by Nick Lake
“got a pony for u,” he says. “thought u could learn to ride. the Westerson boy was just giving it away. said it ate too much grass.”
“oh,” i say. i’ve never thought about riding a horse. but it’s never been possible of course. “thanks.”
“no problem. lot of things to do when u arrive. take u swimming. teach u to play catch.”
“i can catch fine.”
“not in 1 g, i bet. gravity is a bitch.”
“yeah, u’re probably right.” i think about this. i’m going to have to learn everything. how to walk. how to sit, when there’s a force pulling u down. i don’t really want to think about it because i’ll only get worried about how much is going to be different, so i say, “what’s happening with u?”
“tomorrow i’m driving up to the mountains with Zeke,” he says. “we’re going to pack a load of snow into barrels. keep it in the cellar. he did it last year. says it kept his sheep alive.”
“wow,” i say. “sounds amazing.”
Grandpa makes a face. “hard work, more like.”
“i meant driving. in the mountains. feeling snow. all of those things.”
now he grimaces. “shit. sorry, son. always forget, don’t i?”
“that i grew up in a tin can in space & haven’t seen anything or felt anything?”
“yeah. that.”
we laugh then. Grandpa asks me a bunch more questions. am i scared about reentry? am i looking forward to seeing my mother? would i like to choose a puppy when i get there because the ranch dog, Elsa, just had a litter?
(yes. no. of course.)
“hey,” i say. “is Mother there?”
he laughs. the word they use in old books is ruefully. “what do u think? she’s in Nevada at the base. preflight prep, etc. been prepping for the last 10 months, working sims of the cargo container docking.”
“u haven’t seen her in 10 months?”
“son, u’ve seen her more recently than i have.”
that was a year ago. ouch. “sorry,” i say.
“not ur fault,” he says. “least she gave me u. & soon i’m going to c u. i mean really c u, face to face.”
i take a deep breath. “yeah,” i say. it’s a yeah that has other words in it, words like: i can’t wait, & i’m finally going to hug u & know how u smell, words i can’t say out loud.
it’s awkward to carry on the conversation after that, so we soon break it off. i go & train on the ARED exercise machine for a while because we’re supposed to do an hour a day of weight resistance, pulling these cables attached to vacuum cylinders to keep our muscle mass up & maintain bone density; Dr. Stearns is always worrying about our muscle mass & bone density.
the whole time, i keep my sweatband around my head. u don’t want sweat, or any kind of liquid, spinning around the station. it could get in people’s eyes. that’s also why i pee in a bag that i have to seal afterward & dispose of in the trash condenser that goes in 1 of the burn-up cargo ships. then they get sent down at an angle deliberately calculated to make them disintegrate when they hit the atmosphere.
afterward i look at my watch & c that it’s nearly bedtime, which is of course not something u can tell from looking out the window. i glide along the crossarm of the station toward my bathroom pod & have a space shower, which means i get a little bag of premixed water & soap & squeeze out a tiny amount & rub it over myself & then i dry myself with a towel, being careful not to let any of the liquid fly off because: people’s eyes.
it takes a long time.
as i get dressed again, the shutters come down. they do this when we’re sleeping, covering the windows, in case a bigger micrometeoroid breaks 1. i don’t know why that’s not a concern in the day. maybe it’s just an old human fear of disaster striking when u’re sleeping, the same thing that made people build fires to keep wolves at bay.
this whole ship is basically a machine for keeping us alive, is what i think when the shutters come down. as i said, it’s arranged like a plus sign—4 radial tubular sections, made of cylindrical modules held together by hatches. trusses run down all 4 arms, outside, allowing an astronaut doing an EVA to move along, & there are also rails for remote machines & robot arms & so on to run on.
at the end of each arm is a huge solar panel, like a wing, for all our power. & built into each arm orthogonally, at 90 degrees to each other, are 4 moment gyros spinning 6,600 times a minute & generating a momentum storage of 3,500 ft-lb/sec, which can be used to adjust the yaw or roll or pitch of the station, just by turning the gyro within its gimbal.
there is also a rocket in each arm, developing 1,000 ft-lb of thrust, just in case the gyros fail. or, you know, roughly. (sorry, space geek.)
& that’s not all. there are:
cooling panels on all the modules, with a simple ammonia heat exchange system, because bodies moving around in a closed system make lots of heat & so does the sun thru the windows & so otherwise we’d all cook.
oxygen candles, burning sodium chlorate & iron powder to make oxygen.
a condensate water processor for sucking up our sweat & breath & turning it into more oxygen via electrolysis.
& as i mentioned already the plants for oxygen too.
(if u’re engineering a space station, u worry about oxygen a lot.)
(also the plants are to eat & to admire if u’re Libra, of course, but mainly they’re for oxygen if u read the manuals, which Libra doesn’t but i do.)
a life-support system generating 14.7 lb/sq-in of environmental pressure using oxygen & nitrogen because there’s a vacuum outside & it wants us dead, it wants us hollowed out.
sun, star, & horizon sensors for feeding attitude information to the gyros.
VHF transmitters, antennas, satellite dishes.
fire detectors.
gas analyzers.
air pumps.
fire extinguishers.
& on
& on
& on
& all of it there, in essence, to keep us from having our breath pulled out of our bodies, to keep the station’s equilibrium so that we don’t all die.
the intercom buzzes. “hey, Leo, it’s Orion,” says Orion redundantly.
“hey,” i say. “what’s up?”
“death sim,” he says.
“now? it’s bedtime.”
“don’t think they care in Nevada. it’s all prep time all the time. so get lively. meet us on the bridge, 5 minutes. they want to talk about what happens if we all die.”
Libra & Orion & Virginia are already on the bridge when i get there. we’re the only people on Moon 2 at the moment. it’s 0 g, so we can’t exactly sit around a table. instead, the other 3 are holding on to handrails on the command desk. they’ve spread out a screen on it, & when i float over & grab a handrail myself, i c the boardroom in Nevada.
“Leo, glad u could join us for this simulation,” says Commander Boutros. he’s the big guy in charge down there. he always wears this shimmery purple eye shadow & matte-effect lipstick.
“hi,” i say.
“Leo,” says my mother, nodding. she’s sitting next to Boutros. she’s not wearing any makeup. she doesn’t understand the point of it. not that she needs it. skin like polished mahogany. still young. i’ve seen Orion forget to close his mouth when he’s looking at her. not that she cares about that, of course—i mean being beautiful, not Orion’s mouth being open.
there’s also Dr. Stearns & Flight Officer Brown. i’ve never met Brown but i’ve seen him on sims before. he’s the 1 who’s coming up with my mother, ahead of the arrival of the self-flying cargo unit. Nevada has been planning this space walk for a year now. they’re serious about detail.
my mother & Flight Officer Brown will stay for 2 months. till my 16th birthday. then they’ll take us all home.
me & Libra & Orion. to earth.
around the boardroom table, there are also several other men & women, & Boutros asks them to introduce themselves.
“Tomlinson. systems.”
> “Ravzi. engineering.”
“Mankiewicz. medical.”
“Santiago. PR.”
etc.
basically a whole tableful of scientists & astronauts. we can just c the windows & it’s dark down there, but the room in the base is lit by bright fluorescent light, & the table is covered with unrolled screens & documents, as well as the green cards for the sim.
at our end, we give our names too, which is redundant really because everyone knows who is up here.
“ok,” says Boutros. “so we’re launching at dawn. weather seems conducive. orbital trajectory has Flight Officer Brown & Chief Officer Freeman docking with Moon 2 at 09 hundred the day after tomorrow. the unmanned cargo container will arrive 3 hours later, carrying additional fuel for the station & other sundry supplies.”
“oh!” says Orion. “is it the kittens i asked for?”
“ur humor is duly noted, Orion.” they always use our first names, like we’re kids. which we are, but still. “do remember that this is a contingency simulation tho.”
“death sim,” says Libra.
“we don’t call it that,” says Boutros.
“literally everyone does,” says Libra. me, i keep silent. i usually leave the talking to the twins.
“& we should get on with it,” says Orion. “everyone knows no one has died up here for generations. i was watching Battleship Potemkin.”
i don’t know what Battleship Potemkin is. but it sounds like exactly the kind of thing Orion would be watching.
“because of our protocols,” says Boutros. “so we’re all going to take this seriously. is that understood?”
Orion raises his eyes but nods. so does Libra.
“Leo?”
“yes. yes, understood,” i say.
“Good,” says Boutros. “ok. here’s the scenario for the sim. the launch goes smoothly. Flight Officer Brown & Chief Officer Freeman are on Moon 2. then the cargo container successfully docks too. but its momentum throws the station out of correct attitude. the only way to stop it from reentering the atmosphere is to fire the primary booster. Freeman?”
“naturally, i give the order to fire the booster,” says my mother.
“Ravzi: green card,” says Boutros.
Ravzi—mustache & eyeliner ticked up at the edges to look catlike—picks up 1 of the cards. “fuel line to the booster is shot. only way to fix it is to EVA. immediately.”
Mankiewicz from medical stops spinning her pen on her fingers. “procedure is 24 hours in hi-ox before a space walk.”
“in 24 hours they’re burning up on reentry,” says Ravzi.
“but if they get the bends it’s going to cause problems later on,” counters the medic.
“well then,” says my mother, “we use the old Russian system. 1 hour of pure ox & good to go.”
“ok,” says Boutros. “so u exit the station. u take the new RCV to tow u along the truss to the main booster. Duncan?”
“uh-huh, i monitor on the screens & drive the RCV,” says Virginia.
“then we reconnect the fuel supply,” says Officer Brown. he says it confidently, even tho he has never been up here. but then i suppose he has always been elite: as a pilot, as an academic. u have to be to get into the program.
“fine,” says Boutros. “green card, Tomlinson.”
Tomlinson picks up a card. “fuel is ejecting into space. Duncan can’t turn it off from command. what do u do?”
it goes on like this for 15 minutes. all kinds of permutations of things going wrong. until:
“Freeman: green card.”
my mother turns 1. “we reconnect the fuel supply & the booster fires without warning, creating a g-force so great that our safety cables are cut & we are thrown away from the station.”
“u & Brown are no longer slaved to its momentum & u are quickly lost,” says Ravzi.
“yay!” says Orion. “death sim!”
Boutros glares at him. “Freeman & Brown drift until their oxygen runs out,” he says. “then they die.” he holds Orion’s eyes, across the vidlink. “u think that’s funny, Orion?”
Orion swallows. he looks at me. his meteor eyes. “no. sorry.”
my mother makes an impatient hand gesture. “how do the others on the station get the booster under control? that’s the important thing.”
“more important than u being dead?” says Boutros.
“yes. we’re dead. that’s done. but the station needs to reorient.” her tone is the way a rock might speak.
“depends on the booster,” says Virginia. “is it under control or is it just blasting fuel?”
“it’s firing continuously,” says Ravzi. “out of control.”
“ok,” says Virginia. “so i use that. i take any gyros out of law that i don’t need & i use the others to complement the torque from the booster, adjusting our pitch & yaw, etc., bringing us farther up & away from the atmosphere & back into most efficient altitude.”
“then?”
“then i jettison the booster & go back to full gyro attitude management.”
“problem is u’ve already got 1 gyro putting out 0.2 g of vibration,” says Ravzi.
Boutros turns to him.
“that’s not in the sim, that’s IRL,” Ravzi adds.
Boutros raises his eyebrows.
“it’s just under 0.2 actually,” says Virginia. “not high enough to come out of law.”
Boutros is frowning now. “did we know about this?” he says. “will it affect docking? i mean, in real life, not in this sim.”
“for Brown & Freeman, definitely not,” says Virginia. “for the automated docking of the cargo ship…it isn’t ideal. but the program can handle it. i figure it’s a minor bearing malfunction. long as it stays low, we’re ok.”
“& if it doesn’t?”
“the cargo container arrives after the astronauts, right?” says Virginia. “so Officers Freeman & Brown could install a new gyro. we have 1 on board. we were planning to replace it anyway.”
“yes,” says Boutros. “but later. that’s a big job, & there’s no time. we have a narrow window for the cargo container launch. anything else?”
“Leo had an idea about—”
Brown turns to face me, meaning he turns to face the screen. “Leo had an idea? the 15-year-old had an idea?”
“& we’re going to listen,” says Boutros. “kid’s been up there since he was a baby, remember?”
Brown sits back in his chair. to his credit he flashes me a chastened smile. “sure, yes, i was out of line,” he says. “go ahead, Leo.”
“yeah,” i say. “we identify the frequency of the vibration with a Fourier transform & use the other torque generators to modulate the movement of the ship such that we cancel out the vibration from the gyro.”
Ravzi thinks for a second, playing with his mustache. “nice in theory,” he says. “but we have no models for that.”
“what then?” says Boutros.
“boldface says if a gyro is malfunctioning we take it offline & use the boosters instead,” says Ravzi. boldface is anything in a manual that’s highlighted in bold type. there are a lot of manuals & there is a lot of boldface. Grandpa says boldface is written not in ink but in blood. pretty much everything that’s bolded is bolded because it saved someone’s life, back in the days of the ISS & before, or because not doing it made someone die.
u always follow the boldface, says Grandpa. u follow it because it’s written in the blood of those who went before. so i know already how this is going to go.
“so that’s what u do,” says Boutros to Virginia. “u follow the boldface.”
“but—”
“that’s an order, Duncan,” says Boutros.
“boldface only says that because it makes sense for a normal situation,” says Virginia. she’s moved a little closer to me in the command module, defensively. i don’t think she realizes she’s done it. “where micro disturbances don’t matter. docking of an unmanned cargo container is not a normal sit
uation. the boosters would lose me the fine control i need.”
Ravzi shrugs. “then we ditch the cargo container,” he says. “better than risking the position of the station with an untested idea.” he glances at me across the screen, then away.
Virginia reaches out & touches my shoulder. she gives me a “well, we tried” smile. “fine,” she says.
my mother sighs. “can we get back to Brown & me being dead?” she says.
“yes, of course,” says Boutros. “so, ur oxygen has run out. u’re gone. Duncan has saved the station. Tomlinson: green card.”
Tomlinson reaches out for 1. but another woman leans forward, young, glasses. she’s new & i don’t recall who she is. she has a beard that i figure is a gene-mod because over the hi-res connection i can tell it’s real.
“wait,” she says. “i have 1. Brown’s family, or Freeman’s family, starts demanding answers. the press gets the story & soon it’s on all the apps. ‘disaster on Moon 2,’ that sort of thing.”
“ok,” says Boutros slowly. “so we put out a statement. we try to anticipate every scenario but we can’t preempt everything, it’s a terrible tragedy.”
“meanwhile a lot of press attention is focused on Moon 2,” says the woman. she has a light Hispanic accent.
Boutros looks over at her. “Santiago, i know u’re new here at INDNAS, but—”
Santiago: PR, i remember.
“my job is to contain things. to manage information,” says Santiago. “this is relevant.”
“so?” says Flight Officer Brown. “everyone knows about Moon 2. it’s not a secret.”
on the screen, Santiago mimes turning over a green card. “fine. the New York Times digs deeper. they interview some ex-employees. start talking about the experiment. then before we know it—”
but we don’t find out what happens before we know it because Boutros raises a hand. “yes, yes, we get the—”
“what experiment?” says Orion, from up here.
“the unmanned cargo container,” says my mother. “it’s still experimental. if we died because of a problem with it—”
“there have been some high-profile cases with self-driving cars,” says Boutros. “the public is primed. it could really screw us if they come after us for the automatic cargo program. Santiago’s right.”
