Today, many people know my name, and I owe this to the orbital station, to which this story will be dedicated. This story is the story of my life. I decided to tell it to the world in order to leave it for future generations to judge.
Perhaps there will be those who will condemn me or, on the contrary, exalt me. It's not that important to me. I just want to say at the very beginning of my story that if I had a second life, I would have lived it the same way. Wouldn't have changed anything. But enough of the intrigue, let's get down to business.
I was born in 2052 in an unremarkable provincial town. I went to school – just like everyone else. Only (I don't know if it will seem like vanity) Since childhood, I was sure that I would be directly involved in some great event. This thought crashed into my consciousness, never left me, and, as it turned out later, she did not deceive me.
I was attracted to flying machines from a young age, and I felt a special affection for airplanes. Therefore, after graduating from school, I decided to study to become an aircraft designer. It was then that I met my first mentor, Alexey Ivanovich. He was a doctor of technical sciences, and the object of his study was mainly spacecraft. He interested me in the idea of creating a space station where people can live permanently without being exposed to the harmful effects of weightlessness on the body, such as: vision impairment, bone loss, muscle atrophy, heart failure. The only real way to achieve this goal could be to simulate the Earth's gravity in outer space.
The question of gravity was the cornerstone of all my scientific research in my younger years. I have advanced so far in this field that at the age of 24 I received an invitation to join a working group of designers and scientists created at the World Space Agency (WCA) and closely engaged in the development of a project for the construction of an orbital space station with an artificial gravity system on board.
I agreed to work on the project. I remember how, among others, Alexey Ivanovich saw me off at the airport building. This was our last conversation with him, and I still clearly remember the parting words he gave me at parting: "If someday we lose the natural gravity of the earth not by our own will, but forced - it will most likely mean only one thing for human civilization – death." How terribly ironic this phrase seemed to me then, because in order to live freely in space, we must not just be content with the favorable conditions of the gravitational field in terrestrial conditions, but also try to transfer them with us to where we are destined to go.
So, I've been seriously designing a new space station for several months, I almost lost sleep, I was filled with this idea. But every time it seemed to me that I was already so close to the goal, it slipped away from me, and a new, seemingly insurmountable obstacle arose in front of me. We had more than a lot of problems: there were not enough talented engineers; the work of the working group was more like fierce competition than well-coordinated interaction; funding was cut catastrophically; from all sides, new management requirements were raining down on us, which it was impossible to fulfill in a timely manner without "going off the rails" from the amount of work.
That year was very difficult for me, my cherished dream crumbled to dust before my eyes, and I could not prevent it in any way. But it was during that ill-fated period that I met an absolutely amazing person who, without exaggeration, resurrected the "dying project". At the first meeting, he asked to call himself just Mike. We were almost the same age, got close and became best friends. Mike was still a young man at that time, but quite a successful man. He was seriously passionate about robotics, already had his own company, and for reasons that were not entirely clear to me at the time, he wanted to invest a lot of money in a group of new generation scientists and in their "unpromising project".
Many made assumptions about why he needed it. They claimed that in this way he skillfully conducted some kind of marketing campaign, attracting public attention to himself and his technical products, and sometimes even called him a "ridiculous adventurer." I hope Mike will forgive me, but at first my opinion of him was based on about the same suspicions. Exactly until one day, during a conversation, I saw how touching and at the same time greedily he looked up at the night starry sky. He was constantly interested in technical innovations, me, my work and, generally speaking, he was always interested in people. He knew everyone with whom he worked, by name, provided all possible assistance. Soon I figured out the secret of his incredible success, which consisted in the fact that this man was not at all interested in material gain, was not interested in power, which is why both flocked to his hands, and people trusted him very much.
Having joined the work, Mike took up financial issues, and offered me to lead the organizational work. My appointment as a team leader was the main condition for his joining the project. After all the necessary documents were signed, we started working almost from scratch. We were looking for the best engineers, test pilots and medics around the world. Eventually we found them. As soon as they were enrolled in the staff, I tried to make sure that each of them clearly knew their current task, while not interfering with the work of others. I suggested holding weekly meetings at which any employee could express suggestions and ideas for improving the construction process of the station, personally studied the reports, made adjustments, selected the best options for innovations, and then tried to bring them to practical application.
It's time to start describing the technical characteristics. To create an artificial gravity force, we chose a station in the form of a wheel, which, rotating, was supposed to attract those inside to its side walls (like a spinning carousel). Initially, we understood that the station in diameter should be large enough to avoid the effect in which gravity for the legs and head of a conditional astronaut would be very different, making it difficult for him to move. It was decided to build a station with a diameter of 520 meters and a width of 50 meters, putting it into orbit 400 km above the Earth in parts. Having tested the pilots on all available centrifuges, the doctors came to the conclusion that when the station rotates at a speed of 2 revolutions per minute, the crew will practically not feel discomfort or dizziness, but already at 3 rpm, some of the subjects had a non-critical malfunction of the vestibular apparatus. The optimal option was rotation at a speed of about 2.5 rpm in order to create a gravity at the station close to the earth (equal to 1 g).
The issue of assembling the parts of the station into a single whole was acute. It was impossible to assemble it on Earth, since even the most powerful rockets would not be able to put it into orbit entirely. After consulting with Mike, we made a bet on the assembly in space. Superheavy launch vehicles delivered modules to near-Earth orbit in disassembled form, which were connected there with the help of autonomous robots specially created for this task, developed and provided by Mike's company.
A total of 24 modules (each 58 meters long) were provided at the station. Of these: 14 residential modules; 8 working modules; 2 modules designed to accommodate space telescopes. The crew members, who numbered 12 thousand people, were selected mainly from employees of the rocket and space industry, pilots and budding scientists. They were sent to the station by orbiting ships-rocket planes of a new generation, launched into orbit by superheavy launch vehicles. This complex was named "Storm", similar to the name of the Soviet spacecraft "Buran", which inspired us to create a new improved version of rocket planes. They docked to the station, had access to the modules and were essentially "lifeboats" for evacuation in case of emergencies. Cargo was delivered to the station by Courier spacecraft, for docking and repair of which a special "docking dock" was provided in the hub of the station wheel. They were also put into orbit by superheavy launch vehicles. Then all the cargo was transferred to the modules using 4 space elevators.
The power supply of the station was provided by 32 large solar panels attached to the elevator shafts and the inner walls of the wheel. The main materials used for the construction of the station are various aluminum alloys and steel. Thermal insulation of several layers of steel foil was provided in high-risk areas.
To increase the structural strength of elevator shafts, as well as corridors and compartments connecting modules to each other, they were covered with various configurations of Whipple shields used to protect objects from collisions at ultra-high speeds. We used shields consisting of several screens (layers). Falling into the first layer of the shield, a meteorite or a particle of space debris would lose some of its energy and disintegrate into small fragments, which, in turn, would be restrained by the next layer. The space between the layers was filled with aerogel.
I insisted on developing a strictly observed safety regime at the station, which, in particular, included the tightness of all closing compartments. This meant that two doors could not be opened on board at the same time. Elevators delivered goods to the corridors connecting the modules, alternately, and not synchronously. It was impossible to enter or exit any of the modules if another one was open at the same time. The same rule applied to the sealed compartments located between each two modules and leading to the rocket planes. From each module, thanks to the corresponding sensors built into their housings, it was possible to monitor the opening and closing of all doors at the station around the clock.

Among other things, 4 atmospheric airlocks were provided for spacewalking (in order to repair equipment and conduct scientific experiments). The spacesuits were located in the sealed intermodule compartments described above. Handrails were attached to the entire outer surface of the station to move crew members going into outer space.
I must say that our work was funded quite modestly for such a large structure. The World Space Agency was engaged in this from the moment we completed all the necessary initial studies, for which Mike spared no expense, and when we started the practical implementation of the project. To reduce costs, I proposed to make the interior of the living compartments 90% consisting of inflatable and light folding items, and workers – 60%. With the subsequent gradual replacement of them with better ones. This implemented proposal has closed a giant hole in our budget.
In the six years of work that was constantly becoming more complicated from 2081 to 2087, from the moment the first parts of the station were sent into orbit to the completion of construction, the entire team, in my not unreasonable opinion, aged a total of almost a quarter of a century. Many even showed gray hair. But they did it. The first crews began to arrive at the station, and we all began to think about the official name, which has not yet been assigned to it. After discussing this issue and coming to the conclusion that the name of the station should describe every person who worked on its creation, everyone unanimously settled on the word "dreamer". While celebrating the beginning of a new space age on Earth and releasing T-shirts with the image of our "brainchild", I was in one of its modules, which reminded me of a "passageway" and was by definition a command post.
I arrived on the Dreamer together with the very first crew as a chief engineer and part-time commander. I was chosen for these positions because I knew the equipment and all the people who became the first settlers very well. Each of them had direct access to my compartment. Of course, I was only worried about the most important issues, but there was still a lot of work.
I spent nine months a year at the station, and then returned to Earth, leaving a deputy in my place, and for three months I submitted reports to the World Space Agency, discussed new and new improvements, and attended scientific events. However, even despite such a busy schedule, due to my usual overabundance of energy, I began to get bored on Earth.
I was quickly found an additional job. An International space School for children was being opened at the space agency, and authoritative teachers were needed there. Mike and I were invited to teach at this school: him for the whole year, and me only for the summer period, just when I was returning from the station. To tell the truth, I was expecting a more specialized activity in our case, and this offer almost disappointed me. Mike also didn't seem to feel much elation. The fact is that in those years he was heavily loaded with various kinds of cases, and we were both frankly afraid of children. But to refuse to teach the new generation what we knew ourselves and what we could pass on to them seemed to us not the most worthy act, and we accepted the invitation. Many years later, both Mike and I thanked fate for this strange turn in life.
The school was opened in 2089, and initially it had about 200 students – boys and girls aged 6 to 15 years. In addition to the usual school curriculum for that time, they studied aircraft devices, advanced physics and mathematics, and in high school – space law. Since I could not attend the lessons all the time, I was mostly engaged in their additional education. I took my children to airfields, to museums; I went with them to competitions, lectures and other space-related events in different countries around the world. By that time, I was already a professional in communicating with the administration at all levels and used this quality to create the best conditions and the widest possible opportunities for my students.
Gradually, I really liked the new job, and Mike and I began to notice particularly talented children. One of them is Willie. He has always been distinguished by extraordinary vivacity and curiosity. I liked that he never stopped at the successes he achieved and at the same time did not allow himself to be proud of them, and we, in turn, felt that with age these qualities would only strengthen in him. The second outstanding child is Anya. She always reminded me of myself in some way as a child. She was distinguished by a huge thirst for knowledge and corresponding ambitions, which I tried to direct in the right direction.
After one of my usual nine-month absences from school, I found a new boy of about nine years old there. I remember as soon as I arrived from the cosmodrome, I was walking along a quiet corridor (the children were in class) and saw him sitting on the windowsill. To say that it was quite unusual is to say nothing. None of our students missed lessons, and it took me a while to figure out what was going on.
I must admit, he immediately interested me. It was already evening, he was looking out the dark window, and for some reason I distinctly remembered Mike's look, looking at the night sky in his youth. I then thought: "A small child can't look like an adult like that." I went over and asked his name. He replied that his name was Tommy. We had a conversation with him:
– Why are you sitting here? Are you supposed to have a lesson right now? I asked.
– I have math right now, – a childish resentment was depicted on his face.
– Why aren't you in class? Don't you like math?
– I like it.
– Then I don't understand anything. If you like it, but you left, there must be a good reason for this.
– I did the task... correctly. And wrote the correct answer. And the teacher told me that these tasks are not being done this way, and I have to redo everything.
– And what? I asked. – Did you redo it?
— no. Because I wrote everything PERFECTLY.
I brought him back to class and asked him to look at that assignment and the answer he gave. It turned out that there was some nonsense with geometric shapes, something like various statements similar to: "All sides of a square are equal." The children were offered 5 similar statements, 3 of which were inherently incorrect. The task read: "Delete 3 incorrect statements." Tommy, without thinking for a long time, crossed out all five and moved on to the next task. And then, in response to the teacher's attacks, he simply left the classroom.
When I asked why he crossed out everything, he said, "Of those five, three were definitely wrong. That's what the assignment says. I did everything right." His serious disapproving look seemed to be fair, because all the necessary statements were really crossed out, as the task required. At that moment, I thought that this child was just a misunderstood genius, so I asked the teacher to be more lenient with him in the future.
When I met Mike, I asked where this boy came from. And at the same time told about what happened. Mike just burst out laughing and said to me like this: "This is the son of my good friends. I promised that he would study at this school. The guy is actually very capable, but he has a problem with his behavior. Listen, take him to your class, I think you can get him to talk. He is silent all the time, watches everyone, doesn't want to know any rules. As if he fell from another planet, you and I will need such."
I managed the work at the station for 10 years and constantly attracted talented young people who were obsessed with their work there. Often, young people took a completely new look at the problems that put us, experienced specialists, in an insurmountable impasse. Therefore, I always brought them up to date, set them the most difficult tasks and took into account all the recommendations they developed. However, I began to worry that over time, more and more wealthy older people began to appear at the station. They did not conduct research, did not try to learn something new about the world, and in general they were not interested in space as such at all.
The fact is that shortly before that, the World Space Agency made a decision to strengthen the development of space tourism with the help of people whose companies cooperated with it, were interested in activities of this kind and lobbied their interests through various bodies and groups of the VKA. The heads of these companies, by agreement with the agency, rented fully or partially one of the space modules for a certain period, and then the jaded rich people who were looking for new sensations and paying good money for this pleasure settled in them. Of course, along with the new contingent, a lot of entertainment of all kinds appeared on the Dreamer: from bowling to slot machines. It has also become difficult to work at the station thanks to a new duty that has fallen on my head. All tourists had to be provided with the opportunity to go into outer space "for a walk", if they so wished. Naturally, there was no end of those who wanted, and repair teams had to line up for months in order to carry out the necessary work outside. I contacted the Earth, cursed with everyone, wrote complaints and did not try to hide my irritation. But despite all of the above, the number of people actually working at the station has more than halved. My patience snapped when all the requirements and safety regulations were no longer observed. The space Agency refused to give me strict powers to restore order, and then I flew to Earth.
On my initiative, an extraordinary meeting of the Main Council of the VKA was convened. I made a proposal on it. Perhaps I was too harsh that day, but I was really very worried about what was happening, and I could not indifferently close my eyes to it. In the end, the meeting did not pass without a trace for me, so I quote here an excerpt from its transcript:

Transcript of the extraordinary meeting of the Main Council of the World Space Agency, November 4, 2097 (excerpt)

– Hello, dear members of the Council. Yesterday I returned from the Dreamer space station. It was an emergency return. Because, in my opinion, every second counts today. My suggestion is to immediately deprive those who violate safety regulations of the right to stay at the station, since over the past year this has become just a fundamental problem that calls into question its continued existence.
– We have already received your reports on this issue. After consulting, we came to the conclusion that you are seriously demonizing the space business and space tourism in general.
– I can't call it a business, because I personally know business representatives who do important and necessary work for all mankind. And I simply will not allow it to be equated with what I am observing now in space.
– Let me clarify, do you consider it an unworthy occupation that was approved by the World Space Agency as methods for developing comfortable living conditions in space?
– Let me ask you a question, too. Have you ever heard such names as Konstantin Eduardovich Tsiolkovsky, Sergey Pavlovich Korolev, Yuri Alekseevich Gagarin, Alexey Arkhipovich Leonov, Neil Alden Armstrong?
– Are you giving us a school history lesson? Of course, everyone sitting here is aware of who these people were.
"It's not really about who they are. I think it would be an insult to their memory to build the greatest structure in human history in near-Earth orbit and turn it into a "second-rate entertainment establishment" that brings in a lot of money.

They wrote that I was rude at the meeting. But even if I had the chance, I wouldn't change a single word of mine then.
The Council came to the conclusion that it is necessary to create a special commission that will assess the actual condition of the station and make a final decision on the problem. I knew that the commission was being convened to divert my eyes, and I returned to space, already subconsciously realizing that I was doing this for the last time. I was flying with a grown-up 16-year-old Tommy. He was really smart beyond his years: he mastered the sciences one after another; built models of rockets; even before my eyes he eliminated breakdowns of flying equipment. And he also caught fire with the idea of creating a spacecraft with artificial gravity, designed for long-distance space flights. Mike helped him make a project out of this idea, which subsequently interested everyone around and became very promising. And in order for the young pilot-engineer to gain practical experience, he was sent to the station with me.
On the second day of my stay on the Dreamer, I found him working with a telescope. He was very sad, and when I looked into his eyes, which usually reflected the keenest interest in everything around, I saw disappointment in them.
I understood that he expected to find there something more than a spinning space wheel, packed with VIP rooms and party bars for influential guests. But I couldn't offer him anything else, because it wasn't in my power. And how I suffered because of this, and how ashamed I was in front of him for not being able to save the station for him in the form in which I once knew it.
Very perceptive by nature, Tommy, it was noticeable, understood my feeling. The disappointment left his face, he smiled, leaned over my ear and whispered: "And how did you tell them everything on Earth! I would have done the same." A couple of weeks later, I flew back to Earth with the commission, leaving Tommy at the station. The Commission supported the decision of the Main Council, not considering safety violations critical. I, in turn, stated that in this case I could no longer hold my position, from which I was soon released. The command on the "Dreamer" was replaced in full force.
Now I was only concerned with school and children. And, to tell the truth, I was glad of it. It's a strange thing, but the commitment that I once took upon myself with ill-concealed reluctance became for me the only outlet from the battles that I fought at the station and in the official offices on Earth. Only sometimes I had to wonder what would happen to the Dreamer, with all the people on board, if an unforeseen situation happened. I tried to drive these thoughts away from myself until one night I was called to the Control Center for a consultation.
I didn't know exactly what had happened. It turned out that one of the residential modules was almost half destroyed by a metal object that crashed into it, apparently – a particle of space debris. I was informed that the new station chief and ground services did not risk interrupting the usual daily routine of the population of the "Dreamer" because of a very unlikely threat. The metal fragment was actually small, and the exact trajectory of its flight relative to the station could not be calculated. No one expected that he would fly straight into the porthole of one of the modules at ultra-high speed and depressurize it. However, they knew about the danger in advance, but did not pay due attention to it. I blessed life a thousand times for Tommy being there that day. After seeing a warning about a possible danger in the command module, where he was on some business, and realizing that his commander was not going to do anything, he took the initiative and offered to evacuate people to rocket planes. His proposal was met with little enthusiasm. The story somehow strikingly reminded me of the death of the Titanic: the same irresponsibility, pride and disregard for everything. Tommy never obeyed anyone's rules, and the rules I set were no exception for him. But only everything that at least indirectly related to the question of people's lives was of paramount importance to him. He himself went through all the compartments and convinced others to move to the rocket planes. I don't know how he managed it, but he turned out to be an excellent commander. Then he closed all the doors at the station, switched to the rocket plane himself, and at the same time the same module broke apart. After making sure that all the other segments of the Dreamer were intact, he contacted the Control Center and reported that the entire crew was alive.
We received this news just at the moment when I had already mentally buried them all and did not understand how I would continue to live with it.
Tommy became famous after that incident, many became even more interested in the project of his ship. And I was just grateful to him for not allowing my life's work to be turned into a flying cemetery. And not just mine.
The question of changing the management of the station arose again. Only then did I realize how quickly my first students grew up, and the love invested in them returned to me a hundredfold. Anna Sokolova was appointed the new chief engineer and commander on the Dreamer. The same Anya who reminded me so much of me, as it can be seen – for a reason.
A few months later, one of the members of the Main Council of the World Space Agency, William Mayer (my second favorite student), submitted for consideration a proposal to reduce the number of tourist modules on the Dreamer space station to seven and transfer the rest to scientists for research purposes. The offer was accepted. I think Willie's persistence played an important role in this.
The year 2100 will come very soon. It will be marked by the departure of a new spacecraft with artificial gravity on board outside the Solar System. A lot of people will fly on it, including my daughter. And their commander is Tommy. Today he is known to the general public as Thomas Drake. During the construction of the ship, the technology used in the creation of the Dreamer space station was partially used, improved and supplemented. The ship was named "The Beginning". I hope that this is really just the beginning of the space age of mankind, and I also hope that all these people will come home to tell their own story, which I will listen to just as you listen to mine.
In conclusion, I want to say that I am grateful to all the people who have passed my difficult but interesting life path with me. Yet the main thing in this story is exactly them. The destroyed metal module can be replaced with another one of the same. Good people cannot be replaced. Everyone I mentioned was irreplaceable: my teacher, my friend, my students. Without them, this story would not exist. They're all dreamers. But an even more important feature of them is, of course, humanity. None of them were willing to sacrifice this trait for anything. After all, in the end, it's not what we do that matters, but how we do it. And what qualities prevail in us at the same time. The twenty-first century was lucky to have high moral qualities. I hope the twenty-second will have no less luck…

Used literature

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