The Hundred Gram Mission Read Online Free
Author: Navin Weeraratne
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 Bigelow 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.
He reached the first piling, a monolith rising out of a slag hill. Its green lamp spun, pulsing like a lighthouse. There would be flights and landings on AT 43. A body large as a naval anchorage needed hazard lights.
"Reached the first beacon," he spoke into his helmet radio. "It’s pretty dark out here, would have been nice if we had some floods. I can see the second beacon, its working fine."
He looked down. An ancient collision cracked and fissured AT 43, putting a valley between him and the second beacon. The safety line flew across it, disappearing in the darkness.
Be ready to jump from the
"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 Bigelow 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.
He reached the first piling, a monolith rising out of a slag hill. Its green lamp spun, pulsing like a lighthouse. There would be flights and landings on AT 43. A body large as a naval anchorage needed hazard lights.
"Reached the first beacon," he spoke into his helmet radio. "It’s pretty dark out here, would have been nice if we had some floods. I can see the second beacon, its working fine."
He looked down. An ancient collision cracked and fissured AT 43, putting a valley between him and the second beacon. The safety line flew across it, disappearing in the darkness.
Be ready to jump from the
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