Live Free or Die-ARC

by John Ringo

"Sweet," Tyler said. "We get a real astronaut along. That'll be helpful. Did you bring your spacesuit?"

  "No," Asaro said. "When are we leaving?"

  "Takes about twenty minutes to ride to the Manchester Spaceport," Tyler said. "So . . . about thirty minutes."

  "You're going to need to file a flight plan!" the FAA representative snarled. "At the very least you need to file a flight plan!"

  "It's already filed," Tyler said. "You do allow electronic filing, thank God. I filed it while we were talking. I'm still waiting for them to figure out how to vector me. They want to put me in normal lanes which is . . . silly. I can get up to orbit, crank her up, and be in Huntsville about thirty minutes after take-off. Taking the lower routes not only means you've got my brick flying around 767s, it means going at 767 speeds. No thanks. It's like putting a Ferrari in the truck lane. I don't drive fifty-five."

  "Take the Speedbird route up at seventy grand?" Asaro said.

  "Makes more sense. I can beeline Huntsville that way then pick my way down through the crunchies. If I 'conflict' a bird it's going to do a crunchy on the Paw which might not even notice. I really don't want to do a crunchy. People will, and I'm not being melodramatic when I say this, die."

  "Which is why we don't want an absolutely unqualified pilot," the FAA representative said. "That is the whole point."

  "But you're sort of missing my point," Tyler said. "And, again, a pointless audience but I'll make the point anyway. The Paw is a spacecraft, not an aircraft. Its maneuvering methods are entirely different. It can, and does, turn on a dime and accelerate in a way that makes it look like . . . well, a UFO. The Paw has up to a thousand gravities of acceleration. Admittedly, its inertials won't take that so you can't actually maneuver at a thousand grav. Not if you don't want to be paste. But it can maneuver so fast it looks and acts unreal. I can and will maintain normal maneuver when I'm in areas that have traffic. But treating it like an aircraft makes exactly no sense. And saying that I'm not qualified to fly it makes no sense. Because I'm the only person qualified to fly it that was born on the planet earth. You can't find anyone else qualified to fly it. Among other things, it works off of implants and, for anyone with the proper codes and implants, flies itself."

  "Uhm," Asaro said, raising a hand. "I get all that. But my spacesuit is in Houston."

  "I'm not going to try to get them to let me go to Houston," Tyler said with a sigh. "You got any clothes with you?"

  "In the car."

  "Since we're not planning on going EVA, don't worry about it," Tyler said, "We're going to be picking up the mirrors then dropping them off and moving some other mirrors around. Then we're going to heat up an asteroid and start mining it. Along the way we'll probably be sending tugs back to earth to pick up more mirrors . . ."

  "And who will be piloting them?" Mr. Howard asked.

  "I will," Tyler said. "From wherever the Monkey Business is. So I'd guess you'd say they'll be UAVs. By the way, the way that I pilot the Paw? I have to work through the comp on the Monkey Business. The Paw is just that. It's an extension of the ship that is currently in geosynchronous orbit over Brazil. Which I control, from here, through neurological implants. What fun. For that matter, one of the Glatun on the Monkey Business can fly the Paw. But they're not. The pilot is going to be me to make a point. Which is that a human can learn, in a month, enough to be able to work safely in space."

  "Cool!" Asaro said. "Can I get some of those?"

  "They cost, at current exchange rates . . ." Tyler closed his eyes for a second. "Two hundred and fifty billion dollars. Got the stones?"

  "Ouch!" Dr. Foster said.

  "You can understand why I just try to think in terms of Glatun credits," Tyler said. "The whole conversion thing is just silly. Okay, Asaro can come along. It's all good. I'll even have give him a mike and a screen so he can see I'm not going to plow an airplane."

  "Very well," Mr. Howard said. "You will fly directly from here to Huntsville and . . ." He paused and shook himself. "Where are you going to land?"

  "Where the freighters usually land," Tyler said with a sigh. "At the AMTAC facility."

  "Very well," Mr. Howard said, shaking his head. "I think I'm getting too old for this."

  "You're only as old as you feel," Tyler said. "Mr. Asaro, if you're coming along you'd better grab your flight bag."

  When they were in the limo and, temporarily, out of the clutches of bureaucrats, Tyler heaved a relieved sigh.

  "So, Mr. Asaro," Tyler said. "I'm Tyler. Not Mr. Vernon. The big one is Dr. Nathan Bell . . ."

  "Howdy," Nathan said, shaking hands.

  ". . . Also known as Nathan, our small planetary objects guy who is a small planetary object of his own. Buddha is Dr. Bryan Foster . . ."

  "Mr. Asaro," Dr. Foster said, shaking hands.

  "And you are . . . ?"

  "Steve," Asaro said. "Or . . . hell. Astro."

  "As in the Jetson's dog?" Nathan said.

  "I was an astronomy geek," Astro said, shrugging. "And my last name is Asaro. Go figure."

  "And a pilot," Tyler said, nodding. "Which is good. Can you keep a secret, Astro?"

  "Depends," Asaro said, shrugging. "I'm on NASA's payroll. They're going to want a full mission eval when I return."

  "Well, this part you can keep off the mission eval," Tyler said. "If you had plants, I'd have you take the whole mission. Because while I can do it, I'm not so arrogant or stupid as to think I'm properly trained or qualified. Oh, don't get me wrong. I can get us to Huntsville and pick up the stuff and get it into orbit. Among other things, our Glatun comrades were told to watch me carefully. But as soon as I can get a properly trained, and prepped, pilot I'm handing this off. Also, the Monkey Business can respond to verbal commands. As soon as you're familiar with the interface, you're the third shift pilot and backup in case something very stupid happens to me and the Glatun pilot."

  "No joystick?" Astro said.

  "No joystick," Tyler said, leaning back and closing his eyes. "Just brainpower. It's a whole new world."

  When they got to the ship they found an Asian gentleman in a jumpsuit waiting for them. He had a rather extensive collection of boxes.

  "Who's that?" Asaro asked. "He looks familiar."

  "The cook?" Tyler said, shrugging and getting out of the limo. "Hi, I'm Tyler Vernon. And you are?"

  "Dr. Conrad Chu," the man said, nodding his head. "Professor of astrophysics at MIT. I understand you are going mining. I have taken, over my dean's objections, a leave of absence to accompany you."

  "Uh, yeah," Tyler said. "But . . ."

  "I have my cookware," the professor said, gesturing to the boxes. "I paid my way through school working in a restaurant. I am, I must say most humbly, a very good cook. That depends, of course, upon ingredients."

  "We've got stuff in the holders on the ship," Tyler said, trying to catch up. "You're a professor of astrophysics? And you want to be the ship's cook?"

  "Is the job in space?"

  "Yes."

  "Then I wish to be the ship's cook," Dr. Chu said. "Do you have an objection?"

  Tyler thought about it and held out his hand.

  "I simply love Chinese food," Tyler said. "And you don't want to know what a Glatun robochef does to beef with broccoli."

  "Then we should perhaps load," Dr. Chu said, smiling.

  "Where's the cargo door on this thing?" Steve said, walking around the ship. It appeared, in fact, as not much more than a two-story steel brick with some small openings on one side.

  "Right here," Tyler said, comming for the door to open. The door opened along an almost invisible seam and dropped a ramp down to the ground. There was a rather obvious airlock system with both doors open. "Doors will only open if there's air on both sides and it's equalized. Otherwise it takes a two person override. And people don't usually ride in these things, anyway. So there is no cargo door. And not much room for cargo."

  "Docking?" Dr. Chu asked, hefting one of the cases.

 
"All Glatun airlocks are identical," Tyler said, grabbing his bags. "And we're going to have to figure out how this stuff will fit."

  Just beyond the airlock was the crew compartment. The interior of the ship was surprisingly cramped.

  "Wow," Steve said, looking at the low, tight, quarters. "You don't fly this ship, you wear it."

  "You don't even wear it," Tyler said, stuffing his bag into a corner. "It's controlled from the Monkey Business. We're all, effectively, passengers. It only has crew quarters as a way to move people around from one base to another in a pinch."

  "So the rest is . . ." Bryan asked. He was carrying his bag and two cases of cookware. He clearly wasn't sure where to set it. "We're not going to be able to carry all this stuff."

  "Engines," Tyler said, pointing to one of the five chairs. "Power plants. Grav plates. Drives. How do you think it gets that much thrust? And we'll be able to carry it all. You, Steve and Nathan are big. Grab a seat. Dr. Chu . . ."

  "Conrad, please," Dr. Chu said.

  "Conrad and I will pack all the stuff in on top of you since we're . . . smaller. We'll go up to the ship to drop this off then go to Huntsville. Don't worry, it's a short flight."

  "FAA will defecate a brick," Nathan said, taking a seat. "Glatun are sort of small, ain't they?"

  "FAA will get over it," Tyler said. "And it's not that Glatun are small. It's that this ship wasn't designed for Rangora."

  It took Tyler and Dr. Chu about ten minutes to get everything stowed on top of the other passengers.

  "And that way I don't have stuff piled on me," Tyler said, grinning. He commed the door closed and checked the telltales. "I think the little blinky lights are just so the passengers that are in the know don't get nervous. But we are . . . locked tight. And . . . liftoff. Manchester FAA, Monkey Paw 4. Request change of flight plan, direct ascent to geosynchronous, return trip to Huntsville FAA control . . . Roger, FAA. Thank you."

  "No problems?" Nathan asked.

  "Manchester FAA is getting used to space ships," Tyler said. "It's the bureaucrats in DC that see their phony baloney jobs on the line that don't like us."

  "The FAA is a pretty important group," Asaro said. "And I know you don't like NASA but it really was the only game in town if you wanted to be in a manned program."

  "And now it's not," Tyler said. "Which means that NASA is looking at becoming very extremely redundant very extremely fast. Which nobody likes but bureaucrats hate more than most. To most people in a bureaucracy, the main thing is that they've got a steady paycheck because who ever lays off a bureaucrat? Well, NASA if it had any sense at all. And the FAA is having to adjust, fast, to new conditions. One thing that they're realizing is that they're going to have to automate to a much greater degree to handle space traffic. And they've been lobbying congress for forever for upgrades, I'll admit. But most of the stuff they're pitching looks exactly like what it, in fact, is: pork payoffs to contractors so that FAA administrators can then get cushy jobs when they finish their twenty years. Not going to argue this one while I'm picking my way through the satellite belt. So, Steve, does a 'Doctor' go with that name? You were introduced as Mister."

  "I didn't want to throw you any more than being with NASA would," Steve said. "So, yes, it's Dr. Asaro. Also, until recently, Major Asaro."

  "Air Force?" Nathan asked, trying to shift some of the packages. He was pretty hard to see under the boxes.

  "Bite your tongue," Steve said. "Marines."

  "So Doctor Major Steve 'Astro' Asaro," Tyler said. "We've got plenty of names to choose from. Doctor of . . . ?"

  "Aeronautical engineering," Astro said. "And astronomy. And physics. Masters in electrical and mechanical. I thought I knew Dr. Chu. I had his astrophysics for physics majors course many a year ago."

  "You got an A," Dr. Chu said. "I was being nice, though. I knew you wanted to be an astronaut. You really rated more of an A minus."

  "With your engineering background maybe you should be the ship's engineer instead of pilot," Tyler said. "Okay, since we have about five minutes alone. Nathan and Bryan already know the dirty details. We'll be returning to Huntsville after dropping this stuff off. So if you want to abort you can abort in Huntsville and no harm done. The Monkey Business is five hundred years old. It's not quite ready for the scrapyard but it's close. It was what I could afford. And I made sure it was serviced before we left Glatun. But it's not a nice new Space Shuttle or the ISS. It's a workhorse that has been running around the galaxy since before the Spanish landed in the new world. Our first mission is to launch some mirrors. We're going to just park them in Near Earth Orbit because they're destined for out-system. Then we're going to go check Icarus and figure out what's happening with the smelting. The answer is something funky according to Nathan."

  "Best if we check it with the Glatun systems," Nathan said. "I'm not sure, Dr. Houseley's not sure and we haven't been sure if we should contact someone like . . . Well, Dr. Chu come to think of it."

  "I'm a specialist in oxygen production in Mira Variables," Dr. Chu said. "I'm just along for the ride. And to cook."

  "Anyway," Tyler said. "If anybody wants to abort after you see the ship, you're welcome. I only want people who really want to be here."

  "I'm actually having a bit of trouble with the concept," Steve said. "The last time I was in space, the ride up was like being repeatedly hit by a trip-hammer."

  "Welcome to a new day," Tyler said. "And . . . we're . . . almost docked. Hang on a bit. Diw! The lock won't seal . . . Yeah, I know it sealed when I left. I'm going to undock. Get one of the bots to check the seal rings . . . This is the sort of thing I was talking about. It's not quite baling wire and chewing gum but it's got about two billion little issues that crop up all the time."

  "Try that pretty new Shuttle that's older than I am and gets practically rebuilt after every mission," Steve said. "You don't want to know for problems."

  "Hang on," Tyler said. "Yeah, I'll try it." There was a clang. "That's got it. What was it . . . ? I hate intermittent failures, too. Especially when they're of docking seals. And . . . we're home."

  "We sure it's good?" Nathan asked in a muffled tone.

  "Get used to answers like 'We'll know when we open the door'," Tyler said. "Fortunately, we can close it really fast." Tyler opened the inner airlock door and listened. "Any whistling?"

  "You're joking, right?" Steve said.

  "Nope," Tyler said. "And inner door opening . . . And we didn't lose a gram of air so we're good. Everybody out!"

  "As soon as I can move," Nathan said.

  "Be careful," Tyler said, grabbing two boxes off of Nathan. "There's a small patch of microgravity right at the join. You can step over it but it feels sort of funny and if you're not careful you trip."

  Five

  "It does look sort of worn," Dr. Foster said as he followed Tyler down a passageway. It was also big. The interior corridors weren't wide or tall but there were a lot of them. They hadn't gotten a look at the exterior but he could tell it was a pretty sizeable ship.

  "And the galley," Tyler said as a hatch withdrew. "Most of the hatches are memory metal. One of about a thousand things we don't understand. At least not well."

  The galley was the size of a good-sized restaurant's kitchen.

  "This is more than I expected," Dr. Chu said, looking around. "Are the big doors the freezers?"

  "One is a standard pantry," Tyler said, walking over and comming the door open. The interior was packed with cases. "This is the pantry. You'll notice it doesn't have the little yellow and blue lights over it. Blue is good, yellow is bad. The ones with the yellow and blue lights are stabilizers. They, somehow, prevent degradation. They're cool rooms but not freezers. About 20 C normally. But even if they get hotter the stuff doesn't degrade and besides meat and such like I've got them filled with tasty vegetables and fruits."

  "Good," Dr. Chu said, walking over to one of the stabilizer rooms. "And how do I know the stabilizer isn't on? Because I don't want to be st
abilized. The blue light?"

  "The field turns off if you open the door," Tyler said, comming for the door to open. The room was filled mostly with piled packages of pre-cut meat. It was vaguely disturbing that they weren't frozen. "And it really will turn off. The door latch has the power circuit built in. The problem isn't getting them to turn off. It's keeping them on."

  "I see," Dr. Chu said. "And how do I open the doors?"

  "Monkey Business, please give Dr. Chu access privileges to all food areas, bunking and common areas by verbal command. Drs. Foster, Bell and Asaro are authorized access to common areas and bunking."

  "Yes, sir," the ship replied.

  "AI?" Dr. Foster asked as he set his cases down.