Suzanne crossed the room and hugged her father.
* * *
Vincent toweled himself and stretched all his limbs at the same time, something easily done in zero G. Having finished his daily exercises and ablutions, he looked forward to his free time. He was studying ancient Roman history, something he had always wanted to do but always neglected. Fortunately, traveling to Martian orbit was providing him with exactly that: an enormous amount of free time.
His fellow traveler was a calm and quiet family man who spent at least thirty minutes a day recording videos for his twin, ten-year-old sons. The rest of his daily routine was devoted to intellectual pursuits. He stayed up-to-date on current events, and brilliantly summarized what was happening on Earth during their shared meals and periodic chess games. Recently, he was mostly occupied with reading up on XLP’s monumental legal and financial problems.
The common share was down 65 percent since their departure and would keep plummeting unless a miracle happened. Ever since the accident that had cost four lives and destroyed a space shuttle, XLP was under heavy fire. Apparently, although it wasn’t proven, a faulty XLP rocket had exploded during a routine, low-orbit maneuver.
“Oh, damn,” said Bill Ross from his seat at the other end of the long, tubular living module. “It’s happened again.”
Vincent quickly floated over and stared at the sixty-inch screen.
Another accident. This time, irrefutable proof was available to lay the blame squarely on XLP.
“That’s it, the company’s going under,” said Bill. He rubbed tired eyes and sighed.
“Aren’t you being a little pessimistic?”
“Don’t think so.”
“XLP is a market leader with an unrivaled product. It’s not going to go under overnight.”
“You bet it will. Two explosions? Who’d pay for something unsafe? XPL is going to agonize for a while, some lawyers are going to get richer, and then it will fold.”
“Unless they find and fix the problem,” said Vincent. “This could be a temporary glitch. XLP’s got a monopoly with its formula. Nobody comes close to its propulsion ratio.”
“You’re wrong. There’s a lot of competition out there; there always is. Just a few months ago, a German firm entered into the final testing stage of its own rocket, and ratios are rumored to surpass XPL by a few digits. They will be in space soon. And then there is the Clarkeson institute, with its own propulsion mix that could, theoretically, eclipse everything we’ve seen so far. I’m not even mentioning the Chinese results of their own dual shuttle. That’s very promising.”
“So where does that leave us?”
“I don’t know.”
“What does ground control have to say?”
“They’re in the dark, but they’ll keep monitoring us as long as the money doesn’t run out.”
“How do you know?”
“Because they told me. No way they’ll leave us out here without news.”
“I wouldn’t count on that. When you lose your job overnight, you get in survival mode pretty quickly. What about Harry?”
“Haven’t heard from him in two days. Damage control must be severe.”
“Well, I hope we hear from him soon; this is getting to a point where our mission could be compromised,” said Vincent.
“What do you mean?”
“If our rockets are potentially defective, we’ll restrict their use to a strict minimum. That means aborting all mining activity.”
Bill stared at his companion. “We can’t abort the mission; we don’t even know what caused the explosions.”
“Until we do, I’m not very inclined to take risks and fire up these babies. Don’t you agree?”
“To come all this way and abort because there might be something wrong with the rockets is crazy, but I understand your logic. Let’s just keep an open mind until we know more, okay?”
“Sure, but if we don’t hear from anyone, it’s going to be a tough call.”
“Don’t worry, with a few tons of diamonds in the balance, we’ll hear from someone,” said Bill with confidence.
Vincent returned to his seat and thought about his daughter’s initial reaction to this venture. She might have been right. He quickly started recording a reassuring message explaining the situation and their many safe and secure options.
* * *
Being in space was one thing, but being totally cut-off from Earth was an experience in itself that was probably only comparable to being stranded on a deserted island. Without the struggle to survive, thought Vincent. An indescribable calmness had taken over their spacecraft, without stress or pressure. They worked, slept, worked, slept, and that was it. No schedule, no deadlines, no distraction. It was the most Zen experience Vincent Lambert had ever lived: better than any vacation.
But it was all coming to an end. Communications would resume in the next 24 hours, and it was incredibly exciting.
“Ready,” said Vincent.
He felt a slight vibration through his padded gloves, something barely perceptible. He was holding a lifeline anchored to a climber’s peg that he had hammered himself into asteroid rock four weeks ago.
“All clear,” said Bill after a few seconds. “No flying debris of any kind. The net looks intact.”
Vincent immediately pulled himself across the asteroid surface like a diver on the ocean floor. He covered the 200 meters quickly despite his bulky spacesuit.
“And?” asked Bill. He couldn’t see much from his position inside the living module.
“Our biggest harvest yet,” answered Vincent.
The large metallic net anchored to the asteroid surface was bulging with loose rocks of different sizes. The explosives, inserted five meters deep, had done their job perfectly. Vincent pushed a few rocks toward the middle. His arms could pass through the large mesh. Using a metal bar, he pried loose a few others and also sent them out.
“Okay, start with one and two,” instructed Vincent.
The electric motors reeled in long wires that closed the net over loose rocks and one small boulder. Vincent followed closely, instructing Bill as he went and making sure the precious cargo ended inside a stripped-down, scientific module that had been converted to a mineral dumpster. Once the payload was secured, Vincent returned inside and was helped out of his suit.
“What does it look like?” asked Bill.
“Same as before, I guess.” Vincent scratched his nose. “I can’t see much out there without focusing a light beam. Not really worth my time.”
They finished with the suit, and Vincent went to the shower while Bill busied himself sorting out the new rubble with mechanical arms. Although the payload was in a different module, cameras and state-of-the-art, remote equipment made the manipulations easy.
It didn’t take long for the astronaut to join the engineer with two steaming cups of tea. As the work progressed, Vincent didn’t need to ask anything. His colleague's body language told it all. Long sighs, negative head shakes, abrupt tossing of useless rocks to the discard bin, or in this case, cargo net.
“This can’t be,” said Bill at long last. “The readings don’t lie; there should be tons of Carbonado right here.” He brought fists to his forehead. “The readings can’t be that far off.”
Vincent placed a hand on his shoulder and spoke softly. “We have to report this.”
“I know, I know. I feel awful.”
“Not your fault.”
“Of course it’s my fault! I’m the one who convinced Harry to invest in this crazy venture. Who else could be blamed for this fiasco?”
“Come on, let’s just report the results and get some sleep. It’s been a long day. In any case, we should hear from Earth in a few hours.”
Bill closed his eyes but finally nodded and followed the astronaut to the main screen. They recorded their work and the discouraging negative findings. When done, both men felt drained.
“I can’t bel
ieve we went through all the stress of using possibly defective rockets for this,” said Bill.
“Wasn’t a big risk.”
The malfunction was caused by repeated use of the same rocket combined with radiation. A shuttle equipped with XLP rockets and making numerous course corrections around the moon would eventually develop a risk of blowing up. The solid rocket mix became unstable. It had been estimated that there was less than a 1 percent chance of anything going wrong in their particular situation, but Vincent didn’t really trust those numbers.
Nonetheless, XLP as they knew it had ceased to exist. Rockets were no longer manufactured, and most assets had been liquidated. Harry Long had not filed for bankruptcy, yet, but had made clear that anticipated results from their mission might save part of the company.
And then all communications had been cut off.
The negative results would be devastating.
During the last 26 days, not a single black diamond had been found. The asteroid had a diameter of 250 meters and, following Bill’s instructions, Vincent had fractured almost half of it. His precise incisions had led to its very center. They had no plans for further work.
Both men didn’t sleep well and heard each other toss and turn in the sleeping bags, even if they were well apart in the common room.
When Bill gave up after six frustrating hours, Vincent joined him for coffee. Finally, after all this time, communication with Earth had resumed. Out of the dozens of messages waiting, there was only one from XLP in response to their many reports. The rest was from family and friends.
Vincent called it up and an unknown gentlemen appeared on screen. He was impeccably dressed in grey suit and red tie, sitting behind an old-fashioned, wooden desk. The large window behind him showed the skyline of a big city, with morning mist or evening smog being highlighted by a glowing, red sky. He held a single piece of paper.
“Greetings, Vincent and William. We received your latest information package a few hours ago and I, for one, am truly glad to find you both alive and well. My name is Cliff Duke and I am a senior accountant with Berns, Green & Larson. A lot has happened during the last 26 days and I will try to bring you up to speed on events here. News are not very good, I’m afraid.
“To begin with, XPL has officially filed for bankruptcy. Its remaining assets are being auctioned off. Employees have been laid off and all XPL business activities have ceased.
“Harry Long is implicated in a financial scandal concerning his use of stock options that occurred a few weeks before the first explosion. New information reveals that he was in possession of technical information detailing the potential dangers of the current rocket-propellant mix. Instead of warning clients and starting an investigation, he cashed in his options and made billions.
“Subsequently, as we all know, the first accident occurred. Still, Mr. Long sat on the information instead of going public with it. After the second explosion, one of the chemists who had initially done the research on the potential hazards of the XLP mix blew the whistle. This was revealed only two weeks ago.
“Harry Long’s assets have been seized and he is facing charges of insider trading as well as criminal negligence. He probably won’t be allowed to communicate directly with you since he’s been arrested, but has informed me that he will pray for your safe return.
“And now we come to your situation. As you know, your mission was part of a newly formed mining division of XLP. Berns, Green & Larson, which is handling the XLP bankruptcy, awaited your findings before determining a liquidating price. Since there are no diamonds on the asteroid, XLP’s mining division is worthless and has been written off.
“I’m sure you understand why this decision was unavoidable. XLP’s mining division isn’t a good investment and as such, won’t be purchased by anyone. What this means for you is that you are on your own. Nobody is left to take responsibility for anything you do or might do.
“Former XLP ground-control employees have put together a data package that should get to you very shortly. Many of these men and women have volunteered to keep in contact with you to ensure your safe return. Although there is no money left to secure time slots on the Deep Space Network antennas, it is conceivable that they might be able to arrange further communications with you in the coming months by appealing to the general public.
“We, at Berns, Green & Larson certainly wish you a safe return and the best of luck in your future endeavors.”
The communication ended and both men stared at each other.
“Can we get back to Earth without ground control?” asked Bill.
“Difficult, but not impossible. Astronauts did some pretty crazy stuff in the past to get out of all sorts of bizarre situations.”
“Like what?”
“There’s so many of them, it’s hard to say.”
“Name one.”
“Apollo 13.”
“They still had ground control.”
“Hey, we’re in much better shape than they were, trust me.” After a short pause, Vincent added. “Harry’s in jail. I can’t believe it.”
“What was he thinking? Keeping that report secret was criminal.”
“The money didn’t save him in the end. Poor Harry, he lost it all.”
“Poor Harry? Poor us! We’re the ones truly fucked by this whole mess!”
“I like our chances. Whatever happens, we’ll go down in history as the first belt miners. That’s something.”
Bill shook his head. “I’d prefer to go down in history as the miracle survivors of the XLP fuck up.”
Vincent smiled and floated back to his own screen.
“What are we going to do now?” asked Bill.
“About the asteroid? I’ll go back and blow up what’s left of it if you think we’ll find something.”
Bill made a wry face. “Nah, that won’t be necessary. If there were any Carbonado on this thing, we would have found it by now.”
“I guess the mission’s over. Let’s just take it easy for a few days and see how we feel after that, okay? No pressure. Our burn to rendezvous with Mars isn't due for another two weeks.”
“Sounds good.”
Both men placed headsets on their heads and turned to their respective screens. They had 26 days of family news to catch up on.
Bill had hours of family videos to watch; soccer games, backyard mayhem, even a birthday party. Although Vincent’s old astronaut buddies left him encouraging notes, he mostly cared about Suzanne’s messages. She was doing well, enjoying a vacation in Milan where she was learning Italian and taking cooking classes. In view of XLP financial woes, she was getting more and more worried as time progressed. Her last message, dated a few hours ago, showed how angry she was at the situation.
She ended her note with “You better get your wrinkled ass back here, so I can kick it really hard”, which meant, of course, “I love you.”
Vincent paused the video and the image of his daughter, staring defiantly in front of her, reminded him how much of a drama queen she was. And how much he loved her. Don’t you worry, I won’t let you be right about this trip, he thought.
They spent the rest of the day going through the data package, reading about Harry Long and XLP’s demise. They caught up on world events and, as was his habit, Bill surveyed the political scene with interest.
Vincent eventually browsed through the thousands of e-mails from space enthusiasts around the globe. He also reviewed his own work: the controlled explosions, the net being reeled in, the mechanical arms throwing the rocks around. It was fun to watch, even if the results were not what they expected.
There were quite a few suggestions for their return trip. The most sensible, in Vincent’s view, was to dump the old space station once they got near Earth and perform an aerocapture maneuver while aboard the Soyuz-K reentry module. A very safe solution.
As he skimmed through the messages, he read a few that he opened randomly, and a few that he thought would be interesting. Fan e-mails
were funny, and he often laughed at the simple questions. On an impulse he opened one that was entitled Carbonado missing. A young Asian man with a terrible accent, who introduced himself as Kim Young-joon, started explaining something. Vincent was about to shut him up when the image was replaced by a computer simulation showing asteroid Alex‘s position when the Proteus probe scanned it. The image magnified to reveal another asteroid, much smaller, between the probe and Alex. Apparently, the scan results could have been misinterpreted because of that. The smaller asteroid kept pace with Alex and, through an incredible, orbital fluke, remained between the Alex and the probe. It was extraordinary.
“Bill, have a look at this!” said Vincent as he restarted the video.
The engineer floated over and clearly whispered, “What the fuck?” twice during the short presentation.
“Could this be possible? Could this little asteroid explain your false readings?” asked Vincent.
“False readings? I don’t know, but I’m about to find out.”
Getting back to his seat, the engineer started going through old and recent astronomy projections.
Less than an hour later the information was confirmed. It was astonishing. The Carbonado was most probably on a smaller asteroid that had been very close to Alex and undetected at the time. This little guy, still unnamed, was only twenty kilometers away from their present position. It might even have hit Alex sometime in the past and now shared a similar orbit.
“Can we get to it without ground control?” asked Bill.
“Of course.”
“This is it! We’re rich!” Bill threw his arm in the air. “Our problems are over.”
“Are they?”
“Are you kidding? Tons of black diamonds, just waiting for us. That’ll get ground control’s attention in a hurry.”
“How do we tell them?”
“What?”
“There’s no way for us to contact them. You heard that accountant, former ground control employees are going to appeal to the general public to secure time slots on the Deep Space Network antennas. We don’t know when that’s gonna be, if it happens at all. On the off chance that they do get something organized for us, it’ll be in a few weeks or months and we’ll be on our way back.”
Bill bit his lip. “You’re right. But, hey, what happens when we get back with tons of diamonds? Won’t these greedy accountants sue us for them? What about Harry?”