Twisted Spaces: 1 / Destination Mars

by E. N. Abel

  Chapter 101

  Moon Orbit

  Wednesday, 21.12.2016

  The clock on the main screen showed noon. Mike handed over the command and proceeded towards the galley. There, Ralf intercepted him and pointed him down to Deck Five, where the management team obviously had hurriedly set up a little project office. A large table with an appropriate number of chairs dominated the one half of the deck. Big handwritten project plans were pasted to the wall behind it.

  Being pointed to a chair, Mike sat down, crossed his arms over his chest and put a let's-wait-and-see face on. He really enjoyed this part: for once he could lean back and watch someone else run the show - instead of having to play the boss monkey himself.

  When all were seated and had their coffee/cappuccino/tea, Snider rose to speak:

  ''Captain, we have analysed the assignment and come to the conclusion that we are able to meet the demanded dead line - if we get some help.''

  Mike played it cool: ''So?''

  ''Well, there is some work to be done on the surface, and for that we need to go out in space suits.''

  ''EVAs?''

  ''Yes. Extra vehicular actions. To clean the target site from smaller debris and rocks, unpack the station, position it correctly. Things like that.''

  ''Why don't you start at the beginning ...?''

  ''Sure, sorry,'' Snider back-tracked. ''During Project Initiation we identified three main phases to which I assigned my three junior project managers. Marlene, please give us a run-down.'' He sat and Marlene stood up.

  ''We divided the complete task into the following parts: find a site, make it usable, set up and blow up the station, security check it, transfer the machinery into it, run a systems test, and then move in.'' She ticked off her fingers, then pointed at Li. ''Chan reminded us that we might need to remove sharp stones from the area, so we don't puncture the hull of the base mattress right away.''

  Mike peeked over to Chan and received a clandestine canny smile. He quickly looked down to the table so the others couldn't see his grin.

  Marlene, lost in her notes, hadn't caught the exchange and continued: ''We came to the conclusion that the whole enterprise, although a simple undertaking on first sight, is utterly dangerous. Not one of us can even don a space suit correctly, much less handle it in a vacuum environment.'' She looked into Mike's eyes and went on: ''This is very serious. We need expert help, better: expert training with the suits.''

  A while ago Mike had helped Alex unpack the eBay-bought Russian space suits and leafed through the accompanying handbook. It had been drawn up, oh wonder, in Cyrillic. Alex had also read over it, cursed extensively in Russian and without further ado repacked the suits for storage. Of course they needed expert help.

  ''So get it.''

  ''How?''

  ''Ask them.''

  ''Who?''

  ''NASA. And Roskosmos. The suits are from them.''

  ''What do you mean, ask them? What for?''

  ''For EVA experts who can train your people.'' Mike laughed. ''I bet a dollar the line of volunteers will reach from Cape Canaveral right to Orlando, as soon as our request becomes public. And the Russians will go head over heels to send their very best man.'' And with a view to the ladies around the table: ''Or woman.''

  ''So we just ask them? How?''

  ''Me personally,'' he replied pointedly. ''I'd ask Reyd. She isn't called Comm Officer for nothin...''

  ''Idiot.'' Marlene blew a kiss to soften the insult.

  Everybody laughed.

  ''What else?'' Mike nodded towards the plans.

  ''Our next scheduled supply run is on the 25th, that does not leave much time for training. You think maybe we can pick the experts up a little earlier?''

  ''Well, I guess you will have to ask NASA and the Russkies.''

  ''But you would allow it?''

  ''Sure. Why not?''

  ''OK, thanks. Now as to the planning stages ...''

  Chapter 102

  Moscow

  Wednesday, 21.12.2016

  Professor Gregory Gusnow rushed into the communications control center of Roskosmos in a foul mood: ''What is so important that you called me out of the budget meeting? Do you have any idea how difficult it is to squeeze one single rouble out of those ...''

  The comm officer on duty, a Major Stolich, just held the transcript under Gusnow's nose and said: ''From the Moon.''

  That stopped Gusnow's complaints dead. He read. ''Holy mother, is this for real?''

  ''Yes, director.''

  ''They want an expert on a Type-7?''

  ''Yes, Director.''

  ''But that's ancient scrap!''

  ''Yes, Director.''

  ''You have anything else to say but 'yes director' ?''

  ''No, Director.'' After a pause: ''Well, actually ...''

  ''What?''

  ''See, as far as I understand, those people want to perform a interstellar journey. Do it in peace and for all mankind. That's best socialistic practice, isn't it?''

  ''But they are space rookies!''

  ''Some Rookies. They can fly to the Moon in, what, three-and-some hours? Who else can do that? Now they are asking us for help. So why not send up our best, most experienced cosmonaut? A real ace. The very best Mother Russia has to offer.'' He paused. ''Maybe they will even integrate him into their team - a bird has tweeted into my ear that their mission commander does exactly that: grab the very best, take them in. Unconditionally. Wouldn't that be something? Having a Russian cosmonaut on the first deep space mission of humanity?'' He smiled lightly. ''And as to 'ancient scrap' ... why not equip them with some new scaphanders. As a present from the Russian Federation. Can't be that expensive.''

  ''New space suits?'' Gusnow growled angrily, ''you know what numbers we are looking at?''

  ''I know who I'm talking about, Director. I have read the crew manifest. Did you? I'm sure they will reply in kind.''

  ''Why?''

  ''They are newbees. New to this kind of job at least. So they will make mistakes and out there mistakes will kill, we all know that. There will be accidents and they will lose crew members. Their Captain knows that.'' Another short pause, then Stolich went on: ''Now, if our expert just saves one of them, by direct action or by proper training, they will see it as a legacy. A blood guilt. And not one of them will leave one of those unpaid.''

  Gusnow stared at the Major for a long moment, then took a breath, calmed down. ''You are a wise man, Major Stolich. We'll proceed exactly along the lines you have suggested. And I will not forget this.''

  He grinned. ''And just by chance I have the right man for the job, too. Please call Colonel Dimitri Tjurin, ask him to come over ASAP. This will be the culmination of his career.''

  ''At once, Director.''

  Gusnow turned and left the room, smiling. Wisdom everywhere. You just had to ask and listen.

  Major Stolich watched his head official leave the comm booth. This had gone unexpectedly well. Unlike Gusnow he really had read the crew manifest as soon as it had been published. His next move had been to place a call to some old comrades and ask for background information on those people. To his complete surprise he had learned that about half of them were well known to his professional community and that even a Speznaz man was on board, a Lieutenant Alexandrej Rosskov. Decorated veteran of the Iranian campaign, post-graduate from Bauman MSTU, a theoretical physicist. The Major's contacts had also heard about the Group's leader, Michael MacMillan. In clipped sentences they had described him as a man with a tight code of honour and that his enemies only spoke in whispers about him. They had warned Stolich that this guy would have thought things through.

  So MacMillan had probably already anticipated Russia to act the way Stolich had just suggested. But that was to no-ones disadvantage, was it? For the price of a retired Colonel and a few space suits Mother Russia would get a foot into the keenest of all adventures, the attempt to break out of the Solar System's confinement, reach other stars and search for new planets - inhabi
table planets. And who knew, maybe there would even be a place for a new socialistic society in one of many colonial worlds. Wouldn't that be something?

  He turned to the phone. On the pad beside it Tjurin's number was already noted - one of only three possible candidates.

  Chapter 103

  In Transfer

  Friday, 23.12.2016

  ''Welcome on the bridge, gentlemen. I am Michael MacMillan, the Captain of this vessel.'' Mike bowed shortly to the newcomers, shook hands, then pointed them to empty seats. ''Please sit.''

  The two men, still rattled from the experience of entering the sphere through an anti-gravitational lift, took the seats. ''How was your transfer?''

  ''Swift,'' the NASA specialist, a Dr Westinghouse, answered dryly. ''Not much time to linger.'' Looking into Mike's face he continued: ''Have we really taken off already?''

  ''Yes, sir.'' Mike pointed to the main screen: ''See? View backwards.'' The big flat screen showed a rapidly shrinking European mainland.

  ''How fast are we?'' the Russian asked in accented English.

  Mike pointed to the left corner of the screen.

  ''Oh, I see,'' the Russian observed, ''what unit?''

  ''The numbers are in Mach - speed of sound,'' Mike replied. ''Maximal atmospheric travel speed is Mach-Ten. If we go faster, our gravimetric field cannot disrupt the sound waves any more and we would generate a supersonic boom in our wake.''

  That caused laughter: ''Some boom that would be. So what is your maximum speed outside the atmosphere?''

  ''LS-One, sir. Speed of light. Would take us a day to reach, but that's not feasible for the current journey. Instead we'll go to Mach-100 for the transfer.'' That left the man with an open mouth. ''Let me introduce the crew members on duty,'' Mike continued, then presented the day crew: Marlene, Acar, Reyd, Carl. That done he turned back to the newcomers. ''Maybe you could introduce yourselves and say a few words? The crew is listening over the intercom, so you only have to go through this routine once.'' He nodded at the American.

  ''Sure. My name is Fred Westinghouse, NASA engineer for EVA equipment,'' the man said. ''I was a member of the design team that built the new bio suits, and my job here is to help your people get acquainted with this technical marvel.'' He smiled proudly. ''Also I hope to get a few minutes EVA on the Moon's surface from this - during training sessions, I mean.''

  Mike laughed. ''That's very likely, sir. If everything goes well, you can all get the outside time you want. Even make some use of the golf clubs you brought along.'' That caused some amusement. Mike looked at the Russian. ''Your introduction, sir?''

  ''I am Dimitri Tjurin, just a retired cosmonaut. My bosses sent me here for the same reason my colleague from NASA came on board. For the rest, not much to tell.''

  ''You are too modest, sir,'' Mike replied. ''Moni?''

  Simone Goldman, who had been standing behind Mike, had followed the exchange. Turning to the American she said in an even voice: ''You, sir, are Professor Dr Walter Westinghouse, leading science advisor to the NASA for extra vehicular activities. Specialist for environmental suits. You did not help to build the bio suit, but designed it more or less single-handedly. You hold two academic titles besides that doctorate from CalTech, live near Orlando, are married for the second time to a widowed university teacher and have two children from your first marriage. Your main hobby is sailing and you own a forty-foot sailboat with the name 'Summer Breeze', currently anchored at your holiday house in Key West. You are known to like cats, but are allergic to them.'' Westinghouse's eyes grew large and round but he remained silent.

  Next Simone braced the Russian. ''You, sir, are Dr Dimitri Tjurin, Colonel of the Russian Space Agency. Space test pilot, space legend, four time hero of the Soviet Union. You have performed the virgin flights of every new Sojus class space capsule in the last twenty or so years. You were also the commander of the international space station for two years. You have more hours in space under your belt than the whole active NASA astronautic corps. You have a family of five; all kids are grown now, well educated and well placed. Grandfather of two. Congratulations.'' She smiled at Tjurin's astonished gaze. ''Your dog's name is 'Snow Leopard' and you take him out fishing with you whenever you can.''

  Tjurin leaned back: ''You probably even know the size of the biggest fish I ever caught ...''

  ''There I'm not sure,'' Simone replied earnestly. ''If we are talking sweet-water I think it was a pike.''

  ''That wasn't ...''

  ''I mean the tiger-musky you caught during your Canada vacation in 1996. Without a licence.''

  ''Mother Russia,'' the man sighed, clearly impressed. Looking at Mike he added: ''I wish we had intelligence like that.''

  Mike laughed. ''Gentlemen, this know-it-all is Dr Simone Goldman, our Head of Intelligence. Thank you, Monie.'' The woman nodded curtly, then moved to the lift. Watching her float upwards, Mike caught a signal: right thumb in the belt, two fingers pointing to her buckle: a warning - not good. Mike paused shortly, then addressed the American scientist: ''Now sir, are you willing to support us while on board? Meaning work in the engine department?''

  ''Absolutely, Captain.''

  ''Chief Engineer to the bridge.'' It only took seconds and Alex came floating up. Mike introduced them: ''Sir, this is Dr Alexandrej Rosskov, our own Scotty.'' He registered the Russian guest taking interest, filed the observation away and went on: ''Alex, this is Dr Westinghouse, your new apprentice.'' He laughed. ''I guess as an EVA specialist he will be mighty interested in the do's and dont's of our antigrav technology.''

  ''You bet, sir,'' was the answer of the also laughing American.

  ''Thank you, sir.''

  Next he faced the Russian Colonel: ''Sir, do you accept my rank?''

  Tjurin turned serious immediately: ''Absolutely.''

  ''Good.'' Mike stood up. ''Stand to attention, Sir.'' The Russian officer, taken by surprise, stood up and straightened. ''This is the Captain speaking. Now hear this.'' Mike spoke clear and formally. ''I hereby integrate Dimitri Tjurin into the command structure of Stardust and promote him to First Officer, rank Commander. He speaks, you listen. He orders, you follow. His first assignment is executive officer of the night shift. His second is to set up a training regime for the EVA maneuvers.'' He let this linger a moment, then went on: ''I also order all personnel to answer any question of Commander Tjurin and to train him in all functions he wishes to engage in. I grant him full access to our database.'' Mike had already made sure Rosskov and Li would understand this correctly, the super-light technology was off limits for anyone outside the core 'star drive team'.

  Tjurin was taken by surprise: ''Sir ...''

  ''Colonel?''

  The man gulped. ''Nothing, Captain.''

  ''Good. Your salary will be zero, but you will find the benefits in kind more than excellent. Do you accept your assignment, sir?''

  Tjurin took a deep breath. It had been mentioned to him that something like this might happen, but he hadn't expected it that fast ... although it made sense, of course.

  ''Yes, Captain.''

  ''Then I need your word of honour to serve and protect us at your very best and to refrain from any harmful action towards us.''

  ''You have it, Captain.'' Both men knew and understood the other's obligations exactly. The Colonel's given word for example did not forbid him to send reports to his superiors. But the Russian went a step further. He added: ''Let it be known that my country, considering the enormity of this endeavour, has released me from my officer's oath. I am free to serve whomever I wish.'' Again this contained two messages: the Russian government couldn't order Tjurin to provide them with reports, but it didn't imply a change of alliance either.

  Under the current conditions Mike couldn't get a better result. So he said: ''A wise and honourable move. Thank you, Commander,'' and changed the subject. He pointed at the main screen: ''Gentlemen, when you are tired of watching a shrinking planet, our quartermaster will appoint you to your bunks. You have b
een informed about the space restrictions on board, right?'' The men nodded. ''Our galley is on Deck Two, green sector.'' Mike pointed at the floor to bring the blue colour of the bridge's carpet to their guest's attention. ''There you will find food, water and coffee at all times. Please help yourself. The quartermaster will give you a run-down on the restroom and toilet routine. Furthermore I have to ask you to go to our board medic for an examination.'' Mike pointed upward. ''Deck Two, yellow sector. Please make the arrangements with Dr Hamilton yourselves.'' Addressing the American he said: ''Rosskov will stay with you, Dr Westinghouse, and keep you entertained.'' Then he turned to Tjurin: ''We run on Central European Time. Night shift starts at twenty hundred, Commander.''

  The Russian smiled thoughtfully: ''What an experience. Eating normal meals in space ... with fork and knife ...''

  ''Not to mention normal toilets,'' Westinghouse added, grinning.

  They all turned to the main screen and looked the marvellous sight for a while. Minutes passed in silence, while the blue-white planet shrank and became embedded in the dark velvet of space.

  ''Helm?'' Mike suddenly broke the contemplative quietness, ''Report.''

  ''On course, sir.'' Acar replied immediately.

  ''Navigation?''

  ''Confirm course, sir.'' Marlene said. ''ETA three hours twenty minutes.''

  ''Defence?''

  ''Gravimetric shielding extended to three miles, sir. Field stable and at full force,'' came Carl's immediate answer.

  ''Comm?''

  ''Plenty of traffic, but quiet on all our channels, sir,'' Reyd replied. ''We are still under radar observation, at least four stations.''

  ''Engine?''

  ''All clear, sir,'' Alex replied with a look at his console. ''Reactor running at five percent.''

  Mike looked at Tjurin for a moment, silently transmitting the message: this was a tightly run ship; no sloppiness tolerated on the bridge. He saw the Commander nod. Still looking at his face he ordered: ''Helm, go to Mach-5000.''