Mission Day: 155961

Gestation 7, Adam: 13 years, 219 days

Gestation 12, Eve: 11 years, 306 days

Adam moved hand-over-hand carefully and deliberately. Inside the ship, he was an acrobatic zero-gravity virtuoso. Outside, every moment filled him with sensations he’d never before experienced. Clothing was chief among them. He’d first put on diaper, into which he’d urinate if necessary, then long-johns, with socks and gloves. It was awkward. Eve dutifully helped him, particularly with the light gloves. Getting each finger into its proper sleeve frustrated him; he’d have become angry had Eve not stepped in.

Atop this bundle of fabric Eve helped him into an elastic netted garment that, like the long-johns, covered him from neck to wrists to ankles. Running down the limbs and across the torso, flat tubes converged at a hub located on the garment’s back. That, Alpha explained, would run coolant across his body to keep him from overheating in the vacuum of space.

Without air, there would be no conduction draw heat off him and the spacesuit. Without gravity, there would be no convection to carry it away. Radiation was the only cooling method remaining, and inside the suit, there was very little of that. Though the temperature of deep space was more than two-hundred fifty Celsius below zero, he was more at risk of heat stroke than of hypothermia. Thus the spacesuit’s life support system connected to the hub to regulate his body temperature through the fluid it would heat or cool.

With the two layers of garments properly fitted, Eve helped ease him into the outer shell of the spacesuit. While it wasn’t heavy, owing to the lack of gravity in the extra-vehicular activity or EVA room, it was bulky and had a lot of mass. Before he donned them, he and Eve selected and fitted the parts that best fit Adam’s size. Though still only a teenager, he’d grown tall and his shoulders were already broad. Wriggling into all the parts, then connecting them, required both their efforts. Adam was already overheating.

Eve checked the fittings through the torso’s back-plate to the ventilation, thermal, and communications systems of the personnel support unit, or PSU, on the back-plate. In addition to regulating his air quality and body temperature, the PSU provided a communications link that relayed both his voice and data from the suit’s many sensors. It also contained a small amount of propellant he could use to maneuver back the ship in the event he became separated from it.

Before she locked the helmet onto the suit, exited, and closed the hatch on the airlock, she hugged his head tightly. With the bulk of the spacesuit’s arms, he could barely reciprocate.

Alpha warned him about agoraphobia. It was real. From inside the ship, space had no depth. It was a picture window, a canvas on glass. Out here it was a bottomless pit – in every conceivable direction – and he was falling down it, clinging to the skin of his mother ship.

He was never supposed to leave the ship until they arrived at the new world. Apparently, not every contingency could be anticipated.

Ahead, Adam could see another of Alpha’s presences.He’d never seen this one before, but theyhad a particular nature to them he could identify.This cylindrical robot had three unique arms.One appeared specialized to hold to EVA rails.It now held to one that ran parallel to the rail Adam followed.The second appeared to have a standardized connection for electrical tools.The top of the cylinder stowed a variety of tools from which this arm could choose.The third was a rough approximation of the human hand, not specialized, but generalized to manipulate any type of task it might encounter; except, apparently, this one.

Moving forward, Adam came to another obstacle. He arrived at another mounting point for the EVA rail. The carabiners on his tethers could not slide past. He removed one tether from the rail, moved it beyond the mounting point and reattached it. He then repeated it for the second tether. This was the process he followed at every mounting points and juncture. While it was a simple task, it required he let go of the rail to manipulate the safeties on the carabiners through the clumsy gloves. Each time he did so, a sensation of vertigo filled him with anxiety.

When he arrived at the problem, he immediately understood. Alpha had shown him pictures and described it, but seeing the actual problem completed his understanding.

More than four centuries had passed since the ship’s construction. At the time the keel was laid, the ship the had been designed to last longer than the age of the civilization that was building it. Several components were known to be life-limited, so they were modularized for easy replacement. Pull the old box out, put the new box in. Simple. But what is an artificial intelligence to do when the box doesn’t come out?

There were three boxes like this one that conditioned the electromagnetic coil that shaped the ship’s magnetic scoop, each covering a one-hundred twenty degree arc of the circular scoop. When operating properly, the invisible magnetic scoop stretched many kilometers beyond the ship. It drew free hydrogen out of interstellar space and pulled it into the ship’s engine, where a fusion reaction converted it to thrust. The particular box had failed. Without it, instead of creating a smooth funnel, the coil bent and twisted the coil into an inefficient shape. Additionally, like a cheap paper plate, the hydrogen spilled off a large arc of the circular scoop. With that potential fuel spilling off the side, they’d lost a substantial amount of their thrust. Without that thrust to slow their approach, they’d shoot past their destination. It would take decades to stop then return to colony world.

At the moment, the box was powered down for replacement, and even more fuel spilled past them. The box had to come out.

“Alpha,” Adam asked, the microphone keying open with the sound of his voice, “you said there were six screws that held the access plate in place, and four mounting bolts for the induction balancer box. Those six screws go here,” Adam pointed his finger and followed the rim of the access plate opening, “and the four bolt go here,” Adam then pointed into the cavity and at the four corners of what was obviously the box, “Is that correct?”

Only the front plate of the box could be seen, an aluminum rectangle about as wide as Adam’s shoulders and half as high. Protruding from its far sides were two handles, clearly there to slide the box out of its receptacle. Across the aluminum face, black lettering and codes described the box. At each of its four corners, a hole with a ring scarred around it clearly showed each of the bolt openings. Adam wanted to be certain.

“Yes, Adam, that is correct.”

Adam reached in and grabbed one of the box’s handles. He let go the EVA rail. Before he grabbed the other handle of the box, he tested the security of his tethers. While keeping a firm grasp on both handles, he pushed himself gently away from the box, then jerked himself inward. He felt no movement. He set up a rhythm, pushing himself away, then jolting inward. He did this several times. Still, it did not budge.

“Alpha, where are the access plate, screws, and bolts?” Adam asked.

“They’re in the maintenance bay, Adam,” it answered, “I did not want them to become lost.”

“And what about the replacement unit? Have you brought that out, or is it still in the maintenance bay?”

Adam considered for a moment. From their earlier discussion and planning, Adam knew this unit had never before been replaced. It had become degraded before he and Eve were born, and Alpha had not been able to replace it then either. He’d been able to compensate by adjusting the other three units, but it finally had a catastrophic failure. Maybe the box had additional mounting mechanisms, he wondered.

“It is also in the maintenance bay,” it answered.

“Eve? Are you there?” Adam asked.

“Yes, Adam. I’ve been listening the whole time.”

“Alpha,” Adam asked, “I want Eve to look at parts and the replacement box.”

There was a long pause before Alpha responded, “Eve is not permitted into the maintenance bay, Adam.”

“What? Why not?” Adam yelled into the headset, “Never mind. Just bring them out here so I can look at them.”

There was a longer pause. “I will allow Eve into the maintenance bay,” it replied.

“Fine, just stop making this impossible,” Adam angrily retorted.

While he waited, Adam wriggled the box handles, banged the plate with his fist, and wriggled, yanked, and pulled several more times. He made no progress. The box seemed a homogenous part of the ship.

“Adam,” Eve spoke, “I’ve got the stuff. What do you want me to look for?”

“First, is there any writing on the access plate that might give instructions on how to get this thing out?”

“No. It’s plain white and smooth on one side and a sickly green, and a little textured, on the other. I think the green side is the inside.”

“That is correct, Eve,” Alpha added.

“What about the replacement unit?” Adam directed her, “The unit has two handles on the front plate. Near those, there should be four holes into which those four bolts fit.”

“Yeah,” she said, “I see them. The bolts fit perfectly into the holes”

“Okay,” Adam replied, “I want you to look over the whole box. Is there anywhere else you can see where a bolt or something else may lock the box into place?”

“Hmm,” she said into the microphone. Adam knew she was looking at the box. He wanted her to hurry. He knew she’d find something and he wanted her to do it quickly.

“All I can see,” she finally said, “is the threads on the wire connector in the back. I’m sure those don’t hold the box in place.”

“Are you sure that all you see?” Adam asked impatiently, “Tell me everything you see.”

“Okay, in the center of the back is the wire connector with threads on it. To each side of the rear are blocks of rubber padding. The top and bottom have lots of little screws running all along the edges. None are missing. The sides have smooth rails along them that run from the front to the back. There are no latches or holes in the rail where it might latch or get hung up. The face has the four holes we talked about, and there are two silver handles. The white words on the face just seem to be a description of the ...”

“White words?” Adam interrupted, “Did you say white words?”

“Uh huh.”

“What color is the box, Eve?”

“Black. It’s a black box, silly,” she giggled.

“Alpha, why is the replacement box black and this one silver?” Without waiting for an answer he continued, “Eve, read me every word, every number, and every bit of punctuation on that box.”

Eve hadn’t finished reading the first line when Alpha cut her off.

“I have searched all the symptoms with this new variable against a historic database of failures. I have, with high probability, determined the cause of the problem. You may now return to the airlock and the safety of the ship.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Adam and Eve asked in unison.

“During the construction of the ship, the original module failed. As the replacement units, such as the one Eve now has, were still being built, they were not available during construction. The original module was replaced with a test unit that was re-certified for the mission. The spare unit had not been painted. This is why it is bare aluminum and not anodized black. In the vacuum of space, when two similar bare metals come in contact with each other, there is nothing to separate the atoms of each piece of metal. In essence, the atoms of the two pieces of metal do not know they are separate pieces of metal. They join and become one piece of metal. I will prepare a lesson for you and Eve on this phenomena; it is called cold welding.”

“So how are you going to fix it?” Adam asked.

“Come inside, Adam, and we will discuss this,” it answered.

“No, tell me how you’re going to fix it, right now!” Adam demanded.

“The unit cannot be removed, Adam, so it cannot be repaired. You must return to the safety of the ship. We will continue our voyage.”

“Will we be able to get to Colony World, Alpha?” Eve interrupted.

“Yes. We will not be able to slow the ship before we arrive. We will pass the destination. But we will continue slowing, and then begin progressing back to Colony World. We will arrive later, but we will arrive.”

“How long, Alpha?” Adam demanded angrily, “How much longer until we get there?”

“When this unit is reactivated, the engine will operate at twenty-six point six-hundred and three-score six percent. I anticipate we will not have further loss of efficiency. This will extend the journey by fifty-one years, nine months, and five days.”

“I’ll be seventy years old when we arrive?!” Adam yelled.

“On this new schedule, you will be seventy-six years old when we arrive. Eve will be seventy-four years old.”

“Oh, Adam,” Eve lamented sorrowfully.

Adam seethed as he stared at the aluminum plate. He wanted to smash his fist through it and rip it out from the inside. That he knew he couldn’t, made him angrier. He looked upon the robot, held to the EVA rail by a single spindly limb. An impulse came to him.

His anger narrowed his vision.When he pushed off his rail toward the robot, the eternal vastness of space lay far beyond his perception.He felt no vertigo, no anxiety.He grappled the robot and forcefully removed a circular saw from its top tray.

“Warning, Adam, warning!” rang in Adam’s ears atop a klaxon that signaled imminent death, “You must not operate a cutting instrument while in a spacesuit!”

The alarm repeated while he inspected the tool and drifted back to the bothersome dilemma. He was pleased to discover the tool provided both a robot interface and human controls. He tested the trigger. The tool made no sound as it whirred to life, but it vibrated through his hand. He saw the robot’s hand reaching for the tool. Adam twisted his wrist and drove the spinning blade into its hand. Sparks flew, and Alpha recoiled in self-preservation.

“Back you devil!” Adam yelled, “Or I’ll cut you to pieces or cut my own suit open!” He held the spinning blade above his thigh. Adam understood these machines did not house Alpha’s awareness and that he did not threaten Alpha itself. They were, as Alpha described them, his presences throughout the ship. “I’ll not die aboard this ship. If we add another fifty years, this mission will have failed.”

“The mission cannot succeed if you perish from a spacewalk accident,” Alpha retorted, “Deactivate the tool, return it to me, and return to the safety of the ship.”

Adam knew the faceplate of the electronics box was wider that the box itself. This extra width formed two tabs through which the four bolt holes ran. “No,” Adam answered Alpha before he drove the blade into the box’s faceplate. It took several minutes, but he sawed through both tabs, freeing the box. Leaving the saw floating where Alpha’s presence could not reach, he pulled the box out of its cavity, carefully removed the connecting power cables, then angrily hurled the accursed box into deep space.

He threw it with such force in the zero-gravity environment he slung his own body out of control. He rebounded against the tethers and back into the ship’s hull before he regained self-control. Fear gripped him for a moment. What if that box retained some critical function they still required? Maybe the ship could be maneuvered to chase it down. Looking at the box rapidly vanishing, he surmised that might take a few months.

Alpha’s presence approached, and Adam quickly grabbed the saw.

“Are you okay, Adam?” Eve asked over the radio. Without pausing she asked, “Is he okay, Alpha?”

“Adam was foolish but is unharmed,” Alpha intoned, “While I do not approve of his unconventional approach, he has rendered a solution to the problem. Adam, you must return the tool to me and return to the ship.”

Hesitantly, Adam handed the saw over to the presence, which snatched it from him and stowed it away.

“I’m not returning to the ship,” Adam insisted, “until you complete the repair and return the ship to full thrust. He looked at the life support monitor on his wrist. He was surprised to see the coolant system running at full capacity. “It says you have 6 hours and 38 minutes; you’d better get to work.”

Alpha’s speed organizing the needed materials; its mechanical skill with the saw, removing the tabs from the replacement unit; and its deft work installing the box and sealing it behind the access panel stunned Adam. It finished the task with more than 6 hours remaining.

“The thrust has returned to full capacity,” Alpha declared, “You must now return to the ship.”

Adam won this contest with Alpha, but it made him angry. He felt as though he’d lost. He turned silently and pawed his way back to the airlock and into the ship. Eve met him, and helped him out of the many layers of the sweat-soaked spacesuit. As they left the EVA prep room, Adam suspected Alpha would never allow either to enter again.

They never did.