by Allen Steele
NEW GUINEA SPACE ELEVATOR
Like a silver caterpillar ascending an impossibly long strand of silk, the tram from New Guinea climbed the last hundred yards toward its berth within the station’s outer hull. As it approached the terminus, the vehicle began to decelerate, the conical fairing of its nose bisecting to reveal the flanges of its docking module. The tram almost seemed to coast the rest of the way home; it slowly entered the sleevelike berth, then there was a slight jar as it came to a halt.
A recorded voice came through speakers within the passenger lounge, announcing the tram’s arrival. First-time travelers, impatient to board the elevator for its descent, unbuckled themselves from their seats. Clutching the straps of their carry-on bags, they began to waddle toward the hatch leading to the boarding gate, careful not let the soles of their stickshoes leave the floor’s densely fibered carpet. The gate agent didn’t hurry to collect their tickets, as it would take a while for the outbound passengers to disembark. After that the stewards had to clean the cabin and restock its galley. The more seasoned passengers knew this; they remained in their seats, reading their pads or watching netcasts, or gazed out the lounge window at the impressive sight of the space elevator, a massive and seemingly infinite cylinder that fell away from them, gradually diminishing in width but never in length, until it became a mere wire that pierced Earth’s upper atmosphere almost 22,300 miles away.
Harker lingered at the window until he heard the hatch open, then he turned away to saunter across the lounge. The first few people to disembark were all civilians; some looked distinctly pallid, and it wasn’t hard to tell which ones would soon be rushing for the nearest toilet to become spacesick. And, as always, there were the kids who seemed to bounce everywhere at once, drunk with their first taste of microgravity. None of them would be here very long; they’d soon board ferries that would transport them to orbital colonies, lunar shuttles or, in a few instances, one of the giant Mars cycleships parked elsewhere in geosynchronous orbit.
Harker almost envied them. Not because of where they were going—he’d spent most of his adult life on the Moon, and two trips to Mars was enough for him—but with whom they’d be traveling. It didn’t bother him so much that it would be nearly five years before he set foot on Earth again. What he wasn’t looking forward to was the company he’d keep.
Please, change your mind, he thought, even though he knew that this was a futile hope. Please let there be a death in the family, or some unforeseen illness, or anything else that might lead you to think that this is something you just can’t do. Even an attack of common sense, unlikely as that may be. But please…
“Mr. Harker!”
No such luck. Ian Lawrence emerged from the gate, pushing past a couple of vacationers who’d come off the tram just in front of him. Harker forced a smile, even though his face felt as if it was made of lead. “Welcome back, Captain,” he said, as pleasantly as he could. “Have a good trip?”
“Splendid, just splendid.” Lawrence had an overstuffed duffel bag in one hand and an attaché case in the other. Without bothering to ask, he held out the bag for Harker to take. “Thanks for coming to meet me. Nice to see a familiar face.”
Captain Ian Lawrence, commanding officer of the EASS Galileo, apparently hadn’t received the memo requesting crew members using the space elevator to travel incognito. Either that or, more likely, he’d decided to disregard it. Whatever the reason, his dress uniform attracted attention; from the corner of his eye, Harker saw other passengers taking note of his service beret and the gilded braid and epaulets of his tunic. Perhaps that was why Lawrence insisted on wearing them; besides a handlebar mustache cultivated to mate with a pair of muttonchop sideburns, there was nothing about the Galileo’s captain—short, slightly overweight, with a weak chin and a mercurial temperament—that commanded more than a moment’s notice.
“Of course, sir. Not a problem.” Unless you count the fact that you should’ve been here five days ago, along with the rest of us. Harker took the bag from his captain, then turned toward the lift. “If you’ll follow me, sir…”
“Just a moment. We’ve got one more person.” Lawrence looked around, then raised his hand. “Over here, John!”
Looking back, Harker felt his heart sink even further. John Shillinglaw, the ESA associate director whom he’d met at Wilton Park a few weeks earlier. Shillinglaw had impressed him as little more than a bureaucrat who’d found his way into his position by being in the right place at the right time. It only figured that he’d make friends with Lawrence; they both belonged to the same social class. The only difference was that, in Shillinglaw’s case, he actually showed some aptitude for his job.
Cut it out. Harker bit the inside of his lip as he watched Shillinglaw make his way through the crowd. You’ve got to work with these guys…especially Ian…even if you don’t respect them.
“Sorry. Got hung up back there.” As Shillinglaw joined them, his gaze fell to the V-neck sweater and baggy trousers Harker wore. “A little out of uniform, aren’t we, Commander?”
“Sorry. Wasn’t aware that this was a formal occasion.” Praying that Shillinglaw’s presence didn’t portend another unexpected crew addition—they’d had one of those already—Harker began to escort them to the lift. “We weren’t expecting you. I take it this is…ah, official business?”
“Of course.” Shillinglaw smiled. “Don’t worry, I won’t be here long. I’ve just come up to observe the final mission briefing before you go into quarantine.”
Oh, thank God. “In that case, glad to have you aboard.” Harker caught the sour expression that crossed his face. “That is,” he quickly added as he pushed the button that opened the lift doors, “I hope your visit is…”
“John was my guest at my family estate this last week.” Lawrence’s voice was cool as they entered the lift. “We spent some time discussing the mission in a more comfortable environment.” He cast a sideways look at Harker. “You were welcome to join us, of course…”
“Thank you, sir, but I had my duties.” Harker stared straight ahead as the lift began to ascend. All the things you couldn’t be bothered to take care of yourself, he thought. But, after all, one last weekend loitering around the Yorkshire manor was more important, wasn’t it? “The rest of the crew is already aboard. They’ve completed training, and we’ll commence final preparations tomorrow.”
“Very good. If you could deliver an update by nineteen hundred hours, I’d appreciate it.” Lawrence turned to Shillinglaw. “See? I told you Ted was efficient. That’s why I personally requested for him to be my first officer.”
That, Harker thought, or you knew you’d get someone who’d cover your ass. Just as you always have…
The lift came to a stop, and the doors slid open to reveal a circular corridor. Harker stepped aside to let the other two men through, then followed them into the passageway. At least Lawrence knew where he was going; making small talk with Shillinglaw, he led them around the bend to a round hatch on the outer wall marked SEC. 2—AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. A quick scan of his thumbprint and a typed-in password on the keypad were enough to open the hatch. On the other side was a cramped sphere, just large enough for four persons, with padded seats arranged around its interior. Ducking their heads, they climbed inside and sat down. Harker took a moment to secure the captain’s baggage within the nets beneath the seats, then they grasped rungs positioned at shoulder level and inserted their feet beneath the floor bar. Once they were settled in, Harker pushed a button to seal the hatch.
“So we’ve got everyone?” Lawrence asked as the cab began to descend down the axial spoke leading to the station ring. “Flight crew, science team…”
“Yes, sir. All present and accounted for.” The cab rotated ninety degrees, and Harker briefly closed his eyes, feeling his body gain weight as the cab crossed the gravity gradient. “Dr. Ramirez came up last week. He’s handled the training quite well…better than I expected, in fact.”
“I’m not…�
� Shillinglaw belched; his face went pale, and for a moment Harker was afraid that he might get sick. “Surprised,” he finished, his voice little more than a gasp. “He’s very…”
“Adaptable, yes.” Lawrence looked away, tactfully sparing his guest a moment of embarrassment. “Good, very good. And the crew…?”
“No problems so far.” Except that you decided to take a holiday while the rest of us were busting our chops.
The cab eased to a halt, and the doors automatically opened. They climbed out to find themselves in another circular passageway, this one with a wider arc than the one within the station hub. Once again, Lawrence left it to Harker to carry his bag. As they walked toward a frosted-glass door at the end of the corridor, a new thought seemed to occur to him. “Ted, have you been letting people visit the rest of the station?”
“Of course, sir.” This section of the ring was already off-limits to anyone who didn’t have ESA clearance. By the next day it would be under full quarantine as well, with access denied to anyone who wasn’t going aboard the Galileo, and no one allowed to leave either. “When they’ve finished training, they’ve generally gone up to the hub. There are a couple of good restaurants there, and a rather good pub…”
“Well…” Lawrence frowned as he pressed his thumb against the identification plate. “Afraid there’ll be enough of that. Don’t want to risk any loose talk in public about this mission. From here on out, everyone is confined to this section.”
“Sir…”
“That’s an order, Mr. Harker. I expect you to carry it out.” The door slid open with a faint hiss. Lawrence reached over to take his bag from Harker, then stepped through the door with barely a glance behind him. “One more thing…I want the crew and the science team assembled in the conference room in one hour. It’s time to go through our final briefing.”
Harker was glad that Lawrence had taken the bag from him; otherwise, he might have been tempted to drop it on his foot. He watched as the captain marched down the corridor, Shillinglaw following him like a puppy.
“Insufferable bastard,” he muttered.
Like the rest of Tsiolkovsky Station’s deep-space training section, the conference room was spartan and antiseptic, with plastic chairs surrounding an oval table fashioned to look like bird’s-eye maple. The only relief was a broad window. Standing before it and looking straight down, one could see Earth revolving at the end of a long silver string like a giant blue-green yo-yo, an optical illusion produced by the ring’s axial rotation.
There weren’t enough seats to accommodate everyone, so a few expedition members had to stand against the window and the walls. Even so, Harker reflected, the Galileo party was remarkably small: fifteen in all, divided between nine crewmen and six passengers, with Shillinglaw as an observer who, along with a handful of ESA physicians, would be among the last few to see them before they left Earth. No one was happy about Captain Lawrence’s abrupt edict against further visits to the hub, but Harker had little doubt that some of them would attempt to sneak up there anyway. Well, then, so be it. Unless Lawrence specifically ordered him to do otherwise, he intended to forget about locking down the spoke cab until 0800, and look the other way if anyone came back before then reeking of ale.
Sitting at one end of the table, Harker let his gaze travel across the room. Of everyone gathered here, he was most familiar with the ship’s flight crew. Antonia Vincenza, the executive officer, her brow furrowed as she studied the datapad in her lap. Martin Cohen and Werner Gelb, the chief engineer and life-support engineer respectively, involved in some technical discussion. Arkady Rusic, the communications officer, and Simone Monet, the helmsman, sharing a private conversation in hushed tones. Nick Jones, the ship’s doctor, dozing in his chair, arms folded together and head tilted forward against his chest.
Seated at the opposite end of the table was the shuttle pilot, Emily Collins. As always, they were careful not to acknowledge each other’s presence. Nonetheless, when she briefly looked up from the pad she was reading, there was a moment when they caught each other’s eye. The most secretive of smiles, then she returned her attention to her pad. No more covert rendezvous in the station pub, Harker reflected. From here on out, they’d have to find other ways of spending time with each other.
He knew the science team less well. Tobias Rauchle was a German astrophysicist who’d been picked to lead the team; he sat on the opposite side of the table, arms folded across his chest, staring straight ahead with a perpetual frown upon his face. Standing behind him was his former student, Robert Kaufmann, also from ESA’s extrasolar exploration directorate; the two of them were never far apart, with Kaufmann almost always seconding Rauchle’s opinion, but at least the younger man was a little easier to take than his mentor. On the other hand, there was Jorge Cruz, the astrogeologist from the University of Havana who’d been sent by the Union Astronautica. Judging from their previous conversations, Harker had come to realize that Cruz, while apparently less than a bred-in-the-bone social collectivist, was only too happy to disagree whenever possible with his European colleagues.
Harker doubted that he’d get a chance to be influenced by counterrevolutionary ideology. Donald Sinclair stood beside Cruz, quietly observing everything that was going on. The Proletariat had apparently decided that it was more important to send one of its own on the mission than another scientist; if the Union Astronautica had objected, Harker hadn’t heard of it. Which certainly wasn’t the case when the ESA decided that it needed to put aboard its own political representative as well; Sir Peter Cole might be a Cambridge fellow and England’s Astronomer Royal, but it was clear to everyone that he was intended to be Sinclair’s counterpart. In any case, neither government wanted to risk being left out when the Galileo discovered…well, whatever it was that the expedition would discover when they reached Spindrift.
Which left Jared Ramirez. Once again, Harker found his eyes drawn to the astrobiologist. He sat quietly midway down the table, not participating in any of the conversations around him. Throughout this last month, when the crew and science team had undergone intensive training—first in Geneva, then on the ship and the station—Ramirez had been largely left alone by the others. He’d demonstrated a willingness to cooperate with the rest of the science team, even displayed a wry sense of humor at times. Yet the fact remained that everyone knew who he was. Perhaps he’d once been a respected scientist in his field, but no one was willing to forget his role in the Savant genocide, or that his actions had led to the deaths of over thirty-five thousand people.
Why did you do it? Harker studied Ramirez from across the room. You said that you didn’t know what the Council of Savants was planning when you supplied it data about disease vectors within third-world populations…but when people in those regions started dying from viruses that had been obliterated years ago, you didn’t tell anyone that the pattern mimicked possible scenarios you’d mapped out for the Savants. Were you really just a pawn? Or did you believe as they did, that the planet could only be saved if there were three billion fewer people living on it?
He glanced again at Emily, and wasn’t surprised to see that she was quietly watching Ramirez as well. Once more, she met his gaze, only this time she didn’t smile. Like it or not, Jared Ramirez was the foremost expert in extraterrestrial intelligence. If Spindrift was, indeed, an alien artifact of some sort, his knowledge would be invaluable.
But could they trust him? Harker didn’t know.
The door slid open just then, and Captain Lawrence strode into the room. “Don’t get up, please,” he said, although no one made an effort to rise from their seats, as he walked past them to take his place at the head of the table. “I’ll try to make this as brief as possible, so you can return to work.”
“Thank you, sir.” Arkady’s face remained stoical. “There’s much that remains to be done.”
Some knowing smiles from around the table, and a couple of coughs. The fact of the matter was that there was little for anyone to do in the
forty hours that remained before they left the station, save for preflight physicals and last-minute teleconference calls with family and friends back on Earth. Yet the irony was lost on the captain; Lawrence nodded, then opened his pad and placed it on the table.
“This will be our last mission briefing before we commence final countdown,” he said, tapping in commands that slaved his pad to the conference room comp. “If there’s anyone who has any objections”—a glance at Arkady—“substantive objections, that is, now is the time to voice them.”
No one spoke up, although Cohen, noticing that Jones was still asleep, nudged him with his elbow. The doctor’s eyes opened; he blinked a few times, then sat up straight in his chair. Should’ve let him sleep, Harker thought. Nothing here he hasn’t heard before.
“Our profile calls for us to board Galileo at oh nine hundred GMT on June first.” The wallscreen behind Lawrence lit to display the schedule. “Both the flight crew and the science team will disembark from this station at oh eight hundred, aboard OTVs piloted by Commander Harker and Lieutenant Collins. They will dock with Galileo at ports two and four…”
Harker slid down into his chair. Everyone here knew this already; he could see their eyes beginning to glaze over. Lawrence was trying to assert his authority. Once again, he found himself pondering the twists of fate that brought this buffoon to the command of the Galileo instead of…
No. Let’s not go there again. Harker forced himself to concentrate on the briefing, even though everything Lawrence said was already committed to memory. Prelaunch checkout of all major systems, followed by AI tests and rundown of the checklist, the entire procedure lasting six hours. At T-minus thirty seconds, full activation of onboard power systems. At T-minus zero, primary ignition and departure from dry dock…
“Mission clock begins at fifteen hundred hours.” Lawrence tapped another command into his keypad, and a holo shimmered into existence above the table: Earth, with Tsiolkovsky Station connected to it by a slender thread and a wire-frame model of Galileo parked in geosynchronous orbit nearby. As they watched, Galileo departed from orbit and, leaving a dotted line in its wake, began to move away from Earth. “At this point, we’ll turn over command and control to the gatehouse, and its AI will interface with our own during rendezvous maneuvers with the starbridge.” The holo expanded to show Galileo heading for a small silver ring positioned in Lagrangian orbit near the Moon, a space station hovering nearby. “It’ll be a hands-off approach, of course,” he added, giving Simone a meaningful glance. “The comps will take care of hyperspace insertion.”
