Critical Mass: A Novel Page 2

  She grimaced. “And they’ll outnumber us.”

  “Eight people, if it is a standard crew. I see no way to prevent their taking physical control of the Konstantin.” He turned to her. “Should we also message James, Priya, and Han—to tell them we might be boarded?”

  Abarca considered this. “Would that reveal our presence?”

  “Quite possibly. The radio transmitter is not secure.”

  “Then no. Besides, all it would do is worry them.”

  Abarca and Adisa watched the monitor as the unknown vessel docked. It was distant enough that they felt no shudder or clunk of metal.

  “Whoever it is, they have skill.”

  Abarca switched to a camera inside the Konstantin’s upper airlock, a hundred meters away along the ship’s lightweight box truss superstructure. After several moments, she pointed. “There . . .”

  The surveillance camera showed the hatch open, and then four individuals in ungainly, light gray space suits floated in one by one through the docking port in microgravity. They were soon followed by four more. What should have been a joyous sight—the arrival of a crew from Earth after four long years—was instead disquieting.

  “Obsolete EVA suits. Orlan-Ms.” Adisa poked at the communications console.

  “Cutting costs. That sounds like Joyce’s creditors all right.”

  “I cannot intercept their comms. They appear to be using encrypted radio. Might they be military?”

  The intruders were clearly communicating with one another, but their faces were concealed behind reflective visors; their radio chatter blasts of static. The new arrivals were visibly agitated by their inability to control anything on the Konstantin. They repeatedly tried to tap virtual controls that were linked to a ship that did not exist. After a few frustrated moments, most of them continued deeper into the Konstantin, entering the 2-meter-diameter microgravity tunnel that ran its length.

  Meanwhile, two of the intruders opened one of the unoccupied docking hatches and emerged from the Konstantin to begin a space walk. They clipped tethers onto an exterior rail and moved forward, hand over hand, along the Konstantin’s solar mast—clearly knowing where they were going.

  Adisa switched to an exterior view from the mule’s distant cameras—zooming in on the two space walkers. “They are headed to the comm array—to restore their long-range communications. They will find my bypass.”

  Abarca keyed the laser comm channel. “Konstantin to mission control, we have been boarded by eight unidentified individuals—possibly a hostile replacement crew. They are moving now to cut our communications. I will keep this channel open as long as possible. Repeat . . .”

  As Abarca continued to transmit, the two space walkers reached the comm tower and discovered Adisa’s modifications, including the cables running to his bypass enclosure. In a few moments they yanked its cables.

  “That is it.” He turned to her. “We have lost our connection with mission control.”

  They both stared in horror as the space walkers worked to restore the original wiring to the laser transmitter—relinking to hostile management back on Earth.

  Adisa’s mind raced, and he brought up a virtual shell console. “I can cripple their transmitter—at the ship’s OS level. They would be unlikely to find the cause.”

  She nodded. “Do it. Buy us some time.”

  Adisa swiftly wrote a shell script that locked out all the transmitter ports. He then inserted the script into several core services that launched during the ship’s OS startup. In a few minutes he was finished. “I have disabled their transmitter.”

  “Good.” She was focused on the surveillance monitors. The intruders inside the ship were now moving into the Central Hab—the junction to all three radial arms and the habs at their ends.

  Abarca switched cameras to monitor their progress. “We could physically bar the hatch to this hab. It’ll take them at least five minutes to winch down the hab tunnel, and we still have sysadmin control of the Konstantin.”

  “But they now have physical control of the ship’s computer core, Isabel. They could reinstall the entire ship’s OS and then detect us on surveillance cameras.”

  She nodded. “And purge our atmosphere. Like last time. We are in a tight spot here, Ade.”

  “Do you think they will kill us?”

  “Their employers already tried to, and that’s who sent these people.”

  Adisa pointed at a surveillance monitor. “Look. They found the Far Star . . .”

  On-screen, one of the intruders lifted a glittering kiwi-fruit-sized diamond from its perch on the wall of the Central Hab. They held it up for the others to see and appeared to celebrate. The stone was a 250-carat diamond James Tighe had discovered during mining operations. Nicole Clarke, the Konstantin’s original captain and resident geologist, had cut it into a flawless, brilliant pear diamond they named the Far Star—before she died of cancer. The stone was worth several hundred million back on Earth and no doubt was on a manifest of objects for the new crew to secure.

  “They knew right where to look for it.” She turned to him. “And next they’ll probably start searching for our bodies. Here in the habs.”

  Two of the intruders opened the pressure door to access the Konstantin’s computer core, while the other two pairs went “down” into the spin-gravity wells of the habitat modules, leaving the third module—the Fab Hab workshop—for last.

  Intruders were headed their way.

  “What do we do, Isabel?”

  “I’m thinking.” She studied the surveillance cameras as two of the intruders clipped in to the winch and slowly descended the hundred-meter airless tunnel toward their hab unit.

  “There are only two of them coming toward us. We have the element of surprise.” Adisa got up and rushed into the living quarters. After a few moments he emerged with an ice ax.

  “What do you plan to do with that?”

  “We must be prepared to defend ourselves.”

  She grabbed it from him. “You’re not killing anyone with my climbing ax.”

  “Then what are we doing? Are we accepting our fate?”

  They stood staring at each other. Adisa’s thoughts raced as the moments ticked by, but no solution to their predicament came to mind.

  All too soon the clunk of boots sounded on the ceiling of the hab unit directly above them. They both looked upward.

  He whispered, “They are here.”

  Abarca entered the hab core and stared up at the airlock hatch in the ceiling. Adisa moved alongside her. The airlock was already cycling.

  She placed the ice ax out of sight, leaning it against the wall next to her. “No matter what happens, it has been an honor crewing with you, Adedayo Adisa.”

  He nodded. “And with you, Isabel Abarca.”

  They hugged and looked back up at the ceiling as the rattling air pump stopped.

  The hatch lever slid aside, then the lid lurched open with a loud squeak, demonstrating the wear of years. In a few moments, a gray booted foot appeared, probing for the top ladder rung. Then another boot followed, and the intruder started descending shakily into the full spin-gravity of the living quarters. A bulky space suit with a life support pack became visible. A second set of boots followed close behind.

  Abarca and Adisa silently stood their ground.

  Reaching the base of the ladder, the first intruder planted their feet on the deck, and unsteadily turned around in the bulky space suit. In a moment the reflective visor finally came into view.

  The intruder suddenly snapped alert—startled at the first sight of Abarca and Adisa.

  And now they could clearly see the flag of North Korea sewn onto the suit’s chest plate.

  PART ONE

  Earthbound

  CHAPTER 1

  Reckoning

  JULY 14, 2038

  E
rika Lisowski sat in a deserted waiting area on sublevel 2B of the FBI’s gleaming new headquarters in Washington, DC. Before long, a dour woman at a built-in reception desk motioned to her, and Lisowski stood to approach.

  The woman pointed to a grid of numbered cubbyhole shelves installed in the wall. “Place all electronic devices on your person in any open box and note the number.”

  Lisowski realized she was about to enter a SCIF—a sensitive compartmented information facility. No electronics permitted, and that meant the place would be shielded against radio signals as well. Such facilities were common enough in DC, but not in Lisowski’s work as a NASA economist. It confirmed that whatever was about to be discussed was not meant to be seen or heard beyond these walls. That was telling.

  Lisowski powered down her phone and stowed it in one of the cubbyholes, taking a chit for the box number. She then followed the receptionist’s pointed finger to a suited man standing next to a closed door. He held up a scanning wand. “Arms out at your sides, please.”

  She did as instructed, and he waved the device across her body. Then he scanned and inspected her purse.

  Finished, he opened the door and said, “They’re waiting inside for you.”

  She entered, and the door closed immediately behind her. There was a modest-sized conference room with an American flag draped on a pole in the corner. In the center was a long table occupied on one side by a dozen solemn men and women in suits and one or two in military uniform. They resembled a row of judges. None of them wore identification, and there were no name tags on the table in front of them. Two female agents stood to either side of Lisowski, and one pulled out the lone chair opposite the officials.

  It appeared she would be on her own—a situation to which she’d grown accustomed. Lisowski placed her purse on the floor and sat down.

  Directly across from her, a prim and pinched-faced man in a freshly pressed charcoal gray suit flipped through a thick file. He looked up and stared intensely into her eyes. “Dr. Lisowski, do you know why you’ve been called here today?”

  She spoke calmly. “I do not.”

  “This is a classified disciplinary hearing, convened to assess whether your conduct warrants immediate termination from NASA.”

  She processed this news. “I see. Then why are we at FBI headquarters and not at NASA?”

  “Because if this panel concludes termination is warranted, you will be arrested and charged with espionage under Title 18 of the federal criminal code.”

  So that was the game plan. Intimidation. A poor choice. One that suggested desperation.

  “What’s extraordinary is that you thought your activities would not be discovered.”

  “What ‘activities’?” She scanned the faces of the other officials. Who among them was the real person in charge here? She suspected not the one talking to her.

  He continued. “We have irrefutable evidence of your involvement in numerous breaches of NASA’s code of ethical conduct, not to mention federal law. You face not only dismissal from NASA and forfeiture of your pension, but also decades in federal prison. Do you understand the gravity of your situation?”

  “I understand.” Lisowski let a beat pass. “But then, if your plan was to arrest me, you would have. So why don’t we cut the bullshit and get to the real discussion?”

  Her interlocutor was taken aback and took to rearranging his papers.

  One of the men in uniform chuckled slightly to himself.

  A woman on the panel spoke up. “Okay, Erika—let’s all cut the bullshit. Three months ago a small asteroid burned up above Europe, illuminating the night sky over millions of people. You may have seen videos of it on the Internet.”

  Lisowski said nothing.

  “Well, it wasn’t an asteroid, and it didn’t burn up. It was an unidentified spacecraft inbound from beyond the Moon at over 65,000 miles per hour, performing a controlled aerobraking maneuver—no easy feat. Two days later that same spacecraft came around again and circularized into low Earth orbit—before issuing a mayday call. Its crew said they were a lifeboat from the Luxembourg-flagged asteroid mining ship Konstantin. Have you ever heard of such a spacecraft—the Konstantin?”

  Lisowski contemplated the question. “I know that Nathan Joyce—”

  “The tech billionaire.”

  “Yes. Joyce planned to build an asteroid mining vessel, but the news said it was all a scam. Just a Ponzi scheme to dig himself out of debt.”

  The woman stared hard at Lisowski. “And conveniently Mr. Joyce committed suicide before he could be arrested for embezzlement and tax evasion.”

  “I don’t expect it was convenient for Mr. Joyce.”

  “And yet, you know that’s not the entire truth.”

  Lisowski remained silent.

  The woman continued. “The Chinese rescued the lifeboat’s crew in low Earth orbit. One of the three occupants was a former taikonaut—son of one of the richest men in China—an industrialist who is also a high-ranking Communist Party member. The CCP confiscated the spacecraft in LEO, claiming right of salvage. Imagery and spectral analysis suggest the ship’s aerodynamic skin was crafted from a seamless piece of cobalt steel—estimated to be more than 50 tons in mass. That’s some lifeboat. And there’s no record of any such craft launching from Earth.”

  A man on the panel said, “We have reason to believe that the Chinese are behind this crewed deep space mission—and that it is somehow linked to you and the late Nathan Joyce.”

  Lisowski laughed bitterly. “This is so predictable.”

  “You find this amusing?”

  “No. I find it pathetic. That lifeboat was not built by China—which is no doubt why they seized it. In fact, it wasn’t built on Earth at all. It was built in deep space by the crew that flew it.”

  “Then you admit you were aware of the existence of this spacecraft?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what do you know about the asteroid mining ship Konstantin?”

  Lisowski took a deep breath. She had carried this secret for so long now—years—but secrecy was no longer possible. Here goes. “I advised Nathan Joyce to build the Konstantin—a 346-ton spin-gravity asteroid mining vessel—in lunar orbit back in 2032. Very much as his publicly released blueprint depicted it.”

  Several of the panelists eagerly began taking notes.

  “But it wasn’t a proposed spacecraft; he actually built it. In pieces. Secretly. The Konstantin departed lunar orbit on an unsanctioned asteroid mining mission on December 13, 2033, with a commercial crew of eight—and to this day remains in the vicinity of the near-Earth asteroid Ryugu. More importantly, its crew has already returned thousands of tons of refined water ice, iron, nickel, cobalt, ammonia, nitrogen, and silica toward cislunar space—resources, in fact, equal in mass to more than half of everything humanity has ever launched into orbit. But then, I suspect these resources are the real reason I was called here today.” She studied the panelists’ faces for any tells.

  “Why did you not alert your superiors to the existence of Joyce’s illicit spacecraft?”

  Lisowski remained stone-faced. “Nathan himself announced it publicly everywhere he went. His videos are all over the Internet.”

  “What I mean is: Why did you not alert your superiors that Joyce was actually building the spacecraft—and with funding from questionable sources?”

  “Because if I had, then it wouldn’t have happened.”

  “Who else within NASA or the US government was aware of the Konstantin’s construction in lunar orbit?”

  Lisowski shrugged. “I have no idea. I can only speak for myself.”

  Her interviewer did not seem satisfied with this answer. “You had no other help or accomplices?”

  Another man on the panel said, “You’ve already confessed to criminal conspiracy.”

  Lisowski recalled her grandfathe
r gazing at the stars in his backyard—his dreams for humanity thwarted decades ago. She resolved not to back down. “It’s 2038, and we’re only just now establishing a permanent presence on the Moon. Meanwhile, climate change is tearing apart civilization—it won’t wait for us to get our shit together. Humanity is half a century behind where we should be.”

  A couple members of the panel nodded in agreement. She took mental note of them.

  One of the other panelists said, “Your little space mission resulted in the deaths of at least three—and possibly five—of the crew, not to mention the embezzlement of twenty-four billion dollars.”

  Lisowski turned on the panelist. “Our ‘little space mission’ accomplished a thousand firsts and has greatly accelerated human progress in space. As for the funding, I wasn’t consulted by Nathan on how he raised the money. But over half of it was embezzled from dictators, criminal organizations, and corporate tax evaders, and to my mind put to more productive use.”

  “You say these miners accomplished firsts. Where is the hard data returned from this mission?”

  Lisowski was pleased by this shift in the conversation. So they wanted things from her. She still had leverage. “I have in my possession all the scientific, telemetry, and physiological data from the expedition. Daily medical records from the ship’s flight surgeon—a treasure trove of data on human survival in deep space, particularly regarding GCRs, radiation shielding, and spin-gravity research. Obviously, this data must be shared with the scientific community.”

  Several of the panelists scribbled this down, too.

  Her first interviewer was not appeased. “These were unethical and unlawful human experiments.”

  “The crew of the Konstantin was well aware of the risks they were taking. We don’t prevent climbers from risking their necks on mountains here on Earth. So why are we preventing them from climbing mountains out in space? No taxpayer money was lost on this expedition. These were private individuals from several nations—so it hardly constitutes a geostrategic threat.”