It went without saying that, in the long run, the Cloud Ark as a whole was going to have to be self-sustaining in terms of food production. Water would have to be recycled. Carbon dioxide exhaled by humans would have to be used to sustain plants, which would produce oxygen for the humans to breathe and food for them to eat. All of this had been the subject matter of science fiction stories and practical experiments for decades. Those experiments had produced mixed results that were now getting a lot of attention from people who understood such things a lot better than Dinah. But she gathered that she had better get used to a low-calorie vegetarian diet, and occasional oxygen shortages.
Isolated arklets wouldn’t survive for long. It didn’t matter how good their internal ecosystems were. Things would go wrong, people would get sick, supplies and nutrients would run low, and people would just plain go crazy from being cooped up with the same few individuals.
The design of the arklets, and of the whole Cloud Ark system, kept changing. One day it was all about being “fully distributed,” which meant that in the long run there was no central depot—no Izzy—and that all exchanges of material and “human resources” between arklets would happen through “opportunistic docking,” meaning that two arklets would agree to come together and connect nose-to-nose for a time so that food, water, vitamins, or people could be exchanged. This was envisioned as market driven, without any central command and control mechanism.
The next day a new edict would be handed down to the effect that overall coordination would be handled by a command center on Izzy. The space station would also serve as a central depot for anything that could be stockpiled. The torus—or tori, since Rhys was on track to construct a second one—would be available for rest and recreation; arklet dwellers going stir-crazy from living in tin cans and suffering loss of bone density from floating around in microgravity would be rotated through and allowed to vacation there.
The schemes envisioned by the Arkitects, as Dinah and Ivy started calling them, ping-ponged back and forth between those two extremes, and seemed to reflect the existence of at least two factions. The centralizing faction pointed to the dangers of prolonged zero-gee existence as a reason for rotating people through the torus. The decentralizers came back a couple of days later with a sketch of the so-called bolo scheme, wherein a pair of arklets would connect to each other with a long cable and then begin spinning around their common center of mass, creating simulated gravity in each arklet that was stronger and better than what could be achieved in a torus. A couple of days after that, the centralizers posted an animated simulation of what would happen when two bolos ran into each other and got their cables tangled. It was funny in a kind of slapstick-horror way.
None of this really mattered in the short term, because, even on a hysterically accelerated schedule, it was going to take weeks to design and manufacture even a single arklet. And it would take longer to ramp up the production lines for the giant heavy-lift rockets needed to boost them into space. What Izzy’s crew would be seeing in the meantime was a hodgepodge of preexisting spacecraft, mostly Soyuz capsules, being sent up using the existing stock of rockets. These would carry “Pioneers” whose job would be to build new extensions onto Izzy’s Integrated Truss Assembly: for docking many arklets at a time, for storing material, and for making it all run. The Pioneers would spend most of their time in space suits performing EVAs: extravehicular activities, a.k.a. space walks. There would be something like a hundred Pioneers all told. They were being trained now, and their space suits were being hastily manufactured.
But Izzy in her current form couldn’t support anything like a hundred new people. She didn’t even have the spacecraft docking ports needed to berth their vehicles when they arrived. So in order to accommodate the Pioneers who would begin arriving in a few weeks, the Arkitects sent up Scouts. The qualifications for being a Scout seemed to be a shocking level of physical endurance, a complete disregard for mortal danger, and some knowledge of how to exist in a space suit. All of them were Russian.
There wasn’t room for them on the space station. Actually, to be precise, there was plenty of physical space to accommodate them, but the support systems weren’t there. The CO2 scrubbers could only handle the output of so many lungs. The entire space station had only three toilets, one of which was almost twenty years old.
The Scouts were going to live most of the time in their space suits. This made sense as far as it went, since their mission was to work to exhaustion every day. Sixteen hours in a space suit meant sixteen hours that the Scout was not imposing a direct burden on Izzy’s life support systems.