Chapter 10.1 – Think, Fred

“Fred, a complete debrief on the heatsink problem. Now,” Cirakari said. Her voice had that distinctive edge it always took on when she switched into Peregrina Commander mode—clinical, precise, leaving no room for excuses.

“I’ll start the analysis right away,” I replied, fighting the urge to unlock my harnesses, my mind was already racing ahead to what waited outside. I forced my fingers to stay on the console. Professional first, tourist later.

The heat modeling software’s interface filled my screen, and memories of Dr. Xuefeng’s endless critiques flooded back. “Your discretization is too coarse, Fred!” “These boundary conditions are amateur work!” His voice echoed in my head as clearly as if he were standing behind me. The fundamentals hadn’t changed—finite element modeling was still about breaking down complex systems into manageable chunks and applying physics equations to each piece. But modern software designers had apparently declared war on user-friendly interfaces. The screen before me was a minimalist’s dream: sleek, stark, and about as welcoming as a criminal interrogation room. For experts like Dr. Xuefeng, those stripped-down commands were a speedway to solutions. For me, trying to navigate the interface felt like attempting to solve a puzzle in the dark while wearing oven mitts.

I pulled up a standard assembly template, dancing my fingers in uncertainty across the haptic keyboard. Adding boundary conditions to match our anomalous readings took thirty frustrating minutes of menu-diving and parameter-tweaking. Every time I thought I had it right, I’d spot another variable that needed adjustment. The governing equations took fifteen minutes of painstaking configuration. By now, Dr. Xuefeng would have not only finished his simulation but probably written a paper about it too.

When the simulation finally ran, the results made my stomach drop. The virtual heatsink’s performance matched our real-world disaster perfectly—starting with that slight degradation in heat absorption, then spiraling into those terrifying temperature spikes within seconds. The model was working exactly as it should, which meant there weren't any large discrepancies between the virtual heatsink and the real one. The knot in my stomach tightened.

“Well, Fred. Any news?” Cirakari’s voice made me jump slightly in my seat.

“I’m going to need a bit more time,” I said, wrestling with the self-doubt clawing up my throat. If the model predicted exactly what happened, then either the ship’s software had failed us, or... “Could I have made a mistake? This can’t be right!” I tried to hide that thought.

“I see. We need to meet with the Hammerstar people soon, and it would be good if you could be there to, you know, provide technical insight.”

“Of course, I’ll just run a few more scenarios and should be wrapping up,” I said.

“Fred, is there something we should be worried about? We’ve never had to eject all the coolant fluid like that before.” Her tone carried a weight that made the question feel more like an interrogation.

“The simulations aren’t giving me the results I expected, but so far it’s nothing serious.” I wasn’t lying yet, so far there was no imminent danger.

“Alright, we have about one hour left,” she concluded.

I turned back to my screens, trying to ignore the sweat beading on my forehead. This time I modeled a cross-leak between the hot and cold loops—my leading theory during the incident. My fingers moved faster now, more familiar with the interface’s quirks. Thirty minutes later, I stared at results that might as well have been a signed confession of my incompetence. The cross-leak simulation showed completely different behavior than what we’d experienced during reentry.

I spent the remaining time trying a final simulation—the template exactly as it came from the database, untouched and unmodified. It worked flawlessly, of course. This was just to make sure I wasn’t doing something wrong.

“Nothing yet, Fred?” Cirakari’s question felt like a judge asking for a final statement.

“No, I think I’ll need to do a physical inspection of the pipes and heatsink tank,” I said, grasping at the only straw left—time. The pipes would need hours to cool to safe inspection temperatures. Hours I could use to figure out how to explain that I might have nearly turned the Peregrina into a very expensive shooting star.

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“Can you do it now?”

“No, I will have to wait for the piping to cool down.”

“Ok, let’s meet the surface then.”

✹✸✶✸✹

The Peregrina’s airlock had always been a tight squeeze, but experiencing it under gravity was a special kind of torture. Imagine trying to thread yourself through a pipe barely wider than your shoulders while someone’s sitting on your chest—that’s about half as uncomfortable as it actually was. “I was expecting a more romantic way to meet a new world,” I thought, trying to ignore how my knees protested every movement.

The landing tower’s interior greeted me on the other side, mercifully empty except for the crew.

“Graceful as a duck,” Gulliver quipped with grin visible even in the tower’s dim lighting.

“Very funny, making fun of the elderly,” I shot back, accepting his offered hand up with a gentle shove to his shoulder. “Speaking of which, do you actually have ducks here?”

“Yeah, we do. I mean, I don’t know about Zhynka, but the Great Lakes definitely have them,” he said, steadying me as I found my balance.

Tài’s eyes lit up with that familiar enthusiasm he got whenever he could share technical knowledge. “Zhynka is considered an engineering marvel, you know? Like most cities in the terminator zone, Zhynka was one of the first to be built.”

“Really? What’s so special about it?” I asked, genuinely curious as we gathered our gear.

“It was built with Overseer’s technology,” he explained. “The historical structures are made of a graphene matrix with added tantalum-titanium alloy. They were constructed by robots just a few years before the first colonists arrived.”

“You haven’t been able to replicate this material?”

“Yes, it’s not really my expertise, but I know it takes a lot of machinery and money to make it nowadays.”

Gulliver raised his eyebrows, wagging his finger in that insufferably knowing way of his. “We’d take hundreds of years to produce what the Overseers used in a single city.”

“Don’t exaggerate, Gulliver,” Tài protested. “It would be a few decades, not centuries.”

“Folks, enough of this topic,” Cirakari cut in. “Shall we?”

My heart rate picked up as we approached the exit. All those years on the Genesis, I’d imagined needing pressure suits and breathing apparatus to step onto Vielovento’s surface. Instead, the Overseers’ engineered plankton and cyanobacteria had transformed the atmosphere, turning the carbon dioxide into oxygen. The green lakes Gulliver had described were living proof of their success.

The door opened, and I took a deep breath, ready for my first taste of alien air. What I got instead was a face full of sand-laden wind that felt like being punched by the last airbender. The micro-particles stung against my exposed skin as I squinted through the assault. My crew mates’ laughter echoed off the tower walls, adding insult to literal injury.

“What’s happening?” I managed to sputter.

“Welcome to Vielovento,” Gulliver wheezed between laughs.

“You didn’t know about our iconic wind gusts?” Cirakari added, not even trying to hide her amusement.

“Yes, but for some reason I thought it wouldn’t be this bad,” I grumbled. The science was basic enough—everyone on Genesis knew about it. TRAPPIST-1 F’s tidal locking created a permanent hot side and cold side, driving massive air currents in an endless cycle. Hot air rose on the day side, creating low pressure that pulled cold air from the night side. Simple physics, much less simple to experience firsthand.

I fumbled for my protective glasses and covered my face with my hands, finally able to take in the view properly. We stood at the hill’s crown, and below us, Zhynka spread out like a bioluminescent creature. Streets traced patterns like glowing veins through the valley, connecting buildings that looked more grown than built. Their aerodynamic shaped organic curves caught the wind, turning what could have been brutal force into gentle whispers around their faces. Above it all, the aurora painted the sky in sheets of ethereal green adorned with the twinkling stars in the twilight. The sight knocked the breath from my lungs more effectively than any wind gust.

We followed the external staircase to the tower’s hangar, taking shelter from the elements. Its vast space carried its own presence. Our footsteps echoed off the walls in an arrhythmic percussion, the ceiling so high above that the sound seemed to get lost before returning. The entrance matched the Peregrina in height—clearly designed for vessels rather than people. We settled into what passed for a waiting area: five mismatched chairs that looked like they’d been salvaged from five different offices, arranged around a table that had seen better decades.

When the Hammerstar representatives appeared at the far end of the hangar, the space created an almost comical moment. The distance was just right to force eye contact while being far too far for comfortable interaction.

“Damn... I’ll have to meet them halfway,” Cirakari muttered, straightening her uniform with a resigned sigh.