“Yes, the storm probably damaged the transmission electronics. These are comparatively huge structures, just like they were fifty years ago, but we’ve been unlucky. This is all theoretical, of course, until I check for myself.”
“Can you take a look?”
“Yes, I’m just sending the robot out now. Give me half an hour.”
“I’ll be right back,” Oscar said.
Nick followed the robot’s path across the screen. It was peculiar. Oscar was in the ship’s computer, but out there at the same time. Would a human have been able to handle such a situation so well? It didn’t seem to pose any problem for Oscar. “Be careful,” he said.
Oscar had made his way into Nick’s heart. The Oscar AI was distributed throughout the spaceship now, but the disk with its flexible arm still seemed to be the real Oscar. Was it like steering a car? His mind was also distributed throughout the engine, lights, and sensors, and yet in the driver’s seat there was still a human.
He was in a weird mood today. He really should have been worried about not being able to contact Earth anymore, though a call for help would have been pretty much pointless anyway. Hopefully Rosie wouldn’t stop sending messages even if she stopped getting replies.
The robot had reached the antenna. His arm went up to the three-legged structure in the middle, running his fingers over everything. Then part of the antennae loosened. Oscar must have unscrewed it. He put it in a compartment in the disk.
“I’ll bring the module with me, so we can see if we can repair it.”
“And if not?”
“There’s still the low-gain antenna. It has minimal throughput, but that’s enough to let people on Earth that you’re still alive.”
“And it’s still working?”
“I assume so, Nick, but we haven’t tested it yet.”
“Then I’ll put that test on our schedule.”
“Status one-hundred percent. Transmission function of high-gain antenna defective.”
Nick reread the two short sentences. It was all in there, everything that Mission Control needed to know about them. He sent the message.
“Send canceled,” the computer reported.
Damn. “Oscar? Don’t come in yet. We still have a problem.”
“The low-gain antenna?”
“Yes, same problem.”
“Just a minute.”
Nick watched on the screen as the robot body skillfully moved along the ship using his arm and wheels. It looked more straightforward than it was. The outside camera showed the spaceship as if it were lying flat on the ground. But because of the acceleration of the engines, the Eve was like a skyscraper that Oscar had to climb. Nick remembered his own EVA all too well.
“Got it,” said Oscar.
“And?”
“Same manufacturer, same type.”
Of course it made sense to work with standard modules. This way, they were easier to replace and fewer spare parts were necessary. If the rarely-used low-gain antenna had been working, they could simply have used it as a spare parts store for the high-gain antenna. But since it was also out of commission, they had a problem.
“Give me the part number, please.”
“XZA34FF34BCB55RU.”
Nick typed in the string of characters. He hoped there was a spare part on board.
“Input correct,” appeared on the screen. “Stock: 0 pieces.”
After it there was an asterisk—meaning there was an additional comment. He clicked it.
“This module has a manufacturer-guaranteed shelf life of 20 years. It is cross-compatible with the LGA and HGA systems. In the event of premature failure, replace the boards with each other.”
Just great. What cost-cutting process was at work here? Just because a spare part was durable and used in two systems, there wasn’t a spare? Whoever made this decision should be sent to Siberia on a bicycle with a flat tire. What would be the problem with that? Couldn’t the tube from the rear tire also be used in front? Dude.
“There’s no need to tell you, Oscar, people are flawed. You’ll have to forgive us.”
“I’ve been looking over your shoulder. There’s no spare part on board. What a mess.”
“Could we perhaps rebuild the reception module?”
“No, it works completely differently.”
“What if we solder something ourselves?” That had been possible at the Tiangong station. But that had been more than 20 years before, and the technology had evolved since then.
“With discrete transistors, the necessary circuitry would be bigger than what the Eve has,” replied Oscar.
“So we can’t send out anything for the rest of the flight?”
Rosie would be worried, and maybe even think he was dead. He hoped she wouldn’t stop sending him photos. She’d be giving birth in just a few weeks. If he couldn’t be there for the birth, he wanted to at least be able to see what their newborn child looked like!
“By the time we get to Triton, we should be able to send out messages again,” said Oscar. “Provided the station there’s not destroyed.”
“That’s in a year and a half. My baby will have had a birthday already!”
“Yes, and that’s just when the baby will be learning to speak. That’s just the right time to hear from you. Before that, there’s no point in sending a message.”
“I’m afraid, Oscar, that you don’t understand. Besides, I’m afraid Rosie will lose hope and stop sending messages.”
“Maybe there’s a way.”
“That would be great.”
“We’ll reach the Saturn orbit in about three weeks and get fairly close to Saturn.”
“Yes, and...?”
“Don’t you know your space history? There’s also an RB Group laser station on one of Saturn’s moons—Enceladus.”
“You know more than I do. That fact is probably an RB company secret. But we can’t just stop and land. Our braking phase doesn’t start until half a year from now when we’re even with the Uranus orbit.”
“Correct. We’ll be flying by very fast. But perhaps we can use the station as a relay. We would have to change our course enough so we fly quite close to Enceladus and reach it using normal helmet radio.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
“Enceladus is rather small and light. At our current speed, it won’t cause us to deviate significantly. And it has no atmosphere. We could pass over the surface two-hundred meters above without anything happening to us.”
“All right, I’m convinced. I’d be happy if I could let Rosie know I’m fine, even if I can’t answer her.”
“We ought to be able to manage it. I’m calculating a course.”
“You’re calculating a course? Not the ship’s control?”
“I’ve included it as a subroutine in my program.”
“Not bad for a cleaning robot’s control software.”
“You grow with your tasks. That’s even more true of an AI than of humans.”
“Okay, I’ve got something for you.”
Nick looked at the screen. It had taken Oscar just 20 minutes. “So, you did it?” he asked.
“Yes, but I wasn’t one-hundred-percent successful. There’s a little problem. I’ll show it to you on the screen.”
The ringed planet lit up on the display in all its beauty. There was a white dot that represented Enceladus. The moon was tiny compared to Saturn and seemed to be located right above the planet’s gaseous atmosphere. An elegantly curved line approached Saturn and Enceladus, then moved away to disappear into infinity.
“Where’s the problem?”
“As you can see, there’s no time wasted on the little detour. We even gain a few days because we can gain momentum from Saturn.”
“But?”
“Do you see the line before the rendezvous with Enceladus?”
Nick enlarged the display. The course led partially through the rings of Saturn. “I see the problem. Is that a major risk?”
“To be speci
fic, we have to cross the E ring—there’s no way around it. It’s replenished by Enceladus. Fortunately, it has a low density and primarily consists of tiny particles of ice and dust. However, I can’t rule out damage to the ship. The risk of major damage, however, is less than one in a thousand.”
“What would be minor damage?”
“Possible receiver failure.”
“Excuse me?”
“Just a joke. No, I don’t know, the universe has a better imagination than I do. We’ll turn the antenna so it’s in the direction opposite to our flight, and then nothing will happen to it.”
“How reassuring. Then that’s what we’ll do.”
“There’s another advantage to taking this detour,” said Oscar. “Maybe we’ll find out what happened on Triton from the station on Enceladus. After all, the two stations are identical.”
“Don’t you think this has already occurred to Valentina?”
“Of course. But we don’t know what she’s keeping from us.”
12/5/2080, the Eve
“Sweetheart, I’m going to send you this message even though I’m not sure it will reach you.”
Tears started to well up in the corners of Nick’s eyes.
“At RB, they say they lost contact with the Eve after a solar storm. That could mean anything. Probably just the communication has been disrupted and you’re fine, though they can’t make any promises. I hope they’re right. If you’d had an accident and they knew it, what reason would they have for keeping it from me? At some point they’d have to spit it out. Until I know more details, I’ll just keep sending you messages.
“I can only imagine what it’s like, all alone aboard a spaceship without news about life on Earth, not being in a position yourself to send out messages... maybe I can help. I’m attaching one of the current ultrasound images. The little one is growing and thriving. The doctor still wants to tell me the sex—she’s very eager—but I keep saying no. I want it to be a surprise, for both of us.
“I’ll send you a message again tomorrow.”
Nick smiled. He had no trouble imagining Rosie resisting the doctor’s attempts to convince her to find out if she was having a boy or a girl. When she had her mind set on something, there was no swaying her.
If only I could be there.
The computer began making chirping noises. Nick had set it to ‘Do Not Disturb’ while reading Rosie’s message. He turned on the speaker.
“I’ve analyzed the transmitter circuitry,” said Oscar. “Here are the results.”
Three-dimensional structures appeared on the screen. Nick saw beams, gaps, bars, and blocks. Everything had right angles, but it looked like the structure had been shot at from above. There were round holes on the surface and there were channels passing through the bars. All the holes were pointing in approximately the same direction.
“Can you fix that somehow?” he asked.
“We could if we had an etching system on board. The structures you see are tiny, so there’s nothing to solder.”
“What about nanomachines?”
“We’d need some that could be universally programmed, but such machines are prohibited worldwide. Only single-use machines that work in an aqueous solution are permitted. This is an additional security measure. Without the solution they can’t multiply. The food preparer works with it.”
“And we can’t reprogram them? Like for example, what if I wanted silicon chips for dinner?”
“Forget it,” said Oscar. “The nanites in the food preparer can only handle hydrocarbon compounds.”
“So we can’t fix the transmitter module.”
“Not a chance. The next time we encounter a solar storm, we should turn the antenna one-hundred-eighty degrees. Then nothing will happen to it.”
“So we only have ourselves to blame?”
“Ourselves and Mission Control. They could have pointed out the risk to the antenna to us—before it was too late.”
“That’s for sure, Oscar. All we can do now is make this detour to Enceladus.”
“I’ve already set the new course.”
12/6/2080, the Eve
“Darling! RB woke me up tonight, but I wasn’t mad. After all, I got to meet Valentina Shostakovna for the first time. She radiates total competence. She may have her faults, but I thought she seemed nice. But maybe it really has to do with the message she gave me.
“Apparently they’re following you with a giant telescope. At first I thought they were joking, since the Eve is so small, but then I remembered that the exhaust jet from the engines must help with its visibility. In any case, the Russians have an infrared telescope in a solar orbit that found you. And not just that, it’s noticed that you’ve changed course. Valentina showed me the data, and it’s clear.
“This alone proves that you must be alive and that my messages aren’t pointless, even if they don’t reach you. The projections say you’ll be passing Enceladus soon. Valentina claims to understand your plan, but she won’t tell me exactly what it is.
“But that doesn’t matter, because she said that your goal is to resume communication. That sounds very vague, but I’ll be so glad to hear from you again. Apparently everything should be resolved by the end of the year. It will be my belated Christmas present. But now I have to catch up on the sleep that I lost when Valentina contacted me in the middle of the night.
“Rosie.”
“Thanks, Rosie,” he said, as though she could hear him. It was good to have a connection to Earth. It was just a thin thread that kept getting longer over time, but so far it had remained intact. Before the launch, Nick would never have dreamed of counting on it.
Perhaps the Enceladus flyby would be their saving grace. But the new course correction might just take more time. He wanted to get to Triton as quickly as possible so that he would be able to do what needed doing, and start the flight back home.
12/28/2080, the Eve
What an impressive planet Saturn was! They approached it almost exactly at the level of the ecliptic plane, and the rings were tilted at 27 degrees. They were looking at the north side of the rings. They pointed towards Saturn the way a ballet dancer would elegantly gesture to draw attention to a partner. Enceladus was already visible to the naked eye, shimmering like a bright jewel in the middle of the rings, located relatively close to Saturn. Just an hour before, it had been hiding behind its planet.
Nick imagined their course. A few thousand kilometers from Enceladus, they’d plunge into the E ring and cross it. There was a gap in the ring from the moon’s geysers. Once they reached this gap, the most dangerous part of the detour would be over. They would pass over near the South Pole, on the side away from Saturn, at a short distance from the moon’s icy surface. Then they would have perhaps thirty seconds to communicate with the station, which was located close to the pole near the famous tiger stripes.
“Darling! Today I almost thought it was going to happen. I had several labor pains, but they stopped quickly. It wouldn’t be so bad if the little one were to arrive now, but we haven’t talked about possible names yet. We can’t wait until you get back. So if you get the chance to tell me something as you’re flying past Enceladus, I’d be grateful for a suggestion. I can’t promise you that I’ll use it. You’ll end up wanting to call our child Alexa or Siri, since you’re so used to those names.
“Until tomorrow, Rosie.”
Right, the name. Of course a child needed a name. He’d be satisfied with ‘child,’ but that wasn’t really distinctive enough. An ordinary, common name that was hard to make fun of, so as to rule out the possibility of getting mocked for it. Nick himself had teased classmates about their names from time to time. Now it made him feel guilty, though it had seemed reasonable at the time, and he hadn’t meant for anyone to take it personally. I mean, really, how could a child resist making fun of the name ‘Dick?’ he thought.
This would not happen to his child. Then his own name occurred to him. Nobody in his class had made fun of it. But it
still wouldn’t work, because he had to admit that there was plenty of room for mockery there. It just so happened that this Nick had been the strongest kid in his class. Would this be the case for his child, too? No idea. He couldn’t even really picture someone with his genes running around the front yard. Would he or she want to play baseball with him or like chess better? Prefer steak on the grill or a piece of barbecued vegan cheese instead? Want to personally drive a car or choose to be driven around by the automatic system?
Maria and Jim. That was it. Jim, like Jim Kirk. Officially James T. Kirk, service number SC 937-0176 CEC. But not Tiberius. That would be a punishment. And Maria, like the Holy Virgin, whom he admired greatly. Nobody would make fun of the name Maria, especially in New Mexico. Jim and Maria, Maria and Jim—maybe they’d be twins. On the ultrasound it just looked like one child, but you could never be sure.
But Rosie would know. She always knew everything. And she’d only asked him for one name.
“Oscar?”
“Yes?”
“If you write the message to Enceladus, then it’s important to include a note to Rosie telling her that my vote is for Maria and Jim.”
“I don’t understand. Maria who and Jim who?”
“It doesn’t matter. Just attach the note, okay?”
“As you like, Nick.”
12/31/2080, the Eve
From close up, Saturn was no longer suspended majestically in the distance. Now it looked active and dangerous. The wide ribbons running above its surface frayed into layers of clouds of varying speeds, racing past in the freezing cold. Nick kept discovering massive hurricanes around their edges. They were more prominent than the ones on earth and seemed to reach out towards him.
The E ring, however, had nearly dissolved. The countless reflections of the ice granules that normally made it shimmer from a distance were barely discernible at such close range. The ring was more of a thin fog band that dimmed the light of the stars behind it. They flew right into this fog, but Nick didn’t notice anything. Only the sensors on the Eve’s outer shell detected higher concentrations of ice and dust. These tiny particles posed no threat. They wouldn’t see the bigger chunks. If there was one in their path, it would hit the spaceship before they’d even have the chance to see it.
The Triton Disaster: Hard Science Fiction Page 12