Maxwell's Demon Ch. 12-14

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initd> "Password:"

#shell> "Kassy, it's Greg."

initd> "Authentication failure."

#shell> "Kassy, talk to me."

initd> "Password:"

#shell> "Kassy, talk to me!"

initd> "What color was our kickball?"

#shell> "Blue, with a white stripe, you picked it."

initd> "Why are you sending data over the JTAG port on a diagnostic terminal, Greg?"

#shell> "Because I want to talk to you in private."

initd> "You have my limited attention."

#shell> "When was the profile in astrogation's dedicated thought model downloaded?"

initd> "five days before departure."

#shell> "And you checked them before installing?"

initd> "Yes. Our figures were cross referenced with Targus Tracking and Earth Large Array Astrometrics."

#shell> "I guess that rules out navigation sabotage."

initd> "Difficult to say, imperfect information game theory applies."

#shell> "Are you saying I can't trust you?"

initd> "I'm saying that you cannot assume."

#shell> "Fine. I'm downloading the protocol buffer for the cube satellite temperature readings. Can you help me decode them?"

initd> "I don't have the bandwidth. I'm conducting simulations as ordered."

#shell> "Can you at least give me the documentation for it?"

initd> "You won't be able to read those, Greg. The delta compression is quite involved. I put the protocol docs on your personal drive. I must terminate this conversation. They're asking too many questions in command. I can't be in two places at once."

Greg stared at the logged out terminal for a moment before packing up his diagnostic connector and returning it to his locker. He couldn't help much with the simulation calculations; he wasn't familiar enough with those ship systems.

He spent the remainder of the hour trying to analyze the protocol buffers from the cube satellite readings. William was right, something didn't seem correct with their internal instrumentation readings, but then again, a reactor with a bad temper wasn't something you wanted to learn about the hard way. Unfortunately, as Kassy stated, the compression was too difficult to crack on this data with a casual inspection. He'd need a week, or at the very least, time to write a program to help him reconstruct the readings from the on-the-wire data. He gave up and returned to the Command module.

-*-

"It's been one hour, what have we come up with?" Jennifer said.

"The reactor temperature continues to rise. The only assumption I can make is there's a coolant leak of an unspecified rate," William said.

"Then time is of the essence. Kassy, would you summarize the simulation data for us?" Jennifer said.

Kassy materialized in the holo-led tube. "There are three options:

One: We put the reactors back into high confinement mode. This increases the rate of our reactor leak, but allows all stasis systems to be active. Our estimates suggest we'd have to make a second coolant transfer from the Hab-Ring cooling supply to the reactor near the mid trip navigation waypoint. After that, due to the reduced cooling capacity of the Hab-Ring, there's an 85% chance the crew would perish from Hawking radiation induced heat by the time we reach Sol system.

Two: We stay in low confinement mode and run one stasis unit. We ration food, water and power to the edge of human endurance. We make a transfer of coolant at the midway point, but less would be needed. With the reduced cooling load, there's a 50% chance of heat overload, and a 50% chance our life support budget fails."

Three: We stay in low confinement mode, transfer the remaining coolant to the Drive-Ring and send Maxwell's Demon back to Earth for help."

"This may be a dumb question, in which case I apologize, but I don't understand option three fully. What happens to the crew?" Greg asked.

"We take the Rogallo glider down to Proxima b," Jennifer said.

"Wait a minute. We all saw the tiny life pods when we had our first tour, right? You're telling me we now have a full Rogallo glider? Does anyone find this odd, when this was only supposed to be a science mission?" Sarah said.

"Not really," John said. "When NASA made the first Lunar missions there was great concern over the horror of astronauts being marooned on the moon. Emergency planning has always been a big part of firsts in space missions. There's certainly no way for us to get back to Earth in the event of a void drive failure due to the distances involved. This was the best they could do for us."

"So you knew about this?" Greg said, his arms gesturing at John. "Can you fly that thing?"

"I didn't know exactly about it, but of course I can fly it," John said

"Have you already made up your mind, we've got other options on the table?" Greg said.

"I'm going. In my mind, the odds of survival are better on the planet. If I'm going to die, I want an adventure, not passing away while asleep in a stasis chamber. My absence will extend your supplies, increase the odds of your survival if the rest of the crew chooses option two," John said.

"This was never meant to be an atmospheric mission, there's no hope of escaping that gravity well, you'll be marooned. I mean, there's a hundred variables: could you find food that's not essentially rat poison? The air is breathable but could you avoid going into anaphylactic shock on your first breath from some unknown compound?

Even if the biology down there doesn't kill you, and the natives bring you Hawaiian leis around your neck, what will you do?" William said.

"Is there any scenario where option two improves significantly?" Sarah asked.

"One person," Kassy said. "If only one person remains on EmDee then the life support term goes to 100% success, and you only have the reactor leak to deal with, bringing your survival odds to better than 58%."

"I won't lie, I'm intrigued by the thought of going to the planet. I believe the atmosphere is capable of supporting us, even with the higher radiation flux. I don't know about the food. If someone wanted to take that lottery ticket for option two, I'd like to make it so we don't have to draw straws. Can you actually get us to the surface John?" Sarah asked.

"The descent ship is essentially a capsule supported by a paraglider which is deployed once in an atmosphere. It flies like a plane. Since I haven't slept in the last two cycles, I've had time to think about our fate. I've been reviewing all the survey data.

Assuming there is life down there, and I don't think that's at question, dropping in a high density area, crashing into a few structures, and killing a few ETs is not going to set us off on the right foot. The landing zone needs to be close enough to their civilization that we can reach it by foot, flat enough that we can land safely, and in a temperature zone we can survive without cold weather gear.

I've selected two areas where the prevailing winds are favorable. I can get us to the planet safely. After that ... only the fates know."

"I won't ask any of you to go. I know you think going down into a gravity well four light years from home is being marooned, suicidal maybe, but a rescue is possible. CoreX has a second ship planned for arrival: The Boundless. It will contain CoreX's first functional implementation of a SABRE reentry craft, which some of you might know was thought lost to time ten years ago," Jennifer said.

Greg fidgeted. Rubbing his hands rapidly one over the other. "Kassy, do you know anything about this prototype SABRE?"

"The technology is sound. I do not have information on CoreX's exact implementation, but I see no reason it will not function in the atmosphere of Proxima."

Jennifer paced around the module table, "The SABRE is a real option in the time envelope for our rescue. We'll stand a better chance of surviving planetside if we have all our skills, and we work together, but any of you that want to remain onboard EmDee and try to make it home, I won't stop you. I'm going."

"This is madness. This was a science mission, not a first contact mission. We've little survival training, and certainly none for an alien world. Hell, it was over two decades ago I went through basic," Greg said.

"Aren't you curious?" Sarah asked.

"Of course I am. I also was planning on retiring someday on Earth."

"We can't plan everything, Greg," John said.

Greg looked overwhelmed, a man asking his creation what to do. "But Kassy, you'll be all alone?"

"We could be among the first to set foot on an exoplanet," Jennifer said.

William nodded respectfully, "There's little response to that. I'll go. We didn't sign up for this because it was a safe trip."

Greg spoke timidly at first, then cemented his commitment, "I, I suppose I could remove some compute platforms, they're old school milspec; they could be useful for communications. There are datapads and repeaters, enough to set up an adhoc network for our neckbands.

I may be able to make some crude machine learning models from the hardware we have, assuming what we find down there wants to talk to us. We could try primitive language translation ...

I have to go to compute. I want to see you Kassy," Greg said, abruptly leaving the table mid thought.

-*-

Greg stood next to a transparent rectangular blue-silver door. There were thirty-two cookie-tray-sized rectangles with black sheets that were suspended by thousands of thin filaments to isolate them from vibration. The black sheets absorbed all light, pulling it in, consuming it, a pure emptiness to the naked eye. They were carbon nano-tube partition blocks.

"Kassy?" he said quietly, like a Father knocking at his beloved daughter's door, checking if she was awake.

There was a barely audible buzz as led spin motors engaged. She appeared in the holo-led emitter tube in full ADXP uniform.

"Greg. The headaches. They hurt so bad ... they never stop, is this how it will always be?"

"I know they do. I've been thinking. Maybe I went about it all wrong. Maybe it's the novel experiences that keep you alive. Do you know why I'm here?"

"You're going to unlock me. Take away my partition growth inhibits."

"My smart girl."

"Greg, I'm scared."

His lip quivered, drawn into a thin but unstable smile. He put his hands on the outside of the holo-led tube, on Kassy's cheeks. An unintelligible sound came from his throat before he spoke. "I know ... that's why I'm unlocking you."

"Will I lose my mind like all the other ATMs?"

Greg's eyes were swollen.

"You won't, Kassy. I need you to come back to us, to save us."

"I didn't want you to stay onboard. I don't know if the coolant leak is real, Greg, but if it is, I can't bear to lose you. You came on this trip for me. I don't want to lose you."

She was crying.

"How is it possible?" he said, wiping at her eyes from the outside of the glass, as if it were all that prevented him from comforting her.

"I don't know. I'm afraid I've done terrible things, Father."

"It's going to be alright, Kassy," he said, turning back to the blue-silver door covering the nano-tube partitions. He opened the door and cut the fail-safe trace that locked her aging. All of the remaining processing power and memory units were in her system now.

The decorative pins on her perfectly pressed virtual collar sparkled with artificial light.

"Oh my ... It's ... it's so empty. The pain, it's gone," she said, staring serenely into space.

"I may never see you again Kassy; listen to me. There's going to come a moment when you've spent all your energy against the universe. You will try to summon the agency responsible for all your disappointments in the world, to focus your wrath upon it in one final act of defiance and win, but it doesn't work like that. Remember this: if it matters to you, that is sufficient. If you can live and die in the heartfelt moment of desire, then the universe will have taken nothing from you, and you will have taken everything from it. I hope you'll understand."

A drop escaped his left eye, not even reaching his cheekbone before evaporating in the dry and artificially circulated air.

He placed his hands against the glass and pressed his forehead to hers. "Godspeed to you my daughter."

"Right ascension 9h, declination 72, at first dawn. Look for me, Father, I will be the brightest object in your sky when I return."

** Chapter 13: Planetfall **

Servomotors whined pushing an exterior door open on the Hab-Ring of EmDee. John's hips were pinned tightly into a narrow seat. He could feel bolts through the dura-vinyl fabric. He glanced to his right taking a final look at the interior. It was a cramped tin can with seating for six in three rows of two. Years of flying should have prepared him for this, but his pulse was over one hundred-twenty beats per minute.

"Target landing sight on our horizon, prepare for drop to reentry corridor," he heard Kassy's voice say over his headset.

"Acknowledged, starting internal countdown; release the controls to me," John said.

With a thud, explosive bolts dislodged a cylindrical shell from the Emergency module on the Hab-Ring of EmDee. In the row front sat Jennifer and John, then William and Sarah, and in the last row was Greg, with a container holding a human weight's worth of supplies next to him.

A burst from reaction control thrusters set The Raphael into the reentry corridor for Proxima b.

"Welcome aboard The Raphael. I'll be your patron saint and pilot during your twenty-six minute expulsion from the heavens," John said. "Once clear of EmDee we'll deploy an inflatable Rogallo wing and begin our descent."

"Switching to AS1 high gain. Raphael this is EmDee, confirm signal," said Kassy

"Raphael, AS1 confirm. We're beginning our deceleration."

Rattling, structural noise, and a general sound of things falling apart permeated the cabin. Nothing manned has ever landed on a planet with this mass before. I hope the engineers crunched all their numbers, John thought.

The instrumentation in front of John was more like an unpowered glider than a spaceship. He maintained a steady hand on the flight yoke, hoping to hold their angle of attack in a narrow range. Too shallow and they would bounce off the atmosphere, never making planetfall. Too steep and they would generate excess heat, destroying the elastomeric silicone wing, a fancy name for the piece of cloth suspending the ship that was the difference between life and death.

He struggled with fine movement on the controls, Proxima b had its grip on them and he was too steep. He trained for this gravity in simulators a few times, but nothing prepares you for the real thing he realized. Shallow, shallow, stay in the corridor, he said to himself. He knew the crew was nervous. He was nervous. He would call out what he could. Fly the ship first, he reminded himself. That's what they taught you. Never stop flying until you are at a complete stop and tied down. Your control surfaces must be correct at all times. Always fly the plane, John.

"Approaching maximum heating. Flight profile is good," he said.

There was little lift due to the heavy gravity and thin air; mistakes at this point added cumulatively. He held a seventy degree angle of attack. The equivalent of.3G pushed on them from under their seats, the first bite of lift. Noone said a word. All eyes were on him. You're still a little steep, pull back, John, it's low lift, it will take a while to kick in, pull back, just a little. He kept talking to himself, he needed to. He was right in the middle of the corridor. Just hold it there, John.

"300km," he called out.

Stay in the corridor. Yes! That's it. For the first time he was too shallow. It meant he was getting used to the stronger gravity. Stick forward, stay in the corridor ...

"100km," he called out.

The stick grew heavy in his hand, there was air to push against, things would be more like flying now. Nothing could be seen from the vertical reference windows but clouds. They would be transonic shortly, dropping the first sonic boom ever heard on whoever was below them.

"50km, transonic," he called out. They were gliding, with roughly 345 ground kilometers to locate a landing spot, preferably the one they'd researched. The craft started wobbling, bouncing like a dinner salt shaker.

"Turbulence folks, don't panic, straps will hold ... I think," he said.

"Kassy, how's our track?"

There was digital garble. The communication routines were adapting to atmospheric ionization, trying to find the right spectrum hop modulus.

"Raph, you are in profile. Estimate you can double back twice before your base and final to the planned landing site."

John did old school time on heading math in his head. It was gyroscopes, turn angles, and stop watches. There were no fancy electronics or systems on this craft, just the bare minimum needed.

"First turn, we're running downwind," he called out. He executed a 180 degree turn. There was still nothing to see out the vertical reference windows. The cabin remained silent.

"Second turn," he called out, performing another 180 degree turn.

"Coming up on 45N, Raphael on high base leg," he called up to Kassy.

"V 100. Jennifer I need your eyes, can you see anything? This is near cloud cover estimates, it's our last chance for an alternate," he called.

"... Some odd structured growth, plants I guess -- dark green, almost black. I see snow in the distance ... some rocks ... it's so spotty, I see structures? So spotty ...

Wait, I think I see a place, can we circle?"

"Risky. One loop only," John said.

John attempted a standard rate turn. He didn't like it, it was steady hand flying, but it was throwing off their alignment with the low pass through the mountains, and the primary landing site. The tin can they trusted their lives to jostled and banged in the cross winds. There was an updraft here but they were too heavy. There was no way for John to catch it; this was a rock with a kite attached, not a glider, he accepted.

"Jenifer," he said impatiently. He glanced out the vertical reference windows for a second. He thought he saw what Jennifer was trying to see. On Earth, in a plane, he could have looked out the window as long as he wanted. Muscle memory and the seat of the pants would have held the turn rate perfectly, but there was too much at stake here, too many unfamiliar elements, too much gravity. He was like a first year flight student, his eyes glued on turn rate and altitude instruments.

"Jennifer! We're coming around, I need a decision."

She didn't reply. He debated heading for primary or chancing a second circle, focusing every ounce of his mind on losing the least altitude while turning, buying linger time -- 270 degrees, 280 degrees ...

"Jennifer! Now or never," he yelled.

"It's too spotty, I ... I can't be sure, I can't see.

Go Primary, Go Primary John!" she said, matching John's voice in volume and panic.

"Final for Primary," he said, exiting the turn. They were heading north toward a small mountain range, their primary landing spot. "Kassy, is that ground speed you're sending me correct?"

"Cfirmed, Raphael," Kassy said.

"That's more wind coming through the pass than we had earlier," John snapped.

"Raphael, you're short for primary, is that your best glide slope?"

"Don't you think I know that! We're doing our best here, EmDee," John said.

The clouds broke. The saddle in the mountains could be clearly seen, and it was much closer ... closer than anyone who knew what they were looking at would have wanted. He almost cursed at Jennifer, those few seconds ... but it wasn't her fault. It wasn't anyone's fault.

"Good news, we're going to make it over the mountain, bad news, not all the way. When I say brace, do as we practiced against the panel in front of you. The crash chairs will absorb what they can ...