Proxima Logfiles 1: Marchenko's Children: Hard Science Fiction

by Morris, Brandon Q.

  Eve was standing in front of one now. She pointed upward and Adam sighed. The spacing between the rungs was too big for humans. But it wasn’t worth converting an entire ship just on account of two guests. Adam started his way up. It was an ordeal, but at least it got more comfortable as they moved from floor to floor because of the decreasing gravity.

  “How much time have we got left?” he asked.

  “Ten minutes.”

  “I should have worked out more at home.”

  “And who kept telling you to?”

  * * *

  “Huh,” said Adam, closing the door behind him.

  The control room was hardly any larger than the living room and the two bedrooms of their bungalow combined. Eve embraced Marchenko, but Adam just shook his hand. He still seemed strange to him because of his new body. Or maybe it was that he was just too old for so much spontaneous warmth. Marchenko had been by his side almost non-stop for the first 18 years of his existence, but he’d been leading his own life for almost five years now.

  One wall of the control room was covered with flashing lights. Gronolf, who had just explained something to another Grosnop, was standing there. He turned to them. He took his colleague by the hand and pulled the Grosnop forward.

  “This is Murnaka,” he said. “My partner.”

  A female Grosnop. Adam still found it challenging to spot the differences right away. Of course, he couldn’t ask about them either. Apparently the sexual organs were located within the stomach fold. Murnaka was almost as tall as Gronolf. Her skin was a little glossier and was gray instead of green.

  “Do you have children?” asked Eve.

  “Not yet,” said Murnaka. “In order to have offspring, I have to remain on the beach on Double Sun from the point of laying the eggs to the hatching ritual. There hasn’t been any opportunity for that yet. But we’re sure to start a plex at some point.”

  “After this trip?”

  “We’ll see. Maybe we’ll find a planet that offers us good living conditions. It didn’t work on Proxima b.”

  This was probably also one reason why the only large spaceship was put at Marchenko’s disposal. Strictly speaking, there was a planet that offered advantageous conditions for their species—Earth. Yet it belonged to the humans, and it was to remain that way. Or not? Didn’t they owe much more to the Grosnops, their rescuers, than they did to humans?

  “I heard you joined in the last hatching ritual?” asked Murnaka.

  Hopefully, Eve wouldn’t take the opportunity to put her foot in her mouth.

  “Gronolf invited us along. It was very... interesting.”

  Murnaka surely already knew how Eve had reacted. But she didn’t let on.

  “I’m sure you found it shocking, right?” she asked. “For a long time, some of us have wanted to take a different approach, but at this point there’s no solution in sight.”

  Was she one of the rebels? During the trip, the opportunity would undoubtedly arise for them to speak in private.

  “I’d like to discuss our initial destination with you,” said Marchenko. “I must add that Gronolf is, of course, the captain of the ship. It’s very generous on his part to let us choose the destination.”

  “I think that you’re the best suited of all of us to plan our itinerary,” said Gronolf.

  Marchenko sat down at one of the consoles, and suddenly Adam heard music. Then he remembered the four-hand control. Each tone represented a key, though he only heard half of them because the rest were in the ultrasonic range. It grew dark, and there were small, colorful spheres that appeared around them.

  “You’ve already seen this visualization,” said Marchenko. “I revised it again to include the data Gronolf gave me. The Grosnops have identified one or two more of the exoplanets than we have.”

  “It seems the universe is teeming with life,” said Eve.

  “We don’t know that. Life as we know it would be possible on the worlds that are highlighted in green. The other planets could also be inhabited, just not by beings with a biology based on carbon and water. So we can virtually rule them out. The so-called Creator who launched us into space would never have chosen such worlds as destinations. He unquestionably wanted to get his way, but we can be sure he did not intend to send his emissaries to certain death.”

  “That still leaves far too many planets,” said Adam. “There’s no way we could visit them all.”

  “True. We should restrict ourselves to those that are closest to us. The greatest problem is the sheer travel time. We can accelerate the Majestic Draght up to more than 50 percent the speed of light, but if we don’t want to get crushed, this has to take place slowly, both when starting and when braking. I’ve discussed this with Gronolf. Based on our experience flying to Proxima b, it will take us a little more than two years to travel the distance of one light-year. From here, the closest system is Luhman 16.”

  Almost all the spheres went out, and the room was dark. Then one of the systems started to expand. Before their eyes it grew to the size of a tennis ball, then split. The green color turned into a smudgy brown. Soon two pumpkin-sized spheres were orbiting around each other.

  “Those are two brown dwarfs,” said Eve.

  Brown dwarfs are stars that have never gotten large enough for hydrogen fusion to ignite within.

  “I can’t imagine the Creator sent a ship there,” said Adam. “The habitable zone has got to be tiny. And we don’t know if there’s a planet there.”

  “Luhman 16 A is an L type brown dwarf, and 16 B is the T type. They’re not that cold at all. On 16 A, there are temperatures of two thousand degrees, and on 16 B, it gets up to thirteen hundred degrees.”

  “But a planet in a binary system is inherently more unstable than anywhere else.”

  “We’re in a binary system right now, and you’d acknowledge that Double Sun is a fertile planet, right, Adam? Also, the two dwarfs orbit each other at a sufficient distance. Because they aren’t very hot, a possible planet could get close to them. And there’s no fear of radiation outbursts, as with red dwarfs.”

  This was an important point. In the case of Proxima Centauri b, the periodic flares had been one of the greatest dangers. But he wouldn’t concede so quickly.

  “But there surely must be planets that are far better suited for life. We should take a look at them first,” he said. “We can still visit Luhman 16 at some point, like on the way back, for example.”

  “There are good reasons why this is the system we should visit first,” explained Marchenko. “Luhman 16 is 6.5 light-years away from Earth. Back when we launched, it took us about twenty-five years to travel the 4.2 light-years to Proxima Centauri. A similar ship was sent on a 38.5-year trip to Luhman 16, which means it should get there eight years from now. Luhman 16 is only 3.56 light-years away from Alpha Centauri. This will take us, in turn, almost exactly eight years. If we’re lucky, we’ll get there before the others do. If not, at least they won’t be left to their own devices for years.”

  “It sounds like a very wise decision to me,” said Eve. “Back when we reached Proxima b, I wished we hadn’t been so frigging alone.”

  “You’re right,” said Adam. “Especially if this creator was mistaken and there’s no planet at Luhman 16 at all. How would you respond in such a scenario, Marchenko?”

  “If our ship were so close to the destination that it was possible to rule out the existence of a planet, it would be too late to cancel the mission. And we’d be stuck in the orbit of one of the two dwarfs.”

  “Then wouldn’t it be possible to just head for the next destination—and couldn’t the other ship’s crew do the same?” asked Murnaka.

  “No. The power units on these ships can’t bring them to interstellar speeds.”

  “So then we’re agreed,” said Gronolf. “I’ve already programmed the destination, and we can be on our way.”

  “When?” asked Eve.

  “Now,” said Gronolf.

  “Don’t we have to bu
ckle up?”

  “That’s not necessary,” explained Gronolf. “The faster we accelerate, the slower the Majestic Draght rotates. In this way, we replace one gravity source with another. You won’t notice anything except when you’re moving from sector to sector. Depending on the room's position in relation to the direction of flight, the ceiling, walls, and floor will switch functions. The engineers accounted for this in the design.”

  “That’s so practical!” said Eve.

  “I’m starting the conventional drive,” said Gronolf. “Just a second.”

  He turned to the console and pressed a key. The room seemed to wobble for a moment, and then everything was as before.

  “Congratulations on a successful launch,” said Adam.

  Gronolf bowed, which was no easy feat for a Grosnop.

  “We’ll be using the conventional drive for two days. After that we start rolling down the slope we’ve dug ourselves.”

  “Do we ever need to refuel?” asked Eve.

  “Just heavy hydrogen for the fusion reactor, but every solar system provides us with that. The dark matter doesn’t get depleted.”

  “And what would happen if the power in the whole ship were to go out?” asked Adam.

  “That would be inconvenient,” answered Gronolf. “That’s why we make sure we have several times the necessary supply.”

  “Inconvenient?”

  “Well, Adam, we spend most of the time in hibernation, and without power we’d thaw in an unregulated way, which isn’t healthy. But most of all, the shield around the dark matter would then disappear.”

  “Does that mean it would flow out from the tank?”

  “No, it would collapse in on itself through its own forces of attraction. But the slope that we’re rolling down would still be there. We’d keep accelerating until we entered into relativistic areas, and the energy was no longer sufficient. But we’d already have been killed by the rapid acceleration by then.”

  “That’s really reassuring,” said Adam. “So there’s no emergency brake?”

  “No, unless somebody manages to repel the drive core. The cube can be divided in the middle. That’s how the core got inside in the first place. But nobody’s ever tried to repel it. The core is far too valuable. Concentrating the dark matter alone took us nearly one hundred years.”

  * * *

  “Good night, Eve.”

  “Good night.”

  It was a ceremony that they’d had for years. They each slept in their own rooms, but they always wished each other a good night. Eve was already in bed. Her breasts protruded beneath the silky pajamas. It was odd, but they didn’t arouse any feeling of attraction in him, at least not anything sexual. It was more of a curiosity. How had her body changed since they’d stopped sleeping in the same bed? Eve was his sister. They counted on each other now. They didn’t need the kind of personal drama that would presumably be impossible to avoid in a romantic relationship. At least that’s what he thought, and Eve seemed to agree.

  “I’m worried about Groni,” she said.

  “Why? Isn’t he eating?”

  “He is. The seaweed mash from the Grosnop canteen seems fine.”

  “Then everything’s okay, isn’t it?”

  “You heard what Gronolf said. In a few days we’ll be frozen. Then what will happen to the little one?”

  “Hmm. We could arrange a hibernation bed for him, but then it would come out that you’d brought him on board.”

  “It’s too soon for that. They’d send him back with a shuttle. They can only find out about him after we’ve left the system.”

  “If he’s not in hibernation, someone will have to take care of him. Marchenko! He’s the only one who doesn’t have to sleep.”

  “Man, Adam, you’re the best.” Eve jumped up and kissed him on the forehead. “I’ll be able to convince him.”

  “I hope so. We’ll be in transit for eight years. In this amount of time, the hatchling will have become a teenage Grosnop. And then doesn’t the dragon that the ship is named for come after that? That will be fun for Marchenko.”

  “Then at least he won’t be so alone. And if he needs to, he can put Groni into hibernation. At that point, nobody else will notice.”

  Brightnight 9, 3882

  “You first?” Eve asked.

  “I’m happy to let you go first,” said Adam.

  The container he was about to climb into looked like Snow White’s coffin. Adam shivered, and not just because he was wearing nothing but underwear, and the sleeping area was cooled to 15 degrees.

  “Is it really safe?” he asked and turned to Marchenko, who was waiting behind them.

  “As far as I’ve been able to test it, yes. However, there’s never been a human in such a container. But before flying to Proxima b, I grew several different tissues from some of your cells and subjected them to the process. They were still viable after our return, even the nerve cells.”

  “Even the nerve cells? How reassuring. So I won’t be waking up as a brainless zombie?”

  “It’s improbable,” said Marchenko.

  “But so far you only know how my cells will be doing after one year. But we’ll be in transit for eight years.”

  “This is why I’ll be waking you up regularly, just for safety.”

  “There’s that too. I hope falling asleep and waking up is at least not painful.”

  “That I can’t tell you. Your cells couldn’t give any feedback about that. Gronolf has described the process as uncomfortable but bearable.”

  If the Grosnop found it uncomfortable, a human would probably find it brutal. Adam took a step back.

  “I’d rather keep you company, Marchenko,” he said. “Spending eight years alone is enough to drive you crazy, right?”

  “Not really. I just split off a part of my consciousness, and then I can have conversations with myself.”

  “Very clever. But isn’t it healthier to talk to real people?”

  “But you’re leaving a companion behind for me,” whispered Marchenko, even though there was no Grosnop in sight.

  “But you might just need help with that,” said Adam.

  “Adam, I’m afraid you’re underestimating the eight years it will take us to reach our destination. You’ve never been locked up in such a small space for so long. The Majestic Draght has no recreational facilities. For eight years, you’ll see nothing but bare walls and the darkness of empty space outside. I know what I’m talking about. That’s how I spent the first years aboard Messenger before you were born. It’s hard. Don’t do that to yourself.”

  “But later on, I could always...”

  “Come now, dear brother, be sensible,” said Eve.

  She hugged him first, then Marchenko. She stepped up to the edge of the container, swung her left leg over, pulled herself up high, and brought up her right leg. Then she turned around and sat down. She waved and then lay down.

  “Surprisingly comfortable,” she said.

  “Yes, the mattress was adapted to your body shape,” said Marchenko.

  With his long touch-arm, the robot handed Eve a mask that she put over her face.

  Adam heard her say, “She yewin ate yearsh.”

  Suddenly his eyes welled up with tears. It’s just goodbye for now. It’s just goodbye for now. It’s just goodbye for now. He bit his lip. Marchenko pressed a button, and a clear liquid started to run into the tank.

  “Itso wam,” said Eve from under the mask.

  “Sleep well,” said Adam.

  The lid shut automatically. The liquid rose until Eve was wholly immersed, and her hand sank.

  “You see, she’s already fallen asleep. It’s from the gas in the mask,” Marchenko explained.

  Eve looked peaceful. At least this part of the procedure appeared to be pleasant. The liquid was still swirling but gradually calmed down as they watched.

  “The substance is now starting to thicken,” said Marchenko.

  This couldn’t be observed from the out
side, except that the liquid became a little cloudy.

  “It’s best that you turn around now, Adam.”

  “Why? What’s happening now?”

  “The container must ensure that all bodily orifices...”

  “I understand. No further details, please.”

  He turned away. Eve felt nothing of what was happening now, and she was sure to sleep soundly. Why hadn’t he been the first one to climb in?

  “Have you made your decision?” asked Marchenko.

  “Yes. I’m ready.”

  It was better this way. If he didn’t get into the hibernation tank now, why would it be any easier the following day?

  “Okay, then. Your bed for the next eight years is ready and waiting.”

  Marchenko pointed to the tank beside Eve’s. Adam hugged the robot body, then climbed into his own ‘casket.’

  Brightnight 13, 3882

  There they lay. Marchenko wiped the thin layer of moisture that had formed on the outside of Eve’s tank. His daughter—this is what he considered her to be, even if she wasn’t genetically related—appeared to be sleeping, but she breathed just once a minute. Her entire system was powered down, so that over the course of the next eight years she would only age biologically by a few months.

  The farewell had also been difficult for him, even if he hadn’t let it show. He couldn’t have let on because it would have made Adam’s decision even more difficult. Of course, it would have been a thousand times nicer for him to spend that prolonged period with the two of them.

  But it also wouldn’t have been fair. If he had nothing to do and got bored, all he had to do was slow down the processing speed of his consciousness. Then hours became minutes until any problem aboard the Majestic Draght brought him back to real time. Adam and Eve didn’t have this ability. They would have had to live through every second of those eight years. They would have died of old age before the end of this voyage, which for them would have been 150 years.