The Aftermath gt-16

by Ben Bova

  “All of it, Mom. Down to the last molecule.”

  “But how will we generate electricity if we use all the fuel? The reactor needs hydrogen.”

  “That’s the risky part.”

  “We can’t run for four years without electricity! We couldn’t last four days.”

  “I know. But we have water.”

  “Drinking water,” Pauline said. “Which we need.”

  “We recycle it,” said Angela.

  “But what’s our drinking water got to do with hydrogen for the fusion reactor?” Pauline asked. She was fairly certain she knew the answer but she wanted to hear what Theo had come up with.

  Theo gnawed on his lip for several heartbeats. With a glance at his sister, he explained, “Here’s what Angie and I have figured out. Water contains hydrogen. We electrolyze some of our water and feed the hydrogen to the reactor to keep it going.”

  “We use the electricity that the reactor generates to split the water into hydrogen and oxygen,” Angela added.

  Pauline felt confused. “Now wait a second. You use electricity from the reactor to produce hydrogen fuel for the reactor?”

  They both nodded.

  “It sounds…”

  “It’s a bootstrap operation, I know,” said Theo. “But the numbers show that it could work.”

  Angela said, “The hydrogen fusion produces a gajillion times more energy than it takes to split the water molecules.”

  “Something about this doesn’t sound right to me,” Pauline insisted.

  “Angela’s right, Mom,” Theo replied. “The fusion process produces a lot more energy than it takes to electrolyze the water. We’ll be on the happy side of the curve.”

  “You’re certain of this?” Pauline asked.

  Again Theo hesitated. Then he said, “That’s what the numbers show.”

  “Then why can’t we produce enough hydrogen to feed the main engine and get us back to Ceres sooner?”

  “Propulsion needs reaction mass, Mom. Our hydrogen doesn’t just generate electrical power; we use most of it to push through the engine’s jets and provide thrust.”

  “That’s what most of the hydrogen in our tanks was for,” Angela chimed in. “Reaction mass. Only a fraction of it goes to generating electricity.”

  To make sure she understood what they were telling her, Pauline said, “So you think you can generate electrical power for the ship even after you’ve used up all the hydrogen in the fuel tanks.”

  “Yes.”

  “And cut our trip time in half.”

  “Just about.”

  “And the risk is…?”

  Angela said, “The risk is that we might use up too much of our drinking water to keep the reactor generating electricity.”

  “The reactor doesn’t need all that much fuel to generate electricity,” Theo explained. “A glassful of water can produce enough electricity to keep the ship running for a month, just about.”

  “Fusion’s a powerful thing, Mom,” said Angela. “It’s what powers the stars, y’know.”

  Pauline looked from her daughter’s eager face to her son’s more somber expression. Theo looks so much like his father now, she thought.

  “We can do it, Mom!” Angela urged. “We can get back to Ceres in four years!”

  She’s so anxious to get back to civilization, Pauline thought. But what if we use up all our water before we get back?

  “Theo,” she asked, “do you really think this will work?”

  “That’s what the numbers show,” he repeated.

  “But what do you think?”

  “I think we can do it, but it’s not just up to me. We all have a vote in this.”

  “Let’s do it!” Angela said.

  Realizing she would be outnumbered if she decided to vote against the scheme, Pauline made herself smile at her children.

  “All right,” she said slowly. “Let’s try it.”

  CARGO SHIP PLIEADES:

  INFIRMARY

  It was weird, knowing that the medic was the captain’s cloned daughter. Victor allowed her to put him through the scanners for a thorough physical, then sat in a soundproofed cubicle for more than an hour with the psych computer, answering questions while hooked up to blood pressure, voice analysis and other stress sensors. Finally he went through the thoroughly unpleasant experience of having his blood pumped out of his arm, through a detoxifying dialysis machine, and back into his arm again.

  The medic said barely a word to him through the whole long procedure. At last she pulled the tubes from his arm and sealed his wounds with medicinal spray-on patches.

  “You’re free to go now,” she said in her near-whisper.

  Victor swung his legs off the gurney, got to his feet and took a deep, testing breath. He felt good, no shakes, no weakness.

  “I’m sorry I got you into trouble,” he said to the medic.

  “It was my own fault,” she replied, hardly looking at him. Then a tentative smile emerged on her face. “She doesn’t stay angry very long.”

  “Your mother?”

  The medic nodded. “The captain.”

  “Well,” he said, “thanks for everything.”

  Her eyes evaded his. “Good luck.”

  It wasn’t until Victor had left the infirmary and was halfway along the passageway that led to the ship’s galley that it struck him that “Good luck” was a strange thing to say. What did she mean by that? he wondered.

  The galley was jammed with crew members eating dinner. Victor had to squeeze in at a table already occupied by six of his mates.

  “Took the day off, didja?” one of the men said, elbowing him in the ribs hard enough almost to make Victor slosh the coffee out of his mug as he edged his tray between the others already on the table.

  “The easy life,” joked the woman sitting across the table from him, grinning widely at him.

  “I wasn’t up to it today,” Victor said, turning his attention to the dinner tray before him.

  One of the other women said, “We heard about what you picked up yesterday, Vic.”

  The table fell silent.

  Victor put his fork down and looked up and down the table. They were all staring at him.

  With a shrug he said, “Let’s forget about it.”

  “Yeah. Shit happens.”

  “Not much you can do about it.”

  They all started eating again.

  Victor half-finished his meal, then hurried back to his own cubicle. A message was blinking on the wall screen above his bunk: REPORT TO CAPTAIN’S QUARTERS AT 2000 HOURS.

  “Aye-aye, captain,” he muttered.

  At precisely 2000 hours, dressed in fresh coveralls, Victor rapped smartly on the frame of the captain’s sliding doorscreen.

  “Enter,” she called.

  He slid the door back and stepped in. Captain Madagascar was still in her black uniform, sitting at her desk. She blanked the computer screen and got to her feet.

  “Exactly on time. Good.”

  “I went through the medical—”

  “I know,” said Cheena Madagascar, jerking a thumb toward the dead display screen. “I reviewed your medical records. You’re in good condition, physically and psychologically.”

  Victor nodded.

  She slid a partition back and Victor saw a kitchenette laid out along the bulkhead: steel sink, minifridge and freezer, microwave, cabinets overhead.

  “Had your dinner?” the captain asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I haven’t.” She pulled a prepackaged meal from the freezer. “Sit down, relax.”

  The little round table in the middle of the room was already set for two, he saw. He pulled out one of the delicate little chairs and sat on it carefully.

  “Want some wine?” the captain asked as she slid the dinner package into the microwave.

  “You said I shouldn’t drink anything alcoholic.”

  She broke into a wry grin. “I told my daughter I didn’t want her to give
you any alcohol. That doesn’t mean you can’t have a glass of wine with me.”

  Thinking of the detox dialysis, Victor said, “I’d better stay away from—”

  Cheena Madagascar interrupted, “When the captain invites you to have a glass of wine, you say, ‘Thank you, captain. I’d be delighted.’ ”

  Victor saw where this was heading. With a shrug he said, “Thank you, captain. I’d be delighted.”

  He sipped at the chilled white wine slowly as she ate her dinner. The wine tasted like biting the cold steel blade of a knife.

  “We’re almost finished with this body hunt, you know,” the captain told him as she chewed away. “There’s only a few dozen more to account for.”

  “George Ambrose won’t be satisfied until every single one is found,” Victor said.

  Madagascar nodded. “He’s got the clout to make ’em do what he wants.”

  “Them?”

  “The IAA. Selene. The university consortium that runs the research stations orbiting Jupiter and Venus. The big-ass corporations.”

  “The powers that be,” Victor muttered.

  “If they don’t do what Big George wants, the rock rats won’t supply resources.”

  “What’s left of the rock rats.”

  “There’s plenty of ’em left. The people on Chrysalis were mainly storekeepers and clerks. The miners and smeltery workers were on their own ships, scattered all across the Belt.”

  “My family’s out there somewhere,” Victor said.

  Madagascar took a healthy slug of wine. Putting the stemmed glass down on the tabletop, she said, “Face it, Zacharias: Your family’s most likely dead.”

  “No,” he said.

  “You know better than that,” she insisted. “If they’re not dead already they’re as good as dead, drifting out there in the Belt somewhere. Nobody’s going to find them.”

  “I will.”

  “You will? How?”

  “I’ll need a ship.”

  “Damned right you will.”

  And then it hit him. “And I’ll need Big George’s clout.”

  Captain Madagascar smiled like a lynx. “I could help you with Big George. And with this ship.”

  Victor nodded. He knew what she wanted in return.

  ORE SHIP SYRACUSE:

  BACKUP COMMAND POD

  The command pod was crowded with all three of them in there. Theo felt the body heat of his mother and sister, the tension of their anxieties, their expectations, their fears.

  “Three minutes to go,” he said, trying to keep his voice firm and clear.

  He was sitting in the command chair. Theo had configured the electronic keyboard to control the propulsion system program. Now his eyes were fixed on the main display screen. Almost everything in the green, so far. Angie was standing behind him on one side, his mother on the other.

  Pauline placed her hand on his shoulder. He glanced up at her.

  “Theo, I want you to remember that this was a family decision. We all agreed to do it.”

  “I know, Mom.”

  “If it doesn’t go right, I don’t want you to blame yourself. We’re all in this together.”

  Angie said, “It’ll go right, Mom. Don’t worry.”

  Theo thought that his sister’s voice sounded high and brittle. Angie’s worried too, he thought, but she doesn’t want to show it.

  Theo focused his attention on the control board. He and Angie had checked the pumps that fed the main engine a dozen times. With their mother helping them, they had inspected every centimeter of the propulsion system’s piping and electrical wiring. The board showed no red lights, only a pair of ambers and they were minor backup circuits, not crucially important; everything else was in the green.

  “Two minutes and counting,” the computer’s synthesized voice said. Theo realized the computer sounded almost exactly like his father’s voice. Naturally, he thought. Dad programmed it himself.

  They heard a thump and a groaning rattle from deep in the bowels of the ship. Before Angie or his mother could say anything, Theo told them, “Main pump powering up.”

  Angie was leaning over his shoulder now, squinting at the countdown checklist displayed on the screen to his right. “Open the hydrogen feed lines at T minus ninety seconds.”

  He nodded and placed his finger on the proper key. It’s programmed to open automatically, but I’ll punch the manual command anyway, he said to himself.

  “T minus ninety,” came the synthesized voice. “Hydrogen feed line open.”

  A new green light winked on.

  “Confirm feed line open,” Theo said, his own voice sounding slightly shaky in his ears.

  “T minus sixty seconds. Automatic sequencer on.”

  “Confirm automatic sequencer.”

  New lights were springing up across the panel. All green, Theo saw. He could hear his mother’s rapid breathing. Something deep in the ship shuddered. Hydrogen’s flowing, Theo realized. Liquid hydrogen, at more than two hundred fifty degrees below zero. If anything’s going to go wrong, he thought, it’ll be now.

  “T minus thirty seconds. Electric power activated. Magnetic field on.”

  “Confirm mag field,” Theo said crisply. The liquid hydrogen seemed to be flowing smoothly: leakage rate minor, no damage to the insulated piping.

  “Ten… nine… eight…”

  Hydrogen was flowing from the propellant tank to the main engine’s thruster. The engine’s superconducting magnets were on at full strength. The ship’s fusion reactor was putting out its maximum power level.

  “… three… two… one… engine thrusting.”

  Theo pointed a finger at the central display screen. It showed a green line rising steadily. Thrust. The thrust they needed to slow the ship and get it looping back toward civilization eventually.

  “It’s working!” Pauline exclaimed, clapping her hands together.

  “I don’t feel anything,” said Angie, sounding disappointed.

  “You won’t,” Theo said, feeling enormously relieved. “I told you, remember? You can’t blast this old bucket like some rocket ship in an adventure vid. We nudge her gently.”

  Angie replied, “I know the thrust level’s real low, Thee, but I thought we’d feel something.”

  He grinned up at her. “Watch yourself pouring liquids tonight. They’ll be skewed a little.”

  “You did it, Theo,” his mother said, gripping his shoulder tighter. “You did it.”

  “We did it,” he corrected. “Angie and me.”

  His sister beamed at him.

  It wasn’t until Theo tried to get up from the command chair that he realized he was soaked through with perspiration.

  “You better take a shower, Thee,” Angie said, wrinkling her nose. “You smell pretty disgusting.”

  Theo laughed. Back to normal, he said to himself.

  * * *

  That evening, while they were relaxing in the sitting room after a celebratory dinner of real frozen chicken, Theo mused, “If there was only some way to get the antennas working.”

  “If there were only,” Angie corrected, sitting across the coffee table from him. “Subjunctive. Right, Ma?”

  Pauline nodded. “After the conditional if.” She was on the sofa, to Theo’s right.

  With a shrug, Theo said, “If we could get the antennas working we could call for help.”

  “But you said we don’t have the materials you need to repair the antennas,” Angie pointed out.

  “Yeah, that’s right. But I’m wondering if there isn’t some other way.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like … I don’t know.”

  Before Angie could say anything, their mother asked, “Is there anything else on board that could be put to use as a beacon?”

  “Or a comm system, so we could call for help.”

  Theo shook his head. “We’ve got all the communications gear we need. It’s just that the godda… er, godforsaken antennas are gone. No antennas, no signals
out. Or in.”

  “Is there something else we can use for an antenna?” Angie asked.

  “Not that I can figure out,” Theo answered. “I’ve looked all through every piece of equipment on the ship. Nothing usable.”

  Pauline asked, “Don’t we have a radar system?”

  “Collision avoidance radar,” said Theo. “That antenna’s a mess of melted goo, just like the rest.”

  “You mean we’re flying blind?” Angie yipped. “We could run into an asteroid?”

  “Yes, we’re flying blind. No, we won’t hit an asteroid big enough to do much damage. It’s empty out there, Angie.”

  “For real?”

  “For real. The chances of us getting hit by anything bigger than a dust flake are about the same as… well, it’s pretty blinking remote.”

  Angela did not look relieved.

  Pauline asked, “We are getting hit by micrometeoroids, though?”

  “Yes’m. Every day. Nothing big enough to penetrate the hull, but sooner or later I’ll have to go out and replace some of the meteor bumpers.”

  “Isn’t there anything we could use for an antenna, Thee?” Angie persisted. “I mean, we’ve got a whole ship’s worth of supplies. Can’t we jury-rig some wires or something?”

  Theo didn’t answer for a long moment, his mind churning, his self-control tottering.

  “I’ve tried,” he said at last. “I’ve really tried.”

  “We know,” his mother said.

  “I mean, I’ve gone through everything I can think of. I really have. I just don’t know enough. I’ve checked all the maintenance vids, all the logistics lists, everything. I can’t make it work. I just don’t know how to do it!”

  They were both staring at him.

  “I’ve failed,” Theo admitted, close to tears. “I can’t fix the antennas. I’ve tried and tried and tried and I can’t do it.”

  “It’s all right, Thee,” Angie whispered.

  His mother reached out and touched his shoulder. “You’ve done your best, Theo. No one can ask more than that.”

  “I feel so damned stupid!” he blurted, banging the arm of his chair with his fist.

  “You are not stupid,” said Pauline firmly. “No child of mine is stupid. You simply don’t have the materials you need to repair the antennas. That’s not your fault.”