Analog SFF, May 2010

by Dell Magazine Authors

  There was an opening, anyway. “So the nanofabs don't do everything."

  "They do pretty much everything. But they need direction—marching orders. And that's what we provide. And every now and then they get in a bind and we have to go fix it. So there's a fair amount of hands-on, too. You can't just send out the nanofabs and expect everything to be fine on your arrival."

  They were interrupted by a low whoosh and a sense of mild acceleration. The lights dimmed automatically and an automated safety lecture began to play. It was completely generic, like those given for centuries.

  After the boilerplate shut off, Amy asked, “So you had some problems, then?"

  "Oh, yes,” Matt said. “Wouldn't be a job without ‘em."

  "Well, what was the worst?"

  Matt laughed. “Got to have been the floating station we're going to. We got it aerobraked down through the atmosphere okay, but then . . . boy.” He shook his head. “Linking it up to the stalk—to this elevator—was not straightforward.” He looked more serious, his laughter gone. “We almost lost a couple people doing it."

  "What happened?” Amy asked, her uneasiness triggered again.

  "Apparently your designers didn't know anything firsthand about an ocean. They didn't make enough allowance for waves."

  "How so?"

  "The station goes up and down as the waves go under it. So the stalk has to stretch some. It didn't stretch enough, though."

  "Oh,” Amy said. “I guess that would be a problem. What did you do?"

  "We had to improvise a strain relief so the station could rock up and down a lot more without snapping the cable. And remember, all materials had to be utterly nonflammable and resistant to strong acid."

  "And you said that the first expedition had to improvise. It sounds like you had to, too."

  Matt shrugged. “That's our job. That's what we do.” Then he grinned. “But we'll add it to the bill.” He stretched back in his seat. “Enjoy the smooth ride, too. It'll be the last one for a while.” He grinned again.

  "What?"

  "Ever been on a boat? On a body of water?"

  "Yes,” Amy said.

  "On a big body of water?"

  "Well, no. I grew up inland. In Denver, on Earth."

  Matt chuckled. “You'll find out."

  Amy yawned abruptly.

  "They just woke you today?"

  She nodded. The sudden fatigue that washed over her came as a surprise.

  "You probably should rest. It's going to be busy. And it takes a day or so to shake off the effects of slo-mo."

  Amy wouldn't have believed she could sleep so soon after her awakening, but there was no denying the drowsiness that enveloped her.

  Suddenly she was wakened by the chime announcing the elevator's arrival. She opened her eyes as Matt was unbuckling his seat belt. Evidently he'd been working on something; she saw him carrying his folded laptop in one hand.

  She fumbled at the fastenings on her own seatbelt. The air felt heavy; she could feel it eddying in her nostrils as she breathed.

  "We're here,” Matt said. “Welcome to Waterstation I."

  "What's with the air?” Amy asked. “It feels so thick!"

  "It's because it is. It's mostly nitrogen at a bit more than 5.2 atmospheres, but with enough oxygen in it to keep us alive. It keeps slight positive pressure in the station. Don't worry, you'll get used to it."

  He waited for her to disengage herself and said, “Do you know where your cabin is?"

  Amy tapped a key on her watch, and shook her head, looking at the display. “E9's all I know."

  "East-9. Nine cabins down the east passage.” They cycled through the lock and came into an open area. Monitors lined one wall, and halls and doors led off in various directions. An ornate compass rose was inlaid in the floor. “That way!” Matt pointed east. “Hard to get lost here."

  * * * *

  Amy found her cabin without much trouble—Waterstation was only fifty meters in diameter, after all—and entered. A tall woman with long dark hair was already there, putting something onto the top bunk. Amy vaguely recognized her. “Becca?” she queried tentatively. There'd been scant time to meet her fellow students and even most of the professors, what with all the frenzied preparations as the expedition got organized.

  The other woman turned around, “Oh, hi! Amy, isn't it?” She continued, “I thought you wouldn't mind if I took the top bunk, so I've already set my stuff out.” She came over and shook hands lightly.

  "Well, we're here, I guess.” Amy said. She set her own bag down on the lower bunk. “Still not sure what I've gotten myself into, but it's a bit late now, huh?” She smiled wryly. The room was swaying, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth—from the waves passing underneath, she realized.

  "Well, for me it wasn't much of a choice. Not much back home. Settlements are pretty . . . ‘confining,’ I guess is a good word."

  "A station fifty meters in diameter isn't exactly spacious!"

  Becca laughed. “That's true, but now I've got a chance to get ahead. Where I come from, somebody has to die before there's an opening—even for recycling overseer. And that doesn't happen very often!"

  "It's not that bad on Earth, yet,” Amy answered. “But I understand what you mean. I guess it was a good decision.” She laughed unconvincingly. “I've never been in a place that you couldn't just walk outside, though."

  Becca tut-tutted joshingly. “That's the problem with Earth. It gives you a warped view of the Universe."

  "So what's your interest?” Amy asked.

  "Ecology. Macroscale ecology. It's the first new natural example since Earth! And in Settlements we're always interested in closed ecosystems. What about you?"

  "Oh, biology, I guess. Macroscale. Organism level. I did some field trips on Earth, but they were on land. And you could go outside there. Here . . . I just don't know. I guess something will turn up. If I survive."

  Becca looked at her sharply. “If you don't think you can, you won't. Respect the environment, but don't fear it. Fear is the paralyzer."

  "That's practically what Matt said,” Amy said slowly.

  "Matt?” Becca asked.

  "Matt . . . Matt Simkins, I guess his name is. He said almost the same thing. I talked to him on the ride down."

  Becca's look now turned to amusement. “Simkins? You really don't know who he is?"

  Amy now looked uncertain. “Should I? He said something about being on the engineering staff. He seemed to know a lot about building the station."

  "He's the station commander!” Becca said. “You start right at the top, don't you?"

  "He is? Oh. I guess he mentioned something like that, but it didn't really sink in."

  "Well, it certainly won't hurt to know him personally. Not all the engineering staff are . . . well, pleased by the arrival of the science staff. They've kind of gotten used to having the place to themselves. And they're not real happy about morphing into a bunch of servants for a bunch of kids. Their words. Some of their words, anyway, but I think a lot of them think so even if they're polite enough not to say it."

  Becca continued, “And it's not a very big station, either. As we've said. A quarter hectare on top of an acid ocean that covers the whole planet. And it's a ten-hour ride back to the mothership up the stalk. So you can feel pretty isolated here. I've been here only a couple days, and already that's obvious,” she finished.

  Amy suddenly realized that her stomach wasn't too happy about the continuous swaying. “So that's what Matt was talking about,” she murmured.

  "Pardon?"

  "He also told me to enjoy the smooth ride down. I think I see what he means, now. I'm a bit queasy."

  Becca went rapt for a second, and then said, “The briefing for us newbies starts in fifteen. Wanna wander over there now? It'll do you good to walk around. It takes your mind off the motion."

  Amy wondered if she looked as green as she felt. “Anything if it helps.” Then she asked, “How did you know
?"

  Becca smiled broadly. “I just got one of those utility implants, and I wanted to show it off. It's got a clock, scheduler, and so on. And I've gotten to the point that I can program it just by thinking about it."

  "That's . . . interesting,” Amy said. Obviously Becca was like a kid with a new toy, but she found the notion a bit creepy. She'd heard, though, that settlers were much more open to such technology.

  Becca opened the door with its real manual latch, and Amy followed her out of the cabin.

  * * * *

  Amy adjusted her headband to the link. The mandatory briefing would use the mindlink. Obviously it didn't matter if someone else knew the answer already. It wasn't like a classroom or thesis prelims, where you weren't supposed to pick up information from the people around you.

  Matt was getting ready at the front of the room. He caught her eye briefly and winked. He putzed around some more with what were clearly audiovisual materials. Finally he coughed and began speaking. Sidetracked by the wink, Amy missed the first words.

  "...you all know intellectually Teresa's hazards. That's not enough. You need to know them in your gut, too. They've got to be second nature, like breathing. This planet"—he waved out the window—"is the most deadly environment you've ever been in. Space is downright benign in comparison. Usually, you don't die painfully in space. You always do here. And it's usually very quick in space. It usually isn't here.

  "It's worse because it looks so homelike.” He waved out the window again. A gentle seascape stretched off to a horizon that didn't seem unduly close. Waves a half meter high lazily drifted across the field of view, glinting in the sunlight. Wispy white clouds added to the Earthlike impression, and even the sky didn't look that different, being more blue-gray rather than bright blue.

  "It's easy to think you're on a Caribbean cruise, or something."

  He'sevidentlyfromEarth,too, Amy realized.

  Matt continued, “We have a shirtsleeve environment inside Waterstation I, and it's easy to subconsciously forget that the outside isn't like that."

  "Now"—he picked something long and floppy up off the podium—"here is an external suit, or exsuit as we call it. Any time you're outside the station you're wearing one."

  As he spoke, Amy became aware that the suits would work indefinitely because they had semipermeable membranes that filtered just enough oxygen from Teresa's air to give Earthlike partial pressure. As the link picked up on her focus, she learned they also filtered out nitrogen to bring the total pressure up to 5.2 atmospheres, the same as sea level ambient. And that the pressure during the elevator ride back up was slowly dropped to Earth ambient so that they wouldn't get the bends on returning to the mothership. Similarly, while she'd slept on the way down, the atmosphere had been gradually changed from the mothership's Earth-normal to Waterstation's mixture. And that the breathing membranes were a smaller version of those used to provide air for the entire station. And that...

  With a deliberate effort Amy drew her focus away from the link. It would overwhelm you with information if you let it. Matt was still speaking. “So, no tanks are necessary and you don't need to worry about running out of air. But don't let it go to your head. Teresa's air would burn out your lungs in short order, if you tried it raw.

  "The exsuits will also protect you for a little while against Teresa's ocean. It'll take a half hour or so for enough acid to work through the seams so that you're in real pain. And it would probably take a couple of hours before it's eaten through your skin in enough places that you're going into shock from blood loss."

  Matt was obviously laying on the descriptions with some relish. “Long before that, though, the carnivores will show up. The exsuits are woven with nanosilica fibers, like those in the lower part of the stalk, so they resist tooth penetration. You'll still get crushed, though, and the fibers will break eventually. There's also no protection at the seams."

  He finished, while Amy was deliberately keeping her attention away from the link, which no doubt would have filled her in on many more gory details. Asifshewasn'talreadyworriedenough!

  "Any questions?” Matt asked. The question was obviously superfluous through the link—but then, maybe many others, like her, weren't used to managing the link's firehose-flow of information. She saw how it would take practice to learn to use effectively.

  Someone had one. “If it's all that dangerous, why are we here at all, then? Why aren't we just doing telepresence from the Jed Smith?"

  "Good question,” Matt said. “Like so many good questions, it comes down to economics. How much can you accomplish with your resources, and at what risk? Your organizers decided the proximity was worth the extra risk. You're going to need some hands-on, and in any event you can't ride back up the stalk every night to go to bed."

  "Anyway . . .” Matt shrugged and grinned. “We just build the infrastructure. The client decides what it should be."

  "Anything else?"

  No response this time.

  "Okay. Now on suit alerts. When you hear this in the Station"—he triggered something, and a raucous voice started shouting at 110 decibels—"you suit up immediately. I don't care what you're doing. You need to be able to put your suit on in your sleep, and you'll drill till you can. Got that?"

  People were nodding slowly, including Amy.

  "Okay, we'll have our first drill at 1400.

  "Now. One last thing. Many of you are probably a bit queasy from the sloshing. Welcome to an ocean environment. There are always waves, and sometimes they're worse than at other times. And they make most people seasick. It's like space sickness, only worse. But it goes away in a few days. And if you're really in bad shape, the space sickness meds work just fine.

  "The good news is that no one ever dies of seasickness. The bad news is they wish they could."

  After the dire warnings, the levity seemed a bit forced—but that was a lot better on brooding on all the things that could go wrong. Particularly with the link ready to fill you in with exquisite detail if you let it.

  * * * *

  The view from the observation deck was superb—superb and a bit poignant. Beyond the bright metallic rim of the station itself, a seascape stretched off to the horizon and all around for 360 degrees. Amy'd come up at Becca's suggestion after the briefing, and she was glad she had. Her stomach was still not pleased about its new environment.

  And it looked so homelike. White fleecy clouds, pale blue sky—and pale blue ocean—and that ever-present rocking, rocking, rocking as the waves passed underneath the station. Behind them, in the center of the deck, the stalk stretched up to infinity in that pale sky.

  Yet it was all illusion. They didn't stand in salty sea breeze; they were walled off by transparent ultrasilica from an atmosphere that would sear their lungs with a few breaths. No gulls cried; no birds at all flew. The only sea life present could only be observed, at a minimum, from behind thick glass. Even if that ferocious life weren't present, swimming in that sea would be like swimming in a metal pickling bath.

  "Hello, ladies.” Matt joined them, having walked up unseen. “So how do you like your home away from home?"

  They'd turned at his voice. Amy answered first. “It does look Earthlike, doesn't it? You must have spent some time on the ocean yourself."

  "Yes,” Matt said. “I grew up on the California coast, but I went into space after grad school and haven't been back since. What about you, Becca?"

  "It looks too natural for me,” she said. “From here to that horizon—and thousands of kilometers beyond—and not a centimeter of it human-made. How could you stand living in such a place forever? Natural systems are so . . . so sloppy." She was laughing, but with an oddly serious undertone.

  Mike chuckled. They'd walked over to where the stalk descended into the station. Here the ultrasilica bent down into a wall that surrounded the well. At one point the wall was also broken by an airlock that directly accessed the observation deck. Even as they watched idly, an elevator descended into the o
pen shaft.

  "Carrying supplies,” Matt said. “All personnel are already onboard. On its return it will carry a load of water—well, acid—back up to the mothership to refill reaction mass and water supplies. We also get power down the stalk for most of our needs, from the powersat at the mothership. Another thing we built while you all were still asleep."

  Becca, her settler's instincts keen, responded, “Surely we don't rely on the mothership for all our power!"

  "Actually, we do, under normal circumstances,” Matt said. “But we do have emergency power should it be cut off."

  Amy had a thought. “I see why you said you had problems with the stalk. With this always going up and down, up and down, over the waves—how did you ever get it attached?"

  Matt laughed. “It was hard, but we managed. The biggest problem was providing the strain relief so the station can bob up and down. As I'd said, the designers didn't take the waves into enough account."

  Looking serious, he continued, “We almost lost a couple of people doing it, though. You don't want to fall in this water. Ever. The carnivores will be on you within minutes. Sooner if the field is off."

  There were several monitors along the railing, evidently hooked to underwater cameras on the station's periphery. Amy had been watching them intermittently out of the corner of her eye. Every now and then she'd glimpsed a shape that had veered off. Somehow she was glad she didn't get a better view. AndI'mgoingto work onthosethings? she thought to herself.

  "Field?” Becca had asked.

  "Electric field. We apply a potential to the station—that's why it looks metallic. Its outer layer is a metallic oxide, like a tungsten bronze. It repels the predators."

  "How did you figure that out?"

  "It was actually noticed by the first expedition. Some of the predators can generate electricity, and they saw that the others avoided them.

  "At least being right at the equator we won't have to worry about hurricanes.” Matt finished.

  "Hurricane?” Becca asked.

  Matt grinned. “Big convective storms. They form over warm water and get spun into big spirals by the Coriolis acceleration. But there's no Coriolis force at the equator. The weathersat is watching one that's a few hundred kilometers away, though. We'll be getting some big swells from it by late tonight."