The mass driver stretches into the void, a sleek, glimmering thread of human ambition hanging in synchronous orbit around Pluto. Spanning kilometers in length, it appears impossibly thin against the vast expanse of blackness and stars, yet up close, its sheer size overwhelms the senses. The superconducting coils lining its length emit a faint, ghostly white glow, a side effect of the cryogenic systems keeping them at operational temperatures. Massive coolant pipes, reinforced trusses, and robotic arms give the structure an insect-like quality, as though it were alive and coiled, ready to strike.
Judas-12 stands at the main viewport, watching the faint shimmer of magnetic fields ripple along the driver’s length. His arms are crossed, his expression deliberately unimpressed, but his eyes give him away. Every time he looks at the mass driver, a twinge of awe pulls at his chest.
“It’s not bad,” he mutters, half to himself, half to Samson.
“Not bad?” Samson’s voice carries a note of incredulity. “It is a marvel of human engineering, a testament to your species’ ingenuity. And yet, ‘not bad.’ Your standards are truly remarkable.”
Judas smirks. “Just trying to keep you humble.”
Through the viewport, Pluto looms, its icy surface dominating the frame. Enormous plains of nitrogen ice stretch across the planet, their soft whites and grays broken by deep, jagged craters—wounds left by previous asteroid impacts. Thin plumes of vapor rise from the surface where subsurface volatiles have sublimated under the heat of collisions. Slowly but surely, the planet is coming apart, its crust fracturing like glass under a hammer. The endgame is clear: one day, Pluto will be nothing more than rubble, a cloud of resources dispersed for mining and transport.
“Hard to believe we’ll ever run out of it,” Judas says absently, staring at the mottled landscape.
“You won’t,” Samson replies. “Not for centuries. By the time Pluto is exhausted, your species will have expanded further into the Kuiper Belt, perhaps beyond.”
“Comforting,” Judas says, though his tone is anything but. He tears his gaze away from the planet and turns back to the team.
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The pre-launch sequence begins with a steady hum of activity in the control center. Holographic displays flicker to life, bathing the room in pale light. The asteroid, rendered in exacting detail, rotates slowly on the main screen, its irregular shape pockmarked with craters and scars.
“Mass is stable at one point four two gigatons,” Samson narrates, his tone professional. “Projected velocity requirement: four point eight kilometers per second. Trajectory correction within point-zero-one degrees.”
Dara leans over the console, scrutinizing the data. “Double-check the y-axis variance. We’re not risking another tumble like last time.”
“I’m on it,” Judas says, pulling up the trajectory model. His fingers dance across the console as he fine-tunes the alignment. “There. Should be dead center.”
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Tariq’s voice crackles over the comms. “Harness is locked. Coils are green across the board.”
“Ibrahim, status on the ramp-up?” Dara asks without looking away from her console.
“Charging steadily,” Ibrahim replies, his voice tinged with tension. “One hundred twenty terajoules and climbing. SMES systems are holding.”
The asteroid itself waits in the driver’s cradle, a dark, jagged behemoth barely visible through the external cameras. Conductive loops encase its bulk, glinting faintly as magnetic fields pulse around them. Tiny adjustments from the harness clamps keep it perfectly aligned, floating just millimeters above the track.
“She’s on the rails,” Samson murmurs, his voice softer now. Even Judas feels the weight of the moment. This is no small task. Every step must be perfect.
The room falls into a tense silence as the coils begin to ramp up, their hum rising in pitch. The air itself seems to vibrate with latent energy. Judas feels the faintest tremor beneath his feet, a reminder of the immense power flowing through the driver’s superconducting systems.
The launch begins with a flash—barely perceptible, but there all the same. The coils fire in rapid sequence, each one releasing a perfectly timed electromagnetic pulse that propels the asteroid forward. Waves of blue-white energy ripple down the track, their brilliance searing against the black void.
Judas’s eyes are glued to the velocity readout. The numbers climb steadily: 500 meters per second, 1,000, 2,000. The asteroid glides forward, a massive, silent presence gaining momentum with every pulse.
“Coil ripple within nominal range,” Ibrahim reports, his voice taut with focus. “Trajectory holding steady.”
“Feather the thrust,” Dara says sharply. “We’re drifting point-zero-two degrees on the z-axis.”
“Adjusting now,” Ibrahim replies. A faint shudder ripples through the system as micro-thrusters on the asteroid’s harness fire, nudging it back into alignment.
The asteroid continues its inexorable journey down the track, its speed climbing past 4,000 meters per second. The hum of the coils grows sharper, the pulses now a blur of light and energy. If there was atmosphere for sound to transmit to, the screeching would be tremendous. The asteroid hurtles past the window, turning into an indistinct blur of speed and hellfire, far too fast to see as anything other than a shadow, almost a hallucination.
“Velocity at four-point-eight kilometers per second,” Samson reports. “Release vector confirmed. All systems green.”
Judas takes a deep breath, his hand hovering over the console. For all his bravado, there’s a quiet intensity in his eyes. “Go for release,” he says, his voice steady.
The final coil fires, and the asteroid disconnects from the driver with a silent burst of speed. On the main screen, it appears as a dark blur, shrinking rapidly as it hurtles toward Pluto. The room holds its collective breath as the trajectory readout stabilizes, confirming the asteroid’s path.
“Impact predicted in one hour, fifty-seven minutes,” Samson says. “Strike yield estimated at one point six gigatons. Crater box within acceptable range.”
Dara exhales, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Good work, everyone.”
Judas leans back in his chair, the tension draining from his shoulders. “Another perfect shot,” he says, though there’s a note of genuine satisfaction in his voice.
On the screens, the asteroid is barely visible now, a tiny speck against the vast, icy expanse of Pluto. In less than two hours, it will strike the planet’s surface with the force of a thousand nuclear bombs, cracking the crust and exposing new layers of material for mining. But for now, the room is quiet, the hum of the mass driver fading into stillness.
Judas glances out the viewport one last time, watching as the distant planet turns slowly beneath them. “Well,” he says, “that was fun.”
“Only a hundred and fifty days until the next one,” Samson replies, his tone cutesy.