Voyage

by C. Paul Lockman

  I then entered an even deeper state of relaxation. There was no way I could move a muscle now, even if the Cruiser caught fire. There was not just the complete absence of muscle movement, there was also the absence of pain of any kind. You know, those odd little aches or pinpricks one feels from time to time, in the hands or back or a stiffness of the neck. They had all gone. I felt amazingly calm.

  Finally, my mind entered the same relaxed state. Up until now it had been an interested observer of all these changes, conveying enjoyment and sensations to whichever parts of my brain were responsible for them. But now, even these cares, these simple observations, the very act of observing myself, seemed to fall away, to become unimportant. And then to become quite impossible, even undesirable. The mind finally rested. All those hours of preparation and the intense madness of the past few weeks had left me tired, I realised. Dog tired, tired as the dead, exhausted beyond movement or thought. And so completely comfortable. I summoned a final thought before everything closed down – this is what it must be like to die, in peace, alone in the quiet. A gradual closing of the last door.

  Goodnight.

  *****

  The Phoenix carried out her tasks flawlessly. An hour after the last pulses of thought had left my mind and there was complete stillness on the ship, the computer began the sequence which would accelerate us through lightspeed and up to our cruise velocity. Energy was flooding from the hydrogen-fusion reaction taking place only ten yards from where I lay asleep. The power was channelled into the warp drive which began its work of throwing out a field which would compress the space in front of the Phoenix and expand the space behind us.

  After a month’s steady acceleration, Phoenix achieved a cruise speed just in excess of 3.4-C, that is 340% the speed of light. We were the fastest object in the history of the known Universe.

  The Holdrian scientists had plotted a course which avoided any known concentrations of interstellar hydrogen, comets, stars or asteroid belts. The ride was smooth. Belying the outrageous speed, and the prodigious amounts of energy consumed by the warp drive, the ship was still. Computers powered themselves down to conserve battery power. Cabin lights were extinguished; readouts went dim. The environmental controls which had kept the ship warm and comfortable reduced their power needs, reducing the temperature to 1.5C, just warm enough to prevent ice from forming. The ship became quiet, cold and to an observer, dead.

  In the stasis chamber, I was alive and deeply asleep. My own systems, in a curious echo of the general shutdown onboard the Phoenix, were resting at a fraction of their normal output or consumption. My heartbeat slowed to about one pulse every 90 seconds. Calorie consumption was a mere handful per day and these were replaced by the tireless IV drip. Antibiotics, injected prophylactically, would stop infections before they could start. There was a basic medical scan, every four months, which would spot serious trouble – cancerous regions, heart irregularities and the like - and inject the proper medication or surgeon nanobots. I was hibernating, like an animal in winter, only for many times longer.

  Crossing the central swirl of the Orion Arm, that band of stars which defines the current limits of humanoid travel, took five years. Only one close encounter, with a mundane star, was noted by the computer. We flew past it at a distance of less than two light-years, a near-miss in galactic terms; neither felt the effects of the other.

  *****

  For thousands of days, nothing happened. There were no interactions, no thruster firings, no emergencies for the computer to deal with. I continued to receive my IV, my heart continued to beat. I experienced decades of dreamless sleep, unaware of my own surroundings and disconnected from reality. A paragraph does not, of course, do it justice, but there is simply nothing to tell.

  We pressed on.

  *****

  Three light years away from the speeding cruiser, as 2006 turned to 2007, a small, rocky planet was consumed by its star, tearing it apart with unimaginable forces even before its blasted, boiled rock reached the star’s atmosphere.

  All the rest was stasis. The steady orbiting of the stars around the galactic centre. The ticking of the cosmic clock. My heartbeat, slow and regular.

  The journey continued.

  Chapter XXXI: Emergence

  We were perhaps a week from Earth when the automatic systems which were to alert me upon our arrival began to stir. The process of awaking from stasis was not a short one. My body temperature had to be slowly raised and heart-rate increased in a way which wouldn’t cause too many shocks to my fragile systems. Final medical checks were made, assuring against serious damage or recommending medications to take after waking. IV fluids were increased to provide more energy for the awakening process, and the computer began to power up the onboard systems.

  Three days from Earth, I began to swim back to the surface of consciousness from the depths I had known for so long. The first thing of which I was aware was sound. Waves. Some birdsongs, tropical birds, crickets or cicadas. Then music. I had requested this, knowing it was the perfect way to reintroduce me to the land of the living. As the volume slowly increased, wary of my fragile ears, I heard the sonorous, woody string tones of Bach’s 3rd Brandenburg Concerto, one of the most familiar collections of melodies and harmonies. It asserted itself over the background noises, which gradually ceased and allowed this glorious music to fill the cabin. As the three groups of strings communicated, sending fragments of music to and fro, the plastic sheet which had insulated me from the cabin’s dim lighting began to become opaque, and slowly cleared.

  This prompted my eyes to begin opening. In an odd way, the serene Bach seemed to want them to, as if simply listening wasn’t enough. As objects began to come very slowly into focus, I could make out the three black suitcases on the equipment racks opposite the stasis chamber. Behind me, the white, cottony fabric which had held me in place for forty years began to soften and yield. This was done extremely slowly, over a couple of hours, and encouraged me to very gradually begin flexing my muscles. I felt weak, as though I would fall in a heap if the chamber were not restraining me. Had I remembered that we were still in Zero-G, I wouldn’t have worried. The first area to relinquish its hold on me was around my hands. I began by making small movements, curling a finger slightly, and within ten minutes I was making a basic fist.

  My knees were next, unlocking after decades as the softening cushions allowed them to shift from side to side Then my feet. The sensation of wiggling my toes was quite wonderful. My shoulders were released. After two hours of this gradual freeing of my body, I was making circles with my shoulders, tilting my head from side to side and turning my hands palm-up, then palm-down. There were still straps across my chest and upper legs which were keeping me inside the chamber, and these began to loosen very slightly. I knew that, soon, I would be expected to push back on the capsule and simply float out into the cabin.

  It took three more hours. The very idea of putting pressure on such fragile limbs, even in microgravity, seemed absurd,. But I made repeated motions forward, planting my toes, then my whole foot on the floor. The ship’s computer, perhaps sensing this struggle (was there anything it didn’t sense, I wondered), lowered a set of grab handles from the ceiling. I reached for one and tested its feel in my grip. I was able to turn my head enough to see the cockpit, which was where I seemed destined to go. I wasn’t really sure.

  A gentle pull on the grab handle and a push with my foot on the floor and I was away. Weightless, free of the chamber, I was gently nudged up into the cabin’s ceiling. I placed both palms on it and pushed back down, evening out gradually in the centre of the cabin. It felt absolutely wonderful, like a chick breaking out of its egg and breathing real air, seeing the world for the first time. Slowly bringing my knees up into my chest, I formed myself into a ball and rotated merrily through a complete circle. Free at last. Every cell of my body was happy. I seized other handles in my feeble grip and pulled myself steadily along to the cockpit, only a few meters away. Once there, I cas
t my eyes over the readouts, found most of them blurry and indistinct, and slid into the pilot’s seat.

  I strapped myself in, knowing that a flailing, poorly co-ordinated limb might catch something important. Besides, I needed to check the readouts and communicate with the ship’s computer. That might be difficult. There was no way I could type, and my hands couldn’t push a button or flick a switch without enormous effort. Thankfully, I knew the awakening process had been programmed to go easy on me.

  I opened my mouth to speak. “C…” I tried. “Co…” A light blinked on and a soft, feminine voice emerged from the panel.

  “Welcome back. You have just awoken from stasis. Are you able to communicate?”

  I tried nodding but nothing seemed to happen. I said, ‘”yes”. My voice was horrendously broken and hoarse, like I’d been yelling all day, only much worse. My throat ached like it had been rasped with a cheese grater.

  “Please go to the primary replicator. There is a beverage there which will help.” I unbuckled from my seat and allowed myself to rise, given just a little nudge on the seat from my fingers. In four minutes, I had reached the replicator without damaging myself or anything. First mission accomplished.

  There was a clear, plastic packet filled with a light yellow liquid. I popped open the plastic cap and held it to my mouth. Any drops which escaped, I knew, would splat against the walls somewhere and cause mess. This was a nice, clean spacecraft and I intended to keep it that way. I painfully swallowed half of the packet, and very quickly the soreness in my throat receded, then vanished. My vocal chords felt more relaxed and I wondered if I was now able to speak.

  “Thanks”, I croaked. Much better. “That was… good.” Sounds made at the front of my mouth seemed easier, but sounds from the back were still a little painful and awkward, like the ‘g’. I tried it again. “That was good.” Better still. I spent a few minutes talking to myself, listening to the strange sound of my own voice, the vibrations and sensations of speech. Another of the yellow packets appeared and I gulped it down.

  “Computer?”

  “I am here to serve.” Nice reply, I thought. Did I programme that?

  “Status report, please.” I floated near the replicator, in the hopes of being served further packets of sweet, yellow liquid. It had an anaesthetic effect on my throat and seemed to nourish every fibre of me.

  “We are two point seven light-days from planet Earth. Our speed is 3.3988C and has been for the majority of the mission. All systems are nominal. Hydrogen fuel levels are at 12%. Our burn to begin decelerating from lightspeed will begin in twenty-three hours, eight minutes. The passenger is alive and in a stable condition, having awoken from stasis exactly on schedule. Nourishment and bodily stabilisation program will begin at once.”

  I was relieved that ‘the passenger’ was in such good condition. I felt shaky, very hungry and unbelievably thirsty, but I was most definitely alive.

  “Begin the nourishment process”, I ordered simply.

  “Do you wish to begin a 1-G roll at this time?” the computer asked.

  That sounded like a pretty good idea. Sitting down to a proper meal or three would be far more commodious in 1-G, rather than having things float around the cabin. The down-side was that 1-G was going to make me feel absolutely horrible after so long in weightlessness. I knew there would be nausea, and a strong sensation of being pulled down, pummelled by invisible forces. But I felt I could handle it.

  “Yes, please. Increase the rotation as gradually as you can, so that it takes at least three hours to reach 1-G. In the meantime, continue serving beverages.”

  “Certainly”, it replied, rather cheerfully, I thought. “Our beverage program consists of seven varieties. This will begin now.”

  A third package of the yellow liquid emerged and I drank it down like a heatstroke victim. Each gulp filled my cells with further nourishment and vital fluids. The next package was darker, a sweet, malty drink which felt even better. There were several of these. Then came a purple, fruity drink which was deliciously sweet, and a sugarcane concept which was so good I ordered the Computer to interrupt the programmed sequence and just keep giving me those. In two hours I had taken on eight litres of liquid and felt fabulous. Only totally starving.

  The resumption of gravity was an odd set of sensations, but the very gradual increase in the Cruiser’s roll meant that I was pretty comfortable, given the circumstances. I only really noticed it, I was grateful to find, when the last drinks packet seemed to make its way to the floor rather than simply hang in the air. I policed up the various containers and slid them into the replicator’s waste slot.

  “We have achieved 1-G. How do you feel?”

  I received this news while standing in the ship’s bathroom, handling the inevitable result of my rehydration program. “Fine, thanks. How about some food?”

  “Certainly. Return to the replicator when you are ready.” I finished the longest, most satisfying piss of my life and returned to the cabin. There was now a small table near the stasis chamber, and another protuberance beneath it would serve as a chair. These were simple but useable; the walls of the Phoenix had helpfully been constructed from transmutable plastics, which formed a variety of simple shapes.

  “Not exactly five-star, is it?” I said, with a chuckle, taking my seat.

  The computer’s voice started up, a little annoyed. “The Phoenix was modified for use in order to keep you alive for forty years and then safely enter the Earth’s atmosphere and land in one of its lakes. It is not designed to furnish luxurious accommodation or sumptuous food.” I couldn’t help laughing, but felt the need to apologise.

  “OK, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. What’s for starters?”

  “Cream of mushroom soup”. The replicator did its work, invisibly as always, and a steaming bowl of creamy soup emerged in the output tray. I transferred it gingerly to my makeshift table and brought out the spoon from the dining kit attached to the wall. The soup was outstanding. I ordered three more bowls before the computer reminded me that this was the first starter of several.

  “Am I not going to get really full doing this?” I asked, still getting used to the idea of communicating with a computer.

  “Take these”, it demanded. Six orange pills emerged from the replicator. “They are metabolic stimulants. Your digestive system will operate at 4000% its normal capacity and processing rate. This will have certain consequences, but you will be able to take in nourishment at a much accelerated pace.”

  I ordered a glass of ice water and downed the pills. Next out of the replicator was a plate of breaded shrimp with a Thai chilli sauce, not too spicy at this early stage. The batter was perfectly crisp and the shrimps were succulent and tender. The final starter was a range of crudités and dips – mustard, thousand island and ranch – which I demolished, relishing the fresh, vitamin-packed crunchiness of the vegetables, which tasted like they had been harvested only an hour before.

  Then the entrees. A huge steak with all the trimmings. How they managed to make Dijon mustard, or indeed any of this, taste so real was quite amazing. Then thick, juicy pork chops with vegetables. And then a rich chicken stew, packed with flavour and stocked with great chunks of potato and carrot.

  I took a moment. I had been eating for about two hours, at quite a leisurely pace, and according to the computer had put away over 14,000 calories. This, it revealed, was about 20% of my expected intake during the waking process, which must be complete before we began the burn to decelerate as we approached the Earth. I visited the bathroom once more and returned to find an enormous slice of chocolate gateau, laced with cognac and piled with cream. I destroyed it in moments. This was followed by a similarly gargantuan portion of tiramisu, then just the biggest damn heap of ice cream I ever saw.

  I took a couple of hours’ rest after all this, sipping a Brazilian coffee and checking over the readouts. I guess I must have dozed off, my first genuine sleep in forty years, because the computer woke me with more Bach, my fav
ourite sections of the Christmas Oratorio and the joy of the Gloria from the Mass in B Minor. As the final measures of the Cum Sancto Spiritu faded away, the computer had a question.

  “Are you ready for the psychological evaluation?” I answered that I was, and requested more information. “This is chiefly a test of memory and of psychological stability. This will enable us to assess whether you are ready to undertake the assignment on Earth.”

  “Assignment”? I had cooked up this whole scheme, and now somebody else was going to decide if I was ‘ready’ to go and save my planet? I felt a flash of anger. Who the hell else was going to do it?

  “I believe I am ready, but test me if you must”, I said, plonking my empty coffee cup down on the panels with an irritated gesture.

  “Where are we?”

  Oh, hardest questions first, I see. “We’re approaching the planet Earth. My home. The reason for this little escapade.”

  “Where have we come from?”

  “Takanli”, I answered, “by a roundabout route involving a trip to Numkli on the way to Jakalzzi, then Gaspiri, and then at near light-speed to Holdrian and thence to their Chrono station where I entered the worm hole vortex and was brought back to 1967. Since then we’ve been on an FTL course for Earth.” I paused, satisfied with myself. “Good enough?” I asked with a self-confident flourish.

  The machine ignored my tone. “And what is your mission?”

  Jesus, this is fucking retarded. “To stop the acceleration of environmental damage caused by human activity, and then to repair the harm already done. Also, to reduce the chances of global conflict by addressing resource problems and certain damaging elements of the market-driven economic system.” I folded my arms.