Xn

by Clint Townsend

  “How many of us do you anticipate deploying at any given moment for EVA projects?” asked one of the clones.

  “Well, the answer to that question will be determined at the end of your training. In my mind, and more than likely in the minds and expectations of both Doctor Wyczthack and Doctor White, we would like to deploy your entire class.”

  “All one hundred of us?”

  “Yes, every one of you. In less than ninety-six hours you will all be floating thirty miles above sea level.”

  “How long will our work details be?” asked another.

  “You should complete your EVA assignments well within ten hours. We’ve also factored in a meal and one lift down and up for urination. Any other questions?”

  Armada and his brothers stared back in silence.

  “Good. Now if you will follow me, please.”

  Riggs led his flock back through the locker room to the tank hall.

  “Who can tell me about this contraption?” Riggs asked loudly, pointing to his side.

  “It’s a POG; a pressurized oxygen generator and filtration unit,” Armada answered.

  “What is the primary function of the POG?”

  “It distributes oxygen and extracts carbon dioxide while simultaneously regulating temperature throughout the space suits.”

  “Why don’t we just equip each one of you with your own separate respiration unit? Anybody besides Armada?”

  Riggs noticed that with the exception of Armada and one other clone, none of the Evans were engaging socially. Be it participation in conversation with the training leaders, eye contact, answering questions, or even speaking with each other, out of one hundred clones, Armada was the only one willing to exhibit emotion.

  “All right, Armada, why a POG?”

  “You can control and dispense oxygen much more efficiently. That’s relative, however, to the rate of respiration by the individual. Plus, with the spool recoil, you no longer have the need for a separate booster pack for extended EVA.”

  “Good, good. Armada is correct,” Riggs affirmed. “As of right now, every astronaut that has participated in an EVA has been equipped with at least two of three items: a tether strap fastened to their suit, a respiration unit, and or a booster pack.”

  The clones stepped closer to Riggs and the POG to examine the bank of valves, gauges, hoses, and wires.

  “Communications, GPS, vital sign monitors … respiration … the POG is your lifeline. The interior of your helmet will be equipped with a holographic video screen and two way camera so that when we’re viewing you and your work, we can send a live feed from any other helmet to assist you and your teams with any assembly problems.”

  “What are these for?” asked one of the Evans, pointing to a quarter panel by the first tank.

  “Push, pull, and propel,” Riggs replied, moving away from the gargantuan POG unit.

  “Eyes, hooks, handles, and pedals are mounted to each and every quarter panel,” he said, directing the clones’ attention to the panel. “Eyes and hooks are for attaching draglines to the quarter panel while it’s on the inventory dock. Two of you will attach your draglines to a panel, lift the panel off the stack, and grab the handles of the unit you’re constructing. You and your partner will pull yourselves across the assembly and the quarter panel will follow right behind you. Your teammates, who are patiently waiting for another piece of the puzzle to connect, will literally catch the panel, connect the corner brackets, and begin inserting the compression bolts into the holes. Once you receive an acknowledgment that your panel is secured and not gonna float away, you will then pull yourselves to the attachment seam, release your draglines, and either push off the panel assembly with your foot on one of the pedals or pull yourselves back to the inventory dock via the handles. In the off chance you lose your grip or you don’t have enough momentum, simply pull your breathing line tight, wait three seconds, and the spool will automatically begin to recoil itself. It takes about fifteen seconds to retract the 75-foot hose, so don’t freak out. Any questions?”

  “Why don’t we simply lift the panels one by one and push them to the team?” an Evan inquired.

  “A 10-foot quarter panel weighs roughly eleven hundred pounds on the earth’s surface,” Riggs informed the clone, “But up there, thirty miles above sea level, it’ll feel more like twenty. What we don’t need is for one of those things, or a pressure hatch, or a gas canister … ANYTHING … to become uncontrollable and drift out of our grasp. If we lose something, even a two-inch compression bolt, it will become a missile when it reenters Earth’s atmosphere. An object like a quarter panel will break the sound barrier before striking a jet, landing on a hospital, colliding with a helicopter; any number of things can occur when we try to take shortcuts. Everything, and I repeat explicitly … everything … gets a dragline attached and you are constantly connected to the POG. Clear?”

  The school of clones nodded their heads in agreement and lifelessly answered, “Yes, sir.”

  “All right, collect your helmets and gloves and break into your teams as designated by the colored dot on the back of your helmet. Green, tank one. Red, tank two, and blue, tank three.”

  The Evans, although doing directly as they were instructed, moved silently with no sense of purpose. All of them, as Riggs noticed, except Armada. To the amazement of Riggs, it appeared as if Armada was skipping to and from the risers near the main entrance.

  “C’mon, ladies!” Riggs shouted, “I only have three days to train.”

  With that comment, the team leaders took the initiative to hurl their own insults at the slow-moving slugs.

  “Pick up the pace, granny.”

  “Hurry it up, ya bunch of worms!”

  “What’s the problem, chica?”

  Riggs and his team leaders spent the next seventy-two hours running drill after drill. Every possible scenario was simulated: tank lights on and off, water heated to just under the boiling point, multiple quarter panels arriving at one time, POG failure, comm-line disruption, and spool recoil failure.

  The Evans passed the EVA/NBS training with flying colors. But would their fastidious efforts produce Cain’s expected results?

  ***

  “So what, exactly, are we assigned to do?” Titan asked Armada as he secured his dragline to the CARBEL platform.

  “If I’m not mistaken, and it’s a rare moment that I am, we’re assembling an Arena today.”

  “You are not mistaken Armada,” a voice answered. “The task at hand is to construct Arena One.”

  “Riggs?” Titan called out.

  “Hellooo, ladies!” Riggs replied.

  One hundred clones let out a pathetic groan of disbelief that their EVA coordinator was none other than their original trainer.

  “Yes, it’s me, Titan. What? You sound almost as if you aren’t happy to have me monitoring your outfit. Like maybe, just maybe, you’re a little disappointed to hear the sound of my voice.”

  “Oh, no sir. No, no, no … yes,” Armada answered for his team.

  The school of inexperienced astronauts got a kick out of Armada’s quick wit and sarcasm, laughing out loud.

  “Very funny, Armada.”

  “Thank you, sir. I do try my best to please.”

  “If you and the rest of the sissies will be so kind as to shut up, I can begin my briefing.”

  “Go right ahead.”

  “Now, your ride to the hover dock will take approximately one hour. Upon arrival you will notice that there is a considerable gap between the CARBEL Halo and the hover dock. While there is no rigid apparatus connecting the CARBEL platform to the hover dock, we do have our own version of a zip line that loosely joins the two. There is a second line that goes to the waste ejection system, but you don’t need to worry about that.”

  “Sir, what is the Halo?” one of the clones inquired.

  “The Halo is a 40-foot square, rigid aluminum alloy frame located at the top of the CARBEL. The primary objective of the last shuttle mi
ssion was to deliver and assemble the frame, four carbon fiber braids, eight liquid fueled engines and fuel to the International Space Station. It took several months to coordinate, but with the cooperation of NASA, the DOD, JPL, MIT, numerous corporations and international governments, we changed the orbital path and proximity of the ISS. Not only did we have to calculate and alter the orbital speed of the ISS, but we had to repeat the same process as well for hundreds of satellites.”

  “I think what my friend is asking,” Armada added, “is what specific function does the Halo perform?”

  “Well, the crew of the ISS deployed the Halo and attached an engine to each corner of the frame. Once the engines were affixed, the carbon braids were slowly unrolled with a weighted quick release coupler on the end. The ISS had to control the rate of descent of the braid to reenter our atmosphere at a point where we were not only able to retrieve the braid, but to secure the rope to the Aerie at the top of the SUBOS Tower.

  “After we had the first braid secured, then the ISS, for all practical purposes, became the Hindenburg. Here was an orbital space station, almost 30 miles above sea level, tethered to a static base. The rest of the construction mirrored the stringing of the support and stabilizing wires and cables of the Golden Gate Bridge. We then used a second coupler and line to send up the first carbon braid and went back and forth, building the carbon braid to the required diameter for supporting the weight and withstanding the stresses. We fabricated the three remaining carbon braids at one of the Engenechem processing plants and hoisted them, one by one, up the first full braid to the ISS, where the men would connect it to the Halo. Once the four carbon braids were attached to the four corners, our satellites triangulated the desired location above the SUBOS and voila … you now have the world’s first Static Umbilical Based Orbital Station … the SUBOS. We then had to retest and calculate new orbital patterns and recalibrate the telemetry of every satellite after we put the ISS back in its proper place.”

  “So how often do the positioning thrusters fire off?” asked Titan.

  “All four fire off randomly, when needed, to ensure that the CARBEL braids are at a specific point of tension and that the orbital speed of the Halo is at a consistent rate to keep it and the CARBEL perfectly aligned.”

  “What happens if the engines fail or don’t shut off in time?” another clone chimed in.

  “Well, several things can occur if we experience any engine failure. One, in the unlikely event that an engine does not automatically shut down, we have the ability to jettison the engine, remotely. We can then send up a team on one of the braids to install a new engine from the emergency inventory on the hover dock. Two, in the unlikely event that more than one, or even all of the engines fail to shut off, we can release the entire halo and use the men stationed on the ISS to install a new halo and engines. The problem with releasing the halo assembly as a whole is the zip line connecting the Halo with the hover dock. If the Halo unit is secured to the hover dock along with the ISS and WES, in theory, the Halo can drag everything with it into deep space.”

  The clones faced one another; they immediately shared the unsettling idea of being whisked away into the blackest depths of the galaxy.

  “Any more scenarios or contingency plans?” Armada inquired.

  “Yes, one more. Number three. In the unlikely event that one or more engines fail to fire off to maintain orbital position, there might not be enough time to send the ISS to replace the engines before Earth’s gravitational force pulls the CARBEL out of orbit. Not only that, but the hover dock and all of our inventory along with the WES and any ejection containers that might be up there at the time.”

  “So … in a nutshell, we need to fly on this EVA. Correct?” Armada summarized.

  “Right again, Armada. Now, y’all should be about five hundred feet below the Halo. If you look straight up you should be able to see the thrusters firing off.”

  “Will they burn us?” one of the Evans nervously asked.

  “No, you won’t get burned. The CARBEL platform will automatically stop one hundred feet short of the Halo. You’re in a vacuum. You won’t hear it and you won’t feel the heat.”

  The platform rose higher and higher, growing ever closer to the Halo frame and vector positioning engines.

  “If you wanna have some fun, slowly let some slack into your tie lines. That is if you aren’t a bunch of fraidy cats!” Riggs teased.

  From the safety and security of his control center high in the SUBOS, Riggs watched his video screen and the fast-moving images the helmet cameras were capturing. The anxious and nervous pod of identical twins slowly loosened their grips on the tie lines. One by one they began floating, ever so slightly above the platform surface. Riggs and his team watched the video monitors from their assigned posts and listened closely as the clones sprang to life, laughing out loud, and squealing with delight at the new experience.

  “Okay, okay, simmer down. Directly above your heads is a wire grid. Three or four inches below that are your zip lines. Bend down and release your tie lines, then immediately push up with your legs. The grid will stop you and you can secure your tie lines to the zip without having to worry about floating away.”

  “What about the POG?” Titan called out.

  “There’s enough oxygen in your suits to sustain you until you reach the hover dock. We already have two POGs ready and waiting. You’ll pull yourselves to the hover dock, connect the breathing tube and comm-link BEFORE detaching your dragline and start the POG. Once you’re all connected and secure on the hover dock, we’ll break into teams and assignments. Does everybody understand?”

  The chorus of clones answered with a resounding “Yes, sir!”

  The company bent down and released their draglines from the recessed hooks in the platform. In almost perfect unison, they pushed themselves up and gently rose until captured by the grid.

  “Excellent!” Riggs complimented as he and his assistants kept a close eye on the clones, “Now, secure your draglines to the zip.”

  The cameras monitored every movement the Evans made.

  “Is everybody connected to the zip?”

  “Yes, sir,” the twins again answered.

  “Now, as soon as you detach your respiration tubes and comm-link, you’re on your own until you reach the hover dock and attach yourselves to the POG. We won’t be able to hear you, talk to you, or send and receive video feeds. Therefore, until we have the hover dock POG up and running, no one disconnects themselves until ordered to do so. Armada?”

  “Sir?”

  “You’re gonna lead off. Release your tube and link and get to the POG on the hover dock.”

  “Yes, sir, but don’t I need someone to help me start up the POG?”

  “No, you don’t. This is a one-man operation. Just shimmy on over, attach your tube and comm-link, and initiate the generator. It’ll take less than three minutes to complete the startup sequence. C’mon, don’t be a weenie!”

  Armada turned to look at his brothers and exclaimed “Here I go!”

  “Now, until Armada reaches and starts the POG on the hover dock, you remain on the grid and do not, I repeat, DO NOT, under any circumstance, disconnect your breathing tubes and comm-links. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir” was their only reply.

  Armada pulled himself along the zip line cable to the edge of the CARBEL platform. He looked out across the vast expanse of space between the CARBEL and the hover dock.

  “Hey, Riggs,” he hollered.

  “Yeah, Armada.”

  “How high are we?”

  “It’s estimated that the thrusters on the Halo are just about 29.5 miles above sea level. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, technically speaking of course, I’m more than five miles higher than Felix Baumgartner when he made his famous free fall several years ago. You wanna challenge Red Bull?”

  “Just get on with it and we’ll worry about world records later.”

  “See you on the other side, boys!
” Armada announced.

  One of the helmet cameras captured Armada’s face as he disconnected his respiration tube and comm-link.

  “Sir, is it just me or is he smiling?” an assistant asked Riggs as he watched the helmet camera monitor.

  “It appears as though Wyczthack has a cowboy on his hands,” Riggs commented.

  Armada took one last quick glance at his brothers and lunged forward with all of his might. He glided effortlessly to the hover dock in a matter of seconds. He grasped the grid wires, pulled himself down to the POG, and took a hold of the first respiration tube and comm-link. After attaching his tube, Armada released his dragline from the zip cable and latched on to a countersunk eyelet on the hover dock.

  He unfolded the solar collection arms and uncovered the POG control panel. Once he initiated the startup protocol and entered the authorization code, the batteries slowly kicked in and the oxygen generator began sending fresh air to Armada’s suit. A few seconds later, his helmet camera and microphone came on line and immediately transmitted Armada’s voice back to the EVA Operation Center at the SUBOS.

  “C’mon in! The water’s fine!” Armada shouted, “Everyone’s doing it!”

  “All right, you clowns, you heard the man! Let’s get this show on the road,” Riggs hollered.

  The crew of the EVA center clapped and cheered. The first of many projects was off to a successful start, so far.

  ***

  The transfer of one hundred clones from the CARBEL to the hover dock on the Island took a little more than one hour to complete.

  “You boys say bye-bye to your taxi; she’s going down,” Riggs bellowed.

  “When does the CARBEL come back?” a clone asked, nervously, as the platform started its descent.

  “It’ll be here ready and waiting before you know it. Why don’t you focus on the view for a minute? If you boys look straight down, you’ll see all the lights on the strip in Las Vegas. The sun is nearly touching the horizon down there.”