Stars Rain Down (4 page)

He took a look around at the blank faces surrounding him and then went on. "Those of you familiar with my work know that I operate a little differently. I'm not here to give you a lick and a promise. I care about results, just as you do."

The old codgers were awake, and Marcus had their attention. Technically, the difficult part of the job was already done.

He pressed a button on his remote; the lights dimmed and the large screen behind him showed an image of a bright, eye-shaped burst against a backdrop of stars.

"Twenty-five years ago, Sirius B went supernova and filled the night sky with a light that re-ignited mankind's imagination. Interest in space exploration rocketed to levels not seen since the Cold War, as people all across the globe once again looked toward the heavens and wondered what secrets the universe might hold."

He tapped the control and the screen now showed the Earth, its moon, and Mars.

"The Foundation was established and we built more than two dozen permanent orbital facilities. Telescopes,
Midway Refuel Station
at Lagrange-Five, and the two greatest achievements of our time... the
Helios
and
Hyperion
solar energy arrays, which made low-cost power a reality. We then went on to establish
Tranquility Research
on the Moon, and
Ares,
the first permanent colony on Mars, which now supports more than seven thousand colonists.

"The list is pretty mind-boggling, isn't it? That's a hell of a lot to be proud of... but that's all in the past. What about today? Well, as you all know, I've just returned from Copernicus Observatory, the only new off-world facility built in more than ten years. Think about that for a second.

"Twenty years ago, the Global Aerospace Foundation was a media darling. We were the future, possessed of our own epic drive and determination, and working without rest toward a single goal: to press out into the darkness and spread humanity to the far corners of the cosmos. My question is... what happened?"

He clicked the remote again, and the planets were replaced by an artist's rendering of the space elevator climbing up its tether into the void. That particular image was exceptionally famous, and had become a punch-line in the Foundation offices.

A rather predictable groan filled the air.

"This is what happened, gentlemen... the elephant in the room."

It was crazy as hell, and Marcus couldn't help but smile at the picture a little. He said, "The space elevator is our most ambitious project. It holds the could virtually eliminating the cost of taking payloads out into orbit, and we could finally realize interplanetary travel on a massive scale. If we stop to consider the elevator's potential, it's a damn wonder we've accomplished so much without it."

Another click of the remote, and the inspirational rendering was replaced with a photograph of a naked metal framework, a skeleton of steel girders floating high above the Earth, with a small maintenance crew working at one end. "Here's where the project stands today, more than six years past the planned completion date. The elevator is a logistical nightmare, and its failure has murdered our momentum. Those bare girders... that's the trash can we're throwing all our money into."

Marcus clicked again, and the display switched to a very simple diagram, one he hoped even top-level bureaucrats could grasp. It was a green circle on a white background. He pointed to the image and said, "This delicious apple pie represents all GAF expenditures since the project began." Nine tenths of the circle turned red. "The new cherry portion represents all the funding that's been diverted to the elevator." A fifth of that area then turned blue. "...and the tiny little blueberry slice here was the original cost estimate."

"And what?" Chief Administrator Chandra asked without a hint of amusement. "Are you seriously suggesting we cancel the space elevator?"

"Not at all, Doctor Chandra. I have a much more revolutionary idea... We finish it."

Marcus advanced to the next image, this one an aerial photograph taken over Cape Canaveral, where a monstrous rocket leaned against a gantry. "The problem stopping the elevator's completion is the same one it's designed to fix... we can't put its largest components into orbit. The newest multi-stage lifters aren't up to the task, and the components are just too complex to assemble in space. Essentially... we need the space elevator to finish the space elevator."

"We're chasing our own tail then," a droll voice at the far end of the table said.

"No, no... we're just attacking the problem from the wrong angle. Nobody wants to admit it, but we've run face first into a brick wall. We need more thrust, which requires more fuel, which in turn means larger, heavier and more sophisticated craft. Our answer has been to slap secondary rockets onto a lifter, and when those don't do the trick, we add secondaries to the secondaries. More components means more potential points of failure, and I don't need to remind anyone the human price we've already paid for failure.

"Maybe we could change public perception on atomic rockets, but I wouldn't bet on it. That only leaves one possible direction: a more energetic fuel source with a higher thrust to weight ratio."

The image changed again, now displaying a dense scattering of rocks against a field of stars. One rock was eerily out of place. It was a long cigar-shaped object with a strange black sheen and ripples along its length. "Gentlemen, I believe I have that fuel source. For the past year, my team has been investigating an anomaly we discovered in the Themis family of asteroids, which we've labeled Zebra-One. We couldn't figure out what Zebra-One was made of, but when we brought Copernicus online, we made a very interesting breakthrough. My associate, the esteemed Dr. Rao, has determined that Zebra-One is in fact a solid mass of meta-stable metallic hydrogen... more than ten kilometers long, most likely separated from Jupiter by a prehistoric impact event.

"By conservative estimates, the thrust provided by metallic hydrogen would be more than three times greater than that of our current liquid fuel. This would not only answer our problems in constructing the elevator, but also provide a platform for exploring the rest of our solar system. And it's just floating out there, ours for the taking."

Marcus had struck a chord and he knew it. The entire committee was so deep in thought that he worried some might have slipped into comas.

It was more than a minute before Chandra spoke again. "I assume you've come with a plan today, Doctor Donovan?"

Marcus always had a plan. He clicked his remote, and now the screen showed a shimmering metal space ship in orbital dry-dock. Its shape was blocky and strictly utilitarian, the surface bristling with dishes and antennae. "I have, Chief Administrator. With the committee's approval, I'd like to repurpose the
Shackleton Exploratory Vessel,
which like most current projects is over budget and behind schedule. My team is prepared to take up residence on board and finish construction, after which we'll set course for Zebra-One and conduct initial survey and mining operations. We estimate the Shackleton should be capable of towing at least ten thousand tons of cargo back to Earth orbit."

"And what of the Shackleton's mission to the Galilean moons?"

Marcus turned off the projector, and the room's lights came back on. "Postponed, sir. I'm sure everyone here would agree that the space elevator should be our first and only priority. The Galilean moons can wait until after mining efforts are fully under way."

"Well... You've made a very compelling proposal, Dr. Donovan, and we thank you for coming today. The committee will deliberate and contact you with a decision."

With nothing left to say, Marcus dipped his head and left the room. He was glad to be out; the silence inside was heavy, and he had no idea which way things would swing. He just had to believe he'd done his best, and trust that his offer was too sweet to pass up. He also prayed that his reputation was enough to cement his place on the ship, otherwise there'd be hell to pay. Of course, there was going to be hell to pay anyway.

As he stepped onto the Great Conveyor Belt of Doom, he began to feel a mild twinge of regret. He might not have been the most principled person on Earth, but this exercise amounted to deception on a scale he never imagined. There were billions of credits riding on his manufactured data, and the sudden weight on his conscience was immense.

His only relief came when he thought of the hoodoo math that supposedly proved that humans were alone in the universe. A dangerous dogma had risen from that math, and with any luck, he'd soon have the physical evidence necessary to bury it once and for all.

Marcus Donovan's con worked. The Committee agreed to his plan less than a week later (3.3 picoseconds in bureaucratic time), and the Gypsies left on the first shuttle out.

They spent the next two months finishing and reconfiguring the 170 meter long Shackleton Explorer. The probes designed for Io, Europa, Ganymede, and Callisto were removed and put in storage for some future Jupiter expedition, along with the bulky orbital scanning array, while seven modular cargo containers and a state-of-the-art extra-vehicular mission pod were installed in their place. The cargo holds were packed full of mining equipment and explosives which would have no use on the mission, but Marcus couldn't figure out a way to ditch them without raising uncomfortable questions.

The Shackleton had lost its planetary scanning equipment, but still retained a substantial suite of sensors. The countless forward facing antennae made it look like a harpoon designed to take down impossibly large whales. It also featured a pair of opposed habitation pods that jutted out from the main hull on their own stalks, which were designed to rotate around the central axis and supply the crew with more than half Earth gravity during the long voyage. What the Shackleton lacked in amenities, she made up for in advanced equipment. Mostly, anyway.

The inside of the Shackleton Explorer was a perfect match for her outside, being both functional and inhumanly spartan. No plush seating, no Corinthian leather; only the bare essentials, and in some places slightly less.

Overall, Marcus couldn't shake the idea that he'd be hurtling through space in a tin-can lashed haphazardly to a nuclear reactor. He and his crew were about to become real space cowboys, riding out across the wild frontier.

Like the ship, Donovan's Gypsies were also reorganized. Most of his research staff made the transition: Sarah Park stayed on as sensor operator, and Mason Shen on communications, while Nils Jansen had no interest in leaving Earth orbit and found posting elsewhere. The grizzled and stoic Hector Pacheco continued as crew chief, but his work crews were entirely purpose built, so the hands that assembled the ship were replaced with professional low-g miners before launch.

None of the Gypsies were qualified to operate a nuclear powered exploratory vessel, so it was necessary to commingle their ranks with the crew originally headed to Jupiter. Marcus was put in charge of the mission, but Commander Alex Faulkland remained in charge of ship's operations. Faulkland's team would be responsible for navigation, maneuvering, and the day-to-day maintenance of the nuclear plant, while Donovan's people would conduct the survey and mining.

For the first time in his career, Marcus wished the Foundation had a rigid rank structure with a clear chain of command. The current arrangement was too ambiguous for his liking, and he had no clue who would prevail if (or more likely
when
) a disagreement came about.

The original mission would have been the most distant manned mission in history, and the change left some bruised egos among Faulkland's crew. Marcus didn't harbor any illusions about who they'd side with, and he simply had to hope they were all professionals who could adapt to sudden changes in plans... because the one thing he knew for sure was that sudden changes were on their way.

The rest of The Shackleton's bunks were filled with Rao's research team, which included Dr. Juliette St. Martin, a former leading theoretical exobiologist who returned to medicine when the political climate got stormy, and Professor Harris Caldwell, who was brought on as a geologist officially, and as an archaeologist somewhat less officially.

With the ship completed and its crew assembled, The Shackleton Expedition left Earth orbit with little more fanfare than a "Good luck" from Bangalore, and then embarked on a wandering five month trek. Thrusters engaged and the Earth slowly shrank away until nothing remained around the ship but the Sun and pin-prick stars. Weeks and sometimes months stretched out between the short thrusts that transferred the ship from one orbital trajectory to the next, during which time, the crew's only challenge was to fight boredom.

The battle was fierce, but there were thankfully no casualties.

Then, after watching the same movies over and over until every line was memorized, after countless card games and late shifts making small talk, a couple hundred long days after Marcus' plan was approved, they finally neared the fringes of the Themis family of asteroids.

Marcus and Commander Faulkland were in a dining hall that stretched the definition of
hall.
It was a tight compartment just a smidgen bigger than any other on the ship. The men were seated on either side of a metal table, where they were sipping reconstituted sludge from small plastic sacks. It was supposed to be coffee but the resemblance was faint, yet Marcus had come to really enjoy that sludge. He supposed it was an acquired taste.

He nudged the deck of magnetized playing cards on the table, which had been shuffled but otherwise ignored for hours, and Commander Faulkland waved him off.

"Couldn't focus on a game right now," Faulkland said.

That was the last thing Marcus expected to hear from the greying and hard-faced commander. "With the stories you tell, I figured you could play a hand of poker with your pants doused in burning napalm."

Faulkland chuckled and took a slurp of his black sludge. "It's not the mission. I've got a weird feeling... Something isn't right."