CHAPTER 24:
Don’t Call It Piracy
Mars Exploration Consortium @TheRealMarsX
At MarsX, we’re all about improving access to deep space resources. High-speed cargo transit to Mars vicinity has been in the works for some time, and the recent successful Marsbase missions indicate it is time for a trial. Earth to Mars in one month is becoming a reality.
USSF Office of Scientific Integration
@OSIGenBoatright
To clarify, the upcoming cargo ship to Mars will be unmanned. OSI MoMaB is proud to support and coordinate the test of novel high-acceleration means to deliver essential supplies to Mars and Beyond!
ChirpChat, September 2043
Glenn, like all astronauts, had very little personal gear to pack. The proliferation of private cargo ventures and reusable launch vehicles had made it easier to travel off Earth, but space was still at a premium. Ships and stations provided uniforms, bedding, and sundries, so he only had one suit of formal civilian clothes, a few flowery print shirts from Hawaii, and his old Space Force dress uniform. The latter had been re-tailored after his rehabilitation since it needed to accommodate his bionics. Mainly, his personal effects consisted of an electronic book reader, a digital picture frame, two hard-bound books of classic science fiction and an autographed copy of Homer Hickam’s Don’t Blow Yourself Up. He’d met the rocketry pioneer and science historian when he was twenty-two, at a space science conference in Tucson, Arizona. He’d bought the book for Hoop, but his uncle had insisted that Glenn read it, too.
During his recovery from the accident, Hoop had brought it to him in the hospital, tapped the cover and asked “What have you learned?”
“I need to do a better job of not blowing myself up, I guess,” was Glenn’s response.
The digital display frame was for pictures of important events and people. There was one of Aunt Sally and Uncle Hoop from back when he was young and they were raising him. Nik had caught a picture of him yanking the door off the wrecked car in North Carolina, with the local sheriff looking on in awe. There was also a picture of Jennifer in Maui, and of the two of them with Aunt Sally. Finally, he had a collage of pictures from the rehab hospital. Various patients showed off their advanced prosthetic and bionic limbs, were interspersed shots of Marty, Nik, and Jakob.
There wasn’t much to put in the shipping module, since most of his possessions were with Aunt Sally. Home was Hoop and Sally’s house in Lexington; this was just a place to work. He liked Moonbase and its people, but he wouldn’t mind leaving.
He had a job to do and that job was on O’Neill Station.
“Hi, Jen. How is the on-the-job research going?” After having monopolized the last call talking about his own concerns, Glenn figured he needed to let her talk this time.
“It’s not too bad. I just got back from Maui working up in the Haleakala crater training area.”
“Really? Seen any green flashes lately?”
“Ha, ha, very funny. Not exactly easy to do when you’re inside a crater at twelve-thousand feet elevation. On the other hand, sunrises are spectacular. They let us go up to the summit the other day. It’s fantastic to watch the sun come up from there.”
“Did you turn to the west to see the shadow of the mountain?”
“I did. That triangular shadow is wonderful . . . but cold.”
“Cold? Really? Don’t they have you in spacesuits up there? I was always too warm in the simulation exercises.”
“We wear them in the crater. For one thing, with the silicates in the dust, it’s best not to breathe too much. With some of the heavy work we also need the extra oxygen. On the one hand, exertion warms me up, on the other hand, getting sweaty ends up gives me chills. On average, it’s colder than my preference since we need to stay at a temperature that doesn’t result in perspiration.”
“True, it’s a consideration up here, too. The fans in the suits and venting of pressurized air can chill you pretty quickly.”
“I can’t really complain, though, this is fascinating. It’s interesting, a good place to train, good people, and I’m learning new stuff every day.”
“Your text said something about continuing training after this cycle. What happened to going through the first two stages, writing the feature, then going home to write your book?”
“Well, my editor wants me home. I’ve been recording one feature a month and he’s been releasing them on a regular basis, but he wants me to get the book finished so that he can put me on other projects. Leo, my publisher, changed all of that. He negotiated a contract change so that I don’t work for the news outlet anymore, I now work for the communications company which owns it, but on loan to the public affairs offices of NASA and MarsX. I sort of work for them now. As long as I keep serializing the monthly features, there’s an editor in the PAO assembling them and sending them back to me for editing and approval. We’ve almost got enough for the first book.”
“‘First book?’ Really? That implies multiple books and a continuing series. What exactly do they have in mind?”
“I’m not entirely sure, but Leo mentioned that my work caught the attention of that general of yours.”
“Huh. Boatright’s at it again. He’s becoming a bit of a puppet master. He’s been pretty supportive, but I never really know what he’s planning.”
“Leo said something about reporting off-Earth. That would be nice, but I can’t help but think that we need to resolve matters between us.”
“I . . . I know. I’m sorry. I panicked. Then I was too embarrassed to admit I was wrong.”
“Damn right, you were. I went off to training thinking that it was pointless because you wouldn’t be there when I was done. You hurt me, Glenn.”
Ouch, he thought. She called me Glenn, not Shep.
“Oh.” It was all he could think of to say. He’d already said he was sorry, but it seemed so inadequate.
“Anyway, it seems to me that you’re about to head off and do something stupid and heroic again, and I really want to get this settled. I do still love you, even if you broke my heart.”
“I love you too, but what I said back then stands, I’m . . . well, I can’t say, but yeah, it’s probably stupid, and I don’t want that to splash back on you. I couldn’t stand it if it held you back.”
“You’re still a fool, Glenn Shepard. Do what you have to do, then come back to me and settle this.”
Before he could say a word in response, Jen cut the connection.
“So, did you talk with her?”
“Yeah, I did, Nik. We’ve been on comm a couple of times, and a few texts in between.”
“And?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You’re a fool Shep.”
“Almost her exact words.”
“Almost?”
“Ok, her exact words, except she called me ‘Glenn.’”
“Ouch. Sheila’s stayed in touch with her. She’s hurting. It’s like being abandoned at the altar all over again.”
“Oh, I never thought of that.”
“Of course not. It’s because you’re a fool. Enough of that. How are things going for you at O’Neill? Keeping up the heavy gee conditioning?”
“I’m exercising. Still, that’s not the only thing I’m doing. This isn’t just a rehab assignment. Most of the time I’m working on the packing list for the cargo ship and participating in the planning meetings with respect to medical supplies. They keep arguing over the weight of the food and water vs. fuel consumption. Now they’re talking about sending extra fuel because telemetry says Percheron made excess maneuvers. That might be more erratic behavior, so I’m pushing for additional medical supplies. General Boatright got me assigned to figuring out what could be causing the medical and behavioral issues so that we have the appropriate meds in the shipment.”
“Like what?”
“Well, we can’t rule out toxicity, so we’ll need chelators, maybe even dialysis supplies if it’s not overtly viral or bacterial. The latest report says LeBlanc is suffering from liver failure. It could be parasitic from something growing in the hydroponic sections, so, we need herbicides and fungicides—both industrial and medical, and at that, ointments, powders, oral meds and injectables. The outbound flight took honeybees for the greenhouse dome, so we need insecticides . . . not to mention counteragents and antitoxins for all of that.”
“They have flowers and insects?”
“Mars base does, but Percheron only has dwarf fruit trees. Those provide good sources of vitamins, and they taste good. Still, they had to be pollinated, and they used the outbound honeybees for that.”
“You think flies or mosquitoes might have gotten in with the honeybees?”
“We can’t rule it out. Someone needs to go there and look. We can’t count on the crew being able to do it. They’ve had what, a month now? Still no resolution.” Glenn sighed. “Then again, you already know my views on that.”
“Yes, I know that you think you have to go because you don’t trust Yvette to make the right decisions. You feel you’re the only one who can withstand the gee forces of the launch and arrive with a clear head.”
“I don’t know if it’s a matter of trust, but the medical reports are getting worse. It’s not bad enough that the captain became delusional, but some of the other reports suggest increases in depression and OCD-like behaviors. The amazing thing is that Yvette hasn’t appeared affected until now, but these latest reports? She’s seeing things that aren’t there.”
“So, you’re the psychiatrist, now?”
“Do you think it likely that only a single individual on that ship could remain unaffected?”
“No, but this sounds like you think she falsified earlier reports.”
“Not that, so much as she’s not aware of her own impairment—but this latest report? Dvorak and Taketani conspiring to remove her? Locking them in their quarters? I don’t know Dvorak, but I trained with Gavin Taketani. He’s a mediator, not confrontational if he can help it. If he is plotting against her, he would have to have a damned good reason. As it is, she ordered all of the crew to isolate in their quarters and has effectively taken command in the captain’s absence.”
“So, Dvorak—he’s the XO, right? He didn’t challenge her?”
“We don’t know if he did or not, other than this odd report of conspiracy. She’s invoked medical authority, and been rational until just recently. She relieved the captain of command and has been giving orders. She’s in the command hierarchy—at least as far as MarsX is concerned, although I’m not sure why Space Force is going along with it.”
“Perhaps because she’s the person best able to solve this.”
“But what if she’s not? Able, that is. She reported doing a medical exam on Engineer Scott! Scott was blown out into space when Captain LeBlanc blew the cargo hold.”
“It could be a simple name error. A mistake due to stress and overwork.”
“No, it’s not. She’s impaired, and she can’t see it. Everyone else is in awe of her handling of the problem to date, and they don’t see that she’s now in as bad a shape as everyone else.”
“There it is. You don’t trust her.”
“Yeah, that’s fair. The reports of crew health from Mars didn’t make sense. She should have been on top of things, and she wasn’t.”
“If there was even a problem in the first place.”
“Sure. If. But there were docs in NASA and MarsX who agreed that something was wrong. They were just reluctant to pin it on their golden girl.”
“And that galls you, doesn’t it?”
“Wait—when did this turn into a psychotherapy session?”
“Hello? Psychiatrist here! You have to know that my brain is always analyzing.”
“Okay, okay. The truth is, I think the situation is too volatile. If she’s unaffected, then my whole role is to get the cargo pod docked with Percheron. But I don’t think that’s the case. It’s not just a feeling, I’ve been analyzing the medical telemetry. Her heart rate and endocrine levels are way up. Her norepinephrine levels are also off. She’s impaired, and there needs to be an unimpaired doc on-site.”
“Provided you survive the trip. How are the chest twinges?” Nik asked.
“Nothing to worry about; it was just a muscle cramp. One of the fittings in the suit was too tight across my chest. It crimped a medical lead and gave me a bruise. That’s all it was.”
“But the Moonbase CMO wrote that report . . .”
“That’s right, he did. He needed a reason to send me to O’Neill. The truth of the matter is that I do need to prepare for a lot of gees. Being able to train in full-gee and the one-point-two-gee section of the habitat wheel is a hell of a lot better than starting from the one-sixth-gee of Moonbase. Plus, I’m here, with access to the cargo ship.”
“I know you said that it was just an excuse. But are you sure? What if there really is something to the medical readouts?”
“Look, I know you, Marty, Jen, even the general worry about me, but it’s okay. Want to know the truth? I’m worried, too. This is risky—both to health and career.”
“Uh huh. It’s also a good reason not to run back into a burning crash site.”
“It’s not burning. This is different.”
“Not, it’s not, but it’s what happened to us in North Carolina. You can’t stand by and watch when someone needs help. That’s why we’re all worried for you.”
“Look, I’m just doing my job.”
“You’re doing more than your job. Hey, we understand—I understand. Deep in her heart, Jen understands, too.”
“I know, Nik. I know all the reasons why I shouldn’t do this—and you know all the reasons why I think I should. Give everyone my best, and if you or Sheila talks to Jen, help explain it to her, please?”
“Nope, you’re going to have to come back here and do that yourself, buddy. I won’t tell you to be careful, but you still need to try to stay safe.”
After Glenn signed off the comm, he sat and thought for a few moments.
That conversation didn’t sound ominous at all, now, did it?
To send a cargo drone to rendezvous with Percheron in the shortest time possible, NASA, Space Force and MarsX had pulled every solid and liquid fuel booster in the system in orbit. They even pulled the brand-new Helicity2 hybrid electric-plasma-fusion drive planned for the next-generation Mars-transfer ships Augeron and Clydesdale. The cargo drone would have a propulsion section ten times larger than the actual cargo pod, allowing for excess weight (and volume) capacity in the cargo pod. It would be filled with an expandable foam to keep the contents from shifting under thrust. Glenn had spent some time with the engineers designing that ballast section, and knew they were concerned about filling and expanding the foam from the outside, and not getting a complete penetration of the ballast throughout the open spaces.
Glenn had a plan for that.
George Mellies was an orbital construction engineer. His was also one of the names on the list from General Boatright. Glenn’s new orbital-work exoskeleton was practically a wearable spacecraft, and George had also been part of that design team. Ian had finally come up with a name—or at least an acronym—for it. Mobility In Limiting Environment Suit—or M.I.L.E.S. George passed along several messages from the dev team as well as from General Boatright. The MILES was capable of more than a week’s life support, power, and mobility, with external connections for additional power and supplies as well as waste venting.
Once again, Boatright seemed to be way ahead of him.
Glenn suggested to George that the ballast foam could be sprayed from the inside, embedding his suit in foam—and incidentally inside the cargo pod before its high-speed trip across the Solar System. George’s team was already ahead of him, and packed the pod with tanks and dispensers not only for the quick-hardening foam, but for a catalyst to dissolve it when Glenn needed to get out of the pod.
They still needed to figure out the best position for Glenn within the cargo space. He needed to have his back to a bulkhead and be lying on his back in the MILES suit for the best acceleration tolerance. He also needed waste disposal, heat dissipation and supplemental power connections. The pod was a standard design with compartments for cargo as well as a small cockpit—even though it would not be needed for this flight, and would be filled with the ballast foam. Therefore, George and Glenn decided to pack the MILES suit and a personal stock of food, air, and water in the cockpit before the foam was dispensed. As a bonus, he could use the space and supplies to allow himself to remain isolated from the Percheron crew if necessary. Finally, there was the matter of connecting the interface module to interface his bionic control computer to the ship’s controls.
“Well, this baby is ready to fly across the sky like a bat out of hell,” George said to the multi-site conference call as they finished the last of the preparations.
“Hmm, ‘Bat’ would be a good name for the craft,” Glenn mused. He was on the call to discuss the latest in medical reports from Percheron. As far as he could tell, no one outside OSI had any inkling of his plans, but he still needed to be cautious.
“Absolutely not,” said a Space Force general. “This is the first use of a Helicity Two drive; according to the propulsion team, there’s never been a ship named Helicity One, so that’s what they are proposing. MarsX wants Ares Q, and NASA suggested Schiaparelli.” There were nods all around the video conference as each name was mentioned. The general continued. “Unfortunately for all of you, Space Force nomenclature applies to all non-crewed flights, so this flight is designated C-21-MX.”
The NASA flight director in charge of the meeting grimaced, but held his peace. “Since that’s settled, let’s hear the medical report.”
Nearly everyone on Percheron was reporting one or more neurological symptoms such as anxiety, insomnia, stress reactions, irritability, and anger. Arguments and fights were common. Most concerning were reports of auditory and visual hallucinations, leading to claims that the ship was haunted—with ghostly figures of family members, construction workers, and astronauts roaming the passages. The engineer said there were strange individuals in red shirts in the engine room. The first officer claimed a Nineteenth-Century sailor was on the bridge calculating position with sextant. Yvette mentioned that Bialik was hearing injured soldiers crying in pain. She prescribed sleeping pills and anxiety medication to everyone, but that didn’t seem to be helping. The best thing they could do was to simply keep their distance from each other . . . on a spacecraft with four months remaining to get to Earth. The situation was bad, and it was getting worse. Once again, the female crew were exhibiting more symptoms than males.
Glenn stressed that finding; it had to mean something. He’d even suggested that hormonal agents be included in the cargo in case they needed to balance testosterone and estrogen, or supplements such as progesterone. MMC had overruled him, after all, the women were on ovulation blockers, and Yvette didn’t even need those. Still, Glenn had direct access to the cargo, and he’d seen to the composition of medical supplies himself.
He also made sure to have pharmaceuticals, medical devices, and other supplies to perform diagnostics. Percheron had essential medical scanning and imaging, but some tests required lab work, and he did not know how much would still be available on the ship. This was really where Glenn’s concerns about the crew function came to the fore—diagnosing the illness and treating it would require concentration, focused attention, and scholarly inquiry. Yvette truly did not lack the ability, no matter how he groused in his private moments. What concerned him was that the unknown disorder seemed to be affecting the very abilities needed to respond to this emergency. They were not only not going to be able to treat themselves, they likely wouldn’t even be able to capture and dock the cargo ship.
Glenn knew that he had to go. He, of all people, could withstand the high gee-forces, thanks to his bionics. His shortened circulatory system meant less fluid to pool under acceleration, and less stress on his heart. Bionic limb strength would enable him to move in high-gee if necessary, and he could even wirelessly interface with the Bat’s and even Percheron’s controls.
The C-21-MX would be crewed, and it would have a name.
He wouldn’t need to move out of his protective cocoon until arrival unless there was an emergency. If there was, he could supplement the remote controls with his own local controls. The MILES suit would provide air, water, food, heating, and cooling. It would cushion him from the gee-forces as much as possible, and his additional gravity training and core conditioning would help. He was the best situated, trained, and equipped doctor to solve this problem.
It was time for him to go.