Worlds in Chaos (3 page)

“Lateral thrusters on. Pulsing to commence roll now,” Joe grated, his mouth barely moving.

“APU ahead low, declination twenty-seven degrees and increasing,” Ricardo reported. “We’re twelve-point-two miles off the axis and holding. Course projection is clear.”

It was a stunt to get the world’s attention. The news channels had publicized that the Defense Department would be testing a new propulsion system designed for low-orbit maneuvering and announced it as a breakthrough. While the spaceplane was now in its maximum acceleration phase, the NIFTV was not only overtaking it but tracing a spiral twenty-plus miles in diameter about its course—literally running rings around it. A comm beam latched on again to deliver another tirade. Ricardo looked questioningly at Joe; Joe made a tossing-away motion with his head; Ricardo grinned and switched the call over the detour link to Control.

“
Yeaaah!
” Keene whooped, smacking the armrests of his seat. “Was that a bird? Was it a plane? No, it was us, guys. Hey, look at that thing. It’s like a dead duck in the water out there.”

“Eat our dust, General,” Ricardo sang.

The APU went into a slow curve. Joe altered thrust parameters and stayed with it easily. He ran an eye over the monitors and gave a satisfied nod. “Okay,” he said to the others. “Take her up to full burn. Now let’s show them what we can really do.”

As the NIFTV accelerated along its continuing spiral course, a white haze of more distant light appeared along the top edge of the screen, moving slowly down to blot out the starfield background. It grew until it became part of a vast band extending off the screen on both sides, losing the APU spaceplane in its brilliance as it became a background to it.

2

The planetoid had come out of Jupiter. It was christened Athena.

For more than half a century, there had been astronomers dissenting from the mainstream view of planetary origins, trying to make themselves heard. The generally accepted nebular theory, in which the Sun, its planets, and their satellites all condensed together from a contracting cloud of primordial gas and dust, they maintained, was not tenable. The observed distribution of angular momentum did not fit the model, and tidal disruption by Jupiter would have prevented the accretion of compact objects inside its orbit. Some proposed an alternative mechanism for the formation of the inner planets based upon analysis of the fluid dynamics of Jupiter’s core. According to this theory, the giant planet’s rapid rotation and rate of material acquisition would result in periodic instabilities leading to eventual fission and the ejection of surplus mass. The bulk of the shed matter would most likely be thrown out of the Solar System, but lesser drops torn off in the process could go into solar-capture orbits.

In the main, the reaction of the scientific orthodoxy was to dismiss the suggestion as too much at odds with established notions and find arguments to show why it couldn’t happen. Then, after the onset of sudden irregularities in Jupiter’s rotation followed by several weeks of progressive deformation in shape beneath the gas envelope, it did.

Rivaling the Earth itself in size, white-hot from the energy that had attended its birth, and blazing a fiery tail tens of millions of miles long, Athena had been plunging sunward for ten months, all the time gaining in speed and brightness. Spectral analysis showed it to be composed of a mix of core and crustal materials trailing an envelope of ionized Jovian atmospheric gases. Currently crossing the Earth’s orbit sixty million miles ahead of the Earth, it was visible to the naked eye across a quarter of the sky before dawn and after sundown. During the next month it would accelerate into a tight turn around the Sun, bringing it to within a quarter of a million miles at perihelion, covering more than a million miles in an hour and practically reversing direction to pass little more than fifteen million miles ahead of the approaching Earth on its way back to the outer Solar System. It was predicted that the spectacle would dim into insignificance any comet ever before seen in history.

3

Space Dock was built in the form of a short, fat dumbbell passing radially through a cylindrical hub. Cramped and dirty, noisy and oily, it normally accommodated between twenty and thirty people. It had been built several years previously as a joint venture by a consortium of private interests, of which Amspace was one of the principals, to provide an orbiting test base for space vehicles and technologies at a time when depending on government to provide facilities had been too fraught with delay and political uncertainties to be reliable.

A stubby-winged surface lifter lay docked at the far end of the hub when Joe attached the NIFTV at one of Space Dock’s ports. A minishuttle bearing the Amspace logo was standing a short distance off. It was forty minutes since the NIFTV parted company from the Air Force spaceplane, by which time it had pulled fully a hundred miles ahead despite having traced its circular pattern continuously. The three crew were jubilant as they hauled themselves through the lock into the cluttered surroundings of pipes and machinery to the welcoming shouts and back-slaps of their waiting colleagues. Keene, coming first, waved and grinned in acknowledgment. Behind him came Ricardo, his mouth frozen wide, setting his teeth off white against his Mediterranean-olive skin, with Joe making a double thumbs-up sign as he floated out last. They were making the best of the enthusiasm around them while they had the chance. It was not exactly representative of the reaction they expected from the world in general, which for the most part would no doubt be shocked rather than appreciative. But that, after all, had been the whole idea.

Warren Fassner, in track pants and a red T-shirt, was waiting in the suiting chamber past the lock, where a technician began helping Keene out of his flight garb. Fassner had red hair with a matching, ragged mustache, and a large frame with an ample fleshy covering that gave the impression of sagging slightly when in gravity. Here, it was more evenly distributed, making him appear sprightlier, if maybe a little bloated, compared to normal.

“Great show, Lan!” he greeted. “That should make the high slots this evening. Looks like the baby performed just fine.”

“Just as much your show. It’s your baby.” Keene pushed himself forward to make room as Ricardo and Joe crowded in at the end of the chamber behind. “And how goes it with our friends?” He meant the branches of officialdom connected with the APU test.

Fassner pulled a face, grinning simultaneously. “Mad as hell. Corpus Christi has got lawyers from Washington on the line now.”

“Already?”

“Probably being aimed by wrathful agency heads. Marvin says they’re trying to come up with some kind of permission or approval that we should have obtained first.”

It had been expected, even though nothing had violated any explicit prohibition. Thanks mainly to the reticence of the Russians, Southeast Asians, and the Chinese, the world had not actually banned the launching of nuclear technology into orbit. It was just that nobody had thought that any organization outside government would contemplate doing it, while everyone on the inside was too vulnerable to pressure groups and public opinion to want to get involved. Now the regulatory agencies would be vying with each other to placate the eco lobbies by showing who had the most teeth.

“Anyhow, you’ve done your part,” Fassner said. “The Corpus Christi office can deal with Washington. That’s what it’s got a legal department for.” He clapped Keene lightly on the shoulder and used a handrail to haul himself past to say a few words to the other two. “Hey, Ric, can’t you do something about that grin? You’re dazzling my eyes here.”

Ricardo’s smile only widened further. “Didn’t we make a meal out of those turkeys, eh?”

“Joe, you were right on, all the way. So how did the modified RTs handle? Pretty good, I guess.”

“Like a dream, Warren, like a dream. . . .”

Keene stowed the last of his gear in an end locker and signed that the technician had retrieved the diagnostic recording chip from his suit. Feeling less restricted now in shirtsleeves and fatigue pants, he exited through a pressure door and transverse shaft outside Number Two Pump Compartment to enter the “Yellow” end of the Hub Main Longitudinal Corridor—the walls in different sections of Space Dock were color coded to help newcomers orientate. More well-wishers, some in workshirts and jeans, others in coveralls, one in a pressure suit, were waiting to add their congratulations as he passed through. He came to “Broadway”—a confusion of shafts and split levels leading away seemingly in all directions, where the hub and the booms connecting the two ends of the dumbbell intersected—and wove his way through openings and between guide rails to the “Blue” well. Several more figures were anchored or floating in various attitudes.

“You guys made the day, Lan,” one called out.

“Great stuff, man!”

“Still ain’t stopped laughin’. Even if it gets the firm shut down, it was worth it.”

Keene reversed to glide into the transverse shaft feet-first. He pushed himself off, using one of the hand hoops along the vertical rail, and felt the wall to one side nudge against him gently. As he progressed farther, the motion imparted by the rail grew stronger, causing him to move faster with a distinct, growing sensation of heading “down.” By the time he reached the three-level wheel forming the Blue end of the dumbbell, he was using the hoops to retard himself. He began using his feet to climb down ladder-fashion as he passed through the upper deck, and stepped off at the mid-deck to find Joyce and Stevie waiting for him outside Ccoms.

“Damned good show,” Stevie offered. He was thirtyish, British, and sometimes talked like an old movie. Keene nodded and returned a strained smile. He knew they all meant well, but this was getting a bit tiring.

Joyce was the senior comtech. She was one of those who did their best to look clean and professional, but her white shirt and sky blue pants, although no doubt clean that day, were showing grime, and there were flecks of grit in her black, close-trimmed hair. That was one of the facts of life that came with the territory. Dirt in zero-
g
didn’t fall obligingly to the floor and accumulate in out-of-the-way places to be removed when convenient. Despite all the ducts and filters and fans, space habitats tended to be smelly, too.