The Hundred Gram Mission (5 page)

Pieter and Henrikson opened the bulging laundry bag. Out they pulled two meters of silver, deflated, balloon.

"So it's just a weather balloon?" asked Anneke.

They laid it out carefully on the tarp.

"Not any weather balloon," said Henrikson. "Weather balloons burst. This is called a superpressure balloon.
[vii]
It's reinforced with graphene, so it won't pop. Stabbing it with knives wouldn't puncture it."

"Where did you find a balloon with graphene in it?"

"He stole it from ESA," said Pieter, sticking a rubber tube on the canister.

"I didn't steal it. I left fifty Euros in its place."

"Where did you get fifty Euros?"

He paused. "I stole it."

Henrikson pushed a piece of PVC tubing into the balloon's neck, reinforcing it. He put some nylons around the neck, and fastened them with a zip tie. Meanwhile, Pieter tied the canister to a digital scale. They then tied two of the balloon's nylons to the scale as well.

"Why are you doing that?" asked Anneke.

"To work out the balloon's lift," Pieter pushed the rubber tube into the balloon. "When it inflates, it will pull on the scale. If the scale shows one and a half times our payload mass, then we know there's at least enough to lift it."

"It'll be more than enough," said Henrikson. He turned the valve, and gas hissed into the balloon. Pieter fluffed the skin, checking against any knots forming. People were stopping and staring. The park lights came on.

"So, since it won't pop, it will stay up forever?"

"No," said Henrikson. "It will lose gas slowly over time. Normally this would stay up for about three months,"
[viii]
he reached back inside the gym bag.

"So what are you doing different?"

"This," he pulled out a white box. Tubes clustered under it, sprouting wires and small fans. Solar panels had been fitted around the box.

"Is that the payload?"

"And a bit more. As the balloon loses gas, it will descend from the edge of space. Then it'll start picking up water vapor in these tubes. The water is electrolyzed and the oxygen, dumped. The hydrogen gets pumped back into the balloon."

"But it's a helium balloon. Is that a problem?"

"Not in the least. Helium reacts with nothing. One gas will gradually replace the other. They also give about the same lift."

Like a billowing evening gown, the balloon lifted itself up. The sun dipped away and Venus emerged. More people were gathered, some took pictures with their phones.

"Just smile and carry on," said Henrikson. "They'll assume we have permission."

"Do we need permission?" asked Pieter.

"No," said Henrikson very firmly.

"You're just saying that," said Anneke.

Henrikson tied the payload with the two spare nylons. The scale went to nine kilograms.

"Plenty of gas," said Pieter.

"I'm turning it off."

Pieter squeezed the neck and removed the rubber tube.  Henrikson pushed the payload tubes in. With zip ties he squeezed the neck shut. Pieter sprayed it with what looked like grey paint. It turned black as the epoxy sealant set. 

"Is it on?"

Henrikson pulled out his phone. "Yes," he swiped. "Transmission is strong."

"Is it carrying anything?" asked Anneke. "Instruments, I mean."

"It has the basic stuff - thermometer, barometer, cosmic ray detector," said Henrikson. "But it also has an infrared camera, tuned to picking up volcanic ash."

"The Philippines eruption?"

"It'll gather data on the spread," said Pieter. "We may as well do some real science. Otherwise, this is just an ego project."

"Isn't it anyway?"

The balloon was a wide as they were tall. It looked like a giant disco ball, trying to flee. 

"The wind is picking up," said Pieter.

"And he," Anneke pointed, "Is a policeman."

Henrikson snipped the nylons.

They craned their necks as it leaped into the sky. It sparkled like a star, and soon disappeared against the others. Pieter held Henrikson's hand and gave him a kiss.

"Well done," said Pieter. "But now you have to tell your parents. And about the fifty Euros."

"I can't tonight. They are at ESA, today JUICE gets its final instructions for entering Ganymede's orbit."

"You're parents are working on the Jovian Icy Moon Explorer?" asked Anneke.

"Yes," he nodded. "They met during the selection process, in 2012. I've watched them work on this, my whole life."

"You there!" the policeman yelled, getting closer. "Stay right there!" 

"Are we in trouble?" asked Anneke.

"Maybe," Henrikson let go of Pieter and started rolling up the tarp. "But the crime, if any, will soon reach the edge of space. If we're lucky, it'll stay there for years."

"What," the policeman's face was red, "The bloody hell did you lot just do here? Eh?"

"We just launched a suborbital satellite," said Henrikson. 

"
What
?"

"I said I started a space program."

"And I helped," said Anneke.

2050, European Space Research and Technology Center (ESTEC),

The Netherlands

"Everyone, I'm sorry but I have some bad news," the director's suit marked him out. The engineers and scientists filling the conference room wore mostly (geek) tees. "I know many of you suspected this might happen after the last rounds of cuts," he looked from person to person.  "It wasn't an easy decision by any means. ESA has decided to cancel the Kuiper Navigator mission."

Groans and exclamation. Not really so many, thought Jansen Henrikson. Who could really say they were surprised? Most remained quiet.

"I know, I know. I wanted you to hear it from me."

"I just want to say to you all," an elderly scientist began," in case, in case I do not get another chance, that I have greatly enjoyed my years here. Working with such amazing people -" and then she started crying. An engineer with an inappropriate shirt gave her hug. Other people started hugging and shaking hands.

"We should be hearing it from the Director General."

People stopped and turned. Henrikson stood in the doorway, arms folded.  "I have questions for him."

"Well Jansen, you can ask me," the director's smile thinned.

"Kuiper Navigator is the only 'Large Class' mission we have left. If we cancel it, then what's ESA's commitment to science?"

"We of course remain deeply committed," said the director. "Kuiper has cost a billion Euros. A
billion
. It would cost at least as much to complete. That kind of funding can't be justified anymore. Not when we're competing for funds with refugee camps, all along the Mediterranean."

"Without big science projects, we stand still. As a culture, as a species. We don't drive technology. We stop making crossover breakthroughs. That's not how we'll fix the environment or help the North Africans and English to go back home one day."

The director tried smiling again. "You're preaching to the choir, Jansen."

"Am I?  You were supposed to protect us. We're engineers, you're a lawyer."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Without inspiring science, young people don't go into STEM. The brightest will become lawyers - or even bankers."

"Fuck bankers," said someone. "Seriously.
Fuck
them. Remember 2008!"

The director sighed. "Does anyone
else
have anything they would like to say?"

Permitted anger, they all began.

Jansen Henrikson walked out the doors of ESTEC, for the very last time.

People huddled deeper into their coats. Black clouds were boiling over from the North Sea. A loudspeaker in the car park declared flood warnings in Dutch, Deutsche, and Arabic. Henrikson turned down his aisle and -

"What?!"

Where he'd parked, there was now a different car.

It was black, sleek, and offensively large in an age of micro cars. It had only rear passenger doors - self-driving only. All its windows were polarized black.

He walked up and knocked on the window.

"Hello?"

Nothing.

He knocked again, harder. "Hello?"

The door slid aside like a screen door. Warm air washed out, enough to heat an apartment.  Inside was a greying man in a blue suit. Sitting across from him were two suspiciously attractive perhaps-assistants. The man smiled.

"Doctor Henrikson. I've been expecting you."

"Where is my car?"

"We loaded it into the trunk."

"
What?
"

"It was so cute, I couldn't help myself."

Henrikson stepped back and looked at the trunk.

"It's perfectly fine. Look, I just wanted to give you a ride, so we could have a chance to talk."

"Just who the hell do you think you are? How
dare
you mess with my vehicle!"

The man grinned. "I'm Daryl Spektorov. Ever heard the name?"

"Please stop harassing me, and
give me back my car
before I call security."

No, really kid. I'm Daryl freaking
Spektorov! Zdenka, show him the diamonds."

One perhaps-assistant opened the mini bar, and pulled out the ice tray. She picked out several cubes that were a bit too brilliant. She offered them to Henrikson. He took one, feeling its cold, its smoothness. He gave the man a hard look.

"If you're really Spektorov, then you won't care about
this
."

Metal screeched and paint tore. The perhaps-assistants stared, mouths open wide. Spektorov leaned out and inspected the damage on car. 

"You've clearly never keyed a car in your life. I'll teach you how sometime, I always key my brother in law's at Christmas, he's such a douche! I pretend it's the alcohol, but it isn't. I think he knows. Here, hand me that."

He took the asteroid-mined diamond from Henrikson, and flung it across the parking lot.

"
Now
that
, is what Daryl Spektorov would do. Am I right?"

"You - you keep giant diamonds
in an ice tray
?"

"Honest to goodness, I don't know how they got there. Now, my time is worth more than some diamonds. And perhaps, for a few minutes, so are you. I'm here right now because I had it on good authority that today; you'd be out of a job."

"How could you know that? We just learned ourselves."

"What, you thought you were entitled to know first? I have two words for you," he held up two fingers. "Money! Oh look, I don't need a second word now. Now, if I may continue without being interrupted - I want your help, kid. I want your help with spaceflight."

"Spaceflight?"

"Yeah. This little Kuiper Navigator shit you were working on?
Fuck
Kuiper. I'm going to
another star
. Now get in, it's cold."

One of the perhaps-assistant poured him a drink. Her charms were wasted on him, but the Japanese whiskey's, were not. The car skimmed soundlessly down the highway. Rain slapped against the windows and twisted away into tiny rivers.

"Interstellar travel is impossible. You're wasting your time."

"That's not what you said in your dissertation. You said it was impractical.
Biiiig
difference."

"You read my dissertation?"

"Personally? I think it needed more sex and violence, but I read it for the antimatter."

"It was a highly speculative paper. If all the particle accelerators in the world ran for a million years, we would not have one gram."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Can you build it or not? The engine you designed."

"The beamed core engine?"

"Can - you - build - it?"

"With the right team and resources, yes."

"Sweet, all your ESA friends just got fired. Tell me who you want, and I'll hire them tomorrow morning." Zdenka refilled his drink. "Now what resources do you need?"

"It's," Henrikson threw up his hands. "It's not that simple. The beamed core engine runs on antimatter!"

"So? You wrote about harvesting it from the Earth's magnetic belts. From Saturn.
[ix]
About purpose-building particle accelerators to shred heavy nucleii."

"My God, we're talking destroying
Uranium
. Saturn? Really? What do you know about Saturn?"

"A thing or two. It's pretty. Enceladus can easily be checked for life but NASA keeps wasting time on Europa. And that its rings act like brick walls to cosmic rays. They collide and produce antimatter. The most antimatter produced, in the entire solar system."