Ocean of Storms: A Timeline of A Scientific America
- Thread starter BowOfOrion
- Start date
Superb update BoO! A lot of tension and drama in that update. Hope the two astronauts that copped a dose are OK with minimal long-term health problems.
Just discovered this timeline thanks to @BowOfOrion's link in the Space thread in Chat, and I am enormously impressed by the research that's gone into it, and the quite solid writing (so often lacking in most space timelines).
In fairness, it's extraordinarily unlikely that NASA even under a Robert Kennedy Administration could have kept a lunar program going so long - at least not without a *very* lengthy hiatus - after so many near catastrophic incidents, but I am enjoying buying into the conceit of your timeline, to explore how such things would have played out.
The moonquake does have me wondering just how much SpaceX has been thinking about this issue with BFR landings.
In fairness, it's extraordinarily unlikely that NASA even under a Robert Kennedy Administration could have kept a lunar program going so long - at least not without a *very* lengthy hiatus - after so many near catastrophic incidents, but I am enjoying buying into the conceit of your timeline, to explore how such things would have played out.
The moonquake does have me wondering just how much SpaceX has been thinking about this issue with BFR landings.
The micrometeorite mitigation is likely something that could be done at reasonable time and expense (and mass cost), even within the limits of materials science in the 70's. But note that I said mitigation; there won't be any foolproof defense (just as there is not today). It may come down to how much risk NASA is willing to accept on this score in the 1970's.
But the solar flares?
The best defense is going to be better awareness: a major upgrade in solar monitoring to be able to predict flares with greater accuracy and specificity. Because the ideal is going to be knowing when they'll happen, and simply not flying any BEO missions at those times.
As for hardware, we're talking about building in a solar flare shelter, and that means a lot more mass - more mass than Apollo can easily accommodate in the CSM or LM. Pointing the heat shield at the sun certainly is some modest help if it happens when the crew is in the CSM, but there's just not space or mass to do a lot more without doing a radical redesign of the architecture. Better for NASA to do its best to simply not run missions when flares happen.
Of course, as NASA deploys longer and longer missions, this will end up being something that must be dealt with...fortunately, on a longer mission, the astronauts are not usually located in the CSM or LM.
In the shorter term, the easy fix for the orbiting astronaut is to deploy a new Olympus LLO station with a solar flare shelter built in. There's room and mass to do that (it will cost some science).
For the longer term, NASA had been planning to upgrade the architecture such that all the astronauts would be on lunar surface sorties (look at LESA, for example). Fortunately, there's a wonderful protection for solar and cosmic radiation available in spades on the surface: regolith. Future man-tended bases should be surface habs which can be covered with enough loose regolith, buried outright, or located in accessible lava tubes. With even minimal warning, astronauts would have a better chance of retreating back to the protected hab than in trying to emergency launch up to LLO. This will place a premium on doing more surface exploration via one longer term base (for multiple visits) which would justify the effort made to protect it, and tighter mission rules on limits to mobile lab sorties - because building a solar flare proof mobile truck is going to be mass prohibitive for the foreseeable future.
Not sure how I would go about that. I'm open to suggestions. I have it as part of my signature and I post the link occasionally on social media. If you have other methods, I'd be interested.
at the bottom could you make the thing that says author pop out more and maybe ask some people on some threads about what do you think fo your timeline spitballing
Thanks. I added some bold to the signature. Maybe it'll pop a bit more. I figured when it was finished I might talk to SeaLion, but I don't really want to get to a point where I'm charging money for this.
For anyone curious about the plot I referenced in Chapter V: The Morning Mail, it appears that MSNBC is going to be airing a special about it soon.
"Betrayal" - November 18th on MSNBC.
Hope everyone can tune in!
"Betrayal" - November 18th on MSNBC.
Hope everyone can tune in!
Dont beat yourself up - this chapter was great, and while I for one would love to have updates more often, I prefer them to be good.
Just wanted to bump this to let everyone know that there is a new image posted for the Apollo 21 mission (see Chapter XXI: Long is the Way). Nixonshead has done another amazing job bringing OoS to life.
XXIII: One Last Time
One Last Time
1 November 1973
Vehicle Assembly Building
Kennedy Space Center
28° 35′ 10.61″ N 80° 39′ 4.61″ W
There was always a strange feeling to the air in this place. After they’d sorted out the airflow issues in the first year; a year that had seen indoor rain showers when clouds had formed in the upper rafters. Nowadays, the indoor climate was under control, but even still, the industrial fans never let you forget that you were in the world’s tallest single-story building.
The clean room gear was itchy, but he’d worn it so many times now that it didn’t even register. Behind him were the doors that led to the massive main bay. He’d walked through there and made his way to the final prep room.
Tom Kelly had come down from Long Island to see his babies, one last time.
The three ships were locked in place by a crane at the far end of the low bay. They sat in silence in this cathedral of engineering; this basilica for science and curiosity.
On the left was LEM-16. The lunar module that he’d spent most of his thirties building. He knew every inch of its design. In many ways, it was as much a part of him as his children.
In the center was LMC-6. Essentially a small hovel on top of a descent stage, the Cargo LEM’s had been a labor of love for his engineers. They had felt a freedom of design that was wholly absent for the original LEM’s. It had been a puzzle to maximize space for equipment while staying within the confines of weight limits.
Rounding out the fledgling fleet was the hot rod of the group. MOLEM-4 hunched on its descent stage with its wheels folded against the main chassis. With the entry tube in front and the lumpy grey exterior, it looked for all the world like the product of a copulation between a freight train and an African elephant.
And they weren’t going anywhere.
Apollo 23 was set to join the dustbin of history alongside Apollos 24 and 25. After the disaster of Apollo 22, NASA had postponed the flight until safety measures could be implemented for solar flare activity. The problem being that every bit of Apollo’s surface hardware was designed to minimize weight, sacrificing radiation shielding.
At the end of the day, it meant that Apollo’s lunar days were done. Pink slips were quietly being written up for personnel who were trained to handle and prepare spacecraft that would no longer be flying. Grumman had been compensated for the last of the hardware they’d developed, but Tom Kelly didn’t relish the thought of seeing his babies confined in a museum, or worse, mothballed in the name of finances.
He took a breath, staring at his machines in turn, letting the memories of the last decade wash over him. This would be his last time at the Cape for a long while. His office on Long Island would need to focus on the next project and the company still had need of him.
As he turned to go, a young man in a set of seafoam green clean room scrubs waved at him to get his attention. He did not change his pace, but paused when they reached a conversational distance.
“Mr. Kelly, there’s a call for you.”
Kelly resisted the urge to sigh, “Did they say who?”
“It’s Deke Slayton.”
“Okay.”
The technician led him into an office and he picked up a taupe phone.
“Deke, it’s Tom. What’s up?”
“Tom, glad I was able to reach you before you left.”
“My flight’s in two hours.”
“This won’t take long.”
“What won’t take long?”
“The Horizon contingency.”
Kelly laughed, “Oh, God. Seriously? How the hell did you hear about that?”
“It’s an official Grumman filing.”
“You’re kidding. We actually sent that in? I can’t believe they actually put it in an envelope and mailed it.”
“It’s been going around the office down here. Charlie Duke got it from somebody and the guys have been kicking it around.”
“Deke, Horizon was a joke. Frank gave it to an intern as busywork back in ’68. It’s basically a grad school thesis. Just something in case the old IPP had needed a jumpstart.”
“So, is it total bullshit?”
Kelly played it straight, not wanting to cast Grumman in a bad light, “It was based on that old Air Force plan from ’58. A good chunk of which was about how to defend a moon base from Russian invaders. It’s meant for Blofeld. Two guys assembling a base on their own before their supplies ran out.”
“Are you…”
“The only reason it was written was because Tom Paine wanted to know what could be done if we had excess hardware and wanted get the most out of one mission instead of spreading it out.”
Slayton jumped in, “Yeah, I figured. Charlie and Mike Collins and a couple of the others have been running some numbers on it and they asked me to talk to you.”
Kelly stifled an urge to roll his eyes. If this is a joke, it’s in poor taste. “Deke, really, tell the guys that Grumman appreciates the enthusiasm, but I really doubt we can…”
“What if we gave you an S-IVB tank?”
He paused.
The biggest hurdle to a moon base was the design of a structure that could be flown to the surface and then made operational. Current studies focused on getting a quasi-permanent structure in place sometime in the early-to-mid 1980’s. With an empty S-IVB fuel tank, they would have a pretty sizable volume. It would just be a matter of how to fill it and how to land it.
Of course, that was really just the beginning of the issues at hand. Deployment, solar protection, consumables, temperature management. Then again, his team had dealt with all of the same issues on MOLEM and Shelter and even the original LEM’s.
“Tom? Are you there? You’ve been quiet for a good long while, buddy.”
Kelly shook his head for a second and came back to the world, “Deke… can I call you Monday?”
Grumman Aerospace Corporation
Bethpage, NY
40° 44′ 44.88″ N 73° 29′ 30.12″ W
Though he’d never admit it to his family, Tom Kelly had missed this terribly.
He hadn’t pulled a real all-nighter since Apollo 13, and that was down in Houston, in an emergency. This time it was more like the old-fashioned all-nighters that they’d done so many times during LEM development.
His team had been in place and working even before he’d made it into the office.
And he was having a wonderful time.
Architecture, modification, construction, provision, protection.
Each problem presented a kaleidoscope of questions and challenges.
Brainstorming was a pastime of engineers everywhere and this had been one of the most intriguing problems that his team had faced. They’d split into groups to tackle the various problems, each taking a different approach to some of the critical issues. The hope being that each group might solve some pieces of each problem and that the various approaches could be fused into one superior plan before the call tomorrow.
Up until a bit ago, it had been working.
The general consensus on protection was that they could bury the tank under regolith and use the dirt for protective shielding. One group had floated a few concepts for how to put a scoop onto a MOLEM or a standard rover. Another group had been working on a popsicle-stick model of a frame to hold dirt over the tank.
They’d had put in calls to some of the solar astronomers and geologists about how much regolith needed to be piled on in order to be safe from the kind of flare that was encountered by 22. Kelly and his team had made initial estimates of a meter, three at most, just for theoretical purposes.
The final numbers came back much worse.
They’d have to bury a structure in more than five meters of regolith to provide even a minimum of safety.
It was a dagger to the heart of the whole concept. The sheer fury of a solar event was not something that could be fully comprehended by men who has spent their whole lives safe within an atmosphere, but they knew enough to respect their opponent. The cold equations were unkind to the brave and the bold
He looked around. The office looked like a recent tornado had deposited the remnants of a library around a Chinese restaurant. The place had the smell of body odor and soft graphite. His eyes were bloodshot and the coffee in his cup was cold and unfit for human consumption.
He’d tried to send everyone home for a few hours of sleep, but no one took him up on it. He’d endeavored to get some semblance of order in this pigsty, but truly, his heart wasn’t in it. Kelly watched sunlight start to stream in through his office window. He let the new day dawn in silence and shut his eyes. When he opened them, it was for a knock at the doorjamb.
Alan was at the entrance with a couple of guys from his team flanking him, “Tom, instead of burying the tank, what if we just… didn’t?”
“What’s your idea?”
Alan laid down a sketch on the desk.
Kelly pondered it for a moment, pressing the spot between his lower lip and chin.
“This is interesting.”
He walked back out to the bullpen with a spring in his step. The juices were flowing once again. The murmur of the common area came to a stop as he bounded in and made for the blackboard, “Everyone gather ‘round.”
Seven hours later, Kelly spoke with Charlie Duke, Michael Collins, and some of the technical people from a few of the key departments. The general consensus was that many of the leftover components from the Skylab-B wetlab could be used as-is. The general outline of the mission plan fell together with lightning speed. Tom’s engineers would have hard numbers before the week ended and the Grumman hardware that had already been built was sufficient for their needs.
As the conference call reached the home stretch, Kelly spoke to how the tank could be loaded onto a LEM descent stage, but that the descent engine would fire on a preprogrammed sequence, which would not allow for error.
With the problem outlined, he addressed a few of the geologists, “If we’re gonna do this, we need to pick the flattest spot we can find. I mean an absolute parking lot. Something that the landing radar won’t have to worry about. You guys know of a good spot like that?”
25 March 1974
Apollo 23
MET: 57: 14: 21
Callsign: Lewis
“The Sea of Crises,” Collins said, with a bit of a wry grin, “Though the public affairs office has asked us to not use that name too much.”
Collins pulled the camera away from the window and slowly spun it to show himself floating in the lower equipment bay. He didn’t want to linger on the shot of the Moon for too long, lest the viewers realize that the landing site wasn’t actually visible. The Sun wouldn’t rise over the Sea of Crises until shortly before they landed.
“Tell us about the area, commander,” came the request from Mr. Seaborne.
“It’s a big, open, flat spot of ground. About three hundred miles wide. There are a few ridges on the outer edges, but we’re heading for a nice flat bit of ground close to the center.”
A second’s worth of delay passed before the next question came back, “And this will be the site of the first lunar base?”
Collins’s smile turned to something else, “Not exactly, Emmett. We want to use this mission to test out techniques for building structures on the Moon. There’s a lot we don’t know about how things will work. What Neil and I are going to try to build is more like an outpost. A temporary shelter that can be used to explore the area later. If we’re successful...”
“We plan on being successful,” said Armstrong, chiming in from behind him.
Collins grinned, “If we’re lucky, later flights may come back to the site and use what we construct, but it’s not likely to be the start of a bigger structure. Building a full-on base will take much more time and resources than we have for this flight, but we can use what we have to figure out how to do more in the future. Like all of our flights, this one is about learning.”
“This was put together very quickly, was it not?”
“I won’t lie to you Emmett, this wasn’t our original plan. There’s never been a flight like this before and likely won’t be another like it again. It’s been a very busy last few months for everyone involved, but we’ve had great success with our unmanned precursor flights and Neil and I are as prepared as we can be for the tasks in front of us.”
“About those precursor flights, what is waiting for you on the surface of the Moon?”
“There have been three landings already. The first to arrive was our MOLEM, the Sacagawea. That’s going to be our home for the surface stay. After that came the main part of the outpost. We call it Roanoke. It’s a big cylindrical tank. We’re going to build our outpost inside of it.
The last ship to arrive was our Cargo LEM. It’s called the Sentinel. Inside, it carries all the parts we need to assemble the outpost.”
“What kind of parts are those?”
Neil had floated up to the camera by this point and took the question, “Floor panels, supply tanks, water and air. There’s a temperature controls and connections for electrical power, lights. Oh, and the radiators.”
“Don’t want to forget those,” Collins chimed in.
“No, the radiators are very important.”
They had time for just one more question. “Commander Collins, what is the long-term goal? Where do we want to be in 20 years’ time in terms of lunar exploration?”
“Well, Emmett, the model that we in the astronaut corps have always liked has been Antarctica. In Antarctica right now, you’ve got a base staffed by an international group of scientists. There is a permanent presence with staff that rotates in and out regularly and, even though the environment is a bit dangerous, generally, the work is done safely and carefully and the benefits are shared by everyone. That’s what I’d like to see in the 80’s and 90’s. I think we can do it and I think this flight will be a big step in showing that we can.”
28 March 1974
Altitude: 3000 Feet Over Mare Crisium
MET: 112: 14: 21
Callsign: Clark
“Flat as a mill pond,” Collins remarked. His tone was as calm as if he was looking at the object of his simile. The autopilot was working perfectly and he felt no inclination to deviate from the automatic sequence.
His LMP did not respond to the observation. He merely continued calling out descent rate and fuel quantity readings. Armstrong was nothing if not professional. If Michael Collins had gained any sense of his crewmate over the last year of working in close proximity, it was that Neil Armstrong wanted to perform perfectly and was wary of any obstacles to that end. While that may not have made for the closest of friendships, it was an excellent quality in a Lunar Module Pilot.
“Houston, this is the Clark. We can confirm a visual on the other modules. Angle looks good. Altitude 2700 feet.” Armstrong’s voice was as cool as the LEM’s bulkheads.
Just do it right.
Those were Slayton’s words to him when he’d officially given him the flight assignment.
Upper management had been more nervous than usual with this mission. It was a minor miracle that the flight had ever gotten off the launch pad. There had been talk of sending a crew of unmarried men, but that hadn’t gone far. Until a few days before launch, Collins had handicapped the odds of a total scrub at 40%. It was only because of a near flawless performance of so many automated systems that he had this chance to return to the Moon.
The tacit understanding in the astronaut office was that CMP’s would be first in line for command of the later landing flights. Slayton had made his feelings on the matter understood. It was a lot to ask for any man to come that close to the Moon and return without walking on it. As the flight schedule would permit, he began to configure crew rotations to give former CMP’s the left-hand seat for the last Apollos.
With the cancellation of 24 and 25, Michael Collins was set to be the only man to see the fulfillment of that unspoken promise. With Collins’s well-earned reputation for professionalism and competence, no one in the corps second-guessed his selection to command this most ambitious, and final, lunar landing.
“Thirty feet, down a half,” Armstrong called.
Collins didn’t flinch. This was the moment he’d been waiting for his whole life and somehow it felt almost preordained. The guidance computer was bringing them in right on target, armed with more than a dozen landings worth of experience. The computer programmers had gotten this down to a fine science.
“Contact light!”
He shut the descent engine off and felt the jolt in his teeth as Clark dropped the last 5 feet to the surface.
“Houston, Clark is down on the Sea of Crises.”
30 March 1974
Mare Crisium
MET: 152: 41: 43
17° 0′ 32″ N, 59° 6′ 12″ E
The puffs of minor detonations silently released their energy into the void. He reported the explosive bolts that secured the S-IV tank to the descent stage had released their grip on the cylinder. He nodded to Armstrong who stood forty feet away, ready to trigger the jack.
The first construction task was arguably the most dangerous. They would have to dismount the tank and lower it the final nine feet, from the base of the descent stage to the surface itself.
“Okay Houston, we’re ready to pitch the Roanoke.”
“Copy 23, you’re go.”
He watched the big airbags hold perfect rigidity as the tank started to pitch over. The jack at the base of the tank provided just enough extension to take the tank off of its stable vertical stance. Once the pitchover process had begun, nothing could stop it. The winch on the descent stage was only designed to slow the tank. It did not have the power or torque to return it to full upright position.
As the Roanoke completed its slow tilt, the airbags were the first part to touch the surface. Michael kept an eye on each of the three bags, but it felt a bit surreal to watch their complete stillness. The absence of any atmosphere ensured that the massive discs would never shake or ripple like they would on Earth. The seams were crystal clear as though he was looking at them from four feet away, not forty.
“Passing 45 degrees now, Houston. She’s easing down real nice.”
“Like settling into a warm bath,” said Charlie Duke, from back in Houston.
“Got another foot or so before the first bag touches down.”
“Roger. Engineering would like to remind you both to stay very clear of that first bag as it comes down.”
Rule #1 of Lunar Life – Safety First
Collins turned to look behind him. Behind his left shoulder, the little lunar rover sat with its camera pointed at the tilted tank. The snow shovel shaped plow on the nose of the rover had been an interesting bit of improvised engineering, and they’d used it yesterday to clear out the rocks and pebbles from the tank’s final resting place. It had been a fun task, driving the rover back and forth, plowing a little furrow for the tank to settle into. He could imagine that he was preparing a field for crops and wondered what future lunar residents might farm under this infinite black sky.
Now with the tank lowering to the surface, he was considering moving to stand behind the rover, just in case those bags decided to burst. The danger wasn’t great, but he felt like the minimal protection of the rover would be a psychological boon. Still, Armstrong didn’t have that option over by the winch, so he would not take it for himself.
“Okay, Houston. First bag is touching the surface now. You seeing that?”
“Roger, Mike. Looks good from here.”
“Give it a bit of line, Neil,” he was eager to take some of the strain off of the first airbag and he wanted to get Roanoke on the ground before the bag had a chance to rupture.
Collins watched with baited breath as the Roanoke tank slowly lowered to the surface, straddling the fluffy white airbags. For a long moment, the structure rocked back and forth as the minimal translational movement created by the winch dissipated in friction. After a long moment, the tank settled on the bags and all motion stopped.
As carefully as possible, Armstrong and Collins gathered the hoses from the equipment box on the rover. With a tension familiar to bomb disposal technicians everywhere, they attached air lines from the bags to valves at the fore, aft, and center of the tank.
With the thousands of dollars per pound that it cost to bring any equipment to the Moon, a reserve of air could not be discarded. The gas inside the bags could be put to other purposes.
When all the lines were connected and double-checked, the bags began to deflate. Inside Roanoke, the air was redistributed into a supply tank and would be used by Armstrong and Collins after the rest of the structure was set.
Collins made another mental note: Rule #2 – Waste not, want not.
Speaking of which, “Neil, how’s it coming?”
“I’m going to need a few minutes.”
“Roger that. Let me know when you’re ready for the belt.”
“You’re getting that?”
“Yeah.”
“Copy.”
On top of the descent stage that brought the Roanoke to the surface, Armstrong now knelt where the big tank had stood an hour ago. Armed with some spare parts and tools, he reconfigured the winch that had lowered Roanoke in place. Now, having served its initial purpose, the mechanism would operate a conveyor belt that would take regolith from the surface up to the top hatch on Roanoke, where it would serve as additional protection for the storm shelter.
Collins meandered his way over to the base of the Cargo LEM Sentinel and dragged over a small, wheeled cart, about half the size of the kind found in supermarkets. With utter care and precision, he slowly unfurled the tough band of material, over 50 feet in length, which would carry the dirt that he and Neil would be collecting.
By mission rules, the belt and the winch were the most important materials on the Sentinel’s manifest. They were loaded last so they could be accessed early. The solar flare has scared the crap out of everyone and first priority after the Roanoke was in position was to supplement her shielding. Michael handed Neil one end of the belt and took the other to run it down a bracket on the landing leg. He attached the scoop and Neil extended the arm that held the top of the belt. When they finished the work, they had a nifty way of getting regolith into the void space at the rear of the outpost.
Now it would just be a matter of gathering up several cubic meters worth of lunar dirt and loading them inside. He handed Neil one of the shovels. This next part was going to be rough.
2 April 1974
Mare Crisium
MET: 242: 25: 54
17° 0′ 32″ N, 59° 6′ 12″ E
“You know what we need here?” Collins asked.
“A TV monitor?”
“A TV monitor.”
“Yeah. Mike, I really think it’s got to be turned around.”
“I’m just saying, if we had a TV monitor here, we wouldn’t have to question it.”
“You gonna add that to your list of rules?”
“Oh shut up!”
“Yes, sir,” Armstrong suppressed a smirk.
“Just put it down and we’ll turn it around.”
The pair of astronauts lowered the light to the floor gingerly and then carefully turned it. Then they lifted it up again and Collins fed out some wire from the back end. He clambered up onto one of the chairs that they’d brought in yesterday and hung up the light from a hook in the curved ceiling. Below him, Armstrong ran the trailing wire to the power supply at the rear of the cabin, next to the storm shelter.
Rule #7 – Plan your work. Work your plan.
“All I’m saying is, if we had a TV monitor in here, they could send us pictures of how this stuff is supposed to look, and we wouldn’t have to scramble around in the black, trying to put together this Erector set.”
Actual construction inside the Roanoke was subject to some improvisation. As a military pilot, he was comfortable creating solutions on the fly, but he wasn’t wild about the necessity of it. He was living out one of Eisenhower’s maxims that plans were useless, but planning is essential.
Still, they’d made excellent progress today. The floors were the first to be put into place, then they’d moved in some electrical equipment. Now they were hanging lights from the ceiling. He secured the light to the support and then nodded to Neil. Neil threw a switch and incandescent illumination filled the interior of the vessel.
“Well, that’s not bad,” Collins said, climbing off of the chair.
He took a look around. The ceiling was an arch that extended nearly 50 feet to the far end of the tank. Collins felt the floor panels give slightly as his weight shifted from one to another. The grated panels that they’d installed allowed them to look down several feet to the curved bottom of the tank below. It was a vertiginous feeling, not helped by the fact they were still in space suits. The open hatch at the “front” was allowing in sunlight reflected off the surface, which was how they were able to get the floor panels in place in the first place.
At the back end of the structure, he saw the door to the storm shelter. It was an imposing piece of engineering. It had the look of a bank vault but scaled down considerably, and without the fun spinning wheel that was part of the cliché. He trudged over and ran his hand along the wall to either side of the door. Tapping in various parts, he could hear, through the glove, that the void that surrounded the shelter was no longer hollow. The regolith that he and Neil had spent the past EVA’s loading inside was now firmly in place and would supplement the lead lining of the shelter in the event of an emergency.
He turned to his LMP and stretched his arms wide, silently remarking on the roominess of the interior. “What do you think, Neil? It’s got potential.”
“Well, you know what they say about the real estate market.”
“Right. Location, location, location.”
7 April 1974
Roanoke Outpost – Mare Crisium
MET: 363: 11: 17
17° 0′ 32″ N, 59° 6′ 12″ E
He smoothed out the spot with his shovel. Fortunately, this digging hadn’t been as hard on his back as the shoveling from last week. He’d been able to use the core sampling drill for most of it. That was a lot easier to work with.
Dick Gordon was on CAPCOM today. Collins said to him, “All those hours of engineering classes and test piloting. My kingdom for a backhoe.”
“Not quite the glamorous image you had in mind for the job?” Gordon asked.
“Not hardly. You still getting a signal from the boxes?”
“We’re checking again. Stand by.”
“Roger that.”
He arched his aching back and turned to face the Earth. It was the default for any second he had on the surface. That beautiful blue marble could not be matched for beauty by anything in this landscape.
Rule #12 – Take a moment.
He scanned the empty horizon around him and felt very glad that he’d been able to do this, backaches and all.
“Mike, we’re 5 by 5 on both containers. You’re clear to go back to Roanoke.”
“Roger that. Neil, let’s get some dinner.”
While nothing could beat time on the surface, Collins found himself eager to get back inside. It had been a long day and he was ready to rest his back and his hands. Armstrong felt the same, thought the sentiment went unspoken.
Collins left behind the small containers, buried under the surface. He had planted the small boxes, no bigger than his hand, at depths of five and 10 meters. They’d measure radiation activity at those depths and try to confirm the calculations on lunar regolith. There was a wire that led out of the hole, up to a repeater that was sending the data back to Earth.
Neil met him at the MOLEM. The Sacagawea had been a good home for them while they’d set up the interior of Roanoke, but now she was fulfilling her final purpose. Grumman and NASA, in trying to figure out the best use of the hardware available, had realized that a MOLEM’s solar cells, communications equipment and life support regulators were all essential equipment for a lunar outpost. Rather than pack two of everything, it had been decided that the MOLEM would serve as the brains and beating heart of the complex.
And its entrance. He climbed the small ladder in the MOLEM’s nose, heading up the tunnel following Armstrong. When they got inside, the hatch was sealed and they stripped off the dingy suits they’d been wearing for every EVA. The suits were now far more grey than white. They’d done more heavy labor than any crew on the surface before. Collins considered it a mark of pride that the suits were a testament to their work ethic.
The MOLEM looked relatively empty, now that they’d cleared out the consumables and the hammocks to the Roanoke. The Sacagawea had become an airlock for entry and exit into the outpost.
While he stowed the suits, Armstrong did his usual check of the Roanoke’s systems before they entered. Internal atmosphere was good. Pressure was steady. Temperature held a cool 65° degrees Fahrenheit, which was the best they could do given the tug of war between the heaters and the radiators that they’d installed on Day 9. The batteries were at a 98% charge thanks to the solar panels on top of the MOLEM. The big bulky rover was doing a fine job as a stationary station module.
They moved through the flexible tunnel and entered the outpost. The spaciousness that Collins had enjoyed at first was now gone, victim of the bulky equipment that lined the sides of the tank. The place now had a cozy feel, much more like what he’d always envisioned for long-term life on the Moon.
Neil had taken the alcove nearest the door for his hammock and personal area, Mike’s was ten feet farther down. Past that was a work area that had two chairs, a small table, and quick access to the food locker. For a motel room, it would have been appalling, but on the Sea of Crises, it was luxury writ large.
To call it Spartan was to ignore some of its perks. A prototype microwave had arrived in Sentinel’s cargo hold, along with foods that could be heated within it. The TV-dinner style meals were a welcome comfort for both astronauts after a hard day’s work.
In the back of Sentinel’s storage, they’d come across a surprise: a supplement to their PPK’s. Patricia and Janet had sent along some personal effects for both of their husbands. They had each gotten family photos and some small trinkets. Patricia had sent along a cassette tape of music. Kate had written him a note and Armstrong’s sons had put in a toy astronaut, which they asked their father to bring back home safely.
Collins had been glad to find they’d each gotten a book. Janet Armstrong had sent along a copy of Walden and his own wife had sent a copy of Expedition to Earth, a collection of Clarke’s short stories that included a tale about the Sea of Crises, and had provided a name for their Cargo LEM.
To supplement their cold metal surroundings, the fellows from Grumman had included an item of their own. A small poster of a sailboat leaving New York harbor. It had been signed on the back by each of Grumman’s team and would be a fitting tribute to some of the men that were responsible for their success.
Collins smiled at the dash of color against the curved wall and peered down the darkened corridor behind the work area. The corridor, such as it was, was cramped even more by necessary equipment. They had just enough room to squeeze past before they could reach the storm shelter entrance. The entryway was low and not illuminated, which suited Collins just fine. He preferred when he could forget about the radiation shelter, and the potential need for it. Though now that their time on the surface was nearing its end, he felt confident the shelter would never be needed.
It was as good as he could have hoped for. He could stand without crouching, even take a small bounce on his toes without bumping into anything overhead. He could stand in the middle of the work area and stretch his arms to either side without hitting a wall. They had hot meals, reminders of home, and air and water enough to finish out the trip. He took pride in this little shack that they’d put together. Like every pioneer, they’d forged a place for themselves within a place that was natural and harsh. The first time he’d flown to the Moon, he felt a kinship with Columbus and Magellan. This time, he felt the same bond with Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett.
While there was no Alamo that awaited Michael Collins or Neil Armstrong, they knew that they would, like their pioneer brethren, be but the first of many to make a home and a life (temporary or not) on the lunar surface.
10 April 1974
Roanoke Outpost - Mare Crisium
MET: 462: 01: 15
17° 0′ 32″ N, 59° 6′ 12″ E
He had worried that he might tear up, but his emotions hadn’t manifested that way. It was bittersweet to be sure. He missed the cool green hills of Earth, but would have been willing to stay in this grey expanse for quite a bit longer if given the choice.
A car and a house. That’s what he saw when he looked back at their handiwork. The American Dream sought to provide this much for anyone who dared to take it on.
Roanoke sat silently expectant for any future visitors, offering heat, light, some leftover food, and even a small open-top rover for anyone who could reach the site.
In orbit, Don had already undocked from Olympus and was making his way to a rendezvous orbit. There had been no trouble on either the surface or in orbit and that made Collins feel all the better. With the various challenges Apollo landings had faced, it was nice to know that they’d be departing the surface with dignity, and not chased away by the cold indifference of the environment.
Since Deke’s fateful words to him months ago, he’d realized that this next duty would be one of the most important. He was determined, in this as with the rest, to, as Deke asked, just do it right.
“Houston, I’m ready to board the Clark now. I just want to say a few words before I leave the surface.”
“Copy that, Commander. We’re standing by.”
He took a breath and addressed the lone bit of splendor this panorama had to offer.
“From this perspective, it’s impossible to see Earth as anything but a small point of perfect beauty in a vast empty night. Here today we have completed humanity’s first explorations of a new world, but in time, our efforts will and must be surpassed in the name of further understanding. We found a way to this new horizon, and as we head into a vast, unknown future, we will do so together, in peace and hope for all mankind.”
With that bit of business done, Collins turned to take it in one last time. He was unnerved to think of how long it might be before someone else got to see this vista. Not just the lunar surface, but the little outpost they had built, lived in, and loved.
It was worried that Roanoke might be too on the nose. Looking back at it from the LEM, Collins thought the name was perfect. Like its namesake, this would only be a first step. A tentative foothold onto a vast landscape. And whoever returned to Roanoke in the future would, like John White, find it abandoned, but eventually, Collins felt confident, the outpost would hold a significance in the history of Earth’s closest neighbor.
END OF ACT ONE
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I'll continue on here. I have no intention to break up the timeline in any significant way. When the entire work is concluded, I'll likely put together a separate thread, free of any extraneous postings. Until then, this will be the home of all of Ocean of Storms.