An Accidental Alliance (23 page)

     
“What was the problem?” Iris asked.

     
“You’ll love this,” Park laughed. “There was a bird’s nest in one of the tracking dishes. That isn’t all that unusual, but this clever birdie had found some very fine copper wire to build its nest with. I mean it was mostly the usual twigs and straw but there was a lot of wire in the little structure as well and it had built the thing in just the right place to mess up the signals coming in. Worse it wasn’t consistent. Sometimes everything was fine and sometimes all the tracking screens would go dark. The computer programs couldn’t handle the messed up data when it happened and would crash out. Once I removed the nest, everything was fine again.”

     
“What about the bird and her eggs?” Iris asked, only successfully stifling a smirk.

     
“Oh, this had been going on for months,” Park replied. “The bird, or birds, I suppose there was a mated pair – I don’t know what the species was – was long gone. The interference was sporadic depending on which way the antenna turned.”

     
“I’m surprised they never noticed the nest,” Iris remarked.

     
“Me too,” Park agreed, “but they hadn’t. Easiest money I ever made. Anyway it brought me to Arn’s attention once again. He was none too pleased with his own boys and girls, but he did appreciate the fact that he was back in business far faster than expected. After that he called me in every time they had a problem that couldn’t be solved in a few days, both there and in later postings. I guess it was only natural he would think of me for Van Winkle too.”

     
“And to think I had to apply for this job,” Iris laughed.

     
“I’m glad you did,” Park told her and settled back to enjoy the smile that elicited.

     
Launch Day was planned to coincide with the end of the rainy season at Van Winkle Town as it was being called now. There were now barracks and homes constructed for everyone associated with the base and even Park and Iris had finally managed to find the time to move into one that over-looked the river just to the west of the original base itself. It was close enough to walk to work from, regardless of where they were headed, and the hill that encased most of the original installation kept them visually isolated from most of their neighbors.

     
Park woke early that morning unable to sleep, and scowled at his peacefully sleeping wife, jealous of her ability to just relax in spite of the impending satellite launch. He dressed quietly and slipped out of the room and was surprised to find Merisea pouring herself a cup of coffee in the kitchen. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping, dear?” Park asked.

     
“Shouldn’t you?” Marisea threw back at him.

     
“I couldn’t sleep,” Park admitted. “I get that way before a big day. Of course this means I’ll probably fall asleep in mission control. How about you?”

     
“Same thing,” she admitted. She filled a second coffee cup and handed it to him.

     
“Thanks,” Park told her.

     
“You’re welcome,” Marisea replied. “I don’t know how Iris can stand it with milk and sugar, though.”

     
“Most people drink it like that,” Park replied, “and I’m sure they’re happy there are still plants from which sugar can be extracted and purified. Too bad about the honey.”

     
Marisea wrinkled her nose. When Park and the others first asked if there were sources of honey in the world, the Mers did not know to what they were referring, but as they described how honey bees produced it, interest turned to disgust. There was honey of a sort in the world, but it was produced by certain female Atackack. The thought of eating something produced by the body of a sentient being did not appeal to them nor, once it was explained, to the humans as well. Marisea had adventurously tried some of the precious bee honey that had been in the Project Van Winkle stores, but decided she did not really like it. There were other natural sugar and syrup sources in Pangaea, but to Marisea’s tastes, there was a flavor about the honey she did not like.

     
Park had always enjoyed his coffee black and unsweetened, which he decided was a mercy when he saw what sort of beast the fresh milk would be coming from in the future. The postmammals were an ugly bunch to his eyes, and the milk they produced for their young tasted terrible. There were true mammals left in the world, though, and one of the Mer domesticated beasts was something that looked like a sheep with the fur of a cow, but with delicate deer-like legs and hooves. The milk from it was fine, he supposed, so long as he did not think about it very much. At least it did not have the half sour, half dirt flavor all the samples from postmammals had displayed.

     
“Will there be a place to sleep in Mission Control?” Marisea asked curiously.

     
“A couch maybe,” Park smiled. “It’s not a place for the sleepy, you know, but there’s always the floor.”

     
“Ugh!” Marisea threw back at him. “I’ve never been comfortable sleeping on floors. And Mission Control doesn’t even have carpets.”

     
“There didn’t seem to be any need to put much work into finishing that building,” Park admitted. “Once the satellites are up and in their orbits, most of the equipment in there will be relocated and post-launch monitoring will be moved to Central Ops up in the base installation. Then we’ll rebuild it all for regular missions with the
Hudson
.”

     
“Isn’t it used for that already?” Marisea asked.

     
“It is, but it’s a small building and we’re all feeling a bit cramped,” Park explained. “It will be completely given over to crews who monitor the
Hudson
.”

     
Marisea nodded and hopped over to the refrigerator. “I’ll make breakfast,” she offered. “What would you like?”

     
“Just toast, this morning,” Park told her. “I’m not very hungry.”

     
“Toast?” Marisea asked, sounding disappointed. Park nodded, realizing she had hoped he would want something that would require more effort on her part. To the Mers, bread had been a lost art. The grains of Pangaea were unsuitable for bread-making anyway, so it was not until the humans woke up that such a delicacy as bread was even possible. Unlike honey, bread was an overnight sensation and several small farms struggled to keep up with the demand for bread grain. It would be another four years before there would be enough seed for wheat, rye, oats and so forth to feed the desires of everyone. However, Van Winkle Base was already producing enough for their own needs as well as having enough seed left over to sell.

     
The teenaged Mer busied herself with toast production, while Park turned on the television. There was only one available channel at this time of day and soon the old TVs would become obsolete. The three new satellites would give the whole world full-time access to the Mer communications net, but until then the old Van Winkle Town sets could pick up the few channels available from the base. In the evenings old movies were broadcast on one channel, but there was another channel that played around the clock. It was mostly news, but tended to run an unmonitored camera on the satellite mission control when there was nothing else going on.

     
Park looked in and saw the late night shift working at their stations. The launch window would not open for several hours yet, but the final fueling was taking place now and the countdown proceeding normally. He smiled at the teams of human and Mer working together so well. It was as though the two species had been created for each other. Their cultures were vastly different, but their values and thought processes were compatible. Man and Mer made for a good team.

     
The last month had been a nerve-wracking one for Park. As with so many exploration and development projects, the satellites fell under his jurisdiction. Park knew well enough not to try to do everything himself, but he was also the sort of manager who felt he had to at least know how everything was done and had sat at every station at one point or another. And his people were all wearing multiple hats as well. With less than the original five thousand adults Project Van Winkle had included, and most of those unqualified for working on the space mission. Those who were had to be as versatile as Park.

     
The Mers on the team had been quick studies but they had never seen a launch vehicle like the one the humans were using. No one had ever heard of launching anything fueled by the combustion of liquid hydrogen and oxygen. It had been rare in the late Twenty-first Century as well, and Park wondered if the missile they were using had been military surplus. It probably was, he decided. He had not had much experience with space flight besides the same interest many people had in the Luna colony, little more than a collection of scientific laboratories, really, and the manned flights to Mars and beyond.

     
As he thought of that, he realized it was the space industry that had produced the same stasis technology that had made Project Van Winkle possible. With all the radiation and other hazards of slow interplanetary travel, not to mention the conservation of life support, leaving the crew safely tucked away in stasis had been essential.

     
There were no apparent emergencies going on, so Park turned the set off in time to have his toast while it was still warm. The past month, however, had been filled with emergencies. No one in Project Van Winkle had actually ever launched a liquid-fueled rocket before and none of them realized how complex a project it was. Having to learn what they needed out of a printed manual hardly helped.

     
All sorts of parts had failed and had to be replaced. The compressors that made the fuel gave them tremendous headaches. When fired up, the liquid oxygen or LOX compressor worked well enough, but the jet engine that was supposed to run the hydrogen compressor was a dead loss. Fortunately the Mers had other uses for liquid hydrogen and had sent in a compressor to do the job. Then midway through production, the Oxygen compressor’s gaskets started failing and all new parts had to be fabricated.

     
No one in the project realized that they could not just store the fuel in the rocket and a lot was lost when they had to figure out a way to empty the tanks back out. It was just as well they had, since while they were doing so, several insects got caught in the LOX filter. It turned out that, while no one was watching, a nest had been built inside the LOX tank, requiring a full and thorough cleaning while the biologists had the pain-staking job of making sure all the insects were accounted for. When they could not find several legs and antennae, the entire batch of LOX had to be disposed of and remade just to be certain.

     
The launch window, as planned, was only open for one week and the weather, which seemed ideal for such pursuits at first, started playing havoc with mission plans. The temperatures soared above the recommended launch parameters at the beginning of the week, but the heat spell was soon broken by a day of heavy rain, which Taodore assured the humans was quite unusual at this time of year. Finally the night-time temperature dropped to freezing causing them to cover over the launch silo and attempt to heat it.

     
Finally, this morning, everything seemed to be going right. “It’s still early yet,” Park grumbled to himself.

     
“What was that?” Marisea asked.

     
“Nothing, dear,” Park replied absently. “Maybe I’d better get over there as soon as I’ve finished breakfast.”

     
“You aren’t needed yet,” Marisea pointed out.

     
“How do you know?” Park countered.

     
“Someone would have called you if there were a problem,” Marisea laughed.

     
“There is that,” Park admitted. Hardly a day had gone by in which his phone had not rung with one problem or another. “That may be why I’m awake right now. I’ve gotten accustomed to having the phone ring at four in the morning.”

     
Marisea glanced at the clock on the wall. It had taken her a while to get used to human time measurements and the analog clock had baffled her. Now she took it for granted and decided she liked it better than the system she had grown up with. “It’s five thirty now,” she pointed out.

     
“So we’re overdue,” he retorted.

     
Marisea laughed again, reached into the cabinet for a stainless steel travel mug and filled it from the coffee carafe. “Here,” she
 
handed it over to him. “Go to Mission Control already. You know you won’t be happy until you do.”

     
“You want to come with me?” Park offered.

     
“I think I’ll try going back to sleep,” Marisea decided.

     
“The wisdom of youth,” Park smiled as he picked up the mug and headed for the door. “I’ll see you later.”

     
“The folly of age,” Marisea laughed softly, but was certain Park had not heard her.

     
Park was almost disappointed to not find a problem he had to deal with as he entered Mission Control. There were a dozen people seated at stations, running checks and watching various monitors. There was a low hum in the room as they spoke softly to each other through their microphones. Later there would be three times as many in here and all the consoles would have someone seated at it. There would likely be even more standing and watching from the gallery behind them.

     
“You’re two hours early,” Tina Linea informed him as he sat down next to her. The pretty and young woman was one of the four chosen astro-pilots at Van Winkle. She had already flown the
Hudson
on her orbital training flights and Tina had impressed Park as being better at it than Paul had been and Paul had done very well indeed.