Cradle of the Sun

By James McLellan

Robbie is a prospector, a spy, and a veteran explorer of the deep. When a businessman hires him to search for a lost relative beyond the edge of the solar system, Robbie and his crew embark on a voyage beyond their expectations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Mclellan
• Release date: Dec 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9781736843932

James McLellan

James McLellan is a Senior Lecturer in English Language and Linguistics at Universiti Brunei Darussalam. His recent publications include Code Switching in Malaysia (2009, edited with M.K. David, S. Rafik-Galea and Ain Nadzimah Abdullah ).

Book preview

Mass Energy

THE FIRST SIGN TO ROBBIE that something had gone wrong was that he was in the ship infirmary. Nicky’s tiny tub had a small med bay, in addition to the essential build out for a vessel of its kind. And just in case Robbie was inclined to think his situation wasn’t dire, waiting at the side of his bed was none other then the great Captain Nicky himself. His head was hanging low. Robbie wondered how long the cocky captain had been there. Then he wondered what happened.

Nicky looked up. Robert! he said with relief. You’re alive! Robbie wondered why a man who insisted going by a shortened name like Nicky insisted on calling everyone by an elongated version of their own names, whether the names fit or not.

I am, Robbie confirmed, unsure. Should I not be? he asked.

I’m very, very sorry, Nicky began. We had to restore you from a backup.

Robbie was stoic. It looks like it worked, he said. What happened?

Some stray ice got you, Nicky said obscurely. Your suit got wrecked, he added more clearly.

How bad? Robbie asked, sitting up. He had no memory since he’d last updated the digital simulation of a human mind that was the medical alternative of last resort. Looking at the time, that was almost a full twenty-four hour day ago.

Maybe not as bad as it looks, Nicky replied, but beyond my abilities. The young captain put on his winning smile. You still get your share. Even if you can’t work. We’ll find something for you to do. Robbie sat up and rotated off the side of the bed. Well, it was good that Nicky wasn’t using the accident as an excuse to cheat Robbie out of his share.

The captain reviewed some instructions. How are you feeling? Nicky asked. Vision? Hearing? Memories? The unnerved captain indicated the instructions. It says those are common symptoms if I didn’t align everything correctly. As far as Robbie could tell, everything worked. He informed the captain of as much, which brightened Nicky’s mood tremendously. Robbie had a feeling the unflappable teflon captain will have completely forgotten about whatever had just happened within a week.

As a sign of the changing times, Nicky got up. Well, if you are healthy enough to get around, you can watch the radios. I have to get out there and bring in the last of the goods. The captain turned and left, leaving Robbie alone in the tiny medical closet. Robbie got off the bunk and walked through the tub. He found a port and looked outside. They were surrounded in shards of ice, more than was usual for a comet miner.

Mick raised Robbie on the radio. Hey! The boss says you’re alive.

I am, Robbie told the other crewman. Are you outside? Robbie asked.

Oh, yes, Mick said. This thing is a total mess, you know what I mean? Did Nicky tell you it was him that did you in?

Robbie accessed the ship library and began searching for exterior records from the day before. No, Robbie answered Mick, he left that part out.

Robbie found some footage in the ship’s computer system of himself and Mick outside the tug. He fast forwarded past Mick and himself making multiple excursions in their suits from the tug to the nearby iceball. Robbie remembered they had found one that was almost perfect. They just needed to cleave off about a kilometer from the side and the weight and balance would be right to attach outboard engines to pilot the haul to Eris for processing.

Robbie slowed the video down. He could here Mick arguing with their captain: I don’t care what your computer says, Mick continued. I’m looking at a fault line running straight through this. I’m positive that if we use this much explosive, this thing is gonna fragment.

And I’m telling you the equipment says it’s solid ice, and if we don’t use enough we’ll have to blast twice, Nicky retorted. Robert, Nicky asked, what do you think?

I see something, Robbie says. It could be chemical, but it might be the ice is already fractured. Just try a few charges. We’re willing to do it twice, if we have to. Mick indicated agreement. It was surreal realizing that Robbie was listening to some of his own last words.

If it’s not enough, we’re out, Nicky said. You don’t have to pay the mortgage on this tub if all we come home with is pockets full of snow. There was silence on the line. The sensors say it’s a solid ice ball. The extra kilometer makes the thing ten times too heavy for us to push to market in a month. I’m gonna detonate. Five seconds later, forty charges previously placed by Robbie and Mick flashed beneath the surface. If everything had gone according to plan, the blast would have been just enough to cleave the oversized comet to just the right size for pushing to Eris, where it would be converted into antimatter to feed the growing mass-energy appetite of the Solar system. If everything went according to plan, the two pieces would have been cut with barely enough energy left over to nudge them.

Things did not go to plan. As Mick and Robbie had predicted, the comet was already in two pieces. Detonation energy from the explosives that was meant to break in half a kilometer-thick wedge of ice instead went into driving scattered debris at higher velocity as the comet broke up into three primary pieces and a debris field. Robbie watched as an eighty meter chunk of ice slammed into his suit.

Did you get my suit back? Robbie asked Mick. In the footage it looked like the piece of ice that got him would be difficult to recover.

Yeah, Mick drew out the word. His crewmate decided not to elaborate. It’s in the rack, Mick deflected. Most of it, that is.

Robbie navigated to the loading area to see for himself. The deck had eight racks for extravehicular activity suits in the depressurized loading area. All of the racks were empty, except one. The suit was missing it’s bottom half, and the top half only hung together by a few strips of unsevered metal and plastic. The front was partly caved and partly shredded. Robbie whistled appreciatively at the savagery. The now resurrected miner took control of a set of robotic manipulator arms in the depressurized area to more closely inspect the damage. There was no good news on closer inspection.

Many independent operators used their privately owned equipment to go ice harvesting. Robbie was no exception. Even if he was okay, he wasn’t going to be able to work until he bought a new one. And getting a new EVA suit was going to be neither easy or inexpensive. He decided to leave the wreckage and go have a conversation with the Captain about paying for a replacement.

On the cramped bridge, Nicky had his eyes closed. Robbie keyed Mick on the radio. Is the captain out there? he asked.

Just stepped out, Mick answered. Do you want to talk with him? The flesh-and-blood captain was outside helping supervise the salvage operation using a remote. The captain almost never left the ship during a trip, Robbie knew after multiple outings. Nicky was, in Robbie’s opinion, likely fleeing any awkward conversations.

No, Robbie answered after some consideration. I’ll let him work. He could see Mick and Nicky both now through the window. It looked like they were mounting tugs on the largest piece, salvaging what payload they could. Robbie could pin down Nicky over the radio, but decided better of it for now.

The digitally resurrected operator occupied a spare chair on the bridge. The chair didn’t respond to the computerized figment’s weight, but a simulated version responded as you might expect in a moment of brief cognitive dissonance that quickly passed. The unemployed space man opened up a chat application and checked for new messages.

At an average distance of half a light-hour between potential work areas, the most popular means of ship crews communicating while out were exchanged text messages, sometimes with video or augmented reality attachments. Robbie corresponded with friends in high and low places across the comet cloud. 

Given the message delay and transmission costs, researching a new EVA suit himself would have to wait till their return to some kind of civilization with a data center. Robbie composed a message to transmit to his network of contacts:

"Friends,

I have found myself in the unenviable situation of being recently dispossessed. I’m looking for a good salvage and haul suit. Uploaded operator is a must. A modern reactionless maneuvering system is a plus, but would consider an old rocket suit. It needs at least 8 petabytes of memory, or extendable to as much. What can I say? I like my music. Can anyone out there help?"

Messages of encouragement came back in while Robbie browsed his other messages. He was active on nearly a hundred message boards, under various pseudonyms. He sent messages encouraging activists that agitated for independence. Often the old spacer was able to provide what he hoped was valuable advice drawn from his long experience. While he was composing one longer reply, a message arrived.

"Hey Buddy,

You sound down. Why don’t we ditch this whole ice pirate business when you get back? We’ll rent a freighter and load it until it bursts with luxury goods, then point it for the most frozen outpost in this benighted void to bring joy to the masses (at reasonable prices)."

Robbie smiled. A career change might be nice for a while. He thought about it a while, then sent back a message of agreement. Just the idea cheered him already considerably

Diplomats and Spies

IT’S AMAZING! MARIE said to her husband. Earth glowed brightly like a brilliant emerald jewel in the center of the window. Marie’s husband Harry floated nearby, also appreciating their approach.

Harry smiled grimly. Enjoy the view, he suggested to his wife and daughter before pushing off from the window. Harry caught hold of a rail to the next cabin in their shuttle and passed through the open hatch. Harry informed the tall faceless chrome humanoid robot on the other side of the hatch, I’ve completed the microbiology inventory. It’s published to the collaboration site.

Thank you, the robotic diplomat, Patricia, acknowledged. It seems like these Terrans would keep us parked in orbit for years filling out forms, if we let them. She paused a moment considering something. Could you help with the contraband inventory? the robot asked.  It’s overwhelming, Patricia complained. Harry agreed to the new duty, taking custody of an electronic list that other members of the diplomatic team were diligently combing through both the ship and their possessions to document that they did not possess.

In the time it took Harry to find his starting point with the list, Isaac, Fiona, and Mila had all separately arrived, provided brief updates to Patricia, the chief diplomat, and left. Harry followed Mila out. Harry’s destination was the shuttle’s cargo area. Inside Jonathan was cracking hydraulic lines, sampling the fluid for prohibited chemical signatures. Evelyn was working at another access panel and Sloane was inspecting the exteriors of the packing crates.

Isn’t this a Terran government shuttle? Harry asked no one in particular.

We were advised not to take chances with Earth customs, Jonathan answered without looking away from the sampling equipment.

Harry picked up from the open spot on the checklist. He used a small radiometer to document that none of their baggage emitted ionizing radiation. The level of detail required by the customs office made it necessary to unpack and check every surface with the sensing equipment.

This is not the welcome I was expecting, Evelyn complained while they worked.

Shh! Jonathan hissed. They may be listening.

We already scanned the ship for listening devices, Evelyn retorted, and if they are listening, I want them to hear this: THIS WELCOME SUCKS! she spoke the last loudly enough that any recording equipment placed aboard by the ships Martian owners or the Terran government they claimed to represent should be able to pick up her words clearly. Harry couldn’t help but laugh.

I remember my father-in-law telling me there was a reason why they left, Harry contributed.

My family too, Evelyn contributed. My mother cried when I told her I’d been accepted for the diplomatic corps. Jonathan shifted uncomfortably.

Sloane said nothing. As an artificial intelligence put together from other artificial intelligences, Sloane and the other fifteen machines on the diplomatic mission had complicated family relationships. Harry and Sloane worked several of the packages jointly in silence. For the benefit of any recording equipment, Evelyn continued to enumerate in great detail exactly how she expected the government of the solar system to treat visiting dignitaries from sixteen light years away.

Together, Harry and Sloane completed the cargo containers. Sloane moved on to additional inspections she’d been assigned. Harry helped Jonathan with chemical lines, then moved further aft.

On the way, Patricia’s gentle voice encouraged redoubling of effort over the intercom. Just reminding everyone, she said, that we have thirty minutes to submit our final reports. If we can not complete the required paperwork on time, we’ll be required to surrender our reservation on the LEO platform. We will not be able to try again until the next reservation becomes available in several months. Please move as quickly as you can, but be thorough, the chief diplomat advised.

When every item on the list was marked, Harry floated back to the mid-shuttle cabin that Patricia had turned into a staging area for the spree of last-minute necessities. Thank you, Patricia acknowledged Harry’s work. Through the hatch there was a viewing angle where the diplomat would see Harry’s wife, Marie, and their child Cara, and past them to the forward view. The Low Energy to Orbit (LEO) space elevator docking platform now took up most of the view. The shuttle was optimistically lining up on an approach, hoping that the required entry paperwork would be delivered on time.

I think we made it, Patricia said, reviewing the last reports and submitting the bundle before the deadline.

Harry floated to be with his wife and daughter. His family had been subjected to all sorts of trials: candidate selection on their homeworld, training, fifty-three years of chemically induced hibernation, a chill welcome as they transited from Neptune and were directed to Mars’ moon, Phobos, where their ship had been boarded and their belongings searched as much as Patricia would tolerate. They had been detained for nearly a year around Phobos. In that time, they’d been subjected continuously to both official and unofficial investigation by the Martian authorities. Harry had almost lost hope they would ever be allowed to see Earth.

Then Patricia had secured this chance for them to visit. Even this long hoped-for opening required heroic levels of patience. They had been required to travel in a borrowed Martian shuttle. Enough last-minute entry requirements had been thrown their way to make it seem certain they were not welcome.

In Harry’s opinion, though, it was all worth it. The shuttle passed the point-of-no-return, the location where the ship would have to break off it’s path had the government of Earth turned them away. Did we make it, Daddy? Cara, Harry and Marie’s daughter, asked.

I think we did, Harry said confidently. There are only two space elevators providing low energy to orbit access to all of Earth. It would take a lot of time now to turn us around, and they take efficient use of elevator time very seriously. I think it would be hard to turn us away now.

The chief diplomat addressed the mission team again. Everyone please make yourself ready at the loading dock, Patricia advised. We have been given an allowance of fifteen minutes to transfer ourselves and our property to the LEO tray. Harry glanced at his wife. They were ready to go. The family floated together to the cargo docks. There they assembled with the other twenty eight diplomats. Unprompted, the humans and robots assembled in a line with Patricia standing tall at the far end, as much as microgravity would allow her to.

They were all knocked out of place when the last heavy kick of jets adjusted velocity to very gently attach the shuttle to the station coupling. When the diplomats had recovered, the slightly larger size hatch had been opened and a human in a dark grey customs uniform had floated through.

Good afternoon, the human greeted the diplomats awkwardly. I’m Phillip. I’ll be handling your entry into the territory and sovereign province of Earth. Two humanoid robotic chassis also navigated through the hatch. This is Phillip, the human introduced, and also Phillip. They will be handling your bags. You don’t need to engage them in small talk, the human Phillip advised.

The robotic Phillips each began taking bags. Some of the diplomats attempted to help. They were rebuffed. It’s the rules, one of the robotic Phillips explained when a diplomat attempted to provide him with a bag, I’m required to do all of the handling.

There was an awkward pause. May we, Patricia asked the human Phillip, go inside?

Let me escort you, the human customs agent said, floating to a post at the door. Patricia folded her long silver frame through the hatch. Phillip followed, then the rest of the diplomats.

I thought r-Mes weren’t allowed to work in the same profession as the host? Patricia asked Phillip on the other side of the hatch.

They aren’t, Phillip agreed with the silver robot. However, some talk started around the office about you people, and the possibility of you carrying alien viruses. Nobody wanted to process you. rPhillip #1 works on the cable, and R2 normally does outside ship repair. I was able to get the customs office to release all three to work on this assignment.

Thank you for your kindness, the silver robot replied. The tray was pressurized, but minimal in every other way. Folding chairs inside the wall were, she guessed, where the diplomats were expected to secure themselves for the ride down.

Don’t thank me, human-Phillip said. I didn’t want this job either. I had the least seniority.

Patricia saw that the other diplomats had found the chairs. She moved out of the way to allow Phillip’s two robotic prosthetics clear passage to the area where they had chosen to secure the diplomatic party’s belongings.

What’s it like, working here? Patricia asked.

We’re not allowed to talk, Phillip replied. Both rPhillips moved with surprising efficiency, completing their task in less than five minutes after starting it. The tray banged, followed by another new noise.

We’re being moved onto the cable, Phillip explained. The first kick, Patricia discovered, was their shuttle undocking. Although most of the diplomats had taken seats in the foldouts along the wall, and secured themselves with the available restraints, Patricia stayed with the customs official. Phillip and his two robotic extensions remained in place while the cargo tray they were in was moved into a place and attached to the elevator cable that would take them to the ground far below.

How does it work? Patricia asked. She had actually done the homework to know the system thoroughly, but hoped to crack the tough agent by discussing something she thought might be a genuine interest.

The human, who also worked as a cable maintenance tech through his robotic extension, responded to the attempted conversation. We counterbalance each tray going down with an equally weighted tray coming up, Phillip explained. Any weight we don’t counterbalance we have to pay for in power from the motors, he added. You go down, they - whoever they are - come up. Pretty simple, the custom agent said.

A light at the far side of the elevator tray illuminated. Patricia knew it to mean that they were now in their slot