Pillar to the Sky (38 page)

He entered it headfirst, disoriented for a moment, confused as to what was up, down, or sideways. During the three-day climb he was the first human to experience something absolutely unique: the slow dropping away of the effect of earth’s gravity. It was not the sudden mind- and inner-ear-blowing experience of sitting on a launch pad at one gravity, then two minutes later being slammed back into your seat at anywhere from two to five g’s, then at engine burnout on achieving orbit feeling the false sensation of zero g, which was actually an illusion created by literally “falling” around the curvature of the earth.

At five hundred miles up he wondered if he was noticing the difference because at that altitude the force exerted by the gravity of the earth was one-tenth less than on the surface of his home world. The effect of the earth’s gravity actually did radiate out to near infinity, as it did with all bodies, but the farther he climbed from the center of the earth, it did lessen. At the same time the angular momentum of the tower gradually started to increase the effect of falling around the curvature of the earth, even while remaining stationary directly above the islands of Kiribati. At 2,000 miles up it actually was noticeably different, and the sensation was delightful.

Of course, the effect of earth’s gravity extended far past geosynch, otherwise how else would the moon remain in orbit and not instead just go flying off? For that matter the moon’s gravity did have an impact on the surface of the earth, or else there would be no tides to speak of except from that of the sun. It came down to the whole complex formula of mass of the object in inverse proportion to its distance. The moon’s gravitation influence was something they had to factor into the tower design as well. The moon was but a minute fraction of the mass of the sun, but it was almost five hundred times closer.

So as he continued up the tower, the rotation of the earth, imparted to the tower, was giving him more and more angular motion relative to the surface, thus imparting the dynamics of being in orbit, while distance itself lessened the actual “feel” of gravity.

To keep his mind occupied while not listening to his favorite music by Constance Demby, Debussy, and from his early youth some Emerson, Lake & Palmer, he tried to run through the mental calculations and formulas regarding the “force” of gravity at any particular height, the incredibly complex formulas he and Eva had struggled through when it came to the stress, tension, and compression loads on the tower at any given point. To his dismay, he found at times he had to shut his thoughts down, turn up the volume on the music, and just stare out the window and try not to think about what he was losing more and more with each passing day. But at least, in these few blessed days, how much more he had gained. The first human to actually ride a tower to the stars! What would Alexander, Caesar, da Vinci, and Newton have given for these precious moments? He had laughed at that thought, the legend of Newton playing around with apples, perhaps trying to drop one in the confines of the pod and then rattling off a calculation.

Now free of the pod, jackknifing up to follow Singh’s lead, turning about as he did so, his inner ear started to send out a major distress signal to his stomach; but seeing that one of the crew was holding a handycam unit, filming his entry, he forced a smile and an exclamation of delight. Once clear of the hatch, the other crew member went down the hatch and into the pod to start off-loading Gary’s gear, and a shout of delight echoed up that someone had thought to pack some southern barbecue sandwiches, New York–style pizzas, and some “damn strange curry dish,” the woman holding the camera shouting that the sandwiches were hers and then calling out thanks to whoever it was on the ground who had thought to order from Phil’s Bar-B-Que Pit from her hometown in North Carolina. Franklin had made sure that the favorites of all three were on board the pod. It had been found long ago that food could become a major obsession for those on long-term missions into space …

Singh did a half somersault and steadied herself at what appeared to be “right-side up” beside Gary.

“Tower Control,
Station One
. As you can see, we have Dr. Gary Morgan, one of the original designers of this project, safely aboard. And our thanks for the treats sent along. We’ll have a regular feast tonight.”

The mention of the food did not help Gary. He forced a weak grin for the camera, Singh giving him a sidelong glance.

“We’re signing off for now,” she said a bit hurriedly. “It’s been a long journey up for the good doctor. We have to get back to work stowing the pod and hooking on a new spinner, but will be back online later. Tower Control,
Station One
off the air.”

The young woman behind the camera nodded and shut it off, and a second later Singh was forcing a sickness bag into Gary’s trembling hands and in an almost motherly fashion holding him while what little was in his stomach let go.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” she said soothingly. “You’ve been cooped up for three days in that pod. Your inner ear goes crazy when you are suddenly in an open room out of it; there’s no feeling of gravity to orient you when you are floating around like this.”

She took the bag from him, sealing it and stuffing it into a convenient disposal bin.

He gasped out a thanks.

“Afraid I was about to vomit in front of the entire world,” he said.

The girl behind the camera laughed.

“I did, but fortunately our friends on the ground have a five-second delay loop on all broadcasts, so they cut that part out. But they played it back up to me for laughs as part of some fake broadcast.”

Gary, on Singh’s advice, took a few deep breaths and settled into what was an actual chair with a small table in front of it, and she floated into the chair on the other side.

“Let me get you oriented, sir. It’ll help you settle down.”

“Miss Singh, it’s ‘Gary,’ please.”

She smiled and extended her hand again.

“All right, then, Gary, Selena here, and our friend behind the camera is Jenna Philips, a good southern girl who has been complaining for weeks about a craving for a barbecue sandwich from some joint in her hometown. Kevin Malady is the gentleman cleaning out the pod at the moment and preparing it for undocking and stowage. We call him Conan; you’ll see why once he comes back up.”

As Kevin stuck his head back through the hatch and floated some of the provisions off to Jenna, Gary looked at him with open admiration. He was the astronaut who had kept his head and saved Singh’s life. When this work crew was detailed to go, it was a given that Singh would lead it, and she had insisted that though Kevin was outside the rotation schedule, to hell with schedules: if he did not go, she didn’t go. Some had whispered that there was “something going on” between the two, but that was not the case at all. Singh, all professionalism, had remained aloof from emotional attachments; it was just that she knew Kevin was not just a darn good medic, he was without a doubt the best mechanical engineer in the lineup for this project.

“Stomach OK?” Singh asked gently.

“For the moment I think so.”

She reached into a pocket on her coverall sleeve, took out a small pill container, and handed it to him.

“Ginger root. Take two”—she paused—“as long as that’s OK with your other medications.”

He nodded as he swallowed the pills.

“Just keep your eyes focused on me and imagine that we are sitting down at a kitchen table: down is toward your feet and up is over your head. The station is designed to create that illusion, and it works.”

He did as suggested and found that it actually did work, recalling that the old space station was designed that way, with an illusion of up and down, and it was considered very bad etiquette and even an indicator that someone was getting a bit “spacey” if they started floating about in opposition to everyone else. The human brain was wired to seek out points of spatial orientation and even read facial expressions “right-side up.” If someone floats upside down or sideways in relation to you, the nuances of expression become mixed and even disquieting if the person who is “spacey” remains that way for too long. There were old stories about life aboard the now long-gone Soviet space station
Mir
, where one of the cosmonauts had insisted that his version of right-side up was the rule and the others on the crew came close to sedating and tying him up. He was finally rotated back down to earth.

“I have to ask this first, sir”—she smiled—“I mean Gary. I’m cross-trained as the medical tech for the crew and will have to give you a full check over as soon as possible. Any major symptoms troubling you? And, Gary, you don’t have to give me any bull for answers: you can’t be grounded now.”

She smiled.

“Dr. Bock said he figured you were lying through your teeth to him, so I’m to get the straight line on how you are feeling.”

He nodded and sighed, and then was a bit surprised that the simple gesture of nodding, in the weightless environment, actually caused his entire body to start to move back and forth and up from his “seat” so that he had to grab hold of the table with trembling hands to steady himself.

He ran down the list: the usual tremors, some cramping, which he attributed more than anything else to the confinement in the pod for three and a half days, a bit of dizziness, which Singh assured him was just his adjusting to the open space of their station … She extended a warm hand to check his pulse; took out a pocket flashlight and shined it in his eyes, causing him to wince, and asked him to track the light as she moved it back and forth; took an oxygenation meter and pressure cuff out, clipped the meter to a fingertip, the cuff to his lower forearm, and after a moment smiled.

“Ninety-eight percent pulse of 77, blood pressure 125 over 73. That’s good, darn good. I’ll do the rest later after you’ve had time to get oriented and relaxed.

“Now, without you moving around, let me give you a bit of a tour of our palace in the sky,” Jenna laughed, a comment floating up from the pod from Kevin that was not as polite.

“This was lofted up as an empty third stage instead of being a cargo unit. It’s twenty-two feet in diameter and forty-four feet long. It’s divided down its length by a partition, giving us two floors. You’ll notice we have our living quarters all oriented down toward the floor, which we just call the ‘ground floor.’ Kitchen area here, bathroom, and even a rather ingenious shower stall which you’ll get a kick out of twenty feet farther aft. Kevin will teach you how to use all of that.”

“He sure as hell needs one,” Kevin called up from below. “Man, this pod stinks!”

“Ignore him,” Jenna whispered, floating down to “sit” next to Selena. “Best mechanical tech head on this crew but a bit short on breeding.”

“I heard that!”

The two women laughed.

“New York versus North Carolina between these two,” Selena said with a fake sigh. “I thought you Americans had settled your sectional differences 150 years ago.

“Anyhow. Your bunk and private area is over there.” She pointed to the far end of the station. “We’ll get your gear moved in there. You’ll find that sleeping might come hard the first day or so: you’ll jolt awake feeling like you are falling, but believe me, after a few days you’ll sleep like a baby. Exercise area is across from your bunk. I’ll run you through the routine. Two hours a day mandatory, and believe me, the computer will monitor that, and if you are one minute off, Bock will raise hell with both you and me. That was one of the conditions for you being up here.”

Now there was a bit of a command authority in her voice, and he nodded in reply, this time holding on to the edge of the table.

“We prefer to share our meals together, around this table. We rotate cooking duties; it’s all microwave and simple enough. As to other duties, our command and communications center is over there on the other side of the docking port you came through. I’ll run you through the ropes on that, even though I know you designed some of it. We operate on Kiribati rather than Zulu time: it coordinates better with the folks on the ground. You have two duty shifts of three hours each a day. Mainly we are monitoring the spinners deployed from up here, though all of us are on duty when a supply ship is docking and we off-load supplies. The three of us are EVA qualified; you’ll be trained as our backup. Usually only two of us are out when we are hooking on a new spinner, though you and Jenna will be suited up as well.

“Upper deck is all our life support systems, storage, and supplies. Primary docking port for the supply runs is upstairs. The lower docking port you just came through was designed for the pod and also direct access to the Pillar, which we are hooked to. Our ascent and return vehicle is docked topside as well as aft. If we get a solar storm or CME alert, you are to don your EVA suit and do so fast; we retreat to our craft and sit it out.

“So far, as you know, we’ve only had one brief alert and had to hole up for six hours, but if we get an alert you move fast, sir. And the same stands true for a hull puncture. If it hits the upper level, we seal the hatch, don EVA, pump the air out here, then go up to see what can be done.”

She paused for a moment.

“If it hits this lower chamber, you are to head for the upper level.”

Again a pause.

“If the rest of us do not make it, you are to seal the hatch, don the reserve EVA suit there, get in the escape vehicle, and wait for orders from the ground.”

Another pause, voice firm, definitely that of someone in command.

“And, sir, if you do not make it to the hatch in time, I must tell you: whoever does make it up there is under orders to seal the hatch. I am telling you that straight out now and know that you understand what I mean.”

“The survival of at least one of us comes first,” he said softly.

“Exactly.”

“I understand.”

“I hold the record for survival while depressurizing.” She paused, actually smiling, looking over and nodding at Kevin, who didn’t even return the gesture, just continued with his work. “They tell you to exhale sharply, if you try to hold the air in, you rupture your lungs. I did as trained and then there was just nothing, a strange drifting-away sensation because the pressure cuff above my knee did not get a firm lock and the rest of my suit started to drain out until Kevin slapped that emergency patch on and my suit repressurized. If we face an emergency depressurization we’ll try to pull you through but if worst comes to worst and instead you are the only one to make it to the upper level you seal the hatch, get into the command module, and await orders from down below. Do you understand me, sir?”