David Palmer - Emergence

But hominems worked miracles: Devised fittings to mount four solid booster rockets in place of usual two. New trick liquid fuel mixture boosted main engine thrust efficiency several critical percent, improved consumption picture. Cargo bay now accommodated huge custom-built orbital maneuvering system tank (much larger than earlier OMS kits).

Ship also lightened substantially; almost gutted, in fact. Everything extraneous to mission ripped out: Air, food, water storage cut down to irreducible minimum. Storage cabinets, noncritical instrumentation, crew’s “amenities” discarded. Landing-gear system removed in toto…

(Good thinking: Shuttle expendable after mission; parachutes adequate for crew.)

Aerodynamic control surfaces permanently locked in neutral; related hydraulics, computers, sensors, control sticks, pedals, etc., gone…

(Goggled when heard that; couldn’t imagine how expected to manage reentry.)

…along with all exterior insulation.

(Say what? )

Calculations showed Nathan Hale now capable of attaining desired orbit.

Just.

Chin dropped; heard own voice involuntarily whisper, “ Oh…!” as finally caught on.

Now understood shuttle’s new name: Nathan Hale — “ My only regret is that I have but one life…”

One-way trip.

Volunteers all, three-man crew would attempt to reach bomb, disarm…

And die!

Vision blurred. Felt tear start down cheek. Others followed.

Gayle noticed; divined cause. Leaned close, whispered that crew selected from entire population at launch center — every person involved in project volunteered; AAs, ABs alike.

Shook head; tried to envision what must feel like to step forward, with full knowledge of facts; make rational, intelligent, premeditated decision to give life so others might live.

Couldn’t.

Spontaneous, unthinking heroism understandable; bravery in heat of battle, excitement of moment, not uncommon (been known to yield to occasional rash impulse myself); but this — courage required simply defied comprehension…!

Blinked away tears to gaze out over crowd in awe. And as stared, felt unfamiliar stirring: undefinable, comforting. Source eluded identification; but awareness of assemblage somehow expanding, deepening. Vaguely realized was perceiving bond extending beyond present mutual predicament, project, goals. Shared warmth, togetherness almost tangible: Glow slowly pervaded, suffused entire being. Heart swelled, soul thrilled to sudden, absolute knowledge that sapiency’s new standard-bearers well chosen.

Slow tears resumed, but proudly now — my people worthy inheritors. Earth in good hands…

Kyril stood, joined Teacher at board. Regarded him with new awareness, appreciation; understood Gayle’s comment now about how insistence upon inclusion in Hale’s crew lent credence to change of heart, penitence. Tall, handsome man, but wore same dejected air as Teacher.

Unveiled large multiple-overlay transparency cutaway drawing of bomb, missile in which housed. Launched into discussion of vehicle’s weaknesses. Of which, turned out, were damned few!

Equipped with sophisticated computer, detection/analysis equipment; mounted lasers capable of crisping approaching missile like moth in oxyacetylene flame; structurally invulnerable, in practical terms; everything but propulsion nuclear powered — rocket engines conventional, but more efficient: next generation development permitted by new material, capable of ten gees.

Fanatics planned, built well. Doomsday machine no pushover.

But not omnipotent. Planners mortal men. Achilles’ heel of every computer-controlled mechanism is software written by selfsame mortal men, trying to anticipate, cope with hypothetical future problems — forced by memory storage limitations to choose which, amongst whole spectrum, most likely to materialize — determine appropriate responses. Programming limited bomb’s awareness of, response to, stimuli likely to be missiles: high-speed metallic objects exceeding certain mass, approaching within hundred-mile spherical perimeter, whose plotted trajectories come within five miles.

Kyril not personally involved in detection-package development, but opined, from general knowledge of project requirements, that slowly moving men in spacesuits, even if picked up by radar, probably ignored by computer. Probably.

Teacher’s experts, after poring over liberated drawings, software, over period of weeks, in substantial agreement: Components resulting therefrom unlikely to care about indistinct signals returned by small, slow, essentially nonferrous targets.

Therefore, strategy arrived at called for parking Hale safe distance back, proceeding to bomb in spacesuits, using manned maneuvering units; forcing launch service access hatch, entering vehicle; sending robot equipped with TV cameras, powerful waldos, through inner shell hatch (too small for man in spacesuit) to pull plug.

However, project in trouble. Big trouble. Quite possibly insurmountable trouble: Robot development not progressing as anticipated…

“In the months during which we have been working on this problem,” sighed Teacher, shoulders slumped, “we have advanced the field of robotics well beyond the point at which we found it. We have accomplished amazing things; but unfortunately they have not been the amazing things which we set out to accomplish. We are now at a dead end.”

Couldn’t believe ears, eyes! Teacher — sounding, looking, acting as if defeated!

“Which is why we’ve called this meeting,” he continued more resolutely. “We need fresh input and we need it now.

“You all were furnished copies of drawings as you arrived. They depict the attempts we have made so far to come up with a usable design.”

Noticed everyone but self had sheaf of paper. Nudged Gayle, elevated brow. She nodded, passed me extra. Glanced through quickly, noting salient details.

Teacher continued without pause: “The first sheet is a list of design criteria, beginning with the initially limiting factor of the inner shell access hatch size, 9 inches by 14; and going on to detail grip strength required of waldos, forces necessary in push, pull, and torque functions; and drawings of the machine’s anticipated route from the hatch and working environment inside the bomb, illustrating all known handholds and obstructions.

“Those of you with suggestions are asked to come up and view the full-scale mock-up of the bomb’s interior…”

Oh, so that’s what this thing was. Stood quietly, stepped down from stage, compared drawings to replication. Clearly drawn; easily matched up. Curved wall was outer hull, with main access hatch. Tiny inner shell access hatch mounted on next wall in. That bulge indicated warhead location, buried near center of nose cone. There was umbilicus plug, last thing disconnected before launch. On-board computer behind that panel there, etc.

And there, at center of cobweb of wiring, all needing to be removed in correct order first, was detonator, accessible only after squeezing through tiny bottleneck hatch, climbing past maze of structural bracing. Would take boneless, acrobatic midget to get in there in first place.

But disarming didn’t look too complicated: Remove wiring in proper order, unbolt cover, extract shaped charge by seizing shaft ridges, pulling out. And — oh, yeah, shaft/socket tolerances finely machined, snug fit; 400-500 pounds of force required for extraction, twisting as emerges to clear obstructions. Midget better be husky sucker.

Could see problem now: Complicated, overlapping, multiple functions involved in basic task placed heavy demands upon small machine lacking both tactile feedback for operator guidance and joint flexibility of human hands, wrists, elbows, shoulders. Robot’s need to stabilize self while working in weightless environment posed additional problems. As did necessity of finding room for high-resolution, closed-circuit color television camera to enable operators to maneuver unit along tortuous route from hatch to detonator site, carry out assignment.