Rocheworld (aka. Flight of the Dragonfly)

451 Pages·1990·1.36 MB·English

by  Robert L Forward

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Rocheworld [Book 1 of the Rocheworld Series]
by Dr. Robert L. Forward
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Copyright (c)1989 by Robert L. Forward
Fictionwise
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Science Fiction

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_For Eve_
Who thought it would be fun to ride on a flouwen.
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thanks to:
Edouard Albert Roche (1820-1883)
-- who showed that the world isn't always round,
Charles Sheffield
-- who also thought this system was fun,
Paul L. Blass, Carl Richard Feynman, David K. Lynch, Patrick L. McGuire,
Daryl Mallett, Hans P. Moravec, A. Jay Palmer, Zane D. Parzen, Jef Poskanzer,
Daniel G. Shapiro, Jacqueline Stafsudd, and Mark Zimmerman, who helped me
in several technical areas. My love and special thanks to Martha for her
encouragement and literary assistance.
The "Christmas Bush" motile was jointly conceived by Hans P. Moravec
and Robert L. Forward, and drawn by Jef Poskanzer using a CAD system.
All final art was expertly prepared by Sam Takata and the rest of the group
at Multi-Graphics.
CAVEATS
This book is based on the original 150,000 word manuscript I wrote in 1981.
A condensed version of 60,000 words was serialized under the title
"Rocheworld" in Analog Science Fiction/Science Fact in 1982. A longer version
of about 100,000 words was published in hardcover by Timescape under the title
"The Flight of the Dragonfly" in 1984. A slightly longer version of about
110,000 words was published in paperback by Baen Books under the title The
Flight of the Dragonfly in 1985. This version of 155,000 words prepared in 1989
combines the best features of all the prior versions -- I hope you enjoy it.
For those readers who care, Robert L. Forward, who writes hard science
fiction novels, is not to be confused with his son, Robert D. Forward, who writes
hard-hitting detective novels, animation scripts for television, and live action
scripts for motion pictures.
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CHAPTER 1 -- BEGINNING
The torn shred of aluminum lightsail rippled lightly down through the thin
atmosphere and settled onto the calm ocean. The robot probe the sail had once
carried continued on its way back into the interstellar blackness, its flyby study
of the Barnard planetary system completed. The messages of its discoveries
would reach Earth six years later. The microthin film of aluminum sail material
was no match for the ammonia-water ocean covering this egg of a planet. It
dissolved into a bitter taste of aluminum hydroxide.
Clear^White^Whistle was warming on top of the ocean in the red glare from
Hot. Hot suddenly became less. The darkness was not like that from a storm
shadow, but much sharper. It was almost as if Sky$Rock had suddenly moved in
front of Hot. The darkness came closer, then there was a sharp thin taste of
bitterness in the ocean.
Clear^White^Whistle dove under the ocean to escape the bitterness, then
came to the surface. The taste was still there. Another dive -- it was there too. A
sounding dive a long distance away, it was still there, but the taste was weaker
and the sheet of darkness was being eaten by the ocean. Hot peered through the
holes.
For a long time Clear^White^Whistle tasted the bitterness and thought about
the strange thing that came from nothing but was something. Thoughts came to it
about exploring the nothing above, but that was impossible...
^But only carefully contrived mathematical propositions are truly
impossible,^ mused Clear^White^Whistle. ^After all, the bitter darkness came
from nothing, and I can look into nothing, although poorly. I know from looking
that Hot and Warm are sources of light and heat, but though I have tried hard, I
cannot see them. If only my looking portions could be focused like my seeing
portions... ^
A thought came to the alien, and the large amorphous body of white jelly
started to condense. Clear^White^Whistle squeezed the water out of its body,
turned into a dense white rock, and sank to the bottom of the ocean. The
concentrated whiteness of the fluids that constituted its "brain" now thought at a
higher rate.
Equations for a focusing detector based on time differences went through a
sophisticated mathematical transformation into the equations for a focusing
detector using distance differences. This detector would "look" using light
instead of "seeing" using sound. The mathematical solution now obvious,
Clear^White^Whistle, the toolless engineer, dissolved and swam up again to the
surface as an undulating white cloud.
The thinking had taken a long time. Hot was gone. It had moved behind
Sky$Rock, a large object that hovered motionless in the sky above this region of
the ocean. Sky$Rock was dark, and no longer gave off its rocklike, reddish-gray
light. The sky was not completely dark, however, for Warm had risen and was
now a weak flare overhead.
Using the mathematical equations as a guide, Clear^White^Whistle formed
a portion of its body into a sphere and concentrated. The white thought substance
in the sphere flowed out into the rest of its body to leave the sphere a clear gel.
Further concentration, and water dripped from the surface of the sphere until it
was a dense clear ball. Through the now crystalline sphere streamed the rays of
light from the heavens to come to a crude focus in the opposite side of the
sphere. The white flesh next to the clear sphere looked at the tiny spots of light
focused on its surface. The light patterns showed Warm as a small disk of
mottled red. Around Warm were smaller bright lights with sharp cusps and fuzzy
edges.
A slight adjustment of the gelatine sphere into a crude lens and the distorted
spots turned into smaller disks. As the lens focused on the moons of the giant red
planet, Gargantua, the blackness of the night sky all around the planet blossomed
with hundreds of tiny pinpoints of light.
Clear^White^Whistle stared with its newly invented "eye" at the
multicolored stars in the sky and wondered.
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CHAPTER 2 -- PICKING
Boredom is a Space Marine's worst enemy, but these Marines were not
bored.
"Close in! You squinty-eyed offspring of a BASIC program. So what if
you've lost your outside video! You've still got radar and ground plots! Close
in!"
The words came from deep inside a short, chunky, round-faced woman with
dark-black skin, a close-cropped head of curly black hair, and a crisp Marine
Officer's uniform seemingly tattooed on her muscular body.
General Virginia Jones punched her supervisory keyboard as her parade-
ground voice echoed off the naked beams and taut pressurized walls of the
crowded cubicle. Crammed into the compact control room of a Space Marine
Lightsail Interceptor, the programmers were short-circuiting the software in the
ship's computer to optimize an "unwilling capture" trajectory between their low
acceleration twenty-five kilometer-diameter sailcraft and the radar image of a
lumbering cargo hauler. The huge heavy-lift vehicle was rising slowly from its
launch pad deep in Soviet Russia on its way to resupply one of the Soviet bases
in geosynchronous orbit.
"Boarding party!" General Jones roared to the deck below. "You've got ten
minutes to do the fifteen-minute suiting drill! Move it!"
There was a bustle as hammocks were stowed to give a little more room in
the tiny communal barracks. Suits were lifted from lockers and donned --
rapidly, but carefully. General Jones looked sternly around at the organized
pandemonium and took a bite of her energy stick. She looked at it in distaste,
thought blissfully of the excellent mess back at the Space Marine Orbital Base,
then stoically took another bite of the energy bar. If it was good enough for her
Marines, it was good enough for her.
Like the PT boats in World War II almost a century ago, the Interceptors
had to be fast. With only the light pressure from the Sun to push them, that
meant keeping weight down. It was battle rations every meal when the Space
Marines were on Interceptor duty.
General Jones carefully watched the captain of the Interceptor as he swung
his ungainly craft smoothly around. Captain Anthony Roma was short and
handsome, with dark flashing eyes and a youthful wave of hair over his forehead
that had Jinjur's mind wandering slightly. Captain Roma was the best lightsail
pilot in space (with the possible exception of Jinjur herself).
The lightsail scooped, dumping its cross-orbit excess speed in the upper
atmosphere by using its huge expanse of sail like a sea anchor. It tilted to
maximize the solar photon pressure and rose again in a pursuit trajectory of the
bogey. Ten minutes later General Jones called a halt to the hunt of the phantom
fox.
"Freeze program," she said, then turned and tapped a code word into her
command console. The computer memory of the practice pursuit was locked
until she released it. The primary purpose of this exercise had been to test the
reconfiguration skills of the human element of her computer-operated spaceship
-- the programmers. By reconfiguring the software in the computer to take into
account its loss of components and capabilities, the programmers could
hopefully tune the program to obtain its optimum response time. She wished the
Interceptors could have the latest in self-reprogramming computers, or at least
the touch-screen input terminals, but that was many fiscal-budget cycles away.
The study of the programmer responses could take place later. General
Jones lifted herself up in the weak acceleration, coiled her short, powerful legs
under her compact body, hooked the toes of her corridor boots under the
command console, and launched herself toward the "sortie" port. There was
more to a Space Marine Interceptor than sail, computer, and programmers, and
she was the preventive maintenance technician for that fourth component.
The Space Marines were still frozen at attention in the sortie port, their
'stiction boots firmly attached to the deck. Their commander swam in free-fall
among them, the lieutenant of the boarding party close behind her.
She approached the first Marine, punched a code into his chest-pack and
read the result.
"Fine, Pete," she said. "Shuck the suit and take a break." She moved to the
next one.
"Hi, Amalita." She punched the Marine's chest-pack and read out the
performance index.
"Good timing!" she said. Her eyes grinned up at the proud Marine. "Seven
minutes, thirteen seconds, and no suit flags! I'm proud of you!"
She moved on to the next. The readout had no flags, but her instincts knew
something was wrong. She stared at the face of the Marine through the visor. His
bewildered eyes indicated something unknown was bothering him. She grabbed
him by both arms, planted herself on the deck, lifted him bodily, and turned him
around. He felt oddly out of balance. She examined the tell-tales on his support
pack. They were fine -- both tanks full of air. She stopped and raised a sharp
pale-brown knuckle and gave the rounded ends of the two air tanks a rap. One
tinked like a fiber-wound titanium balloon stretched to its utmost. The other
tonked.
In her rage, she smashed the offending tell-tale with her fist and jerked the
poor Marine around until he was facing her. Tears welled from her dark brown
eyes.
"Everlasting elephants, Mike!! If it doesn't feel right, don't put it on!!! Even
if the blazzflaggin' thing says it's OK! I want you alive!!"
She jammed the stricken Marine back down to the floor where his 'stiction
boots took hold again. Then pushing against him, she rose up and grabbed a
handhold in the ceiling of the crowded port.
"I want you ALL alive!" she roared, looking around at the ranks of cowed
killers.
"The next time one of you blue-nosed monkeys puts on a bad suit, I'll
personally kick you from here to PLUTO!"
She turned, and sucking the back of her hand, swam out the lock, leaving a
thoughtful lieutenant to finish the inspection. General Jones had not yet
mentioned his responsibilities in this infraction, but he expected to hear about it
as soon as they were where the troops couldn't overhear. He wasn't looking
forward to it, for General "Jinjur" had not gotten her nickname by being lenient
with officers that allowed her troops to get into danger.
General Jones was halfway through the analysis of the interception exercise
when a message came through from the Space Marine Orbital Base. The
Russians had announced a launch to resupply one of their geosynchronous-orbit
manned space stations. The Interceptor that Jinjur was inspecting was in the best
position, and was assigned the job of monitoring the launch. She carefully
watched the Captain of the Interceptor as he swung his ungainly craft smoothly
around. The sunlight hit the sail, the acceleration built up to a few percent of
Earth's gravity, and the floating objects in the room drifted downward. The
Captain called on one of the orbiting space forts above him for more power, and
there was a blinding flash in the video monitor as a powerful laser beam struck
the sail with a light beam five times brighter than the Sun. The acceleration rose
to one-tenth gee and they skimmed rapidly above the Earth's atmosphere,
gaining speed by the minute.
Soon the sailcraft's trackers had the Russian booster on their screens. Jinjur
watched as the massive payload pushed its way slowly up out of the sea of air,
rising vertically to over two thousand kilometers. As it reached the peak of its
trajectory, the tiny image began to grow wings. The wings became larger and
larger until they dwarfed the twenty-five kilometer diameter sail of the
Interceptor. Jinjur admired the deployment speed of the lightsail. The pilot must