by Ginger Booth
Clay opined sourly, “More likely accidental suicide by injection. Arrogant S.O.B. Anyway, that’s my priority here. I’ll trace scientific advances at the orbital. And try to account for all the Ganymede technicians. I’m hoping for help from Kassidy and Sass.” He finally took a seat to his lunch.
Kassidy considered the request. “Sure. But I don’t know how much help I can be. Dad and Genevieve would have deleted anything on the orbital computers when they left. Took their data with them.”
Clay smiled crookedly. “The orbital has an interesting backup system. It notices mass data deletes and stores the previous state to permanent archive.”
“Kassidy, while we’re on you,” Sass said. “What are your goals here at MO?”
The stunt woman resumed her flamboyant stage persona with a flash of white teeth and swirl of glossy black curls. “Tour of the orbital. Nightlife special! Gymnastics in space at zero g! I’ll need practice!” She laughed out loud.
Sass smiled approval. “Perfect cover as always. I need to take the guys out first on EVA, though. Extra Vehicular Activity – stepping outside the hull. Ship repair and radiation dosimeters come first. Then I train you.”
“Spoilsport.”
“Enough for one day,” Sass concluded a half hour later, after checking everyone’s plans and doling out assignments.
Her crew had taken the news suspiciously well, that she and Clay were living fossils from Earth. She hoped to get them to discuss their reactions openly here, rather than behind her back later. But they covered a lot of ground today regarding these strange environs. Maybe they were distracted.
“To sum up, Clay and Eli are leading our investigative mission here at the orbital. Copeland and Benjy are preparing for space travel. Kassidy and Abel are working business angles. I’m pitching in where needed, and Jules minds the home front.” She paused to smile at her.
“I hear Sagamore is dangerous, gang,” the captain continued. “We need to decide whether to go there. And we’re all getting our space legs. We meet every day at lunch, I think, to track progress.” Groans greeted this pronouncement around the table. “Any questions?”
Benjy quipped, “Yeah! Are you two lovers?”
Nervous titters around the table confirmed the question was on all their minds. Hers too, Sass supposed.
“Yeah, yuck it up,” she replied. “Buddy cops more than anything else, I think. Clay?”
“To be determined. Banker possibly,” Clay added with cool eyes on Abel.
“That’s a wrap, then.” Sass rose and stepped to Abel’s ear before he escaped. “You worry too much, Abel. Relax.” She squeezed his shoulder briefly, and turned to Copeland. “Got a minute?”
She fell in beside the engineer to exit onto the catwalk above the hold. “I’d like you to set up the EVA. Be our liaison on station engineering. Get chummy with Pollan if you can.”
“He’s not bad,” Copeland assured her.
Sass reflected that Copeland’s social standards were low. “Good. One thing. This space station is over a century old. Crewed by grudging amateurs. Before we leave, I’ll ask you how much longer it’s good for. We’ll offer that evaluation to Mahina Actual. Keep it in mind, OK?”
“Uh, cap? I’m not qualified to give an opinion.” Beer brewing vats and environmental systems were more up his alley.
Sass nodded. “Neither is anyone else. Except maybe Pollan. Right?”
“Gotcha. I can get him talking over beer, sure.”
6
The first space walk took place in 1965, over a century before the extra-solar explorers left Earth to scout for colony systems. These trips outside the spaceship were called EVA, for Extra-Vehicular Activity.
A space walk wasn’t obviously like riding a bike, Sass reflected. She had no particular reason to believe she remembered how.
For that matter, she hadn’t ridden a bike in 90 years. Maybe she’d need to learn that all over again too. Though not here at the orbital space station.
Nerves, she concluded. She swallowed and turned to her charges. “First time out for my crew, master chief. I’m mighty rusty myself. Could we run through the safety procedures again?”
“Passed the test on the sims?” Master Chief Pollan growled at Sass’s crew. Benjy and Abel nodded. Copeland grimaced at the man. “Then open the airlock already, captain.”
Sass scowled and complied, while Pollan grabbed a toolbox and pushed through. Copeland reached to bring along an ungainly welding rig with its oxygen feed. He’d already found it among the tangled tool room storage by the airlock while they waited. The master chief arrived 20 minutes late for their appointment at the cargo dock.
“Don’t need that. Just the patch plates,” Pollan directed.
Copeland sighed, and swapped the plates for the machinery. “Then how do we attach the plates?”
Pollan ignored the question until the lock was cycled, with the outer door open onto the vastness of space. That vastness was only visible around the edges at present. The hull of the Thrive, just a few meters away, blocked their view. Clutching firmly to the grab-bar, Sass peered down, then up, past her ship into an infinitude of stars.
Benjy remained plastered against the back wall of the airlock, Sass noted amused. His agoraphobia could be a problem. Absolutely fearless in VR, and wildly capable, the 20-year-old gunner got a bit skittish putting his actual tender pink body at risk.
“See that hull?” Pollan finally replied to Copeland, currently peering around his shoulder. “See weld lines? Rivets? Don’t need them in space. Here we cold-weld for seamless metal.”
Copeland considered the dented steel before him. It bore a fair number of welds and rivets. But the base hull was a surprisingly large and shapely sheet of steel. “How’s that work?”
“Show you that when we get there. Where’s this hole?”
Sass pointed. “Starboard side of the bow. OK, my guys, latch on. On EVA, we are always latched on. We need to get from here to there. Think it through. How do we do that and stay secured?”
“Go back inside,” Copeland suggested. “Stroll safely across the umbilical. Exit the forward airlock on the Thrive.”
Sass blinked. “That makes sense. Abel? How else?”
Pollan erupted, “For crying out loud!”
“Master chief, this is my crew’s first EVA,” Sass rebuked him in her best command voice. “You aren’t willing to train them. So I will.”
“Yeah, right, sar,” the noncom groused. “But that’s just a hop across!” Sass pursed her lips at him, until he grudgingly acceded, “Begging your pardon, sar.”
Abel offered his theory. “Latch on here with a spare line, and my personal tether. Jump across and find someplace to latch the other end of the line. Then someone over here unlatches me before they scoot across latched to the line.”
“What Abel said,” Benjy concurred. Copeland shrugged.
Sass nodded firmly. “Copeland, your suggestion was best, but master chief wishes to do it this way. We’ll get more practice. So latch –”
Pollan launched himself across the gap. He pivoted en route ready to land his magnetic boots on the Thrive. Pot-bellied and perhaps less agile than he used to be, he struck first with one forearm, one shin, and one boot. At which point the skyship’s gravity field grabbed him, and accelerated him downward at a full Earth g.
Three surprised heads leaned forward to watch him fly away. Benjy pressed more firmly against the back of the airlock.
Only impelled by the gravity field for a few meters, Pollan wasn’t going all that fast when he cleared the ship, a mere 30 kph or so. But against the background of the stars, within seconds he essentially disappeared.
His streak of profanity was awe-inspiring. Sass was less impressed by the man blaming everyone but himself for his mishap. Sass cut through his tirade coldly. “Master chief, do you require assistance?”
His imprecations coughed to a stop. “’Course not!”
“You will return to our location on yo
ur own power?” Sass asked pointedly.
“Yeah, yeah…”
“Right. In the meantime, let’s proceed with Abel’s plan. Abel, why don’t you do the honors? Remember to go slow.”
Abel stared at the blank hull. Copeland pointed.
“Let Abel figure it out himself,” Sass insisted. “This is a training exercise. Benjy?” She crooked a gauntleted finger and beckoned the youth forward. “Space won’t bite you. You’re standing in solid gravity, yes? No wind. Nothing changes until you’re out the door. Come join me.”
Benjy visibly swallowed in terror. In four clomping steps of his magnetic boots, he approached Sass, halting two steps shy of the door.
“Pollan’s headed back,” Copeland mentioned. “Using his gas canister. Glad he bothered to fill it.” Naturally Copeland had topped off this vital navigational aid for the Thrive crew members. But Pollan arrived at the engineering bay already pressure suited and ready to go.
“Noted.” Sass kept her eyes on Benjy’s. “It’s pretty funny to watch a beginner on the gas.” She grinned.
The EVA training materials included good animation of the theory and practice of gas canister propulsion, basically steering oneself through space using thrust from a spray can. Animations conveyed far better than live action what was supposed to happen in this maneuver. In Sass’s experience, nudging her center of mass in the right direction was the easy part. Stopping the vomit-inducing spin and yaw afterwards was harder. She soon learned to only shoot the gas canister from her bellybutton.
Perhaps some learned quicker than others. Pollan bounced by, cartwheeling on his diagonal. He flashed past too quickly for Sass to be sure, but his faceplate seemed to bear yellow tracks.
She urged Benjy, “Come on, another step. How’s it going, Abel?”
“I – I’ve decided,” the first mate replied. “I’m headed for the grab bar next to the cargo ramp. Both lines are latched.”
“You want a push?” Copeland offered.
“No pushing,” Sass overruled this. “You’ll make him spin. Abel, out the door. Give yourself a couple meters on the tether and practice launching a few times. When you feel confident, hop across. Small steps, slow and confident. Right, Benjy?”
“Captain,” Abel objected. “Could you watch me instead of Benjy? The cowardly lion is fine!”
That jibe worked. Benjy clomped his last two steps forward to lurch onto a grav bar at the far side of the door from Sass. There he gazed past the Thrive to terrorize himself with the vista of deep space. Mercifully, the cargo ramp hid Pollan’s bumbling somersaults for the moment, though an arm or leg flashed above the umbilical now and then. Copeland tapped Benjy on the tether spool to remind him to latch on.
“Point taken, Abel,” Sass said contritely. “You have my complete attention. Ready?”
“Ready, Captain.” In ultra-slow motion, Abel got a firm hold on the bar, detached his magnetic boots, and pivoted himself out the doorway. He found the outer bar, and carefully transferred his line D-rings. He gave himself a short leash, and yo-yo’d himself out and back a few times to get the feel of it. As Sass expected, she had little to worry about from the most methodical member of the crew.
“Well done, Abel! You’ve got the hang of it,” Sass encouraged. “Ready to launch across? If you miss, just haul yourself back on the line. No gas jets yet. Speaking of – Pollan, you alright?” She hadn’t seem his flailing limbs lately.
The master chief’s heavy breathing came on the channel. “Resting…by the forward…airlock… Your ship.”
“Great, see you soon!” Sass acknowledged sunnily. “Abel? Push off.”
He did so, imparting only the very slightest rotation. A falling feather could have beat him to the far side of the modest gap. He almost managed to grasp the far grab bar on his first try, but alas, the skyship’s gravity field grabbed him just a few inches too soon. A careful thinker, he’d only given himself about ten meters of tether to cross. His slam-down and swing back on the line were quick. On his second try, he got it.
“OK, Abel? Tether yourself over there, but release the line. Copeland, let’s see you repeat his maneuver. Launch the first safety line. Abel, while you’re waiting, why don’t you figure out for us whether magnetic boots will work to keep us on the Thrive’s hull.”
“Good thought,” Copeland murmured. He took Abel’s place in front of Sass, and coiled back the crossing line.
He clambered out still clutching his steel repair plates under his arm. Sass bit her tongue to let him figure it out. The engineer handed her back the plates without prompting. “I should go over and secure both sides, then transfer gear.”
Sass smiled. “Good idea. This time, I’ll carry it over. Benjy, watch Copeland, not the stars.”
With difficulty, the youth tore his eyes from the stars while the engineer played yo-yo. More agile and aggressive than Abel, Copeland launched, jerked back, and landed back with a solid thump a few times.
“Ready.” He barely turned to sight Abel, then pushed across the gap, catching the far grab bar on his first try.
“Way to go, Copeland!” Sass cheered. “Abel, what was the verdict on magnetic boots?”
“Not great,” Abel reported. “But doable. Knees and gauntlets are also magnetized. I need two on the hull at any time to hold against gravity. Crawling works.”
Copeland supplied, “Better to shut off the external gravity field. Sorry, cap, I should have thought of that.”
“No worries,” Sass replied, guiltily realizing she should have thought of it herself. “Benjy? Your turn. Just practice right here, nice and easy.”
Sass switched channels. She caught Clay in his cabin. In moments he strode to the bridge and switched the gravity field to internal-only for their convenience.
“How are your space legs?” he inquired.
“Haven’t tried mine yet. Watching Benjy take his first steps at the moment.” Sass paused to smile warmly, then wince, as Benjy slammed back into the orbital hull. “Good, but not quite so hard, Benjy.”
“Wrong channel,” Clay replied.
“Doesn’t matter,” Sass returned. Abel told Benjy the same, devoid of encouragement. “Pollan showed how not to.”
“Not impressed with Pollan,” Clay allowed. “Be careful out there.”
“Will do. Sass out.” She switched channels. “I think you’re ready, Benjy! Abel? Just catch him when he arrives, OK?”
Abel groused, but did as he was asked. The youth made it across without mishap, athletic if not brave. Then Sass clambered out with the repair plates, and secured the airlock behind her. She simply unlatched the safety line and tugged it once to propel herself across, landing neatly on the Thrive’s hull on her boots. Perhaps it was like riding a bike after all.
“That way’s easiest,” she consoled her crew. “Let’s fix a hole. Right, Pollan?”
The master chief had his wind back. “About time!”
Sass quietly let Benjy in through the Thrive’s closest airlock along the way, and made a note to bring him and Jules out later for EVA coaching. The other three of them soaked in Pollan’s lesson on cold-welding steel in space.
The easy part was to clean both surfaces so that they’d automatically weld into one when pressed against each other. The hard part was to match the patch plate’s curvature to the hull’s so the two would mate. They kept the steel grubby while shaping to prevent premature bonding. Pollan showed them how to heat and warp the plate. This took nearly an hour before an app verified the surfaces matched within tolerance.
Then Pollan wiped the surfaces clean of oxidation with a squirt of sticky solvent and a rag. He let Copeland do the honors of placing the patch plate on the hull. Within a minute, the two metal surfaces became one, though obviously patched. Another device checked the seal and found no air leaks. Pollan soldered an edge anyway, to demonstrate what to do when the leak test failed.
By the time they passed through into the Thrive’s hold, Pollan and Copeland were fast friends.<
br />
Sass and Abel quietly absorbed a more somber take-home message. Without Copeland and Pollan, there was no way the two of them could have patched the hull. No tools, no expertise. On Mahina, the partners managed pretty well. Here in space, they were helpless without an engineer.
They left Copeland to give Pollan a tour of the Thrive. The business partners retired to their office subdued, to reassess what needed to happen before they dared leave the safety of the orbital and venture across the rubble-rich rings of Pono.
7
The Colony Corps adopted ‘sar’ as the gender-neutral address for officers years before the settler wave headed for the stars.
“Cap, got a minute?” Copeland asked in the hold the next day.
Sass arrested her workout and reached for her water. “Shoot.”
The engineer took a seat on the weight bench. “Still trying to wing those radiation whatsits –”
“Dosimeters?”
“Them,” the engineer agreed. “I checked from the bridge. Says radiation levels are fine? Little elevated, but no danger.”
“On the Thrive,” Sass agreed. “The electro-magnetic system that bounces off micrometeorites, also protects us from radiation. The problem is they don’t have that on the space station. Or maybe it degraded over time.”
“I tried reading up on that. Something about how the water tanks protect them?”
Sass considered that a moment. “If the water tanks were evenly distributed around the hull, maybe a meter deep, they might cut the radiation. How much water would that take?”
“A shit ton,” Copeland estimated. Sass grinned. “I wish I understood this stuff better,” he complained.
The captain sobered. “It wouldn’t make you any happier. You’ve got the gist. The sun and Pono kick out radiation. The ores, too, in the mines. On Mahina, the atmosphere protects us, and the Thrive’s hull. But we still worry about UV radiation on Mahina, with the sunscreen lotion. Radiation hits the cells inside our bodies and breaks them. Nanites make the urbs a little more cancer-proof than settlers. But they also rely heavily on the city’s shielding.”
