Panspermia (Greek: (pas/pan) "all" and (sperma) "seed") is the hypothesis that life exists throughout the Universe, distributed by meteoroids, asteroids, comets and planetoids.
*****
"Lights are green and the soft-dock fees aren't getting any cheaper, Grubs. Where's the kid?"
The intercom crackles briefly as Nomi removes her thumb. She can almost sense the irritable engineer stumping over to his console before the little speaker blares with his reply.
"The hell should I know? Let's go, I don't want some brat dogging my heels anyway."
Nomi rolls her eyes and replies "You know we can't undock without a third, Grubber. Insurance and the bank would be so far up my ass when we got back we might never fly again. Now you
said
the kid is family, certified, and needs work, and I'm sure as hell not going begging for whatever dregs are hanging around the union office on
this
mountain of scrap."
"Then you shoulda kept that other little shit. She talked too much but she stayed the hell out of the engine room."
"She stayed the hell out of everything! I caught her asleep on dog watch half a dozen times, she whined whenever we hit two gees and she kept puking in microgravity! The bridge
still
stinks!"
Noise erupts from the intercom that has Nomi thinking it's broken again, until she realizes it's Grubs' labored laugh. It takes him a solid minute to recover.
"Hee hee ha
wheeze
hee hee hoo... oh fine, I'll go track him down. My nephew's kid, I think. Haven't seen him in fifteen years, but he's been station hopping his entire life, so he probably won't upchuck on your precious helm. Gimme thirty minutes to find him."
A few moments later Nomi can hear the personnel airlock dogs releasing, followed by a pressure hiss and faint cursing. She keeps the
Rockhopper
at point eight atmospheres at station and during cruise to get more out of the scrubbers, but the station holds steady at one even. Generally not enough of a differential to worry about, but it does make the manual airlock harder to manage, and Grubber likes to point out he's not getting any younger. Nomi isn't convinced she'll outlive him.
By now he's making his way through the pressurized umbilical they use for soft-docking (as opposed to a stabler but more expensive direct airlock to airlock hard-dock). Nomi sighs and starts to run through preflight again, absent anything else to do, when the console chimes on the station commerce channel.
"
Rockhopper
, you there? Pick up, Gnome."
Nomi grins and flips up the vid. "I thought I saw you on approach, Bill. You finally ready to come and do some
real
work? I gotta warn you, my uniforms ain't near as pretty."
The image resolves to a handsome fortyish U.N.S. officer in full dress reds.
"Yeah, that's right, Gnome, bite the hand that's trying to feed you."
"It's not your hand I'm interested in biting..." she counters, complete with a arched eyebrow and a salacious wink.
"Keep it in your pants. I've only got a minute. Gimme dump access, I've got something you need to see."
"Hang on... Okay. Alpha six niner zed, repeat."
"Alpha six niner zed, confirm. That posting isn't going to go live on miner nets for three more sols. Put your bid in for the amount I highlighted and register with the U.N.S. office here if you're interested."
Nomi whistles, looking over the contract. "This is enormous, it would take us fifty years to push this much iron."
"You won't be alone. You heard of the New Pangea project?"
"This is that? Wow. Hey, thanks, Bill, this is going to set us up for a long time."
"Don't thank me yet, Gnome, look at the required locus."
"The
Kuiper Belt
?! The hell, asteroid belt iron isn't good enough for them?"
"It's a logistics thing. They don't want to use tug mining, they want to use accelerators, and no one wants thirty metric ton iron bullets careening around the inner system."
"I don't have a goddamned mass accelerator!
I'm a tug
."
"That's what you think. Check the second attachment."
A wide smile creases his features.
As Nomi looks over the second document, her jaw drops. "How in the stars did you pull
this
off?"
On her console is a preauthorized requisition form with the U.N.S. deployment and mining platform
Galileo
, orbiting Jupiter. In addition to full outfitting and fuel, it authorizes replacement of her modular cargo hold with a class two mass accelerator, refinement smelter, and automated robotics manufactory. Once installed, the
Rockhopper
would be capable of latching onto an appropriate nickel-iron planetoid, mech-mining it for metals, and smelting them into two meter diameter slugs which it would fire at precalculated coordinates. Years (literally years!) later they would slam into the large asteroid serving as the foundation for the New Pangea project, providing extra spin and orbital acceleration in addition to raw metals.
"The other downside is you have to be out three years at a time, with travel, to make the whole thing time efficient. The manufactory can produce new mechs when you lose some, and you
will
lose some, they estimate about 80% attrition, so study up on that thing once you've got it on board. Eventually about fifty converted tugs are going to be out there doing the same thing you are."
"Mmm. Should be doable, I still have the suspension rigs this thing came with originally. I'll have to get them recertified, but we should be able to spend most of the time in stasis, barring interludes for mech repairs and maintenance. Under these terms,
one trip
would net me enough to pay off this tug and retire."
Bill glances to one side and nods to someone off-view.
"I gotta go, Gnome. If you decide to do it, take care. Buy me a drink when you get back inside the belt, and tell the old man I said hurry up and die."
"You know it. Thanks again, buddy. I'm glad to know that stiff collar hasn't cut off all the blood to your head."
The U.N.S. officer signs off with a snort.
----