Boundary 2: Threshold (5 page)

"Which means we're missing just one element—how are we going to get the stuff from geosynch orbit around Earth to here?" Nicholas said. "Slingshot?"

He was referring to the fact that if one placed a load farther out than geosynch, one could literally let it "fly out" like a slingshot, propelled in essence by the Earth's rotation, just like a real sling spun about someone's head.

"Possible—and, once
Meru
is fully operational, I'm sure they'll be building some orbital slingshots anyway. But using
Meru
itself as a slingshot is limited by a lot of factors of timing and relative position between Earth and Mars. Some packages could be shipped up with their own little electric drives—once you're in geosynch, it's a lot easier to get elsewhere—but that'd cut down on the actual cargo arriving here and make it a
lot
more expensive. We really do need our own ship."

"Well?"

She grinned. "Bruce Irwin's willing to be the captain and pilot if we get one built. As you know, Jackie Secord's already offered to run the engineering side, and she's keeping the reactor-engine assembly maintained now. Pricing on the standard
Nike
or Phobos Station habitat ring segments, though, is totally out of our league, even if we could get them to slow down their build schedule to supply us."

"We really do need something like that, though, don't we?"

Maddie nodded. "Anything much less than one-third g as constant living conditions will cause a lot of health problems. In fact, I'd really feel more comfortable if we could push that up, and on some of the new ships like
Odin
they might well. They'll have more time and luxury for crew selection, so they won't have to worry about spin disorientation as much."

"Does Ares have a solution in mind?" This was one of the major reasons for establishing cooperation between the IRI and its closest neighbor. They were, as India had already recognized, the only talent pool of space-qualified experts who were not currently committed to a specific country's space program.

"Since the full agreements haven't been signed, I can't officially say anything, but Joe told me to tell you 'Damn straight we do.' If it's what I think, it will work, too."

Nicholas leaned back slowly. "Then get me those originals pronto, so I can sign them. Let's get to work!"

"I can't believe this," said the national security advisor. "First Fathom turncoats, and now the U.N. is going to steal a march on us. You want to explain this particular mess, General?"

Ken Hathaway kept his expression respectfully neutral. Despite his dislike for the current administration, he had no intention of torpedoing his own career as the first and, currently, only military commander of a major space vessel. "I wouldn't describe this as a mess, sir. There are actually some advantages for us in this situation."

Jensen looked at him incredulously. "You—along with my other analysts—assured me that there really wasn't a chance that the IRI would be able to build a ship around that engine. You all told me they'd probably just use it as a portable power source, or maybe a Mars-to-Phobos transport. And now Walter tells me that they're about six months from launching their own version of
Nike
!"

Ken issued a chuckle, which he hoped looked spontaneous. He'd planned this sort of reaction, and Jensen had obliged him with precisely the kind of line he'd been hoping for.

The national security advisor's face darkened. "Would you like to tell me what you find amusing, General?"

"Sorry, no disrespect meant, it was just . . . You haven't seen the thing. Saying they were ready to launch their own version of
Nike
 . . . Sir, that's like saying Huck Finn was launching his own version of
Old Ironsides
when he pushed his raft into the river."

Jensen slowly leaned back, the anger shifting toward a hard speculation. "Go on. Are you saying they're not really making an interplanetary vessel?"

"Well . . . No, sir. They are, in one sense. I mean, their ship
does
have a real nuclear engine on it, and that can sure push it around the solar system. But . . . Here,
look
at it."

Ken sent a command to the White House network, which acknowledged he had authorization to trigger image presentations, and the far wall lit up with a picture of
Nobel
, the interplanetary vessel Glendale was having constructed.

Jensen snorted. There were a few other grunts or chuckles around the table.

The
Nobel
looked very little like
Nike
. Both had a central hub where the main engine sat, and other parts about four hundred and fifty feet from that center which would serve as living quarters. But where the
Nike
was a shining vessel, an integral structure of smooth components and clear functionality,
Nobel
was . . . 

Clunky
, Ken thought, was probably the most charitable term you could use. "They've had to make do with whatever they could get," he said. "They don't have manufacturing capability of their own, and all the aerospace resources we have—all the aerospace resources any country has, for that matter—are tied up in building our own ships and bases. So they had to go to the one group of people who can somehow manage space construction and who don't have their own ship—Ares. But Ares doesn't have the money or the manufacturing capability to crank out things like
Nike'
s habitat sections. So what do they have? Speaking as a military man, they've got Tinkertoys, Legos, and an Erector Set to hold 'em together."

He pointed. "Look at their so-called 'habitat ring.' Looks like a bunch of tuna cans linked together with duct tape and silver straws. That's because what they've got are basically just standard Ares habitat cans, not all that much different from the ones Zubrin first drew up almost half a century ago. The whole central body there"—he pointed at the boxy gray skeleton in the middle of the screen—"that's just some beams to hold all the pieces together. They'll be using something like an inflatable tank to hold their fuel together, I'd guess, or maybe some reusable solid tanks. The point is, sir, that thing can't match
Nike
in any respect. Especially since you got us a second engine."

The sight of the
Nobel
, looking rather like the result of a high-school science project to create a model of a space station, had thawed the atmosphere considerably. Ken no longer felt that his job was immediately in jeopardy.

"You mentioned that you thought this situation offers advantages, General Hathaway?" Jensen said. "Explain."

"If that thing actually works, sir, it takes a big load off of us. We've been committed to being their long-range support since the Institute got established, because there just wasn't anyone else available. Once they have their own ship working, we're free to work more for the United States' direct interests. Sure, we'll still be doing runs to Phobos Station and the Institute. We've got plenty of reasons to do so, and we'll have to help with the short distance ferrying anyway."

Hathaway flashed a momentary smile at the realization he was now calling Earth-to-Moon orbit hops "short."

Before he could continue, one of Jensen's analysts spoke up. "What you're saying is they won't
need
us just to survive any more. They can send their own ship on their own errands, ferry their own supplies back and forth, and in general deal with all the logistical headaches we've had to handle the past few years. And welcome to them."

Jensen nodded. "All right, General Hathaway. I understand your points. The reports from Mr. Keldering were perhaps overly alarmist. So you don't see anything to worry about in this situation?"

"Nothing whatsoever, sir," Ken said. "We have a battleship and they have a rowboat. Let's just hope they don't spring a leak rowing back and forth—that would require us to rescue them."

Plausible Deniability, n: positioning oneself such that one can permit actions to be taken which would be politically damaging, but in such a manner as to allow one to deny any knowledge of, or connection to, the actions in question.

"Prepare for spin-up.
Nike
, are you on station?" Jackie waited for the response.

"Around behind Phobos in case of disaster, yes, ma'am,"
Ken Hathaway's voice responded.

"I don't think you had to get
that
far away, Ken!" Jackie responded in a nettled tone.

"Probably not. But probably nothing bad's going to happen, either, and we're not betting on that.
Nike
is the U.S.A's only major interplanetary vessel, and Uncle Sam isn't paying me to take risks with it."

"Especially," she said, "for a rowboat."

Hathaway clucked his tongue.
"Look, I don't control what the NSA says in public. Been me, even if I thought that, I'd have kept my own counsel."

" 'Even if I thought that,' " Jackie jeered. "Ken, I'll bet you're the one who first coined that charming term. Applied to us, anyway."

A diplomatic silence followed. Jackie smiled. She was pretty sure that Hathaway had, in fact, been the one to put the idea in Jensen's head that the
Nobel
was a "rowboat." He'd used the derisive term himself in private, after all, when joking with his friends in Ares.

He wasn't going to admit it, of course. Jackie was quite sure that if Hathaway had done so, he'd been aiming to relieve or at least deflect tensions between the current U.S. administration and Ares and the IRI. But the same political skill that would have led him to do so—you didn't get to be a general in the U.S. armed forces without such skills—would also keep his mouth diplomatically shut.

"Sticks and stones may break my bones . . ."
came Ken's singsong voice.

Jackie chuckled. "Yeah, sure, I know. 'But words can never harm me'—and people who aren't really familiar with space travel usually don't realize how little appearances matter when it comes to deep-space craft that don't have to penetrate an atmosphere. Still, I didn't like having my baby called ugly."

"Well, sure. Are you ready?"

"Almost. A.J.?"

The sensor specialist's confident voice rang out.
"Every inch of
Nobel
is wired, Jackie. If anything happens, you'll be the second to know."

"After you, of course."

"Glendale squeezed a guarantee out of us on workmanship. I get the bad news first by a millisecond if we have to pay out."

Jackie took a deep breath. "Fire laterals."

The side reaction thrusters fired. They were powered by the central reactor, as long as reaction mass was available. The wavering pale line of superheated gases stood straight out at a tangent to each "tuna-can" chord. To protect the bottom of the cans, the side thruster vents were actually mounted a short distance farther out.

Slowly, majestically, the
Nobel
began to spin.
"Rotation started. Stresses all at predicted levels. No unexpected readings. Keep it going, guys."
A.J. was in his professional voice now, which she found immensely comforting. A pain in the ass he could be, but his skill and his ego combined to make him the best man for a job like this. He wouldn't
let
anything go wrong; it would be a personal insult.

"Up to an interior acceleration of one-tenth g . . . closing in on a revolution per minute . . . still all green, no signs of stress. Wobble within acceptable limits. Might need to trim weight a bit on one side, though, I think someone missed a couple kilos somewhere . . . almost there . . . 
now
!"

The superfluous command coincided exactly with the automated cutoff of the thrusters.
Nobel
spun with massive dignity, generating exactly one-third gravity within its linked habitat cans. "How are we doing, A.J.?"

"Nobel
, all green. You're well within tolerances. Minimal precession at this time. Orbital alignment optimum for main drive test."

Jackie took a deep breath. The next set of maneuvers would stress the
Nobel
to the maximum that any ordinary conditions would demand. If she survived that, she'd be fully spaceworthy and Jackie Secord would be the chief engineer for the only independent nuclear-powered vessel in existence. "Captain, all systems appear to be ready. We are going to try a main-drive burn."

"Very good then, Chief," came the cheerful Australian tones of Bruce Irwin. As the first man to ever land (however disastrously) a manned vehicle on Mars, and one of the few interplanetary-qualified pilots, he'd been top of the list when Glendale was looking for someone to command
Nobel
.

Well, actually, second from the top. Glendale had first offered the job to Jackie, to which she'd replied: "Jesus, no. I'm an engineer, and I don't want to move to management. I'll stay here in charge of keeping everything running."

Jackie brought her focus back to the here-and-now. "Right, let's see what our lady's got.
Nike
, now that we're spinning fine,
Nobel
is going for a full main-engine burn. Figuring on one to lift us up in orbit a bit, say twenty seconds at full."

The entire set of maneuvers was meant to take only about sixty seconds of full burn.
Nobel
was lightly fueled right now, with only about a hundred tons of reaction mass—enough for two hundred seconds of
Nobel
's maximum million-pound thrust at an ISP of around one thousand. The light load was important; by having a minimum of reaction mass on board, the effective acceleration of
Nobel
was maximized, which maximized the strain of the maneuvers. There was no point in testing her at low thrust if she'd break at high thrust, especially since high stress would, obviously, occur when the vessel was low on fuel—toward the end of a journey and therefore potentially as far away from help as it was possible to imagine.

"Understood,
Nobel. Nike
is standing by to initiate rescue in case of emergency."

"We surely do appreciate that, mate. Not that I have any experience with emergencies while flying, mind." Bruce's tone sobered. "Check course vector."