Spaceport West (2 page)

VOSTOCHNY COSMODROME

Vostochny Cosmodrome is a Russian Space facility based in Outer Manchuria; territory which previously belonged to China and which is still disputed by some.

It is the largest spaceport in the world but due to its remote location and poor transport links, has only operated at a fraction of its capacity since construction was completed in 2018.

Some see this as an example of Russian centralist control riding roughshod over more rational, democratically devolved decision making. Others would say,
au contraire
, it actually demonstrates the effectiveness of strong leadership and a desire to develop the regional economy.

Yet others have sought, albeit facetiously, to draw comparisons between Outer Manchuria and Cornwall, the location of
Spaceport West
. For example, local speciality foods in both regions may be likened, or so they claim, to chewing the bark from a Jujube tree. This, however, is grossly unfair, because in fact Jujube tree bark makes quite a nice palette cleanser, especially between Outer Manchurian herring courses.

UK Guide to Space, 2025 Edition

“Prime Minister, if I could bring us back to the discussion at hand,” interjected the Foreign Secretary, Charlie English.

Just then Larry brushed past Ralph’s leg, who bent down to stroke him but the cat hissed and ran off.

“Ha, puss, poor old fellow! Still recovering from that wound inflicted at the G50 summit, aren’t you? Can you believe Jenpeng actually threw a fork at him?”

The Cabinet were looking increasingly concerned at the PM’s unfocussed ramblings.

Toropov continued unabated, “And let us not forget the rehabilitation we provided as a gesture of goodwill after that unfortunate incident when you were visiting the Moon.”

Susan interrupted, “I’m not sure what you are referring to Commander. In any case, this meeting is over,” and she flicked off the vis screen. “The Prime Minister is clearly unwell. If you’ll excuse us gentlemen I am going to arrange a mediscan. Minnie, please escort the Prime Minister to his private quarters. I will join you there momentarily.”

Minnie offered Ralph her arm and guided him out of the room. His face had gone grey, and I don’t mean that tasteful grey you find in trendy apartments. Charlie waited until Ralph had left the room and turned to Susan.

“What’s going on Susan? Has Ralph had these episodes before?”

“Once or twice, since the election. I am a little bit concerned about him if I’m honest. Leave it with me, if the mediscan brings anything up, you’ll be the first to know. It’s probably just the stress of the campaign, and then all this bother with the Russians.”

“Susan, we all know who’s running the show here. Ralph has been slowly becoming more and more unpredictable. If you think he’s unfit for office, we would back you as a replacement.”

Susan glanced round the room. Most of the faces seemed to be encouraging. It would be so easy for her to take up their offer of a coup.

“No, I can’t do that to Ralph, not after everything he’s been through. We’ll speak later.” With that, she swept out of the room to contact the PM’s doctor.

The Foreign Secretary looked at his remaining colleagues. “Well I don’t know about the rest of you but I’ll need some pretty cast iron assurances that he’s fit for purpose. Our entire economic plan will be in tatters if public support for the Space investment programme falters.”

“With Ralph at the helm, that is looking increasingly likely. We need to keep an eye on him. And what’s this about an incident on the Moon, do you know anything about that?”

“No, there’s nothing in the official records about it,” said Charlie as he tapped into his vis terminal. “Toropov could be making it up but it is concerning. I agree that we need to monitor this carefully. Gentlemen.”

The Cabinet shuffled their papers together and filed out of the conference room.

As he was leaving, Charlie had a growing sense that he was missing some vital piece of information to do with Ralph. He really wasn’t sure Ralph was behaving the way he expected him to now he was PM. Susan was clearly growing in stature as befitted her role in government. One could trust Susan and give her one’s allegiance. On the other hand, one could happily give Ralph a slap and tell him to get a grip.

Tiggy was in her temporary accommodation suite at
Spaceport West
. All accommodation was temporary, but this didn’t bother anyone because it was so frightfully high tech. Every conceivable aspect of your quarters were customisable - decor, furniture, lighting. When on a tour of duty, all personal belongings were placed into automated storage units. On the astronaut’s return - if they ever did return - his or her belongings were delivered robotically to their new room, which reconfigured itself to the new occupant’s liking. Often you couldn’t tell it wasn’t the same room, unless you had received an upgrade to a larger suite or a better view.

As she tucked into her NutriLush Choco-Flakes, Tiggy was staring absent-mindedly out the window at the construction site many floors below her, when a notification pinged and a message glowed gently on the surface of the breakfast bar.

It read, “Tiggy, I promised I would show you round the new facility when we got Earth-side. Are you free this morning? Drop me a note and we can meet up. Dyson.”

Tiggy dismissed the message and finished her breakfast. Well, I’ve got nothing better to do, she thought to herself. I’ll humour the old boy. She tapped a reply on the bar where a keyboard had glowed into existence, seemingly aware of her intentions. “You’re on Commander. See you in the main concourse in 10.”

Ten minutes later Tiggy spotted Dyson lounging around next to the gigantic Solar Simulator.

“Impressive, isn’t it?”

“What exactly is it?” asked Tiggy, staring up at the immense glowing cloud, shaped like a flattened sphere.

“It’s a holographic image of the entire Solar System. It shows the location of each planet, dwarf planet, moon and spaceship. Apart from the secret military ones anyway.”

“There are so many, I had no idea!”

“Look, Earth is obvious as it has the biggest swarm of traces around it. The Moon is catching up though. Mars - over here - has a tiny number currently, but that will grow.”

Just then a loud beeping sound made Tiggy look round.

“I’m sorry madam, I didn’t see you there.” It was one of the new model androids. He was sleek and shiny. Metallic and not at all humanoid, which is how most people preferred them.

“You’ve got to look out for those Tiggy, I’m afraid they are still having a few problems with their collision avoidance algorithm. The previous models were more reliable, but you can’t stand in the way of progress.”

“Or androids so it would seem, if you want to avoid a nasty bruise to the shin.”

Around the vast concourse that formed the central hub of the spaceport, hundreds of androids could be seen scurrying around carrying construction materials, briefcases and what appeared to be cups of coffee from CostaBucks.

“Don’t humans do any of the work around here?” asked Tiggy.

“Well, yes, there are the construction foremen. And look - we have many immigrant workers from our Eastern Allies - can you see that team over there?”

“You mean the bored looking guys wearing orange jumpsuits? Why are they following the constructabots around?”

“They have to clear up the mess those guys make. Very efficient at building - not so good at tidying up after themselves.”

EASTERN ALLIES

Since the collapse of the European Project, the United Kingdom has had to look further east for economic, cultural and culinary partners. The Eastern Allies, a term which includes all the former Soviet states plus Russia itself, have proved to be invaluable, in particular with regards to Space.

Providing manpower, technological expertise and a plentiful supply of caviar, not to mention herring, Russia has set aside its ideological disagreements with the United Kingdom to become our most favoured nation, especially after the United States told us what they really think of our accents.

Some members of the British Establishment have expressed disquiet that such important parts of the economy such as land based infrastructure, nuclear power stations, and Space expansion are being developed with the close cooperation of nations which, not so long ago, were considered mortal enemies of the state, and distrust statements of friendship emanating from Moscow.

It is perhaps fortunate, therefore, that the British Establishment isn’t as well respected as it once was and has, in fact, been rendered largely irrelevant by changes to the Westminster System of Democracy, in particular the abolition of the secret veto the Headmaster of Eton College had for appointing Prime Ministers.

UK Guide to Space, 2025 Edition

A whooshing sound directly overheard caused the two of them to look up. The holographic display had zoomed in on Earth, centred on Cornwall, as a giant container vessel was taking off. A dotted line indicated its scheduled flightpath to the Moon base. Science Office Beauchamp was clearly becoming overwhelmed by the constant noise from the nearby runway, all the construction teams and myriad androids.

Dyson took Tiggy’s arm. “Let me show you some of the quieter areas. Come on!”

He lead her down one of the gleaming white corridors that reached out from the central hub like a gigantic bicycle wheel. Turning a corner, Dyson found a lift and placed his thumb over the security pad. The indicator turned red. Dyson tried again.

“Another teething issue?” said Tiggy, grinning.

“Excuse me sir, please can I scan your ident chip?” A beefy security guard had marched over as soon as the thumb print had failed for the first time. Sighing, Dyson lifted his arm and pulled back his sleeve so the guard could place a scanner against his wrist.

“Okay, everything seems to be in order,” he said, and punched the thumb scanner. The lift door slid open and Tiggy and Dyson stepped inside, the door closing with a satisfying swish.

“He wasn’t very friendly was he?”

“That's private security for you,” replied Dyson. “I preferred it when we had android guards. They had more personality.” He winked at Tiggy.

“Ah here we are, fancy a drink?” They had arrived at one of the many CostaBucks franchises dotted around the spaceport.

“Ooo, yes please. Can I have a caffeine free soya light cucumber and ginger smoothie?”

“Sure."

A couple of minutes later they were seated in a window booth overlooking the chaotic scene as the finishing touches were made to
Spaceport West
. Androids wandered around slightly aimlessly. A couple of foremen were arguing over a holographic blueprint for the pneumatic tube link that was running seriously behind schedule and over budget.

Dyson sipped his quad caffeine shot with vanilla-adrenaline syrup. “Tell me Tiggy, why did you enlist at the Academy? You’ve always struck me as a pretty down to earth kind of gal, no pun intended.”

“None taken. Oh I don't now, the usual. Meet handsome young pilots, see the Solar System, save the planet. Nothing too ambitious really.”

“Yeah, I hear that a lot. And how’s the reality living up to expectations? I mean, that business with the pesky Ruskies must have taken the shine off a little?”

“I thought that was quite exciting. didn’t you? Thing is, the ISS is all well and good, but I really can’t wait to step foot on the Moon and hopefully in the not too distant future, Mars.”

Dyson leant in closer and used a quieter voice. “Have you seen the nerds applying for the Mars Colony? Sheesh, they must be desperate! I am not convinced that place is going to have any future at all unless they can attract some slightly more
with it
personalities. Are you really sure you want to get involved in all that?”

“Well I’ve heard it’s a little crazy right now but it’s early days, right? Thing is - Mars, the opportunity to create a whole new society, a whole new
planet
, the possibilities are endless!”

“Yeah - you’ve got a whole bunch of endless hassles too. Can’t breath the air. In fact, there’s so little air, take your helmet off and your bodily fluids start boiling.”

“Think of the romance - Mars, an unspoilt wilderness, the freedom to create your own destiny…” Tiggy took a ladylike sip of her smoothie.

Dyson aggressively downed the remainder of his stimulant in a single gulp and slammed the mug on the table. “I just think you’ve gotta be
mad
to consider a life there. You realise most of the civilians will never see Earth again? They couldn’t afford it! It’s a one way ticket. End of story.”

They both stared out the window. Tiggy had the serene look of someone on the cusp of realising her dream. Dyson was sweating and fidgeting, tapping on the table with his fingertips. After a couple of minutes, he stood up.

“Well this has been lovely Tiggy, great to, er, you know share some background. I’m just off to play a little zero friction squash with a buddy of mine. I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Great, see you soon Commander. Thanks for making me feel so welcome here.”

Tiggy smiled sweetly and watched Hunter career out of the cafe. He urgently needs to work off some of those chemicals surging around his bloodstream, she thought.

In truth, Tiggy told herself assertively, she had learnt some important life lessons whilst being under Dyson’s command on her first couple of missions. At least two or three
really
important lessons. Exactly what they were wasn’t all that easy to put her finger on, but she felt sure she had.

One thing was sure however, if you wanted to sow division and sour the mood of a perfectly enjoyable dinner party, all you had to do was bring up the topic of the Mars Colony, this was bound to get people’s backs up.

Susan McKenzie settled down to the long car journey and leafed through her notes for this morning’s meeting. It will be good when the pneumatic tube link is up and running, she thought to herself, it would save so much time. Most senior ministers went everywhere by hoverplane, but that wasn’t an option for Susan, not with her acrophobia. Even by high speed autocar, it was going to take an hour and a half to get from London to Newquay. At least there wasn’t a real driver to distract her from her papers.

Ordinarily, of course, Susan preferred to attend meetings via vis screen from the comfort of her Westminster office. Today was special though - the first full session at
Spaceport West
of UK Space Command. Worth making an appearance in the flesh, she thought. Show willing, that sort of thing. Unbeknownst to Susan, this was an important part of what made her compelling to her colleagues - her in person persona. In advance of the meeting, it felt like a right royal hassle. Once she got going, Susan would be in her element.

The final few miles of the drive took even longer than anticipated. Thousands of autocars snaked noiselessly along the access motorway, their bumpers only separated by a couple of centimetres. Bored of reading, Susan finally broke the ice with her car.

“Er, hello Jimmy.”

“Good morning ma’am! How are you doing back there?”

“Fine, thank you. Looks busy up ahead - is it always this bad?”

“No, ma’am, I don’t recall it ever being as slow as this, although I have observed a general increase in traffic over the last few months on this stretch. I hear a very large number of people are visiting the spaceport, now it’s fully operational.”

“Yes that’s what I’ve just been reading about actually.” Susan couldn’t quite decide if talking to a disembodied voice that happened to be driving her car was an improvement over speaking with an android.

“Please can you let Captain Watkins know we will be running a little late for the meeting?”

“Absolutely ma’am, I’m sending him a message right now.” After no pause at all he continued, “His assistant informs me that the Captain was anticipating this and has in fact only recently got up. Right now he’s tucking into a rather delicious breakfast consisting of ultra realistic pork-free Cornish sausage…”

“Okay, thanks Jimmy, I think that’s probably enough information! Actually I didn’t manage to get anything to eat before we left London - is there anything in the car?”

“Sure is, ma’am - take a look in that microvend cabinet I’ve just opened for you.”

“Ah yes, thank you.”

Susan helped herself to a vegan Space pasty with carrot juice. Half an hour later, they finally made it to the VIP drop off zone. Susan thanked Jimmy, nodded at the security guard who had just scanned her face, and strolled in. She found a travel trolley and jumped aboard. A minute and a half later she was deposited outside the conference room, where Captain Watkins was waiting for her, having just been alerted to her arrival.

“Minister, a privilege to welcome you to our humble facility,” said the Captain, magnanimously opening his arms wide.

“Good morning Captain, I trust you are well?”

“As well as can be expected with all the visitors we keep getting,” he said, guiding Susan into the conference room. “But first things first, please take a seat. A coffee perhaps?”

“Oh, just a vitamin enriched sugar-free water please.”

Watkins clicked his fingers and an android jumped to attention and scuttled off to fetch their drinks.

“That was going to be my first question actually Captain. Why do you think things are getting so overcrowded - we didn’t underestimate the throughput requirements, surely?”

“Truthfully? It comes down to the tourists. Already launches are occurring at a rate of at least one an hour. For your average planet hugger, that’s some spectacle - they can’t resist coming to take a look!”

“Quite, and who can blame them? So, the plan is, wait and see if the tourists calm down a bit once the novelty wears off?”

“Yep, that’s the plan.”

“Good, now beyond that, we hear there’s rather a lot of trouble at check-in, and that can’t be down to visitors can it? This pertains to boarding pass holders, right?”

“Quite right Minister. We’ve had to introduce quite a lot of security measures. So, for example, not only do you have to remove your shoes and socks, but you now need to scan all your fingers and toes individually.”

“Is that really necessary Captain?”

“Probably not, but we like to operate a belt and braces approach to security.”

“Sorry, belt and braces?”

“Yes, all belts, braces and any other apparel-supporting paraphernalia must be removed prior to check-in. Can’t take any chances. We get all sorts trying to get on our flights you know, which brings me to one of my chief concerns actually, Minister…”

Just then the doors slid open as the android returned carrying a tray of drinks and rich tea biscuits. Before the doors could close, a couple of jumpsuit-clad workmen barged into the room carrying placards with the slogans “Ban the ‘droids!” and “We don’t like Orange!”. They were closely followed by a puffing red-faced security guard.

“I’m terribly sorry Captain,” began the guard, “I was literally called away for one minute…”

“To attend important appointment with vending bot!” interjected one of the protesters. Both workmen started guffawing loudly.

“Minister, as you can see I also have one or two issues with the immigrant workforce. They don’t seem to know what’s good for them.”

“Yes, I see Captain. No wait, don’t eject them yet, I have a question for these gentlemen. Now then, what exactly is it you would like to see happen, surely you’re not proposing we remove our entire robotic workforce?”

After an awkward silence, the other protester spoke up, “Well, perhaps not
all
of them your majesty…” at which point his colleague jabbed him in the ribs, “She’s not royalty, you twerp!”

“We’re just not at all happy with the work, you know. And the pay. The work and the pay are both atrocious. You realise we have to spend all day chasing after those idiotic constructabots? They really do make terrible mess.”

“Tell her about jumpsuits!” prompted his friend.

“Da, and we are most definitely not happy about colour of jumpsuits!”

“Wrong shade of orange?” suggested the Minister for Space.

“Why do they need to be orange at all? It is, how you say, inhumane!”

Captain Watkins had had enough by this stage. “Look, we appreciate your concerns. Please, put them in writing and submit them to your supervisor and we will look into them.”

The workmen were escorted out of the room and the decibels returned to a more civilised level. Until, that is, the android carrying the drinks found his tongue.

“Would you like soya in your drink, ma’am?”