5
Aster-1
The next three months were stressful and frustrating. Aurorae
Outpost had several hundred minor leaks, most of which were virtually
undetectable. The shaking had cracked silicone seals around windows and places
where metal airlocks joined to plastic domes. Microscopic cracks in the
concrete-lined tunnels let air out very slowly, almost undetectably. No part of
the outpost was in danger, although many residents did not sleep well. The
electrical output was strained to electrolyze water into oxygen and hydrogen,
the former gas being pumped into the outpost to keep it pressurized. Meanwhile,
every window and airlock had to be recaulked and every concrete tunnel had to
be sprayed with sealant. Two months and five tonnes of sealant later, the air
leakage was reduced almost to the level it had been before the shake.
Equally serious, the outpost had
had no emergency plan for quakes; they had been considered too rare and weak to
be a serious threat. It was exceedingly difficult to plan for a quake because
it had the potential to depressurize every unit in the outpost at once,
including tunnels; this rendered the notion of emergency evacuation routes
problematic. It also had the potential to cut off power and communications,
thereby making it difficult to notify people of safe escape routes. The
solution was to provide each biome with an inflatable emergency shelter and
strengthen the plastic envelope around each biome so that it could catch leaks
better. A flight was sent to orbit to pick up all the ITV annexes; they could
serve well as emergency shelters. A study of Mars’s seismic history was begun
as well in order to define the problem more thoroughly. Plans to reinforce the
buildings inside the biomes were drawn up so as to guarantee that the gardens
wouldn’t collapse on people underneath.
While Aurorae and Cassini were
retrofitting and resealing, Dawes Outpost went up with newer safety standards
in mind. Progress was slow, but steady. The hole for the biome was dug, the
biome was inflated, and buildings inside were inflated and their metal frames
were begun. Outside, Sibireco’s team hit some very rich deposits of gold
nuggets; within a few months production was 3.3 tonnes per moth.
The excitement of more gold,
however, could not make up for the chill that the quake had spread across Mars.
The possibility that a violent shake could wipe out almost the entire
population of an outpost, including entire families at once, was profoundly
unsettling. People spoke of it, but could not relieve themselves of the fear;
they had nightmares; some became depressed. The danger was immensely remote,
but the gentle shaking had been traumatic nevertheless.
The impact on the terrestrial media
was equally strong. Mars seemed vulnerable. The Commission’s careful media
plans, featuring a different success every month, were unsuccessful; the media
wanted to dwell on how worried the Martian population was. The public grew more
pessimistic about Mars. Sales of Martian land dropped.
Consequently, Will Elliott made
sure he was on the bridge the late March morning when the Aster-1 probe was
slowly lifted from the shuttle Alba’s cargo bay by a remotely controlled
arm on board the Interplanetary Transit Vehicle Solis. Kurt
Hollingworth, an Australian who was one of their chief shuttle pilots,
controlled the arm from on board the Alba. An hour later he had docked
the probe onto the top of the Stickney, a Lifter or automated rocket full
of methane and oxygen fuel made on Phobos. The Stickney fired its
reaction control system and moved away from the Alba and Solis. Two hours later, Rostam Khan, a vehicle control specialist originally
from Pakistan, began the countdown. When it reached zero, the long-range
cameras on board the Alba showed both engines flaming alive.
“There she goes,” said Will, with a smile.
“Everything’s nominal, too,” added Rostam. “It’s a good burn; thrust is
right on the money.”
The bridge sat in silence watching. For two minutes the Stickney’s two engines burned at low thrust, accelerating itself and the attached
probe by 1,000 meters per second.
“Main engine cutoff,” announced Rostam calmly. “We’re on our way to
2019XA!” he exclaimed with more enthusiasm
“Beautifully done,” said Will. “The Lifter done good. What’s the
delta-vee to match the asteroid’s orbit?”
“For the second burn on late May? Three thousand meters per second,”
replied Érico, who was the launch control officer. “The Lifter provides 2,400
meters per second, separates, and fires its engine again to fly back to Mars,
where it can aerobrake into orbit. Aster-1’s engines provides the rest.”
Will nodded. “You all did a good job refurbishing that old automated
cargo lander.”
“Thanks. We spent six person months checking it out, and even test
fired the engines in orbit,” noted Érico. “It’s trusty old technology.”
“We need the reminder that technology can be trustworthy, too,” said
Will, with a smile.
After a few minutes, the probe was safely on its way, with the
propulsion systems shut down and all systems functioning nominally. Excitement
over, Will left the control room to head back to his office.
The new control room was on the third floor of North Riviera; Will’s
office was on the diminutive fourth floor and had generous overhangs, which
increased the garden area of the biome. Will stepped outside and walked through
the gardens for a moment. Enrique Delrio and Sheila Burns were hard at work
installing the second of three steel beams that ran over the yard to the
Riviera South Building, to strengthen both of them against future quakes. The
beams were a bit ugly, but someone figured that they could be used to suspend
banners, so they wouldn’t look too bad. Will stopped to find out how they were
doing and to offer some encouragement, then went into his office.
He had a congratulatory message about Aster-1 from Doug Morgan. There
were a dozen messages, including one from the moon and one from Venus, which
proved routine. Pavel Rudenkov had called him as well, and he soon was
listening with interest.
“Will, we’ve been looking at the idea of building larger ITV annexes;
much larger annexes, in fact. It occurred to us we could build annexes ten
meters in diameter and four stories high and use them for housing on the
surface as well as in space. Right now we’re sending a crescent-shaped bubble
six to twelve meters wide, thirty meters long, and ten meters high, with about
300 square meters per floor and three floors. It’s perfect to fit inside the
curved wall of a biome bubble, but it can’t be rotated for artificial gravity
in flight. But let’s say we sent you three cylinders ten meters in diameter and
twelve high, with 78 square meters per floor and four floors; they would have
the same area as the crescent-shaped apartment bubble, and would have
preexisting wiring and inflatable air circulation vents. We could use them for
annexes on the way out and they could be packed into a box before aerobraking
and later for transport to the surface inside a Mars shuttle, so that you could
use them for housing after arrival. We could redesign the ITVs to serve as
emergency shelters for even more people; maybe twenty or twenty-four each. What
do you think? Bye.”
Intrigued, he hit reply. “Pavel, thanks for the idea. I’ll send your
idea and my reply to Alexandra, so she can follow up. Three cylinders will have
a different footprint in the biome than the crescent-shaped bubble we use now,
and it’ll require careful redesign of the garden roof, but we could probably
come up with a way to use the space efficiently. We’ll have to look at the idea
very carefully. I suggest you look at the design as well because it may be more
efficient to give the cylinder its own reusable heat shield. We could use the
heat shields for transporting cargo back to Earth. I hope we can design a much
cheaper and more efficient system for transporting people here safely, and this
sounds like a step in that direction. Let us know what we can do. Bye.”
He ran through the rest of his messages, then came a knock on the door.
Skip Carson opened it. “Can I come in?”
“Sure; I’m badly backed up with work now, but never mind, I can squeeze
you in.”
“Thanks.” Carson came in with an excited hop in his step as he entered.
“We’ll have the documentary The
Spirit of Mars finished tomorrow,”
he continued. “You’ve got to see it, Will. It’s really incredible. It’ll
convert the minor quake into an appreciation for the heroism here. Really, I’m
serious. Even when people talk about losing sleep after the quake, it’s
presented as an act of courage.”
“And it is, I suppose,” said Will. “Great, I’m glad to hear that this
disaster has had a silver lining. We’re so grateful that you’ve stayed, Skip.”
“Thank you. I’m glad we’ve come up with an exchange of services. I like
my apartment and I’m glad to be considered a resident; I’m looking forward to
voting in the election.” He shrugged. “Though I’m not altogether sure how I’ll
vote in the upcoming U.S. congressional election.”
“You’ve got plenty of time to apply for an absentee ballot. We have an
arrangement whereby we can fax it in. We can’t vote in local or state elections,
of course.”
“Of course. I don’t like the President, but I think the Democrats are distorting
the situation irresponsibly. The evidence that the United States knew about the
shipment of the nuclear bomb through Khalistan is very slim and highly suspect.”
“Oh, I
think you’re right. It makes no sense that the United States, which has been
trying to get its suitcase nuke back for years, would pass up an opportunity to
recapture the weapon, let alone cooperate in its shipment to an extreme French
nationalist group that intended to blow up a part of Paris loaded with American
corporate headquarters. But the administration, I think you will agree, has
presented a poor case and has covered up completely harmless details that had
nothing to do with the accusation. If they had admitted that because of
Khalistan’s vast oil wealth, they had ignored reports that it was officially
supporting terrorism, perhaps everything would have gone better.”
“Perhaps. At any rate, the forces that are gathering momentum in the
United States are reactionary, closed-minded, isolationist, and seek to roll
back the clock two centuries. I’m surprised you’re not more concerned. Even
Roger’s discouraged.”
“He is. Roger isn’t as conservative as he used to be; that is, where
nationalism and isolationism are concerned. He’s still a morally conservative
person who favors laissez-faire economics. The American public has had a rough
few years, Skip. The Euro-Russian alliance has driven a wedge between the
United State and Europe, and some sort of alleged American connection to the
Paris bombing makes relations worse. The American economy, because of the
banking crisis, has not been growing and the economic momentum has shifted to
Europe and China. And the Chinese, as you know, have been having a lot of fun
with America’s weakness. The public feels betrayed by the current
administration.” He shrugged. “It’s not the first time it’s happened, is it?”
“No, it isn’t, but surely you have a preference.”
Will hesitated. “My personal political feelings are my own. As Vice
Commissioner and Commander, I can’t let them influence the performance of my
duties.”
Skip chuckled. “Why not? It affects everyone else.” But then he paused.
“On the other hand, you’re a Bahá'í, aren’t you? I guess that explains it,
doesn’t it. Why not just say you’re a Bahá'í, Will?”
“I’m not being disingenuous; I really do believe that a leading figure
in an international nongovernmental agency cannot take partisan political
positions. Yes, I agree, some do. I don’t appreciate that behavior. Frankly, I
question its ethicality. Maybe that’s because of my religious feelings; as you
know, Bahá'ís do not join political parties or hold partisan political
positions. My job is to support the exploration, exploitation, and colonization
of Mars, not to support or oppose presidential candidates.”
“I suppose that’s true. Of course, the opposition candidates are mostly
opposed to American support of international space exploration efforts,
including the moon and Mars.”
Will shrugged. “It was their party that set up the Mars Commission. So,
how’s your writing?”
Carson scowled; Will was changing the subject. But he took the bait. “The Spirit of Mars has been taking all my energy; I think it’s
good work. But I have a few ideas for a screenplay and I may turn to them
soon.”
“Good; I hope you plan your next movie before you leave here, so we can
shoot part of it here. I’d like to see movies made in space; they’ll be more
realistic. Call me tomorrow afternoon and I’ll come down to see the
documentary.”
“Great! Thanks, I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”
----------------------------
Greg had noticed
that lately Anna had been sitting at a different table than her usual place. It
made it harder for him to talk to her, since he had switched tables to sit with
her friends. He had also changed his dinner hour to be there closer to the time
she was eating. So he was pleased when, after she finished eating, she came
over to the table where he was sitting.
Alas, someone had just asked him a difficult question and as she
approached, he knew he would be busy answering for several minutes. But Anna
waited patiently and listening intently. When he finished, ignoring the person
who had asked the question, he turned to her. “Good evening.”
“Evening. Did you hear I’m on my way to Dawes tomorrow?”
“No, I didn’t.” He had heard, actually. “For how long?”
“Three or four months.”
“I’m sorry to hear you’ll be gone. Say, let me buy you something in the
store; maybe a chocolate bar or something.”
She smiled. “You’re very sweet.”
He rose from the table right away, pleased he had done something that
looked generous without looking romantic in public. Eammon was sitting at the
table, after all, and had taken to monitoring Greg’s contact with Anna.
Greg bussed his tray and waited for Anna to do the same, then they
headed for DiPonte’s store. Silvio wasn’t there, but the store was open anyway,
thanks to a dozen cameras that could monitor any theft, a computer checking the
image for anything suspicious, a person in India being paid minimum wage to
back up the computer, and a payment computer. Greg took a large chocolate bar
imported from Earth, swiped his credit card in the payment machine, swiped the
chocolate’s bar code, and they walked out with it.
“What’s the occasion for going to Dawes?” He asked, opening the bar for
them to share.
“I asked for a new assignment. Dawes needs a nurse, for which I have
training, I wanted to try something new, and I wanted to see a new place.”
“I doubt there’s much to see at Dawes; it’s in fairly boring old
cratered highlands.”
“I know, but it’s different.” She hesitated. “Actually, I think our. .
. friendship has been moving rather fast, Greg. I think we need some time apart.”
He was surprised. “Anna, I have never approached you about a
relationship—”
“I know, but I can feel your attraction, and Greg, I feel attracted to
you as well. I freely admit it. But you’re a priest and have a line of service
here.”
“Actually, I’m not a priest, exactly. I have not renounced my vows, it
is true, but I am not here on any kind of priestly assignment. The Vatican has
even emailed me and offered me an official assignment here, and I have written
back and said no. I’m willing to serve as temporary priest, but I’m not the
official Catholic priest on Mars.”
“Greg, official or not, you baptize everyone’s babies, and that’s a
pretty important community service. That’s something you couldn’t do if you
weren’t a priest. So that’s something to think about pretty carefully.”
“Anna, I never said I was interested in you.”
She looked at him, uncertain. “Are you?”
He paused. “Well, yes, I guess I am.”
She shrugged. “There you go. Don’t misunderstand me; I’m interested in
you as well. You’re a warm, caring man, and I like that. But let’s take some
time and think about this carefully. And pray about it.”
“And pray about it.” He agreed with that sentiment. She smiled at his
dilemma, then leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
“Are you going to wish me bon voyage?”
“Yes, bon voyage. The Sunwing C is pretty nice and comfortable, in
spite of the lengthy flight. So enjoy it.”
“I intend to. I want to see a bit of this adopted world of mine, even
if I can’t tell basalt from sandstone. And I will write.”
“How about videophone calls?”
“Sure. That too.”
They didn’t have much else to say. Greg and Anna finished the chocolate
bar and he walked her home. Then he walked around the outpost, thinking about
the choices they had discussed. He really didn’t know whether he wanted to
continue as a priest; he enjoyed the service he provided, but he felt in his
bones that he needed to start another phase of his life. He was indeed
attracted to her, but he wasn’t sure marrying her was the next phase he needed
to consider. He would indeed have much to think and pray about.
© 2004 Robert H. Stockman