Saving proxima, p.15
Saving Proxima, page 15
“You’d think so, but there are two safeguards against that,” Cindy said while tapping at her datapad. She pulled up a three-dimensional schematic and projected it onto the screen in the captain’s office. “See, here is the TCU. The first safeguard is this box. It’s a combination of tungsten, silicone, bismuth, lead, and iron sintered as a ceramic. This is the best, most modern gamma ray shield known to man, but still some gamma rays get through it from time to time. So, note here how there is a one-centimeter polycarbonate cube with these chips connected on either side of the cube. These are chip-based atomic clocks and you have one on top and bottom for the y-axis, front and back for the z-axis, and either side for the x-axis. Roy, do you want to take it from here?”
“You were doing great, Cindy. But, uh, sure.” He cleared his throat a bit. “The clocks on the same axis are synchronized with each other and if there is a spurious event in one x clock, for example say the one on the left that the one on the right doesn’t see, then that means the gamma came from outside the clock and is likewise thrown out. The active area of each of the chip clocks is about a millimeter square. The odds of a gamma from space coming through this millimeter-square detector on this side and then traveling perfectly in line with the other is excruciatingly small.”
“Okay, I understand that. You’re talking about coincidence detection, right?” Crosby asked.
“Right again, Captain.” Roy smiled at him while clapping his hands proudly. “But our saboteur was smart. He placed a fairly significant little gamma ray source right on top of one detector on each axis. Many times the gamma rays passed through both gamma detectors on the same axis creating a false time pulse. But not so many as to be obvious.”
“Clever SOB, whoever did this,” Cindy agreed with Roy. “And, as you can guess by now, the bottom line is devastatingly simple. When the clocks get screwed up, Captain, we have no idea what time the sensors made a measurement, or when our next data input was correlated, or even how long between calculations has passed. Early on the errors are small, but after tens of thousands of runs the big errors start to show up.”
“How hard was this to do? I mean, did they need to be a PhD in interstellar navigation systems, atomic clocks, and such? Or could a clever person with some training do it?”
“Captain, that is not a part of the system that is just sticking out in the open for everyone to put their fingers on. At least four bolts on the outer instrument rack cover have to be removed, a handful of wiring harnesses unsnapped, and then the shielding plates have to be popped loose with a specific little tool in order to get access to this circuit board. There is no doubt that this was sabotage. But, if they had the design drawings and some time to practice, it could be done by a tech-savvy person in short order.” Roy exhaled. “I put it all back together and had Cindy time me. I needed eleven minutes and thirty-one seconds to install the buttons and then close the PINS back up. I might could do it faster with practice.”
“Somebody that knew what they were doing had access to the PINS for some period of time longer than that, maybe,” Cindy agreed. “But, with all the visitors coming and going for the past few months, access to the PINS for an hour or two without being noticed might have been possible. I don’t think we prepared for this kind of sabotage while in space dock around the Moon.”
“There was security, but not extremely tight security. It takes a bit of resources to afford a trip to the Moon, then to the orbiting shipyard, and then atop that to get on board a ship without being noticed. But in the last months of final prep there were hundreds of people coming and going.” Captain Crosby shook his head in wonder. “While we know who has been on this ship, we might never figure out specifically who did this. We’ll start an investigation.” Captain Crosby leaned back, nodding his head approvingly. “Great work, you two. So, am I to assume that the PINS is functional now?”
“Yes sir,” Cindy answered. “There is no reason to scuttle the mission because of the PINS, Captain.”
“I’ll have to ask Mission Control about that. They’re still in charge until we’re out of the system,” Crosby replied.
“While I am enjoying my stay and all, Captain, if you don’t mind, I’ll be ready to get off this thing as soon as possible,” Roy said eagerly while trying his best to stifle a yawn.
“The Space Force cruiser from the US is on its way. I will ask the ship to be here first thing in the morning. It will stay long enough for a security detail to sweep the ship for other surprises. We need to think about what that might be. They are set to disembark no later than fifteen hundred ship normal tomorrow afternoon. Until then, Dr. Burbank, get yourself something to eat, maybe get cleaned up, and get some rest.”
“Sure thing.” Roy stood as the captain did, holding out a hand.
“Thank you, Roy.” Crosby shook his hand. “I mean it. You probably just saved the mission and our lives. Great work. I wish you could come along with us.”
“You’re welcome, Captain, but there is no chance of that. I’m perfectly happy right here in the good ol’ Sol system. And, if it’s not too much of a burden, would you mind telling my wife about the ‘saving the mission’ part?” He laughed.
“I’d be happy to!” Crosby grinned back at him. “And I’m sure your bosses wouldn’t mind hearing it from me either.”
“Couldn’t hurt.”
“I’ll see that Artur writes up some sort of commendation or whatever the protocol is for a non-crew member. Get some rest.” Crosby waited for Roy to get to the door. “CHENG, would you mind staying with me for a few more minutes? I’d like to get your take on something.”
“Yes, Captain.” Cindy slapped Roy on the shoulder as he passed her at the door. “No rest for the wicked.”
* * *
Roy sleepily wandered back toward his quarters hoping he’d make it there before he fell asleep while walking. Well, he didn’t really consider it walking. The gee load was less than one fifth that of Earth gravity and it made walking more of a shuffle while trying to maintain your balance. The magnetic shoes helped with that a little. After several minutes of walking down the corridor, Roy realized that he must have taken a wrong turn because he was somewhere he hadn’t yet been on the ship. There were only really three main corridors through the ship. He must have gotten on the wrong one somehow when he climbed down the stairwell from the captain’s quarters.
He looked about, trying to get his bearings, but he was so tired he couldn’t think straight. He shook his head, which then almost threw him off his feet. The nearest hatch was in front of him, opening toward what he thought was in the ship’s inward direction. He turned there and was shocked at how confused his sense of direction must have been.
The hatch had clearly led him to an outer part of the ship. He was turned around a complete one hundred eighty degrees. He knew he was near the ship’s exterior from the view through the windows in the large, long room. He could see one of the PINS gamma ray telescopes looming just outside the window to the aft of where he was. He was totally lost.
The room wasn’t very deep, only five to seven meters or so. But it stretched out along the ship’s travel axis in tens of meters both fore and aft. Along the exterior wall were rows and rows of dull gray metamaterial cylinders, each with multiple tubes and cables connecting them to various instrument panels on the bulkhead. Roy shuffled closer to the cylinder closest to him and suddenly realized where he was.
“Nigel?” he said to his data assistant sleepily. “Am I in the cryobed chamber?”
“Yes, Roy, you are. Can I help you?” the AI tattooed on his wrist asked him in a thick Scottish accent.
“Yes, give me a direction arrow back to my quarters, please. Somehow, I got lost.”
“Right away, Roy.”
A green arrow appeared in his lenses, showing him which direction to go in order to reach his quarters. He looked and realized the arrow was pointing directly through a bulkhead. That was no good.
“Nigel, I need actual directions not just a direction,” Roy said as he fingered the screen on the cryobed he was standing next to.
“Aye, here you go, Roy.”
“Great, thanks.” He read the name on the screen to himself. “Thomas Pinkersly, Geneticist.”
“Are ya okay, auld boy?” Nigel asked him.
“Just tired. Thanks for the map.” Roy checked the map and backtracked it. He groaned once he realized where he’d made his wrong turn. He must have been completely sleepwalking to have missed his corridor. There were only three doors! “I am spent.”
“Roy? Your wife has sent you several messages that just came in off the latest download. You want to hear them?” Nigel asked.
“Later. If I listen now, I will forget what she says. I don’t know how she does it,” he said.
“She’s a lot younger than you, auld boy!” Nigel pointed out.
“Shut it, Nigel. How about some traveling music?” Roy shuffled himself out of the cryobay and down the corridor as very old classic rock sounded in his ears. It was a ballad about sailing by a famous Scottish rock star from, literally, a century past.
CHAPTER 19
August 25, 2089
“The absolute out-the-door time, Captain Jacobs, is August 27 at thirteen thirty-three ship normal time. If you are not undocked and engine engaged at max speed you will not get to the minimum safe distance zone before we have to ignite the Samara Drive at full power.” Captain Crosby led the US Space Force captain down a corridor of the Samaritan. To Jacobs, the ship looked pretty much like any other large ship, just newer. The corridors were mostly spacecraft aluminum-titanium alloys with carbon composites here and there and the occasional dull white multilayer insulation material covering cabling and whatnot.
“Understood, Captain Crosby, but you also need to realize that if we don’t do a sweep of this ship and clear it, the UN Security Council is never going to clear you to depart.” Captain Alan Jacobs of the Northcutt watched the ship’s captain closely for any reaction but got little. Jacobs had been in the Space Force for over twenty years and had sort of wished they’d have picked a military ship to go on the first mission to interstellar space. That was a job he would have certainly signed up for. He made a very subtle glance over his shoulder at the Quick Reaction Force, or QRF, with him as well as a few chief warrant officers who were experts in ship espionage and sabotage. If anybody could find something, then it would be his team.
“Ah, here we are,” Crosby said as he cycled the hatch to the engine room. “We considered adding security to the doors here but we know everyone on board and decided against it.” Captain Crosby told the door to open on his authority and the voice and face recognition system cleared him.
“Hmm, I guess, but do you really know them?” Alan asked. “I can’t imagine what the saboteur’s motive might be, but that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to make sure he, she, or they didn’t hit you in more than one place.”
“Captain Jacobs, I don’t think there’s anyone on this ship that wants to get lost in space and die. The saboteur must have been a visitor that has long since left us.” Crosby motioned him and his team through the hatch and waited for them to step through. The way he flexed as he pulled the hinged white metal door closed behind them gave Jacobs the impression that the engine room door was pretty hefty. That made sense to Jacobs. He knew there was a fusion reactor somewhere within the room that could potentially spew out fissile materials and the doors were likely lined with heavy metamaterials for shielding. That would certainly help if there were a leak, but not if there were a total containment breach. Not much would help in a case like that.
“Wow! Very nice, Captain.” Jacobs whistled as he took in the view.
“I am glad you approve.”
The room was about fifteen meters on a side—cubic. In the center of the room was a solid-looking metal box about three meters on a side. Large, meter or so in diameter metal tubes entered into the cube on each of its faces with a large flange mooring each tube in place. Those tubes respectively led back through the bulkheads on either side of the room. Around each of the large metal tubes was a cylinder supported by struts between the outside of the main tube and the inside of the outer tube. The outer tubes had hundreds of thousands of turns of copper wiring around them with large high-voltage cables connecting them at each end. The cables snaked away in multiple directions to various control panels about the room. Captain Jacobs had seen Samara Drive engines before. Hell, he had one in his ship, but not like this one. To date, this was the most efficient Samara Drive built, at least until the second interstellar ship being built at the lunar shipyard was completed and came online.
Jacobs looked about the room like a kid in a toy store. He had studied propulsion as his main course of study at the Space Force Academy. During his first tour as a second lieutenant, he was a main propulsion engineer, but back then the engine rooms were mostly either nuclear thermal rockets or some form of electric rockets powered by fission reactors. The Samara Drive was something different entirely. He’d read everything there was to know about them as they were the main types of propulsion on all the Space Force vessels these days. He took a breath and turned back to Crosby, who was motioning toward others in the room.
“This is my chief engineer, Dr. Cindy Mastrano, my XO, Artur Clemons, our political officer, Ambassador Charles Jesus, our head of security, Mike Rialto, and our two ship techs: chief techs Xi Lin and Pankish Patel.”
“It is nice to meet you all,” Jacobs nodded. “I’m Captain Alan Jacobs, of the U.S. Space Force cruiser Northcutt. This is my Quick Response Force and forensics team. We are here to help you go through every millimeter of this ship before you ramp the Samara Drive up for interstellar levels. We hope to be able to give her a clean bill of health within the next ten to twelve hours. But make no mistake, we’re here to make sure we aren’t sending you brave folks off on a suicide mission to be lost in space beyond reach of any help from home.”
“Captain Jacobs, when are you planning to leave?” one of the techs asked.
“Hopefully, by later tonight.” Jacobs turned and nodded to his crew to start looking around. “However, we actually have a window, according to astrogation and Captain Crosby, that will close on us twenty-seven August at thirteen thirty-three ship normal. Either we are gone by then, the mission gets cancelled barring further investigations, or we are stuck along for the ride.”
“Where would you like us to start, Captain Jacobs?” Cindy Mastrano, the CHENG, asked him.
“Why don’t we start with you showing us exactly where the sabotage was.” Jacobs paused and went through the mission objectives in his head. “I am supposed to pick up a Dr. Burbank who was brought here as an expert?”
“Yes,” Crosby acknowledged. “He put in way too many hours without sleep. I ordered him to get some rest. He’s in his guest quarters.”
“Understood. CHENG?” Jacobs nodded to the engineer.
“Very well. This way.” The engineer motioned him toward a hatch on the starboard wall.
“Hold on just a sec, Captain,” the political officer interrupted.
“Ambassador Jesus?”
“Call me Charles,” the man said casually. “I was thinking you might want part of your team to question some of the crew, right?”
“Our first order is to do a technical forensics sweep of the ship. Interrogation really is not why this team is here. I suspect, and I think so does your captain, that whoever did this is already off the ship,” Jacobs replied. “Do you think otherwise, Ambassador?”
“Oh no, not at all. But I was going to offer to take you around and introduce you to the crew if that is what you needed,” Charles explained. “Just to, well, keep the panic and rumor mill to a minimum.”
“Understood. And we anticipated that.” Jacobs reached into a sleeve pocket and pulled out a data card. “I’d like you to contact Mr. Ray Gaines on my ship. He was sent here by the State Department and will discuss any details on the questioning of the crew. Introducing him was next on my agenda. State doesn’t want any international friction from this.”
“Thank you, Captain. I’ll get right to that.” Charles took the data card and looked at it closely.
“Captain Jacobs,” Crosby interrupted.
“Yes?”
“If you have things under control here, I have lots to be doing to keep our mission moving forward. If you need me, Artur can find me.” Crosby turned back toward the exit. “Good hunting.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
CHAPTER 20
August 25, 2089
The Space Force cruiser Northcutt had been docked to the Samaritan for several hours. Ray looked out the porthole of the guest quarters he’d acquired before the cruiser had left orbit at Mars. The ship looked bigger to him now than it did with the Moon hanging behind it. The large interstellar ship stretched beyond the limits of the porthole in all directions. Ray pulled the diplomatic pouch from his things and cycled the combination lock and the thumb-print scanner. The case clicked and he slid it open carefully.
He couldn’t help but smile while shuffling through the various security badges, ID data cards, and other “tools of the trade” within it. He picked up one digital badge card with his picture on it that stated he was Raymond Simms from the Space Press Corps. He touched the back of the badge with his thumb and it shimmered slightly, giving off a digital blue and red flash. The card reconfigured into a blank white card with no information displayed on it.
“Mimi,” he whispered to his AI data assistant. “Activate Ray Gaines ID.”
“Identification for State Department Attaché Ray Gaines is activated,” a soft female voice replied. The data card in his hand shimmered and showed an image of him in a blue suit and red tie wearing black horn-rimmed glasses.
“Ah yes,” he said to himself. “The glasses. Almost forgot.”
Ray rummaged through the things in the case until he found a small case of glasses. He mused at them. Nobody actually needed glasses for eyesight impairments any longer. Implants and various treatments had solved all of those problems. But many people wore glasses as interfaces, heads-up displays, and connectivity. Ray used these glasses for all of those, but mainly they made him look like a different person. He had contact lenses for other identity purposes.
