The Ice Moon Explorer (6 page)

2040 AD, the Muddy Charles Pub, 265 Smoots
from Harvard Bridge

“So, what you’re saying Damien, is the Space
Elevator is what? Bullshit?”

It was a weeknight, and sparse inside the
dimly lit pub. A few African grad students sat about drinking beer
and talking French. On the TV, the Pats were taking on the Miami
Dolphins.

Damien Flores, MIT aerospace engineer, shook
his head. “No Daryl. It’s not bullshit. But it’s poorly understood
and being misrepresented. Everyone thinks of the Space Elevator,
like some railroad into space. But when you talk about costs, it’s
presented in terms of airline travel.”

“As cheap as flying on a plane,” said the
ratty-faced man across from Damien. Elijah Newman wore a Tom
Baker-era, Doctor Who scarf. “Let’s say you want to build a
skyscraper. You want to airfreight all the cement? All the rebar?
The sand? A thousand times cheaper than a rocket, is still too
expensive for a big project.”

“For serious space construction, materials
have to be as cheap as they are on Earth. The Elevator won’t do to
that, and it doesn’t need to. Everything you need to take to space
is already there in abundance.”

“You mean energy?” asked Darly Spektorov. The
venture capitalist looked like he’d been born wearing a sports
jacket.

“I mean sand, water ice, iron. Everything,”
said Damien. “There are thousands of Near Earth Orbit asteroids.
We’re used to seeing them as a threat, but they’re also an
opportunity. The closer they come to Earth, the lower the cost of
reaching them.”

“And these mass drivers ,” Daryl said the
words slowly as if they were foreign, “they can bring them in,
safely?”

“The mass drivers are just electrified
rails,” said Elijah. “They’re loaded with buckets, full of rocks
from the asteroid. The buckets are accelerated and the rocks flung
out into space. The asteroid receives a small nudge. A few nudges
at the right points, and you can change their orbits.”

“Is there something here that can be
patented?” asked Daryl. “Patents, proprietary control, anything
creating conditions that bar copycats.”

“The idea of mining can’t be patented,
sorry,” said Damien, “But there are two things, one of proprietary
value. It’s clear cut, but it’s not a tremendous barrier to
competitors. The other is of property value. It could be
considerable, an absolute barrier, in fact. However, it is on
shakier legal ground.”

“The first one is that catalog you mentioned,
right? The one with the best asteroid candidates?”

“Yes,” said Damien. “Two years of data,
sifting through every known NEO and working out their density.
We’ve identified the candidates with the most metals. Some are so
dense they must contain particularly heavy metals, like lead.
Radioactive ores are quite likely.”

“And you two, Sun Star Prospecting, own this
catalog one hundred percent?”

“Yes,” said Elijah. “The problem though, is
that anyone else can put together their own one. The information
needed is publicly available. It’s a fair amount of work though; it
will take them some time. Unless they hire an astronomer or
mathematician, they’ll likely fuck it up, too.”

“Like I said, it’s not a considerable
barrier,” said Damien. “But the second one, if it holds up, will be
an absolute barrier.”

“And what’s that?”

“Ownership. There’s not a whole lot of space
real estate laws. The 1967 Outer Space Treaty is what most space
law is based on. It forbids state ownership, but doesn’t say
anything about private ownership.”

“Now this I know about,” said Daryl.
“Congress passed the ASTEROIDS Act, it allows ownership.”

“Actually, it only allows ownership of
resources obtained from an asteroid. It doesn’t say that the
asteroid itself can be owned.”

“Or what happens if the entire asteroid is
‘obtained’ which is our plan,” said Elijah. “Legislation is going
to lag until ownership and occupation become real issues. When the
lawyers join in, they’ll look to old laws dealing with new- found
land. Frontier and land grab precedents. Those hold that simply
claiming land, is not enough. There needs to be demonstration of
intent to occupy.”

“And here’s where things get interesting,”
Damien grinned.

“Are you going to ask me to sign a
Non-Disclosure Agreement?” Daryl asked.

The scientists looked blank.

“Well, maybe next time,” said Damien. “It
doesn’t really matter, it’s just an idea. It’ll take a lot more
than just an idea for this project to work. However, you will want
to keep this to yourself.”

“What is it?”

“The mass drivers,” said Elijah. “They’re not
just cheap propulsion. They’re space launchers. We can use them to
deliver payloads to anywhere else in the inner solar system.”

“The goal is to demonstrate intent to
occupy,” Damien picked up. “Everyone will know we’re using mass
drivers to bring the asteroid into Earth orbit. What they won’t
know, is that we’ll be using them to launch instrument packages, as
well. We’ll be targeting the other, most lucrative asteroid
prospects.”

“Instrument packages? What kind?”

“Nothing fancy. Simple, cheap devices like
transponders, cubesats, and pocket rovers. They’ll study the
asteroids and do some simple prospecting.”

“Intent to occupy!”

“The mission is not just to capture an
asteroid and park it nearby,” said Damien, “But also, to make legal
claims to the most valuable NEOs known.”

Daryl sat back and whistled.

“The cost estimate is much lower that I had
expected.”

“We plan to use off the shelf components,”
said Damien. “Huawei modules and a Boeing engine. And a lot of
money is saved by the crew. It’s just me and Elijah, we both have
pilot’s licenses with instrument ratings. We’ll fly without pay,
but instead a corresponding share of the new equity. All Spektorov
Investment would have to do, is pay for the parts and the
launch.”

“If it goes well, you’ll part own a company
with the single biggest reserve of rare metals in the inner solar
system,” said Elijah. “And if it goes very well, all the best
reserves in the inner solar system.”

Daryl beamed and looked between the two,
nodding.

“Gentleman, this has been a great meeting.
Thank you for taking the time to explain the specifics of your
business plan. I’d like to fund your venture. You’ll have the
contract in the morning. Please look it over and let me know if its
agreeable to you.”

He turned around and waved at the
bartender.

“Another round for us, on me. We’re going to
take over the world!”

The bartender smiled. It wasn’t the first
time someone had said that in the Muddy Charles, and meant it.

“Dude!” Damien bounced along the street, “We
are in. We’re so fucking in!”

Elijah shook his head and raised an eyebrow.
It was drizzling in Harvard Square. People hopped under awnings or
clustered around store entrances. A street performer juggled on,
undaunted.

“What?” Damien stopped, his expression fell.
“He said yes!”

“I don’t know man.”

“What’s not to know? He’s the first VC we’ve
spoken to who even knows what an asteroid, is. He gets it! He gets
the whole business model!”

“You don’t think that’s a bit
suspicious?”

“Suspicious?!” Damien rolled his eyes. “What
is wrong with you? He’s a venture capitalist who isn’t some old
geezer who only understands nano-bio, and you want to find a
problem with that?”

Elijah shrugged. “Look, we’ve had to jump
through a lot of hoops just to get the dignity of kinda-sorta-
rejections. He quizzed our numbers, but that was it. He didn’t talk
about safety. He didn’t talk nearly enough about the legal
issues.”

“So? He was excited! He wants this to happen.
Why are you raining our parade here? We’ve finally got a VC who
wants to do business with us! Shit, he’s sending us a
contract.”

“Yeah. I guess you’re right. I just can’t
really believe it’s finally happening, and so quickly.”

Damien patted his arm.

“Sun-Star Prospecting is going places, Mr.
Newman. We’re fucking going to space, and we’re going to fucking
own it!”

One day later, Somerville, Massachusetts

“God, I hate Somerville.”

The man next to Damien snorted, and poured
him more beer. The two toasted, and sat back in their lawn chairs.
It was getting late, and the party was getting worse. Ageing
hipsters drank PBR and gave them dirty looks through oversized,
plastic-framed, glasses. It was a warm night; snooty groups dotted
the yard. The barbecue still smelled of tofu dogs.

“I got the feeling you don’t know too many
people here,” said the other man. He wore a sports jacket and real
leather shoes. He’d already been told off that evening by a pair of
vegans.

“Oh hell no. I’m here because of Elijah, my
business partner. These are his girlfriend’s friends. He has to go,
but he can’t stand them. So he asked me to come be his wingman at
this party.”

Sports Jacket looked around.

“Well where is he?”

He rolled his eyes. “Having a fight with his
girlfriend, upstairs. Been half an hour and they’re still not done.
They’re either still fighting, or they’ve started fucking. Either
way, I’m stuck out here with Gentrification’s finest.”

“Well, we’re both stuck out here.”

“What about you?” Damien asked. “What brought
you here?”

“Just meeting up with some friends from
Tufts. They wanted to come for this party, so here we are. They’re
busy hitting on random women who aren’t interested, so here I am,
drinking in a corner.”

“Did you go to Tufts?”

“Yeah, Fletcher School. I focused on venture
capital contracts. A big investor wants to screw you and steal your
business? I’m the guy who reads the small print he’ll try and
use.”

Damien sat up, eyes wide.

“No way? Hey, I’ve a contract that I need to
go over, one with a venture capitalist.”

“Seriously?” Sports Jacket grinned. “It’s a
small world. Have you got someone who’ll take a look at it for
you?”

“I haven’t asked anyone yet. Just got it
today.”

“Here,” he reached into his pocket and pulled
out a card. “I’d be happy to take a look at it for you, on
Monday.”

Damien read the card. “Sam Snyder. Good to
meet you, Sam Snyder,” the two shook hands. “I hate to be crass but
how much would that set me back?”

“You stick around and babysit me till my
useless friends crash and burn, and we’ll call it covered.”

“It’s a deal,” he held up his party cup. “To
highly convenient coincidences!”

They toasted.

One Year Later, Asteroid 2034 AT 43

“I got nothing on number Seven.”

The Huawei Work Module was large and brightly
lit. Equipment was tucked in plastic bags, Velcroed to the walls.
Touch consoles docked in handy ports, with ergonomic sliding trays.
In a corner was a (vintage) poster of what to do during a zombie
holocaust. Elijah had taped a roll-up display screen on a table.
Green dots lit up on his wire diagram map. One dot was red.

“Nothing?” asked Damien.

“Nothing. I can’t get a ping, and I’m not
picking up the transponder.”

“It is still drawing power?”

“That it is.”

“Thank God,” Damien untensed. “We can’t lose
another mass driver.”

“Can you check if there was a microquake
there? Even if it’s still drawing power, it could still be damaged
or knocked out of alignment.”

Seismographs sprung into the air above
Damien’s tablet.

“Yeah, we had a one point six near
there.”

“It’s that fucking hydrocarbon ice. We’re too
close to the sun; the alcohols boil every rotation.” He took off
his baseball cap and got up slowly.

“What are you doing?”

“We need Seven back online,” Elijah said over
his shoulder. “I’m going to suit up and head over there.”

“There’s not enough time,” said Damien.
“Sun’s coming up in an hour. It’s not safe with the ice
melting.”

“We have to get Seven back up.”

“It can wait.”

“What about the 0740 firing?”

“We can make adjustments to fire without
Seven.”

“What are you, nuts?” Elijah’s smile was
threadbare. “That’ll throw all the calculations. We’ll have to
rework every single firing, and then get FAA approval. You want to
do all that before 0740? What if the FAA says no? Damien, we’ll
lose the whole mission.”

The engineer said nothing for moment.

“Well,” he said slowly, “we’d both better
go.”

“No, you should stay and monitor Seven,”
Elijah climbed into his pressure suit. “We don’t know what the
problem is, and we might get control back. Also, you should start
reworking all the firings. If I can’t get Seven working, it’ll be
our only option.”

“It’s not safe, Elijah,” his arms were
folded.

“Sure, if we waste the rotation, arguing. I
have to get done and be out by sun up. Now are you going to help me
with this suit, or not?”

Elijah Newman clipped himself to the safety
line, and hopped across the ground.

2034 AT 43’s surface was a grey with patchy
black intervals. Mica and quartz dusts reflected his suit lights,
like peeking buried diamonds. He floated for meters, his weight
barely a percent of its Earth value. A hundred meters away, a green
light flashed from a steel piling. The first waypoint on his trip
around the world.

He looked up, the stars filled his helmet and
tried to get in.

Focus on the mass driver, focus on the mass
driver, he told himself. Getting distracted can wait till 0740.

He remembered Joey Yen, an engineering
student from Guangzhou he’d had classes with. Yen had borrowed
money to buy luxury properties in Burma, betting on the Chinese
tech bubble. He’d been right, and now lived in Monaco with his
three (possibly four) girlfriends. But it had been a near thing.
Joey had been ready to jump from a tower he said, if he’d bet
wrong.