Upstream Article - Tharsis Hercules (Updated)
Upstream Article - Tharsis Hercules (Updated)
Upstream Article - Tharsis Hercules (Updated)
HERCULES
Upstream Reporter – Lucas Bodeman
“I’ve worked Off-World for more than twenty years and the Hercules is by far the most
powerful vessel I have ever served on. Refinery and mining platforms that were once
considered giants are now dwarfed by hundred mega-ton platforms. Braniff’s new An Ho
refinery platform, for example, displaces an incredible one million tons! How d’ya shift a
thing like that? Tharsis has been keeping ahead of the game, its Type 22 fusion plasma
motors are able to sustain thrust levels of 8G consistently without the overheat and shut-
down problems experienced by other manufacturers like McConnell Aerospace. My chief
engineer always said they should’ve called the Hercules the Godzilla instead – he said it’s
the monster-king in a universe of monster-size ships.”
Captain Kerigan Schaeffer, Frontier Line
It’s finally here, at last, the long-awaited Tharsis Aerospace Hercules, the most powerful
star tug in service to date has begun its commercial life. Orders from all of the main
starlines have been fulfilled and for the past six months they have been hauling immense
loads out to the Off-World Colonies – and back. It’s about time Upstream Magazine caught
up with this behemoth to find out how it ticks. This article includes a rundown of the
vessel’s revolutionary powerplant, its towing ability, specs and performance table, and of
course, Upstream Magazine’s usual deck-by-deck walkthrough.
The ship requires a crew of seven: commanding officer, pilot, navigator, medic, sensor
operator, chief engineer and assistant engineer. The ship cannot carry any additional
passengers. The Hercules costs $4,734M.
NEW ENGINES
At 15,000 tons the Tharsis Hercules is the industry’s newest and biggest star tug. It is
built around a Nortinghouse N-2306 4 Gigawatt Fusion Reactor installed in a duplex
arrangement, each reactor section paired with - and powering - a single reaction drive.
The reactor utilizes a deuterium/tritium reaction fusing the fuel elements in a containment
chamber with conversion lasers. Tharsis have developed a revolutionary artificial
gravitational confinement technique that was first tested and pioneered in the Tharsis
Vector 400 reaction drive (used in a number of American military starships). Helium-4 is a
byproduct of the reaction and is stored separately and typically vented at regular intervals.
Power is generated by the reactor in a closed-cycle liquid hydrogen cooling system,
running off into an induction torus which uses the intense magnetic field created by the
superheated hydrogen to generate electrical power for the ship. The Type 22 Tharsis
plasma drives manage and control an exhaust with an 8G, 80 meters per second, delta-V
created directly by the Nortinghouse reactor using liquid hydrogen as a reaction mass.
The hull is designed with two reaction drive sponsons, one to port and one to starboard.
Liquid hydrogen fuel for the drives is held in twenty-six separate fuel tanks located both
within the sponsons and throughout the central hull. It is in this central hull that the
control areas, living sections and cargo bays are located. The upper surface is dominated
by both an unpressurized housing for the ship’s lifeboat and, at the rear, by the
impressive towing point that is able to transfer the acceleration of 8G from the Hercules -
through the coupling - to a platform up to four million-tons in displacement. Internal cargo
bays, each two stories high and with a capacity of 216 tons occupy areas on decks C and
B. Cargo is loaded via two large capacity cargo elevators that lower to the ground when
the ship is landed at a starport. Docked at an orbital station, the elevator floor can be
extended on tracks out from the ship’s lower hull in order to allow it to be filled with cargo
by an orbital loading craft. Cargo transport is, however, a secondary role for the mighty
Hercules.
HAULING LOADS
The Tharsis Hercules is a commercial towing vessel. Typically the Hercules will be
maneuvered underneath and to the bow of an orbiting platform. The docking procedure,
whereby the tug mates its upper towing clamp with the forward docking ring on the
platform, takes around 15 minutes once both vessels have rendezvoused in orbit. There is
no access for personnel between the tug and the platform (or towed vessel) through the
docking clamp. It is common for a large refinery to be operational on automatic during its
transport through hyperspace, for this a technical crew must first board the platform by
shuttle and initiate the automatic procedures, prior to the Hercules docking. Once docking
has been successful, the mining crew will depart the refinery on the shuttle that brought
them there. The Hercules can then get underway. Other platforms, such as bulk cargo or
empty utility platforms require no such start-up. Some, such as the 100,000-ton Thuringia
class mining platform will be carried to a star system with a full crew complement
onboard. Communications will be active between this platform and the tug via hardwired
com-links routed through the docking coupling, as well as normal radio relays when in
normal space. During hyperspace transit, all coms are through the hardwired connection,
and there can be no movement of shuttles or space-suited individuals from the tug to the
platform, or vice-versa – they are, for all intents and purposes cut off from one another.
To initiate a landing on a planetary surface, the Hercules must undock from the platform,
and leave it in a stable orbit around that same planetary body. ICO regulations state that
a manned platform must be parked in an orbit of at least 3,000km altitude, to avoid
premature orbital decay.
We began at the station’s Docking Bay 7 by stepping through into Goliath’s main airlock
located at the very forward end of B Deck – the bow of the ship. Standard docking
procedure is to retract the ship’s forward-facing antennae and sensor arrays in order to
use this lock, and it is around 2.8m wide, easily able to fit four suited crewman
simultaneously. The look of the airlock is dark, industrial, utilitarian and that is a feature
throughout the rest of the ship – in keeping with other commercial vessels of this type.
We step out into an EVA assembly area, with tool lockers and suits hanging behind
Plexiglass on the left. We aren’t suited, so we continue along the metal grated corridor to
where it splits port and starboard to skirt the huge forward landing leg bay that occupies
two decks of the ship. We turn right and pass a series of technical bays on our right, to
our left is a sliding door that opens onto the EVA lift shaft. This lift slides down the side of
the landing leg and is only used when landed on the ground. Typically crewmen suit up
down on C deck and make their way to the surface from the lift there. Continuing on, we
reach companionway number 2, a well-used ladder connecting all three decks. We
continue past the ladder-well to explore the dark recesses of B Deck further. It leads us
past an industrial lift on the right and, at the end of the long corridor, to red warning
semiotics, to the engineering control room. This large area is filled with the advanced and
complex machinery required to monitor and control the powerplant and hyperdrive. Steam
vents from pipes, monitors flicker in the darkness … we are in the heart of the beast here.
The groans, sighs and bellows of the pipework around us just reinforce the analogy.
A Deck is a living space, and immediately the bare pipework, grille flooring and dark,
industrial décor is replaced by molded white fittings, all padded, vacuum-formed and
comforting. To the left we see a corridor bend around to the medbay, a large picture
window looks in, giving the crew a view inside should anyone be quarantined there. But
we head forward into the galley. A central table is covered with a scatter of unwashed
crockery, empty Red Dragon beer bottles and girlie magazines. Playboy sits alongside
Interstellar Mechanics quite incongruously, there’s even a copy of Upstream magazine, an
old issue from April 2223. Color monitors hang from the ceiling, and to port is a small
kitchen, with a food prep area and overhead lockers labelled with various foodstuffs. The
corridor continues, the array of lights telling me in no uncertain terms that the bridge is
up ahead.
It is dark here, what’s new? Control couches buried in a tangle of monitors, switch panels
and electrical conduits are mounted centrally on a raised dais that is surrounded by a
walkway, a walkway that gives views out through the picture windows. The ceiling, filled
with switches and more CRT’s hangs low to create a mood of claustrophobia. This bridge
resembles the crowded, archaic cockpit of some old Cold War jet bomber, a B-52 perhaps.
A doorway in one corner leads to the computer room, where the level-5 Hosaka Goldstar
400 mainframe can be accessed directly and reprogrammed. We leave the bridge, past a
door that leads into the ship’s locker – a tool-room packed with survival gear,
maintenance equipment and emergency weapons.
No we head back through the galley <smell of strong coffee here> and back to the
companionway. Moving aft, we meet the industrial lift on our way to the rear, to the
lifeboat bay. But before we do, we head left to explore the starboard corridor – it opens
out into a locker room, doors lead off to crew staterooms and also to the all important
hypersleep chamber. The door opens, triggered by our presence, and in the bright,
austere light we see the chamber is empty except for the seven cryo-chambers, arranged
like the petals around a flower. All are open, unused.
“It’s to provide some security in the event of a partial or sudden loss of power to the
artificial gravity compensation system. If the Goliath is decelerating at 3G and the system
fails, then everyone not strapped in is thrown forward triple the speed of falling from a
building on Earth. The Hercules class operates at much higher levels of G, hence the
increase in padded sections.” I ask if they will really do any good. “Well it’s going to help
reduce injuries at partial power loss, in other circumstances … its mainly psychological…”.
It’s time to pass through the locker room once again; we reach the companionway and
head aft. The white paneling vanishes here, to be replaced with that industrial piping and
metal grillwork we saw on B Deck. Yellow and black warning stripes frame the doorway
into the Goliath’s technical bay, essentially a fully equipped machine shop for the
fabrication and modification of ship components. This leads us to the lifeboat bay, with
the airlock to the lifeboat in front of us, to the left is another equipment locker and to the
right another airlock, this one leading to a hatch on the Goliath’s upper hull.
“What d’you want to see next?” asks Diem. “Well, we’ve seen A Deck at the top of the
ship, we started on B Deck, so … the bowels of the ship then? C Deck?”
This time we take the industrial lift from A Deck down to C Deck and emerge into a dark
corridor, rotating warning lights can be seen in the distance and steam vents from
overhead pipes. Diem leads me aft, the name stenciled on the back of her
jacket. We pass the big cargo doors, one either side of the corridor, both are open and I
can see a workloader at ease, and a couple of pallet trucks abandoned. The holds are
empty, cargo chains and winches hang limply from the overhead gantry. The long corridor
ends at the fuel pump control room, from here liquid hydrogen can be refined, tested and
transferred from one tank to another, or vented into space. Access ways head off left and
right. We go left, walking past battered-looking spare part lockers, all coded with the type
of machinery that they contain. This accessway ends at the starboard thruster control
room, where the reaction drive can be fine tuned and diagnostics carried out. Sperry, one
of Diem’s engineers is in here with some of the panels off the wall, a work-light
illuminates the exposed machinery and his toolbox sits open on the metal deck.
“Trouble?” I ask. Sperry seems happy to talk, he tells me that the interior of each exhaust
nozzle is coated with layers of mono-crystalline steel, but that the secondary impeller
valves that regulate re-channel flow instead have an ablative titanium carbide liner.
Sensors monitor the rate of ablation, but those on the Goliath’s starboard plasma motor
are showing zero wear on the last trip. He needs to know why.
Leaving Sperry to his work, Diem takes me down the right hand accessway that leads to
the other thruster control room, we pass a workshop on the left as well as an EVA room -
through the open door I can see two empty hard suits stood behind Plexiglass.
“That airlock leads out to a hatch on the underside of the ship… it’s there mainly for the
use of the two engineers, and for any emergencies…” It’s time to leave and so we re-
traverse the main corridor back to companionway number 2. Passing on, Diem leads me
into the landing leg bay, above hangs the massive landing leg, folded and bent like some
kind of metallic carnivorous flower awaiting springtime. Chains and winches hang from the
cluttered overhead space. It’s dark in here and there is plenty of exposed machinery, not
just for the hydraulics, but for the landing gear bay doors and also for the lifts. There are
two, both seem to connect to either side of the hanging leg assembly. The lift to the left is
for personnel heading to the ground while that on the right transfers a small 2-ton jeep to
the surface. The jeep can be seen in its cradle, behind a mesh grille. The EVA lift is walled
of from here, we’d have to leave the leg bay and follow the corridor around to enter it.
Once the landing leg is extended and touches the ground, both or either lifts can be used
– riding telescoping rails down the landing leg to the ground.
We get out of that dark and eerie chamber, and head right to take a look at the EVA lift,
with its wide access airlock door and the rows of hanging space suits and equipment
lockers opposite. At the end of the corridor is a life support bay, much of the ship’s water
and air is recycled and recirculated from here, says Diem. It seems a strange place to end
the tour, but she admits that I’ve seen nearly all of the Goliath’s livable interior. We
retrace our steps to C Deck’s companionway 2 and climb up to B Deck where we take the
main corridor forward, back to the docking airlock.
There are a couple of technicians waiting for us at the lock, well, not for me, as it turns
out, but for Diem, who is in demand to sign off work, make a decision on some repair, or
take a call from the local Frontier Line rep. I thank her for the tour and leave her and the
ship behind me. As I turn away Diem pushes a packet of literature into my hand, I
promise myself I’ll read it on the shuttle back to JFK, but before I stuff it into my pocket,
one thing catches me eye: an epic, soul stirring image of a Hercules powering out of a gas
giant atmosphere, exhaust plumes extending for hundreds of meters behind it. Above the
image and stenciled in Pump Demi font is the slogan: