Part 5 (1/2)
”You're right. It would take at least five years to resurrect the thermal nuclear reactor program, not to mention build another supply s.h.i.+p. But there's another option, a quicker, non-reactor nuclear option. And it involves this place.”
”What do you mean?”
”It sounds crazy, but this idea was cooked up by Dr. Edward Teller, so-called father of the H-bomb.”
Heather frowned. ”Wasn't he responsible for Plowshare?”
”He was. But he was responsible for a lot of other ideas as well. This was an idea to use the power of a nuclear explosion in a peaceful way, exotic and unconventional, but in a manner that could benefit s.p.a.ce travel on a ma.s.sive scale.”
”You're not serious.”
”Actually, I am. He had this idea to rocket tons of material into s.p.a.ce-and it just might work.”
Heather looked skeptical. ”Tons.”
”The idea is to load an enormous amount of supplies-thousands of tons-onto a slab of high-strength metal, sitting on one of those ten-meter diameter mine shafts you see out in the NTS valley. Dr. Teller wanted to place a nuclear bomb at the bottom of the shaft, a mile or so below the surface, and fill the shaft with water.”
”Water?” Heather looked as if she'd been following his explanation, but her eyes began to wander.
”Stay with me, ma'am. Once the nuclear bomb is detonated, most of the energy-fifty percent of it-would be absorbed by the water, which would be instantly converted into superheated steam. And voil, an incredibly energetic steam piston would push against the plate at the top of the mine shaft and accelerate it up ... so fast that the plate and supplies not only leave Earth's gravitational pull, but if launched at the right instant, could impact Mars,” he lowered his voice, ”and provide enough food, water, and supplies for a crew to survive, until either a conventional rescue mission could be mounted, or until they generate enough in situ fuel to make it back home.”
Heather stared down at the brown valley of dust. General Mitch.e.l.l couldn't read any emotion in his boss's expression, as her features were taut, unmoving. She spoke without turning. ”You're saying this Thunderwell is a nuclear-driven golf-shot that could impact Mars. A golf ball of water, food, and fuel. That we can shoot to my husband.”
”Yes, ma'am-that's the gist of it.”
A moment pa.s.sed, then she turned to face him. ”You have got to be kidding.”
”No, ma'am. I'm dead serious.”
”That's crazy. How can anything get from one planet to another without a rocket? And just by shooting it into s.p.a.ce. Didn't Jules Verne write about that?”
”Yes, he did-and he was on the right track. With enough initial velocity, it's possible to shoot nearly anything to the Moon-or Mars, or anywhere else for that matter. The problem is that initial kick. Compressible objects, such as humans, would instantly turn to jelly after such an enormous acceleration. Living things just can't withstand accelerations greater than eight or nine g's, not to mention the nearly one hundred thousand g's created by a nuclear-driven steam piston.”
”It sounds crazy.”
”It does. But we know this can work. We have proof.”
”How?” Heather said. ”I would have heard of this Thunderwell if it had worked.”
Mitchel continued patiently. ”Scientists have discovered meteorites in Antarctica originating from Mars. They were originally chunks of Martian rock, blown into s.p.a.ce by the collision of a huge meteor. Those craters on Mars were created by huge ma.s.ses, maybe asteroid-size rocks, hitting the surface and ejecting surface material into s.p.a.ce. And some of that ejecta left with enough velocity to make it all the way to Earth. Accelerated into s.p.a.ce just as Thunderwell could accelerate supplies to Mars.”
Heather stared at the ma.s.sive drill bits. Rust pockmarked their silver-tinged faces. They looked like giant toys left abandoned in the desert. She spoke slowly. ”So this nuclear steam piston, Thunderwell, kicks the supplies into s.p.a.ce. All the way to Mars.”
”That's right. The metal platform on top of the vertical shaft is accelerated up into the atmosphere tens of kilometers a second, with enough velocity-and if it's correctly aimed-to reach Mars and hit the surface.”
She shook her head. ”Won't the supplies be squashed?”
”Any food would have to be freeze-dried, but water and whatever fuel you might want to include wouldn't be affected by the large acceleration; those are largely incompressible. For electronics and other equipment we'd use technology from the Defense Department's penetrator program, bombs designed to withstand that type of acceleration can burrow through tens of meters of granite to destroy deeply buried targets. But anything we send would have to be able to withstand both the initial acceleration, as well as the impact on the Martian surface.
”We could have done this years ago. And it would have been far easier to hit the lunar surface, saturate it with supplies before establis.h.i.+ng the first permanent human presence on the Moon. We could have saved billions on the s.p.a.ce program.”
”If it was so easy, why didn't we do it?”
Mitch.e.l.l looked incredulous. ”Ma'am, it does mean setting off a nuclear explosion-a thermonuclear bomb that vents into the atmosphere.” He set his mouth. ”I suppose we could have done that in the fifties without any consequence. But today?” He shook his head. ”It's just not a career killer, it would create an international incident. It would mean breaking the international Comprehensive Test-Ban Treaty-the one that the Senate is just about to ratify. And worse, it might result in possibly dismantling the nuclear nonproliferation regime.” He hesitated, then spoke softly, ”The plank that got your party elected and got you confirmed for this job...”
Heather brought her head up quickly. ”Then why did you bring me here? Why did you shove this in my face? You could have just as well trotted in one of your national lab lackeys and given me a PowerPoint presentation on the options. Why did you do this?”
Mitch.e.l.l slowly nodded to himself. ”You needed to see this place. You needed to experience for yourself the history, what people did when faced with a seemingly insurmountable foe during the Cold War, when they weighed consequences for themselves of what might happen if they didn't do what they were doing.
”Those folks weren't dumb. They knew what they were doing to the environment wasn't benign.” He took her elbow and turned her around to the north, looking over another vista. A giant hole created by a nuclear blast in the 1950s dominated the landscape, but he ignored the geological feature and instead pointed to a row of stadium bleachers. Faded by the sun, the wood was splintered. Green paint cracked off the seats onto the ground.
Mitch.e.l.l nodded at the sight. ”They brought in crowds by the hundreds to witness the atomic blasts. It seems horrific now, but they knew that there was little radiological danger to the observers. They wouldn't put congressmen and starlets in danger.
”It might have been decades ago, but they were just as smart as us, and they knew the significance of what they were doing-but they also knew there were long-term consequences. And it all came down to what was most important to them at the time. They had a choice: winning the Cold War-in their minds, preventing extinction-or saving the environment. Maybe they were wrong. Maybe it wasn't an either/or situation. And maybe they could have done things differently. But the point is that they were absolutely convinced that their priorities were right, no matter what we think of their decisions today.”
”So what's your point, General?”
”The point is, that was then, and this is now. And you, Madam Administrator, have got to make the same decision for yourself: what are your priorities with all the risks involved?”
Mitch.e.l.l let go of her arm.
Heather was quiet for a long time. Wind whipped around them, blowing sand into their eyes. Her hair swirled around, but she paid it no attention. Sweeping her hair away as she turned, she whispered, ”So you really think Thunderwell can get supplies to Mars?”
”With a well-designed nuclear device, a reinforced shaft, a robust plug, and by strapping the right amount of supplies on top of the plug in the correct places to ensure they don't induce any unintended torques, waiting until the correct moment to launch, and of course covering it all by an ablative aerosh.e.l.l-”
Heather sharply held up a hand. ”I trust you on the details. Will it work?”
A long moment pa.s.sed. ”Yes, ma'am. I'd stake my life on it.”
Small att.i.tude thrusters on the vessel's port side sputtered in a sharp staccato. Neutral gas shot from the nozzles at a frequency so high it sounded like bacon sizzling.
Suddenly it stopped. Flexing metal creaked as the s.p.a.cecraft began to rotate. Stars wheeled around the exterior view screens excruciatingly slowly, mere milliradians at a time as the ma.s.sive s.h.i.+p rotated sluggishly about its center of ma.s.s.
Moments pa.s.sed, and the thrusters sputtered again, this time on the starboard side. As the craft slowed its rotation, a red sliver appeared on the side of the exterior view screen. The sliver increased in size to a crescent, slowly filling the screen. Within minutes, Mars dominated the view as the craft sighed to a stop.
It appeared as if the s.h.i.+p were pointed at the surface, destined to graze the planet on the side; but if their calculations were correct, they were precisely positioned to barely miss and instead delve deep into the Martian atmosphere. And once slowed by aerobraking, their craft would be flung into a highly elliptical orbit around Mars.
Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. Without her husband, Mark, she didn't have anything to lose.
And Heather was glad she didn't ask permission ahead of time.
Otherwise, the last-ditch rescue mission never would have been mounted. No matter how great the chance.