CHAPTER 25:
Weighty Matters
United States Space Force @USSFActual
Launch of the unmanned C-21-MX is scheduled for Midnight, GMT on the 25th.
Tammie D. @SMagnolia
@USSFActual, will we be able to see it?
USSF Office of Scientific Integration
@OSIGenBoatright
@SMagnolia, yes, Tammie, the east coast of the United States should be able to see the initial boost between 8:00 and 8:10 PM. C-21-MX will be launching from O’Neill station, and should be visible without magnification about thirty degrees above the western horizon. After the initial boost, viewers with at least 25x magnification should also be able to see the Helicity2 plume from one to three hours after sunset. OSI MoMaB is excited to support this unique test.
ChirpChat, September 2043
Official mission clock called for launch of the Bat within twenty-four hours; the best launch window was within twelve hours. Bat—still officially the C-21-MX—was undergoing tests for remote control of engines, navigation, and docking. This was a “plugs out” test in NASA vernacular, meaning that all physical links had been disconnected, and only internal systems were active. It was the perfect time for Glenn to enter the cargo pod and become situated in the unused cockpit area. George and his team had argued to spray the ballast foam after the test—supposedly via a remote link—then repeat the plugs out test to ensure that none of the systems were affected. While the foam was setting, Glenn would test his own command and control links while the link to Mission Control was inactive.
Once he made his way to the cargo pod, he waited for the signal from George to release the foam. It was time to record a few messages.
“My dearest Jennifer. By the time you get this. Bat will have launched and I will be committed to my plan. This is something I have to do. Although you may not agree with my reasons, you should know that I must try. I will do this, but then I’m coming back. I’m coming back for you, my dearest love, please believe that—I do. That’s my answer to the question you asked, as well. I will, and I do. Yours, forever and always, Shep.”
The next message was both more difficult, and more likely to cause a reaction. He could make the promise to Jen because he knew his actions were likely to end his career, and he’d be grounded the rest of his life. It was worth giving up a dream of space to be able to share the rest of his life with her. He had lived the reality of space travel, and was doing exactly what he was trained for—in truth, what he was made for. If the consequence was never coming back into space, it would be okay.
“To NASA and MarsX Mission Control. Right about now you should realize that your weight calculations on the C-21-MX are off. However, thrust and guidance have been adjusted to the new values. This cargo ship is not unmanned, and so I have christened it the Bat. I hope that history records this not as an act of piracy, but as a mission of mercy. The crew health on Percheron is critical, and I do not think they will be able to rendezvous and dock with Bat, and then diagnose and treat themselves—at least, not without the assistance of someone who has not been affected. Automated systems are all fine and good, but we already know that crew members behaving erratically have altered Percheron’s course and status. The more-than-twenty-minute communications lag will make remote-controlled docking extremely difficult.
“I have argued for a manned mission, and made the case that my unique condition will make this survivable. Someone has to treat the Percheron crew. As of launch time, the medic is in a coma and the Marsbase medical officer is . . . not functioning at one hundred percent; there may not be competent medical care by the time Bat arrives. I know there have been doubts about my suitability for space missions, but I can handle this. My uniquely remodeled physiology—including my LVAD—will enable me to withstand the high gravity boost to get to Percheron. The automated systems will remain online, but do not attempt to bring me back or I will override it.
“I will reopen communications with Mission Control after the acceleration phase is complete. I will also record and send status messages to keep Mission Medical in the loop. I have to do this, not to prove my own capabilities, but more importantly, to save lives.
“May God and history forgive me, even if you do not. This must be done.
“Shepard, out.”
The recordings would be sent after the initial burn of the strap-on boosters. The engineers had calculated that a six-gee burn for ten minutes, followed by two gees for ten hours, would boost the cargo ship to a speed of over two million kilometers an hour. At that speed, Bat could make the trip to Mars itself in five days. Of course, there was acceleration and deceleration time, plus maneuvering to catch up with Percheron on its ballistic course back to Earth, but the plan was for a total of twenty-two hours of acceleration and deceleration and one hundred twenty-two hours of coasting. This should be a six-day trip if all went well. If it didn’t . . . well, the computer in the MILES suit had been updated with multiple course and trajectory programs, as well as a backup link between his bionic control interface and Bat’s engine and navigational controls.
Glenn knew that General Boatright had been at work behind the scenes. He’d pushed to get Glenn assigned to the Moon, provided the MILES suit, and given him the team to pull this off by arranging the contacts behind much of this endeavor. In fact, the general had been involved since his accident and authorized the release of classified material used for his bionic rehabilitation. There was more to this than met the eye, and while the back-channel plotting bothered Glenn, it encouraged him even more. He had a powerful patron, and he had a team supporting him.
Enough woolgathering, it was time to brace himself for acceleration.
There were numerous bumps and shocks as Bat was disconnected from the support framework used during construction. Glenn connected his control interface to Bat’s computers. He would have anywhere from ten to thirty minutes before Mission Control detected his intrusion; fortunately, there were only ten minutes left in the launch countdown. It felt as if he was reaching out his arm to the navigation controls, and his legs and feet to the engine controls. His bionic eye now showed a view of space, and the heads-up display became ship’s status. He could see stars, but more than that, he could see the solar wind and all of the electromagnetic flux that surrounded the vessel. He could hear the communications between the tugs and the local controller at O’Neill. His legs conveyed the vibrations of the fuel pumps and a subtle background hum as the Helicity2 drive began to warm up. He could feel the drive controls with his feet, and he knew that all he needed to do was to think about where he wanted to go, and the controls would follow.
In the corner of his vision, a countdown clock was getting closer and closer to zero. Another overlay showed course calculations, constantly updated with trajectory and timing based on immediate launch. His feed also showed updated information from Percheron—it seemed that it was continuing to stray off course, whether from leaks, or accidental thruster firing, or deliberate action. If the latter, it pointed to more deterioration of the crew’s mental state. Time was of the essence, and the new trajectory calculations suggested that the programmed launch time might be too late.
A message popped up in his vision, flashing to get his attention:
Launch now—Boatright.
The countdown still had five minutes, but he could sense additional data being loaded into Bat via his secure comm. Glenn had to trust that it was the updated course. He had to act now. He thought about pressing a switch, and the interface interpreted it as taking control of Bat.
He flexed his legs and jumped.
Glenn didn’t actually move, he was secured in the acceleration cushions of the MILES suit, embedded in foam in the nose of the cargo pod. However, the intent to move his legs was interpreted as activating the boosters. He felt the thrusters with his legs, and the maneuvering systems as his hands. Bat’s sensors and instruments were his eye and ear. Acceleration pushed him into the cushions, and he thought of turning a dial in order to increase his oxygen flow to help with the stress and strain of increasing gee forces.
Glenn had taken control of Bat and was on his way.
The comm systems were filled with expressions of concern that Bat had malfunctioned. Mission Control was talking about aberrant signals, NASA worried about the trajectory implications, and MarsX was concerned that the early launch would jeopardize the entire mission. A new voice came over the comm, and all of the other chatter was cut off.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Major General Richard Boatwright of Space Force, Office of Scientific Integration. As you know, we are the support and liaison element of this mission. We have dedicated considerable effort, including computing resources, to continue to analyze the dynamic rendezvous parameters. No offense to our colleagues at NASA, but we feel we have the best and most recent launch and trajectory information for the C-21-MX. Deep Space Tracking indicates that recent changes to Percheron trajectory render the NASA trajectory too late and too inefficient. Percheron’s continued course deviation would require too much maneuvering at rendezvous unless we moved up the launch and altered trajectory to compensate.
“Do not be concerned; the Bat—excuse me, the C-21-MX—is perfectly under control. I’m sending one of my officers, Lieutenant Colonel Richardson, over with the updates and to act as liaison. Don’t worry, we’ll take it from here.”
The chatter resumed, now with added recriminations from Space Force’s First Space Wing, which operated the Earth Traffic Deconfliction Zone, which was supposed to have control over any and all craft operating in near-Earth space. NASA voices countered that the cargo ship had launched from O’Neill, which was not “near-Earth” and hence under their jurisdiction. Space Force countered that Moon-Lagrange space was the responsibility of the Second Space Wing, and thus they should still have authority. The weakest argument came from MarsX, who protested that the ship was headed to meet their personnel, thus control should have been theirs.
General Boatright came back on the channel, cutting off all other voices and sternly reprimanded them that this situation was precisely why his office had taken control. Moreover, he had the explicit permission of the United States president and the chief executives of England, France, Germany, Brazil, and Japan—the voting partners of the Mars and Outer System Exploration Consortium, the combined national space programs backing MarsX. Space Force personnel continued to protest until the Chief of Space Operations sent word that—as Boatright had informed them—this was precisely the reason why OSI MoMaB had been placed in charge, and that authority for mission came under the aegis of the USSF Third Space Wing—all space operations traversing the space inside the asteroid belt—and not the First or Second Space Wings. He then commanded the USSF personnel to shut up and follow orders or be dismissed from the Force.
Glenn listened for a time, but as the acceleration continued and gee-forces increased, he had less concentration to spend on the comm. Boatright still had not revealed the stowaway on Bat, but that was sure to come later, after Glenn’s pre-recorded message was received.
Call it privateering if one must; he would face those consequences in time. For now, though, it hurt. Crunches and core exercises had been part of his routine ever since the scolding he’d received from his physical trainer. Now those muscle contractions were essential to maintain blood flow and stay conscious. Just because he didn’t have legs for blood to pool didn’t mean it wouldn’t settle somewhere else—like his abdomen. Then again, that’s what the LVAD was for. By design, his torso and head were flat with respect to the direction of acceleration, but even minor differences in elevation were magnified by the gee force. He just needed to keep crunching his abdominal muscles to keep blood flowing to the heart and LVAD, and from there to his brain.
Pilots endured six gees all the time . . . but for only seconds each instance. He needed to stay alert and conscious for ten minutes. Not impossible, but difficult and a big strain on his heart, lungs, and muscles. He just had to concentrate.