Still, it felt like they were outside. Erik could not resist looking at Venus every now and then. It looked far more interesting with the AV’s capabilities than with his own limited senses. He almost had the feeling of being able to penetrate to the surface. Nuria had told him that this was an illusion—however, she also mentioned that the lower cloud layers were, in fact, influenced by the conditions on the surface. The illusion thus had a kernel of truth. Once they began operating from the spaceship, he would be able to marvel at lava-spewing volcanoes in the radar-generated image.
“Not that one,” Nuria said over the radio just as he was about to open another clasp.
“Oh, dammit,” Erik replied, having realized his mistake. The spaceship must not discard the heat shield until after the ship had been slowed down by the atmosphere.
“Maybe you need to pay attention while you work?” Nuria exclaimed.
Yeah, she’s right. He uploaded the schedule. An arrow symbol appeared in his field of vision, leading him to the next step. He needed to remove a screw. He took the corresponding tool out of the bag he had hung over the AV’s shoulder and completed the job.
“I think that’s it,” Nuria exclaimed.
Erik checked the list of instructions. All entries were ticked off in green. There were no more arrows floating around in his field of vision. “Yes, and almost on schedule,” he noted.
“Your sloppiness cost us ten minutes.”
“That’s no longer relevant,” he countered. “We are prepared for entering orbit.”
“I don’t like it when you march to your ‘different drummer.’ That could be dangerous on the surface.”
“Yes, Mom,” he said.
The AV that Nuria controlled smacked his AV on the upper arm. There were no touch sensors there, so it felt strange. The picture didn’t match what he felt.
“Come on, let’s admire Venus a bit. It deserves to be appreciated,” he suggested.
Nuria’s AV nodded. “You mean, you deserve to spend time looking at Venus.”
“That, too.”
Erik pushed away from the spaceship, which was as yet far from recognizable as a spaceship, and slowly drifted to the command module just behind it. Venus Air was flying at an immense speed through space—but from his perspective it seemed to be standing still. He held on to a strut and leaned against the ship’s hull so that he had a good view of the planet.
“Come here and enjoy the view,” he said, “who knows when we’ll have such an opportunity again.”
“True,” Nuria said. “Once we enter the atmosphere, visibility will be poor.”
“Yes,” he said, “but now, here we are. It’s amazing! A human being has never before had such a view of Venus.”
“Who knows?” mused Nuria. “That sun mission, back however many years ago, maybe they traveled past Venus?”
Eric sighed. It was useless. Nuria would never understand how romantic it was to view mysterious Venus in all wavelengths of the spectrum while hanging from the outer shell of a spaceship.
June 1, 2079, Strelka, Venus Transfer
“Maria and I have agreed to go sightseeing in Paris today,” he said.
“Well then, have fun!” Marchenko said.
How could a city tour be exhausting? Perhaps Montmartre? He had not considered Montmartre, dammit. If only they had chosen London—there were no large hills there.
Maria and Peter stepped into the exercise machines, where they were positioned and lifted onto the treadmill. The holographic simulation began. They were on the Champs-Élysées, headed toward the Louvre. So far, Marchenko was being merciful.
But Peter was wrong. “Since when does the Champs go uphill?” he asked.
“Your contact pressure is the equivalent of one hundred and five percent of Earth’s gravity. We will slowly increase it to one hundred and thirty percent.”
That was not the answer he had wanted to hear. Exercise was pointless exertion. It was not without reason that he had always strictly avoided gyms.
After 20 minutes they reached the glass pyramid of the Louvre. They had the advantage of being able to enter immediately, and without paying an entrance fee. They faced a curved staircase.
“Come on, we’ll take the elevator,” Maria said, and set off. Peter already foresaw what was going to happen and just waited for her. The elevator was out of service, of course. Maria returned.
“The escalators have probably been deactivated as well?” she asked.
“That’s correct,” Marchenko replied.
Maria grasped Peter’s hand. Although everything was virtual, the touch felt electric. She smiled, and hand in hand they began the tour. In the third hall, Maria sat down on a bench. Peter hesitated. He wouldn’t put it past Marchenko to simply make the bench disappear.
“Sit down next to me,” Maria said.
“Five-minute break,” Marchenko announced.
Peter looked at his watch as time passed. He stood up after 4 minutes and 57 seconds. After exactly 5 minutes the bench vanished into thin air. Maria, however, remained seated instead of falling down as he had been expecting. Apparently there was a safety mechanism that prevented her from getting hurt. It looked hilarious to him—she seemed to be sitting on air.
Time passed quickly, and yet they had only seen a fraction of the Louvre. Maria sat down on another bench, stretching out her legs and pulling her feet up to stretch her calf muscles. “That’s enough for me today. We can come back anytime, after all.”
“Absolutely. I agree with you,” Peter said. “I’ve had enough for a while already.”
They left the Louvre and walked toward the Eiffel Tower. As they stood below it, Maria looked deeply into Peter’s eyes. He was still pondering what that might mean when the hologram simulation suddenly disappeared.
In a fraction of a second they were completely locked in and encapsulated. Instead of seeing Paris, they could see the exterior of their spaceship. And an ugly alarm signal was sounding.
“What’s going on?” they asked at the same time.
“An asteroid,” Marchenko declared.
The shell stretched and writhed. The ship had spotted the space boulder too late to evade it. Now the flexible shell was trying to protect them from the brunt of the impact.
Peter felt the vibrations caused by the rapid, alternate tensing and relaxing of specific areas of the ship’s protective cover. The control engines were working at maximum to keep the spacecraft stable despite the widely differing sets of forces that were manipulating its shell.
But the shell had limited capabilities. Another asteroid, slightly larger than the first, threatened to hit the spaceship dead center. The hull stretched at breathtaking speed into a long triangle pointing toward the asteroid, while the steering engines pushed the ship out of the danger zone.
The shell was trying to minimize the impact angle. The flatter the impact, the less energy was transferred to the ship. Maybe the asteroid would bounce off like one of those flat stones that he had skipped across the surface of a lake as a child. Peter estimated that the angle between the hull and the trajectory of the projectile was less than five degrees.
Shortly before the boulder could hit their protective skin, a flattened tip formed in the ship’s skin beneath the approaching space rock and sped upward at high speed. It hit the rock, but the ship’s flat plate was torn from its anchorage. However, it had achieved its goal. The asteroid was deflected, causing it to miss the spaceship by a few centimeters—less than a hair’s breadth in the vastness of space, but all or nothing for the spacecraft and its crew.
Peter’s mouth was dry. Maria was visibly shocked. The clasps came off, releasing them. Peter stumbled out of his capsule. At the last moment he found a seat and let himself fall into it. Maria was trembling. She hadn’t managed to leave her capsule. Peter wanted to go to her and embrace her, but his legs failed.
The minutes ticked by. Marchenko left them alone, for which Peter was grateful. The AI was no doubt performing necessar
y tasks.
Finally, Marchenko reported to them. “I analyzed the situation,” he said. “It was very close, but it went well. However, the hull is damaged and needs to be repaired. Currently, it only provides eighty percent of the protection it is supposed to offer.”
“Eighty percent—but that’s sufficient,” Peter said. “The likelihood of being hit head-on again by an asteroid of this size is infinitesimal.”
“I have to correct your second statement. The risk is neither greater nor less than previously. The risk was minuscule the whole time, but the asteroid hit us anyway. We should be prepared for the next potential impact. After all, it’s you who will die.”
Peter sighed. “We need a break,” he said, “I’m sorry.”
“There is another problem that I must disclose to you,” Marchenko said. “The outboard robots are only designed to repair minor damage. They are not able to repair the damage to the mounting brackets. Somebody has to go outside, straighten the bent rods, and screw on a few parts. Fortunately, the DFDs were not damaged, and thus we have enough energy. It will take a little while for the outboard robots to inspect the damage from inside and from outside.”
After a moment’s silence, Peter thought Marchenko had turned to other tasks.
“Which one of you is confident enough to do the repairs?” asked the AI.
June 2, 2079, Venus Air
“Okay, guys, it’s time to move into the next phase of our journey,” Charles said.
Erik checked to see if his seatbelt was fastened. The spaceship was now flying with the stern pointing forward.
“Propulsion set,” Ethan said.
“Life support systems functioning,” Nuria confirmed.
“Heat shield at minus eighty degrees,” Erik chimed in.
It was a ceremony that was unnecessary from a technical standpoint, because the automated system only ignited the engines when everything was prepared for take-off. But it was probably meant to give the astronauts the impression of having everything under control, even though the automatic system controlled everything. Erik didn’t mind that anymore. By now he knew he could trust the software.
“Ignite engines,” Charles said.
It took a few seconds for something to happen. The computer chose the optimal time point. Then Erik felt it, the characteristic rumbling of the engines behind him. Their power was slowly increasing. They made the ship brake in such a fashion that it dove into the atmosphere of the planet. But that wasn’t enough. The ship had to slow down yet more, until it could swing into orbit around the planet. Venus, with its dense cover, would help them to achieve that goal.
Erik clutched his chair. There was no reason to be nervous. He needed to relax. He only partially succeeded. His fingers relaxed, but the muscles in his arms and legs remained tense.
“Everything is going according to plan,” Charles said.
He could have concluded this from viewing the screen himself, but if the commander said so, it was more reassuring. Erik still felt uneasy. The computer might be able to control the engines perfectly—but it could not control the planet. And they needed the planet’s atmosphere for braking. What if it was thinner than they had calculated or a storm suddenly cropped up? This was unlikely, because they had scrutinized everything as they approached the planet. Nevertheless, he could not shake off his fears.
The braking effect was becoming increasingly noticeable. The engines were firing at a constant rate, so it must be the atmosphere. He checked the heat shield.
“20 degrees,” he said.
“That’s okay,” Ethan said. “I can see the numbers myself.”
Erik bit his lip. It was his job to monitor the status of the heat shield. Ethan should stick to checking the engine.
“45 degrees,” he called out.
That was nothing compared to what lay ahead. The actual baptism of fire was yet to come.
“70 degrees.”
Things were heating up.
“Structural stability at 200 percent,” Charles said.
The number was a fantasy value, but it sounded good. The computer calculated it from the extent of the load the individual components of the Venus Air could endure, compared to the actual forces acting upon them. Even if it were only 50 percent, the ship would not necessarily break apart. The material could withstand more than the technical estimate. However, the passengers could never be certain that some limit had not been crossed, and therefore a catastrophe was not imminent.
“155 degrees,” Erik said.
They were still in the top layers. Their charted course would take them much deeper.
“260 degrees.”
Now that was truly hot. Billions of molecules pattered onto the ship, slowing its momentum. They hit the heat shield, which continued to heat up as expected.
“480 degrees.”
The deeper they dove, the more rapidly the atmospheric density increased. If they miscalculated, there would be no escape. The ship could not simply be navigated upward. It had to follow this route until it re-emerged of its own accord from the atmosphere—and on a lower orbit.
“720 degrees.”
The heat shield could withstand about 2,500 degrees Celsius. That was 500 more than the computer calculated for the densest layers of the atmosphere. It was a sufficient buffer. Even if they exceeded the value, the heat shield would not fail immediately but would gradually burn up.
“1,280 degrees.”
Erik felt vibrations in his back. The Venus Air was probably being shaken by the atmosphere’s air currents. The ship was, at that moment, hurtling like a meteorite toward the planet. It could not be controlled at this point. They were at the mercy of the laws of physics—conservation of momentum and friction would determine their fate. Strangely enough, that had a calming effect on Erik. No one stood above physics. Its laws could not be tinkered with.
“1,600 degrees.”
They had nearly made it. The shaking grew in intensity.
“Structural stability at 120 percent,” said the commander.
That was still a good value.
“We have reached the lowest level of Venus’s orbit,” reported their pilot, Ethan.
He, too, sounded quite relaxed, but he wasn’t making any jokes.
“2,050 degrees,” Erik read.
That was a bit more than they had calculated, but not dramatically more. They were rising again. But the heat shield would continue to warm up, because the atmosphere still had a strong slowing effect.
“2,200 degrees.”
Venus was really keeping them on edge. There was a small jolt.
“Something has been blown off,” Charles said in a placid tone. “But it was not anything important.”
Above all, it did not hit the ship. A lost antenna was not a problem, but if the part had hit the outer shell with great force... Erik banished the thought.
“2,320 degrees,” he said.
Nobody answered. The temperature was no longer rising as rapidly as when they had been plunging downward toward the planet. They should be able to make it.
“2,300 degrees.”
The temperature was dropping. They had made it!
“Whew,” Ethan said.
Nuria laughed with relief, and so did Erik.
‘2,100 degrees,’ he saw displayed on the screen. He no longer needed to read this number aloud. They had pulled through.
“We have reached orbit,” Charles said.
The engines stopped firing. They were weightless again. The commander unfastened his seatbelt, stood up, and hovered over them.
“We did it!” Charles said solemnly. “We’ve reached orbit around Venus. I would like to congratulate our team!”
Ethan, Nuria, and Erik clapped.
June 2, 2079, Strelka, Venus Transfer
“I’ll do it!” said Katarina. The robot was obviously not turned off.
“Why are you only now communicating with us?” Peter asked.
“She had no tasks to perform here,�
� Marchenko said, “and I only allowed her to stay in the command module if she kept a low profile. But it’s a good idea to let Katarina perform the repair tasks. She’s stronger than a human, and we could overcome her loss. You have her blueprints and a backup of the software so you can recreate her at will.”
Where had Marchenko gotten this information from? But he was right, and they had a more urgent matter at hand than investigating the flow of information inside RB. So he only nodded weakly. “Thank you, Katarina,” he said.
The robot was releasing its clasps. “Glad to help,” she answered with a smile.
“You should take care of Maria in the meantime,” Marchenko said. “She most probably has an acute stress reaction, a mental shock, and needs your help.”
Peter tried to get up, but his leg muscles did not react. This can’t be happening! He, too, had evidently experienced enough of a shock to affect his body functions. Peter was startled when Katarina took his hands in hers. Then he realized that she wanted to help him. He let her pull him up. It felt good to stand up and support himself on his own feet. They were only highly qualified space tourists, after all.
Carefully, he approached Maria. She did not respond to him. He stroked her head, and she responded to his touch. He then took her in his arms. Maria clung to him, and her whole body shook. Something dripped onto his neck, and he knew she was silently crying. He thought the hug felt incredibly good, and could sense his own overwhelming tension melting away. He continued to hold her for a few more minutes, then slowly released her.
“Thanks. I’ll be okay now,” she said, still breathing loudly and a bit raggedly.
“Well done, Peter!” Marchenko said in praise. “You two will be back to feeling fine in a few hours.”
The Clouds of Venus: Hard Science Fiction Page 12
