The Moon and the Desert, page 11
In contrast, HI-SLOPE was meant to be a year-round isolated facility that was entirely self-sufficient. The intent was for the habitat to be sealed up for five years, simulating a mission to the asteroids or outer solar system. It also supported a much larger crew of twenty-five to thirty people, compared to the Mars simulator crews of six to eight. The original mission had just completed three years when a viral outbreak caused the plan to be aborted prematurely. The habitat sat idle for several years until it was acquired by the Onizuka Center to expand both residential capacity and duration for the astronomers.
Since HI-SLOPE was built to emulate a spacecraft, it consisted of six two-story habitat modules surrounding a three-story core module, laid out to resemble a spaceship with a rotating ring for artificial gravity. Airlocks on each hab allowed units to be pressurized to sea level, the twelve-thousand-foot elevation of the habitat, or any pressure in between. It was later remodeled to house up to fifty persons, and the “excess” capacity was leased to civilian space training missions.
After a month of acclimation, Glenn would serve as HI-SLOPE assistant medical officer for four months. Neither MarsX nor the Space Force were quite ready to allow him to resume duties as lead flight surgeon, but they had no objection to him assisting with altitude sickness, minor cuts and scrapes, burns, or even broken limbs. For anything more serious, he still had to seek help from a certified flight surgeon.
Time at HI-SLOPE had become routine for many astronaut trainees, precisely because of the (relative) isolation and low air pressures in spacecraft and colony domes. Glenn’s official duties amounted to part-time duty, so he spent the rest of his time relearning the particular protocols and procedures of civilian space missions. He was more than willing to spend the time as a “civilian” if it got him back into space. The very best part was that for six months, he didn’t have to see his face on the news, read about the cyborg freak, or talk to reporters.
It was a quiet six months. In fact, for the final month at HI-SLOPE, the chief medical officer was called back to Washington. In practice—if not in actuality—Glenn was once again the head doctor of a space facility.
Now it was time for him to start working with equipment used on the Moon and Mars.
Pohakuloa Training Center was approximately four thousand feet lower in elevation than HI-SLOPE and was located in a pass, or “saddle” between the dormant volcanoes of Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa. The U.S. Army and Marine Corps used PTC for artillery practice and air-assault training. It also served as a high-elevation acclimation center for operations in mountainous terrain, which was why Space Force used it for ready access in the deep canyons and crevices of Mauna Loa that mimicked craters on the Moon and canyons such as Valle Marinaris on Mars. It was a good place to train on Mars rovers, seismic equipment, geological equipment and again, provided valuable acclimation to the dry, arid conditions of sealed space environments.
One of the things that Glenn realized that he had not experienced at HI-SLOPE and PTC were the common physiological reactions to lower atmospheric pressure and lower oxygen at high elevation. At such heights, atmospheric pressure was forty percent lower, and oxygen content in the air was likewise diminished. The absence of typical “altitude sickness” from low oxygen suggested that the loss of two legs and an arm had altered his body’s homeostatic regulation of blood oxygen content. His circulatory system was shorter; he didn’t require as much oxygen and his heart did not have to pump as hard.
So, Glenn decided to try an experiment.
Olympic athletes often lived and trained at elevations higher than that of the competition site; US Army and Air Force teams had adopted those same training techniques for special forces. Adaptation to elevation caused the circulatory system to become more efficient at transporting oxygen than at lower elevations; thus, athletes who “lived high, trained low” had the advantage of better oxygen saturation, better stamina, and better endurance at their athletic endeavors. Five months at the high elevations of HI-SLOPE and another four at PTC should give Glenn an advantage in performance at lower elevations, but he was uncertain how much of an adaptation he’d gained, given his artificial limbs. In preparation for his “experiment,” Glenn started working out and running at PTC to maximize his cardiovascular fitness. At the end of his training rotation, he would go down to sea level to test himself.
After almost a year of living and exercising above eight thousand feet of elevation, his body was at its most efficient oxygen-carrying capacity. The best long-distance run he had managed during testing last year had clocked in at just short of twenty-one miles per hour, with cycling at forty miles per hour. He’d added some moderate distance runs and bike rides along the upland roads which should have served to acclimate his body to the exertion, even if he was not yet in the full heat and humidity of sea level. He would have to acclimate to the latter once he left PTC. On the other hand, he hadn’t been able to do anything about swimming. He would just have to see how well the rest of his training sufficed.
The Big Island of Hawaii had long been popular for extreme sports—particularly running, cycling, and swimming. For decades, the Ironman World Championship had been held in Kailua-Kona every October. The Ironman had been a triathlon with a two-point-four-mile swim, one hundred twelve miles of cycling, and finished off with a marathon run of twenty-six point two miles—for a total of one hundred forty point six miles—exactly double the typical triathlon run throughout the world at that time. Not content to limit themselves to a mere double-triathlon, elite athletes evolved the ExtremeIron competition which used part of the original Ironman route, but increased the swim to four miles and lengthened the cycling to over one hundred fifty miles. In addition to the increased distance, the cycling component now included a four-thousand-foot change in elevation and a fifty-five-mile speed race back to Kona. The marathon component had been replaced with a fifty-mile ultra-marathon. Overall, the two-day competition was designed to test the strength and endurance of any athlete. It was the most prestigious of all distance competitions.
Glenn had never had the time to train for a triathlon, let alone one of the extreme or ultra versions. Despite his excellent physical condition, he knew there was now no hope of competing on par with the top-tier of elite athletes—he would be relegated to the “special” category of paralympic and assisted sports. Still, he had a strong desire to compare his own times on the same course with those of the most recent winners. He knew how well the bionic components performed on running, cycling, and swimming during the tests last year. Now, he wanted to see whether he could improve those times with physiological conditioning. After all, the combination might be important on the Moon or Mars.
The town of Kailua-Kona was on the western coast of the Big Island. The commercial district stretched from the main road around the island down to Kailua Bay, where the cruise ships stopped just offshore and unloaded passengers to spend their money in the quaint old shops along Ali’i Drive. The swimming phase of ExtremeIron went from Kailua Pier offshore to the cruise ship anchorage, and then inshore to a point near the distinctive Royal Sea Cliff resort, then retraced its route to the anchorage and back to the pier. The cycling phase climbed out of town to the mostly level main road through dry lava fields which ran along the entire leeward—west—coast of the island. The route started south, then turned around and branched inland and uphill toward the ranching and farming areas of the Kohala Uplands—gaining three thousand feet of elevation in about forty-five miles. From the town of Waimea, the road climbed another one thousand feet in just ten miles before descending to the northernmost town, Hawi. Many competitors changed bikes to one with a low gear ratio for the steep climb, and then changed in Hawi to yet another specialty bike for the speed-run back to Kona on the main road. The marathon extended from Kailua Pier along the main road to the resorts at Waikoloa Beach, and back.
It was time to test himself. Nik would meet him in Kona and provide support for his private race. The record for the Ironman course had been nearly eight hours; for ExtremeIron, the record was just under fifteen hours total time over two days—one hundred minutes swimming, seven-and-a-half hours cycling and six hours running. Given his individual running and cycling speed ratings from last year, he felt he could cut the time in half. Moreover, he planned to do it all in one day. On the other hand, fatigue from the combination of swimming, cycling, and running would also take a toll, so frankly, he’d be happy if he could manage to match the records of individuals who trained all their lives for the grueling course. He felt that if he could withstand the ExtremeIron, he could withstand the rigors of spaceflight and handle any test the Space Force could throw at him.
He would prove it to them. He was not just fully recovered, but faster, stronger, better than he had been before.
He wanted to get Command’s attention, although he didn’t figure on attracting it here. Before assignment to the Hawaiian training centers, Glenn had been told in no uncertain terms, “Keep your head down. Keep your nose clean. Do not attract attention. Do not talk to the press. Do not get yourself into any trouble or any situation that would get you noticed.”
What he didn’t count on, was the trouble searching him out.
The experiment started out okay, but not great, which didn’t make Glenn very optimistic about challenging the performance of elite athletes.
Nik had all of his gear in an SUV he’d checked out of the motor pool at PTC. The two had worked out all of the waypoints and breaks, and Nik could also monitor his vitals and location via Glenn’s waterproof wristcomm. Glenn started his four-mile swim by entering the water from the small beach across from the Royal Kona Resort on Kailua Bay, where Nik had parked the support vehicle. On race day, there would be a crowd wading out from the beach to the start buoys marking the beginning of deeper water. There would also be course-marking buoys and boats, but he didn’t have those. Instead, his wristcomm sent navigation waypoints directly to the electronics of his bionic ear—including prompts to tell him when he was off course. The outbound leg to the cruise ship anchorage was the hard part. Swimming back in-shore to the turnaround point (opposite a distinctive blocky white hotel) was easier, plus he had his nav system. The datalogger would track time and distance, and sound in his ear, so that he didn’t have to worry about anything other than swimming.
He was about fifty feet from the pier when his wristcomm signaled completion of the desired distance. He swam to the base of the pier, then climbed out of the water to meet Nik. Unlike a standard triathlon in which the athletes wore the same clothing for all phases, changing only their shoes, ExtremeIron phases were timed separately. Thus, athletes had time to change into comfortable—and appropriate—clothing for each phase. Glenn climbed into the back of the military utility vehicle and quickly changed clothes for the next phase.
“What was your time?” Nik asked from the front seat.
“Two hours, twenty-three minutes. Lousy time,” Glenn grunted.
“Uh huh . . . and it’s been how long since you swam? No pools up on the mountain, Captain Dumbass.”
“Yeah, you have a point, Nik. Okay, I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“I’ll see you in a few minutes. I’ll be right behind you the whole way.”
Little did the two of them realize that someone else was watching, and would also be right behind.
PART 2
LOVED AND LOST
CHAPTER 12:
The Chase
Richmond Times Features @JenButler
Check out a special report from our Community Heroes series in the new three-part series on Councilman Samuel Garner. Learn how his efforts to revitalize the community are paying off—in more ways than one!
Yvonne A. @AlphaTeam21
@JenButler, he did what?
ChirpChat, April 2042
Jennifer Butler was on vacation; one that had been forced on her by her editor and publisher. She was a journalist who specialized in interviews and human-interest stories, sometimes with an investigative edge. Her news outlet had been doing a special feature on community heroes, and she was assigned to write about a council leader responsible for reducing crime, increasing high school graduation rates, and bringing jobs to a depressed area of Richmond, Virginia. The profile was going great until she discovered that the subject of her story was maintaining two residences—complete with two wives and two sets of kids—and not enough income to account for all of his expenses. It turned out that he was receiving payoffs to underreport crimes and overreport the number of jobs provided by new companies moving into his city. There were some beneficial side effects—the additional money coming into the community paid for school and recreation center improvements, and the graduation rate was, in fact, slowly improving. Unfortunately, the jobs themselves were largely temporary, and would do more damage in the long-term than if the companies had never come to town. When she presented the story to her editor, she was told to keep it quiet until he could figure out how to handle the bombshell. To his credit, the editor pulled the profile from the special issue, and convinced the publisher to move the story of corruption and scandal to high profile and publish as its own special report.
The target of her story did not take the revelation well; he shouted his defiance even while being hauled off to jail. Soon after, Jen started receiving death threats—most likely from the criminals ultimately behind the corruption. Her publisher assured her that she still had a job, as well as paid leave, but suggested she take a long vacation well out of town . . . out of state . . . and off of the U.S. mainland.
Ever the journalist, Jen’s curiosity was piqued when she noticed one—or possibly two—blacked-out SUVs repeatedly passing below her vantage point overlooking the watersports rental area at the base of Kailua pier. She was sitting at one of the many pubs and restaurants with second-floor, open-air dining rooms that looked out on Ali’i drive along the Kona waterfront, engaged in her favorite pasttime of people-watching. There were the usual tourists in loose-fitting flower-print Hawaiian shirts and blouses, hotel and restaurant employees in tailored Hawaiian prints, and locals in shorts and various types of T-shirts.
The popular beaches were mostly north and south of town, and the recreational sailboats and water skimmers launched from the far side of the pier, so her attention was caught by a man walking out of the water onto a small patch of sand at the base of the pier. He walked over to a tan-colored vehicle with military plates which combined features of an SUV and a small truck. He climbed into the back of the vehicle, and emerged a few minutes later wearing cycling gear, took a bicycle out of the truck bed, and started to pedal north up the road.
Most of the people down on Ali’i drive and Kaahumalu Place were tourists, but this man didn’t look like either a tourist or a local.
This guy looked familiar, and he had walked funny when he first got out of the water. He reached down and placed his hands on each side of his right thigh and seemed to squeeze. It looked like a small squirt of water came out in response. He then did the same with his left leg and seemed to walk more easily afterward.
Prosthetics? Would someone go swimming with prosthetic legs? she thought to herself.
As a specialist in writing about interesting persons, she’d once interviewed a lawyer in North Carolina who was an avid triathlete. The image of the competitive athlete was so at odds with the buttoned-down personal injury lawyer, that she’d probed for more information, and had ended up learning much more than she ever thought she wanted to know about running, cycling, swimming, and the ultimate combination of the three—the ExtremeIron race.
She’d bought binoculars for whale-watching before she’d learned that it was the wrong season, and she was not on the best island for it, anyway. The binocs were in her backpack, though, so she pulled them out and turned to focus on the intersection of Kuakini Highway and Palani Road, behind the restaurant.
There he was, making the turn north onto Kuakini for the first loop.
The tan SUV had pulled out and was following a bit behind the cyclist.
He’s making good time, how fast was he going? Almost as fast as the cars!
It took about five minutes for the cyclist to return down Palani Road and turn south on Ali’i Drive. Jen’s gaze lingered on the intersection for a few more minutes. A car turning at the intersection honked at another that had pulled out in front of it. That triggered a memory—there had been some sort of car accident and a picture of a man holding a car one-handed as he lowered it back to the ground.
Glenn Shepard! What was he doing on Hawaii, and why was he running the ExtremeIron course?
It was eleven miles to the southern turnaround at the town of Captain Cook. From there, he would start the climb to Waimea on State Road 180—but that was too far for her to see from here. She signaled the server for her check, paid, then hurried down to the parking lot for her rental car. There was a tiny café nestled right in between Highway 11 and 180 about six miles south of town. She remembered from her research that it was used as the first checkpoint in the ExtremeIron because it was just short of twenty miles into the race. An experienced racer would make that distance in forty-five to sixty minutes.
It took Jen almost twenty minutes to get to the café, and she was quite surprised to see cyclist and chase-car arriving less than ten minutes after her.
Forty miles an hour? I know he’s supposed to have prosthetics, but how was he doing this?
That did it. She waited for a few more minutes to ensure that it wouldn’t be obvious she was following. It was a good thing, too. A couple minutes later, a black SUV passed. It certainly looked like one of the ones she saw before she noticed Shepard walking out of the water. Come to think of it, there had been a black SUV heading up Highway 180 just as she arrived at the waypoint.
