If you're interested in future tech at all you will have come across stories about
mining asteroids. It has been a feature in SF stories over time. Linnea Sinclair's stories like
Rebels and Lovers and
Gabriel's Ghost talk about mining platforms, out in the long dark to mine floating rocks, and abandoned when the lode ran out, or other reasons.
I've had my turn, too. One of the arcs in my story
Starheart is about what happens at a mining platform orbiting a gas giant. Workers are employed to mine the moonlets - or asteroids - orbiting the planet. Think Saturn and you're about right.
As usual in my stories, there's a romance - but there's also a mystery surrounding this mining platform and what happens there. Here's an excerpt that goes with the image at the top of the post.
Santh shouldered his pack and joined the line of
brand new miners waiting to disembark onto the Tabora mining platform. He
scratched at his hair, now ridiculously short and almost black. They could have
hung him upside down and used him for a sander. He'd never forgive Brian. He'd
said short but he'd been cut so close he was almost bald.
The line
shuffled along, ten men aiming to earn a fortune and go home rich. The fellow
in front of him stood a whole head taller than him with shoulders to match,
while the one behind, about his height, was stick thin. All types, from all
over, all after a fortune. Once in the airlock, the pace picked up.
He stepped
out of the hatch and onto the platform, so like any other space station. Their
boots clanging on the floor, the men were herded out of the docking area and
into the platform itself, most gazing around them. He was probably one of the
few who'd actually been to this gods forsaken joint before, drab utilitarian
form-work disappearing into the distance above and below, covered with bad paintings
of various landscapes to hide the shabbiness.
A man
dressed in maroon Company uniform waited for the new arrivals.
"Are
we all here?" he said, smiling when they'd gathered around him.
Well, he
should know, shouldn't he? He went through the names, ticking them off on a
sheet. Santh almost forgot his adopted name was Jim Jonson.
"Welcome
to Tabora. My name's Mister Orlando," said smiling boy in the maroon suit.
"I'll show you your accommodation first, then I'll take you on an
orientation tour."
Santh
tramped along behind Orlando, who led them to a lift. The man was quite cute,
nice butt, but he had one of those smiles with too many teeth. The car zoomed
up eight levels, where they straggled out again into the accommodation block.
At least
they each had their own room. If you could call it that. Santh dumped his pack
on the bed. Standing here if he held out an arm and stretched a little he could
touch the wall on the other side of the bed and the other way he could touch
the closet door with his elbow bent. The shared ablutions block was down a
fenced-off walkway. They'd built the accommodation around one of the utility
cores, lots of vacant space punctuated with walkways and aerials. If you
peered, you could just pick the gray matt floor bottom maybe two hundred meters
down. Not a great place for anybody afraid of heights.
A man
emerged from the next cell, grimacing. "Not exactly the comforts of
home."
"Just
somewhere to sleep, I guess." Santh held out his hand. "I'm Jim. Jim
Jonson."
Dark eyes
lit up in a pale face. Santh's hand was grasped like a lifebuoy. "Ace. Ace
Connor. You been here before?"
"No,"
Santh said, easing his hand away. "You?"
"Me
neither."
Orlando
ordered everyone back into the lift and took them to an observation platform.
Eerie light flooded the room. The entire far wall appeared to be transparent,
giving an uninterrupted view of the gas giant Tabora. Rivers of red, orange,
brown and grey drifted together in whorls and swirls like oil on water. It was
almost romantic, a silent, perpetual dance, slow and stately.
"Looks
peaceful, doesn't it?" Orlando said. "The winds down there blow at
quarter of a million klicks per hour. But don't worry. If you ever get buffeted
by the wind, you'll have already been crushed to a pulp by the gravity, so you
won't notice."
He'd made
his point. Quite a few people sucked in an audible breath.
"For
any of you who didn't realize, this isn't a real window, by the way. It's a
giant screen showing you sensor data. Now, if you'll look carefully here,"
he pointed at a dark, ragged line barely visible against the planet's light.
"You'll see a ring. That's what we mine. Go out there, break up the
asteroids, bring them back in the hopper of your vehicle. They are fully
shielded, tough little buses specially designed for this environment so you'll
be quite safe if you follow the rules."
Starheart is the third of the Ptorix Empire series and is completely stand-alone. It's available everywhere.
Freighter Captain Jess Sondijk has her
life under control until the Confederacy’s Admiral Hudson boards her
ship in a search for contraband. Sondijk and Hudson have their own set
of questions.
For Jess, it’s a matter of her husband’s
perhaps not so accidental death. For Hudson, it’s that somebody’s
trading with the alien Ptorix – and offering them a large enough prize
to induce them to part with their beloved starhearts, the jewels they
call the windows of the soul.
While Jess’ interests are more personal —
abducted friends and family — Hudson’s are broader — the end of his
career at best and interspecies war at worst — in a deadly game of
political intrigue, murder, and greed.
Which will win, following hearts’ desires or chasing starhearts, with the stakes higher than either is willing to pay?
This book contains sex scenes and strong language.
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