Riddled Space Page 14

  “Uh-huh,” said John.

  “I unstrapped you and floated you down to the galley. You just sat there for twenty minutes, blinking every thirty seconds or so. I'd stick a coffee bulb in your mouth, and it would just hang there. I didn't want to squirt coffee into your mouth; I was afraid you'd choke. Finally, I got you down here, and the doc called Commander Daniels.” She finished her tale and pushed back to the bulkhead.

  “Thank you, Celine. If you want, you may go,” said Lisa.

  “Ma'am, you asked us to be friendly. I want to know what happened to my friend,” Celine said, her cheeks suddenly red.

  John noted this, but just couldn't seem to process it. He was awake, centered, and aware. That was about the best he could do for now.

  “What happened, John?” asked Lisa. “Kaity says she put a call through for you to your house. Did you talk to Tyra?”

  Tyra. Tyra.

  Tyra his wife. Tyra's a whore, jeered his mother's voice in his head. He whipped his head around, once, twice, and a violent third time, trying to banish the hateful voice. He heard Velcro ripping.

  “Don't,” he called out. “I'm here.” His words didn't make sense to him, but the two women appeared to understand. Lisa resealed the privacy curtain.

  “I—” His voice caught. He coughed suddenly, snapping forward. “I called home. I talked to Ty. Ty.” Celine snatched a blanket off the foot of his bed and flipped it open. Again, John's voice caught, he retched briefly, then suddenly vomited copiously. She managed to catch all of the ejecta before Lisa could move. She folded the thin material into a sodden, disgusting mess.

  “Good reflexes,” said Lisa.

  “I knew something like this was coming,” said Celine, tucking the blanket into a hamper with the biohazard marking on it. She turned and saw Lisa raise one eyebrow. “Personal experience. I'd rather not talk about it.”

  “Fair enough,” said Lisa, turning her attention to John. “Any insight, Celine?”

  “I'll be okay,” said John. He caught a look of momentary anger from Celine. “I know. Men. She asked you, not me.”

  Celine laughed, a bit bitterly. “Now I think he's back,” she said.

  “Yeah,” he mused. “Half the station must be laughing their asses off at me.”

  Celine had a chuckle of pure mirth. “I don't think so. I gave them the Look of Death, and I don't think anyone's laughing. In fact, I think they're all very worried about you.”

  John sighed and seemed to collapse inward on himself a little. “I guess I better let you in on how things are in the Hodges household. At least, while I can still call it that.”

  The two women moved closer. “My friend,” John said, holding Lisa's hand before letting go. “My rescuer,” he said, holding his hands together, closing his eyes, and bowing his head briefly. He felt warm hands on his, opened his eyes, and saw Lisa and Celine, each covering his hand with one of theirs.

  He closed his eyes again, briefly, then opened them, and finally let all of his pain out.

  VIP Tour

  UNSOC Control Room, New York City, June 15 2082, 2300 hrs

  “Gus, remember we've got that VIP tour coming at 8am. So try to look somewhat professional, eh?” Gayatri Vedya smiled as she yielded the UNSOC Controller desk over to Gus Blukofski, head of the “C” or graveyard shift. “Nothing to report on Chaffee. They've got another MoonCan, uh, 575, coming in later, but that's halfway into Fred's shift, so you've got another easy one, you son of a dog.”

  The UNSOC Control Room was laid out much like an auditorium. Three main wedges of seats were arrayed with the largest bank, the center, holding the duty shift. The left was for the use of the shift just leaving, and the right for the oncoming shift. Gus and his people would migrate over to the center wedge over the course of the shift.

  “Thanks, Gayatri,” Gus flashed an impish smile at her as she cleared her board and switched master control over to his desk.

  “I hear it's another kiddie fest/sleepover, and you're first event after wakeup and chow. I'm so glad I don't have to be a part of it. Who knows, they might ask you to hang around and wipe some noses for them.”

  “And what's wrong with that? Who knows where the next crop of astronauts comes from?” Gus said. “Not that I'd expect any from the pampered kids of our Imperial Overlords.”

  “Hush now,” Gayatri riposted with a worried glance at the darkened office of Subramanyan Venderchanergee. “You never know when he's going to review the tapes.”

  “Old 'Substandard'? I don't think he has time for that. He's more interested in squeezing more 'special service fees' from the next contractor who wants to rent space up there. Enough of this. Go and get your beauty sleep. Not that you need it.”

  “Good night, Gus. Hope you have a quiet night.” Gayatri stood and, with elegant grace, exited the UNSOC Control Room. Gus stared at the door long after she was gone.

  It was, as she predicted, a quiet night. Hours later, he repeated the handover procedure with Fred Palowitz, head of Controller Shift A. As expected, Subramanyan Venderchanergee, asked him to remain and act as guide for the VIP tour. Gus was in that awkward time of life when his own children were out on their own, but had not yet presented him and his wife with grandchildren. His wife, Grace, accepted these varying hours with aplomb. After all, she married him because he was an astronaut and she was a closet space fan.

  “So, when do the prodigies arrive?” asked Fred just as the doors popped open to disgorge fifteen children, ranging in age from eight to eighteen. “And so it begins,” he muttered. “Gus, did you lock out all of the other controller boards?” he asked.

  “Did that at five this morning,” Gus replied. “The only live boards have one of your guys in front of it. Let's hope they don't do anything like last year.” They both shuddered, remembering how one bored teen remotely started up one of the station's emergency power units. The station wasn't in danger, and they just barely kept the incident out of the local papers. Instead of blaming the teen and curtailing the tours, though, Subby had chastised the controllers.

  Gus, as the extra man on shift, was charged with performing the tour. Even though he hated doing it, he was professional enough to hide his disdain of the pampered children of the diplomatic class. It was pretty well packaged: this was the last part of a science-oriented overnight sleepover/tour offered only to the children of the high-ranking UN bureaucrats. They were very careful with the kids. There was never any telling if the kid would rat you out to their parents, and they knew that Subby would certainly sacrifice any controller to save his own job. Still, after his initial grousing, once he warmed to the task, Gus was pretty happy to do it. As someone who had actually walked on the Moon, the children held him in a certain amount of awe. Of course, it helped that he had his usual supply of Moon rocks for them to huddle over.

  “And here, we have the main Controller Desk,” Gus said, walking the entourage over to Fred's area.

  “Why is it called CAPCOM?” asked one of the younger children. Clearly, it was one of his first times through the tour.

  “That's short for 'Capsule Communications'. It's a holdover from the earliest days of spaceflight over one hundred years ago. Back then, they had one ground person talking to the crew flying, and he was called the CAPCOM. Some traditions never die. Every controller here can talk to his counterpart on the Chaffee, but there's only one Head, one CAPCOM. This shift, it's Mr. Fred Palowitz.”

  “Can we talk to the Chaffee?” asked one of the older teens. “I've seen it done on other tours.”

  “Well, we aren't supposed to, there are regulations against that.”

  A chorus of groans greeted him.

  “But I suppose, for you guys, we can make an exception. They’re getting ready to catch a MoonCan right now, though, so I won't disturb them. But we can listen in.” Gus moved the children over to the left side Head Controller desk, then spun the knob on the speaker.

  “CAPCOM, Chaffee,” said a smooth, honeyed voice. Gus smiled. Celi
ne was on shift on the Bridge. Everyone was in love with Celine. “We have MoonCan 575 on final approach.”

  “Terminal guidance should be switching over to you any moment,” said Fred, scanning his board. “Closing vector all zeros, delta X is six meters per second, range five hundred meters.”

  “Boring!” announced one of the older teens. He was obviously not happy with being stuffed in with a bunch of younger kids. “It's going to take hours for that thing to finish.”

  “More like five minutes,” said Gus. “We don't try to do a hard dock with the Chaffee. We just aim the cans at the catcher net off to the side of the station, and get one of the spiders to bring it in. Only OTV tugs and Earth Shuttles hard-dock to the Chaffee.” On the huge monitor screen at the front of the auditorium-sized Control Room, they could see a split screen, with camera views from the Chaffee, on-board video from the MoonCan, and a separate screen filled with navigational data. The Chaffee was in sunlight, and the catcher web was clearly outlined, undulating slowly from minute tidal forces. The MoonCan gave one final blast on its thrusters and glided into a smooth impact in the net. The younger children clapped, the older ones were too cool to do anything but look bored, and the ground controllers kept scanning their instruments. After the first dozen, MoonCan rendezvous were old hat. And this one made over five hundred.

  “What's on board the MoonCans, anyway?” asked one teen. “My father said that the Collins colony is just barely less expensive than sending LOX from Earth. I hear there's talk of shutting it down.”

  Controllers turned from their boards to stare at the brash young man. Typical ruling class scion, thought Gus, carefully keeping his face neutral.

  “MoonCans do more than ferry LOX to the Chaffee. They're the main method we use to send all kinds of material from the Moon to the Space Station. Remember that mission to Mars we launched about three months ago? Most of the ships' structure is Lunar aluminum. And the reactor on board is fueled from Lunar thorium. It's not just LOX, son. The Moon's got a lot of what we need to conquer space.”

  Another teen, marginally less bored, said, “Except volatiles. Mom said that the Moon is missing the most important thing, water. What little they found in the South Pole might just barely keep a colony alive, but it's too far away and too hard to get to.”

  “True,” said Gus. “Part of the Mars Mission is to figure out if there's any way to get to the hidden water of Mars. Once we get that, we can easily set up a Martian colony.”

  “More money thrown away into space,” said the first teen. “And we have problems here on Earth to solve without draining off capital to give a few people zero-gee sex.”

  The other controllers were grumbling at this, but quietly. This was the kind of attitude they'd had to fight all their lives. They knew space was insanely profitable, but those who couldn't be bothered to learn about space kept circling back to same tired tropes.

  Gus stepped into the breech. “Got a satphone on you? Try using it without space satellites. I know your parents got you a car as soon as you hit 16. How did it find its way here? GPS satellites. Like seeing cricket from your home country? Thank the communications satellites. It's the same with weather forecasts, resource mapping. . .”

  “All of which can be done without putting people in space,” continued the teen. “Oh, I know all the reasons why space is a big deal, orbital manufacturing, drugs, perfect ball bearings, yadda, yadda. Okay, so I'll give you people in orbit. But the Moon? Even if there's all that mineral wealth up there, why not just teleoperate the mining robots from Earth instead of the expense of keeping a colony on the Moon?”

  Gus was saved from answering by some arm-waving from Fred. “Looks like Fred's got something you guys might be interested in.” Gus locked his board and moved the group over to the CAPCOM station. “Whatcha got for us, Fred?”

  “Just for you guys, Lisa Daniels, Commander of the Chaffee. Who wants to say hello to her?” He stood up and let one of the younger kids take his seat. He and Gus moved to one side.

  “Saw you were getting harangued by that kid. His dad is in charge of UN Famine Relief - a known space hater. Bet he sent the kid here to gather intel on Subby's operation. So, Lisa agreed to chat with them.”

  “Thanks, Fred, I owe you one.” Gus rubbed his face. “Much as I like kids in general, I was ready to paddle that smart-mouthed bastard. Famine relief, bah! The only reason there's famine is because the governments keep oppressing their people. The UN itself says there's an excess of food, and more than enough distribution to get it to everyone. The only stumbling block is these kleptocrats keep overthrowing each other and starting wars. All the poor citizen bastards want is to be left alone to run their miserable little farms.”

  “Keep your voice down, Gus. Subby may not be visible, but we know he's got the place bugged.”

  “Yeah. I should know better than to do these tours after a shift. How much longer do we have?”

  “Another hour or so. Why don't you go take a nap in the ready room, and I'll buzz you when they've worn out our good Commander Daniels. If I know her, she'll shunt them off on some of her staff before long.”

  “Thanks.” Gus headed to the door to the ready room, swaying slightly. Fred turned to the group still clustered around the microphone and took a nearby seat where he could listen in. It was going to be a long morning.

  MBFA

  UNSOC Space Station Roger B. Chaffee, June 16 2082, 0820 hrs.

  “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, but I do have some Commander things I have to do here. I know you have a lot more questions, so I'll turn you over to Celine Greenfield, our astrogator. Celine?” The picture broke up briefly as the pickup switched over to Celine's station on the Bridge. The switch from the short, dark haired Commander to Celine's floating, unbound blonde locks caused some of the older male teens to whistle appreciatively. She stopped her frown barely in time. The short line between her eyebrows remained. Fred moved in smoothly.

  “Good morning, Celine. We've got a little feedback here, hang on.” Fred turned to the whistlers and frowned. “Cut that out, you guys. She's in her thirties and way too old for you.”

  “Cougars...in...spaaaaace,” intoned one of the teens to snickers from his friends. Fred chose to ignore him.

  “Celine, we have here our annual UN Science sleepover group for the Control Room part of today's program. The young men and women here have questions for you.” Fred moved smoothly out of frame.

  ***

  Back in her ready room, Lisa stretched and floated out of her chair. She knew chatting with the kids was against regs, but if she had refused, who knows whose toes she would have stepped on. Well, she did have Commander Things to do, one of which she called MBFA, Management By Floating Around. She loved reading all the old management books from the last century, and took a shine to an old classic, The One Minute Manager. It proved invaluable on many occasions. Smiling faintly to herself, she floated out into the passageway and deftly redirected her flight along the corridor. She varied her route on occasion, once she realized that the Chaffee grapevine would alert everyone when she was floating around. This time, she'd start in the Engineering spaces.

  John Albert Hodges had nothing to fear from an unannounced visit from his Commander. He had just had a talk with Roque Maximiano Zacarías about the manufacture of the new YAG laser crystals. Roque wanted to grow meter long crystals, but John didn't have the space for the apparatus required. After a good deal of back and forth, they agreed on quarter-meter sized crystals. Huge by Earth standards, but in space, the only limits to crystal growth were apparatus size. Besides, something that large constituted a weapon in its own regard. It was times like these that Tyra seemed to be a problem from another life entirely. Turning a corner, he saw Lisa Daniels just ahead.

  “Commander,” he called. “What brings you to our fine, loud, busy workspaces?”

  “MBFA,” she said, pausing for John to catch up. “Breathing a little hard?”

  “Yes, Lisa, I know,” J
ohn said. “I've been neglecting the exercises.”

  “Then you know what happens when you go back down to Earth. It's like a three-G turn that never stops. You're a smart guy, John. We don't want to lose you to a heart attack.”

  “That is, if I go back. Lately I've been thinking of putting in for the Moon when this tour is over.”

  Lisa stopped dead in the corridor and looked around. “What about Tyra and the boys?” Given John's Haitian ancestry, it was impossible to tell if he was blushing, but his already dark face seemed to change, indescribably, at the question.

  “Tyra seems to be fine without me,” he said, grudgingly. “After this tour, the boys will be itching to graduate high school and get out from under the parents for a long time. So, why not the Moon?”

  “John, forget I asked. Come on, show me your latest wonder.” Linking her arm in his for a moment, she propelled them both down the corridor to the Engineering spaces.

  The Chaffee was shaped roughly like two long, fat spikes joined at either end, with the manufacturing spike about four times the diameter of the original spine of the International Space Station. Originally it was merely a collection of modules stuck on the ISS. Later, after Lunar aluminum became available in large quantities, a second, parallel spike was built to house the cavernous manufacturing facilities. Now there were talks about adding a third spike below the original ISS to relieve overcrowding from the manufacturers' contract employees.

  The Engineering spaces were at the aft end of the new spike. In the cross corridor, they had to squeeze by Panjar Bijanergee, John's Deputy Chief Engineer, who was regarded by all as the mechanical genius aboard the Chaffee.

  “What are you working on, Panjar?” asked Lisa. “Looks like some kind of pump.”

  “Oh, Ekky here? This is an Environmental Control Unit from the early 50s. She's been pumping coolant around the station for the last thirty years or so without a hitch. I'm just giving her another set of seals.” He pumped some oil into the reservoir. “Here's some tasty oil for your impeller.”