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Rocheworld [Book 1 of the Rocheworld Series] [MultiFormat]
eBook by Dr. Robert L. Forward
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eBook Category: Science Fiction
eBook Description:  Powered by a revolutionary, laser-driven stardrive, the first interstellar spaceship would reach the double planet that circled Barnard's Star in a mere 20 years. Some of the world's finest scientists are aboard the ship--prepared for adventure, danger and the thrill of scientific discovery. Note: The original print version of Rocheworld contains images that are related to the story. The MS Reader, Acrobat, HieBook, and Rocket versions of this eBook include these images; for the other formats, click here to view the images online.
eBook Publisher: Fictionwise.com, Published: 1989
Fictionwise Release Date: July 2002
This eBook is part of the following series:
Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [1.7 MB], eReader (PDB) [559 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [508 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [506 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [451 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [443 KB], hiebook (KML) [1.2 MB], Sony Reader (LRF) [851 KB], iSilo (PDB) [419 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [954 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [914 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [680 KB]
Words: 154768
Reading time: 442-619 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
Microsoft Reader ISBN: 1-59062-423-8
 
"Robert L. Forward writes hard SF in the tradition of Arthur C. Clarke and Hal Clement, characterized by impeccable physics and fascinating alien lifeforms."--Christian "Naddy" Weisberger
CHAPTER 1--BEGINNINGThe torn shred of aluminum lightsail rippled lightly down through the thin atmosphere and settled onto the calm ocean. The robot probe the sail had once carried continued on its way back into the interstellar blackness, its flyby study of the Barnard planetary system completed. The messages of its discoveries would reach Earth six years later. The microthin film of aluminum sail material was no match for the ammonia-water ocean covering this egg of a planet. It dissolved into a bitter taste of aluminum hydroxide. Clear^White^Whistle was warming on top of the ocean in the red glare from Hot. Hot suddenly became less. The darkness was not like that from a storm shadow, but much sharper. It was almost as if Sky$Rock had suddenly moved in front of Hot. The darkness came closer, then there was a sharp thin taste of bitterness in the ocean. Clear^White^Whistle dove under the ocean to escape the bitterness, then came to the surface. The taste was still there. Another dive--it was there too. A sounding dive a long distance away, it was still there, but the taste was weaker and the sheet of darkness was being eaten by the ocean. Hot peered through the holes. For a long time Clear^White^Whistle tasted the bitterness and thought about the strange thing that came from nothing but was something. Thoughts came to it about exploring the nothing above, but that was impossible... ^But only carefully contrived mathematical propositions are truly impossible,^ mused Clear^White^Whistle. ^After all, the bitter darkness came from nothing, and I can look into nothing, although poorly. I know from looking that Hot and Warm are sources of light and heat, but though I have tried hard, I cannot see them. If only my looking portions could be focused like my seeing portions... ^ A thought came to the alien, and the large amorphous body of white jelly started to condense. Clear^White^Whistle squeezed the water out of its body, turned into a dense white rock, and sank to the bottom of the ocean. The concentrated whiteness of the fluids that constituted its "brain" now thought at a higher rate. Equations for a focusing detector based on time differences went through a sophisticated mathematical transformation into the equations for a focusing detector using distance differences. This detector would "look" using light instead of "seeing" using sound. The mathematical solution now obvious, Clear^White^Whistle, the toolless engineer, dissolved and swam up again to the surface as an undulating white cloud. The thinking had taken a long time. Hot was gone. It had moved behind Sky$Rock, a large object that hovered motionless in the sky above this region of the ocean. Sky$Rock was dark, and no longer gave off its rocklike, reddish-gray light. The sky was not completely dark, however, for Warm had risen and was now a weak flare overhead. Using the mathematical equations as a guide, Clear^White^Whistle formed a portion of its body into a sphere and concentrated. The white thought substance in the sphere flowed out into the rest of its body to leave the sphere a clear gel. Further concentration, and water dripped from the surface of the sphere until it was a dense clear ball. Through the now crystalline sphere streamed the rays of light from the heavens to come to a crude focus in the opposite side of the sphere. The white flesh next to the clear sphere looked at the tiny spots of light focused on its surface. The light patterns showed Warm as a small disk of mottled red. Around Warm were smaller bright lights with sharp cusps and fuzzy edges. A slight adjustment of the gelatine sphere into a crude lens and the distorted spots turned into smaller disks. As the lens focused on the moons of the giant red planet, Gargantua, the blackness of the night sky all around the planet blossomed with hundreds of tiny pinpoints of light. Clear^White^Whistle stared with its newly invented "eye" at the multicolored stars in the sky and wondered. CHAPTER 2--PICKINGBoredom is a Space Marine's worst enemy, but these Marines were not bored. "Close in! You squinty-eyed offspring of a BASIC program. So what if you've lost your outside video! You've still got radar and ground plots! Close in!" The words came from deep inside a short, chunky, round-faced woman with dark-black skin, a close-cropped head of curly black hair, and a crisp Marine Officer's uniform seemingly tattooed on her muscular body. General Virginia Jones punched her supervisory keyboard as her parade-ground voice echoed off the naked beams and taut pressurized walls of the crowded cubicle. Crammed into the compact control room of a Space Marine Lightsail Interceptor, the programmers were short-circuiting the software in the ship's computer to optimize an "unwilling capture" trajectory between their low acceleration twenty-five kilometer-diameter sailcraft and the radar image of a lumbering cargo hauler. The huge heavy-lift vehicle was rising slowly from its launch pad deep in Soviet Russia on its way to resupply one of the Soviet bases in geosynchronous orbit. "Boarding party!" General Jones roared to the deck below. "You've got ten minutes to do the fifteen-minute suiting drill! Move it!" There was a bustle as hammocks were stowed to give a little more room in the tiny communal barracks. Suits were lifted from lockers and donned--rapidly, but carefully. General Jones looked sternly around at the organized pandemonium and took a bite of her energy stick. She looked at it in distaste, thought blissfully of the excellent mess back at the Space Marine Orbital Base, then stoically took another bite of the energy bar. If it was good enough for her Marines, it was good enough for her. Like the PT boats in World War II almost a century ago, the Interceptors had to be fast. With only the light pressure from the Sun to push them, that meant keeping weight down. It was battle rations every meal when the Space Marines were on Interceptor duty. General Jones carefully watched the captain of the Interceptor as he swung his ungainly craft smoothly around. Captain Anthony Roma was short and handsome, with dark flashing eyes and a youthful wave of hair over his forehead that had Jinjur's mind wandering slightly. Captain Roma was the best lightsail pilot in space (with the possible exception of Jinjur herself). The lightsail scooped, dumping its cross-orbit excess speed in the upper atmosphere by using its huge expanse of sail like a sea anchor. It tilted to maximize the solar photon pressure and rose again in a pursuit trajectory of the bogey. Ten minutes later General Jones called a halt to the hunt of the phantom fox. "Freeze program," she said, then turned and tapped a code word into her command console. The computer memory of the practice pursuit was locked until she released it. The primary purpose of this exercise had been to test the reconfiguration skills of the human element of her computer-operated spaceship--the programmers. By reconfiguring the software in the computer to take into account its loss of components and capabilities, the programmers could hopefully tune the program to obtain its optimum response time. She wished the Interceptors could have the latest in self-reprogramming computers, or at least the touch-screen input terminals, but that was many fiscal-budget cycles away. The study of the programmer responses could take place later. General Jones lifted herself up in the weak acceleration, coiled her short, powerful legs under her compact body, hooked the toes of her corridor boots under the command console, and launched herself toward the "sortie" port. There was more to a Space Marine Interceptor than sail, computer, and programmers, and she was the preventive maintenance technician for that fourth component. The Space Marines were still frozen at attention in the sortie port, their 'stiction boots firmly attached to the deck. Their commander swam in free-fall among them, the lieutenant of the boarding party close behind her. She approached the first Marine, punched a code into his chest-pack and read the result. "Fine, Pete," she said. "Shuck the suit and take a break." She moved to the next one. "Hi, Amalita." She punched the Marine's chest-pack and read out the performance index. "Good timing!" she said. Her eyes grinned up at the proud Marine. "Seven minutes, thirteen seconds, and no suit flags! I'm proud of you!" She moved on to the next. The readout had no flags, but her instincts knew something was wrong. She stared at the face of the Marine through the visor. His bewildered eyes indicated something unknown was bothering him. She grabbed him by both arms, planted herself on the deck, lifted him bodily, and turned him around. He felt oddly out of balance. She examined the tell-tales on his support pack. They were fine--both tanks full of air. She stopped and raised a sharp pale-brown knuckle and gave the rounded ends of the two air tanks a rap. One tinked like a fiber-wound titanium balloon stretched to its utmost. The other tonked. In her rage, she smashed the offending tell-tale with her fist and jerked the poor Marine around until he was facing her. Tears welled from her dark brown eyes. "Everlasting elephants, Mike!! If it doesn't feel right, don't put it on!!! Even if the blazzflaggin' thing says it's OK! I want you alive!!" She jammed the stricken Marine back down to the floor where his 'stiction boots took hold again. Then pushing against him, she rose up and grabbed a handhold in the ceiling of the crowded port. "I want you ALL alive!" she roared, looking around at the ranks of cowed killers. "The next time one of you blue-nosed monkeys puts on a bad suit, I'll personally kick you from here to PLUTO!" She turned, and sucking the back of her hand, swam out the lock, leaving a thoughtful lieutenant to finish the inspection. General Jones had not yet mentioned his responsibilities in this infraction, but he expected to hear about it as soon as they were where the troops couldn't overhear. He wasn't looking forward to it, for General "Jinjur" had not gotten her nickname by being lenient with officers that allowed her troops to get into danger.
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