CHAPTER 17 “ZERO Station”
Thursday 3 November 2811
My crewmates have already gone the additional 2,500 km to ZERO Station where you don’t need to worry much about dropping things; they just stay where you put them in mid-air, sort of. The GEO Station location was chosen so that “up” and “down” helped with quotidian tasks and ZERO Station is where you can park a freighter or, in our case, a starship, and it just stays put.
I am out of sickbay, but I have to go back every twelve hours for therapy: hands, shoulders, back, and knees. At the moment I am lying in bed with Alexi. I guess with Danika and Xingxing at ZERO Station, he figured he’d better bed me before I also left. I’m not complaining. He’s very attentive and respectful. Also, even though the thought of sex at one g is currently daunting with all my injuries, at half of a percent g and with Alexi’s gentleness, sex is pleasure drawn out in space, drawn out in time, and drawn out in erotic detail.
Thursday 17 November 2811
At the moment I’m in an elevator car headed to ZERO Station. It’s a quick three-hour trip. The whole passenger area is mounted on gimbals so that acceleration and deceleration pushes the passengers ‘down’ into their seats.
It’s been twenty days since the bomb and it’s my eighteenth birthday. Sitara’s birthday was on Monday but she insisted we wait to celebrate until I rejoined the crew. The party will be tomorrow night. Technically, I’m now an adult; funny how it doesn’t feel any different.
My hands aren’t perfect, but they are looking pretty good. I’m wearing braces for the healing ligaments that were stitched back together by a robot surgeon.
I haven’t felt nauseated since the trip up from the Anchor Ship so I’m hoping that’s completely behind me, but ZERO Station is another story, so they tell me.
Like Caleb, I guess Alexi is also behind me. The same could also be said of Earth.
We’ve been coasting at about 900 km/hr and at zero g but now the Passenger Pod is rotating in preparation for slowing down. In a few minutes, I’ll join my crewmates for final training and preparations.
Tuesday 29 November 2811
Dear Mom,
Our work periods are long and interlaced with training and component familiarization. The starship – my starship – is freaking huge. The four-kilometer diameter disk is big on paper and in video but when I’m out on that expanse in a space suit, the reality of its size is awesome. The disk is over 1250 hectares in area. It’s not particularly strong. Theoretically, the disk can withstand half a g; the maximum mission acceleration. The six of us are responsible for maintaining every electrical connection and every cooling pump on that disk. The engine structure is two kilometers long, ten meters in diameter and attached at right angles to the center of the disk. Trillium looks like a Brobdingnagian bumbershoot.
The disk will support our three living modules, serve as our communications link to Earth, function as a radiator for our engines, and act as a light sail to help Trillium brake as it plunges toward New Sol. During most of the journey, however, the disk will be folded up just like an umbrella between storms. Leaving it open will lead to erosion from interstellar gas and dust, to say nothing of an occasional pebble impacting at a tenth the speed of light. Folded up, it and we will travel protected by a shield at the front of Trillium.
As humongous as the starship is, its mass is about the same as the airplane you and I took to Uganda. Stripped down, Trillium has a mass of 56 tonnes. With the shuttles, she weighs 80 tonnes. When we depart ZERO Station with fuel and all 15 engines, Trillium will be over 600 tonnes.
Each of the shuttles can carry six people and cargo down to the lakes of New Earth and return. Not only will lakes make smooth landing strips, but water can be used as a reaction mass and as a source of deuterium for the engines.
Love you,
Estrella
Of course, I neglected to mention that Trillium will reach New Earth centuries after I’ve been recycled. Freaking weird thinking about that.
Celeste insisted that I do more admin stuff since I’m not totally 100% healed. Strikes me as odd that I now find myself giving orders to the others, including the Captain. I’d rather be out working with my crewmates. This admin stuff is stressful, especially when I screw up. Yesterday I scheduled Hvezda and Xingxing for an E.V.A. to install another propulsion magnet on engine #2 but I failed to reserve a work shuttle far enough in advance, so they had to go hand over hand nearly two kilometers from the airlock and again to return. In zero g it was pretty easy for them but risky; one of them could have missed a grip and sailed off toward Sagittarius.
Hvezda and Xingxing invited me to lunch so I expect to hear how pissed they were for my fucking up yesterday. I slowly made my way toward the dining commons. I don’t do any speeding these days; it hurts too much to change velocity.
In front of me were four or five FSA men standing upright blocking the corridor and chatting. I righted myself to get through when they all moved to the corridor walls to let two approaching women through.
No. Things were wrong. The unfamiliar women were wearing antique eyeglasses, heavy makeup, clothes from centuries ago, and they were upside down, walking toward me on the ceiling in high heels. They had necklaces hanging down into their cleavage and long earrings hanging down from their earlobes. But that didn’t make sense. ¿How can the jewelry be hanging down, or rather up? ¿Was I imagining things?
A second later some of my breakfast erupted out of my mouth and nostrils but I caught it with the sleeve of my jumpsuit. Without a word, two of the FSA guys pulled me out of midair and started cleaning up the vomit with damp towels. They gently pulled me along the corridor to the women’s bathroom and handed me a clean jumpsuit. Not a word was spoken.
Feeling rather green, I entered the women’s room and planted my Velcro slippers before a zero g cleaning station. As I pulled off the soiled jumpsuit, the time-traveling women walked in, but this time they were right-side-up. They pulled off the wigs and eyeglasses; it was Xingxing and Hvezda!
“I tell you it work,” Hvezda said to Xingxing as they both helped give me a sponge bath.
I sucked some water from the fixture, rinsed my mouth, and spat it into the suction drain. “¿You mean you made me throw up?”
Hvezda explained, “We found theatre costumes before you came to ZERO Station. Mind is strange thing, Esty. When eyes see one thing and inner ear disagrees, we empty our stomach because many poisons cause disagreement between senses. Xingxing and I walk upside-down to men standing right-side-up – that disagreement maybe give you nausea feeling. Add costumes from long in past and jewelry that disagrees with zero g and all the disagreements add up. You lost your cookies.”
Xingxing added, “I’m sorry, Esty. But it was fun picking out costumes and putting on the make-up. These skirts are stiff, the necklace is taped to my skin, and tiny rubber bands hold the earrings in place. We put a little Velcro on the ceiling. It took us hours getting ready.”
I turned to face the two conspirators to give them a disapproving glare – but I had to quickly turn back to the suction drain as retching resumed.
Wednesday 14 December 2811
Dear Lester, María, Jalal, and Nguyen,
The trio of eight tonne shuttles is now settled in their nests at Trillium’s hub – the starship’s flat nose. Massive tanks resembling giant hockey pucks are stacked on the flat nose and are full of uranium, thorium, deuterium, and xenon – Trillium’s fuel and propellants. The xenon does double duty as it is released along the inner surface of the reaction chamber; first to protect the chamber walls, and second as propellant mass.
The nine disposable FECS engines are bolted to Trillium’s three permanent engines. In turn, chemical booster rockets and their fuel tanks are bolted to the other engines. The chemical rockets are ridiculously inefficient but very powerful and will be jettisoned when their fuel is exhausted a mere 30 minutes into the journey. FSA doped the fuel with phosphors so that our departure will appear pretty spectacular from the ground.
Our data banks contain nearly everything ever written, recorded, or produced: holograms of cuneiform tablets from Mesopotamia; holograms of statuettes from 40 millennia ago; Principia Mathematica; every public video ever recorded including the complete “I Love Lucy” videos; blueprints and engineering data for every mechanical and electrical device, building, tower, and bridge that was ever built; paintings; photos; blogs; webnews; recorded songs with lyrics and sheet music. Everything, everything, everything; except for private coms of living people.
Even now, FSA is feeding everything being created on Earth as soon as it becomes available: holovideos, advertisements, silly videos, e-books, webzines, webnews, blogs, journals, music, speeches – everything. FSA will continue this feed during the journey and plans to keep it up as long as Trillium Project personnel can confirm they are receiving the data stream.
Love,
Esty
“Listen up,” Celeste called. “We will be boarding a shuttle for Trillium in ten minutes at ten hundred hours. Trillium will begin acceleration tests maxing at zero point 25 g. It will then coast while the six of us continue to test systems from inside. FSA personnel in shuttles will inspect Trillium from outside and telemetry will be relayed to ISTRI’s base in Genève. You will wear your space suit at all times even if it means crapping in it. You will keep your helmet on and locked during acceleration and close by at all other times. I want continuous voice contact. ¿Questions? … Yes. ¿Question, Danika?”
“¿Do I have time to use the bathroom here?”
“I suggest you all follow Danika’s lead and use the facilities.”
Alberto, 40-ish, blond, and handsome, once again arrived to pilot the shuttle with the six of us out to our habitat. “Hi, Alberto,” Danika crooned. “¿Do you think you can find the docking hole in the shadows? You could just feel around until you find it, then shove it in.” Once again, by the time he mated the shuttle to habitat docking ring, he was blushing from our brash, risqué banter. Good fun.
We took our positions in the three interconnected modules and checked into the controller for system checks. The whole process of checking systems was a colossal joke. I reached my control station, strapped into my chair, and asked, “¿My name?”
The controller answered vocally and on the monitor, “Estrella Ramirez, Trillium dash one.”
“Report items out of parameters.”
“None to report.”
“Report concerns.”
“None to report.”
“Report scheduled events.”
“Propulsion and integrity testing at ten hundred hours. Rotation and return to ZERO Station by twenty-two hundred hours.”
And that was it. I unstrapped and drifted over to the kitchen area where Xingxing and I shared rumors, news, and hot chocolate.
The main controller announced throughout the starship, “Propulsion test in 15 minutes.” In the Command Module, it was heard in the voice of Ashton Moejane, President-for-life who was assassinated in 2763. In the Nursery Module it was in the voice of Mickey Mouse, and in the Tech Module it was the singer, Shareen Rooibus.
Before donning my helmet, I floated over to a port and saw nothing but black. “Controller, lights to zero in Nursery Module.” My eyes adjusted quickly, and myriads of stars appeared. There is life out there, but we know so little about it. “Lights to six in Nursery Module.” I strapped myself into the chair, put the helmet over my head and locked it in place.
“Comm check, Ramirez.”
“Comm check, Johansson”
“Comm check, Lo”
“Comm check, Dubček”
“Comm check, Ramachandran”
“Comm check, Perry”
At the end of the countdown, Trillium did the standard Dandruff Dance; a series of movements designed to shake loose and shed anything that might have been left or lost during its nearly twenty years of construction: wrenches, screwdrivers, clips, wires, bolts, washers, etc. The final moves of the Dandruff Dance took Trillium out of the debris field so that the waiting shuttles could scoop up the freed pieces using radar, lidar, and big butterfly nets.
Trillium rotated so that the ion engines were pointing away from the shuttles and away from ZERO Station before the real tests began. The first propulsion test accelerated us at 10 percent g for ten seconds. During the acceleration, I heard a groaning from the superstructure and some squeals and pops that reverberated in my Nursery Module.
“Report out of parameters,” came Captain Perry’s command, but no issues existed so the next test was doubled to 20 percent g for ten seconds. The racket transmitted to the modules was truly frightening. And then all was quiet with zero g restored.
“Report out of parameters.”
On my helmet’s heads-up display I could see problems with several low-pressure coolant pumps and some other components. I read the display.
LPCP 260 Mike. No response to commands.
LPCP 267 Romeo. Failure to report.
LPCP 311 Quebec. Failure to report.
LPCP 211 Tango. Failure to report.
Cam 260 November. No response to commands.
Cam 260 Oscar. Failure to report.
0.08 structural deviation at 259 Lima.
0.09 structural deviation at 260 Mike.
End of Segment Report. Data Submitted to repair queue.
The other two segments had similar damage reports. Shit, this was bound to delay our departure. Further propulsion testing was cancelled for today. Trillium maneuvered at low acceleration levels back to our parking location and repair crews from the shuttles went to work.
Sunday 25 December 2811
Christmas at ZERO Station was pretty much like Christmas in Ohio: Carolers in ancient costumes and wigs sang [right side up], Santa Claus rode in his reindeer-drawn sleigh flying through the air [the reindeer were made from packing materials but the flying was real], alcoholic drinks were poured, and Christmas presents given.
For my crewmates I made figurines styled after classic sci-fi video characters. I found holos of zillions of toy characters, picked out some I liked, and sent them to a minifactory sized to 12 cm. They came out super.
Hvezda gave me a barf bag beautifully embroidered with “Estrella” and woven trillium blossoms. Captain Perry gave me an overly buxom Wonder Woman figurine in the act of swinging a box on a string around her head while standing on a dental floss dispenser. Danika crocheted bunny ears for everyone to glue onto their helmets. Mine are aqua with pink on the inside. Xingxing knitted me a blue and silver scarf with multicolored phosphors in the yarn. Sitara gave each of us a cello bag of tea labeled, “Almost but not quite exactly nothing like Darjeeling.”
ZERO Station personnel went in together to give us presents as well. We all received sterling silver ear studs in the shape of a ‘Z’ and sexy lingerie.
We had a raucous good time.
Thursday 29 December 2811
OW! Ow, ow. Shit! I looked up to see Larry holding his mouth as he thrashed, writhed, and drifted up away from me. Fine lines of blood streamed from both of us before separating into strings of droplets. The pieces of tooth floating away were definitely his. My hand found a power conduit and I finally propelled myself away from him and away from the storage room. I flew through the machine shop grabbing and kicking at anything to pick up speed. I took a quick look behind and saw him in pursuit. I got to the corridor and hit the opposite wall with bone-bruising force, but ignored the pain and put all of my energy frantically into regaining speed. I heard him crash into the same wall.
Between turns in the corridor I looked back but he wasn’t in sight. I pulled my panties back up as blood streamed down my face and neck. I gave up trying to get my bra back in place from around my waist as I concentrated on going as fast as possible.
I sailed into the canteen flying frightfully fast. “Stop me, stop me!” Several people launched themselves at me and we collided. Others grabbed at our tangle of bodies and limbs and pulled us down. They put me into a Velcroed chair. I could no longer see through the blood-stained tears; tears that had nowhere to go in zero g.
Sobbing I screamed, “Bastard! Stinking bastard. Stinking fucking bastard.”
Hands blotted my tears with napkins. Someone put pressure on my bleeding head where I contacted his chin. All I could do was sob; sob at being safe; sob with rage; sob with pain; sob with thankfulness for those around me now.
“Esty, Esty. You’re all right.” It was Hvezda’s voice. Her arms encircled my shoulders and zipped up my jump suit. I hugged her back. Somebody blotted my tears enough for me to see a medic settle out of the air and take his place in front of me.
“I see you have a scalp laceration. ¿Have you other injuries?”
“Bruises. Scratches. Hit me in the face, stomach. He got his fingers up me. Hurts bad.”
“Put a hand up on your head. Hold that bandage in place.
I reached up and felt the warm wet compress.
“Put some pressure on it to slow the bleeding and don’t let go. OK. We’ll take you to sickbay.”
They separated my butt and slippers from the Velcro and asked me to hold my body straight but relaxed. They walked me out of the canteen and down a corridor just as though I were lying face up on a gurney – but without the gurney.
We reached sick bay the same time as a security officer. She asked me to describe what happened and often asked for clarification. The medic interrupted us several times as he sealed my split scalp and tended to my split lip, numerous scratches, and bruises. Finally, I reached the end of my sordid story. “Get that bastard. You gotta get him.”
She folded her e-pad, took my hand, and, looking directly into my eyes, quietly told me, “Lt. Griffon sent me a report a few minutes ago. He followed the trail of your blood and then of his blood. It led to an airlock. He had evacuated it without a suit. He’s dead.”
She gently squeezed my hand and let go. “Get some rest, Ensign Ramirez, and do what the doctor tells you.” I watched her turn and leave; I closed my eyes.
Monday 2 January 2812
I’d suffered a concussion and was lucky I didn’t need a craniotomy. It’s also fortunate I wasn’t too stunned; Larry had razor-sharp tools on him. From his trail of blood, it was obvious that he chased after me almost to the canteen before doubling back to the airlock.
ISTRI forwarded a hundred or so get-well e-cards out of millions received and sent up real paper get-well cards from Mom, Uncle Ricardo, Caleb, Lester, and The President.
Captain Perry came for yet another visit. Gravely she secured herself into the chair next to me. “Hi Esty. You’re looking much better; at least the skin between the bruises looks better.”
“I’m feeling better; between fits of crying, that is.”
Captain Perry removed a chocolate bar from her tunic and sailed it over to me. “Maybe this will help.”
I plucked the candy bar out of the air. “Celeste, one of the things that bothers me is that he could not have imagined he could get away with raping me. He would have been caught. He must have known he would get caught. It makes no sense.”
“Esty, we don’t think he planned on getting away with it.” She paused, looked down, audibly exhaled, and continued. “His name was Laurence Miller. He was extremely talented at mending titanium, aluminum, carbon fiber, fiber optic cable, and such. After Trillium’s propulsion test, so many joints were damaged, and cables stretched and broken that the FSA sent Larry and dozens of others to ZERO Station to help with repairs and re-designs. Oh, he had been in trouble before, including suspicion of rape, but the girl insisted that it was consensual. FSA figured that he and several others were worth the risk largely because with all the video monitoring, any crimes would be quickly solved. In fact, we have nearly the entire attack archived now on video. Hell, I had to pay for that candy bar because there’s no way I could’ve pilfered it without getting caught.”
“¿He wanted to get caught?”
“Not that he wanted that, Esty. Several hours ago, a huge sum of credit was transferred into his parents’ account.”
“Oh my god. ¿From where?”
“We may never know the answer to that, Esty. Dr. Nicole Leatherman, the forensic psychologist on the case, thinks that Larry agreed to kill himself after … after killing you. In exchange his parents and sister would live comfortably. He likely harbored a lot of guilt over his earlier run-ins with the law and harming others.”
“But it was a rape. He wasn’t like trying to kill me.”
“Dr. Leatherman posits that Larry chose to, wanted to … to experience the thrill of rape before … that.”
Neither of us said anything for a long time. I looked at the candy bar in my hand, still in its wrapping. My appetite was gone.
“¿The Goots?”
“Yeah. Probably.”
Tears welled up and coated my eyes. I fumbled for a tissue and blotted the tears. With a quivering overly loud voice I cried, “¿Why me, damn it? ¿Why the fuck is it always me?”
Calmly and quietly Captain Perry rose, put a hand gently on my head, and answered, “You’ve probably figured that out already, Estrella. Not only are you the darling of Earth at this moment, you’ve also survived two previous attempts by them to remove you. You are a thorn in their side.”
Thursday 12 January 2812
The second 20 percent g test revealed other problems which led to yet another minor re-design and to additional acceleration tests.
“Third time’s a charm,” mom told me over her e-pad. “I hear your departure is now set for February second. ¿Is that right, dear?”
“Apparently so, mom. We’re running out of things to practice and to study. Besides, I’m getting pretty far in debt playing poker.”
“¿What? ¿How deep in debt are you? ¿How can the others do that to you?”
“I’m about twenty-three hundred points in the hole but points don’t have any meaning except for bragging rights. It’s kind of embarrassing. I’m not used to losing.”
“Oops. Sorry dear. The movers are at the door. Talk to you tomorrow.”