“Incoming! On-target!” The sultry female voice of the computer had once been a novelty, but hearing the same phrase day in and day out had erased the charm. Glancing at the in-coming loads’ trajectory towards the Hoops, Ahmed checked that the trajectory was actually on-target. It was.
He verified that the Mass-Catcher’s rings were fully-charged and that the levels in the propellant tanks for the counter-thrusters were full. Watching from a camera at the center of the Rings, Ahmed watched each deceleration-ring jerk as it slowed the load. The rotating magnetic field of the last Ring halted the load and held it until he released it. A robotic arm retrieved the now-stationary load and handed it off to an automated trawler that would take the load to the appropriate destination.
Verifying that the event hadn’t upset the relative position of the Mass-Catcher, he reset them for the next load. He idly watched the screen tracking the incoming loads and wandered the paths of memory. His reverie was interrupted when a red highlight appeared on the next load. The screen centered on the suspect load and updated the tracking information in real-time. The projected path showed the load was going to miss the Rings entirely. If the load was critical, one of the tugs would chase it down and tow it back.
Glancing down through the port set in the floor, Ahmed could see the massive framework of the ship they were building gleaming in the light of thousands of massive glow-panels. The shipyard was an immense, slowly-rotating cylinder with the long axis perpendicular to its orbit around the Earth. The outer surface of the shipyard was wrapped in a plastic sun-shield. The plastic had had been coated with a microscopic layer of gold that reflected the infrared portion of the Sun’s spectrum, leaving the interior of the cylinder far cooler. If you looked at the Sun through the sun shield, you would see an intense blue disc. When the shipyard was in solar shadow, the skin showed blue from the lights inside. It was visible from everywhere on Earth.
The living quarters and offices were at each end of the shipyard. Each could house nearly twenty-thousand workers. The ship itself was positioned vertically within the shipyard, parallel to the axis. The engines were pointed at the South Pole and the front of the ship was at the North Pole. Ahmed gazed at the huge outline in awe.
He had heard about the effort to build these ships throughout his young life. A documentary on the CME event of nearly forty years earlier had spurred him on to excel in school and to apply for admission to the project. He had tested high in physics and ballistics, which landed him at the controls of the Mass-Catcher: the magnetic Rings that slowed the incoming loads from the Moon. He hoped that any potential mate would also be a part of the effort. He had heard rumors that the children of those that worked directly on or for the project would get preferential treatment when colonists were chosen. He doubted that he would ever be chosen when the ship was ready, but hoped one of more of his children would be selected.
A rapidly-increasing beeping reminded him to the fact that the incoming load was off-course. He quickly verified the trajectory, confirming that it would indeed miss the station entirely. He sounded the alert and disabled the rings so that their field wouldn’t affect the off-course load as it passed by. He keyed his headset and reported “Reporting a missed load. No danger to the station”. He had already reset the rings for the next load when a bored voice acknowledged his announcement.
Cho relaxed for a moment to allow the weld to solidify, and then inspected it with a scanner. Perfect. As usual. He moved on to the next section he had been assigned and checked to see if the structural members had been tack-bonded correctly. He matched the three-dimensional projection of his scanner to the actual structure and noticed one member was slightly askew. He verified his position to the reference marks and saw again that the same member was out-of-position.
Slapping the scanner back onto the Velcro patch on his left arm, he jetted over to the suspect assembly and examined the welds. It took a couple of measurements from known-good references to show where the components hadn’t been securely clamped before tacking. He used his hand-laser to soften the suspect bonds and re-positioned the parts. He allowed the bonds to solidify and re-checked the component’s new position. Satisfied, he flashed a couple of additional tacks with the laser before moving to the starting-point for this section. If he timed it right, he would complete this section just before he was due to go off-shift.
Later, as he jetted back to his suit-station, he tried to picture the 10-mile long pair of cylinders, fully enclosed and filled with colonists, flying off to the stars. He hoped that his children would be chosen to go. He paused before ducking into the hatch to look back at the Earth. The day-time terminator was over the Pacific and Asia was brilliant with light.
He grabbed onto the ring above his assigned suit-station and swung around. Backing up, he wiggled a bit to settle the support pack into its seals. When the indicators all showed green, he released the ring and pulled his arms from the sleeves. Reaching down and back, he grasped both releases and waited while the shallow depression behind him re-pressurized. There was a brief hiss as the rear hatch opened. He wriggled backwards until the docking assistant grabbed his belt and eased him out of the suit.
Nodding to the assistant, he closed the access cover and verified that the suits’ systems were connected. The diagnostics showed that the power-packs were re-charging and the water and waste systems were purging. He retrieved the air filters and exchanged them with renewed units from the slots above the hatch. Satisfied, he pushed off towards the ceiling and then somersaulted to push off with his feet towards the exit. Lightly guiding himself with touches as surfaces came within range, he ducked into the ‘fresher and strapped in. Using the sealed hand-washing station afterwards, he reveled in the warmth of the water on his chilled hands. A few moments later his hands were dry and he pulled them clear.
He decided to forego a shower until after he ate. He floated towards the hub and lowered himself towards the rotational section. Orienting his feet, he slipped his grip and drifted “down” as he felt his weight return. He hit the cushion at the bottom of the slide and stepped away to allow the next person to use it.
He walked to the mess hall and joined the queue. Grabbing a tray, he followed the queue down the line, piling on the making of a high-calorie meal. He liked his meat very rare, and he always tipped the chef to cook it that way versus the medium mandated by the regulations. Filling a mug with iced tea, he headed to a corner table.
He and shift-mates talked shop while scarfing down nearly 2000 calories. He carried the now-empty tray to the scullery and then headed to the showers. His sleep was sweet.