15
The administrative minutia of personnel movements rarely made it to the administrator’s attention, the exception being when someone senior, like the chief astronaut, resigned without warning.
Jacqueline Cheever cursed under her breath. “So Hoover’s out, just like that?”
“It appears so,” Winston confirmed, reading from a daily personnel report. “And Keene’s gone with him.”
“I don’t have to guess where they went.” She angrily rubbed her bony fingers along the bridge of her nose. “They’re going to fly that damned fool mission for Hammond.”
“Neither one of them indicated where they might be going,” Winston offered hopefully.
“After yesterday? Bank on it.” With her preferred robotic expedition now about to slip through her fingers, this news only piled insult upon injury. Committee members whom she’d been confident were in her pocket were now wavering after hearing of Templeton’s monumental, bumbling, and entirely accidental discovery. Now it was imperative to them that humans be sent back out there in the most expeditious manner possible, which meant keeping HOPE in control of the project. “You’d think we were making first contact with an alien race,” she huffed.
“It’s likely some of them believe that to be a possibility. Educating legislators is a struggle without end,” he offered, attempting to assuage her. “We have our work cut out for us.”
As if on cue, Cheever’s phone began buzzing for her attention. She looked at the incoming caller ID and let it ring twice more. It was Li from UNSEC and it wouldn’t do for her to seem desperate, though engaging with the UN coalition right now might be her only chance to salvage this mess. To hell with it, she finally decided, and picked up the phone.
“Dr. Li,” she said. “Thank you for calling.”
“It is always my pleasure, Dr. Cheever. My contacts indicate we may have some common interests,” he said, once more jumping right past the usual banal pleasantries. It suggested that he was perhaps equally motivated, a good sign. It also meant she had to be careful. The more she seemed to desire their participation, the more they would want in return.
“We may indeed. I presume you’ve been briefed on our situation?”
“I have. It sounds as if your contractors have been keeping some important matters to themselves, Dr. Cheever.” Li paused. “As have your astronauts.”
“You could say that,” she said impatiently. His intel was better than she’d thought. “They’ve developed what I consider to be an ill-advised scheme to outfit Sacajawea—”
“Pardon me,” he said lightly, “I believe I am confused. Are you speaking of your vessel Columbus?”
“That’s still its name officially,” she said through clenched teeth. “Internally we’ve made the decision to re-christen the vehicle once we’ve reestablished control over it.”
“If I understand my nautical traditions correctly, that is not generally considered to be a good omen. I hope it does not portend a difficult future.”
It may already have, Cheever thought. “It’s going to be difficult no matter what. The contractors are scrambling to meet a rather ambitious departure window.”
“I am still rather confused, Dr. Cheever. I was under the assumption that you wanted Mr. Templeton to be returned safely. And if your chief scientist’s interpretations are correct, he has made a truly remarkable discovery which demands further investigation.”
“All true. It’s the method that concerns me, Dr. Li. This is an extraordinarily risky undertaking and sending a human crew needlessly complicates matters. Arthur Hammond’s people of course hold a different view, and as you mentioned he has managed to recruit two of our astronauts for his project. They’re not convinced an AI-controlled spacecraft can run a mission by itself. I disagree.”
“As do I.” And there was his real purpose—China’s pursuit of artificial intelligence was suspected to have leapfrogged American progress, and she had the feeling they were about to find out exactly how confident Li was in their program. “If I may ask, what are the mission parameters?”
“The best-case transit time is eighteen months, with another six to prepare the vehicle in time to meet their departure window. I’m not convinced that’s possible. Templeton needs food, water, and air to get home. None of that will matter if it can’t be delivered on time.”
“A difficult dilemma indeed,” Li conceded. “Magellan was your country’s first experience with a pulsed fusion drive. Its sister ship has improved on this technology, has it not?”
You know damn well it has, she thought. “It’s rated for a higher specific impulse so there would be some efficiency gains, yes. While that equates to somewhat lower thrust power, it would be able to accelerate for longer periods. As you can imagine, it will take a tremendous amount of propellant and the vehicle’s improved cryogenic tanks can’t fully close that gap. We believe HOPE is working on some technology they haven’t shared with us.” She bit off the words, suggesting that it aggravated her to no end that she hadn’t a clue what it might be.
“I see.” Li remained silent for several moments, either considering his response or drawing it out on purpose. “We understand your predicament and appreciate that your agency has limited ability to act independently. We are therefore prepared to offer our assistance.”
Here it comes. “I’m listening.”
“While your country may not be ready to put its trust into a spacecraft piloted by artificial intelligence, we are not so constrained. It would in fact eliminate most of the technical complications you describe. We have also made significant progress with fusion propulsion. Spin polarization has proven to be quite promising.”
It was Li’s form of name-dropping, letting her know they were indeed much farther along than anyone had realized. The Magellan-class pulse fusion engines were effective, but the technology he’d just hinted at was like comparing a steam locomotive to an internal-combustion diesel. “How far along? Is it deployable?”
“CNSA has achieved an equivalent to your technology readiness level six in ground test. We are preparing a full system test in space and have high confidence in its success.”
Ambitious, but she didn’t doubt they were serious. If they’d run a full-up ground test of a new fusion rocket, it proved they weren’t concerned about any second-order effects so long as the technology worked, “second order” meaning the horrific environmental damage that would’ve ensued. “What are you proposing?”
“This discovery is too important for our civilization to allow some . . . cowboys to stagger into haphazardly. It requires wise management and strict access control, preferably through multinational arrangements. In particular, we should consider the engagement protocols.”
She had no doubt his space agency, with cover from UNSEC, would be more than willing to proceed on their own. “You know I agree with you in principle.” Cheever sighed. “We share the same goals, but our oversight system doesn’t permit the level of autonomy you may be used to.”
Li was unmoved. “Once the state sets the direction, all arms of the state must support it. I’m sure you can appreciate the efficiency of our approach.”
“I do,” she assured him, but his comment left her curious. “What ‘direction’ has been set for you? Is there anything I should be aware of?”
“We will outfit a vessel with our improved drive system, directed by onboard artificial intelligence. It will be provisioned with survey equipment for this ‘anomaly’ and more than enough consumables to sustain Mr. Templeton for the journey home.”
While their propulsion and AI were apparently well ahead, she also knew they’d faced considerable hurdles in making closed-loop life support work for more than a few months at a time—an absolute requirement for keeping people alive on a long-duration flight. While American companies were sending expeditions to Mars, China was still trailing behind. This had led them to double down on advanced propulsion: If the rocket was fast enough, the environmental systems became less of a concern. “What kind of consumables are we talking about, Dr. Li? Are you confident enough in your ECLSS platform to sustain him?”
“Perhaps I was not clear enough. We will bring additional breathing oxygen and intravenous nutrients. Mr. Templeton will have to return in hibernation.”
“I understand.” Not that it bothered her, she just needed to know his intentions. “So your ship will in essence be a cargo carrier.”
“There will be some additional equipment aboard, but yes.”
She suspected there would be more. There was always more. “What sort of equipment?”
“Surveillance instruments and structurally compatible docking nodes. We intend to bring Magellan back as well.”
“That’s . . . most generous, Dr. Li.” She wasn’t sure she wanted it back, but it would at least be returned to their control.
“You may not find it to be so generous, Dr. Cheever. As your vessel no longer has the ability to return under its own power, we consider it legally classified as ‘derelict’ under the amended Outer Space Exploration Treaty. We will collect your stranded astronaut and recover the vessel under international salvage laws. Magellan will become the property of the UN Space Exploration Cooperative.” Which in reality meant the People’s Republic of China.
Too often in the realm of government projects, shifting priorities and elusive funding had led to valuable equipment being “abandoned in place,” an anodyne turn of phrase designed to soften the blow of the harsh reality it described.
NASA had experience with this over the years, though it had typically been confined to unneeded test stands and launch platforms. Magellan’s sister ship had the ignominious distinction of being the first vehicle to be abandoned in such a way.
Columbus had languished in high earth orbit ever since funding had been canceled after the currency crash years before. It had continued along its endless gravity-bound cycles throughout the intervening years, silently waiting for someone to bring it to life once more.
While of the same lineage as its predecessor, its layout was notably different. A single habitation cylinder was mated to the central control module on its forward quarter, like a wheel missing most of its spokes. Ahead of them was a large docking hub with berthing ports for up to four vehicles. Its bow held the ship’s micrometeor umbrella, which had remained safely folded away in its fairing along with an antenna array.
Behind the crew modules sat a cluster of spherical tanks for maneuvering propellant and oxygen mounted ahead of a long, empty truss: over a hundred meters’ worth of berthing cradles and plumbing meant for cryogenic tanks, enough to mount eight of the hundred-foot-long cylinders. Keeping so much hydrogen in a frozen state allowed much more of it to be crammed into one space, which required the tanks to essentially be freezers the size of grain silos. That required power and made them rather expensive. Adding insult to injury, conserving momentum while underway meant that each tank would be jettisoned as it was drained of propellant. They were the only parts of Columbus that would be thrown away as in the old days of rocketry, when everything was expendable simply because doing otherwise was even more wasteful. A single cluster of tanks with their carbon lace ram scoops would remain after the first three-month burn.
At the ship’s stern, its powerplant sported four exhaust nozzles in a diamond configuration, instead of Magellan’s three inline engines. The fusion drive was only there to provide thrust, the ship’s electrical lifeblood came from a compact fission reactor which presently sat dormant. Once loaded with uranium fuel, it would have more than enough power to keep running for a decade or more. For now, there wasn’t enough battery power left to turn the lights on.
Without electricity to run its stabilizing gyros, the vessel had long ago begun tumbling lazily along its orbit. This made rendezvous particularly tricky, which preoccupied the service crew now approaching it in a Polaris Clipper.
Silently firing its nose thrusters to bring them alongside, the pilots kept a safe distance from the big ship until it could eventually be brought under control. The spaceplane’s overhead cargo doors opened, and soon three spacewalkers emerged from within. One busied herself with unlatching an equipment pallet secured inside the payload bay while the others made their way across the gulf between the Clipper and the dormant Columbus, trailing a long umbilical cable behind them.
They approached the big craft carefully, keeping their focus on the center of the slowly tumbling ship. As they reached the truss, each man tethered himself to a traverse cable that ran along the length of its spine. Once secure, they moved more quickly, pulling themselves hand-over-hand to the forward service module and its battery compartment nestled beside Mylar-wrapped oxygen tanks.
As one opened the compartment, the other followed with the umbilical. After testing to confirm there was no lingering stray voltage—which there shouldn’t have been after so long a time, but nothing was ever taken for granted up here—he opened the receptacle, plugged in the offered cable, and twisted its lock into place.
“Connection secure, circuits are open,” the spacer called back to their partner in the Clipper’s bay. “Ready to receive.”
“Stand by. Here comes the juice.”
The spacewalkers instinctively moved away, as this was the first time any voltage had been fed to this lumbering beast in years. Fresh power should eventually stop its listless tumble as directional gyros automatically spun up to stabilize the ship.
“How’s it looking on your end?” one of the spacers at Columbus asked.
“Taking it slow,” she said. “We’re at twenty-eight volts, forty amps.”
“That’s what we see here. Charge meters just came alive.”
Deep inside Columbus, power coursed through its veins once more. Darkness turned to light one panel at a time as status meters that had been dark for years turned amber, then green as the hum of newly revived electronics filled the empty vessel.
In the empty control cabin, a single screen flickered to life: READY FOR UPLINK.