“No, seriously, it’s running water.” Hector punched a series of buttons on his console. “In pipes,” he clarified. “Not like a stream. The audio signature is... pretty distinct, the computer puts it at above ninety-nine percent.”
“Meaning, it’s definitely water, and it’s definitely flowing through an artificial system of some sort?”
“Yes.”
Astor Martin sat back in her couch, desperately wanting to rub her face. The space suit’s helmet and gloves prevented even that basic comfort.
“So, it’s a spaceship, and in all likelihood, someone’s in there.”
“Yes.”
“Unless it’s an automated, but in that case why would they have water?”
Hector didn’t answer this time, recognizing that she was talking to herself.
“If it’s a spaceship, it’s probably not going to crash into Earth, it’s aiming to orbit earth.” Astor looked up at the clock; the distance from Earth was about nineteen minutes, so she wouldn’t be getting advice from them for a minimum of thirty-eight minutes.
Of course, the asteroid -- or spaceship -- wasn’t going to reach Earth for another couple of months, so it wasn’t like she couldn’t wait.
She drummed her fingers on the arm rest.
“Finish placing the charges,” she said. “If they’re friendly, we just won’t push the button.” Hector punched some buttons on his console; outside, the little remote-hands robots resumed their work of placing demolition charges.
There was a carefully worked out pattern of charges, designed to break the thing up into small pieces and hopefully send all the big chunks away from Earth. The whole task had seemed impossibly complex and critical-path dependent when it was just a hunk of rock; now there were... aliens involved.
Astor sighed. So, it was a diplomatic endeavor now. Her background as an asteroid miner, spending months and years alone with her robots, certainly made her the most qualified person to conduct delicate negotiations with unknown people.
“And if they’re not friendly,” she said, “We’ll be sleeping better at night with a belt of thermonuclear charges clamped around their ship.”
“Hey Astor.” Hector didn’t look up from the console. “Something weird...”
She looked up at her displays, then at his. Everything looked nominal.
“One of the drones is headed back. It’s looking like it’s following the emergency-return protocol, but I’m not seeing any faults in the...”
She looked up at the plot: one of the little robots was indeed headed back along the path planned for it in case of systems failure. She punched a series of buttons, bringing up the little robot’s internal status: all systems green, everything working... nothing in any of the logs about why it had decided to return home.
“Deviation,” said Hector. “It’s gone off its route.”
“Is it responding to...”
“I can send it commands, and it acknowledges them, but it doesn’t seem to actually comply with...”
“What’s its payload status?”
“It’s got three charges still...”
There was a loud clank, reverberating across the ship.
“It’s fixed itself to the hull,” said Hector. Astor looked over at him in annoyance; at this point, they were looking at the same data, it wasn’t as though...
She reminded herself that reporting everything out loud encouraged communication and made it easier for ground control to get an idea of what was going on. She took a deep breath.
“Okay,” she said, “Do we have control of the payload? Is it armed?”
More clanking sounds, less loud, were echoing through the interior space of the ship.
“It looks like we have control of the thing, including the detonation circuitry, but...”
“But it looks like we have control of the drone, too.”
There was a final clank, and the drone bounced back off the hull. She called up the external cameras. One of the drone’s charges was cemented to the outside of the hull.
She watched the drone arrow back to its assigned pattern, skipping the position where it was supposed to have emplaced the next charge.
“It’s left a charge on our hull,” said Hector. “I have communication with the charge, it’s nominally responding to my commands but...”
“But,” she said, “And this is just a guess, but... it seems like it’s somehow irrevocably chained in with the charges on the asteroid? So we can set off the charges over there, but only if we also set this one off?”
“Aaaaah... yes, affirmative.” Hector was pushing buttons on his console.
“Hmmm,” she said. She drummed her fingers on the arm of the couch.
“Meaning, it’s definitely water, and it’s definitely flowing through an artificial system of some sort?”
“Yes.”
Astor Martin sat back in her couch, desperately wanting to rub her face. The space suit’s helmet and gloves prevented even that basic comfort.
“So, it’s a spaceship, and in all likelihood, someone’s in there.”
“Yes.”
“Unless it’s an automated, but in that case why would they have water?”
Hector didn’t answer this time, recognizing that she was talking to herself.
“If it’s a spaceship, it’s probably not going to crash into Earth, it’s aiming to orbit earth.” Astor looked up at the clock; the distance from Earth was about nineteen minutes, so she wouldn’t be getting advice from them for a minimum of thirty-eight minutes.
Of course, the asteroid -- or spaceship -- wasn’t going to reach Earth for another couple of months, so it wasn’t like she couldn’t wait.
She drummed her fingers on the arm rest.
“Finish placing the charges,” she said. “If they’re friendly, we just won’t push the button.” Hector punched some buttons on his console; outside, the little remote-hands robots resumed their work of placing demolition charges.
There was a carefully worked out pattern of charges, designed to break the thing up into small pieces and hopefully send all the big chunks away from Earth. The whole task had seemed impossibly complex and critical-path dependent when it was just a hunk of rock; now there were... aliens involved.
Astor sighed. So, it was a diplomatic endeavor now. Her background as an asteroid miner, spending months and years alone with her robots, certainly made her the most qualified person to conduct delicate negotiations with unknown people.
“And if they’re not friendly,” she said, “We’ll be sleeping better at night with a belt of thermonuclear charges clamped around their ship.”
“Hey Astor.” Hector didn’t look up from the console. “Something weird...”
She looked up at her displays, then at his. Everything looked nominal.
“One of the drones is headed back. It’s looking like it’s following the emergency-return protocol, but I’m not seeing any faults in the...”
She looked up at the plot: one of the little robots was indeed headed back along the path planned for it in case of systems failure. She punched a series of buttons, bringing up the little robot’s internal status: all systems green, everything working... nothing in any of the logs about why it had decided to return home.
“Deviation,” said Hector. “It’s gone off its route.”
“Is it responding to...”
“I can send it commands, and it acknowledges them, but it doesn’t seem to actually comply with...”
“What’s its payload status?”
“It’s got three charges still...”
There was a loud clank, reverberating across the ship.
“It’s fixed itself to the hull,” said Hector. Astor looked over at him in annoyance; at this point, they were looking at the same data, it wasn’t as though...
She reminded herself that reporting everything out loud encouraged communication and made it easier for ground control to get an idea of what was going on. She took a deep breath.
“Okay,” she said, “Do we have control of the payload? Is it armed?”
More clanking sounds, less loud, were echoing through the interior space of the ship.
“It looks like we have control of the thing, including the detonation circuitry, but...”
“But it looks like we have control of the drone, too.”
There was a final clank, and the drone bounced back off the hull. She called up the external cameras. One of the drone’s charges was cemented to the outside of the hull.
She watched the drone arrow back to its assigned pattern, skipping the position where it was supposed to have emplaced the next charge.
“It’s left a charge on our hull,” said Hector. “I have communication with the charge, it’s nominally responding to my commands but...”
“But,” she said, “And this is just a guess, but... it seems like it’s somehow irrevocably chained in with the charges on the asteroid? So we can set off the charges over there, but only if we also set this one off?”
“Aaaaah... yes, affirmative.” Hector was pushing buttons on his console.
“Hmmm,” she said. She drummed her fingers on the arm of the couch.
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