On to the Asteroid

by Travis S. Taylor

  Hui moved to join Mikhail near the bulge and said, “The harpoon won’t help in this case either. It will break when it encounters that amount of force.”

  Both looked expectantly at Gesling, as if he would have the answer to the problem. He didn’t.

  “Well then, let’s get busy and figure out a Plan B. We have to make the burn soon or the window of its effectiveness will close. The further out we change the direction of this rock, the more likely it will be to miss Earth.”

  * * *

  Now only a few days from fulfilling its mission, the rocket carrying the fifteen-megaton warhead performed its final course correction maneuver that it put it on an intercept course with Sutter’s Mill. The rocket was nothing particularly special; it was similar to the many upper stages Russia and the former Soviet Union had flown in space many times before. Using chemical propulsion, its rocket engines were barely evolved above what carried Russian probes to the Moon in the 1960s and 70s. Its payload, however, was very high-tech.

  With the dissolution of the Soviet Union in the late 1980s, the nuclear arsenal of the USSR, once the bulwark of the defense of the Russian homeland, had fallen into obsolescence and disrepair. In the late teens and early 2020s, Russian engineers and scientists went to their leadership and explained why the deterrent force upon which Russian depended, was no longer…dependable. The response from the Kremlin was quick and decisive: fix the problem.

  The fix resulted in cannibalizing half of the nuclear warheads that had been sitting in storage to make modern, lighter weight and physically smaller warheads capable of being deployed and used within minutes of being needed. And some were made space ready. The near-miss of the Chelyabinsk meteor convinced the military that they needed a nuclear weapon capable of being used in deep space for the very purpose that this particular weapon was now on its way to Sutter’s Mill to fulfill.

  The “physics package,” as some in the business wanted to call the nuclear bomb, presumably to make it sound less barbaric, was completely untested. Nuclear Test Ban treaties constrained treaty signatories from conducting above or below ground nuclear tests. Instead, multiple very expensive supercomputer simulations had been completed. Each simulation more complicated and requiring more computer power than was available in the world—combined—for the first fifty years of the nuclear age. The simulation gave the bomb’s creators confidence that their creation would for once be used in a positive way—preventing a global asteroid impact catastrophe.

  In three days, the “physics package” would unleash the most devastating force developed by humanity. Nuclear physics was going to be used in conjunction with Newtonian physics and alter the trajectory of an asteroid.

  CHAPTER 30

  “Hui. You trained on the simulator for the Crew Transfer Vehicle didn’t you?” asked Paul.

  “Yes. It’s not dissimilar to the one we use. The controls are a bit more modern, but the control architecture is basically the same.”

  Gesling looked at the virtual display showing the Tamaroa within the fissure and pointed at the small crew-carrying Crew Transfer Vehicle docked rearward. “I’ve looked at the geometry of where we are in the fissure and the CTV should have enough room to fly you out of here.”

  Hui and Mikhail floated near where Paul was pointing and looked at the ghostly 3D image showing their ship and the mountain of rock that surrounded them on all sides.

  “Paul, you said ‘fly you out of here.’ English isn’t my first language, but I know enough to understand what you said and I don’t like it.”

  “Someone’s got to stay here and make sure the thrust maneuver happens as it should. But there’s no need for more than one to take that risk. You and Mikhail can get safely out into space away from the fireworks and then come get me afterwards.”

  “What’s the point? The CTV only has enough supplies to keep us alive for the next two weeks. We’ll perish before the rock reaches Earth. We might just die sooner if we remain in here with you,” Mikhail said.

  “Mikhail, get your Russian pessimism off my ship. We aren’t dead until we’re dead. And there is no reason for you or Hui to take the risk of being in here with me when you have a better chance at surviving out there.”

  “Mikhail, I agree with Paul on that point. There is still a chance we will survive all this and we need to take it. I learned that on the Moon with my crew. Every minute of life counts, and adding two weeks might make some difference to the possibility of our being rescued.”

  Gesling looked at Mikhail without any hint of satisfaction at having Hui side with him in the debate. His fate might be sealed regardless of what his companions decided to do with the CTV.

  “Paul, can you control the ship remotely from the CTV?” asked Hui.

  “Not a chance. I need to be here to adjust the attitude control thrusters in case we veer too far out of alignment and monitor the ship’s systems to override them in case we have a premature engine shutdown. I need to stay right here.”

  “What about the auxiliary control room in engineering further back?” Hui asked.

  “The control room back there is minimalistic and simply doesn’t have the monitors and windows I need to do this. This has to be done right here on the main control in the main flight deck.” Paul shook his head no as he talked.

  “We could rig something—” Paul cut Rykov off midsentence.

  “How long would that take?”

  “A couple of days, maybe?”

  “There is no time. We’re doing it this way. End of discussion,” Paul ordered.

  “Well then, before we leave, we need to make sure we do everything we can to make sure you get through this. I designed some clamps that I can use across the truss to anchor it onto the rock. But I haven’t figured out how to anchor them. If we were home, I would use an explosive anchor like the navy developed back in the 1970s. They needed a way to quickly and reliably anchor large ships so they came up with one that was essentially blown into the seafloor with high explosives. ‘Boom’ and their ships were secure.”

  “Explosives aren’t exactly in abundance on a ship designed to go to Mars,” replied Gesling.

  “No, but we do have something that can be made to explode with fairly significant force,” said Mikhail.

  Paul and Hui looked toward the Russian as he continued to explain.

  “We can use the compressed air from the spare spacesuits. The ship was designed and outfitted for eight people to take a trip to Mars and back. We are only three. There are five unused spacesuits with oxygen canisters ready and waiting to be used. I can easily configure them to explode electrically. Getting a ‘shaped’ charge will be the challenge. I want them to drive the anchor bolt around the truss and into the rock. I don’t want to shatter the truss.”

  “I’ve discovered another universal truth about engineers,” said Hui.

  “And that is?” asked Paul.

  “No matter where an engineer may be, no matter what the technical challenge they are facing, they always find a way to blow something up. It is universal—in China, the USA, Russia and now on an asteroid.”

  “Well said. Mikhail, go ahead and start cannibalizing the spacesuits for their oxygen tanks. If you think they’ll provide enough force to anchor the ship, then I’m all for it. Hui, are you still going to use the harpoon?”

  “I’m not sure how much good it will do, but that is my plan.”

  * * *

  Gesling watched Mikhail and Hui return to the ship after an extensive four-hour EVA during which they’d kludged eight anchors and compressed oxygen explosive charges around the parts of the Tamaroa truss that were adjacent to the rock wall of the fissure.

  Each of the five spare spacesuits on the ship had two full oxygen tanks. They didn’t want to use all the spare suits, keeping one in reserve seemed like a good idea, so they only used tanks from four. Getting the tanks out of the backpacks was easy and Paul had taken care of that part of the task while his colleagues suited up and prepared to go outside
the ship and into vacuum. Under direction from Mikhail, Paul then used the suits’ battery packs and radio systems to create a radio-controlled short—and a complete battery discharge—into one side of each tank near the valve that regulated the oxygen flow into the tubing that was designed to feed the suit’s wearer with life-giving oxygen.

  Once the makeshift explosive charges were wired and ready to go, Paul helped Mikhail get them into the airlock and then he watched and waited while they painstakingly positioned them on top of the anchors Hui had printed with the ship’s 3D printer. The anchors had a printed cusp at the top that was perfect for positioning the air tanks.

  Paul did his best to choke down his nagging fear as he watched them place the charges for the appropriate directionality. His scuba diving instructor had told him about an air tank rupture that sent a diver’s tank flying through the air and through a concrete block wall. The last thing their ship needed was one of these tanks to rupture and instead of the force driving the anchor into the rock wall of the fissure, having it fly off and through the skin of the ship. That, he thought, would be a bad day.

  As Mikhail and Hui reentered the ship, Paul went through his calculations again and found no errors. Minutes now mattered if they were going to deflect the asteroid. As the rock flew closer to the Earth, the miss distance grew smaller even if they were a hundred percent successful in their attempt to deflect the rock. And he knew that the margin of error in this calculation was probably larger than the calculated deflection angle. He’d hoped they could get some sleep before firing the engines, but that was now impossible. They’d been awake and working for nearly twenty-four hours and they couldn’t afford an eight-hour break for sleeping.

  Hui was the first to remove her helmet after leaving the airlock.

  “We got them all placed and ready to go,” she said.

  “I need food and some sleep,” added Mikhail.

  “I’d really like to give you guys a break, but I can’t. I’ve relooked at the numbers and all we have time to do is recharge your suits and get you into the CEV and off the ship. I’ll suit up in the meantime so we can start the engines as soon as you are a safe distance away.”

  “Paul, are you sure? I don’t like making decisions on no sleep. They usually don’t turn out well,” said Mikhail.

  Gesling looked over his crewmates and knew that they’d been giving the mission their all for the last several days and more than that in the last twenty-four. He also knew that the laws of physics were working against them and that they were out of time.

  “We can’t stop now. Once we make the burn, then we’ll have a feast and catch some sleep. Until then, we’ve got to press.”

  “When do we fire the anchors?” asked Hui.

  “As soon as we’re all suited up with recharged air tanks and all of our helmets on. I don’t want an errant oxygen tank depressurizing the habitat with us unprepared. Or God only knows what else.”

  * * *

  An hour later, all three astronauts looked like astronauts. They were fully in their space suits with helmets locked and in place. Mikhail had opened the hatch connecting the habitat to the egress tunnel leading to the CEV. If something were to go wrong, they could theoretically move from their duty stations in the habitat to the CEV within two minutes. Theoretically.

  “Mikhail, let’s trigger the first anchor and see what happens,” said Paul.

  Mikhail didn’t verbally respond. Instead he waved his gloved fingers over the virtual keyboard floating in the space before him. From Gesling’s vantage point, it looked like his Russian colleague was drawing in the air—the keyboard was not visible from where he was.

  “Anchor 1 is in place,” Mikhail said.

  “That’s it? I knew there’d be no boom, but why no vibration?” asked Gesling.

  “My friend, be glad you heard and felt nothing. This is a big ship and it would take a big explosion for you to feel something striking the ship two hundred feet away while resting against solid rock. And if you heard something, then that would mean the skin of the habitat had been breached.”

  Looking toward the front of the habitat which was still ballooned inward from the rock upon which they rested, Gesling only nodded.

  “I can’t take any more badness today. Let’s get on with the next one and hope it’s just as uneventful.”

  Mikhail returned to waving his hands above the virtual keyboard and grunted. He looked up and toward Gesling. “The fourth unit didn’t fire. I tried twice. So I’m going on the final four before I try to figure out what happened.”

  The hand waving continued, interspersed with long pauses, presumably to confirm that the charge had fired, or at least that’s what Gesling assumed accounted for them.

  “All of the anchors are set except for the fourth one. I just cannot get it to ignite.”

  “It’ll have to do. You and Hui go ahead into the CEV and be on your way. As soon as you get far enough away from the Tamaroa, then let me know and I’ll get the show started.”

  Mikhail and Hui floated over to where he was positioned and, as best they could encumbered with their two-hundred-pound spacesuits, gave him an awkward group hug. With their helmets touching, both of the departing astronauts gave Gesling a look that conveyed the very real possibility of never seeing each other again. With that, they moved themselves toward the hatch and the passage that would take them to the CEV.

  Gesling made his way to the controls and began running through the checklist that would enable him to start the ship’s nuclear engines. As he began to configure the system, he noticed a new warning light. The radiators were running hot. Very hot. And as Gesling read through the data, he swore, Dammit. I didn’t think of that. Too late now. If the ship survives the next twenty minutes, then I’ll worry about the damn radiators.

  CHAPTER 31

  Hui thought of her first flight in space aboard the Earth-orbiting Chinese space station as she and Mikhail undocked from the Tamaroa and oriented the CEV so they could traverse the open spaces between the massive ship that had brought them to the asteroid and the walls of the asteroid fissure that now swallowed most of that great ship. As the backup pilot, she was confident there was enough room separating the two to get them safely out of the hole and into space. But only if she didn’t lose her focus. And thinking of that first spaceflight was dangerously close to distracting her.

  It was on that flight that Hui had met the man who would become her husband, if only temporarily. He, like her, had been a first-time-in-space astronaut, or taikonaut, as was the proper Chinese term. Funny, she thought, how over time I’m not only speaking in English, but thinking in English as well.

  His name was Kalok and though they’d trained in the same complex, they’d never crossed paths. He was older than she and had been through the training program in the class just ahead of hers. They became fast friends and before their first tour at the space station was complete, lovers. Four months later, they were married. Six months after that, he left her for another woman.

  Hui had to rapidly shake herself from her memories to avoid sideswiping the cavern in a particularly narrow part of the passage. Fortunately, Mikhail didn’t notice her momentary lapse and she expertly guided the small craft through the narrow opening and out into space. She flew alongside the back portion of the Tamaroa that extended out of the crevasse and into open space. It was a strange sight and reminded her of an ostrich, the back of the Tamaroa being its legs protruding from the sand.

  “Paul, we are in open space,” Mikhail said into the microphone.

  “Good. Tell Hui I admire her piloting. She should have been the one that flew us out here. Let me know when you are a safe distance away and I’ll start the countdown.”

  Hui guided the small ship laterally away from the Tamaroa and stopped several hundred yards away near a rock outcropping behind which she assessed they could safely perch. There wasn’t enough gravity to land so her maneuvers were more like what they’d had to do with the Tamaroa—hovering and
stopping all motion relative to the rock.

  The surface of the asteroid looked as alien as the first time they’d seen it. Perhaps more so. There was simply no way a person could become accustomed to seeing the surface of another world, albeit a small one. For Hui, the novelty would likely never wear off. Again, she cursed the designers of the CEV and their decision to include only a short-range radio capability within it. Had they equipped it with something a bit more powerful, they could have gone to the other side of Sutter’s Mill and let those at home know they were safe.

  “Tell Paul we’re safely away and ready for him to begin.”

  “Paul, you’re good to go.”

  Hui and Mikhail didn’t power down the small ship’s systems because they fully expected to soon be flying back into the fissure and rejoining Paul in the habitat. They kept all critical systems up and running with Hui’s hands poised above the handle that would reignite the main engine and allow her to quickly throttle it up to gain speed and out of harm’s way should the worst case happen with the Tamaroa and it broke apart. It was impossible for the Tamaroa’s engines to explode in a nuclear explosion, the physics would not allow it. It was possible, however, that the stress on the ship’s truss could cause it to buckle, allowing the engines to crash into the asteroid, rupture the fuel tanks, and produce a grand non-nuclear chemical explosion that might send debris cascading toward them. Hui was hoping for the nominal case and prepared for the worst.

  For the next several minutes, nothing happened.

  Then the nuclear engines ignited. The great ship shook as tons of liquid hydrogen began to flow around the multimegawatt nuclear reactor producing just over a hundred thousand pounds of thrust. The long spacecraft pushed against the cookie-shaped asteroid translating vibrations from the engine through its structure and into the rock. Surface regolith from Sutter’s Mill shook and vibrated like sand on a speaker cone. A fine cloud of dust began to rise from the surface as the engine pushed against the asteroid and not the cloud. The cloud rose to about a meter in height.