by E. N. Abel
''You read the books?''
''Nobody has. Heim never abided by scientific standards, meaning he did not publish his theories in any renowned journal of physics, but published them in three books himself.''
''Why's that?''
''Probably wanted to avoid being torn apart by his contemporary colleagues. He was severely disabled from the war.''
''OK.''
''So after we understand his theories, and I mean completely understand them, we need to find a way to turn them into real world usage. Meaning: build prototypes, run tests, learn from our mistakes, refine the prototypes, perform more tests ...''
''So what would you need?''
''Everything but the fucking ship itself.'' Kaiser laughed again. ''Maybe we could build the antigrav devices from scratch, too, maybe even their antimatter reactor - that doesn't seem to be very complicated - but only if we already have the construction plans at hand. And up to now I have not mentioned the super-light drive; that's a completely different animal to boot.''
''Hmm.''
''Like said: it's impossible.''
''But it happened anyway.''
''Yes, and that worries me.''
''So what do you think?''
''I think they had help. Help to the same degree we would have needed: at least ready-made construction plans, pre-designed test suits, such stuff. And plenty of it.''
''From who?''
''That's the problem, Paul.'' Kaiser looked at his friend. ''Nobody on this world could have provided that material.''
Chapter 108
Moon Orbit
Wednesday, 28.12.2016
There was no question: Tjurin liked what he saw. A tightly run ship with a disciplined crew. Intelligent, likeable comrades willing to perform with excellence and ready to train more in order to become even better.
In one single session with Rosskov the old cosmonaut had understood the strong points and weaknesses of the little ship's design and found it formidable. The availability of unlimited amounts of energy surely had huge advantages. For example the outer insulation did not really matter, they could produce more than enough heat to compensate for the loss. And that gravimetric shield against micrometeorites ... not bad. Not bad at all.
An hour after the meeting with Rosskov the new One-O had come up with a tight training regime for all kinds of emergencies, ranging from slow decompression caused by a hole in the hull up to a massive reactor failure. He had used his new authority, published the training schedule and then mercilessly hounded the kids. The crew cursed Tjurin's ass - but performed anyway, just as it should be. He loved it and the Captain was delighted. Throughout the past three days, watched by the eagle eyes of Tjurin and Westinghouse, each and every member of the crew had learned how to don both types of space suits, learned about the difference between the two types, when to choose which one. The American model was far superior to the Russian one, but the older model was tough, sturdy and had proven itself time and again, while the new one was, well, new.
The Colonel registered with some amusement that the non-military crew complement - mostly the female part - was going for the newer, lighter and more fancy suits, the ex-soldiers for the older, heavier and more stout. Somehow he had expected something like that. After a little row with Lieutenant Snider - acting project manager for the erection of the station - about the work and training times, they had matched their schedules, so training and project management could both progress. The construction site for the base had been selected today - with some advice from him - and now they were ready for the first EVA operation.
Even without intercom the Commander could hear the Captain's order: ''Helm: landing procedure.''
And Acar's calm reply: ''ETA one-twenty.'' Meaning: seconds.
Tjurin turned to his first landing party, six very excited young men and women, and watched them close the last latches and seams, carefully counter-checking each other's preparations, just as they had been taught. The Chinese woman was among them. Remembering his very specific orders - she had to be the first of the women to set foot on the surface - the Commander smiled. The Chinese government would hear of this, of course. He also understood perfectly why the Captain could not leave his valued resource in the security of the ship, so the One-O had done the next best thing: he had assigned one of the ex-soldiers, Master Sergeant Smith, as chaperone to the girl, given him a stern lecture in private and now kept a close eye on both.
When the last checks were completed and the landing party settled down to wait, Acar's voice drifted down the lift opening: ''Landing in ten, nine, eight,...'' and a moment later: ''Ship has landed. Engaging anchoring system ... done. Ship is secure.''
''Landing party, go,'' MacMillan called.
''Shut the lift hole,'' Tjurin ordered, ''Close helmets.''
A plug was pulled over the lift hole in the upper deck and locked in place, sealing the lower deck off airtight.
''Done!'' came over the suit radio.
''Decompress!''
Rosskov, also member of the first party, touched a display on his pad and the air lock's pumps fired up. Everybody watched the big pressure gauge screen over the outer door as its status bar moved from a green section to red one. It just took moments, and the room was airless.
''Open.''
Again Alex pressed some buttons and the round door moved inward a bit, then rolled aside. An unblocked view on a surreal grey-black surface became visible.
''Sun filter!'' Seven hands reached up and pulled the golden visors down. ''Now everybody listen up,'' Tjurin barked over the suit radio in his best command voice. ''In a moment you will step into the most hostile environment humanity has ever set foot on. Every mistake you make will kill you. A rip in your suit and you are dead before we can get you back on board. A look into the naked sun and you are blind forever. Leave the landing pad and you will lose your footing.'' He turned to Alex: ''Rosskov, go!''
Alex jumped out first, a grav generator under his arm. He floated down and, without taking time to admire the view, walked ten meters aside and set the generator down.
''Engine room! Transmit energy!'' Immediately a hum sounded up. ''Gravity is building up,'' Alex reported. ''Zero-point-five, point six, seven, eight, constant at zero-point-eight.'' He looked up: ''Gravity field active, sir.''
''Well done.'' Turning to the rest of his gang he went on: ''Thanks to the idea of our Scotty you now have a gravity patch of about a hundred meters in diameter. Inside it you will be kept on the ground. Beyond that the effect quickly wears off - so stay within the field and beware. Are you ready?''
''Yes, sir!'' a chorus of six voices yelled.
''Landing crew, disembark!'' Tjurin smiled. ''Slowly, kids, slowly. The Moon won't run away.''
Person-by-person they stepped into the open door and carefully pushed out, drifted down to a watchful Alex. Tjurin followed last. In a minute they were all assembled under the floating sphere, forming a little flock of white figures and staring at the marvellous scene. The Russian Colonel had chosen the time for the EVA wisely: the unbelievably blue-white ball of Earth was hanging above the horizon, the sun beside it casting long, harsh shadows. Minutes with ooh's and ahhh's passed by.
Dimitri Iwanowitsch Tjurin finally realised that he - after thirty years of nearly continuous space duty - was standing on the Moon for real, experiencing his life's dream. Turned into reality by a bunch of loopy kids who had dared the unthinkable and built their own space ship in a garage. This breath-taking beauty of the view in front of him - he did not know how to define his feelings - they were simply too big. The man took a few deep breaths, then switched to his command circuit, the one only the Captain could hear: ''Thank you, my friend. I owe you.''
''I have a private phone line for you, Commander,'' came Mike's quiet answer. ''Realtime via the CERN quantum link. Your wife is on the other end ... you can speak in five seconds ...''
At that moment the Colonel understood why these youngsters were so fixed on their leader. W
hy Rosskov and the Chinese girl had joined them. And why he would. A clicking-sound announced that the Captain had switched himself out of the radio circuit.
''Dimitri?''
''Maja?''
''Dimitri! Is this for real? Where are you? The man said you are calling from the Moon...''
''Yes, my love, I am. I am standing on the Moon's surface, in a crater named Aristotle and I'm looking down on our home world. What a breath-taking view this is ... let me describe it to you ...''
Chapter 109
Moon
Thursday, 29.12.2016
The second day of the cleaning routine was nearly over. After marking off the construction site for the base and planting four more antigravs around it, they had started to clean up the area in earnest. The idea was to remove as much of the rocky debris as possible so the air-filled station walls would not be punctured. This had to be done by hand, which was easier said than done and took the combined work force of the whole crew. It also provided plenty of EVA time for everybody.
While the first few visits on the surface carried a hint of wonder, the following ones very quickly turned into just work. Divided into three teams of six all personnel, except the doctor, took turns: three hours outside, then eight hours inside. This made for slow progress, but working in a zero-atmosphere environment was utterly exhausting, even if you had close-to-normal gravity. The old space suits were heavy and the new ones tricky. Alex even had to lower the force of the grav generators another ten percent, so the people could move better.
Westinghouse, Tjurin and MacMillan acted as team leaders and observers, meaning they watched the others work and looked out for mistakes. And that proved to be necessary: during the fourth tour one of the men misstepped and - despite the reduced gravity - sprained his ankle so badly that he had to be carried back to the ship, where the medic took care of him.
During the ninth tour Andrea McNamara managed to puncture her brand new bio suit - something NASA had thought to be impossible. She stumbled, slipped and fell on a pointed rock, slitting open the tough hide over her leg a good inch. She survived only due to Tjurin's lightning-fast reaction. The commander, receiving the decompression-alert from her suit's internal monitoring system, had already started moving before her first outcry and reached her in a heartbeat. Seeing the bulging rip on her left suit leg, he simply squeezed it shut to reduce the speed of air loss, picked her up like a doll and rushed her back into the sphere's air lock. One emergency compression phase later Andrea was safe: rattled but unharmed.
That incident was a signal for Mike to call it a day and to suspend the EVAs until the next morning. After the accident had been analysed and the general fuss died down, he called his staff officers and the NASA man to the canteen, pulled a bottle of cognac from his private stock and filled the glasses. ''To passing bullets,'' he toasted, much to everyone's agreement.
''We were lucky,'' Tjurin remarked, looking into his glass.
''No,'' Mike contradicted his First Officer, ''no luck there. Pure skill it was, Dimitri, your skill.'' He raised his glass: ''Thank you for saving our Miss McNamara.''
''You are welcome.'' The Commander replied in kind. ''You know, we never thought about what it really means to perform actual work on the Moon.''
''Lots of problems,'' Westinghouse said. ''Our notes from the landings in the 60s contain almost nothing about any obstacles they must have met.''
''Laundered?''
''Either that or they were plain supermen. Well, I will analyse the damage and try to repair the suit. Shouldn't have happened anyway with that new skin and all.''
''New equipment ...'' Mike began and Alex and Tjurin followed up unisono: ''Breaks.''
Much experience speaking. Everybody nodded.
''You want to bar the other bios from operation?'' Mike wanted to know, thereby making it clear whose decision this was.
''Yes, I guess I should. But I will know more by tomorrow,'' the NASA scientist sighed, then went on. ''Anyway, we could start setting up the station if we find a way to get rid of that rock.'' He laughed. ''Another one of those unmentioned hazards.''
''Rock.'' Mike hadn't heard about that yet.
''Yes, we ran into a big rock buried right under the site's center. Didn't see it first. It peeks out just enough to be a nuisance. Unfortunately it has some very sharp edges, so we have to get rid of it somehow. And since we don't have any railroad picks or dynamite on board ...''
''If my particles cannon...'' Alex started, but was cut off immediately; everybody waved off, laughing: ''Get outa here ... if bulls had tits ... and pigs could fly ...''
''I can do it,'' Carl Muller suddenly offered - much to everyone's surprise.
''How? A grav mine would be a bit over the edge,'' Alex pointed out, a bit acidified.
''True. But I can shave it off with my defence shield.''
''Christ.'' Mike took a pull from his glass. ''That's millimeter work.''
Carl just shrugged. ''So?''
Tjurin and Westinghouse didn't understand.
''What are you talking about? How can a gravimetric field ...'' Westinghouse asked confused.
''If set to high power it will pulverize any matter it touches. Literally disintegrate it.'' Carl explained calmly.
Tjurin's eyes grew big: ''You want to ... fly over the area with the shield on maximum and just shave that rock off?''
''That's the plan.''
''But the shield is six miles in diameter,'' Tjurin protested.
''Only if I want it to be. Like in outer space. I can adjust it to any radius over thirty meters, precisely ... to one single millimeter. Would be super-high density then, but feasible.''
The commander leaned back, took a deep breath. ''Gutsy.''
''Would just take a minute,'' Carl went on, ''but the site has to be evacuated.''
''Well, it's empty now ...'' Mike reminded him.
''Right.'' Carl looked at his Captain questioningly, received a nod and took a swig from his cognac, got up. ''Gentlemen, if you will excuse me a moment.'' He left towards the lift, already speaking into his communicator: ''Acar, I've got a job for you.''
Tjurin emptied his glass. ''I want to watch this.'' He got up, too. ''From the big screen on the bridge.''
His words made everybody wake up and the whole group followed him down to the bridge. Within minutes they were set. Acar lifted the sphere and moved it slightly sideways, while Carl punched the field radius into his defence computer.
''Two hundred meters,'' Acar announced.
''Activating shield.'' Carl tapped on a button and the reactor replied with a short, sharp hum. Nothing else happened; just a circle appeared around the outline of the sphere on the main screen. Shield Radius 50.000 Meter could be read on the status display.
''Ball's in your court,'' Carl grinned to Azar. ''Let's test it with that rock over there first, the one outside the crater. It is sticking six meters out of the ground. One pass, please. Height exactly fifty meters. That's five-zero-dot-zero-zero-zero meters for the illiterate.''
''Bean counter!'' Azar retorted, turning to his console. They would do it on a computer-controlled course - a precise approach like this was better not done by a human.
''How many tons of stone are in that ...'' Westinghouse set to say, but that moment Azar tapped a button and the sphere shot downwards.
''Oh shiiiit!'' Westinghouse gave a howl and lifted his hands in a protective motion, but it was over in a heartbeat. One brilliant flash below the ship and they had pierced through. The computer veered the craft towards the site again.
Mike just chuckled. ''Kid's digital.''
''Zero and pedal to the metal, eh?'' Tjurin laughed, then pointed: ''However, he knows his trade. The rock is gone.''
''YEAH!'' came from the bridge's crew.
''Go for the next one,'' Mike ordered and Acar activated the next course, the ship dived down, pulverized the tip of the second rock.
''Something's wrong,'' Carl stated immediately.
''What?'' With one jump Mike and Tjurin were behind them, peeking over his shoulder.
''Energy readings differ too much.''
''What do you mean?'' Westinghouse threw in. ''The second rock's tip was far smaller.''
''Doesn't matter,'' Carl replied tightly. ''Rock is rock, and the first one had a different density.'' He turned to Mike: ''A very different density. Look at those values!'' He pointed at his display.
''You're right, Carl. Well, the rock won't run away. We'll look after it some other day,'' Mike decided, ''Tomorrow is station setup.'' Pointing upward he went on: ''By the way: there is some Cognac left.''
Chapter 110
Moon
Friday, 30.12.2016
''Careful!'' Tjurin yelled angrily. ''PROKLJATIE! Careful! You over there, number four, slower!''
It was midmorning and they were out in force: twelve men and women - as many as they had EV suits. Eight were working on slowly pulling the mantle of the inflatable station apart, two were jumping around and helping out, another two were watching, correcting and cursing. It was a frustrating, nerve rendering task.
Mike, on post at the opposite side, also had things to criticise: ''Number nine, slower! Damn it, look at your neighbours.'' Suddenly he was fed up with the fuss, took a deep breath and hollered in his best commanding voice: ''All troops, Attention!''
Five of the ten suited figures straightened stiffly at once, stood motionless, facing their leader. The others stopped in surprise. Here, in this environment, this seemed ridiculous - but effective.
''Align from the right!''
Four of the ex-soldiers, holding the corners of the bottom tarp, aligned themselves along invisible lines until they formed a rough rectangle.
''Platoon, step back.''
They stepped back until the station's floor was pulled straight and taut. The middlemen and women simply had to follow up. Number five stumbled shortly, but could grab a hold on the tarp.
''Bridge!'' Mike snapped next. ''How is it?''
''Looks straight to us, Captain,'' Reyd replied at once. Somebody up there giggled. ''Just a centimeter more to the left.'' It sounded a lot like Marlene.