Burning Eagle

by Navin Weeraratne

  “It’s all cause of stinky Congress,” he confided. “They’re cancelling the space shuttles because they don’t want me to go to Mars.”

  “Maybe Congress is on to something, thought about that?” he scratched his son’s head. “There are a lot of problems on Earth. Many of them will get a lot worse, once you’ve grown up. Maybe you want to think about solving those?”

  “Nuh Uh!” he shook his head vigorously. “When I’m big, I’m going to space! I’m going to go to the stars! Just like in Avatar!”

  “Did you do your homework, Mister Astronaut?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you do your extra homework?”

  He looked down and fidgeted. “Yeees?”

  “Come on. Let’s go to do it.”

  “But I don’t wanna!” his shoulder’s drooped and he pouted. “It’s so boring. Why can’t we just play with my spaceships?”

  “Daryl, we can play with your spaceships, all you like. But first, you need to work on the lemonade stand. The world is going to be a meaner place when you grow up. The most important thing you can learn is how to make money, and keep it.”

  “Mom says you’re too serious about money.”

  “Mom’s family’s rich. She’s used to money. You, you’re going to learn the same way I did. Now come on. Put down your space shuttle, and let’s work on your lemonade business.”

  2040 AD, the Muddy Charles Pub, 265 Smoots from Harvard Bridge

  “So, what you’re saying Damien, is the Space Elevator is what? Bullshit?”

  It was a weeknight, and sparse inside the dimly lit pub. A few African grad students sat about drinking beer and talking French. On the TV, the Pats were taking on the Miami Dolphins.

  Damien Flores, MIT aerospace engineer, shook his head. “No Daryl. It’s not bullshit. But it’s poorly understood and being misrepresented. Everyone thinks of the Space Elevator, like some railroad into space. But when you talk about costs, it’s presented in terms of airline travel.”

  “As cheap as flying on a plane,” said the ratty-faced man across from Damien. Elijah Newman wore a Tom Baker-era, Doctor Who scarf. “Let’s say you want to build a skyscraper. You want to airfreight all the cement? All the rebar? The sand? A thousand times cheaper than a rocket, is still too expensive for a big project.”

  “For serious space construction, materials have to be as cheap as they are on Earth. The Elevator won’t do to that, and it doesn’t need to. Everything you need to take to space is already there in abundance.”

  “You mean energy?” asked Darly Spektorov. The venture capitalist looked like he’d been born wearing a sports jacket.

  “I mean sand, water ice, iron. Everything,” said Damien. “There are thousands of Near Earth Orbit asteroids. We’re used to seeing them as a threat, but they’re also an opportunity. The closer they come to Earth, the lower the cost of reaching them.”

  “And these mass drivers ,” Daryl said the words slowly as if they were foreign, “they can bring them in, safely?”

  “The mass drivers are just electrified rails,” said Elijah. “They’re loaded with buckets, full of rocks from the asteroid. The buckets are accelerated and the rocks flung out into space. The asteroid receives a small nudge. A few nudges at the right points, and you can change their orbits.”

  “Is there something here that can be patented?” asked Daryl. “Patents, proprietary control, anything creating conditions that bar copycats.”

  “The idea of mining can’t be patented, sorry,” said Damien, “But there are two things, one of proprietary value. It’s clear cut, but it’s not a tremendous barrier to competitors. The other is of property value. It could be considerable, an absolute barrier, in fact. However, it is on shakier legal ground.”

  “The first one is that catalog you mentioned, right? The one with the best asteroid candidates?”

  “Yes,” said Damien. “Two years of data, sifting through every known NEO and working out their density. We’ve identified the candidates with the most metals. Some are so dense they must contain particularly heavy metals, like lead. Radioactive ores are quite likely.”

  “And you two, Sun Star Prospecting, own this catalog one hundred percent?”

  “Yes,” said Elijah. “The problem though, is that anyone else can put together their own one. The information needed is publicly available. It’s a fair amount of work though; it will take them some time. Unless they hire an astronomer or mathematician, they’ll likely fuck it up, too.”

  “Like I said, it’s not a considerable barrier,” said Damien. “But the second one, if it holds up, will be an absolute barrier.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Ownership. There’s not a whole lot of space real estate laws. The 1967 Outer Space Treaty is what most space law is based on. It forbids state ownership, but doesn’t say anything about private ownership.”

  “Now this I know about,” said Daryl. “Congress passed the ASTEROIDS Act, it allows ownership.”

  “Actually, it only allows ownership of resources obtained from an asteroid. It doesn’t say that the asteroid itself can be owned.”

  “Or what happens if the entire asteroid is ‘obtained’ which is our plan,” said Elijah. “Legislation is going to lag until ownership and occupation become real issues. When the lawyers join in, they’ll look to old laws dealing with new- found land. Frontier and land grab precedents. Those hold that simply claiming land, is not enough. There needs to be demonstration of intent to occupy.”

  “And here’s where things get interesting,” Damien grinned.

  “Are you going to ask me to sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement?” Daryl asked.

  The scientists looked blank.

  “Well, maybe next time,” said Damien. “It doesn’t really matter, it’s just an idea. It’ll take a lot more than just an idea for this project to work. However, you will want to keep this to yourself.”

  “What is it?”

  “The mass drivers,” said Elijah. “They’re not just cheap propulsion. They’re space launchers. We can use them to deliver payloads to anywhere else in the inner solar system.”

  “The goal is to demonstrate intent to occupy,” Damien picked up. “Everyone will know we’re using mass drivers to bring the asteroid into Earth orbit. What they won’t know, is that we’ll be using them to launch instrument packages, as well. We’ll be targeting the other, most lucrative asteroid prospects.”

  “Instrument packages? What kind?”

  “Nothing fancy. Simple, cheap devices like transponders, cubesats, and pocket rovers. They’ll study the asteroids and do some simple prospecting.”

  “Intent to occupy!”

  “The mission is not just to capture an asteroid and park it nearby,” said Damien, “But also, to make legal claims to the most valuable NEOs known.”

  Daryl sat back and whistled.

  “The cost estimate is much lower that I had expected.”

  “We plan to use off the shelf components,” said Damien. “Huawei modules and a Boeing engine. And a lot of money is saved by the crew. It’s just me and Elijah, we both have pilot’s licenses with instrument ratings. We’ll fly without pay, but instead a corresponding share of the new equity. All Spektorov Investment would have to do, is pay for the parts and the launch.”

  “If it goes well, you’ll part own a company with the single biggest reserve of rare metals in the inner solar system,” said Elijah. “And if it goes very well, all the best reserves in the inner solar system.”

  Daryl beamed and looked between the two, nodding.

  “Gentleman, this has been a great meeting. Thank you for taking the time to explain the specifics of your business plan. I’d like to fund your venture. You’ll have the contract in the morning. Please look it over and let me know if its agreeable to you.”

  He turned around and waved at the bartender.

  “Another round for us, on me. We’re going to take over the world!”

  The bartender smile
d. It wasn’t the first time someone had said that in the Muddy Charles, and meant it.

  “Dude!” Damien bounced along the street, “We are in. We’re so fucking in!”

  Elijah shook his head and raised an eyebrow. It was drizzling in Harvard Square. People hopped under awnings or clustered around store entrances. A street performer juggled on, undaunted.

  “What?” Damien stopped, his expression fell. “He said yes!”

  “I don’t know man.”

  “What’s not to know? He’s the first VC we’ve spoken to who even knows what an asteroid, is. He gets it! He gets the whole business model!”

  “You don’t think that’s a bit suspicious?”

  “Suspicious?!” Damien rolled his eyes. “What is wrong with you? He’s a venture capitalist who isn’t some old geezer who only understands nano-bio, and you want to find a problem with that?”

  Elijah shrugged. “Look, we’ve had to jump through a lot of hoops just to get the dignity of kinda-sorta- rejections. He quizzed our numbers, but that was it. He didn’t talk about safety. He didn’t talk nearly enough about the legal issues.”

  “So? He was excited! He wants this to happen. Why are you raining our parade here? We’ve finally got a VC who wants to do business with us! Shit, he’s sending us a contract.”

  “Yeah. I guess you’re right. I just can’t really believe it’s finally happening, and so quickly.”

  Damien patted his arm.

  “Sun-Star Prospecting is going places, Mr. Newman. We’re fucking going to space, and we’re going to fucking own it!”

  One day later, Somerville, Massachusetts

  “God, I hate Somerville.”

  The man next to Damien snorted, and poured him more beer. The two toasted, and sat back in their lawn chairs. It was getting late, and the party was getting worse. Ageing hipsters drank PBR and gave them dirty looks through oversized, plastic-framed, glasses. It was a warm night; snooty groups dotted the yard. The barbecue still smelled of tofu dogs.

  “I got the feeling you don’t know too many people here,” said the other man. He wore a sports jacket and real leather shoes. He’d already been told off that evening by a pair of vegans.

  “Oh hell no. I’m here because of Elijah, my business partner. These are his girlfriend’s friends. He has to go, but he can’t stand them. So he asked me to come be his wingman at this party.”

  Sports Jacket looked around.

  “Well where is he?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Having a fight with his girlfriend, upstairs. Been half an hour and they’re still not done. They’re either still fighting, or they’ve started fucking. Either way, I’m stuck out here with Gentrification’s finest.”

  “Well, we’re both stuck out here.”

  “What about you?” Damien asked. “What brought you here?”

  “Just meeting up with some friends from Tufts. They wanted to come for this party, so here we are. They’re busy hitting on random women who aren’t interested, so here I am, drinking in a corner.”

  “Did you go to Tufts?”

  “Yeah, Fletcher School. I focused on venture capital contracts. A big investor wants to screw you and steal your business? I’m the guy who reads the small print he’ll try and use.”

  Damien sat up, eyes wide.

  “No way? Hey, I’ve a contract that I need to go over, one with a venture capitalist.”

  “Seriously?” Sports Jacket grinned. “It’s a small world. Have you got someone who’ll take a look at it for you?”

  “I haven’t asked anyone yet. Just got it today.”

  “Here,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. “I’d be happy to take a look at it for you, on Monday.”

  Damien read the card. “Sam Snyder. Good to meet you, Sam Snyder,” the two shook hands. “I hate to be crass but how much would that set me back?”

  “You stick around and babysit me till my useless friends crash and burn, and we’ll call it covered.”

  “It’s a deal,” he held up his party cup. “To highly convenient coincidences!”

  They toasted.

  One Year Later, Asteroid 2034 AT 43

  “I got nothing on number Seven.”

  The Huawei Work Module was large and brightly lit. Equipment was tucked in plastic bags, Velcroed to the walls. Touch consoles docked in handy ports, with ergonomic sliding trays. In a corner was a (vintage) poster of what to do during a zombie holocaust. Elijah had taped a roll-up display screen on a table. Green dots lit up on his wire diagram map. One dot was red.

  “Nothing?” asked Damien.

  “Nothing. I can’t get a ping, and I’m not picking up the transponder.”

  “It is still drawing power?”

  “That it is.”

  “Thank God,” Damien untensed. “We can’t lose another mass driver.”

  “Can you check if there was a microquake there? Even if it’s still drawing power, it could still be damaged or knocked out of alignment.”

  Seismographs sprung into the air above Damien’s tablet.

  “Yeah, we had a one point six near there.”

  “It’s that fucking hydrocarbon ice. We’re too close to the sun; the alcohols boil every rotation.” He took off his baseball cap and got up slowly.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We need Seven back online,” Elijah said over his shoulder. “I’m going to suit up and head over there.”

  “There’s not enough time,” said Damien. “Sun’s coming up in an hour. It’s not safe with the ice melting.”

  “We have to get Seven back up.”

  “It can wait.”

  “What about the 0740 firing?”

  “We can make adjustments to fire without Seven.”

  “What are you, nuts?” Elijah’s smile was threadbare. “That’ll throw all the calculations. We’ll have to rework every single firing, and then get FAA approval. You want to do all that before 0740? What if the FAA says no? Damien, we’ll lose the whole mission.”

  The engineer said nothing for moment.

  “Well,” he said slowly, “we’d both better go.”

  “No, you should stay and monitor Seven,” Elijah climbed into his pressure suit. “We don’t know what the problem is, and we might get control back. Also, you should start reworking all the firings. If I can’t get Seven working, it’ll be our only option.”

  “It’s not safe, Elijah,” his arms were folded.

  “Sure, if we waste the rotation, arguing. I have to get done and be out by sun up. Now are you going to help me with this suit, or not?”

  Elijah Newman clipped himself to the safety line, and hopped across the ground.

  2034 AT 43’s surface was a grey with patchy black intervals. Mica and quartz dusts reflected his suit lights, like peeking buried diamonds. He floated for meters, his weight barely a percent of its Earth value. A hundred meters away, a green light flashed from a steel piling. The first waypoint on his trip around the world.

  He looked up, the stars filled his helmet and tried to get in.

  Focus on the mass driver, focus on the mass driver, he told himself. Getting distracted can wait till 0740.

  He remembered Joey Yen, an engineering student from Guangzhou he’d had classes with. Yen had borrowed money to buy luxury properties in Burma, betting on the Chinese tech bubble. He’d been right, and now lived in Monaco with his three (possibly four) girlfriends. But it had been a near thing. Joey had been ready to jump from a tower he said, if he’d bet wrong.

  He reached the first piling, a monolith rising out of a slag hill. Its green lamp spun, pulsing like a lighthouse. There would be flights and landings on AT 43. A body large as a naval anchorage needed hazard lights.

  “Reached the first beacon,” he spoke into his helmet radio. “It’s pretty dark out here, would have been nice if we had some floods. I can see the second beacon, its working fine.”

  He looked down. An ancient collision cracked and fissured AT 43, putting a va
lley between him and the second beacon. The safety line flew across it, disappearing in the darkness.

  Be ready to jump from the tower.

  He pushed off again, a human dirigible.

  It was 4.56 billion years old, leftover packaging from the birth of the solar system. It had failed the gravitational draft of the protoplanets. Except for pity-taps of gravity, it was all alone. After eons even the inner solar system becomes a small town, though. Sooner or later, it would run into the Earth.

  Halfway across the ravine, Elijah was still rising. He looked down and saw only darkness. In that darkness was palladium, iron, even water ice. It was a miner’s buffet table, and it would allow truly obese constructions.

  “How are those calculations coming along?”

  “If I’d known we’d be running them all again, I’d have written a damn program.”

  “We should write that program anyway. That’s at least five frours work.” He pronounced it frowers.

  “Five frours, easy. Seven or eight if we made it user-friendly.”

  Mental work and puzzles passed time. This mattered when basically sealed in a small room for a summer. They had become very good at finding problems to frown over, for hours. A frowning hour was a ‘frower.’ A frowning day though, was a ‘whole fucking day.’

  He reached the second beacon. Dust and sand erupted around his boots, forming a cloud. The motes glowed green with each pulse. He looked out to see the flashing of the third and final beacon.

  “The third beacon isn’t working.” He tugged the safety line, hard. It stayed taut. “The line is still attached to the piling, though.”

  “The microquake must have damaged it. If the beacon’s broken, the mass driver is certainly wrecked, too. Come on back.”

  “We don’t know that. If the mass driver’s been knocked out of place, it might still fire.”

  “It’s ten finicky meters of superconducting rail.”

  “Which out here, weighs next to nothing. We could toss it out the window and it would land fine. It’s still drawing power, isn’t it?”

  “Yes it is. And so is the beacon, for some reason.”