La Double Inconstance (2030–31) — Episode 2
4: “It’ll be a bitch”
The mother-ship comes with two combat-modules. Imagine a ‘T’ shape. In interplanetary cruise the vertical stroke represents the main fuselage of the mother-ship. This contains the interplanetary-cruise engines, fuel and most of the supplies. The horizontal top of the ‘T’ represents two long arms jutting out to each side. At the end of each arm is a crew module which detaches for combat. Tania and myself will occupy one of these for the entire duration of the voyage. Yep, that’s where the two of us will live.
The module at the end of the other arm is a duplicate. We have redundancy in everything.
During boost and deceleration phases the arms fold upwards into line with the main fuselage, so the ‘T’ becomes an elongated ‘I’. But most of the time we’re purely ballistic, in weightless cruise. Then the arms fold out into their T-configuration and the mother-ship begins to rotate about its long axis, whirling the modules around like a fairground ride. The result is artificial gravity. The mission to Mars space is seven to eight months and we’d be in a very sorry state if we tried to do it in free-fall all the way.
People say, don’t you get dizzy, watching the universe spinning around you? And we point out that there are no windows, only screens. The computers synthesise the view we’d get if we were not being spun around at all. So we think we’re just flying normally when we look out. Usually though we’re just seeing mission and status data, or entertainment.
We can set the windows to something restful and earth-like: trees or mountains or waterfalls, if we feel like it.
After less than an hour’s flight our craft has landed on the helipad and we’re met by yet another bus for transfer to the local ESA building. There’s no hanging around, Tania and myself are led straight into a facsimile of our module’s crew habitation area.
The module itself is nothing like an aircraft. We’re on a space mission, not flying through atmosphere, so there’s no streamlining and our craft doesn’t have to be that compact.
The outside shape is spherical; a smooth, stealthy, ball-like surface punctuated by engine nozzles, weapon hatches and sensor emplacements. Our internal living space consists of rectangular rooms which hug the inside of the armoured surface. The module is usually spun-up when independently deployed so that we still operate in artificial gravity.
But today we’ll be assuming the whole module has been de-spun so we’ve gone weightless. That’s how it works in combat. It’ll be a bitch.
We each have a large personal area with a table, chairs, double-bed and en-suite. Between these two upmarket bedsits there’s a shared kitchen, a dining/recreation area and a compact gym. All of these facilities are adjacent to the central office which is where we ‘fight the ship’.
At the far end of the office – the opposite end to the kitchen area – there’s a workspace with chairs, wall-screens and control peripherals – this is for routine (non-combat) operations. At the near end of the office, maybe six or seven metres away, are the two combat couches, each equipped with VR displays and tactile controls. Here is where we can take ten plus gees and still operate the ship.
In theory we can get from any place in the module to our couches in less than nine seconds. We practise this a lot – but not so much in free-fall, always a scarce resource in astronaut training.
Tania and I enter the simulated habitation section. We’re wearing our standard pseudo-lycra coveralls – no zips or buttons or pocketed items to bruise our skins under acceleration. I am sent to my bedsit and told to get into bed. Tania is told to prepare a hot drink for herself so heads off to the kitchen. We have no idea how long it will be before the emergency drill will start.
I lie under the duvet and reflect: this is how it will be on the mission; the long months drifting towards Mars, spinning round and round the cylindrical mother-ship, feeling a lot like this. Abruptly my thoughts turn to present reality: we are suspended over a thousand metre deep hole. It is as if we are about to be dropped off a high mountain. I am sure that if my surroundings were transparent I would be petrified. Once we’re let go, only technology can save us.
But isn’t this true of everything we do?
Still no klaxon. Why are they delaying? The scenario we are testing is this: a routine pre-combat situation where we're flying ballistic, far from our mother-ship which would be stationed way behind us. We would be advancing stealthily on the target. Suddenly our sensors pick up something incoming, fast and lethal. Doctrine states we have nine seconds to get into our couches before the module gets us out of there as fast as it likes.
They tell us that, to avoid capture or destruction, it can pull more than 10 gees: a lot more. But they prefer that we live... and are still operational.
Tania in lycra: the material, by design, hides nothing of shape. I’m sure I must come across like a male ballet dancer – no secrets here! Tania is a few centimetres shorter than me, wiry and muscular. She has small breasts and her brown hair is cropped. There’s no sexual chemistry between us (I know that she has her own relationships but she doesn’t talk about them) but we are personally attuned. Similar dry sense of humour, I appreciate that she’s taciturn and likes to get to the point, is impatient with superfluous chat. Her instincts in practical situations are good. And she’s fast: really fast and sure.
Good enough for me.
5: Tuesday: zero-g
I’m starting to get relaxed and dreamy when suddenly the klaxon sounds: “High-g, high-g in nine seconds. Counting nine …”
The mattress rebounds and I float above the bed sheet. I get caught up in the drifting duvet, push and thrust to get to the edge of the bed. This was the hardest to practice without a null-g environment: precious seconds wasted.
“Eight … Seven ...”
I spin against the wall like a swimmer and push hard for the door. Through the gap I see a stretched out body gliding across the office. It’s Tania speeding towards her couch. Her face turns as she catches a glimpse of me.
“Six … Five ...”
I’m through the door and lined up on my couch. I push off – it’s going to be touch-and-go.
“Four … three ...”
I spin in the air as we’ve practiced, lining my back up with the couch. Tania is floating above hers, not quite settled in, watching as I flounder, trying to orient myself.
“Two … one ...”
Tania kicks my flailing arm and in the last second we both mate with our targets. The couches suck us in; pull us into their cushioned embrace.
“Zero.”
And the breath is squeezed out of me as I’m crushed into the fabric. Without Tania’s intervention I might have fractured an arm.
A few seconds of suffocation then a synthesised voice speaks: “Situation nominal.”
We both climb awkwardly out of our couches, panting, trying to get air into our oxygen-starved bodies. I’m quite shaken by this first-time experience. I embrace her: a way to say thanks, to express my relief. I’m expecting something male-like: a buddy-hug, a slightly embarrassed response – ritualised, mechanical and quickly over.
She surprises me then. Her face comes up to mine and our lips press briefly together. A moment, not over-protracted, just de-stressing.
Tania is honest and authentic in everything she does. This is what she means at this exact moment. Then we separate and it’s back to full-on professionalism. Perhaps it never stopped being so. At any rate, the cameras will have captured it and the psychologists will have another data point.
Half an hour later we do it again. This time I’m the one in the galley and Tania is sent to bed. It all goes perfectly. By the end of the session we are doing more complex scenarios and getting longer in freefall (fourteen seconds). The decelerations are more savage: we hit ten g finally and pass with flying colours.
On our way back to the waiting helicopter, Anna has a word.
“Perhaps you could call into my office later this evening? Would half past seven suit?”
It’s a date.
The full story text can be found in my SF novel: here:
- "Donatien's Children" (2022) — as a PDF, and
- "Donatien's Children" (2022) — on Amazon for easier reading.
