"David Brin - Tank Farm Dynamo" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brin David)

The main purpose of the design is simply to keep the tanks from falling. The two massive
ends of the Farm act like a dipole in the gradient of the Earth's gravitational field, so each
deck winds up orbiting edge-forward, like a flat plate skimming. This reduces the drag caused
by the upper fringes of the atmosphere, extending our orbital lifetime.
The scheme is simple, neat, and it works. Of course the arrangement doesn't prevent all
orbital decay. It takes a little thrust from our aluminum engines, from time to time, to make up
the difference.
Since our center of mass is traveling in a circular orbit, the lower deck has to move much
slower than it "should" to remain at its height. The tethers keep it suspended, as it were.
The upper deck, in turn, is dragged along faster than it would normally go, at its height. It
would fly away into a high ellipse if the cables ever let go.
That's why we feel a small artificial gravity at each end, directed away from the center of
mass. It creates the ponds in my garden, and helps prevent the body decay of pure
weightlessness.

When I entered the darkened control chamber, I moved quietly behind the chief flight
controller and watched. The controller's main screen showed the interdeck elevator stopped
about three klicks above B Deck. The reason for its delay came into view in a few moments: a
small delta-wing whose white tiles shone against the starfield. I stood in the shadows and
listened as our operators conversed with the shuttle pilot.
"Pacifica, this is A for Arnold Deck control. You are cleared for orbit intersection. In a
minute we'll transfer you to B for Brown, for final approach. Extend your landing gear now."
 "Roger, Arnold Deck. Pacifica, ready for landing."
The orbiter drifted toward B Deck. On the controller's screen I could see 's
landing gear deploy in the deep black of space.

The inner face of B Deck was covered with a flat surface of aluminum plates, surrounded
by a low fence of soft nylon mesh.
Pacifica was at the highest point of her elliptical orbit. Her velocity would, for a few
minutes at apogee, be virtually the same as B Deck's, allowing a gentle approach and contact.
(A few purists still refused to call the docking a "landing.") The shuttle gave off small puffs of
reaction gas to align her approach.
It was a beautiful technique, and the unargued greatest asset of the Tank Farm. When
Pacifica was secured to B Deck, she would be carried along in the Farm's unconventional
circular orbit until it was time for her to go. Then Pacifica would simply be pushed over the
edge of B Deck, to fall toward the Earth again, finishing her original ellipse.
I looked at the screen showing the underbelly of B Deck. A great net of nylon hung below
the plain of cylinders. Within, like a caterpillar trapped in a web, was Pacifica's ET, the
external tank that had powered her into orbit, sent ahead and snagged on a previous pass.
So the bad news boys had brought one of the magic eggs with them. I hoped it was a
good omen, though it was probably just a coincidence of scheduling.
Until a year ago most of the orbiters visiting the Farm also delivered their external tanks,
along with several tons of residual hydrogen and oxygen propellants in each. Then a new
administration started reneging, stockpiling ETs at the Space Stations instead, and denying us
our allotment. The Foundation took them to court, of course, and forced a delivery rate of at
least ten ETs a year.
The new administration didn't like losing face. Now they'd found a way to get even. Our
contract said they had to sell us the tanks, but it said nothing about the water.
"Um, Dr. Rutter, could I speak with you for a minute?"
I turned to see an earnest-looking, black-haired young woman. She clutched a roll of strip
charts. Emily Testa was a very promising new member of the Farm, sent up by the Italians,

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