

  07:36:29

  “Cap,” Sparks’ voice rang out over the intercom. “We just finished the diagnostics. Pod 2 is operational again.”

  “Excellent timing. Good work, gentlemen!”

  Sparks’ announcement generated cheers throughout the ship. But would it matter in the long run?

  * * * *

  07:19:14

  Cap’s firm voice blared out over the intercom. “Ready…steady. We’re almost in position. I’ve got the autopilot set…now!…for final approach to the asteroid. Sparks, don’t forget to set the anchors to hold Shamu in place. I’m heading down to the pod bay to help Tom with the preflight check. Let me know when we reach the drop point.”

  “Aye, Cap. Looks like you’ve got about…damn this headache!…eighteen minutes. Good luck!”

  * * * *

  07:01:01

  “Three…two…one…bingo. Okay Cap, get going.”

  That got Sparks a “Right. On our way!” in reply.

  Tom and Cap were already buckled into Pod 2 in the depressurized pod bay, waiting for the go-ahead.

  A pod is a small self-propelled vehicle with seating for two and cargo space enough for the portable mining gear we carry. Because the pod was designed for ferrying the extraction equipment down to asteroids and moons, it had tall, wide cargo doors to facilitate loading and unloading the extractor. It’s basically an empty shell with seats, a cargo compartment, and an engine—a larger version of one of the thrusters. The larger engine was in case we had to lift off from a moon with a load of ore. That was rare, though. More typically, we simply floated Shamu near enough to an asteroid to connect the conveyor tube directly from the extractor to the refinery. It was much more efficient than repeatedly taking off and landing, as we’d have to do in a lunar extraction.

  It was only a matter of seconds before Tom and Cap were outside and moving with reasonable haste toward the asteroid, two klicks off our port side. So why was our captain going out with our geologist? Simple: With such a small crew, we all had to wear multiple hats. We backed each other up, and at one time or another we all worked outside. Sparks manned the radio, I waited by the refinery to receive the ore, and Guido was still trying to improve the effectiveness of the scrubber. Therefore, it fell to Cap to go out with Tom. Cap’s policy was two people per EVA, in case things got hairy.

  Cap and I’d had some…“discussions”…about that rule in the past, but after my recent experience installing the thruster, he could count me among the converted. Had I been alone when my suit ripped, I probably wouldn’t have survived to tell the tale.

  Even though Tom had saved my life, I still resented the fact that he and Cap got to suck in clean suit air aboard the pod, while the rest of us were stuck trying to survive on the foul soup we had to breathe aboard Shamu.

  * * * *

  06:17.45

  The extractor is a marvel of engineering, performing the functions of excavator, crusher, and conveyor. First, you set the extractor on the ground over the area you want mined. Then you attach the temporary anchors, which are needed only long enough to hold the extractor to the asteroid until it “sinks its teeth in,” and then stand back and wait. The extractor scans the ground, looking for the telltales programmed into it that indicate the presence of the desired ore. After that, it automatically follows the vein like a bloodhound hot on a trail. It extracts the ore as it goes along and sends crushed gravel up the flexible conduit to the ship. The conduit operates on the principle of peristalsis—a series of rhythmic pulses that push the material along, much like the human digestive tract.

  It’s tricky to maneuver Shamu within less than a ship’s length of a rock that out-masses her by a factor of a thousand—and to do so without scratching the paint. That’s why we always sent the pod on ahead, so the guys would have time to set up the equipment while the ship gingerly closed in on the ‘roid. Then we’d anchor the ship to keep us from drifting.

  Normally, we sent the pod ahead simply to save time. This once we were doing it to save our lives. Cap and Tom were racing to have the extractor set up by the time Shamu got in position to begin the extraction.

  * * * *

  05:06:49

  “Okay, Swede, we’re ready at this end. ¡Vamos! Let’s get this puppy going!” That was Tom. His job was to supervise the excavation end of the refining process down on the asteroid.

  Now it was my turn. It was a good thing I’d gotten everything ready hours ago, because my mind kept wandering. I doubt Cap could have flown the pod without the clean air in his suit to breathe.

  “Ready at this end, Tom. Stand down.” I wasn’t sure whether I was actually slurring my words, or if it only sounded that way to me, but I was scared. What if my faculties left me just when I needed them most?

  Tom and Cap got back into the pod for safety as I engaged the extractor remotely. From that point on, the extractor would keep processing ore and sending it “up” to the ship, until it ran out of ore or I shut it down.

  “Come on home and top off your air tanks, guys. The air in here is just about unbreathable.” We still had a little canned air set aside for Tom and Cap, but not much.

  * * * *

  05:05:55

  It hurt to think. I kept having to remind myself to concentrate.

  Without the starflight drive for power, I’d had to make compromises. The refinery would process the ore, but more slowly and less efficiently on the reduced power from the emergency generator. And we’d had to shut down nonessential ship’s functions to have enough power even at that. Right then, “nonessential” meant practically everything besides the refinery. The electrochemical process I came up with should work, but not as well as the sheer brute force of the blast furnace approach we normally used. Still, beggars can’t be choosers.

  I wondered, Have I done enough to save our lives? We’d know in another five hours.

  At least Tom and Cap managed to make up for most of the 36-minute shortfall on the way to the asteroid by getting the extractor ready in record time. It was going to be awfully close….

  * * * *

  05:01:29

  “Gentlemen,” Cap began. His heavy breathing echoed throughout the ship via the intercom—we were all scattered about the ship. “Shamu has done everything she can for us, but Guido tells me it’s time to go on suit air, so button up.”

  It was about time. My pounding headache had been steadily worsening, and I hadn’t been able to catch my breath for the last hour or so. Simply standing was nearly impossible at that point. Even sitting upright without slumping was difficult. Not only was there little oxygen left in the air, the air pressure was lower, too, as the scrubber removed CO2 from the air without replacing it with anything.

  “Take several deep breaths to clear your heads,” Guido ordered. “We all need to stave off hypoxia. But don’t overdo it—we still have to stretch the remaining supply as long as possible. Then lower your air pressure to 12.5 psi. That should buy us a few more minutes.”

  We all were wearing our EVA packs, so it was only a matter of closing the faceplate to get a blast of clean, pure air. What a welcome relief! My headache began to dissipate almost immediately after several deep, invigorating drafts. The sudden rush of oxygen made me giddy. But would what I had in my suit be the last I’d ever breathe?

  * * * *

  03:03:47

  We had maybe another three hours of canned air left. It was going to be at least two and a half hours yet before we began to get any O2 from the refinery, and then only a tric
kle at first. The refinery would separate the carbon monoxide and carbon dioxide byproducts into carbon and oxygen. I’d rigged it to pump the oxygen into Engineering, where we all congregated, to concentrate it in one compartment. Still, I couldn’t be sure if we’d get enough O2 soon enough to do us any good. Five grown men panting for breath consume a lot of oxygen.

  I set the refinery up for automatic operation, in case I passed out.

  Everyone surreptitiously glanced in my direction from time to time, as if wondering whether there was anything else I could do to hasten the process. Believe me, if doing the hamster thing on a treadmill would have provided more power to the refinery I’d have been sprinting for all I was worth. With the refinery fully engaged, however, there really wasn’t any more I could do at that point than keep an eye on the readouts.

  Everything was running as well as could be expected. All we could do was wait—and hope. But then, it wasn’t like we had anything else to do.

  * * * *

  00:31.40

  I had to give Guido credit. The scrubber was doing its job. Ambient CO2 concentrations were down by nearly twenty percent. The ship’s air was still toxic, and the scrubber couldn’t help us with the lack of oxygen or the small percentage of additional air pollution created by the refinery, but I knew the atmosphere would be breathable once we got some more O2. Of course, that was the problem. We were finally getting some oxygen from the refinery, but it was just starting to dribble out—not really enough yet to make a difference, unfortunately.

  The refinery was designed for endurance, not speed, and running on reduced power just made matters worse. But speed was exactly what we needed just then. There wasn’t much external oxygen to go around yet and I was down to a half-hour of suit air. At least the suit’s air scrubber kept the CO2 from building up inside, so no more blasted headaches.