Beyond Kuiper: The Galactic Star Alliance

by Matthew Medney

  Bernard spoke softly. “Voyager 2 went offline fifteen seconds after CERN’s containment failure. That’s less time than it took light to travel that distance. But if they had something traveling faster than…”

  She threw up her hands. “Enough! You try floating FTL1 on top of aliens, you’ll be crucified.”

  He peered over his newly-shined glasses. “Sounds like you still care about me.”

  “Don’t you dare go there. OF COURSE I care. You don’t know the half of what I’ve done for you, Hue, or how far I’d be willing to go.”

  “I won’t stop, Angelika. I can’t live not knowing what happened to CERN. I can’t face Isaac with half-answers; I need to…” An idea hit him. “Those barriers you mentioned. What if I could get the mission crew to convince the world for us?”

  Raising an eyebrow, she headed for an ornate corner bar. Taking her time, pretending to admire the landscape, she uncorked a bottle of Riesling.

  Her tone became subtly patronizing. “How do you propose doing that, Hue?”

  “William,” he said, matter-of-factly. “They’d listen to William Hunt. Everyone does. He’s the modern-day Carl Sagan.”

  Field Medalist, part-time professor, full-time genius, his old schoolmate sat on more boards than a chess piece. His work was bleeding edge, whether in quantum programming or revolutionary advances in nanotech. Even more impossibly, it made math cool.

  Angelika returned to her chair. “You want to risk dragging him down too?”

  “Please. He’ll drag us up. He’s smart. He must know CERN wasn’t my doing.”

  “Then why has he remained quiet?”

  “Probably for the same reasons as you—to protect himself. But he’d know how unifying it would be for the people in those fields to reach the edge of known space. Humanity hasn’t done anything like it since the first moon landing.”

  “Public appeal does more for me than ethical obligations.”

  “I don’t give a queefing quark about the masses. I’m talking about restoring a sense of purpose to the species.”

  “…and to you.” Angelika added wryly.

  He smirked. “You underestimate two things: pride and human ambition.”

  Rather than dissuade him, Angelika’s eye-roll only gave Bernard a second wind. The roaring fire crackled in sync with his rising cadence. “Space has always had a polarizing effect: love at seeing the curve of the earth, panic at the realization we’re suspended in a cold, dark void. Either way, it’s always been beautifully revealing. Who wants to be that person who, when asked, said no and then spent forever wondering why?”

  Her face remained blank. “There’s no financial incentive.”

  “There is. Alien tech.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are you actually trying to turn me into a stereotypical, sci-fi greedy CEO? Besides, you don’t know for certain that there is any.”

  “True, but I wouldn’t be going unless I was convinced there was.”

  She subtly shifted the subject. “Do you honestly think your crew will be so equally convinced, that they’d sacrificed thirty years of their lives to get there and back again?”

  “Five.”

  Surprised again, Angelika frowned. He could see her gears turning, practically hear her think: He couldn’t possibly, unless…

  “Yes, Angelika. We resurrected Phoenix Fires under a new name, Project Pegasus, and kept it secret, even from you.”

  “Don’t play with me, Bernard. You mean you and Simon crunched some numbers. Don’t think for a second I’m going to open O.L.’s propulsion program to you because you passed a paternity test.”

  Bernard balked. “I don’t need O.L.’s proprietary research. The design is complete. We’ve even run a successful field test. The ship can be built. I just need the resources.”

  She pushed her chair, stood and strode to the massive, curved windows. Her back was to him, her arms folded across her breasts. Beyond the silent, silver ribbons of the glacial-melt waterfall, snow-capped peaks ringed the horizon.

  She was back in control, nigh impossible to read. Even as a wild teenager, it wasn’t possible to tell when she was powerfully emotional or deadly serene. He had no idea what she would say.

  “I want the fusion drive, Bernard.”

  When she faced him, they exchanged cold stares.

  “Even for what I ask, handing you the future of spaceflight seems a steep price, Ang.”

  He wondered if using her nickname went too far. He was the only one who ever called her Ang and lived to tell the tale. In a single, fluid motion, she glided back into her chair. Her silence bade him to continue.

  “Add to that, the hard work of everyone at CORE would be taken without giving them any recognition. Trillions for Outer Limits and an undying legacy for you.”

  “First, Bernard, my legacy doesn’t need your inventions to be immortal. Second, who do you think funded CORE to begin with? NASA?”

  He waited until she smirked before delivering his last surprise. “Are you referring to the forty-seven Swiss Bank and Kingdom of Deseret accounts? The ones that distributed funds through 267 proxy servers with 256 bit encryption, then masked them as randomized private charitable donations for the past five years?”

  To her credit, this time, Angelika relegated her shock to the sort of facial expression one gets when a trapdoor opens beneath their feet.

  Bernard put on his own smirk and wore it well. “Think I didn’t know? Having lost your two best scientists, you needed an ace in the hole—even if it meant funding another company.”

  She forced herself back to detachment, though now it was clearly feigned. “How?”

  Everything on the table, Bernard felt a wellspring of repressed emotions.

  “The best astrophysicist and engineer in the world doesn’t simply vanish because illiterate plebeians wish it. You should’ve watched my island of misfit toys more closely. It was easy to find disgruntled hackers who sympathized with my plight. You threw me under the bus to distance yourself from the accident. A professional decision I respect. Pointless to have us both fall, but admit it—you miss me, Ang—you miss my mind, my intelligence, my vision, and yes, my ego.”

  She countered with her own unfiltered truth. “Bernie, until a minute ago, I didn’t know why you changed flights with Darren. It was strange not knowing, especially after we’d been close, but 4,000 people died. It was under surveillance, my phones were tapped. All of OL was under a microscope. Even with my resources, there was no safe way to contact you. And you’d been sloppy with your secrets. If there’d been no explosion, sure, it would have gone unnoticed, but Searcher Jones found traces of the duplicate data packages you and Darren created. My choice was either burning you or pinning it all on Darren. That, I would never do. So, yes, I let you burn. With all the investigations and audits, Phoenix Fires was going to die anyway. But you’re quite correct, I knew I had to keep you and your research close, that I would somehow fund any facility you started, in secret. I’m sorry it came to this, but think about it. It was the only way to get us where we are today.”

  Where we are today. Bernard’s anger was blunted by the reminder of destiny. It did not, however, keep him from getting in the last word.

  “To be clear, then, you used CORE as your under-the-radar pet and six years later, after your betrayal, here I am, a good dog delivering as expected. Fine. I’ll give you the future. We’ll finish what we started with Darren. The dollar signs should blind your stakeholders enough to let me focus on finding out what really happened.”

  He realized he was standing, arms outstretched, sweat glistening on his forehead.

  Angelika slowly clapped her hands. “There’s the man I know: unbowed, unbent, unbroken. Good to see him again. I’m convinced, Bernard, not because I believe in the mission, because I believe in you. You’ll get your ship and crew. I already have a few in mind.”

  She raised her wine glass. Still flush with feeling, he did likewise.

  Angelika boomed; Bernard echo
ed, “For Darren.”

  1 FTL - Faster Than Light

  Being capable of moving at velocities greater than the speed of light. “We need ships with FTL capability to make the interstellar journey.”

  Six

  The Kepler Institute

  The sun was a cool, bright orb, barely noticeable over the eastern horizon. The chilly dawn was a fitting end to a hot, energetic summer that was already a distant memory to the students at the Kepler Institute for Enhanced Learning. Classes had been back in swing long before the high-sloped trees could turn yellow. Brisk winds accompanied the hurling1 and discblade meets, annual design project proposals past due.

  The singular learning haven had the architecture to match. Lofted spires of rock and glass were woven seamlessly into the mountainside. Impossible structures were hewn from the ridges: tall ponderosa pines covered in moss rose between a marvelous design matching the technological wonders it contained.

  Along a forest path between the library and Nanobot lab, a great grey owl perched motionlessly on a dead branch. It remained impassive as the gleam and blur of two tiny drones zipped by. One fired a practice laser, the second evaded the blast by changing into a metallic tree-swallow. Students walked beneath the owl, ran, hover-boarded, but it remained stock-still. Even leaves landing on its eyes yielded no response.

  Hours later, a teenage boy strolled into view awaking its attention. Isaac Hubert seemed typical for his age: lanky, untidy, lost in thought as Stravinsky’s Firebird Suite flowed from his tiny nano-earbuds. The final overture beginning, he stopped about ten meters from the owl to gaze at the trees. His first astrophysics exam was coming up as well as discblade practice, office hours with Professor Hunt, the secret weekend camping trip, and his impulse engine core was currently 3D printing in engineering. Oh—and had to submit his proposal for the Explorers’ Cup2.

  A green-eyed, dark-haired girl approaching, he paused the music with a seemingly magical finger-flex. At Kepler, science was often indistinguishable from magic. In this case, it was a palmer: a partially nanotech controller that hid by quickly orbiting his wrist. Voice commands were so 2049, not to mention impractical to use in class.

  They exchanged a secret handshake. “Hey, Chels. Why the covert meeting?”

  A monarch butterfly fluttering around her, Chelsea gave him an imploring look. “You know why. You’d think five years would bring closure, but every fall they re-up their hatred for you.”

  He retorted indignantly. “Reacting irrationally is why we nearly blew up the planet in the mid-twentieth century. My father’s purported actions should not—and do not—have any bearing on my work or sense of self. If some find it invigorating to focus their anger on a tangible target, so be it. They’re only holding themselves back.”

  “Right…” Chelsea said. It was the fifth time in five years he’d said exactly the same thing. “You should know Andy Dufranes tinkered with his lightsaber3 safeties. If he hits you at the next duel, instead of a 150 volt shock, you’ll get a nasty plasma burn. He’ll make it look like a core instability feedback loop built up the charge.”

  Unperturbed, Isaac watched the palmer shimmer around his wrist. “If he tries it, I’ll make him look like Anakin fighting Count Dooku for the first time.”

  Chelsea ignored the reference. “We’re still a go for Saturday. Matthew imbedded a thirty second window in the northeast proximity LIDAR4. With the all-day hurling tournament and the W.C. guest dinner at 19:00, no one should notice us gone.”

  Isaac adored tinkering; the lab was home, but camping, escaping to the wild far from the judgmental, was equally sublime. “They’d better not. It took four months to build the nanofiber tents. They’re under 2 lbs, Chels: waterproof yet breathable, they can withstand temperatures below freezing, winds to 120 km/h, and they support 40 cm of snowfall.”

  “Impressive, Tycho”

  He ignored the compliment. “Transportation set?”

  “Lydia’s borrowing two jetpacks from the field house. Their transponders were damaged and haven’t been repaired yet. I’ll have my hoverboard. You?”

  Isaac found the question mildly offensive. “My new body drone config, of course. The engine’s printing now.”

  Chelsea had seen him do wonders but still worried about the expectations he set for himself. “You’re actually planning to use that crazy attempt to recreate ancient comic book tech?” She gave him a playfully hard punch in the arm. “It’d better work, Tycho. Remember last time?

  Isaac rubbed his bicep. “It will.”

  Most likely. He was fully confident in his math, reasonably confident in the 3D printer’s accuracy, but only mildly confident he wouldn’t have to fight potential saboteurs, like Dufrane.

  “I’m infinitely more worried about Matthew getting his homework done. Did you see Dr. Robinson’s last assignment? Orgo might be as difficult for him as the 6th Cycles5 complain about.”

  “That’s some harsh academic judgement from the guy about to try for the Explorers’ Cup. Matthew will be fine. Have fun doing your thesis over midterms.”

  “Please. I’ve got this juggling act down to a…”

  The butterfly fluttering around Chelsea glowed blue. She put her hand out and it glided to her palm. “What is it, Nothra?”

  The butterfly opened its wings and projected a tiny holograph of their surroundings. A blinking red dot was about forty feet away.

  “Damn it, something’s broadcasting.” Chelsea hissed. “Take it out.”

  Its orange and black morphed into matted metal scales and it zipped away, wings locked. As if rocket-propelled, it swooped in growing, concentric circles, then split the air between two trees as it made for its target. The great grey owl lit from its perch, soaring across the glen. In hot pursuit, Nothra barrel-rolled through the owl’s wing like a molten razor severing it.

  With an unearthly screech, the owl dropped like a stone. A sharp, crunch accompanied its impact on the forest floor. Nothra morphed back to its natural hues and went back to fluttering, restoring the peace and silence.

  Isaac and Chelsea headed to the owl. Mute, it lay shattered, its former glory reduced to metal shards, synth feathers, and scattered tech. Fine carbon fiber bones and wiring protruding what remained of the body. It wasn’t completely silent; a slow, mechanical clicking came from within. The cracked glassy eyes had a subtle orange glow.

  Any technologically proficient student body would be rife with surveillance, hacking, and the appropriate countermeasures. Nearly as much R&D came out of Kepler dorms as O.L. 35% of 8th cycles already had job offers from them. If Isaac’s life had played as expected, he’d been one of them, like his father. Alas, that door was closed.

  “Nice job snuffing it,” Isaac said, “but why didn’t Nothra pick it up sooner?”

  “It wasn’t transmitting, just recording. Someone got impatient. Lucky us.”

  “That kills our camping plans,” Isaac said angrily. “You should broaden Nothra’s frequency range. It’s crucial we know when we’re being watched.”

  “I know! I’ll look into it!” Unwilling to take all the blame, she eyed him. “And where’s Albus? He would have detected that recording signal.”

  “Which is why he’s in the lab guarding the 3D printer.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “You should go. They’ll be coming for this.”

  She recognized the fiery look. “Dammit, Tycho, not again. You’re going to play right into their hands.”

  “Maybe, but I’ll enjoy it.”

  “Fine. Come find us after,” she said, walking backward. Northra following, she turned and jogged away.

  Her footsteps fading, Isaac put down his backpack and unzipped the main pouch. Pretending to look for something, he reached inside and listened carefully. Other than a woodpecker’s thrum, there was nothing audible to the human ear. Fortunately, his earpods had a nifty mod for such occasions. Another finger motion and a microphone array brought the forest alive with sound.

  Now he heard something—a whin
ing accompanied by a low hum. Sonar interpolation told him an object was blistering right at him from a hundred meters. In a fraction of a second, he calculated the approach vector: 5 o’clock!

  In a single motion, he drew his discblade6 from the backpack, jumped and rotated so that his arms swung down and around in time to deflect the projectile.

  With a sharp ping and thud, the rogue discblade buried itself in a tree trunk.

  Adrenaline pumping, he shouted at the woods. “If you want to play, all you have to do is ask!”

  Chuckling menacingly, three boys and two girls stepped into the glen and surrounded him. Naomi, a tall girl with copper skin and green eyes spoke first.

  “You really do think you’re better than the rest of us, don’t you?”

  Isaac smirked. “No, just smarter.”

  One boy spat. “Pretentious prick.”

  “Hey, Howard, at least I didn’t shift the bell curve eighteen points left in vibrations class.”

  He nodded proudly at the broken owl. “Yeah? At least I’m not stupid enough to talk in front of a drone.”

  “That feathered toy? Haven’t you ever heard of a buzzer? Or don’t they teach 1st cycles Spying 101 anymore?”

  Isaac’s taunts did nothing to diminish the victorious look on Howard’s pimply face. “We heard you buzzing about the Explorers’ Cup.”

  “Damn right. I’m going to use the grant to prototype a space elevator.”

  The five howled with laughter. One actually fell to the ground. Naomi wiped tears from her cheeks. “Oh, that’s rich. What’s next? A warp drive? A transporter? Last I looked it was 2091, not 2391. But don’t let that stop you. Clearly, you can’t distinguish science from science-fiction anyway.”

  The dour Brian stopped laughing to sneer. “Jesus, like father, like son. Always needing to be needed. You should step aside; this contest isn’t for people like you.”

  “But it is for someone like you?” Isaac scoffed. “So, you can be like your father and blow up your lab trying to build antimatter containment without a proper protocol, costing Iron Corp. billions? If you want to talk realistically, what would any of you do with the grant? Pioneer earth-shattering breakthroughs in the field of gossip? It’s the only thing you’re good at. None of you would even be here if your parents weren’t filthy rich.”