Bova, Ben - The Trikon Deception

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BEN BOVA AND BILL POGUE

THE

TRIKON

DECEPTION

Ben Bova and Bill Pogue

THE TRIKON DECEPTION 3

TOR

A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK NEW YORK

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any

resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

This book has been printed on acid-free paper.

A Tor Book

Published by Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.

49 West 24th Street

New York, N.Y. 10010

TOR® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Bova, Ben, 1932-

The trikon deception / Ben Bova and Bill Pogue.

"A Tom Doherty Associates Book." ISBN 0-312-85024-7

I. Pogue, John Wilbur, 1909- II. Title.

PS3552.O84T75 1992

813'.54—dc20 91-37281

CIP First Edition: February 1992 Printed in the United States of America 0987654321

BEN BOVA AND BILL POGUE

TO BARBARA AND JEAN, AND ESPECIALLY TO KEVIN.

THE TRIKON DECEPTION 5

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

Permission to quote from the

Science

magazine issue of 28

September 1990 (vol. 249, p. 1503) was graciously given by

the American Association for the Advancement of Science

and by the author of the article, Leslie Roberts.

The lyrics quoted are from "Space Oddity," words and music

Ltd. London; TRO-Essex Music International Inc., New York,

owns all publication rights for the USA and Canada. Used by

permission.

"Ashes to Ashes," by David Bowie, permission granted by

Isolar, New York.

1972 Songs of PolyGram International, Inc.

BEN BOVA AND BILL POGUE

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Dimensions aboard Trikon Station are frequently expressed

in the metric system. For those not familiar with this

European system of measurement: One millimeter is about

twice the width of the lead in a mechanical pencil. One

centimeter is roughly the thickness of a piece of sliced

bread. One meter is about three inches longer than a yard.

One kilometer is almost two-thirds of a mile. One kilogram

equals 2.205 pounds.

THE TRIKON DECEPTION 7

4 SEPTEMBER 1998

TRIKON STATION

To the human eye, space is serene. From three hundred

miles above its surface, our Earth appears as a vast,

smoothly curved panorama of deep blue oceans and brown

wrinkled landmasses decked with parades of gleaming white

clouds, ever changing, eternally beckoning. Our world shines

with warmth, with beauty, with life.

Floating in the emptiness of space three hundred miles

above the luminous curving glory of Earth is a glittering

jewel, a diamond set against the infinite darkness of the cold

void.

From a distance, hanging against that black infinity, it

seems delicate, fragile, a child's toy construction of

gossamer and dreams. It is not until you approach that you

realize how large it really is.

Nearly three football fields across, its skeleton is a giant

diamond of gleaming alloy girders. Ten sparkling white

aluminum cylinders form a raft fixed to its central truss;

three of them bear the painted flags of nations: on one

cylinder are the twenty-two flags of United Europe; on

another is the rising sun of Japan; a third displays the Stars

and Stripes of the United States and the Maple Leaf emblem

of Canada.

At two corners of the huge diamond are attached two

bulbous, blimp-like structures, burnt orange in color and far

larger than the white cylinders. Once they were external

tanks for space shuttles; now they are extensions of this

island in space, moored to the diamond-shaped structure

like giant balloons.

The gently tapering nose of one of the ETs points directly

forward, the oilier directly aft, us the diamond knifes through

BEN BOVA AND BILL POGUE

the calm emptiness of orbital space. The trailing ET hears

the curious circle-and-arrow symbol of the planet Mars.

Robots slide back and forth across the station's main truss,

silent in the airless vacuum, their metal wheels clasping the

special guide rails, their spindly arms ending in gripping

pincers strong enough to hold hardware that would weigh

tons back on Earth. From the topmost corner of the

diamond, bristling batteries of instruments aim outward at

the stars while others, at the nadir corner, peer down at the

dazzling blue sphere of Earth with its white swirls of clouds.

On the station's trailing edge, broad wings of deep-violet

solar panels drink in sunlight while smaller, darker

companions radiate away the heat generated within the

station.

For there are men and women living and working at this

outpost in space. This is Trikon Station, the first industrial

research laboratory to be built in orbit.

Trikon.

To the human eye, space should be serene. Trikon station

floated in its orbit on the sunlit side of the Earth, passing

across the radiantly intense blue of the wide Pacific, adorned

with clouds of brilliant, purest white.

The station shuddered. Like a giant sail suddenly caught in

a crosswind. Like a man startled by danger.

Alarms screeched in every laboratory and living module,

Klaxons hooted along the lengths of its passageways, and a

computer-synthesized woman's voice called from every

intercom speaker in the station with maddening mechanical

calm:

"Emergency. Emergency. Major malfunction. All personnel

to CERV stations. All personnel to CERV stations. Prepare to

abandon the station."

No one cared. No one heeded the alarms. No one moved

toward the Crew Emergency Reentry Vehicles.

THE TRIKON DECEPTION 9

From the astronomical observatory at the uppermost

corner of Trikon Station two space-suited figures emerged,

one of them encased in the "armchair" rig of a manned

maneuvering unit, MMU.

Dan Tighe, commander of Trikon Station, fought back

murderous fury and a terrible fear that clawed at his chest

as he watched the space station begin to wobble and sway.

Through the heavily tinted visor of his helmet he saw the

bulbous burnt-orange structure of the Mars module detach

itself from the station and begin to drift away, like a

rudderless ship caught by an evil tide. The broad wings of

the solar panels were swaying, undulating visibly. Dan knew

they would break up within minutes.

We're all going to die, said a voice inside his head. We're

going to die and it's my fault. All my own goddamned stupid

fault.

BEN BOVA AND BILL POGUE

15 AUGUST 1998

TRIKON STATION

Names are important. When we hammered together this

consortium of major industrial corporations I insisted upon a

name that would reflect its spirit of international

cooperation, a name that would not offend any of the

sensitive egos among the various boards of directors, or in

the governments to whom they paid taxes. The corporations

were based in Europe, North America, and Japan. Three

continents: Trikon.

The original spelling proposed was Tricon; however, my

public relations consultants suggested that this might cause

confusion over the hard or soft pronunciation of the letter c.

The letter

connotes strength and provides an echo of

classical Greece.

So they said.

—From

the diary of Fabio Bianco, CEO, Trikon International

The station had been in operation for more than a year on

the day when the trouble began.

David Nutt still encountered that moment of vertigo, that

feeling that his insides were adrift and he was falling into a

strange pastel-colored abyss. Everything was shifting,

swirling like a kaleidoscope.

Clutching at the metal edge of the entry hatch, Dave took a

deep breath and lined himself up with the strip of black tape

stuck onto the bottom of its lip.

"This side down, stupid," he muttered to himself.

The pastels tumbled into perspective. A long cylinder with

a pale blue-floor and yellow ceiling. Silver and white

equipment in racks along the walls. Ovens, centrifuge,

microscopes all where they should be, and right-side-up. But

it didn't help that the damned technician was floating almost

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BENBOVAANDBILLPOGUE2THETRIKONDECEPTIONBenBovaandBillPogueTHETRIKONDECEPTION3TORATOMDOHERTYASSOCIATESBOOKNEWYORKThisisaworkoffiction.Allthecharactersandeventsportrayedinthisbookarefictitious,andanyresemblancetorealpeopleoreventsispurelycoincidental.THETRIKONDECEPTIONCopyright©1992byBenBovaandWilliamR...

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