The One_A Cruise Through the Solar System
Page 1
Eric Klein
The One
A Cruise Through the Solar System
Purple Toga Publications
The One: A Cruise Through the Solar System
Copyright © 2016 by Eric Klein
Published by Purple Toga Publications, 2018
https://purpletoga.com
ISBN 978-0-9944493-3-7
All artwork uses in this novel are credited in the Art Credits.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system - except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine or newspaper - without permission in writing from the publisher.
For permission requests, please contact publisher@purpletoga.com
While every effort has been made to ensure the accuracy and legitimacy of the references, referrals, and links (collectively “Links”) presented in this eBook, Eric Klein and Purple Toga Publications are not responsible or liable for broken Links or missing or fallacious information at the Links. Any Links in this eBook to a specific product, process, website, or service do not constitute or imply an endorsement of same, or its producer or provider. The views and opinions contained at any Links do not necessarily express or reflect those of Eric Klein or Purple Toga Publications.
Book cover: design and layout by Ellie Bockert Augsburger of Creative Digital Studios: www.CreativeDigitalStudios.com
Cover photo credits:
NASA’s Hubble Takes Close-up Portrait of Jupiter; Courtesy of NASA, ESA, and A. Simon (NASA Goddard)
Wet mountain valley by Kalen Emsley; courtesy of Unsplash
Dedicated to Yuri Alekseyevich Gagarin, Alan Bartlett “Al” Shepard Jr., John Herschel Glenn Jr., Neil Alden Armstrong and the teams that made their firsts in space possible. Their voyages have inspired me and this book.
And always to Ramit, my wife (and science advisor), for putting up with me and all my silly questions.
Contents
Art Creditsv
Author’s Notesvi
Chapter 11
Chapter 25
Chapter 317
Chapter 424
Chapter 526
Chapter 632
Chapter 740
Chapter 845
Chapter 953
Chapter 1070
Chapter 1184
Chapter 1288
Chapter 1395
Chapter 14101
Chapter 15 116
Chapter 16125
Chapter 17128
Chapter 18130
Chapter 19139
Chapter 20143
Chapter 21152
Chapter 22159
Special treat164
Appendix 1: Acknowledgments166
Appendix 2: Cast of Characters 168
Appendix 3: Science180
About the Author202
Sources and Citations204
Art Credits
This solar system was defined using
software implemented by F. Panicali
http://www.faustweb.net/solaris/Chapter 2
Luna Poster Modified from NASAChapter 7
Transport map of Luna by Eric KleinChapter 8
Apollo 11 Plaque, Courtesy of NASAChapter 8
Venus Poster Courtesy NASA/JPL-Caltech.Chapter 9
Mars Poster Courtesy NASA/JPL-Caltech.Chapter 12
Jupiter Poster Courtesy NASA/JPL-Caltech.Chapter 14
Titan Poster Courtesy NASA/JPL-Caltech.Chapter 17
Earth Poster Courtesy NASA/JPL-Caltech.Chapter 21
Author’s Notes
As this is a work of science fiction, units of measure all use the metric system. Thus, temperatures are all in Celsius, distances are in meters, etc. Time is shown in twenty-four-hour, or military, format.
This is a work of fiction. Some of the story is based on real places (like NY City), events (the Apollo Moon Landing), and time, but all character names, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This novel came in 6th (out of 91 entries) in the 2016 Geek and Sundry Hard Science Fiction contest on Inkshares.
Chapter 1
“A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step”
Chinese proverb Chapter 64 of the Tao Te Ching by the Chinese philosopher Laozi
Friday, 1 September 2152
It is a hot summer’s day in New York. Who am I trying to kid? It’s what used to be considered a normal day before they domed The City. But under the Bucky dome, the weather control has failed again, and it is rapidly approaching 40 degrees. To make matters worse, a burst steam pipe is adding to the near supersaturated humidity. Strange that there are still steam pipes in operation after almost 250 years. I guess it goes to show that even as NY changes, some things are done just like they have always been.
But I digress. Here I’m walking down 44th from the Empire State Building towards the Hudson River Spaceport. I always liked wandering in the public areas of the HRSP, looking at the various pieces of old-style aviation. Every time he took me, my grandfather used to say that it “Kind of puts the world in order. Think about it: in one small area, you can see the Intrepid - an over-200-year-old aircraft carrier, the Concorde – one of the first commercial supersonic jets, the Space Shuttle Enterprise that inspired the classic 2d video show, the Virgin Galactic White Knight Two – the first suborbital shuttle, and the Serenity – the capsule that brought the first crew back from Mars.”
Boy, would he have loved to be here with me this time.
Walking downtown towards the passenger entrance, I walk past the dock where the Titanic finally arrived 200 years after its fateful only voyage.
Before entering the TSA’s automated Rapiscan Security Chamber, my wristpad is scanned to authenticate my ticket and identity. Entering the sealed, bomb-proof chamber, as the door closes I recall that I still have a multi-tool in my back pocket.
Not surprisingly it is seen by the scanner, which starts loudly beeping. Out of nowhere two armed agents appear and pull me aside. They call for a supervisor. Eventually, he comes and offers to let me try to mail it home. He tells me that the closest post office is about six blocks away on 42nd Street, between Eighth and Ninth Avenues. He lets me out of security and says to me, “If you can’t mail it, you’ll have to toss it.”
Thanking him for the chance, I leave the security area and head to the indicated post office. When I get there, I find that it is closed for renovation. There is a sign saying that the closest open office is one kilometer north. Brain estimates it is more than one kilometer away and will take fifteen minutes to get there, and the branch AI says that there is an hour queue. Looking at the time, I see that getting there, waiting, and getting back will be too close to launch time, so I head back to the security check and toss the multi-tool in a trash bin.
Entering again requires a different supervisor’s approval as the computer indicates my chip has already been scanned today. I find that there is now a short line for being scanned. This time the security guards are visible. As I enter, I’m warmly greeted with, “I have a feeling of deja vu.”
As I leave the scanner, on
e of the agents asks about the multi-tool. I reply, “The post office was closed so I threw it away.”
“Where?”
“In the bin just before entering the security check.” He tenses up and starts lecturing me about how bad it is that I did so and did not give it to them to dispose of. What if someone finds it and uses it? So another agent pulls me aside and the supervisor is called again.
When he arrives, he and the agent move away to talk. After five minutes the supervisor comes over and says, “Have a good trip,” while waving me to proceed.
As I head to the next security stop, the security AI confirms that I’m not a wanted criminal or dangerous to the ship. The system also verifies my medical and vaccination history from both my wristpad and the city medibase. Finally, I’m notified that as a passenger these are being duplicated to the ship’s sickbay AI in case the data is needed. Only then do the doors to the elevator open to let me ride up to the ship’s port.
Stepping out of the elevator and onto the gangplank makes a soft clang (or, since this is a spaceship, is it called a gantry?). Turning at the top, I can see the Empire State building through the dome’s transparent solar panels. From this angle, it is easy to see how it is holding up the center of the dome. For the first time, it is clear to me why they moved it ten blocks to the bottom of Times Square. It is hard to make out where they have replaced the old radio antenna with the safety access connected to the underside of the dome.
As I turn back to the ship, a loading crane is bringing up a load of supplies, probably for one of the colonies.
“Welcome aboard the L.S.S. Venture,” the Captain greets me at the top of the gantry (and it is definitely a gantry).
As he is reaching out his hand, the strap on my wristpad comes loose and my wristpad falls to the platform. We both bend to reach for it, almost bumping heads. A scream comes from below as I pick it up, and we hear a loud, dull bang. Standing up, we see one of the cables from the loading crane has come loose and is swinging near us. There is a slight mark where the heavy steel buckle has hit the side of the ship.
The Captain scowls as he turns to call out for someone to come and check that there is no damage to the ship. He looks up to the person running the crane and goes off to deliver what looks likely to be a serious scolding. Staring at the clamp and the mark on the side of the ship, I look up to the load being lifted. I realize that I’m shaking as my eyes trace the line that it must have taken: swinging right next to my ear. I enter, trying to convince myself that it would have missed our heads. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m only kidding myself and we were almost hit in the head by a fast-moving, ten kilo, metal buckle.
Past the airlock, the ship feels more like a luxury hotel than any aircraft I have ever seen or traveled on. I’m not sure why this surprises me. It is not like anyone would think that an interplanetary ship, designed to hold and entertain passengers for a month, should look or feel like the hypersonic jet I rode for eleven minutes last month from New York to London, or the hour-long semi-ballistic flights to Sydney. Here there were fine carpets, recessed indirect lighting, even a grand grey marble staircase opening into the lobby from the gallery above. In school, they taught us that for every gram of mass you needed kilograms of reaction mass or fuel to get up from the surface into Earth orbit, so this looks like quite a waste of mass just for aesthetic value, but I guess the designer knew more about it than I.
The ship’s AI checks me in and directs me to the elevator so I can get to my room.
Chapter 2
“The Staterooms in their situation, spaciousness, and appointments will be perfect havens of retreat where many pleasant hours are spent, and where the time given to slumber and rest will be free from noise or other disturbance.”
Description of a cabin on the Titanic; White Star Line
“She reached out both hands, touched two spots on the wall and the disappearing bed swung down. With the chairs open, there remained hardly room for one person to stand.”
Description of a cabin in the Freetrader ship Sisu; Citizen of the Galaxy by Robert A. Heinlein
I run my ident chip over the door sensor and am granted access to my room. Entering is shocking enough that I stop shaking. In fact, I stop completely. I’m not sure what I expected, but this is not it. In the news and in space documentaries – heck, even in space holograms – they always show the rooms on a spaceship as small, with everything folded away when not in use. Well, the designers of this room never saw any of those documentaries or sci-fi shows.
To start with, the room may be large enough for a volleyball game (but because it is full of furniture I can’t measure and find out). There is a small sitting area with the kind of chair that looks so comfy that you would growl at anyone trying to make you get up. Unbelievably, there is a two-person couch across from it. The walls are covered in what looks like thick oak paneling that complements the carpeting quite seamlessly. Beyond the couch is a screened area where I can see a queen-sized bed. And in the far corner is a wooden desk in the French Louis XV style. It is much nicer than the one in the Mayor’s office at Gracie Mansion, his 16th century home, but here there are no toilets shooting fountains of water to flood the rug.
On the wall to the left of the entrance, where you would expect to find the light switch, there are two control panels, each displaying a personalized welcome message and inviting me to set my preferences. The first is a slightly more complicated environmental control than the one you would see in an apartment or a home. Where a common one is for temperature, this also has settings for humidity and lighting – both calibrated with planet or colony names. The second one is labeled AG; it is also displaying a list of planet or colony names. Out of curiosity, I move the AG setting to Luna, and suddenly I feel as if I’m in an elevator going down very fast and would probably bounce if I tried walking around. I reset it back to Earth and the floor feels normal again. It seems that everyone can set their room to the light level, temperature, humidity, and gravity that would make them feel right at home. Very considerate of the designers.
Sitting on the couch (I’m not ready to make a commitment to the chair.), I touch my wristpad. “OK, Brain, time to sync.”
“BJ, are you pondering what I’m pondering?”
“Yes, but first I need more information. Please download all information about this ship and cruise that you can find.”
While my AI is downloading everything, I have a chance to think back to how I ended up in this extravagantly decorated metal box, before I leave Earth for the first time.
~*~*~*~*~
It was just another Friday morning and I was about finished with sorting out all the problems with the City’s AI, Gracie. She has been making strange mistakes in salary payments (who ever saw a pay transaction with nine zeros after the decimal point followed by the correct amount?), randomly shooting geysers out of the mayor’s toilet, and other practical jokes.
Especially memorable was last week’s glitching of the antigrav in the council chamber. This managed to leave the chairwoman’s Pomeranian floating half a meter off the floor in the middle of the room. The sergeant at arms was struggling against what must have been at least three gravities while trying to get to the poor dog. All in all, those were a tough couple of weeks for everyone involved. They had suffered a few days of unexpected pranks while the internal team had failed to find the fault. I was called and arrived just before the floating Pomeranian incident. At least I wasn’t the one who had to clean the bathroom ceiling. I worked out that there was a short in the positronic chip. Once I identified the fault, it needed to be fixed to prevent the AI from acting with the sense of humor of a six-year-old. Replacing would have damaged the personality of a silicon citizen, so I had to be careful to avoid being charged with et animi detriment.
After restoring proper function to the AI, the City’s CTO came over and thanked me, handing me a card with an embedded data chip.
“The Mayor would like you to have this as a bonus in appreciation for the two weeks of more than 20-hour days you have been working to get Gracie back to her old self. I hope you don’t have another project scheduled as most of the prizes are meant to be used immediately.”
I ran the chip over my wristpad (I was not worried – I have better security than most governments) and saw that it was an entry to something called the Ultimate Vacation Raffle and that the drawing was scheduled for this afternoon in midtown. Thanking the City’s CTO, I packed up my gear and headed to the Park Place Hyperloop station where I took the Number 2 Midtown Express. I was in the lobby of the Empire State building in two minutes. It took me almost as much time to come up the escalators as it did to cover the six kilometers from downtown. Right in front of me was the main location of Dulip and Company Luxury Adventure Agency. Taking up most of the window was a flashing hologram, shaped in imitation of an old-fashioned scroll describing the prizes for the contest.
(Brain has included a copy of it below.)
The agency was closed and the AI hologram said that they would be back to hold the contest at 14:00. I consulted my wristpad and saw that I had an hour to wait. What to do with an hour?
As I was contemplating this, my stomach cast its vote loudly enough for someone passing by to look up and rush away. Since I had been at work since 05:00, it seemed that lunch was next on my agenda. I noticed a delicious smell coming from off to my right. As I turned, a hologram of a Chinese Dragon formed and morphed to read ‘Sato Wong Sanchez Asian Cuban Cooking.’ I let my stomach win the vote, and entered.
I sat at a table and the waiter AI greeted me in four languages:
いらっしゃいませ。何をお召し上がりになりますか？
안녕하세요 선생님 ,무엇을 접대할까요 ?
Saludos, señor. ¿Qué puedo servirle?