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Farmer on the Moon

In the earliest days of lunar exploration, the astronauts brought all their consumables with them. Food came in the form of dehydrated meals which could be reconstituted by injecting them with water, a byproduct of their spacecraft’s fuel cells. Although these meals were a substantial improvement over the earliest space foods, which the Mercury astronauts squirted into their mouths from packets resembling tubes of toothpaste, they still left much to be desired in terms of palatability. Furthermore, the necessity of lifting every gram of mass out of Earth’s deep gravity well made it less and less practical the longer missions became.

By the time of the Phase B prep mission for the Venus Flyby, it was obvious that there was simply no way to carry a year’s worth of food with the spacecraft. Because the Phase B mission was still in Earth orbit, albeit much higher altitude than the Phase A mission, it would be possible to resupply them via automated spacecraft. However, to do so for the actual Venus Flyby would require the automated spacecraft to be launched into solar orbits that would intercept Aphrodite. While this was feasible, there was the risk that a launch failure would result in the astronauts facing starvation.

As a result, it was decided to have the Phase B astronauts run tests on the possibility of growing at least some of their own food. Much to the scientists’ surprise, it turned out that plants actually handled microgravity better than the astronauts who were raising them. Several species of edibles actually flourished in the Ishtar spacecraft, to the point they ended up supplying a reasonable amount of the astronauts’ diet near the end of the mission.

When the American moonbase was set up, the planners knew from the beginning that long-term occupation would require not only a closed-cycle environmental system, but also in-situ resource utilization, including using lunar materials to grow a substantial amount of the astronauts’ food. Given the constraints on pressurized volume and on astronaut time, even these early lunar farms were designed to maximize the yield per unit volume and relied heavily on automation, including but not limited to automatic drip irrigation.

As processors, chipsets and software improved, the robots involved in agriculture became steadily more capable. However, the complexities of dealing with living things are such that fully autonomous operation was almost never possible, requiring at least some level of teleoperation.

—- O. Jespersen, Agricultural Robotics and the Space Race, Grissom City: St. Selene Digital Press, 2028.

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In Troubled Times

Ken Redmond had expected to have difficulty finding an adequate supply of replacement tubing for Agriculture’s latest problem. As it turned out, once he had the specs, it was easy to have a company over at Grissom City to run up an adequate supply. With food being a vital resource up here, it hadn’t been that hard to find it a place on a suborbital hopper, rather than having to send it overland via the Ice Train.

However, now that it had been delivered and sanitized — an easy job when hard vacuum was just outside the settlement — he had the problem of getting it installed. And that was proving a lot more difficult than he’d expected.

It had taken a lot of restraint not to ask Alice Murcheson what the hell the designers of those planter towers had been thinking when they’d set them up with the irrigation tubing worked through the structure in a way that it was effectively impossible to replace it without disassembling the whole thing. Something that would’ve been doable if this mess had been discovered right after harvest, but with the plants in question right in the middle of their growing season, not exactly advisable.

However, there was one person down here in Engineering who might just be able to work out a solution. Ken still remembered all the flak he’d taken when he decided to put Harlan Lemont in charge of the robotics shop. The kid was sharp, and he was meticulous, but everybody was certain that giving him that kind of responsibility was just asking for a major screwup.

Ken had finally put a stop to it by pointing out that they were all doing the very thing the Flannigan Adminstration had been encouraging. Instead of looking at Harlan’s actual abilities, they were looking at his geneset and assuming that, simply because his ur-brother had completely screwed the pooch on that icy winter day and crashed a T-38 into the very building where the Gemini spacecraft had been being built, he too would be a screwup.

Ken found Harlan busy explaining to one of the newest trainees how to swap out RAM modules on a standard trackbot’s motherboard. It was fairly basic work, not that much different from doing the swap in the sort of computer you had on your desktop, but it did require a steady hand and patience to get done right. Fortunately the kid was a quick learner, and soon was replacing the rest of the modules.

Harlan turned, met Ken’s gaze. “Hi, boss. How are things going?”

“That was sharp thinking on your part, setting up those bots to carry water to those planter towers down in Agriculture. “

“So it did work? The programming was still pretty shaky, especially since all the big brains down at IT were covered up with other stuff.”

Ken knew that Harlan had been hoping for full autonomous operation. Better put the best face on that failure.

“We ended up having to teleoperate them. But this way we’ve got a bunch of tweens with spex and haptic feedback gloves running the bots form a standard-environment room, instead of a bunch of highly trained people with breathing rigs carrying buckets of water, when we need them working on a dozen other projects that actually require that level of expertise.”

Harlan’s expression lightened. “And I bet those kids are rapidly becoming expert bot wranglers.” His smile quirked a little oddly. “But I don’t think you came here just to tell me how well things are working.”

“No, I didn’t. It may be working well, but it’s still a stopgap solution. We need to get the irrigation tubing replaced, and I’d rather not have to wait until those towers are ready to harvest.” He explained about the problem with the way the tubing was installed in the tower, his hope that perhaps a robotic solution could work better than having people trying to work the new tubing in by hand.

Harlan considered the problem. “I think it should be doable. It may take us a couple of days, and we’ll probably need to talk with some of the people in the other departments.”

Ken caught the hint that there’d been trouble with IT on the development of the water-carrying bots. “This is a top-priority job, on my authority. Anyone gives you trouble, let me know.”

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Network Degradation

Lou Corlin had arrived at work a little early today, figuring that he could get ahead of the situation for a change. However, he’d no more than started taking stock of the situation when he got a phone call. Not on the official IT department phone, but his personal phone.

He was surprised to discover that it was Autumn Belfontaine. Why would she call his personal line when she knew he would be at work right now?

Still, he was technically three minutes before the beginning of his shift down here, so he could take a personal call without any trouble. “Hello, Autumn. What’s going on?”

“What kind of network analysis software do you have access to?”

“Pretty much everything that’s legal for civilians to have, although some of it is the sort of thing that would get questions raised if I were using it.”

“OK, is it pretty much limited to the local networks here in Shepardsport, or could you run scans on networks elsewhere?”

Lou had to pause a moment to consider how to answer it. “I’ve never had to do any scans that go beyond our own systems, but I’m pretty sure it would be possible. What are you looking at?”

“I’m noticing that an awful lot of the local news websites are either intermittently available or have gone down altogether. I keep wondering if I can’t get to them because the servers have crashed, or if whole segments of the Internet are failing.”

“OK.” Lou considered the implications of that information. “Are there any patterns in the locations that are failing? I know that a lot of companies use webhosting companies in other cities, and the physical servers are often located in rural areas where electricity is cheaper, which are often some distance from the company’s business offices. But if you’ve noticed patterns, it would at least give us a start.”

That got an awkward pause. “Let me do a little looking around and put together a list. Right now it’s more of a hunch, one of those right-brain intuitions that sees a pattern as a whole, the sort that says something’s wrong to a very ancient part of the brain.”

It wasn’t like Autumn to go off half-cocked, which suggested that she hadn’t realized the implications until she was talking with him as an IT person, not an on-air personality for Shepardsport Pirate Radio. But Lou wasn’t going to criticize her — she didn’t have all that much training in IT, and certainly not that much in the operation of online networks. So he let her wind up the conversation and get the necessary data together to send to him.

It was only when the connection terminated that he realized he’d been standing here taking what was fundamentally a business call while he still wasn’t checked in. Which meant that officially he would appear to be late.

Even as he was considering whether it was worth it to ask for his official timesheet to be amended, the door opened and in walked Steffi Roderick. “What’s going on? You’re not the sort of person to be taking personal calls while you’re on the clock.”

“Um, actually it wasn’t a personal call.” Lou explained about Autumn Belfontaine’s query. “Would it be possible to do a general scan of the terrestrial Internet to see what parts are still up, and whether it correlates with reports we’re getting through other channels of whole regions that seem to be shutting down?”

“That’s a pretty ambitious task. Let me do a little research of my own while Autumn puts together her list of news sites that have gone dark. We may just have something important going on here.”

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Rumint Isn’t News

Autumn Belfontaine was trying very hard not to listen in on the sales director’s halfalogue from the next room. Tempted as she was to close the newsroom door, it would be simply too obvious a message of I don’t want to hear you, and in its own way as rude as blatant eavesdropping.

By effort of will she readdressed herself to the wire service feeds. These days they were getting awfully spotty, and worse, she was a lot less confident in their accuracy. Once she’d been able to recognize all the major correspondents’ names at a glance, but more and more of them had disappeared in the last few weeks. Several times she’d realized it had been some time since she’d seen a single story filed by one or another big-name correspondent, and she’d end up losing an hour or more searching backward for the last time that person’s byline had shown up.

Even more worrying was how many completely new names were showing up. A lot of their writing seemed really shaky, not just in their composition skills, but in the depth and diligence of their research. More than once, she had a bad feeling that they were taking friend-of-a-friend stories and treating them like actual reporting.

Quite honestly, a lot of it sounds like it’s on the level of me and Brenda Redmond talking this morning about how she overheard her folks talking about a problem down in Agriculture with some of the irrigation systems. If she heard her dad right, it could wipe out a big chunk of our soybean crop, which would mean a big hit on our protein supply.

But second-hand reports like those were leads, not news. Autumn considered whether she wanted to call down to Agriculture for confirmation. Even as she was weighing the pros and cons, a familiar voice called her name.

She looked up to find Spruance Del Curtin standing at the door. He was a bit early for his air shift, but right now he didn’t have a class or any other obligation right beforehand.

“Hi, Sprue. What are you looking for?”

Sprue sauntered across the newsroom. If he’d been approaching one of her reporters, Autumn would’ve been ready to intervene. The kid had a reputation for hitting on girls every chance he got. However, he was well aware that Autumn was family, the daughter of one of his clone-brothers, and therefore off-limits for amatory adventures.

He cast an uneasy glance around the room. “I need to talk to you.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Maybe. Right now, I don’t have a whole lot of data to go on. But while I was up at the Astronomy department, I overheard a couple of the solar people talking about a new CME. They’re pretty sure it’ll miss the Moon, but it’s possible its outer edges could graze Earth’s magnetosphere.”

“Which could affect electric transmissions and electronics.” At least where they still even have electricity. From some of the reports she was getting, it sounded like some areas had come apart so badly that they couldn’t even keep power plants running. “If you think there’s a big risk, I can try to contact the solar astronomers directly and see what they’re actually looking at.” As soon as she noticed the first hints of alarm in Sprue’s expression, she added, “Don’t worry, I won’t mention your name. They should understand that journalists sometimes need to protect their sources.”

“Thanks.” Sprue’s voice still sounded tighter than his usual confident tone. “Maybe it’s nothing, but if there is a danger, at least this way you can find out what’s going on.”

“You’re welcome.” Autumn cast a significant look at the clock on the other side of the room. “And you’d better start getting ready for your air shift.”

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Paying the Bills

An explosion of incalculable magnitude in Yellowstone Park propelled lava and ash across the landscape and into the atmosphere, forever altering the climate of the entire continent. Nothing grows from the tainted soil. Stalled and stilled machines function only as statuary.

People have been scraping by on the excess food and goods produced before the eruption. But supplies are running low. Natural resources are dwindling. And former police officer Colin Ferguson knows that time is running out for his family—and for humanity….

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From the Top

Reggie Waite usually ran Shepardsport with a relatively light hand. He picked division heads who knew their lines of work and trusted them to pick subordinates who were competent in their own areas, and to generally run their respective divisions without needing to be micromanaged.

However, there was always the occasional matter that really needed to be seen in person. And the news from Agriculture was just one of those kinds.

Alice Murcheson always made him think of some of the older women at church when he was growing up back in Salem. Not just the graying hair and the smile lines at the corners of her eyes, but also a certain maternal air about her that made a person feel at home.

Today those lines were downturned, and the atmosphere around her was filled with an uneasy tension. “We were lucky we discovered the problem at all. All the indicators were showing adequate flow, so we assumed everything was fine.”

Reggie looked from Alice to the image of the affected greenhouse, the people in breathing gear carrying buckets of water to the affected plantings. “And with the carbon dioxide levels you’re running in those greenhouses, there’s a big temptation to just trust your readouts.”

Alice nodded, her expression regretful. “We ought to be doing more frequent inspections of all the plantings, but until we can get a lot more people through oxygen-delivery training and able to use breathing rigs–” She left the sentence hanging.

Reggie understood the problem all too well. The Expulsions had enormously expanded the population of Shepardsport, primarily in the younger age cohorts. Although some of the kids were finally getting old enough to qualify for the necessary training, it still was behind the numbers they needed to properly inspect all the plantings necessary to feed the settlement’s population and keep up with their obligations to provide prepared meals to the various outposts scattered around Farside. The kids could teleoperate inspection robots, but even with spex and haptic feedback gloves, it was still far too easy to miss things.

Especially if it’s not something you’ve been trained to look for, which is what Ken Redmond thinks happened. Reggie had all too many memories of such situations back in the Energy Wars. The Navy — heck, the whole freaking Department of Defense — was pushing people through their training programs way too fast, which meant a lot of people with surface facility with the skills and techniques, but no deep understanding of the underlying principles. Even his own flight training had been horribly rushed by peacetime standards, and he’d learned a heck of a lot on the job.

But there was no use dwelling on how close things had been three decades ago. Right now, they needed to deal with the current problem, so they could get these highly-skilled people back to the jobs where they were really needed.

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Sunrise Surprise

Cindy knew she wasn’t supposed to be studying for class during her work hours, but right now there wasn’t anything to actually do beside wait for someone to call in or drop by. And she sure didn’t want someone to decide to make busywork for her to do, just so they could feel like the station was getting its money’s worth out of her.

Because there’s always someone who confuses Visible Busy with actual productivity. And if they’re someone in authority, pointing it out to them would be insubordination.

One good thing about what she was working on right now, it would look busy to a casual observer. Hold her tablet at the right angle, and she would look like a very diligent worker.

Still, it meant that she was just a bit edgy about having someone get behind her. Aunt Betty would probably tell her it was a sign of a guilty conscience, and Ken Redmond would say that bending rules was not a good habit to get into, because it eroded the barriers against doing it on the things that could get people killed.

Except it turned out to be Lou Corlin, taking a break during a long set. “Something’s going on. There’s three PSA’s on food waste on my ad schedule, and I know I heard Brenda play another two. We haven’t done this many since things first started getting hairy.”

Cindy considered how to respond. Lou was a real straight-arrow, not the sort of guy who’d chat up a girl in hopes of making a play on her. Which meant he had some serious concerns.

“I’ve noticed it too. And yesterday Juss Forsythe went by in a real hurry, carrying a breathing rig. Which means he must’ve needed to work on something in a non-breathable atmosphere, but not dangerous enough to require a full environmental suit.”

“Like some of the greenhouse farms. Running them at high concentrations of carbon dioxide really pushes plant growth.” Lou’s thick, dark eyebrows always made him look grim when he was thinking hard. “If something went wrong in one of them and they lost a bunch of plants, that would explain all the PSA’s about food waste.”

“But how could we find out? I mean, if they’re keeping it quiet for a reason, asking too many questions could get us into a lot of trouble.”

“Brenda’s mom is head of Food and Nutrition. She’d know, and I’d bet Brenda could ask without getting in trouble.”

“Which leaves us with the problem of figuring out how to get her to ask without looking obviously nosy.”

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Paying the Bills

In the aftermath of the supervolcano’s eruption in Yellowstone Park, North America is covered in ash. Farmlands cannot produce food. Machinery has been rendered useless. Cities are no longer habitable. And the climate across the globe grows colder every day.

Former police officer Colin Ferguson’s family is spread across the United States, separated by the catastrophe and struggling to survive as the nation attempts to recover and reestablish some measure of civilization….

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Keeping Civilization Running

Movies and television have made us familiar with the trope of the tiny community maintaining a level of technological civilization by scavenging and repairing their various devices, even repurposing parts of other technologies. However, while such efforts can create visually striking sets, it is highly questionable whether such measures could actually succeed in practice, particularly over the long term.

No matter how carefully one conserves and stretches one’s resources, eventually all machinery fails. And the more sophisticated one’s equipment, the more difficult it is to repair when one’s supply of spare parts runs out. A village blacksmith might well be able to handcraft replacement parts for a steam engine, but fabricating a replacement circuit board for a robotic delivery system is far more difficult.

As the diablovirus pandemic progressed and manufacturing and transportation systems began to unravel, the lunar settlements were faced with the question of how well they could sustain themselves in the absence of replacement parts from Earth. On a world where even the most basic sustenance required sophisticated technological systems, there wasn’t the option of falling back to a lower level of technology.

Even a decade earlier, such a situation probably would have left the lunar pioneers with little choice but to put their systems on standby and return to Earth. However, in the years leading up to the Expulsions, there had been an increasing emphasis on reducing the dependence upon expensive spacelift out of Earth’s deep gravity well in favor of the utilization of lunar and asteroidal materials. This included a shift to supplying the largest settlements with the tools to produce the tools rather than shipping a continual stream of spare parts “uphill.”

However, there were still limits to how much could be produced locally, particularly in relation to “surge capacity,” the ability to replace a large number of damaged pieces of equipment in a relatively short time. And with the Sun entering a period of increased flare activity, there was every reason to be concerned about EMP effects on vital electronics, particularly as related to solar panels and communications equipment that were necessarily located on the surface, where they could not be shielded with lunar regolith.

—- Kennard Redmond, Memoirs of an Engineer on the High Frontier. Grissom City: St. Selene Digital Press, 2055.

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When It Rains, It Pours

Spruance Del Curtin had come to the Astronomy Department a little early today in hopes of touching base with Dr. Doorne, not just about his ongoing work for her, but also about the statistics class which had been in a state of suspension ever since the first serious CME threat. However, he arrived to find the entire department in what could only be described as a situation of organized chaos.

People were coming and going, about half of them talking on their phones. From the halfalogues he could hear, it sounded like most of them were talking to colleagues elsewhere in the Earth-Moon system. Whatever it was, it clearly had them worried, but most of what they were saying was way too technical for him to make heads or tales of. A lot of numbers, terms that made him think of the engineering side of radio broadcasting, all of which soon became such an intense information overflow that there was no way he could even hope to follow it.

And then here was Dr. Doorne, breaking off a conversation with someone on the other end of a phone connection. “Sprue, I have a new data set I need you to sanitize ASAP. You’ll find it in the usual folder.” She rattled off a file name that was an alphanumeric string.

There was nothing to do but say, “Yes, ma’am” and hurry over to the computer. Already Dr. Doorne was heading off to confer with someone else about whatever she was getting from her colleague elsewhere.

As soon as Sprue logged on and pulled up the data file, he had a good idea what it probably was. However, Dr. Doorne’s tone made it pretty clear that he was not to ask any questions or or otherwise do anything that would compromise his ability to get the data ready for whatever she was planning to do with it. Whatever it represented, it was so critical that there was no time to risk introducing bias because he just had to find out what he was looking at.

And if he was right and it did involve solar activity data, it might well be a matter of life and death for people in space and some of the smaller lunar habitats that weren’t nearly as well shielded as a big settlement like Shepardsport.