“Did he say guys?”
“Yes, he did.”
“That would mean three men and one woman?”
“You added up the numbers correctly, Erik. Do you have a problem with that?”
“Not at all. You?”
She looked at him, surprised. Of course she had no problem with that. She was probably a better guy than he was. Nevertheless, he wondered. In the past, they paid attention in the case of such long flights to having a well-balanced team. But that was no longer the situation. The demand for astronauts was high due to asteroid mining, and private companies paid more than good old NASA.
The most significant advantage of the federal space agency was that their training was free. That was why one had to agree to work for them for at least ten years. Since the proportion of women among trained astronauts was still less than a third, female NASA members often received particularly lucrative contracts with the private space industry after those ten years.
“Look, up ahead,” Nuria said, interrupting his thoughts.
He lowered his head. Through the windshield he spotted a few low buildings garnished with large antennas. A short distance away, a rocket with a broad head and narrow tanks jutted into the sky like a phallus, obviously their taxi into orbit. Erik was not impressed. The New Shepard 3 resembled a small car more than a truck. But it only had to bring six bodies into orbit, after all. Their luggage was already in space.
The car stopped in front of a concrete bungalow constructed from prefabricated parts. Opaque metal shutters hung in front of the windows. Two men in NASA tracksuits were waiting for them. The taxi had probably announced their arrival.
“Thank you for riding with us,” the machine said in farewell. “The invoice was sent to the client.”
Erik got out on the right side, Nuria on the left. They took their backpacks out of the trunk. The doors closed and the car drove off, leaving a dust trail in its wake.
Someone cleared his throat behind Erik. Startled, he spun around.
A middle-sized man with a boxer’s physique held out his hand. “I’m Charles,” he said. “Commander of this mission.”
Erik’s first impression was favorable. Charles seemed to have both feet on the ground, and he radiated experience. “I’m Erik. I control one of the AVs.”
The second man, who had just shaken hands with Nuria, came toward him. “I’m Ethan,” he said, “your pilot. Pretty much the quickest between Earth and Mars.” Ethan had an infectious smile. He seemed to have a sunny personality with a slight tendency to show off, if you could judge accurately after knowing him for all of 30 seconds.
“I’m Erik, the AV pilot.”
“Fascinating technology,” Ethan said. “The two of them are already strapped down inside the rocket, so we were able to admire them today. If you let me slip into one of them, I’ll let you take the wheel.”
At least he now knew the present location of the AVs. “The BCI is adapted to my brain waves,” said Erik, “sorry.”
“And the Venus spaceship is controlled by an autopilot. Don’t even know what they need a pilot for, and on top of that, one as good as I am,” Ethan said, grinning.
“I’m very glad you’re part of the team,” Charles said. “Things are pretty stormy in Venus’s atmosphere. The automatic pilot can’t deal with that.”
“Thanks, Chuck, that makes me feel good,” Ethan replied.
“‘Chuck?’” Erik asked.
“Charles’ surname is Norris, so we call him Chuck.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Chuck Norris!”
Erik looked inquiringly at the two men.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of Chuck Norris,” Ethan said in amazement. “A legend! How many push-ups does Chuck Norris manage? All of them! Chuck Norris can shoot the tires off a tank and ride in a submarine with the windows open!”
Erik laughed. This Chuck Norris sounded like a fun guy.
“Don’t worry, Erik,” Charles said. “By the end of this trip, Chuck Norris will be your best friend. Ethan will make sure of that.”
“Do you know why there is no longer any life on Mars?” Nuria asked. She did not wait for an answer. “Because Chuck Norris has already been there!”
Ethan laughed. He noted that Charles grinned. Of course, Nuria knows about this Norris guy. Is there anything she doesn’t know? But this trip could turn out to be entertaining, and that’s something to look forward to, if you’re going on such a long journey, Erik thought.
“When are we going to start?” Nuria asked.
“The launch is scheduled for tomorrow morning, six o’clock local time,” Charles replied.
Charles, the commander. Or should I mentally call him Chuck, like Ethan? He resolved to ask him in private what he preferred.
“I’m not unhappy to finally get away from this desolate tract of land,” Ethan said. “We’ve been waiting for you here for a week.”
“Oh. A week ago we were still diving in the Pacific,” Nuria said.
“You’re making me envious,” Ethan grumbled.
Then, as if on command, all four of them turned and marched single file into the bungalow, which was pleasantly cool.
February 12, 2079, Van Horn
It was a strange sight. Two of the six seats in the spacious cabin were already occupied, giving the impression that the two AVs had been waiting for them. They even wore clothes. Someone had put tracksuits on them with the insignia of the rocket manufacturer. Perhaps this would look better in the photos for the press.
However, the media hadn’t shown much interest. The research flight to Venus didn’t hold out the promise of any spectacular results. The planet was considered to be a lifeless, fiery hell. All other landing attempts there had failed. Nowadays one had to promise the media signs of extraterrestrial life to stand a chance of anything more than a short news item. At the brief press conference, five elderly gentlemen who worked for local media were present. Blue Origin was undoubtedly a vital employer here. Every launch poured money into local coffers.
“Don’t you want to sit down?” Ethan asked him from behind.
Of course. Erik almost stumbled over a cable that was stretched across the floor. As thick as his arm, it led to the far-left seats where the AVs were already strapped in. His position was right next to them. He sat down, the foam padding of the seat automatically adapting to his body. He closed the straps over his shoulders and across his waist. The edges of his diaper were visible, so he pulled his shirt down. He hadn’t noticed anyone else’s diaper, which all human passengers required, but he knew they had to be there.
Were the two experienced astronauts perhaps forgoing theirs? No, he was not going to ask them. Underwater training in a spacesuit had already familiarized him with the feeling of emptying himself into a diaper as an adult. It was not exactly an experience that he would wish for, but there was no toilet aboard the New Shepard 3, and it would be about 12 hours until they docked with the spaceship.
“Has everyone made themselves comfortable?” asked Charles, the commander.
“Ready for take-off,” Nuria answered first.
“Thumbs up, Chuck,” Ethan said.
“Good to go,” Erik reported.
“Then I’ll hand over control to the rocket,” Charles declared.
The peculiarity of the New Shepards, they were told yesterday, was that they did not need Mission Control. This allowed one to launch from almost anywhere. The central computer controlled the entire procedure until orbit was reached. The rocket was also particularly well-suited for transporting inexperienced passengers, tourists who may want to visit one of the new private space stations.
Erik’s palms were getting sweaty. He would have preferred it if Charles or Ethan was in command. The commander had already completed 47 space flights, Ethan 29. Yesterday they had gotten together to enjoy some non-alcoholic beer, and the two old hands had recounted stories from their glorious past. Erik thought it felt a bit like his grandfath
er’s 80th birthday. Still, he would always trust Charles more than any computer.
There was a rumbling sound below. He hadn’t been listening to the countdown, which had already reached T-minus 15. He would soon be flying into space for the first time! He leaned against the back of his chair.
“Calm yourself, Erik, and don’t forget to breathe, or we’ll have to abort,” said Ethan, who was sitting beside him.
His status screen agreed with Ethan—it showed that the concentration of oxygen in his blood was decreasing. He forced himself to take deep breaths, but he knew he mustn’t overdo it either, or he would hyperventilate. Why was simply taking a damned breath suddenly so complicated? After all, up until now he had managed to do it without thinking. Calm down, Erik, he told himself, it’ll be over soon.
The computer didn’t abort. A strong and steady force pressed him back into the cushions. Breathing suddenly returned to being reflexive again, but now he seemed to have an elephant sitting on his chest. The New Shepard 3 was off the ground and heading into outer space! Erik dared to look out of the window. For a moment he could still see the horizon. Then there was only sky.
He could not help it. Erik whooped with exhilaration.
February 13, 2079, Earth Orbit
As luck would have it, they arrived at the Venus spaceship too early. A Russian transporter was blocking the docking port, thanks to taking longer than planned to unload. There was a second port, but the capsule that would bring the last engineers back to Earth was docked there.
“When are you finally going to get that transporter out of the way?” Charles almost bellowed into the microphone.
So the commander can raise his voice. That’s good to know, Erik thought.
“Don’t worry, we’ll manage it,” the senior engineer reassured them.
“The launch window will close tomorrow,” Charles said, his anger still evident from the tone of his voice.
They’d been waiting here for 12 hours now. The half-day that the flight should have lasted had turned into an entire 24 hours. The diaper hung uncomfortably between his legs. Erik was hungry. They had water on board, but no food.
“We’ll be ready soon,” the engineer said, trying to placate Charles.
“You’ve been saying that for hours!”
“Do you want to launch with a heap of scrap metal?”
“Are you telling me you can turn a heap of scrap metal into a brand-new spaceship in twelve hours?”
“Yes, Chuck,” the engineer said, “that’s my specialty.”
Charles snorted but didn’t answer.
The ship that had been provided for them possessed a conventional drive. It was a lot cheaper than the modern direct fusion drives, or DFDs, but they were forced to maintain a classic Hohmann transfer orbit, and they had been on this path for a while. Above all, they must adhere to the calculated launch window. If the ship wasn’t ready tomorrow, they might as well return to Earth. The mission was supposed to conduct basic research, and NASA couldn’t afford to spend a lot of money on that. At least there had been enough to fund the AVs—and the spaceship that was already waiting for them in orbit around Venus.
Erik was lying on his seat with a stomachache, probably due to hunger.
“Attention, the transporter is disconnecting now,” the engineer finally announced.
“It’s about time,” Charles said.
Erik watched through the panoramic windows as the Russian transport ship slowly left the docking port. Couldn’t they speed things up a bit?
“That thing’s approaching us. Is that according to plan?” Charles asked via wireless communication.
“Just a moment,” the engineer said. “No,” he then said. “You should not be here.”
“The transporter should no longer be here!” Charles’s voice had grown yet louder.
“The programmed course extends the transporter’s orbit so that you don’t get in each other’s way as you approach from Earth.”
“But we’re already at the position that the transporter is heading for.”
“I see that. Wait a sec. Only the Russians can correct that.”
“Well then, hurry up.”
“It’s just after midnight there.”
“Are you telling me they were asleep while their transporter was undocking?”
“That’s routine. You know that, Chuck. If only you had not been so damned punctual—”
“That’s enough,” Charles interrupted, yelling into the microphone. “I’m coming over to give you a beating.”
Erik looked at him. He seemed to be serious. However, they had no spacesuits on board.
“I could send my AV over there. It packs a punch,” Erik offered.
Charles laughed. “Good idea! I’ll save that idea for later.”
Ten minutes passed. The transporter was still drifting toward their position.
“Are the Russians changing their course yet?” Charles asked via radio transmission.
“I... well, they’re looking for someone who can do that.”
“Pack of idiots!”
“Normally everything works out fine. Can’t you simply move upward, Chuck?”
“This tourist ship can’t be controlled manually.”
“What about Mission Control?”
“There is none. The transporter has to brake, and soon.”
Charles straightened up in his seat. Ethan had stood up and was knocking on the window. If the experienced astronauts were worried, maybe he should be scared, too. But the situation struck him as so abstract. He did not associate this transporter with his possible death. The vacuum of space lay between them.
“What exactly does the transporter need to do?” Erik asked.
“Anything. Braking, accelerating, it’s the same thing anyway, just as long as it doesn’t maintain its current route,” Ethan explained.
“Then I can help with the AV,” Erik said. “It comes with a built-in small engine.”
Charles looked at him in astonishment. “Really?”
“Yes, I can do it, I’ve got the BCI in my hand luggage.”
“BCI?” Ethan asked.
“Brain-computer interface, the control system.”
“It would greatly allay my fears if we did not have to wait for the Russians to react,” Charles said.
“No problem,” Erik said. He got up and could feel his aching stomach. The sooner they docked at the ship, the sooner the torment here would be over.
“Or should I do it?” Nuria asked.
“No, I’m already working on it,” he declined.
The BCI was in his little backpack. He pulled it out, adjusted it, seated himself again in the recliner, and then pulled the BCI over his head.
“Well then, let me slip into my AV,” he said.
Erik closed his eyes. He was looking forward to the magic of the shift in perception. To protect him from sensory overload, the AV activated its senses slowly, one after another. First, he saw the inside of the capsule, but it was shifted one meter to the side. Then the wall disappeared, and he was all alone in space. The distant beacons he saw consisted of cosmic radiation in the gamma-ray spectrum and x-ray spectrum. The sky was not black, but blue-violet, in actuality the infrared radiation of the cosmic background. He then dampened the sensory perception. At the moment he only needed the optical range.
Stand up. Erik imagined supporting himself up with his arms and moving his legs into place to stand up. His point of view was changing, which meant that the artificial body was following his orders. He avoided looking down to the right. During training they had been emphatically warned not to do so. To look at one’s own body from the perspective of the AV could confuse one’s consciousness to such an extent that the connection could break off, and the machine could fall. That would not be very problematic for the AV, but with its weight, an uncontrolled fall could cause damage.
Erik slowly approached the airlock. He instinctively looked for a spacesuit, but of course he didn’t need one. He
activated the airlock door, climbed in, closed it behind himself, and waited until the air had been pumped out. The green lamp above the outside door lit up. He turned the wheel several times to the left, and the door opened inward.
Erik took a few deep breaths. It felt strange because his chest did not react. He then climbed out of the airlock legs first. He reached for a brief moment for the safety line, but he didn’t need that, either. The transporter was hanging in the air a few meters below them. In reality it was—as was their capsule—moving at a tremendous speed, but Erik couldn’t sense that. The Earth lay majestically at his feet. He pushed off and activated the engine, approaching the transporter one meter at a time. It was cylindrical and about the size of two freight containers. Erik felt tiny next to it.
But physics was on his side. He clung to the back of the transporter, just below the main engines, in as central a position as possible. The AV literally held onto the transporter with an iron grip. The robot could exert enormous power when needed. It must, after all, be able to move around on Venus at 90 bar. Erik shifted the power-level of the engine in his back to the highest level. Although it could not produce more power than one of the transporter’s correction engines, it was no less capable of doing what needed to be done. If the transporter braked just a little, it would change its orbit in such a fashion that the New Shepard 3 would no longer be in its path.
“Erik, that should be enough,” Charles indicated by radio.
“A little more. That will give us a greater safety margin,” he replied.
“No. Return now.”
Is there a hint of panic in Charles’s voice? “What’s wrong?” asked Erik.
“The Russians have finally confirmed that they will get the transporter out of the way.”
“Well, isn’t that good news?”
“Actually, yes. But they will have to turn on its main engines.”
“Dammit!” Erik cursed as he let go of the transporter, his mind instantly in high gear. He could return directly to the capsule, flying past the jets of the engines, or he could make a detour. However, he did not know in which direction the transporter would move. Was there an even bigger chance of encountering the engine’s exhaust flow if he chose a detour?
The Clouds of Venus: Hard Science Fiction Page 6
