Traditional Methods of Spaceflight
Convention 2024.
Sometimes, nothing beats the old ways. Take the explosive bit out of missile, replace with a man. Light the blue touch-paper then pray.
As for what Daryl was flying. This, with a small cockpit, some ballast and most of the rest as engine/fuel. Which explains why the Space Patrol were so interested in the things.
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--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?
Convention 2024.
Sometimes, nothing beats the old ways. Take the explosive bit out of missile, replace with a man. Light the blue touch-paper then pray.
Quote:One minute to go. She was sealed in tight, docked with pilot's seat of a converted missile, inside a darkened launch tube. A dull vibration rose up through her spine as the fuel tanks behind her continued to be filled. The only light came from the dim green glow of her instruments, projected up on her helmet visor and a single sharp orange light from the control panel in front of her.
"Any word on that fourteen-oh-one master caution?" she asked, doing her level best to sound calm.
Inside her chest, her hard was hammering. Cold sweat prickled on her brow. Two small glass windows offered her views solely of the missile tube walls, compressing in around her.
"Ignore it."
Jet's voice crackled in her ear.
"You sure?..."
"The same thing happened twice when we tested it - it didn't cause a problem then."
The answer was almost deliberately overconfident.
"Yeah but, you're not the one sitting on top of a tank of peroxide and kerosene here."
"It's a deviation, but it's a normal one." Daryl felt herself wince inside. "The backup valve seems normal, but if you're not comfortable with it, it's your call."
Passing the buck? Daryl couldn't help but feel that Jet hadn't chosen those words in ignorance. The cyber was aware of what happened when rockets and normalisation of deviation collided; it usually meant hiring new astronauts. Anyone from NASA or Artemis listening in was probably pissing venom to anyone who'd listen. Accusations of Kerbalism would fly.
The right thing to do would've been to call it off, and both of them knew it. And maybe, if there'd been nobody watching, she might've done that herself. But the thoughts of explaining to the gathered spectators why she had been the one to cancel the flight made her pause. Against her better judgement, she cancelled the master caution with a single button-press, overriding the failed valve. Against everyone's better judgement, she sensed. Nobody wanted to fly. Nobody wanted to be the one to take responsibility for the decision not to fly.
"We can't back out now, there're too many people watching," she broadcast back. None of whom would have any respect for a 'cancelled due to faulty shut-off valve' answer.
A small risk of blowing up paled in significance when compared with the absolute certainty of looking stupid. They'd stirred the pot too much, whipped up too much interest, and now there was no choice but to go ahead. The natives were watching. The elephant had to be shot.
She took a deep breath, hoping to exhale al her fears. She could reassure herself that the chances of both valves failing in sequence was something like thousands to one against. A hundred to one that each valve failed made what? Ten-thousand to one that both would fail? It made sense.
"Twenty Seconds. Open outer doors."
Another order from Jet. Daryl watched the upper door fall open, the starfield beyond becoming visible through the cockpit windows.
"Doors open."
That was Darien's voice. One of the new crew. He sounded about as nervous as she felt. If the missile did go bang in the launch tube, there was enough peroxide and kerosene left in Lun's onboard tanks to split the ship in two if it all went off.
"Fifteen seconds."
Jet again.
"Fuelling complete."
Darien again.
The dull rumble from behind her faded away. Silence closed in around, crushing down tight. The cockpit frame began to crush down onto her shoulders, compressing her into place . The idea that she was literally and physically strapped to the missile made her skin crawl.
Or maybe it was the electropolymer kicking in, responding to her unease. The thought of that made her sick to her stomach. She could feel the flight-suit docking points pulling on her skin, stretching taught.
It was a fine reminder that there was no way for her to eject. There wasn't even room in the modified missile for a proper crash harness. Her toes touched the yaw controls, with pitch, roll and translation controlled by the stick in her right hand and the main engine throttles in her left. Another lever offered her control of the rocket motor.
Taking another deep breath, she grasped it in her hand, nudging it up to maximum.
"Ten seconds."
The cyber on the radio began the traditional countdown. The automatic sequence was beginning. Valves under her spine thunked open. Ancient soviet steel creaked as fuel began to flow.
"Nine... "
"Guidance to internal."
Daryl switched it over. The displays on her visor warped, green wires tracing across her field of view showing her planned course, sol-relative speed and attitude.
"Eight...."
Take a deep breath.
"Seven. "
"Catalyst valve open."
A heavy kick to her back answered Darien's order.
"Six. "
"Fuel valve open."
Another kick, answered by a thick groan as the missiles structure pressurised.
"Five...."
Last chance to abort. The handle on the panel in front of her beckoned. Aside from the shutoff valve, everything looked good. Nothing else had gone wrong.
"Four. "
"Oxidiser valves open."
Another kick. A moments pause as the peroxide began to flow through the fuel lines under tank pressure alone. It hit the catalyst, cracking into raw steam and oxygen, surging through the oxidiser lines into the turbopump. The pump shrieked to life, screaming behind her. She felt the structure around her begin to vibrate, like a racehorse ready to run.
Fuel gauges began to plummet.
"Three."
" Ignition sequence start"
Kerosene sprayed into the combustion chamber of the rocket motor, mixing with neat hydrogen peroxide and the catalysed exhaust from the turbopump.
Daryl thought the missile had exploded right there and then.
"Two...."
The noise was intense. It was more than she could hear. It was more than she could feel. It swallowed her whole, grabbing her bodily and shaking her from side to side. A high, cold scream penetrated the cockpit, audible even above the rattling panels. She couldn't breath. She couldn't speak.
"One. "
"Rocket engine running!"
Darien couldn't believe it. In that moment, Daryl longed to abort. It was too late to say no. Much too late to offer a prayer.
"Zero."
"Fire one!"
Holdown clamps exploded, sending sharp jolts through the spaceframe of the missile. She was catapulted forward, a giant hand crushing her down into her flight-seat. She was aware of the suit compressing around her body as the missile tore its way into open space. Ahead, through the viper-eye windows she could see nothing but the blurred smears of distant stars.
Her mind went blank, her jaw hanging open. She scanned the controls, aware that she should've been doing something but not sure what that something was.
"Oh Fuck me!"
It just burst out her mouth, beyond her control. The overload was immense. Lights and annunciators flashed up, green and orange on the panel in front of her. The green wireframe on her visor flickered in time with the vibrations, making it clear.
No warning messages were screaming at her. No alarms. Fuel gauge was dropping like a stone. Oxidiser was going even faster. Everything looked like it was supposed to. the bug on her visor that represented the missile's course tracked the green line. The main reactor core was lit, feeding energy to the quad coils.
Her eyes caught the flight timer, climbing steadily.
"Ten seconds!" she announced, finding her voice. Her mind was steadily catching up to where she was.
Fuel tanks for the rocket engine were already half empty. She tweaked her heading with a few deft adjustments through the control stick, nosing it down.
"Push to RECO. All green on our end."
Rocket Engine Cut-Off. Another ten seconds when the oxidiser ran out. Another ten seconds of noise and madness. She felt sick. She felt her mind swimming, thrown from side-to-side. She took a deep breath, focusing her mind.
Her hand fell to the switches on the panel beside her. One, two, three, four, five triggered in sequence. Green lights flashed up on the panel in time.
"Fusion core online!" she yelled, making certain her voice wouldn't be lost in the rocket's roar.
Another four switches latched into place.
"Fuel feeds to ion chambers open!"
MAIN ENGINE READY flashed up on her visor in brilliant orange.
"Five seconds to cutoff," Jet's voice announced, sounding strangely serene and detached from the madness inside the missile's cockpit.
"Main engines ready!" Daryl announced. She made one last snap scan of her instruments. "All four chambers green."
Silence slammed home as the pressure on her chest eased. She was aware of the whine of the turbopumps steadily winding down behind her. The missile hung in space, propelled forward solely by its own inertia.
"Rocket engine cut-off," she said, her voice painfully loud amidst the sudden silence.
The rocket engine existed solely to ensure that the Moskito missile cleared Lun - it was the initial booster, nothing more. Daryl found herself musing in the pause that the only reason they'd used a rocket engine was because the PEPPER inspectors didn't like the idea of a mass-driver.
Stupid bureaucracy.
Daryl was aware of the silence around her, the peace of space beyond. She was aware of the strange sense of weightlessness and the vague feeling that she was just hanging in space. A loosened screw hung in space in front of her, slowly tumbling end over end. In front of her, there was nothing but the stars.
No drive field. No humming machinery. No stupid quirks and wavering gravity. It was just her and space, alone. She popped her visor, regarding the space beyond the glass with her own eyes.
The only thing missing was the view of Earth below.
"Whenever you're ready...." Jet reminded through the comm.
Daryl tapped her finger on the red button. Wouldn't it be a shame to ruin the moment?
"Lighting main engine."
The switch locked into position, breaking a safety wire in the process. The display on her visor switched to a lovely safe green, informing her that the ion drives had fired.
The feeling was different - an electric fizzle as the drive field enveloped her. The drifting screw pecked against her helmet, reminding her to lock her visor down one more. Compared to the frenzy of the rocket motor, the ion drive was almost serene. It was eerie.
Like being accelerated by a racing cloud.
The missile bucked and protested, sure, but it just didn't feel real. The velocity meter on her visor was climbing at a fantastic rate, measuring speed in metres per second. The numbers were already beyond her immediate comprehension.
"Left, steady." She adjusted her heading, keeping it along the green line. A few tweaks with the thrusters stabilised the missile.
It screamed along, detached from reality a blanket of handwaved energy shielding her from true space beyond the fuselage.
The rate of change of her velocity seemed to tail off. She couldn't even call it acceleration, it just didn't feel like it. A slight shudder started to rise up from beneath her, almost like she was driving a car through one of Frigga's tunnels.
"Getting a bit of vibration here,"
"You're passing point two..." Jet's voice answered.
Point two? Daryl's mind spun for a moment. It didn't feel near that fast at all. It really didn't. She could feel the vibration feeding itself, getting worse as the velocity meter inched upwards. It'd gone from Friggan tunnel, to rough country road in short order.
Her entire frame of reference was shaking itself, distortions in the drive field tearing open and striking the fuselage of the missile. She felt herself compelled to hold her breath, her grip on the throttle tightening.
"Point two-one"
It was nauseating, more like the world itself was moving. it was building, rising to the point where it seemed like the world itself would shatter. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was aware that that was pretty much what would happen to her if the drive field ripped open.
"Point two-two!"
Holy shit this was fast. She was aware that the record was moments away. She was aware that the missile was moments away from tearing itself apart. She could feel it groaning in protest, stretching and warping around her. She could feel the metal twisting and buckling and squeezing onto her shoulders.
Rivets popped, clattering around the inside of the cockpit. Something pecked sharp at her thigh.
Swallowing her fears, she pinned the throttle at its forwards stop, refusing to let it go. Warning alarms screamed at her, informing her that her kerosene tank was almost dry. The last few dregs were being sucked through the ion thrusters.
"Just a few seconds," she snarled.
A thruster coughed, kicking the missile sideways. She pushed against it, stomping on the yaw pedals. It heaved back straight, roaring ahead. Recognising this was it, she switched her control stick over to translation mode, pushing it to full-forward.
The last few metres per second came from the RCS thrusters draining their propellant rapidly.
Another cough kicked her in the back, followed by another. She felt herself pushed forward, the world around her seemed to slur and slip backwards for a heartbeat before all four ion thrusters quit.
The missile crashed back into normal space, the sudden change in inertia throwing her forwards in her seat. Her world spun in loops as the missile began to spin, thrown out of control Alarms screamed for her attention, indicators flashing red and orange across her visor, clamouring for her attention.
Her attitude indicator whirled around, relative velocity gauge going to zero, then switching to show all eights as the system errored out. She reflexively swatted at the emergency switch, knowing she couldn't take more than a few seconds of being spun. Already her eyesight was beginning to grey-out, panic taking hold. She could feel the electroplymer struggling to compensate for the g-forces whirling her around. Her insides were tossed like a salad. Gasping for breath, she reached out, making one last effort to
RCS thrusters cannoned, jerking her in her seat. Her helmet made contact with the missile fuselage with a sharp crack that reverberated through her skull.
And then stillness, punctuated only by her own racing heartbeat in her ears. She gasped for another breath, swallowing a big lungful of air, desperate to keep herself. She glanced at her visor.
RCS tank empty.
Main tank empty.
Reactor idle.
Main engine offline.
Daryl exhaled a sigh of relief, settling back into the pilot seat before opening a comm-line.
"Lun, this is Yuri. Drive shutdown. Zero velocity. Awaiting pickup."
There was a pause. Lag from lightspeed. A minute's flight at a fraction of C had put several light seconds between herself and Lun. She counted out the seconds, hoping to get an average estimate of her speed from half the time it took for the message to return.
"We'll be there in ten," Jet answered, her voice coloured by relief.
Daryl cursed under her breath as she lost her count.
"How'd we do?"
Another pause, serving to further emphasis just how far and fast she'd gone. The last speed she'd heard called out was twenty-two percent, she thought. It was tantalisingly close. Was it even possible?
She began to wonder. She began to convince herself.
"We came up short," Jet answered. "By about a thousand kph."
A hair's breath when you dealt in fractions of C.
"Fuck!" she spat. "You're kidding..."
They hadn't expected to actually get that close.... that was within spitting distance. Another gallon or two of fuel in the tanks would've done it. It was almost sickening. How the hell had it even gone that fast anyway? It wasn't even anything special, just a gutted quad-helix engine.... by all rights, it shouldn't have gone that fast.
It went just fast enough to tease.
"Afraid so..."
Daryl exhaled a tired sigh, letting the adrenaline drain away out of her body. Her head was still spinning, while she was sure her stomach had been left. Through the windows she could see the starfield slowly rotating beyond. She could feel herself beginning to tremble inside, coming down off the high.
"Well, I'm not doing this again soon," she breathed.
Never. Chasing that record was certain death and she knew it. They'd already pushed their luck too far. Daryl was content just to sit there and enjoy the feeling of drifting in space, amazed within herself at how close they'd come by accident. It was only then that she realised the backup valve must've worked perfectly. Thankfully....
She'd fooled nature once. She wouldn't get away with it again.
As for what Daryl was flying. This, with a small cockpit, some ballast and most of the rest as engine/fuel. Which explains why the Space Patrol were so interested in the things.
________________________________
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?