90_Minutes_to_Live

by JournalStone

  * * *

  UNSOC Space Station Roger Chaffee, March 3rd 2082, 0930 EDT

  Roque Maximiano Zacarías scowled at the message appearing on his screen. He wanted to see just how long he could make the perfect crystal up here in the microgravity of space. So what if the crystal was the same kind used in solid-state lasers? Yttrium-aluminum garnet, ten centimeters across, drawn slowly out of the crucible. Ah, what a beautiful sight. Two meters long, ten centimeters across and doped with some neodymium. The perfect laser, made entirely from Lunar materials. The fact it could shoot out a bar of infrared light like a sword really didn’t matter to him.

  Roque was once a fine, able-bodied space hand, all around ladies’ man and the top material scientist in the UN Space program. It was he who took common moon soil and developed the processes to break it down into aluminum, iron, oxygen and common sand. When the core of a carbonaceous chrondite meteor was found just under the lunar surface, he assisted McCrary in adding just the right amount of carbon from it to molten iron to form lunar steel. And it was the carbonaceous material, under his magic touch, that formed the budding lunar plastics industry.

  The discovery of lunar KREEP material, consisting of potassium (K), rare earth elements and phosphorous, gave Roque all the materials needed to form the neodymium doped yttrium-aluminum-garnet (Nd:YAG) laser. He was now trying to see just how large a crystal could be grown.

  "Oh, I suppose that if I really wanted to, we could make a few dozen and terrify the world with an orbital weapons system," he explained to Lisa Daniels, the station commander. "But that would earn us a missile or a hundred. I just want to see if it can be done, that's all."

  Lisa smiled as she patted his hand. "Roque, you know that's not the issue at all. The UN Space Operations Command has a mandate to maximize the income generated from the Chaffee. If you take over a manufacturing space just to see how big a crystal you can make, it better be a hunk of diamond."

  Roque smiled back. "Even if I did make a diamond, old Subby would saw off a tenth of it for his own piggy bank."

  Lisa darted a quick glance towards the hatch. "Now, Roque," she admonished him, "Better watch it. Some of this crew just might report you to UNSOC Director-General Herr Doctor Subraman Venderchanergee for the horrible crime of lèse-majesté. And he’s petty enough to order you shipped home."

  Roque had been resident in the Chaffee for the past twenty years. Normally Roque would never have been allowed to stay aboard the Chaffee for so long. But around the halfway point of his first tour, a piece of space junk the size of a rice grain plowed into the back of his spacesuit at a few miles a second. Hot metal droplets sprayed into his spine, paralyzing him from the waist down.

  As he once put it, "My legs might be useless but my brain is unhurt.” He petitioned for permanent residence on the Chaffee and his request was granted. Commanders come and go, UNSOC veterans said, but Roque will stay in space forever.

  "Actually," Roque mused, "I have always been of the opinion I will stay here until I die. The Chaffee has become my home."

  When the United States abandoned manned space after the closing of the Space Shuttle program, the International Space Station was in limbo. Although it continued to be manned and supplied, no improvements were planned for the station. It represented the only large, habitable volume in Low Earth Orbit, though was woefully underutilized from both a space manufacturing and scientific research point of view.

  By the early 2020s, the United States was deep in its own economic troubles. An ardently internationalist president recommended the United States transfer the station to the UN in return for a paid in full stamp on their long overdue UN contributions. The press touted the plan as a win-win for both the United States and the United Nations. Congress reluctantly went along. The US Astronaut Corps was completely demoralized.

  By then though, the Corps began referring to the ISS as Space Station Roger B. Chaffee, honoring one of their own who had perished at the dawn of the Space Age. Ignoring orders completely, they called it the Chaffee relentlessly, ensuring the name would endure no matter what. The name stuck.

  Companies wanting to operate a space manufacturing facility realized that it would be far easier to rent space on the Chaffee than attempt to launch and operate their own orbital factories. The UN Space Operations Command found itself in the enviable position of picking from a large pool of applicants for a small number of spots. It did what any organization in a similar position does. It took bribes.

  It meant—in practice—Subraman Venderchanergee. He was the director-general and absolute despot of the UNSOC. He ensured his special service fees were laundered up the chain of command, ensuring zero interference in his fief from without, as well as within. And his serfs knew it. Including Roque.

  "Yes Lisa, I will be a good boy," he said sadly. "I remember when space was somewhat pure and unsullied, before the bureaucrats and their fees began encroaching on it."

  "You will never lose that romantic streak in you Roque. That’s why you’re such a pleasure to work with.” She straightened up from her floating astronaut crouch and spoke with all the authority of her office.

  "Roque, as your commander, I would ask you to limit your crystal growth experiments to just this compartment. Maximum crystal diameter will be three centimeters. And no weapons!"

  Roque levered his body upright. "Understood Commander Daniels."

  She leaned forward and hugged him briefly, then left the lab, leaving Roque with a lingering smile and a pencil-sized Nd:YAG crystal floating in the air.

  * * *

  UNSOC Space Station Roger Chaffee, May 23rd 2082, 1400 EDT

  Lisa Daniels was performing one of her unannounced station float-arounds. The old ISS structure had been augmented over the years, especially when the Moon Colony Michael Collins began mining and shipping up resources from the moon. Aluminum, iron and magnesium, in alloys and pure metal, were flown down from lunar orbit to rendezvous with the Chaffee. There, they were molded into new modules, manufacturing spaces, living quarters.

  To simplify the engineering, the new spaces were built-out in a linear fashion, similar to the ISS. These two “spikes” as they became known, were connected together by several cross-corridors.

  As she moved past a hatch in the cross corridor between the old and new, she met John Hodges, the chief engineer. Nearby, a sign pointing to the Solar Shelters triggered a dormant action item in her memory.

  Lisa turned to John as she cleared the hatch combing. "Good morning, John. That sign reminds me—we should conduct a solar shelter drill again. It's been a few months since the last one. Pass the word."

  "Good morning Lisa. Gonna cram everyone in the sleds for an hour? We’ll have to move some stores out of them to make room. We’ve had to keep some Collins cargo in them."

  "Well, I wish you wouldn’t. We’re never going to get enough warning about a solar storm and I’d hate to have folks out in the halls getting zapped while cases of jock straps get tossed out the hatch."

  "Tell the OTVs to speed it up then. Earth is shipping stuff up here faster than we can ship it to the moon." Orbital Transfer Vehicles or OTVs, made the runs between the moon and the Chaffee, transferring everything from jock straps to people between the Collins and the station. Next generation shuttles made the Chaffee-Earth runs.

  "Don’t I know it. What about cramming the stuff into MoonCans and storing it outside?"

  "Some of those cans aren't airtight apart from the LOX tank. Cargo would get damaged. And we don't have any handy rubber or vinyl to make seals with either."

  "Talk to Roque. Remember that tarry stuff the Moon sent down last November? Roque made nylon out of it—maybe he can make you some vinyl."

  "Not a bad idea. Hey, I wanted to show you something." John towed her over to the porthole, looking out on the sleds. "Notice anything?"

  "You’ve got something over the sleds."

  "Yup! Behold the shields. I took a MoonCan and rolled it flat. Got a couple of sheets of
aluminum out of it. I attached it on the top and bottom of the sleds."

  "For what purpose?" she asked, intrigued.

  "Increased solar shielding. Before, big ions from the Sun would smack into the hull of the sleds, generating a shower of secondary particles, zapping us inside. Now, they hit the aluminum and the secondaries don’t get through the hull."

  "What about if we have to use them for reentry?"

  "I’ve rigged a jettison switch to the main pilot board. Pop them free at Entry Interface and they fly outward and away. "

  "That’s wonderful John! What a nice surprise. Speaking of, I better head over to Astronomy. I hear they’ve got something special for me."

  With a wave of her hand, Lisa bounced off the side of the corridor and changed her flight path to head down the new spike to Astronomy. John continued his trek to Engineering.

  * * *

  Orbit of Mars, Solar System, June 17 2082, 0934 EDT

  The projectile flew through the dark. A strange-looking universe surrounded it. Radiation drastically blue-shifted up the spectrum burned into the forward-facing force field. Behind it, the stars guttered a sullen red. All around it stars were colored every shade of the rainbow.

  It mattered not to the shell. The occasional bit of dust or speck of gravel would impact the front, in an unseen flare of incandescent plasma. The fuse that would have detected impact with a target from the long-forgotten war was unaffected by these comparatively small pats.

  Since solid matter was the exception in space, the odds were literally astronomical against it hitting anything.

  But, infinity is a funny thing. In an infinite universe, given enough time, everything will eventually happen. For projectile nine-three-two, having missed its target all those thousands of years ago, that one-in-a-zillion chance came up.

  To an observer near the lunar South Pole, a new mote, shining blue-white by reflected sunlight, appeared in the sky. For the next twenty-six minutes, it grew from a speck to a meter-wide sphere just before impact.

  Instantly the soil around the impact point was plowed aside by the huge momentum of the object. To the structure of the rock underneath, the impact was an irresistible event, as the force fields broke atomic bonds and forced the shattered debris aside, punching a hole through the rock in its path. The energy of the shell’s momentum transferred rapidly to the energy of the motion of the soil and rock. In other words, heat.

  Phenomenal, amazing, seemingly unlimited heat. Rock flashed to vapor and vapor to plasma. Ahead of the projectile, the plasma was compressed to a fantastic degree as the shell drilled through kilometers of rock. Eventually the pillar of million-degree, highly compressed plasma began resisting the force of the shell. Its speed slowed as energy bled into the plasma and vaporizing rock. With pressure and heat near the point where atomic reactions were possible, the worst possible event occurred.

  The shell’s fuse activated.

  Designed to detect impact with ship shields, the fuse triggered the collapse of the stasis field keeping the neutronium stable. Ten trillion tons of highly energetic neutrons were sprayed into the million-degree plasma. The impact event, already catastrophic, was transformed into truly horrific proportions as the plasma triggered nuclear fusion.

  * * *

  UNSOC Space Station Roger Chaffee, June 17 2082, 1000 EDT

  Roque was floating effortlessly in the middle of his materials lab, near the manufacturing area of the original spike. He was putting the finishing touches on his latest ND:Yag laser. He patted it fondly.

  "Give me a dozen of you and we’ll be able to blast space junk, instead of hoping it avoids us."

  He felt a sudden wave of heat, which passed almost before it could be felt. A flash of white from a nearby monitor caught his eye while a momentary roar of static erupted from the overhead speaker. A radiation alarm began jangling nearby. The General Quarters alarm sounded moments later. Roque nudged his way over to the lab’s central control panel. He pressed his ID bracelet against the reader, registering his presence at his duty station.

  On the main monitor screen, a brilliant flare saturated the image of the moon, but it was dying off even as he stared at it. As the glare faded, great masses of debris were seen rising from the point of impact. Roque scarcely noted the silencing of the General Quarters alarm. The speaker above his head clicked on.

  "This is Commander Daniels. Something energetic has happened on the moon. I am tying in the feed from the moon to the intercom; you will hear what I hear. I was talking to the Collins commander when we were cut off. Ah, he’s back." Once again, she looked into the eyes of her friend, Jeng Wo Lee.

  "What happened Lisa? You cut off midsentence." A loud voice erupted from the speaker on Lee’s desk.

  "MAYDAY, MAYDAY! This is McCrary on the surface."

  "Lee. Go McCrary."

  "The surface of the Earth has brightened at least two magnitudes. Something’s going on."

  "Collins, this is Chaffee. There’s been some kind of flare on the moon. Our radiation meters are off-scale high, and the flare burned out any sensor pointed in your direction."

  Roque stared at his monitor, reading the same data as the Bridge. He could add nothing to the ongoing conversation. Celine Greenfield at Astrogation and Commander Lisa Daniels knew their business. A set of ranging circles, centered on the location of the Collins, appeared on the screen. Roque noted with apprehension the appearance of a shockwave at the outer edge of the display.

  "You've got about twelve minutes until the shockwave hits," said Celine.

  In a daze, Roque listened as the McCrary, chief engineer of the station directed disaster operations on the moon. Decontamination and unsuiting procedures took at least a half hour, so McCrary would not be able to get back inside before the shockwave hit.

  "This is worse than any disaster scenario ever planned. If the Chaffee can see the shockwave, we may well be done for. But I have faith in all of you. Suit up now. Get in a MoonCan now. There are enough for everyone.

  "The MoonCans are filling with LOX from the main lines. Plug your suits into the fitting inside the MoonCan, just like in the drills. The shockwave will knock you around a lot and some of you may end up under rock or other debris. Do not panic. Remember, a man in a Can will live for at least a week, maybe longer. Help is coming to dig you out. If you feel yourself losing control, you’ll find sedatives in the MoonCan. Do not panic. This is McCrary. I will come and get you."

  "Commander Daniels, you’re next you know," said McCrary.

  "Say again," she said. "Next?"

  "I suspect that whatever hit the moon was hard enough to throw rock all the way to Earth. The Chaffee will be uninhabitable. Better figure out how to get everyone off."

  "Understood. McCrary?" she asked. "Godspeed. You will not be forgotten."

  "Commander, I suspect nobody’s going to come back here for decades. Too much rock in orbit." With a start, Lisa agreed. If rock could reach Low Earth Orbit, it was going to be around for a long, long time.

  "This is McCrary. I can see the debris plume now. It is like a sparkling curtain rising from the south. It is spreading from one source to extend from horizon to horizon."

  "Two minutes, McCrary," said Lisa. "Better get inside."

  "One last thing," said McCrary. "This is for everyone. Please relay. One hundred and twenty-four years ago on Christmas Eve, three men rounded the moon for the first time and reported back to Earth. They read from Genesis at the dawn of spaceflight. I read from Revelations.

  "‘I looked when He broke the sixth seal and there was a great earthquake; and the sun became black as sackcloth made of hair and the whole moon became like blood; and the stars of the sky fell to the earth, as a fig tree casts its unripe figs when shaken by a great wind.

  "‘The sky was split apart like a scroll when it is rolled up and every mountain and island was moved out of their places.

  "‘Then the kings of the earth and the great men and the commanders and the rich and the strong and
every slave and free man hid themselves in the caves and among the rocks of the mountains.’"

  McCrary was silent for a second or two.

  "And now, our moon is red and we go to hide in our caves. Let this be our final transmission for now: From the crew of the Lunar Colony Collins, we close with good night, good luck and God bless all of you, all of you on the good Earth.

  "I bid you farewell." The sound of the MoonCan closing was loud on the speakers. Seconds later, subsonic thumps told of impacts around it. On Roque’s main screen, the camera stream from the Collins started dropping frames, then stopped completely.

  Celine spoke quietly. "All telemetry from the moon has stopped." Chaffee’s external cameras showed the shockwave sweep over the small X marking the position of the UNSOC Lunar Colony Michael Collins.

  * * *

  UNSOC Space Station Roger Chaffee, June 17 2082, 1015 EDT

  Lisa bowed her head for a moment. She asked Celine for the all-hands channel.

  "Attention. This is Commander Daniels. A disaster of unknown origin has engulfed the Collins Lunar Colony. Casualties are unknown. The event that swept over the Collins has thrown a large amount of lunar debris into space. I believe we are in danger from this debris. All personnel are to prepare for immediate evacuation. You will be allowed one standard backpack for personal belongings. Pack now. Department heads, report for conference in five minutes on channel seven. Representatives from all manufacturers are also to join us on channel seven. That is all."

  Roque clicked over to channel seven. He floated over to his personal locker. Although he had been originally assigned a spot in the barracks module, he had been babysitting so many lab experiments over the years it just made sense to move his gear into the lab. A ghost of a smile flitted over his face as he opened the locker, withdrawing a small smudged white box.