by MadMaxAU
Another blazing burst streaked into nearby ice. Blue white gas billowed into a swelling sphere.
“Damn,” Carl said grimly. “We can’t even use mechs against that—we’d lose too many. We need every one we’ve got for the Nudge.”
Jeffers grimaced and swore steadily. —Prob’ly smash up the flingers if we tried. —
“What the hell can we do?”
—That’s what I thought you’d know, — Jeffers said
“Shit!”
Meetings. Carl fidgeted with his pen, shifted restlessly in his web chair. You can judge the importance of a problem by how many endless meetings it generates.
He watched the wall weather as much as he could— luscious hills rising from Lake Como in northern Italy, with water-skiers cutting white Vs in waters of ancient blue— but he had to appear to be intent, giving every faction its due attention. They were grouped in loose knots around the meeting room in Central. The Arcist insurrection had reopened the issue of Nudge targeting.
A Pandora’s box, Carl thought moodily. And all this had to happen just now, before I could speak privately to the important people, gather support for what I’ve got to announce. He bit at the end of his pen, a nervous gesture he had picked up sometime in the last year. With over two hundred revived crew, there are plenty of members for each faction. And I have to let them all have their say, exhaust the energy Quiverian’s stirred up. Worst possible timing . . . as usual.
They had been going nearly two hours now and the groups had lined up exactly as he could have predicted.
The most popular idea was the mission’s original flight plan: a Jupiter flyby on the return to the inner solar system, but before the comet approached too close to the sun. They could swoop deep into the giant planet’s gravity well like a race car in a steep turn, stealing vital momentum.
Using the south pole flingers, they could aim the Jovian flyby to turn Halley into a short period comet. That would make rescue from Earthspace easier and harvesting of Halley Core possible. The Plateau Three people favored the original plan, as did the solid majority of nonaligned crew.
The Ubers— the radical Percells led by Sergeov— wanted a different variant of the Jupiter flyby. Their final goal, though, was genuinely bizarre— to abandon the inner solar system entirely, and return to the spaces out here. Fire the Nudge at a low impulse, they said, and during the flyby pass over Jupiter, rather than ahead of it. That would loop them outward again to rendezvous with Neptune. Use the Nudge again to slow Halley and get captured. Become a moon. Spread out, colonize the rock and ice of Triton. A colony of supermen, perfecting themselves beneath a sky filled with a dm green ball of methane-streaked clouds.
Two vastly different plans, but both calling for rendezvous with Jupiter in 2135. Astronomy allowed many different destinations from that one gargantuan world.
The Plateau Three spacers and Sergeov’s Ubers were united in their need for a Jovian flyby, but they made uneasy allies. They differed about many other things, and gave each other guarded glances.
Carl had checked the mission requirements himself, not trusting anybody’s calculations. It would take a delta V, a change in Halley’s current velocity, of 284 meters per second in the Nudge— aimed at 72 degrees north declination from the ecliptic. Not so easy. Possible, though, using thrusters located at the south pole.
Medieval societies squabbled over rarefied points of theology . . . and now we argue vector targeting. Equally pointless, maybe…
The irony of the Uber Plateau Three alliance was that now the Arcists had virtually destroyed both options.
To bring off a good Jupiter flyby on the inward falling leg, they had to use the south pole flingers. And the Arcists wanted above all costs to keep Earth pristine and safe from Halley contamination. If the Jupiter encounter came off badly in the crucial hours of encounter, Halley could be flung deep into the inner solar system. The Arcists would never go for a maneuver that brought Halley near the home world. To avoid that possibility, they would refuse use of the south pole unless they were in control. Quiverian and his fanatics would rather die in deep space than let anyone else handle the maneuver.
He read the signs, and knew that the situation was close to war. If something wasn’t done, soon, there would be killing. So Carl had sent a squirt Earthside as soon as he returned . . . and gotten confirmation. He had to offer a good option to the Council, now, before factionalism made compromise impossible.
Even if I have to fudge the truth . . .
He waited for a natural break in the talk. The wall weather now showed a sloop tacking in high seas, her stately turn unhindered by glistening steel-blue waves that hammered her without pity or effect. Her sails billowed triumphantly, shimmering white beneath a hard cold sky. She’ll make port, he thought. You can see it in the way she moves.
He let the talk run on for while. When the silence of confusion and doubt came, s he knew it would, he rose and began to speak. He caught and held the eyes of each faction leader in turn—Otis Sergeov hanging legless in air, arms folded adamantly; Joao Quiverian here under a truce, as solid as ever, eyes smoldering; Jeffers, who represented the Martian Way group, lean and sardonic; and the others, who had no particular politics, but did want a chance to live.
Carl spoke slowly, conveying by gesture and expression more than through words the hope he had, the plea for confidence, for solidarity before this new threat.
“This mission was planned around a planetary carom past Jupiter. That’s why we put launchers at the south pole— which are now unusable.”
That put Quiverian on the spot. The others glared at the sallow Brazilian. Of course, Carl wasn’t quoting the man precisely. He hurried on before Quiverian could interrupt.
“But the south pole Nudge isn’t our only option.” He flicked a tab on his sleeve and a chart appeared on Central’s main screen. “It would take a relatively simple Nudge to reach Earth itself. A change in velocity of only sixty three meters per second, aimed about forty degrees south and nearly ninety degrees away from the sun would bring us home.”
The men and women stirred, varying emotions flickering across their faces. Home.
“But to do it accurately demands that we despin Halley first. We’d arc in near Earth, good for a quick jumpoff and rescue . . . but only after perihelion passage. We’d have to weather that terrible storm. It’s anyone’s guess how many of us would survive high summer on a comet.”
He had let the frowns and scowls build; now he defused them. Quiverian was red as a beet, opening his mouth. Carl cut him off.
“Of course, Earth Control might get a bit miffed . . . .”
They looked at each other, blinked, and guffawed. Their laughter released some of the long building tension. Of course Earth would never allow a plan that brought Halleyform spores that near the atmosphere. Even Quiverian relaxed slightly, when it was clear that Carl had not been serious.
“There are other alternatives to Jupiter,” Carl continued. “We could try for Venus— jump off in aeroshells, decelerate in the upper atmosphere. But that’s after perihelion again, and we might not survive slamming into that atmosphere at eighty kilometers a sec or so.”
He swept the room with a long, penetrating gaze. Cap’n Cruz would’ve done this right, he thought. Or maybe he would’ve stopped all this factionalism long ago. I’ll never be the leader he was.
“On the other hand, there is an encounter that’ll get us to a planet before perihelion, and at lower velocity— one with Mars.”
A stir of disbelief. “Mars?”
“You mean target. . . ?”
“I didn’t know it could even be . . .”
He went on swiftly, not giving anyone a chance to break in.
“Look. We can’t allow a single faction to control our destiny—“
“And we will not allow use of the south pole unless we have control!” Quiverian shouted.
Carl held his palms up, open. “Okay. That means we have to abandon the Jupiter flyby totally. The next
best mission demands a pass into the inner solar system, but not coming near Earth. Instead, we can vector the Nudge to Mars. The encounter itself won’t divert Halley much— but it’ll give us a chance to jump off.”
Some engineers shook their heads. Carl kept on going, before the objections could begin.
“We’ll build aerobrakes and swoop into the Martian atmosphere. It’s thin but deep, a good target for us, especially since an encounter with any planetary atmosphere will be awful damn fast.”
A spacer asked, “We could lose enough velocity on one pass?”
Sharp question. “No. We’d have to do several maneuvers.” He ticked off fingers. “Aerobrake at Mars, divert outward to Jupiter. Aerobrake again there with a gravity assist. Pass inward to Venus, swing around, head for Mars again. By then we’ll have shed enough velocity to make a successful rendezvous brake in the Martian atmosphere. We can get out of the aero shells, come alongside Phobos.”
A long silence. They stared at him.
“But . . “ Keoki Anuenue muttered. “How long will all that take?”
“Twenty years.”
Gasps.
Carl rode over the babble with, “That’s twenty added to the nearly eighty we’ll have been gone. But it will be worth it to get to Phobos Base, to safety and maybe eventually, home again. I should add that this plan has the approval of Earth Command.”
A Plateau Three woman said angrily, “What’ll happen to Halley?”
Carl shrugged. “JonVon shows it wheeling off into the outer system, back to its original home in the Oort Cloud, gone for good.”
Jeffers said thoughtfully, “We could target Halley smack on Mars— give it an atmosphere!”
“Sure,” Sergeov said, “and try aerobraking at same time. Impossible!”
Jeffers began, “But— “ He shut up as he noticed Carl’s signal to be quiet.
“It’s a chance to live,” Carl said emphatically. “If we try the aerobrake and guide Halley to optimize that. Anything else is suicide.”
“What can we expect at Mars?” Quiverian demanded suspiciously.
“Quarantine. Maybe Earth’ll order us isolated on Diemos. Let the medicos study us until Earth is sure these diseases are controllable.”
Another long silence. They all contemplated this new idea, letting it sink in.
“Is possible?” Sergeov asked, scowling.
Carl shrugged. “We might never be allowed into Earthspace— not that that’ll bother the Ubers, eh? Remember, though, that there are decent places to live in the small scientific colonies of the asteroids. Maybe we can even do some worthwhile pioneering on Mars itself.”
Jeffers beamed. “Damn right.”
Carl held up his hand. “One more thing. Earth Command is very strong on this plan. It has made acceptance a condition for getting the Care Package.”
That got to them. The high speed rocket carrying supplies was the centerpiece of their fresh hope. They had to have it.
Carl realized that the hardest part had been won.
He explained further with some graphics JonVon had whipped up with only minutes’ warning. The Council listened with glacial but growing acceptance. At least it seemed the idea was possible.
Complicated, yes. Difficult and risky, yes. But possible.
And perhaps the only possibility.
Carl remained standing. He kept his mood grave but sympathetic, determined but flexible. And one by one, the factions voiced their own narrow views
The Plateau Threes disliked throwing away hard-won Halley…but they were used to taking their lead from him.
The Ubers grumbled, but admitted they had no other option.
Jeffers and the few Percell spacers who had clung to their dream of Mars terraforming were overjoyed. They would get to work near Mars, perhaps start the greening of that arid rustworld.
The Arcists weren’t totally happy. They distrusted Carl. But this option kept Halley far from Earth. And the sanction of Earth Control lent it weight.
Through it all Carl felt the dark undercurrent of Percell and Ortho running, but muted now by the constricted, bleak future they faced. The largest part of the crew belonged to a group he called the survivors— because in the end, that was all they cared about.
Quite sensible, he thought ruefully. And I’m their natural ally . . . even though I don’t believe we’ll ever really get out of this alive . . .
He watched the sloop run before the wind, her sails big-bellied and impossibly white, her bow cutting the water sharp and sure.
And gradually, reluctantly, the factions came around.
The Council broke up at last with grudging agreement. They would try to reach Mars.
Carl sat down at last, feeling a sudden fatigue sweep over him.
The Arcists are right. They can’t trust me. I know this Mars business isn’t going to pan out right, but it’s politically necessary right now. Necessary in order to prevent a civil war. In order to get the Care Package. The hard truths can come later.
He shook his head.
I’m turning into a goddamn diplomat. I don’t think like a spacer anymore, not even like an engineer. Christ! — I’ll be wearing black tie and tails next. And when I look in the mirror the tongue I see will be forked.
VIRGINIA
The machinery was starting to look old. The original glossy finish had faded long ago, until it was hard to read the names of the equipment manufacturers anymore. They had been rubbed nearly illegible after thirty years of faithful scrubbing.
Ozymandias, my secret hideaway. Virginia glanced over in the back corner of the lab, where little Wendy sat patiently, drawing a small trickle of power from a wall socket. The tiny maintenance mech peeped once and started to rise, but when Virginia said nothing it settled down once more.
Funny, how you didn’t notice things for a while, and then they suddenly hit you. It had been almost two years, Earth time, since Virginia had been thawed and returned to duty, yet in all that time she had not once paid the slightest attention to Wendy. She had been too busy.
Now she contemplated the little mech, bemused.
Thirty years. She’s cleaned and tended and guarded my sanctuary, keeping things just as I left them.
Maybe Saul is right. Maybe I do good work.
She smiled.
Watch it, girl. Keep this up and you really will start to imagine yourself a goddess, like those poor creatures— barely human anymore— who followed Ingersoll down into the deepest caverns, who bow to my mechs and address them by my name.
The last two years had been so busy, for her, for Saul, and for Carl. It struck her that she had not taken any time to stop and think about what had happened to all of them.
A fine trio, we are. None of us were important at all, back when Captain Cruz lived, and everyone was one big, happy research expedition. Carl was just a petty officer, I was a junior Artificial Intelligence tech, and Saul was a doctor with a strange passion for bugs.
Now poor Carl is whatever passes for commander, these days. I’m the Spider Woman, sending out her web of drones to keep the tunnels patched and the gunk controlled. And Saul . . .
She paused, pondering. Of us all, he’s the one who’s changed the most. Lord, I hope I don’t lose a good man to godhead.
He had been so preoccupied lately. Almost obsessed. Reluctant to link with her in the intimate touch of neural amplification. As if he were hiding something from me . . . or protecting me from something he felt I’d never understand.
Finally, it had come to a head. Last week she had lashed out, shouting at him in her frustration. Since then, he had left a few terse messages for her, her mechs had seen him in the halls, but for all intents and purposes they might as well have been on different planets.
All around her the holo displays glowed faintly. Even some of the units that had gone blank over her long sleep were replaced, now that she and Jeffers had gotten the autofac working properly up on A Level. For perhaps the first time since her awakening, no re
d warning lights glowed.
She found her gaze lingering on the Kelmar bio organic machine that she had spent half her personal weight allowance to bring aboard . . . ages ago. The heart of her bio cybernetic computer.
“JonVon,” she whispered. “I need some distraction from my troubles.”
There were things she used to do, for amusement, which she had not had time for in years. But now—
“Let’s see just how rusty I am at visual simulation,” she said, low, and pressed the Kelmar’s thumb ident. A display lit up.
So, Virginia. Will it be more than routine stuff, today?
She shook her head. “Let’s have some fun, like we used to.”
Virginia spent a few moments flicking switches and calibrating before slipping on the worn disk of her neural tap. She had grown so used to direct data flow, controlling or programming distant mechs as if they were parts of her own body, that it took her a few minutes to get back into the experimental, “synthetic” mode that had once been her own special way of interacting with JonVon.
But JonVon remembered. She had only to desire it, and a rainbow of light burst forth . . . an artist’s palette of brilliance.
I forgot about the colors! How could I have stayed away from this for so long?
Virginia constructed pink clouds over a placid, blue green sea. She drew seven multihued balls and juggled them in make-believe hands, something she never would have been able to do on the “real” plane.
We’re in good form today, Virginia.
She smiled. “Yeah, we are, JonVon. I’m going to have to go down into you and find out what you’ve done to your simulation software.”
I have been busy. During my illness I was too distracted to tell you about it. However, there have been some interesting results. I am an open book to you, whenever you re ready.
“Later. Right now I Just want to play a little while.”
It wasn’t only in visual simulation that JonVon had made progress. Only her trained ear caught the little signs in his words, phrasing, and timing, that this was still far from an intelligent being. Otherwise, the voice might easily have been that of a living person.