《Ignition》 Chapter 1 Michael Penderton sat in his office as he skimmed over his afternoon schedule. The engineer was next, shouldn¡¯t take long, then he had some time to review some of the numbers before the budget meeting. He took a moment to adjust his tie before pressing the contact on his desk. ¡°Go ahead and send in my 2:15.¡± The engineer walked through the door. A shaggy-headed man with a crooked nose, his dark eyes seemed to take in the whole room as they moved beneath thick eyebrows. They lingered on the glass display case with the model ships for a moment before finally making eye contact with Michael. ¡°Mr. Penderton,¡± the engineer said, a crooked grin stretching across his face as he reacted over the desk to shake hands. ¡°Thank you for agreeing to meet me, you have a beautiful set of models, by the way. I¡¯ve always had a soft spot for the XN-3400 series.¡± ¡°Please, make yourself comfortable Mr. Cardano,¡± Michael said, gesturing to the chair next to his guest. ¡°I can see you have real practical tastes. Not everyone can appreciate a real workhorse when they see one.¡± He glanced at the case with a small smile of his own. ¡°How can I help you today?¡± The engineer sat forward in his chair and laced his fingers together. ¡°I run a small organization with the goal of putting the first humans on Mars. Putting them there and bringing them home, of course. We want to show there are other places waiting for us besides Luna, and we need one of those beautiful ships of yours to make it happen. ¡°We¡¯re a small group but I have some very talented people working for me. We have everything we need. Landing system, crew, ground staff, engineers, and complete mission plans. All we need is a ship to take us there.¡± Michael folded his hands on his desk and studied the man sitting across from him. Here was a puzzle. He didn¡¯t know Phil Cardano personally, of course, but he had a reputation as a dependable chief engineer with a few of the rival carriers. What was he doing here, what was he really after? ¡°Mr. Cardano, I think you¡¯re confusing us with NASA. We do low-thrust cargo missions between Earth and Luna. They¡¯re the ones in the Mars business.¡± ¡°That¡¯s just the problem, they¡¯re really not.¡± Cardano managed a wry smile. ¡°Can¡¯t say I blame them of course¡­ I have a number of contacts at NASA and I can safely say they¡¯re not interested in another Mars shot any time this century. Hence my little organization, hence this little meeting today.¡± Michael rested his chin on his hands. He gave Cardano a hard look. If this was a joke he was done with it. ¡°You¡¯re an expert on low-thrust ion propulsion, right? Do you happen to know the service life of an ion thruster, say the kind installed on our XN-3400 fleet?¡± Michael asked. ¡°I certainly do. Fourteen months.¡± ¡°And you say you have mission plans. How long would it take to fly a low-thrust trajectory, how long to take a ship parked in low Earth orbit and fly it into Mars orbit?¡± The engineer scratched at his chin, ¡°Well that would depend on a lot of factors¡­¡± his eyebrows worked for a moment as if going through the calculations on the spot. ¡°Our most likely plan, my current favorite, puts us there in two years. It¡¯s two years, 21 weeks to Mars, plus 39 weeks in orbit while the lander¡¯s on the surface, plus one year, 19 weeks for the trip back.¡± ¡°You want to explain to me how an engine rated for fourteen months of service is going to last almost five years in deep space?¡± ¡°There¡¯s no real trick to it, we just run under-powered. A light-bulb rated for a year can easily last five if you lower the voltage enough - these electric ion engines are essentially the same. You dial down the voltage nice and low and ring erosion slows down. Going along at half-thrust we can get some amazing endurance from these guys.¡± ¡°How amazing?¡± Michael asked, raising an eyebrow. Cardano flashed a grin. ¡°Would you believe 70 months?¡± He produced his tablet from his long jacket and pushed it across the glossy desk. ¡°We¡¯ve got an engine in our lab, been running for just short of six years. 2045 days to be precise, non-stop. No modifications, just turned the voltage down real low.¡± Michael picked up the tablet and looked over the reports in front of him. He felt a strange sense of possibilities opening up as he scanned through the data. Six years, it was insane! Where was the mistake, what was Cardano messing up? Cardano continued, ¡°Engines like this have been the focus of my entire career. I know what they can do. We¡¯ve got two more that were acquired more recently. Three years and eight months for them. In all three, diagnostics are completely nominal.¡± On paper, it could work. The engineer wasn¡¯t joking after all. Michael looked up from the reports and locked eyes with Cardano. ¡°You might be onto something here. You really want to lease one of our cargo ships and take it on a four and a half year voyage to Mars and back?¡± ¡°Well there¡¯s one small detail I haven¡¯t brought up yet,¡± Cardano said, rubbing the back of his neck. ¡°My organization is competent, but small. We have funding, but we don¡¯t have the sort of funds that would let us commission a voyage like this. ¡°I¡¯m not looking to lease a ship, I¡¯m looking for a sponsor willing to provide a ship.¡± Michael rested his chin on his hands again and closed his eyes. Suddenly he felt very tired. The budget meeting might have to be postponed. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it He sighed as he passed the tablet back across the desk. ¡°Mr Cardano, I don¡¯t think our goals are quite in alignment here¡­¡± * * * 240 kilometers above the Earth, the enormous ship finished her fueling procedures and cast off. Thrusters fired in unison along her entire length, gently pushing the giant away from the transfer station. Station and ship passed together into the shadow of the Earth, turning the ship into a string of lights stretching in the distance. At some unseen signal, the main engines ignited. Not the violent flames of the nuclear rockets but a gentle blue glow - ions streaming out of the rear of the vehicle and pushing her forward. Over the next five months the ship and her 350 tons of cargo would spiral out away from the Earth in an ever-widening orbit. At the end of 22 weeks she¡¯d reach the Moon, ready to unload and pick up freight bound for Earth. 240 kilometers below, Phil Cardano watched the two bright dots as they slowly separated in the night sky. He pulled the shutter down over the train window and tried to get a little more comfortable in his oversized coat. Still a few hours from home. He had to find a ship. How was he going to get his hands on a damn ship? It was raining when Phil pulled into his parking space. It was raining harder by the time he reached the doors to the lab and buzzed in. He hung up his soaking overcoat on the rack and made his way to his office. From somewhere behind his desk he produced a towel and made an effort to dry off. He opened his laptop and sighed as he accessed the list of shipping companies. He scrolled down past dozens of crossed out names until he found the one that wasn¡¯t. At the press of a button, a thick black line struck out ¡°Translunar Aerospace Transport Corporation.¡± Penderton¡¯s ships were off the list. His fingers tapped the desk rhythmically as he worked the problem. Translunar had been the last option. Not the last carrier by a long-shot, but the last operation big enough to afford to spare a ship for a round-trip to Mars. Phil leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He could hear the rain pelting the office window behind him. Dozens of companies between here and the Moon, hundreds of ships! And not one of them could be spared. Where was their taste for glory? Where was their sense of history? All he needed was a single container ship¡­ Suddenly he stood up and turned to face the window. As he stared out at the rain he ran his fingers through his hair and came to the inevitable conclusion. But he wasn¡¯t going to be able to do it on his own, he was going to have to ask the old bastard for help after all. Harold Davies. Harold would say yes this time. Phil checked his phone. Just enough time to drive over to his office before lunch. Harold could be a reasonable man on a full stomach. He grabbed his coat and headed back out into the rain. * * * Harold Davies considered himself a reasonable man. So long as the other person could articulate their point of view in an intelligent way, he would hear them out fully before pointing out any mistakes. Now here was Phil, and he wasn¡¯t quite sure he had heard him correctly. Harold took a sip of his beer. ¡°Do you mind running that by me again?¡± Phil leaned forward again, raising his eyebrows pointedly. ¡°I need you to help me steal a cargo ship.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what I thought you said,¡± said Harold. He considered this for a moment. ¡°No. You¡¯ll be stranded with burnt out engines before you get halfway to Mars orbit. I have a gun in a safe back in my office that I¡¯d be happy to loan you. It¡¯d be a much simpler way to commit suicide.¡± ¡°Alright smart-ass, you don¡¯t know everything, OK? You can avoid burn-out in a standard multi-ring thruster if you reduce the power supply. It gives you a geometric increase in operating life, provided you can live with the lower thrust, and it works at any scale.¡± ¡°This again? That¡¯s why you invited me to lunch? This is the same bullshit you were spouting seven years ago,¡± Harold said. ¡°I¡¯ve tested it, I¡¯ve been testing it! Turn the engines down below a critical threshold and ring erosion drops to almost nothing. You could make it to the asteroids & back by installing extra propellant tanks to 90% of the birds flying today. Would it take a while? Yes. But you could get there, that¡¯s the point.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t buy it. You¡¯re wasting a good lunch on nonsense, let¡¯s talk about something else.¡± In response, Phil simply held up his tablet and passed it across the table. Harold shook his head but examined the tablet between sips of his drink. A part of him was curious about what Phil Cardano had screwed up. The man was talented enough, which just meant his mistakes tended to be subtle. By the time Harold was done studying the technical reports, the food was arriving at the table. He ordered a second beer. ¡°Why me?¡± Harold asked. ¡°There are a dozen other engineers you could have talked to. The runs we worked together weren¡¯t always the smoothest sailing. Why are you asking for my help?¡± Phil took a sip of his own drink before answering. ¡°It¡¯s very simple. You know me, I can sometimes get carried away by my own ideas.¡± ¡°True.¡± ¡°Sometimes, unfortunately, other people can get swept up in my enthusiasm and get carried away with me.¡± ¡°Like Hamlin and the recycler incident.¡± ¡°Exactly,¡± Phil said. ¡°Like the recycler incident. Of all the engineers I¡¯ve worked with, you¡¯re the only one who is 100% immune to this effect. I¡¯ve never once convinced you to help with a bad idea.¡± ¡°Ah, you want somebody who can call you on your own bullshit.¡± ¡°Precisely.¡± ¡°Stealing an 2000 ton container ship and flying it to Mars is a bullshit idea,¡± Harold stated flatly. Phil gave a small chuckle. ¡°Aren¡¯t you so bored of flying between Earth and the Moon over and over again? Haven¡¯t you ever wondered what it¡¯d be like to follow in the footsteps of the old explorers, setting sail somewhere no human has ever reached? The Moon used to be this romantic, untouched thing hanging in the sky. Now every time you look up you can see the lights from 10 million colonists. What¡¯s exciting about bringing a ship-load of fertilizer and toilet paper to the Moon?¡± ¡°Spare me the elevator pitch, Phil. Did you happen to know stealing a billion-dollar nuclear-powered cargo ship is illegal? Because it¡¯s extremely illegal. Your best case scenario is life in prison.¡± He tapped the tablet. ¡°That¡¯s if your work is valid and if you can actually survive the round trip.¡± ¡°Come on man - it¡¯s Mars. Only one crew gets to the first. Ever. Aren¡¯t you at least curious what it¡¯d be like to walk on a world nobody¡¯s ever touched before?¡± ¡°Wait, ¡®walk¡¯?¡± Harold asked. ¡°You¡¯re going to bring a lander?¡± Phil nodded slowly. ¡°Show me.¡± Chapter 2 The lab was a small complex of offices and industrial buildings on the outskirts of town. Phil led Harold through the main entrance and outside again, crossing a grassy area. They approached a tall white box of a building with no windows. A massive loading-bay door dwarfed the human-sized door next to it. Phil swiped them in. A short concrete hallway gave way to a large window facing a cleanroom, and the two men stopped to look inside. Suspended on heavy chains was a squat conical rocket, maybe 30 feet tall. Four spindly landing legs were folded up the sides, and a pair of oblong view ports could be seen near the top. The whole thing was attached to a compact cylindrical structure below made of some sort of woven material. Harold recognized it as an inflatable heat shield, currently packed and stowed. In fact, he recognized all of it. Phil waved at the technicians inside and got a wave back. ¡°I know this hardware,¡± Harold said. ¡°How did you get your hands on this?¡± ¡°This magnificent machine was going to be the lander for Martian Successor V. NASA had landers in the works for Successor VI and VII too, but this one was almost flight ready when the disaster happened with Successor IV. Of course everything was mothballed after the hearing, but we were able to outbid a museum to get ahold of it. ¡°A lot of the work we do here has been tearing this thing down to its bolts and rebuilding it, testing systems and recertifying it to be flight-ready. Of course¡­ it¡¯ll never get to Mars without a mothership to carry it. ¡°We didn¡¯t steal this one,¡± he added. Harold admired the lander for a long moment. Everyone knew about the Successor missions, everyone who was alive at the time remembered the day the transmission was lost, the investigation, the official cause of failure. Every engineer had his own opinions about what had really happened. Riding out on a stolen ship, what a miserable way to honor that legacy. ¡°Is your organization aware of your¡­ plans?¡± Harold asked. ¡°No, not yet. I was hoping to have a more solid idea before floating that one by everyone.¡± Harold gave Phil a hard look, ¡°Are you really willing to spend the rest of your life in prison for this? Is your obsession with Mars worth that to you?¡± ¡°I admit I¡¯m not thrilled about that aspect of this plan. But if I can make it there, and make it back, I¡¯ve blazed a trail. And the next guy won¡¯t have to steal a ship. He¡¯ll be able to point to me - in prison and ideally very famous - and say ¡®look, this miserable asshole did it, why can¡¯t we?¡¯ and the funding will come. First you¡¯ll get the scientists, then the engineers building bigger and better bases for the scientists, then the corporations with their awful company towns and the fringe religious cults with their compounds and by then you have a proper colony. ¡°If I can make this work, the funding will come for all that. I think I could live life in prison knowing I opened the door like that.¡± ¡°Then I¡¯ll join you,¡± Harold said. ¡°On one condition. I want to be the first. If I stick my neck out and help make this happen, then stick my neck out even more and try to fly to Mars with you and whatever miserable excuse for a crew you¡¯ve found, I want to be the first one out the door when that lander touches down. I want to be the first one to walk on the surface. ¡°But I¡¯m not sharing a cell with you when we get back.¡± At this point Phil¡¯s eyes went wide. He scratched the back of his head, then turned and looked through the window for a moment, seeming to focus on the lander, or maybe some point behind it. ¡°Alright,¡± he said finally, ¡°Alright you have a deal.¡± He reached over and shook Harold¡¯s hand, then patted him roughly on the shoulder. ¡°Welcome to the club,¡± he said, grinning. * * * It was the next afternoon when they walked into the crowded lecture hall. A relic from when the lab complex was a small technical college. Phil Cardano loved holding meetings here, it reminded him of his university days. He and Harold made their way through the crowd towards the front of the room. Engineers, technicians, and administrative staff from the lab mixed with the spacers currently in training to be the crew. They all started to settle into the rows of seats, some pulling out tablets and notebooks. Phil picked up the stylus and started to write on the screen. Nothing showed up. When one of the engineers in the front row made a move to get up and help, Phil waved him down. Putting the stylus away, he walked over to the whiteboard, picked up a marker, and began to write from memory: Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. ¡°Translunar Shipping Company, Western Star Lines, Space Network Express¡­¡± By the time he was done the 30 largest cargo shipping companies were on the board. Finally turning away from the board, Phil gave Harold a quick smile and addressed the room. ¡°Good afternoon everyone. On the board behind me you¡¯ll find a list of every freight company flying a ship with enough endurance to take us to Mars. We¡¯ve hit a bit of a snag, though. It seems none of these fine companies are willing to loan us one. ¡°It just so happens that we can¡¯t get to Mars without a suitable ship. That¡¯s why Mr. Davies and I have created a plan to locate one that would fit our needs and¡­ borrow it - temporarily and involuntarily - from its owners.¡± There was a commotion as half the room started talking at once. Phil waited a moment or two before waving down the noise. ¡°Given our present course of action, if anyone would like to leave now, we will consider you as never having been in this room 30 seconds ago to hear my plans. However, anyone that stays had damn-well better be willing to face the consequences of aiding in the theft of a multi-billion dollar cargo ship.¡± Phil stopped to think for a moment. ¡°I suppose the courts would consider that piracy.¡± Again the room was filled with talk, but this time it was low conversation and murmurs. Again Phil waited a few moments. Men and women in the rows started to quiet down, and there was a quiet shuffle as people looked around the room. Apparently nobody had decided to get up and leave. Phil felt some of the tension melt away. He had been dreading this moment. Glancing over, he caught a look of quiet surprise from Harold. ¡°Since Mr. Davies here has been helping me with this plan, I¡¯ll let him answer the obvious question: ¡®how does one steal a 2000 ton freighter?¡¯¡± Harold spoke up. ¡°This is going to be a three-step process. First, we pick a target company and a target ship, then we pay to have our lander loaded as cargo meant for the Moon. It¡¯ll have to be one of the big boys, with big enough tanks to accommodate a lot of extra propellant. Second, we make arrangements with the Spacer¡¯s Union to make sure our crew has been assigned to that ship. Finally, once we¡¯re out of visual range of the transfer station we drop any unneeded containers. We¡¯ll rendezvous with a Union tanker, overload our propellant tanks, and change course for Mars. ¡°Now for the question of avoiding detection. As you know, all commercial freighters operating in translunar space have a pair of navigational beacons. One main beacon and one for backup. Before we divert from the planned flight path, we¡¯ll launch a small drone from the main ship carrying the backup beacon. Then we¡¯ll disable the ship¡¯s main beacon and swap to the backup on the drone. The drone needs to have enough fuel to complete the original flight path to the moon - I¡¯ll leave the details to engineering. ¡°By the time the drone enters visual range at the lunar transfer station, we¡¯ll have escaped Earth¡¯s gravity well and be on our way to Mars. Nobody could possibly catch us.¡± Phil nodded, and let the plan sit for a minute. ¡°Thank you, Mr. Davies,¡± he said. ¡°Well that¡¯s the plan in a nutshell, any questions?¡± A hand went up. ¡°Aaron, what have you got?¡± Phil asked. One of the engineers sitting in the front row cleared his throat, ¡°Thanks Phil. Well what if somebody on the ground happens to point a telescope at our target ship and notices it¡¯s off course? There¡¯s a pretty sizable community of ship-spotters, it¡¯d only take a few clear nights to get enough observations to realize we aren¡¯t headed for the Moon.¡± ¡°Great question, honestly haven¡¯t thought of that one. My gut says we wouldn¡¯t get reported, or that the reports from some ship-spotters wouldn¡¯t be taken very seriously. Why don¡¯t you run a risk analysis on that and get back to me.¡± One of the crew this time, a cargo specialist, spoke up. ¡°The beacons on container ships are picked up with passive sensors, but transfer stations - and other ships for that matter - also have active radar. What happens when somebody decides to scan the wrong region of space and sees a bunch of discarded containers? Or sees our ship in the wrong coordinates with the wrong heading?¡± ¡°You have experience on ports, right?¡± Harold asked, jumping in. ¡°How often did you fire up the long range radar system while working there? All the ships have beacons, so what¡¯s the point of checking their position manually? Yes, there is a risk there, but I don¡¯t think anyone¡¯s building time in their duty schedule to do something like that.¡± This seemed to satisfy some of the group, but others seemed to need more convincing. Phil spoke up. ¡°He is right, but I¡¯d like to add that there¡¯d be no reason to suspect anything. In the 100-year history of lunar transport there have been theft of goods, theft of money, a couple of murders - very interesting reads, I can send you some links - and of course smuggling. But there¡¯s never been any attempt to steal an entire ship. It¡¯s insane and nobody¡¯s expecting it, which is why we think it can work.¡± Phil hoped this sounded convincing. The murmurs in the room seemed to take on a more positive tone. He and Harold had gone back and forth on this point and eventually landed on a 20% chance of being picked up by a scan from a station or a passing ship. Good, but not a guarantee. A woman in the front row stood up, it was Deidre Maxwell, one of the pilots. She looked at the room behind her as she spoke. ¡°Aren¡¯t we all forgetting something? There¡¯s absolutely somebody who could ¡®catch¡¯ us. What about the ISTO? They track everything, down to the size of a bolt. We can¡¯t count on laziness there, and we can¡¯t hide a 2000-ton civilian ship. She locked eyes with Phil but addressed the room, ¡°What¡¯s it going to look like when they see us stealing one of these massive freighters? It¡¯s going to look a little like terrorism, don¡¯t you think?¡± She turned again and asked the group of spacers in the back, the crew. ¡°What do you think? Are they going to ask questions first or just wipe us out with a few thousand rounds of ammunition fired into the crew compartment?¡± Phil rubbed the back of his hand. It was time to come clean. ¡°As to the military question¡­ we haven¡¯t figured that one out yet,¡± he admitted. ¡°If we can¡¯t mitigate this particular risk, of course we won¡¯t be flying our mission.¡± He watched as Deidre shook her head and walked past him out the doors. Clapping his hands together he turned back to the room. ¡°Well that¡¯s where we¡¯re at, folks. Mr. Davies and I will be meeting with your department chiefs later this afternoon, they¡¯ll fill you in on specific changes to our program¡­¡± Chapter 3 The windows of the board room rattled as a rocket launched off in the distance. Michael Penderton smiled to himself. The sound of profit. He stood facing the window, arms clasped behind his back, finger tapping subconsciously on his watch, watching the exhaust plume work its way into the sky. Behind him his Chief Engineer was wrapping up his review of the report. Finally the man cleared his throat. Michael turned and raised his eyebrows. ¡°Well?¡± ¡°You said you received this report from Cardano, Phil Cardano?¡± ¡°I said my office cameras copied the document he showed me." ¡°Eh, well I was being a little generous in my language,¡± the engineer said. ¡°A very interesting report. If this is accurate it means any ship in our fleet - every ion ship - would have the legs to reach Mars, even most of the main-belt asteroids. You¡¯d have to fit a hell of a lot of extra propellant in the main tanks, or even bring some external tanks. But you could get there.¡± ¡°Do you think the report¡¯s accurate?" ¡°Cardano has a very good reputation as a ship¡¯s engineer. This would be well within his wheelhouse, although it¡¯s strange to see it as a side project. But yes, there¡¯s no reason to think these numbers are wrong.¡± Sitting down across from the engineer, Michael drummed his fingers on his desk as he thought. Mars. Imagine the publicity. Translunar Aerospace Ship Arrives at Mars, First Humans in Martian Orbit. ¡°I¡¯d like you to clear your afternoon,¡± Michael said, looking up. ¡°I have a few hypothetical questions that could use an engineer¡¯s perspective...¡± * * * Stepping out of the car, Harold shielded his eyes from the noonday sun. It was like stepping onto the surface of Mercury. This had better be worth it, he thought. On the other side, Phil was stretching after the long drive. In front of them was a shabby looking lab building, exactly what he¡¯d expected when he heard the name of the third-rate university they¡¯d be visiting. A few other buildings were scattered around, and beyond that was nothing but sun-blasted desert. Posters covered the walls of the empty hallways, describing the trivial results of the staff research here. Now and then they passed one of the small labs, and he would catch Phil lingering at the windows, trying to glimpse the equipment in the dark rooms. ¡°Come on, we¡¯re not here for sightseeing,¡± Harold said. At the end of the hall, one of the labs had the door propped open. A wedge of light escaped the door and fell out onto the dusty hallway. They stepped inside. Surrounding the room on all sides were tables stacked with equipment. One side of the room was dominated by a large glass sphere. Sitting next to it was a woman at her computer. She was engrossed in her work, and didn¡¯t notice them walk in. Phil cleared his throat and the woman started. ¡°You actually showed up,¡± she said. ¡°Somehow I wasn¡¯t expecting that.¡± She stood up and shook their hands. ¡°Hi, I¡¯m Stacey Vernier. Welcome to my little slice of paradise.¡± ¡°Pleasure to meet you,¡± Phil said. ¡°I¡¯m Phil Cardano and this is my associate, Harold Davies.¡± ¡°Nice to meet you,¡± Harold said. Phil looked around the room for a moment, probably moments from asking for a tour of the whole building. ¡°Lovely lab you have here, do you often work on your weekends?¡± ¡°Normally no,¡± Vernier said, smiling slightly. ¡°But I¡¯ve been working on some new grant proposals and that takes time away from my research. I¡¯ve gotten into a bad habit of trying to catch up during my weekends. And of course it isn¡¯t every day I get visitors from across the country.¡± A subtle change passed over her face and she seemed to regard the pair of them with scrutiny, and something else that was unreadable. ¡°So you boys are going to Mars, huh? It¡¯s about time somebody tried it again. I was nine when Martian Successor IV happened. I was crushed, I was so sure I was about to see the first humans land on Mars.¡± ¡°Everyone was,¡± Harold said. ¡°Phil and I were crewing together when we got the news. Nobody on that ship went unscathed that day.¡± ¡°It¡¯s true,¡± Phil said, giving a wry chuckle. ¡°Ever since then it¡¯s been my mission in life, maybe a little bit of an obsession, to figure out how to make it there safely. And I think we just about have it nailed it down. ¡°As I said in my email, we have some unique concerns with our mission profile. The class of ship we want to use has an enormous radar cross section, and we¡¯ll be venturing outside the normal lanes of translunar traffic.¡± He raised his eyebrows. ¡°We realized we¡¯d be interfering with radio telescopes based on Earth. Having something so big and reflective - in the radio spectrum that is - would be potentially very disruptive to astronomers here on Earth...¡± It was all a lie. Harold was willing to bet Phil would blind every observatory on Earth if it meant getting to Mars. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Vernier was an expert in plasma-based stealth technology. It¡¯s what they¡¯d driven all this way for. You could - in theory - surround a ship or satellite in a temporary field of dense plasma. Tune the properties just right - density, temperature, ionization ratio - and you could completely absorb a specific band of radio or microwave radiation, effectively erasing the vehicle from ISTO¡¯s deep space tracking network. Get it wrong though, and you¡¯ve got a perfect radio reflector, a flashing mirror guaranteed to get anyone¡¯s attention. ¡°You¡¯d think the military would be more interested in this,¡± Harold said. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you haven¡¯t been recruited to some national lab by now.¡± ¡°Oh they were,¡± Vernier said. ¡°And they would have - about 50 years ago. It turns out there isn¡¯t much of an application for a stealth vehicle that needs a constant top-off of xenon gas in the tanks to stay hidden.¡± She grinned and headed to a bookshelf, handing Harold an ancient-looking binder. ¡°All we have here is based on declassified research from before I was born.¡± Harold flipped through the yellowing pages. Had the engineers that worked on this really given up, or had they figured out some solution that made all this research obsolete? What were they planning to put in space that they wanted to hide so badly? ¡°Would you like to see a demonstration?¡± Vernier asked. She led them to the large glass globe. Inside was a tiny ship, a mockup of a comms satellite on top of a plastic stand. It could have fit in the palm of Harold¡¯s hand. Vernier flipped a couple switches. Nothing happened. ¡°Mr. Cardano, the lights please?¡± Click. In the darkness their eyes adjusted. A line of green plasma slowly became visible, streaming out from the back end of the satellite. A tiny ion source, modelling the full sized ion thrusters on a real satellite or ship. An open window on Vernier¡¯s computer screen read ¡®CROSS SECTION: 100%¡¯. ¡°There¡¯s a small radar antenna built into the base, that cross section reading means that all the energy is getting reflected back from the satellite, getting picked up as a signal. ¡°The next constellation of comm satellites, the real next gen stuff, will be very disruptive to radio-frequency space telescopes. This is our solution.¡± Typing a few commands on her keyboard triggered a change. The plasma stream from the tiny model was still there, but now it looked like a portion was being drawn off, forming a bubble of green light surrounding the whole thing. As they watched the shape morphed, tuning itself somehow until it reached a more complicated form. ¡°Look,¡± she said, ¡°it¡¯s absorbing the incoming radio waves now.¡± She gestured at the screen, where the readout had dropped almost to zero. ¡°It¡¯s practically invisible.¡± ¡°I can still see it¡­¡±, Phil said. ¡°Smartass. The radar can¡¯t see it, that¡¯s the point. I want to put a system like this on every satellite in the upcoming constellation. They¡¯ll be programmed to turn on when they¡¯re passing over an observatory, and turn off when they aren¡¯t. And the beautiful thing? Almost everything that flies is already carrying a plasma source - their ion thruster.¡± Phil¡¯s face was visible in the dim green glow of the plasma, he was focusing now, eyes locked on the tiny model as he spoke. ¡°Could this be scaled up? Say to the size of a large container ship?¡± ¡°Something that big? It could be done,¡± Vernier said slowly. ¡°The physics works at any scale, and the hardware would need to be re-engineered for a larger ship. But honestly, there wouldn¡¯t be any point. As a rule of thumb, the amount of plasma you¡¯d need increases with the cube of the vehicle¡¯s length. That¡¯s fine for small comms satellites, but every time you double the ship¡¯s size you increase the plasma volume by a factor of eight. By the time you get up to the size of a container ship¡­ it would drain your xenon tanks in seconds.¡± She smiled at Phil. ¡°Not everyone is this passionate about radio astronomy¡­ which observatory is your favorite?¡± ¡°I¡­ uh¡­,¡± Phil faltered. ¡°They¡¯re all so amazing it¡¯s hard to pick. I¡¯d hate for my plans with Mars to interfere with the scientific efforts to explore -¡± She cut him off, her smile gone. ¡°Which ones are you worried about interfering with? Which radio observatories? Can you be specific?¡± Harold stared at Phil in disbelief. He hadn¡¯t done his homework. Didn¡¯t he think she would ask him a simple question like this? Moving over to Phil, he grabbed his arm while giving Vernier his best disarming smile. ¡°I think we¡¯ve taken up enough of your time today. Thank you for this demonstration, we¡¯ll be headed out now.¡± Phil turned sharply to him with his bushy eyebrows furrowed, then relaxed his face and nodded. ¡°Yes, thank you, he added. Lovely lab you have here.¡± Without another word they turned and headed into the hallway. As they were pulling away in the car Harold caught a glimpse of Vernier stepping out to the parking lot after them. She watched them leave until they were out of sight. After several miles, it seemed like they were in the clear. ¡°Incredible,¡± Harold said. ¡°I can¡¯t believe you walked into that so unprepared.¡± A moment of angry silence passed between them. ¡°You could have gotten us exposed!¡± Phil took his eyes off the road to glare at his passenger. ¡°I could have handled it! I could have smoothed it over!¡± ¡°Like you smoothed it over with that pilot?¡± ¡°You have no idea what you¡¯re talking about. Work with some of the egos in that room then come tell me how to run my organization.¡± They came to a dusty crossroads, Phil slowed to a stop. He briefly checked the rearview mirror, maybe to see if Vernier had decided to follow them. In every direction stretched red-brown desert. In the distance the gentle curves of barren mountains rose out of the ground. Phil gazed at the view for a long time. ¡°I¡¯ve always wondered what Mars looked like from the ground. Like what it really looks like, feels like. When I was younger we¡¯d camp in the Nevada desert for a few days at a time. At night I¡¯d sneak out of the tent, come out in the cold and I¡¯d pretend I was standing on Mars. It felt like I was looking at the stars from another world.¡± Shaking his head, Harold sighed. Mars seemed pretty far away right now. If they couldn¡¯t hide the ship from the tracking network there was no point stealing it in the first place. They¡¯d be intercepted and boarded at best, simply blown out of the sky at worst. A complicated method of suicide, just like he said in the first place. ¡°What are the odds your people would be able to recreate Vernier¡¯s work? Find a way to scale it up and hide our ship?¡± ¡°They could get it done, if it can be done. My engineers could do just about anything. But this? This would take years of work.¡± Phil pulled out his tablet and passed it to Harold. ¡°And we¡¯re starting to run out of time.¡± Harold looked down and saw a news article. ¡°TRANSLUNAR AEROSPACE TO FLY MANNED MISSION TO MARS.¡± ¡°Those bastards at Translunar are stealing your plan,¡± he said. ¡°They¡¯re taking your work and using it for themselves! How are we supposed to beat them?¡± Wordlessly, Phil pulled the car through the intersection and got back up to speed. Somewhere overhead the red planet got farther away. Chapter 4 The door to the station¡¯s control center opened noiselessly, revealing a row of control stations and a window overlooking the docking bay. The station captain, Christian Norge, waved his guests in, careful not to disturb the crew. Looking out of the viewport, they watched together in silence as the enormous shape of the Strawberry Roan glided in. The reactor module made up the fore section of the ship, followed by a four-hundred-foot span of white racks, each one filled with shipping containers. The Roan was coming back from the Moon, and in a matter of hours these would need to be unloaded and new containers would have to be put in their place, ready to be flown back on the journey out. Now the crew section of the ship was coming into view, the aft of the ship. The freighter came to a graceful halt and a docking tunnel extended from the station to the crew section. After a couple of minutes Norge could see movement through the windows on the tunnel, but it was too far away to make out the individual faces. Penderton glided up and put his hand on the railing around the viewport. ¡°It¡¯s a beautiful ship, Mr. Norge,¡± he said. ¡°One of our most reliable and most profitable. Will it be ready on schedule?¡± A cargo freighter on the way to Mars. Norge could see some logic in it. These were workhorses. Reliable machines that would drive a few hundred tons of cargo anywhere, given enough time. And if the engineers at Translunar Aerospace said they found a way to extend the life of the engines, all the better. The problem with the idea wasn¡¯t mechanical, the problem was Penderton. ¡°Your ship will be ready, Mr. Penderton, you can count on that. We have the fresh fuel rods standing by, ready to install as soon as unloading is complete. Our technicians are already heading down there to start inspecting the systems. We can give you an estimate of how many hours of maintenance we¡¯ll need once they finish their diagnostics.¡± ¡°Excellent. And has the Spacer¡¯s Union leadership found a candidate crew for her yet?¡± Norge took his eyes off the ship and looked at Penderton. ¡°See, there¡¯s where we have a problem. They aren¡¯t so sure we can have a crew safely trained for this Mars mission by the time the launch window opens. And I¡¯m starting to have some doubts myself. They asked me to ask you whether it wouldn¡¯t be wiser to wait for the next transfer window to open.¡± ¡°That¡¯s absurd,¡± Penderton said. ¡°Why would we wait two years? Our mission plan is to fly a crew to Mars orbit, take in the scenery for a few months, and fly back. Without a lander to complicate things there¡¯s no difference to flying to the Moon and back.¡± ¡°With all due respect, there¡¯s no aspect of the mission that isn¡¯t completely different here.¡± Norge listed off items with his fingers. ¡°Navigation without the benefit of a positioning system, figuring out medical contingencies when you¡¯re 20 million miles away from a hospital, keeping the ship maintained and operating for 5 years without being able to dock. ¡°Have you ever tried to swap out a faulty radiator panel in a space suit? When we¡¯re running between Earth and Moon we save that sort of thing until we get to the terminal station at either end. On this Mars trip there won¡¯t be any pit stops. It¡¯s possible to do it without being docked at a station but it ain¡¯t easy. And that¡¯s where training and building up muscle memory for these procedures comes in. You practice that 200 times in a simulation pool and you¡¯re starting to get the hang of the motions.¡± Penderton frowned. ¡°If the Union can¡¯t find the competence for this mission I¡¯m confident we can outsource,¡± he said. ¡°That¡¯s where you¡¯re wrong. You¡¯ve got a contract with the Union to crew all your cargo ships, that includes the Roan here. If we decide that the spacers won¡¯t be able to train properly in time, won¡¯t be safe taking her to Mars and back, then it¡¯s not going anywhere. At least not this transfer window.¡± ¡°That contract covers our cargo missions taking goods between Earth and the Moon,¡± Penderton said. ¡°This is an interplanetary mission to Mars. You said it yourself, it¡¯s completely different. Apparently it requires a different set of skills.¡± Penderton pushed himself away from the window, and nodded his head towards the maze of corridors leading to the docking tunnel. ¡°I¡¯m going onboard to speak with the captain about this opportunity. Think about if the Spacer¡¯s Union wants a place in the history books. There may not be room for a crew that¡¯s overly concerned with safety. ¡°My company will give you two weeks to make up your minds.¡± With that, he floated down the hall. Norge simply stared after him, shaking his head. * * * ¡°Stealing a ship won¡¯t work.¡± The young engineer spread his hands in frustration. The board room was crowded with most of Phil¡¯s electrical engineers. Its single long table was littered with tablets and printed diagrams, marked up with pen. The smart-screens on the walls were similarly crowded, a mess of differential equations and field lines. ¡°Knowing what we know, there¡¯s no way to sustain a plasma field that can cloak a XN-3400 class ship from radar. There¡¯s simply too much real-estate to cover in the envelope. Even if we knew how, there¡¯s no time to develop this thing. The coils on Dr. Vernier¡¯s satellite were small and passively cooled, we¡¯d have to develop a whole new magnetic bottle and a coolant sub-system to fit our ship.¡± ¡°And then install it without anyone noticing,¡± an older engineer added. ¡°Not to mention fly it without anyone testing it.¡± Stolen story; please report. ¡°Exactly,¡± the younger man said. There was a murmur of agreement in the room. Phil looked over at Harold, seated next to him. He smiled weakly and shook his head. ¡°You told me so,¡± he said. ¡°You told me three months ago this would never work.¡± Harold returned a half-smile of his own. ¡°It looks that way,¡± he agreed. ¡°Seems like the only ship that can make it out of the system is the one Translunar Aerospace is sending two months from now. It helps to actually own the ship, I guess.¡± Phil was out of options. He thanked his staff and left the briefing room, wandering through the mostly-empty halls of the organization. Stepping outside, he walked along the sidewalks connecting the main buildings of the campus. Eventually he found himself outside the building housing the lander. He swiped in. The lander¡¯s assembly bay was empty now. Only a few dim lights remained on, but Phil had no trouble making out the truncated cone of the lander. This object was built for a single purpose, and now it might end up in a museum, decommissioned and unused. All the work to build it all those years ago. All the work he¡¯d put in to restore it to flight readiness would now be wasted. A chill of outside air made him turn his head. Harold had found him and was walking over. He leaned against the wall next to Phil, crossing his arms and fixing his eyes on the lander. ¡°We could still go back to square one, you know,¡± Harold said. ¡°When Translunar Aerospace actually gets their crew back in one piece, all those transport companies on that list of yours will suddenly be interested in getting a piece of the action. It¡¯d be an easy sell, right? You have a crew, you have the mission plans, they have the ships. ¡°Being first isn¡¯t everything, you know. The first guy who invented the railroad died penniless. It was the second guy who actually figured out how to make it profitable. He¡¯s the one who made rail work.¡± ¡°You¡¯re making up that story, do you even know their names?¡± Phil asked. ¡°No, but you know I¡¯m right. There¡¯s still 2nd place.¡± ¡°There¡¯s no room in the history books for 2nd place,¡± Phil said. After a long minute of silence Phil came to a conclusion. ¡°At that meeting just now you said there¡¯s only one ship going to Mars, and it¡¯s not ours,¡± he said slowly. ¡°I think you¡¯re right. And I think we¡¯re about done with our work here, Harold. We¡¯re quitting. ¡°And I¡¯m going to give Penderton the lander.¡± * * * ¡°Don¡¯t worry, we¡¯re shielded here,¡± said Phil. The two men peered into the small observation window, just large enough so both could look at once. Inside the dark chamber sat the ion thruster. A large flat circle some twenty feet across, with concentric circular grooves covering the surface. Above this was a ghostly blue glow, a plume of light that seemed to rise like a hologram from inside the grooves. ¡°And you say this has been running for years without pausing the experiment? No maintenance whatsoever?¡± Penderton asked. ¡°That¡¯s right. Over 1958 days now.¡± ¡°This is quite the hobby you have here,¡± Penderton said. Phil ignored this and gazed inside the vacuum chamber a little longer. About three more days until the lab¡¯s xenon tanks would be due for a recharge. But this time they wouldn¡¯t be filled again. This engine and the others would be shut down, sold at auction somewhere. He guessed they¡¯d proven his point by now. ¡°Let¡¯s go see the lander,¡± he said. They climbed the ladder on the side, and opened the hatch that led into a small airlock. On the other side of the inner door was a surprisingly spacious lower deck. Racks for space suits and other equipment lined the walls, and a single tiny window gave a view of the assembly room. This would be the staging area for surface excursions, and would double as a lab to analyze samples. ¡°Impressive,¡± Penderton said. ¡°You could get 20 people to fit in here.¡± ¡°We did try that once,¡± Phil said. ¡°It was a little tight. Luckily there¡¯s more room upstairs.¡± The mid-deck was living quarters. Five tiny cabins for the crew lined the walls. A washroom, a galley, and a decent-sized common area took up the remaining space. Not too big, but then a nine-month surface stay wasn¡¯t too long of a lease. Phil leaned against a wall while Penderton poked his head up through a hatch and examined the flight deck. ¡°Well, what do you think?¡± Phil asked. ¡°I think you¡¯ve done a fantastic job here. You¡¯d think this thing just rolled out of a NASA assembly building.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a magnificent piece of over-engineering, and we spared no expense restoring it. It¡¯s been stripped down to its frame and rebuilt piece-by-piece. After all that work it¡¯d be a crime not to send it to Mars. ¡°Will you take it?¡± On the way back to Phil¡¯s office, the two men ran into Deidre Maxwell. The pilot was waiting outside the door of the human resources office, tapping her foot impatiently. When she saw Penderton there was a flash of recognition, then a smirk formed on her face. ¡°Hey Phil, I¡¯d like a word with you,¡± she said, jerking her thumb towards the door. ¡°There¡¯s some sort of holdup with our severance benefits, and I¡¯ve been waiting all morning to talk to someone.¡± ¡°Not now, Deidre. I¡¯m about to finalize some business with Mr. Penderton, here.¡± ¡°Oh, this is Mr. Penderton?¡± she asked, feigning admiration. ¡°Not the Mr. Penderton, of Translunar Aerospace? The man who decided he was too good to use a Union crew? The man who figured out how to fly a cargo freighter without anyone to operate it? ¡°What an honor.¡± Penderton was about to say something when Phil cut in, facing Deidre. ¡°I¡¯d appreciate it if you didn¡¯t insult my guest,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry we had to let you all go, but it sure as hell wasn¡¯t his decision. Translunar Aerospace has nothing to do with it.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t appreciate your assumptions,¡± she said, glancing at Pendertron. ¡°I¡¯m not insulting him, I¡¯m merely offering my opinion that his personnel decisions are about to bite a big chunk out of his ass.¡± She glared at Phil. ¡°And you? You¡¯re an idiot for shutting this all down. Mars has been your dream for as long as I¡¯ve been training here, and here you are about to literally give the keys to Mars to this fucking suit. ¡°I can¡¯t even stand to fucking look at you right now.¡± And with that she stormed off down the hallway. Outside the main offices Michael Penderton was walking back to his car when Cardano¡¯s pilot caught up with him. Was the name Maxwell? He thought so. ¡°Can I help you?¡± he asked her. ¡°Maybe we can help each other,¡± she said, smiling. ¡°You need a pilot who can fly a cargo freighter like it¡¯s supposed to be going to Mars. I need a career change.¡± Michael looked down at the Spacers Union patch sewn onto her jacket. ¡°You¡¯re a Union member, all of Cardano¡¯s crew are Union.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t have to be,¡± she said.