Serendipity

by Dennis Ingram

Joyce tilted her head. “What did you have in mind?”

  “I want someone to back Elizabeth up. Someone who’s good with children.”

  Joyce eyed him, lips pursed. “I’m not sure she will appreciate my help.”

  David raised an eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”

  Joyce snorted. “You have no idea, do you?”

  “Of what?”

  She shook her head. “Some other time. OK, I’ll do it, but only on the condition Elizabeth is in command. My job will be to help care for the kids and offer advice if she asks, OK?”

  David’s eyes flicked up and Joyce smiled. As if she didn’t know he’d wanted that right from the start.

  “Oh no, tell me you didn’t!” David said. “You didn’t.”

  John had brought him to meet their new shuttle, a twin to Jack.

  “It seemed the right thing to do.”

  David shook his head, but a smile flickered at the corners of his mouth. “Who put you in charge of naming spacecraft, anyway?”

  John scratched his nose and looked up at the flat black shuttle perched on the runway outside Haven.

  “Dunno. I guess I have a talent for it.”

  David snorted. “Well, let’s take a look at her.”

  Together they mounted the stairs leading to the interior.

  “Bonjour, John,” a feminine voice said as they entered, in a French accent.

  David didn’t quite roll his eyes. “Really?”

  John didn’t flinch, but he seemed a little awkward as he made the introductions.

  “David, meet Jill.”

  “Bonjour David, enchanté.”

  David smiled as he replied. “Hello, Jill, I’m pleased to meet you too.”

  He looked at John. “She seems a fine ship. Every bit as good as Jack.”

  “Oh, she is, she is, and she’s ready to begin work too, aren’t you Jill?”

  “Oui, John. I am ready.”

  “Let’s see,” David suggested. “Jill, take us to Broken Hill.”

  “Désolé, David, you are not authorized.”

  David looked at John, who hastened to fix that little problem. “Jill, grant David full access to all commands and controls.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  John looked at David and gestured to try again.

  “Jill, take us to Broken Hill.”

  “Bien sûr. Departing now.”

  The whine of the wing turbines started even as the hatch closed and the stairs retracted.

  “Shall we go to the cockpit?” John asked, showing the way.

  David nodded. “Let’s do that,” he replied, heading for the left-hand seat. He could see life would be interesting with a fleet of AI-piloted shuttles like Jack and Jill on the job.

  David shook Ernie’s shoulder. He’d found him slumped in a chair in the corner of the workshop. Half his team snatched sleep in the adjoining office while the rest worked a shift on the lander taking shape on the workshop floor.

  “Huh?” Ernie started awake, looking around bleary-eyed.

  “It’s David. You asked me to come, remember?”

  “Oh. Oh yes, so I did. Sorry, I must’ve dozed off for a second.”

  David smiled. “It’s fine. I can tell you guys haven’t been getting much sleep lately.” He looked around. None of the others had stopped working, but they stole curious glances in their direction.

  Ernie heaved himself out of his chair and yawned and stretched. “Come on, I’ll show you what we’ve got.”

  The lander wasn’t big, perhaps the size of a school bus but squarer in shape. Neither was it pretty, all frames and angles, its various components bolted onto the frame where needed. It boasted four large spherical tanks to hold the hypergolic fuel and oxidizer needed to drive the thrusters. Heavy-duty thrusters studded the structure at regular intervals around, above, and below. One-third of the distance from the front, mounted just before the tanks, David noticed a glazed structure he assumed was the cockpit.

  He walked around the little craft, curious. This contraption would be his life, or his death. Somehow, he would have to learn how to fly it and fly it well.

  “No main engine.”

  Ernie shook his head. “Doesn’t need one. This machine must be able to accelerate in all directions equally well. That’s why it has thrusters all over, see?”

  David nodded. Ernie was right, the lander didn’t need to accelerate faster in any one direction. It had to be responsive and be able to vector thrust in multiple directions at once.

  David paused and looked at the cockpit. It had a lot of glass, for visibility. The roof contained a docking port, the means of ingress and egress.

  “We’ll dock it to Hope’s lander ports,” Ernie said, seeing his direction of interest. “There’s five docks there, so plenty of room for two landers and a shuttle.”

  David nodded. They’d already discussed this and agreed. The shuttle was an insurance policy – with a full load of fuel it could make the return journey to Serendipity. Given they would already be on a direct course for home anyway, all they would need was enough thrust to decelerate into orbit. Of course they hoped that wouldn’t be necessary, as using Jack to return home would mean something had happened to Hope.

  “You’ll notice the cockpit is mounted on a moving platform," Ernie said. “It can move a full meter in every direction, except up. That’s to absorb impact in case of a, um, heavy landing.” He glanced at David to see if he’d caused any insult to David’s piloting skills, but David didn’t react.

  “So it only moves if the g-force is above a certain level?”

  Ernie nodded, looking impressed that David understood. “Yeah, anything over five g’s and it’ll release. There’s a progressive spring loading that’ll soak up the impact as best as possible. We thought it might come in handy.”

  David nodded, appreciating their attention to detail. A soft seat and tight harnesses would only go so far if they crashed. They might keep his outer body restrained, but his internal organs still needed to decelerate. Ernie’s innovation might well save his life, given the hazardous nature of his mission.

  “What’s missing?”

  “The cargo modules. The first one will be ready tomorrow. We’ll test fit them then get Jack and Jill to haul them up to Hope. We can’t fit the whole lander into their cargo bay so we’ll assemble them up there.”

  David studied the lander. “Speaking of which …”

  “See there? Where they bolt together in the center? That’s where we’ll take them apart before sending them up in two pieces.”

  “Are we going to finish on time?” David asked, rubbing his neck. He felt confident of Ernie’s ability to deliver, but right now he noted as much chaos as order in the workshop.

  “We’ll do it,” Ernie said. “I know it looks a mess in here, but all the parts for the second lander are ready, we only need to put it together. Then it’s just getting them up there, along with the fuel. Oh, and we also have extra fuel tanks to send up, and fuel lines so we can refuel.”

  “We do?”

  Ernie nodded. “As you’ve already noted, there’s no simulator for this thing. You must learn to fly it the old-fashioned way. That means you’ll need fuel, lots of it.”

  David once more felt thankful for Ernie. He almost made his job seem simple.

  “I went to see that bucket of bolts you want me to fly.”

  David looked up to see Franz approaching. He said nothing, waiting for Franz to continue.

  “A full pardon, you say?”

  David nodded. “The council has agreed. Even if you don’t need to fly, we’ll honor our agreement.”

  “Ah, so you won’t send me in first?”

  David hadn’t meant to show his hand yet, but his intent had slipped out. “No. You’ll be there in case … I’m not successful.”

  “I see.”

  Franz paced back and forth, head down, hands in pockets. He looked up. “How do you know you can trust me?”

  David sprea
d his hands. “I must do what’s best for the colony. The least risky option is to trust you to help, it’s as simple as that.”

  Franz pursed his lips and nodded. “The least risky option.”

  “Yes,” David said. “I also don’t think you’re as black as some would paint you.”

  Franz snorted. “Co-leading an armed insurrection didn’t convince you?”

  David stood up. “Let’s be honest here. You led nothing. That was Carla’s doing. You followed her lead, sure, but not because you’re evil. I think you made a mistake. A mistake you’re willing to make up for, given a chance. Am I right?”

  “Perhaps.”

  David suppressed a sigh. He thought he understood Franz, but he sure made this hard work. And yet … and yet, somehow he got himself appointed to the captaincy of a starship, no small achievement considering the trillion-dollar price tag and the fact there had only ever been two of them.

  Franz considered for a moment, fixing his gaze on David. “I’ll do it.” David opened his mouth, but Franz continued. “On one condition.”

  David pinched his lips together. Franz sure as hell made this difficult. “Which is?”

  “I go in first.”

  David’s eyes widened. “Why?”

  Franz smiled. David thought it might be the first time he’d ever seen that happen. He wasn’t sure he liked it, either.

  “Why should you get all the glory, hmmm? Besides, as you say, I have something to atone for.”

  David opened his mouth, then closed it, thinking. Somehow, Franz had found the way to hit him where it hurt. David had worked it all out, how he’d pay for his own mistakes. Now Franz wanted that from him, and David had no other plan.

  The silence stretched on. Franz waited and David realized he had to decide. In the end, he found it easy. The colony always came first. He held out his hand. “Welcome aboard.”

  David spent as much time as he could spare down at Broken Hill, familiarizing himself with the lander. He’d banned John from naming them, and let Ernie’s team come up with the designations Dragonfly 1 and Dragonfly 2. The names seemed to fit. Their awkward, angular structures did seem dragonfly-like, the four tanks with their top mounting struts evoking the double wings of the Earth insect.

  He would sit in Dragonfly 1, playing with the controls, trying to imagine how he would fly it. He propped a data pad on the primitive dashboard and spent hours watching video footage of Opportunity, every day in more detail. Day by day he tried to memorize the motion of the asteroid, to search for patterns. His hands moved on the controls as he imagined making his approach, letting his soul bind to the machine. David remembered another time, decades past, making the final approach to land on an aircraft carrier far out to sea. A stormy night and the deck of the carrier tossed like a cork on the wild sea. His damaged fighter limped home low on fuel, and he had only one shot at landing. He’d riveted his attention to that deck, flying the airplane by feel. As the deck moved, his hand moved on the joystick, up and down, side to side. He became one with the rhythm of the ship. Up and down, side to side.

  He’d walked away to tell the tale.

  This was the same, but different. The asteroid spun and it rolled. It had a lumpy surface, but always rotated at the same rate. Not so fast it would be impossible to land, but not so slow it would be easy.

  David studied the video and his hands moved the joystick. Hills and valleys, rocks and ice. He learned the rhythm until he dreamed about it when he slept.

  He must be ready.

  16

  The mine shaft traced a long, long path down to their bolt hole. John had gotten mining bots to work on their deepest shaft and push it down and to the west. One kilometer down they excavated a cavern the size of several large houses. Then they reinforced the void with structural steel and built compartments to form rooms, stocking them with plenty of food and water. They installed an atmospheric plant to recycle their air and brought down enough supplemental oxygen to keep them going for months if needed.

  The bots continued on down to make a dump to store waste and drilled a deep vertical hole reaching down into the hotter rock below. Then they built a geothermal generator that worked off temperature differential. Although not efficient, it would generate all the power the inhabitants of the bolt hole would need without the risk of a nuclear plant.

  The hardworking bots made a final home for themselves in a separate shaft driven into the rock near the bolt hole entrance, in case they needed to excavate out again.

  A triple set of blast doors protected the main shaft, one set at the entrance, one set halfway down and the third guarding the entrance to the bolt hole chamber.

  John felt confident they would hold, even after a direct strike on Broken Hill, but it was reassuring to know the bots were there to dig them out if needed.

  “This is impressive,” David said, looking around. “I can’t believe you’ve done all this in only two months.”

  John shrugged. “This is easy. All we do is program the bots and they do it. They work twenty-one hours a day, every day. To them it’s not much different to what they normally do. All we do is point them at it and off they go.”

  “Still, it’s impressive. It makes me wonder if we’re doing the right thing, trying to stop it.”

  “No, we have to,” John said. “Not only that, we have to get good at it. This solar system’s full of stray rocks – we need to keep them away. If not now, sooner or later a world-killer will come along. You know it.”

  David sighed. John was right. He couldn’t wish away their appointment with Opportunity now. They’d come too far.

  With great care they nudged the pieces of the Dragonflies together in orbit and made ready to mate them to Hope’s old cargo lander docking ports. Orbital assembly seemed like it ought to be easy, after all, there was no gravity to worry about. But zero gravity did not mean zero mass, and one slip would mean disaster. They settled on a system of assembling the Dragonflies a kilometer behind Hope, Jack and Jill ferrying the components up as they became ready. Then David and Franz would pilot them over and dock them.

  They completed Dragonfly 1 that morning, and David got ready for its maiden flight.

  “Airlock please, Jack,” he said as he finished dressing in his pressurized flight suit. He snapped the helmet on and closed the visor as the airlock wall rose and sealed off the passenger compartment. Next he removed his gloves from the clip at his belt and snapped them on.

  David’s suit was a big improvement on the last one he’d worn, being made of the new smart materials. It still had distinct components – torso, helmet, gloves, boots – but they flowed together to make airtight seals that still left flexibility to move. He checked his suit vitals and flexed his hands. “OK, Jack, let the air out please.”

  “Decompressing.”

  Jack had adapted his style somewhat for David. He’d stopped calling him “mate”, like an echo of John. His responses were now terse and to the point. David felt glad in a way, as it suited the mood of their mission better. In another way, though, he wondered if he had offended the shuttle – he no longer sounded like a friendly Aussie. Was it even possible to offend a shuttle? Afterward he’d make it up to him, if so. He forced the If there is an after corollary to the back of his mind. There will be. He’d make sure of it.

  The green indicator on the wall cycled through amber to red, indicating he now stood in a vacuum. His suit hugged him tightly and he flexed his hands. Not bad. He wouldn’t like to fly with them on, but for a suit they were good.

  “Open the hatch please, Jack.”

  “Affirmative.”

  David tilted his head back to see the hatch iris open, revealing the low-tech manual hatch leading to the Dragonfly. He flexed his knees and pushed off. The soles of his boots wanted to stay stuck to the deck, so it felt a little like jumping from a puddle of molasses.

  He drifted across and grasped the hatch controls, keying the release mechanism. The hatch indicator flashed red and released.
He braced himself against the neck of the access tube and pushed to swing the hatch into the Dragonfly – no fancy doors that opened by themselves here!

  David had to duck and squash himself down into the cramped Dragonfly cockpit so he could swing the hatch up and secure it shut. He wormed his way into the pilot’s seat and fumbled with the harnesses.

  “OK,” David said to himself. “Let’s get the power on and get some air in here.” He grinned as he flicked through the power up sequence. He’d played a big hand in deciding the layout of the cockpit. The dashboard bore more than a passing resemblance to the dash of a certain fighter jet he’d once known well.

  “Are you receiving me, Ernie?”

  Ernie sat in Jack’s cockpit along with John, Franz, and two other engineers.

  “Roger that,” came the reply.

  “Power on,” David said. “The board is green. Pressurizing now.”

  David pushed the switch to flood the small cockpit with air and start the environment system. He watched as the air pressure gauge rose to the “normal” position.

  “Air looks good, cracking the helmet.”

  At a touch his visor flowed apart and he sniffed the air. It smelled of oil and ozone, but seemed breathable.

  “Air is good,” he said, removing his gloves. Ernie wanted them to fly with their suits on to provide another layer of protection. David agreed but refused to fly with his gloves on, no matter how good they were. He needed to feel the controls.

  He reached out and grasped the joystick, then let it go in a hurry.

  “Damn.”

  “What’s wrong?” Ernie asked.

  “Oh, nothing serious. I just forgot how cold it is in here, left some skin on the joystick.”

  “Oh.” Ernie sounded relieved. “Give it a few minutes, the air will warm up fast.”

  “Roger that.”

  Ernie was right. The upside of a tiny cockpit is it takes next to no time to change the environment. While he waited, David worked through the pre-flight checklist.

  “Docking master set to manual, check. Radar enabled, check. Fuel pressurization set to auto, check.”