The beetles have been a priority for me. I want them ready for launch at a moment’s notice. Just in case there’s a catastrophic problem with the Hail Mary. But I don’t want to send them off if there isn’t a mission-critical problem. The closer we are to Earth when they launch, the better their odds of making it there safely.

In addition to installing the mini-farms, I also have to refuel the little buggers. I’d used almost half their fuel supply when they served as ad-hoc engines for the Hail Mary. But they only need 60 kilograms of Astrophage each to be full. Barely a drop in the bucket compared to my supply of imported, Eridian-made Astrophage.

The hardest part is opening the beetle’s little fuel bay. Like everything else around here, it wasn’t intended for reuse. It’s like adding fresh butane to a Bic lighter. It’s just not meant for that. It’s completely sealed. I have to clamp it into the mill and use a 6-millimeter bit to get in… it’s a whole big thing. But I’m getting good at it.

I finished John and Paul yesterday. Today I’m working on Ringo and, time permitting, George. George will be the easiest. I don’t need to refuel him—I never used him as an engine. I just have to attach the mini-farm.

Figuring out where to put the mini-farm was another matter. Even with its small size, it’s too big to fit inside the little probe. So I epoxy it to the undercarriage. Then I spot-weld a small counterweight to the top of the beetle. The computer inside has very strong opinions about where the center of mass of the probe is. It’s easier to add a counterweight than completely reprogram a guidance system.

Which brings us to the matter of weight.

The additional weight of the farm makes the beetles weigh a kilogram more than they should. That’s okay. I remember countless meetings with Steve Hatch discussing the design. He’s a weird little guy, but he’s a heck of a rocket scientist. The beetles know their location in space by looking at the stars, and if they have less fuel than they expected to have, they taper their acceleration down as needed.

In short: They’ll get home. It’ll just take a little longer. I ran the numbers and it’s a trivial difference in Earth time. Though the beetles will experience several additional months during the trip than the original plan.

I go to the supply cabinet and pull out the BOCOA (big ol’ container of Astrophage). It’s a lightproof metal bin with wheels. There are several hundred kilograms of Astrophage in there and I’m in 1.5 g’s of gravity. That’s why I added the wheels. You’d be amazed what you can do with a machine shop and a firm desire not to drag heavy stuff around.

I hold the handle with a towel because it’s so hot. I wheel it over to the lab table, settle into the chair, and get ready for the methodical refueling process. I get the plastic syringe at the ready. With it, I can squirt 100 milliliters of Astrophage into that 6-millimeter hole per shot. That’s about 600 grams. All told, I have to do it about two hundred times per beetle.