“Uh. About that,” said Michael. “I was thinking we could still use the Tank as a shuttle back and forth to the Moon.”
McCrary dropped his fork, but was able to quickly recover it in the slight gravity of the Perseus. “What? How are you going to power it?”
“Well, we do have a huge amount of water, and I was thinking we could do a little something with those sparkler engines to adapt them to a different kind of propellant.”
McCrary stared at the Deputy Commander. “That's a lot more engineering than we can handle, you know. We never tried to fiddle around with that.”
“The Tank is yours, of course. But if you're headed downstairs, those of us left up here might want to be able to use it. Please don't strip it entirely.”
“We won't,” said McCrary. “Where're you landing?”
“As close to the new Flinger as possible.”
“Smart. How?” McCrary's legendary word economy was coming to the fore once again.
“LH2 and LOX engine. We still have the ones on the Burroughs and the Bradbury, and they're not going anywhere anymore.”
“Good. Why?”
Michael thought for a minute. “Why go back to the Moon? Why not? We can build one of your ERVs, modify it for cargo, and head off to the KREEP terranes for raw materials. Plant a small temporary colony there, mine the Moon, then Flinger it all back here, all those lovely ingots of pure metals. Power the Perseus for a long, long time. Maybe even use The Works to mass-produce the lasers, put them into replicas of the Tank, and Fling them into Earth orbit to laser more debris into vapor.”
McCrary nodded slowly. “Good, good.” He lapsed into silence, raising his hand as a sign that he wanted privacy.
“Uh, sir?” said one of the sleepers. “Commander Standish? I'm Robin DeLaCourte. I've been on this trip for five years, but I've only been awake six months. I've been doing nothing but poking seeds into dirt. I'm a cyberneticist and machinist by trade, and I've done nothing in those fields. Going back downstairs would be a defeat for me. If you need someone to stay behind and help, I'd like to volunteer.”
Michael looked at the man. More men raised their hands. Michael quickly interrupted the next man who tried to speak.
“There will be plenty of time to figure out who goes and who stays. For right now, we've got a lot of work to do. We have to fabricate some ERVs, including reentry tiles and parachutes. Some people will truly have to go back to Earth, and we will hold nobody up here, regardless of their qualifications, who does not wish to remain in space. All of this can be discussed later.
“For now, let us toast one man that we are certain must return to Earth, a man who has more than given his all so that we are not only safer here and now than any other living human, but actually have a choice whether to remain in space or return to Earth. Three cheers for McCrary!”
McCrary gritted his teeth while the men's praise rained down on him.
***
“UNSOC, UNSOC, UNSOC, this is Commander Smithson of the Mars Expedition, calling from the Perseus. UNSOC, please respond.”
“An amateur ham operator alerted us about this signal,” said Celine Greenfield, turning down the volume on the speakers. “We've got poor triangulation, but it appears to originate from a large object approximately sixteen hundred kilometers up that's in a stable orbit. We've run voicematching, and it does seem to be the voice of Commander Smithson.”
Lisa Daniels frowned slightly, a small vertical line forming between her eyebrows. “The Mars Expedition? I thought it was reported that contact was lost with them.”
Fred Palowicz spoke up. “The Mars Expedition was shunted over to JPL, as they were in charge of everything outside cis-lunar space, freeing up UNSOC to work on issues closer to home. It was well known in JPL that the commanders both mutinied, refused to follow UNSOC orders and protocols, and initiated space maneuvers that took them behind Mars instead of going into orbit around it. Contact was not regained.”
“You mean JPL refused to look for them.”
Fred shrugged his shoulders. “I was there, and we were ordered not to provide support for rogue crews. I protested, along with most of the New York contingent. JPL really isn't used to manned spacecraft, but we were, and we were really raising a stink about it. So they shipped us all back here, to help you blast asteroids.”
Gus Blukofski interjected. “Since then, there's been a group of ham operators that have insisted that the astronauts survived their slingshot off Mars.” He laid a memory module on Lisa's desk. “Here's a compilation of the Burrough's and Bradbury's greatest hits. Friend of mine is a ham. When Smithson started calling, he sent me a copy.”
Lisa picked up the module and spun it slowly between her finger tips. “And what, specifically, are their greatest hits? Just the highlights, please. The world is going nuts over the loss of the Tank. Most think it either skipped the atmosphere or drilled into the South Atlantic somewhere. Somehow, we have to find it.”
Gus looked ill at ease. “Uh, it's slightly fantastic.”
“Try me. The Chaffee caper was slightly fantastic.”
Gus grinned. “That it was. Parachutes!” He shook his head. “Well, the Expedition slung around Mars, and somehow established communications with the Collins long before we knew they were still alive. Collins sent a whole ton of things out to the Expedition, including momentum slugs, and got them out to a comet.”
“Go on.”
Gus shook his head. “A dozen men somehow lassoed this comet, installed a nuclear pile in it, and flew it over to a nearby metal asteroid. They combined the two into some giant hollow cylinder and flew it around the back of the Sun and back to Earth.”
“Pro-grade instead of retrograde,” said Celine. “Impressive. The asteroid would fall away from Earth without a boost into orbit that way. The other way, they'd have to slow down. Any failure and they smash into Earth. Smacks of McCrary.”
“That it does,” said Lisa. “Wait. A hollow asteroid, right? Massive as hell. What did they use for propulsion?”
“Nukes,” said Gus. “Same as the Tank.”
“My God,” said Celine. “No wonder we never saw them! Look, radar is useless with all the space debris. We'd never see a small asteroid diving into the sun with radar or visual—too much clutter. When they broke orbit out in the Asteroid Belt, the flash of the nukes would be screened from us by the bulk of the asteroid. Same goes for boosting towards us from the sun. Too much glare, we'd never notice a transient brightening.”
“So we've got an asteroid that snuck into orbit around the Earth...” She stopped suddenly, then sagged back in her chair. “They scooped up the Tank, didn't they?”
Gus and Fred nodded.
“Slightly fantastic,” said Lisa. “Well, like it or not, we're about as much in command of UNSOC as anyone else—what say we answer our fellow astronauts?”
***
“This is Lisa Daniels, UNSOC Debris Response Coordinator. Is this Commander Smithson of the Burroughs?”
“This is he. I understand that we've unintentionally upset our fellow humans.”
“I would say yes, you have,” said Lisa. “Why didn't you let us know?”
“We have been, Coordinator. We have given daily briefings to JPL, encrypted, of course, but have never heard from them. You'll have to ask them.”
“Don't worry, I will. Now, you called us. What's on your mind?”
“We have a lot to discuss, but here's the gist: We have transformed a four-kilometer iron-nickel asteroid into a hollow cylinder about a kilometer across. None of the debris in orbit can penetrate it. All of the crew of the Expedition are alive and well on board the Perseus. We have also rescued someone you know well.”
“Commander McCrary here. We have been coordinating with the Perseus for years. We fully intended to approach Earth, brake, and dock with the Perseus. We bring them valuable items from the Moon, and will use the Perseus as a base from which to launch ERVs of our own for reentry. It is my understanding that some
of the crew from the Expedition will be staying behind as a debris vaporization and reduction operation.”
Lisa's eyes widened as they laid out their plan.
“You've got lasers and nukes aboard?”
“That is correct. The lasers were carefully grown so that their resonant frequency will not penetrate the Earth's atmosphere. The nukes are in casings that cannot survive reentry. Earth is safe, Lisa.”
“So you say, McCrary. I believe you, implicitly. Others will not.”
“Nuclear weapons will only be used against debris or for propulsion. Never against Earth.”
“Why didn't you land in the Tank?”
“Think about it, Lisa. We have only the crudest of controls. We would have to touch down on land, the Tank would sink like a stone in water. Finally, the aft end of the Tank is still highly radioactive from absorbing nuclear blasts. We could never land under power, so it's a ballistic fall straight down. We'd die.”
“Hmm. I should have seen that coming. So, you dock at the Perseus.”
“More like dock inside the Perseus. We're in its aft cavern, in vacuum. Only the front kilometer is pressurized. And before you start thinking of ways to attack the Perseus, remember, the walls are fifty meters thick of annealed iron-nickel. You're not going to get through that with a nuke.”
“I never said we were thinking of...”
“I said that for your bosses, who are no doubt listening in to this little chit-chat,” said McCrary with a touch of heat in his voice. “These are the same bosses that never gave you lifeboats, Lisa, and wrote off the Mars Expedition. Two hundred men, a flick of the radio switch, and finis. They're sleeping well at night.”
“Not really,” said Lisa. “You've been getting the news, but the Expedition never did. Subby's on the run, and the UN, in general, has a popularity score under ten percent. The only reason I have this job is because they said I was the only one who had enough name recognition with the public, or high enough polling numbers, to force other governments to give up some of their nuclear arsenal to keep Earth safe.”
“Well, you have another weapon in your arsenal. Us. The Perseus is the only asset that can survive up here, and the only one who can laser the smaller impactors to vapor, or nuke the bigger ones into a size where they can be vaporized. We are willing to be used in the fight to keep Earth safe.”
Lisa was stunned. “What about power, food, and uh,” she floundered.
“The original Expedition was outfitted for a three-year operation with all hands awake. They only woke up about six months ago,” said Roger Smithson. “We've also got the Farm. Imagine, if you can, a cavern one kilometer in diameter, with fields three hundred meters long, completely encircling the first third of the cavern. We've got food from the Farm, water from the comet, and air, well the Farm takes care of that, too.
“Our goal is to survive up here, blasting debris, until you can send up our replacements. We've run some simulations, and it will be about five years before you'll be able to do that.”
“I, I, ah, don't know what to say,” said Lisa. “I'll have to call some meetings, governments...” she ran down.
“In the meantime,” said Roger, “the combined crews of the Collins and the Perseus will begin lasering debris for you immediately. Perseus out.”
Lisa turned to face the rest of her friends. “I think we might live to see the return to space after all.”
Thank you for buying DEAD MEN FLYING.
* * *
Whether you loved it, or hated it, if you could write a review for my book, I would really appreciate it
Amazon review page
I am very interested in your reaction to my work.
* * *
Reviews don’t have to be NYT Review of Books high falutin’ kind of essay. Just flat out say what you liked and didn’t like. You might want to give spoiler alerts if you’re going to talk about surprise plot points, but otherwise, just say what you feel.
* * *
If you do NOT want to go public, I welcome email reactions. Just hit me up at [email protected], and my phone will go off. I won’t give you grief if you don’t like it, so feel free to tell me where things might have gone off the rails for you.
Thank you!
* * *
Why am I asking for reviews? Am I that desperate for an ego-stroke? Isn't getting paid enough?
There are very prosaic reasons that authors want reviews.
Feedback Mechanism: I want to know how my readers feel about my work. Do you want more of this and less of that? If you don't email me (by, for instance, replying to my newsletter) and you don't write a review, how am I to know what you want? Now, while I prefer that criticism is in email, and praise is in reviews, you are completely free to do what you wish.
Promotional Eligibility: Many promotional services (like Book Barbarian, InstaFreebie, and others) require a work to have at least 10 reviews, and a certain average rating, in order to make the work eligible for their particular megaphone. There are other criteria, too, but without reviews, I'm shut out of those ways of promoting my work.
Industry Notice: Industry awards are also dependent, at least in part, on reviews. It would be nice to win an award. I was nominated once for an award from the British Science Fiction Association, and I can't describe the lift that gave me.
* * *
Want more of my work?
Want to know when I am publishing another tale? Subscribe to Bill Patterson's Worlds newsletter. Spam free, and nobody gets my mailing list. (http://smarturl.it/BillsWorlds)
Want to see what I have out now? My Amazon Author Page has it all. (http://SmartURL.it/BillsAmazon)
* * *
* * *
Want more about Bill the Author?
I blog, but it’s all about writing. You won’t get pictures of my food, or my cat, and it’s politics free. (http://smarturl.it/BillsBlog)
Social Media: I write, ya know? I do wander social media, but most of my time I communicate with my readership via blog. But if you want to see what I do read and comment about, here are the sites I haunt occasionally.
Facebook (http://smarturl.it/BillsFacebook)
Twitter (http://smarturl.it/BillsTwitter)
About ENTRY INTERFACE
by Bill Patterson
Coming May, 2018
Normally, I would include a brief excerpt from my next book--but I haven’t started it yet. I hope you can see some of the loose threads that are left untidily about now that the Perseus is in High Earth Orbit.
The crews of Collins and the Mars Expedition would really like to get home, but who goes and who stays aboard the Perseus
Space is still infested with Lunar debris
Garth might be in prison, but he burns with the twin fires of desire for Celine and jealousy of John Hodges
Subby cannot let go of the memories of his former power and hatred for the woman who caused its loss
Mrs. vanDeHoog will likely suffer the same fate as Subby
Earth is still in chaos from continued bombardment, the UN is reviled everywhere, and national governments are back to their bad old tricks of all against all.
I can’t promise a solution to all of these threads, but I will definitively solve most of them, for Entry Interface will conclude Riddled Space.
* * *
For news about the RIDDLED SPACE Series, please visit my dedicated microsite.
DEDICATIONS
To Chris Laputka, who never gave up hope in me, I dedicate this book. There was a key moment during the genesis of this book when I was ready to completely chuck everything. She listened to my ranting and general angst, and helped me work through the various issues in crafting the work you have in your hands. She is a rare jewel, a patient and understanding writer who will put her own work aside to help me analyze the fine mess I have gotten myself into, and help devise a way out.
To Barbara, The Wonderful Wife™, a true writer’s widow, who has kept me fed and clothed these past several
months, as I worked over this most difficult of books, I thank profusely.
Finally, to you, Dear Reader, for your willingness to wade through this thicket of technical argot, hoping that there is a story in these pages. I hope at the end of the struggle you have been entertained.
Acknowledgements
This book would not exist without the efforts and encouragement of The Wonderful Wife, Barbara. But there are some others who have helped along the way:
Chris Laputka, who encouraged me to shift gears from one bad direction into a far better one
Jessica West, a consumate editor, who must have cut and pasted the comment “Passive voice” at least a hundred times in this work. Zombies killed, Jess, and I’ll try harder next time.
My ARC Team, for encouragement, gremlin detection, and at least once saving me from a particularly stupid science error that eluded everyone else. Mandy, Vesa, Adrian, and Manie--thank you, from the bottom of my heart.
Finally, to Kazem Oladejo, for counsel and guidance during the past year. I really appreciate everything you have done for me, and wish you great fortune in your new adventure.
About the Author
Bill Patterson is the author of a computer-aided design software book, and a former magazine columnist. His fiction has been published 90 Minutes to Live (JournalStone, 2011), and his nonfiction in Rocket Science (Mutation Press, 2012), where his piece "A Ray of Sunshine" was nominated for the British Science Fiction Association's Award for Non-Fiction.
Dead Men Flying Page 26
