Chapter Four — On the Move

Theseus was equipped with a single of nearly every tool, save one essential item: the printers, of which there were two. These allowed him to manufacture needed parts on demand, strategically placed at opposite ends of the vessel. Carrying spare parts was inefficient due to their weight and the infrequency of their need. Instead, he opted for a supply of raw materials, 3D printing components as required, with everything being recyclable. However, some items, like computer chips, were beyond the printers’ capabilities due to the intricate precision required. Any component exceeding one cubic meter, such as the Nevin drive, could not be replicated. Over the years, he had replaced nearly every part of the ship, from the outer panels to the internal furnishings.

Vadym began the task of fabricating a new spacesuit. He made slight adjustments to his old one: replacing buttons with Velcro, expanding a pocket, and designing a device to automatically spool tether onto his belt. He maintained the original design for the most part, as he was comfortable with it and did not wish to relearn its layout. A gradual evolution was preferable. This process would occupy a day or two, split between both printers.

In the meantime, he relied on his only other outfit — a set of shorts and a t-shirt, which he typically wore for exercise. He had four identical pairs in rotation, all white with blue-gold-blue stripes adorning the sleeves and legs.

Vadym categorized individuals into three types concerning their comfort in space. Some, like him, found solace in the void, using it as a navigational guide without becoming overly fascinated by its mysteries. Others, the gazers, could lose themselves for hours staring into the abyss, making them poor pilots but excellent scientists. Lastly, there were those who found the vastness overwhelming, experiencing dizziness, nausea, or fear. These individuals were better suited to solid ground.

Lhari seemed to fit either the gazer or the overwhelmed category. The first encounter with the expanse of space was daunting for anyone. The enormity of the void, particularly when viewed through a transparent helmet, was far more disorienting than standing on solid ground and looking up. There was nothing to anchor her perspective, nothing tangible to remind her that the world still existed. Even older astronaut helmets had provided some peripheral vision, a contrast to the overwhelming sensation of infinity. Vadym needed to ascertain which type Lhari was.

He decided to leave the second mount on the bridge, hoping she could gradually acclimatize to the view at her own pace, even if it meant he had to pilot from a slightly off-center position.

For the moment, he reveled in the sight of Earth, which appeared to grow brighter by the hour. He observed a band of desert encircling the equator, the blue hue of the northern polar cap, and the arid southern continent beginning to show signs of greening. A storm was brewing over the Atlantic. He was familiar with the geography, having studied it, but it felt distant; it wasn’t his world.

Eighty percent of the global population resided above the equator, with only twenty below, leaving the inhospitable desert in between as a natural divide.

Lhari was busy transporting cargo cases to her quarters in the habitation ring, setting up instruments as needed. The Nevin drive provided ample electrical power, though its radiation posed a significant hazard. Being positioned behind a ship utilizing a Nevin drive meant a slow, painful demise.

In its standard form, Theseus functioned as a colossal flywheel. The outer ring of the habitation module spun like a gyroscope, resisting any attempts to alter the ship's orientation. Consequently, maneuvers had to be meticulously planned days in advance, requiring the rotation to cease, the ship to pivot, and then to resume spinning. This operation was cumbersome but only necessary every few months under normal conditions, and today was one such day. The exit from the Moon had been meticulously planned, but the gravitational assist from Earth necessitated a shift in the ship's trajectory.

Simulated gravity complicated long-range space travel, but the benefits outweighed the inconveniences and risks associated with the spin-down and spin-up procedures. Humans prefer to live with gravity for extended periods, and comfort during a year-long voyage was paramount. Showers were vastly superior to sponge baths, simplifying waste management, cooking, and leisure activities. Zero gravity was overrated.

Disposing of surplus energy in space, whether heat or kinetic, was challenging but feasible. The Nevin drive generated substantial electricity, allowing excess energy to be channeled back into the drive. Operating at full capacity required nearly seven gigawatts, boasting an impressive ninety percent efficiency at optimal settings. Any excess heat could be redirected into the fuel, marginally enhancing efficiency.

The energy contained in the rotation of the habitation module was substantial but manageable compared to the seven gigawatts. It could briefly power the drive.

Vadym called through the ship’s communication system, “Lhari, if you need to shower, do it now. You have an hour. After that, we won’t have gravity for about a day.”

This grabbed her attention, and shortly after, she made her way to the bridge, momentarily glancing at Earth but then backing away a few meters to avoid the overwhelming view. Vadym noticed her hesitation without turning.

“What’s happening?” she inquired.

“The gyroscopic effect from the spinning habitat prevents me from maneuvering the ship, so I need to spin it down.”

“Doesn’t that mean the entire ship will rotate in the opposite direction? For every action...” she quoted.

“We have a flywheel connected to the electrical system just behind the hydroponics bay. It will absorb the energy and convert it to electrical output.”

“Clever,” she acknowledged, standing in silence for a moment. Why wasn’t he looking at her? The Earth was right there; it wasn’t going anywhere. She attempted to engage him in conversation.

“What’s all this for in here?” she asked.

“Access to the science instruments. I never use it; I can do everything from here,” his voice remained distant.

More silence followed. Was he upset with her regarding the earlier incident? He had claimed it wasn’t her fault, but they both knew it was.

“Vadym, how much time do I have? I’d like to do more than just shower.”

“Don’t start moving things around or setting up yet. Everything needs to be secured for zero gravity. Make sure everything is tied down.”

Vadym continued to focus on his work, waving his hands through the holographic display, manipulating data in the air. Pixelated bursts of light danced around him.

Lhari departed, pushing off with her feet and floating toward the ladder, stealing one last glance at Vadym before heading to her quarters. She spent half an hour securing the cases to prevent any movement. The furniture was already anchored, but she pondered the bedding and other items. Opting to shower while time remained, she set to work.

Once she figured out how the shower functioned and dressed, she noticed the sensation of gravity diminishing. This change occurred over just a few minutes, and soon she was leaping around her living quarters, reaching for items she had yet to stow. Initially chaotic, she soon found joy in the experience — she was learning to fly. The ten-meter-high ceiling provided ample space for her to jump and play. It struck her that if a second deck could be installed, it would double her available space for equipment.

Vadym didn’t seem to need her presence, so she decided to enjoy the weightlessness while it lasted. Although they would always experience some degree of weightlessness, the central modules were only five meters wide. Here, she had an expansive donut-shaped space with ten meters between floor and ceiling. It resembled a long, curved indoor basketball court with walls at either end, and she couldn’t see both ends unless positioned in the center. She attempted to swim but found the air was not conducive to it. She needed wings but had none.

What she could do was push off. By using her legs against the ‘overhead’ and ‘bulkheads,’ she could direct her flight by bending her body into curves. On her first attempt, it took four jumps to traverse half the circumference until she reached the wall separating her space from Vadym’s. Two hatches connected their areas, stacked one above the other, as if already designed for a two-deck structure.

“Lhari, come in, Lhari,” Vadym’s voice crackled over the ship’s intercom, sounding irritated.

Having misplaced her earpiece, she opted to rush toward the exit and climbed toward the bridge.

“I’m here!” she called, breathlessly. He remained stationary, the Earth dominating the view before him. Were they off course? Were they in danger? No, Vadym was competent; she reassured herself.

“Your earpiece is in the shower unit, but don’t retrieve it now. We’re about to slingshot around Earth, and I suggest you secure yourself. The ship's acceleration will be slight but unpredictable for the next... three hundred seconds at eighty-one seconds.”

His tone was cold, as if addressing a machine. She sensed his frustration but couldn’t decipher the cause. Was he still troubled by the earlier incident with the lander and the cargo? Was he reconsidering their arrangement?

Blue light flooded in from the bridge, and Vadym’s faint silhouette cast a shadow across the floor, illuminated by Earthlight. Lhari felt a subtle pull toward the center of the room, perhaps slightly aft. She knew they were not only accelerating but also altering direction, a crucial vector change. The close approach during the slingshot maneuver wouldn’t significantly increase velocity, but the nearly ninety-degree vector shift was essential. Theseus was approaching Earth, now under three hundred kilometers away, close enough to experience some atmospheric drag at this speed.

Lhari was eager for more information. “Leena, display a course projection.”

A holographic representation of the solar system materialized in the center of the room, filling nearly all available space. The Sun, a tiny pea-sized sphere, occupied the center, surrounded by various orbital rings color-coded for the planets and asteroids. Gray Mercury, yellow Venus, green Earth, red Mars, numerous gray asteroids, orange Jupiter, and yellow-orange Saturn were depicted, with each planet shown at a relative size to the Sun. A delicate purple line traced out toward the Moon, nearly touching Earth before turning blue and sharply veering into the outer system, bypassing Mars and Jupiter, and missing Saturn by a significant margin.

“I will now project our motion over the next six months,” Leena’s voice remained friendly.

The purple line extended along the bright blue trajectory, indicating Theseus’s position at their intersection. The planets moved too; Mercury zipped around the Sun, Venus hurried along, while Earth ambled leisurely. Saturn drifted slowly, almost regal, as if observing the inner solar system's activity. The purple line stretched toward it.

Initially, Theseus would travel slightly faster than Earth, progressively accelerating until reaching the asteroid belt, where the bright blue line shifted to deep red, indicating deceleration. Eventually, Theseus and Saturn would converge, the purple, blue, and red lines vanishing, leaving only a small sailing ship icon to mark its future position.

The animation replayed, this time displaying Theseus in its actual form, and Lhari watched as it ceased spinning, pivoted, and resumed its rotation.

“That’s quite precise,” Vadym remarked, hovering in the hatchway between the bridge and the auxiliary room.

“Can I release my grip now?” Lhari asked.

“Yes. We’ve passed Earth. Say your goodbyes; by tomorrow, the light-speed delay will complicate communications, and in a few weeks, it will devolve into mere messages.”

Vadym spoke while navigating a holodisplay, engrossed in diagnostics, never glancing up.

In that moment, Lhari couldn’t recall anyone she wanted to reach out to. Calling her parents felt obligatory rather than a genuine desire to connect. Her university friends were unaware of her current endeavor, and for good reason. She let go of the wall and allowed herself to float freely within the compartment.

“I’ve got a considerable amount of work ahead. When will gravity return?” Lhari shifted the topic.

“A little over an hour. I need to set up the hydroponics and get the printers operational. I was contemplating your science lab; I could add another deck to your living quarters. Five meters of vertical space is still significant, but it’s the only way to accommodate your equipment. The only question remains: do any of your experiments require gravity?”

He seemed contemplative, but his tone remained detached, as if she were insignificant.

“Earth gravity would likely be ideal for all of them, if that’s feasible.”

“Let’s position them on the outer deck, and you can elevate your living space a few meters. You don’t necessarily need gravity to sleep; just enough to prevent falling off the bed.”

With that, Vadym propelled himself toward hydroponics, leaving Lhari floating there, somewhat puzzled. She hesitated for a moment before pursuing him.

“Are you upset with me?” she asked.

He turned, looking both surprised and confused.

“Should I be? What are you implying?”

“You’re acting distant, almost cold. Like my parents when I chose to study chemistry or my ex after I spilled chili in his car. You seem to be holding something back, but I can still sense it.”

Vadym scrutinized her for a moment. “Let me think.” Then he returned to his tasks.

Lhari left, feeling unsatisfied. Although she had intended to rearrange everything, she found herself floating aimlessly, pushing off the walls in contemplation. This journey was going to be long. Eventually, she noticed gravity returning and settled onto her bed.

Just then, Vadym knocked on the hatch, and she welcomed him inside. He appeared relaxed, as if nothing had transpired.

“Look, I live on this ship, and you’re my first passenger in years. This is my life — just me and Phaedra. I… I don’t engage with people. I have no friends. It’s just work, and I think I’ve forgotten how to… how to…”

“Communicate with others,” Lhari finished his thought.

“Yeah. I appreciate you; you’re a good person, quite intelligent, and you catch on quickly. I value those traits; truly, I do. You’re easy to look at, and you don’t smell.”

“I don’t smell… Okay.” Her cheeks flushed slightly, especially after his last comment.

“No, you’re fine. You’re an excellent co-pilot. Passenger. Whatever.” Vadym seemed frustrated with himself and ducked out of the cabin.

Lhari pondered his words for a while. As gravity regained its strength, she began organizing the crates. Although she couldn’t yet relocate anything, there was still ample space to set up her gear, which distracted her from thoughts of Vadym for a time.

Vadym retrieved his new suit from the printer and tried it on, stowing away his exercise clothing. He meticulously tested each part, including sitting in the airlock for ten minutes to verify its integrity. Once satisfied, he headed to hydroponics to initiate the growth cycle. The plants were alive but had been in a state of stasis during his absence; now it was time to accelerate their growth. The hydroponics bay measured five meters in diameter and ten meters long, with six plant carousels lining the compartment. A vast array of fruits, vegetables, and herbs would be ready for harvest within forty-eight hours. Phaedra monitored their growth and simulated sunlight, but Vadym relished spending time there, surrounded by life.

The printers began producing floor panels, each measuring one square meter, designed to interlock without additional components. The printing process was quick, but he would need a substantial number of them. He settled in the auxiliary room, watching the carbon fiber spool layer itself into thin sheets, lost in thought.

The mission puzzled him. From Vadym’s perspective, it made sense — twenty-two million credits was a substantial sum. Yet why was Lhari paying him to investigate a rock they had no intention of retrieving? Without established mining rights within a decade, they would forfeit their claim, which could potentially yield far more than his paycheck. She wasn’t a lawyer and might not fully grasp the implications, but once the timeframe elapsed, if the solar sail attached to it belonged to Vadym, then it was his rock, entirely unclaimed in the vast solar system. There was nothing larger than a basketball remaining unclaimed within the orbits of the ice giants. Although many objects existed beyond Neptune, such missions could take five years or longer.

That rock held immense potential, even if composed mainly of water ice. The scant data he possessed indicated significant metal content, including copper, silver, and iron, which were nearly as valuable as gold once in orbit. A rock of that size could sustain an orbital factory for years.

As the printer ceased, the extruder arm retracted from the platter. Vadym set the floor panel aside and restarted the process. Only two hundred and eleven more to go.

“So, when do we resume accelerating?” Lhari asked, emerging from the ladder well into the habitat ring.

“We already have. Just before the ring commenced spinning again.”

“I didn’t feel anything. I expected to sense something.”

“It’s not like the thrust we got from the tug. This is ionic propulsion — just under one centimeter per second squared. Watch.” Vadym held up the floor panel and released it. Initially, it barely moved, but gradually it began to drift aft toward Lhari. He allowed it to fall, and she caught it effortlessly.

“Oh, wow. That’s minimal.”

“Acceleration is delta vee over delta tee. Less vee, more tee.”

“I see, over the course of days and weeks.”

“Each day, we gain just under a kilometer per second. In about six weeks, we’ll double our initial velocity.”

“So, we’ll pivot at the halfway mark?” she inquired.

“That’s what I call it because it’s when we reverse course, but it actually occurs on day eighty-two, and we’ll arrive on day two-hundred and eleven. We received a significant boost initially since Earth travels faster than Saturn, but we need to align our speed upon arrival, which is around ten kilometers per second.” Vadym explained. “As we approach, we must synchronize with our target, which is moving very slowly relative to Saturn, situated as far from Saturn as Mercury is from the Sun.”

“I understand the orbit; I just hadn’t grasped the scale of it all. Saturn will appear as a mere speck from where we are.”

“Indeed, it’s seventy times farther out than Earth’s Moon.” Vadym decided it was time to inquire. “So, why are you venturing out here?”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s no reason to come out to inspect this rock personally, and you packed an extensive array of equipment unrelated to analyzing a piece of rock. It’s been on my mind since we reviewed your gear down on Luna. Why would we need to analyze viruses or utilize a mass spectrometer?”

“You already have a mass spectrometer on Theseus; mine is simply more accurate and requires smaller samples.”

“Okay, but viruses? What’s with all that microbiology equipment?”

Lhari lowered her voice conspiratorially. “It’s too warm.”

“Too warm?” he echoed.

“Yes, out here, the surface temperature of nearly every rock is approximately -183 degrees Celsius, just shy of oxygen’s boiling point. However, our target is -135 degrees Celsius. Much too warm. It’s darker than an asteroid, but not that much.”

“And you suspect it’s alive?”

“I’m not certain. Maybe,” she replied in a whisper.

“Who are you worried might be listening? There’s no one else here,” Vadym gestured around. “Just Phaedra, you, and me.”

Lhari contemplated this for a moment before continuing in a normal tone. “I suppose it’s a habit. I knew my family owned this rock thanks to our investments at Farside station, and I wanted to understand its chemistry. The astronomers there cataloged the data, which was available for anyone to see.” She trailed off, lost in thought.

“And you noticed something?” Vadym interjected after a brief pause.

“Yes, they only took a spectrum, but I observed that it was unusually warm, and I couldn’t identify the cause. Nothing other than radioactive materials would account for a forty-degree discrepancy. It would have to be predominantly composed of uranium to emit that glow.” Lhari spoke with growing excitement. “If it is uranium, that’s acceptable, but it would be in such abundance that it would be worth billions, not millions. Yet I suspect it’s something more. I couldn’t find a plausible explanation for an asteroid containing that much uranium.”

“They’ve been searching for signs of life throughout this system for over a century, and you believe they’ll find it in an asteroid? Mars had bacteria millions of years ago, but nothing remains. Submarines on Europa discovered nothing, nor on Titan, which is our next destination. Ganymede, Callisto, Ceres — all barren. No UFOs, no aliens, no signals from the cosmos, nothing,” Vadym countered.

“I understand, but that’s why I kept it to myself. I’m already an embarrassment to my parents without becoming a laughingstock for believing in aliens,” Lhari admitted sheepishly.

“I’m not judging you except for your financial choices, partner.”

“That’s all it is to you, right? Just a job?” she retorted, pulling back a bit.

“Either way, I win. If you discover aliens, I receive credit as the captain. If you don’t, I get paid and a great tale for the next time I’m in port.” Vadym gestured grandly. “Space princess seeks wild adventure!” he chuckled.

“I’m not searching for aliens. I’m not that much of a dreamer. It’s just that… I have this opportunity. Most scientists are struggling for funding, and pursuing this through conventional means could take a decade or more, and even then, I might not secure funding.”

“So, you chose to squander your inheritance chasing fantasies?” Vadym pressed.

“I’m not squandering it. After this, regardless of the outcome, I’ll be fine. If it’s rich in uranium, I’ll become wealthy. It’s fifty-fifty, right? If it turns out to be what I’m hoping for, I’ll gain fame, which is essentially the same thing.” She defended her stance.

“Alright, alright. I’m not criticizing you. The temperature readings are intriguing, I’ll concede. We’ve had infrared observations of Saturn for decades, dating back to at least the 2020s, prior to the Wasting. Why wasn’t this discovered earlier?”

“It was only recently captured by Saturn, and the orbit is quite unstable. A slight nudge could send it flying off course. Farside recorded it over a decade ago, but I think nobody paid attention due to the data storage format. Normally, temperature would be cataloged separately, but in this case, it wasn’t. Someone deleted that data point. I only discovered it by scrutinizing the spectral data.”

“So now we have a conspiracy along with aliens?” Vadym jested.

“I can’t say for certain. Farside Research Station employs many individuals working on various projects.”

Vadym nodded. “And some of those projects may not be entirely legal.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just rumors. They lack any law enforcement, you know. No oversight. They operate independently.”

“Yes, but their funding and support come from various sources. Surely vested interests keep everything in line.”

“Oh, it’s refreshing to encounter someone so naïve regarding the darker aspects of things. Let me enlighten you about the world,” Vadym replied.

Lhari shot him a glare.

“I’m kidding, Lhari; don’t take offense. If I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t be making jokes.”

“Some kind of psychological defense mechanism, using humor to indicate fondness? Are we just a couple of kids in second grade?” she quipped.

“Well played, Ms. Gunawan, well played. Point taken.” Vadym shifted topics. “I’d like you to join me on the bridge if you don’t mind.”

“Do you think that’s safe?”

“Safer than last time, at least. If you zone out again, I won’t be aimlessly drifting in a vacuum. I’ll just draw a mustache on you with a permanent marker until you wake up, since I’m a mature second-grader,” he retorted, shooting her a playful glance.

She began reading labels and absorbing information when she commanded, “Phaedra, display trajectories.”

Lines emerged everywhere, mapping orbital paths. The center of the display was overwhelmed by a crosshatch of horizontal lines — asteroids in gray, Mars in red, Saturn in yellow, and other ships in blue and purple. It was chaotic.

“Most objects align along the same orbital plane with the planets,” Vadym explained. “Phaedra, remove traces.” The lines disappeared.

“Oh right. Not much to observe above or below, I suppose.”

“Occasionally comets, but that’s about it.”

“That’s why they didn’t spot my asteroid. It was below the plane of the planets before falling into Saturn’s orbit.”

She continued to gaze, this time upward at the depths of space, void of labels. “I can’t recognize any constellations.”

“It’s more challenging; there are many more stars now. With the light pollution from Luna and Earth’s cities, you may only see a few hundred stars at best. Out here, there are millions.”

“Andromeda,” she pointed out. Vadym remained silent but watched her closely. Her eyes flitted around, searching for familiarity.

“Pleiades,” she mumbled. “Orion.” She gestured half-heartedly. Vadym observed, but she was not losing herself in the view.

Twenty minutes later, she turned to him. “Thank you. It wasn’t as… overwhelming this time.”

“That’s good; it’s very good. I need you to be capable of piloting this ship if necessary.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”

“You will be,” Vadym affirmed with conviction.

Thanks for reading. Leaving a comment is the best way to help this story gain visibility. I’ve invested significant effort into these chapters, and so far, I’ve earned about $4.20 from all six combined.

Chapter Five Below.