Winter was coming. It was one of those evenings when you could just smell it in the air. It was getting chilly fast, and Joe had put on his dark blue coat and a green scarf to keep warm. He could see the place was closed, although there was a dim light in one of the windows, as if it came from a back room. The door was open, so he entered slowly. He’d been right about the light, it came from the kitchen. A voice suddenly spoke quietly from the darkness to his right, startling him just a little.
“You came.” It was Thatcher, and when he stepped a little closer, Joe could see a well-dressed man in his early fifties, with a trimmed beard, gray hair, and just a hint of a potbelly. He motioned for Joe to follow him, and they entered the lit kitchen, where another man and a woman waited. The woman seemed stern and had a suspicious look about her; her glasses and her hair, pulled back from her face with a hairpin, emphasized the impression. The man, in his early thirties, with a typical military bearing and haircut to match, wearing a dark sweater and jeans, nodded curtly to him. Thatcher did the introductions.
“Senator Buchanan, this is Dr. Amanda Shearing, of JPL at CalTech, and Air Force Lieutenant Deacon Frost.” They all shook hands and Joe coughed.
“Well … I’m not sure what to make of this. Honestly, Richard, what is this all about?” Thatcher sat down on one of the chairs around a rickety table, took out a file folder, and spread his notes out. The paper seemed a little old fashioned to Joe, but then again, there would be no risk of electronic surveillance picking it up either.
“The information I have here … I could go to jail for this, and so could all of you here in this room. Just for being here. Or worse, I guess, if they knew what I have in mind. But alas, that is less of a concern to me now than it has ever been, because in a few years it won’t matter. However, if this meeting goes well, there is still hope. Sort of … Please sit down, Senator, all of you. Dr. Shearing, why don’t you brief the good senator?” The woman hesitated, and Buchanan felt her eyes staring into him, as if she could see every doubt he had.
“I’m still not sure we can trust …” Thatcher cut her off.
“Senator Buchanan is to be trusted. He is a good man, and I vouch for him. Continue, please. He needs to know.” Dr. Shearing shook her head slowly, then rose as she picked up one of Thatcher’s files and pushed it over to the senator.
“Hmm, well, I guess we don’t have a choice in the matter.” She took a deep breath, and managed something that was meant to be a smile.
“I guess we all get somewhat paranoid, and with good reason. But I’ll trust you, Senator. What I am about to tell you is something that’s being kept even from many of the people actually working on it, and if no one does anything about it, one tragedy will only be succeeded by another.”
“Okay. It all started when Devastator was first discovered, more than two years ago …” And then she told him everything.
When Dr. Shearing finally sat down, Joe was pale and speechless. He didn’t say anything for a minute, and the others let him digest the news. Hearing about what was likely to be the end of human civilization on Earth, from a professor who didn’t strike him as a lunatic, made him shake a little. And he knew in his heart what the president’s plan would mean. There would be no critical voices, no opposition to the totalitarian and restrictive ways that had evolved through the years following the Seattle incident. What would that do to the chances of survival for those who would live? And moreover, what would it mean to the society they would create, should they ever reach their destination?
“This is a heavy burden, knowing these things …” he said quietly. “I wish I could do something, but I’m truly lost here.” He closed his eyes for a moment to think.
“I’m usually well informed, as well as anyone I guess.” Joe had been a congressman for years, before taking a seat in the Senate, which after the second reforms had turned out to be one of the last entities where the president had to bargain and horse trade in order to make policy. Of course, the executive usually won, but even the power of stalling and renegotiation was something exclusive to the Senate these days.
“He needs me too much to cut me off completely, or at least that’s what I thought. But I was kept in the dark about this, and I think that would demonstrate how powerless I am here.” Thatcher shook his head, and smiled wryly.
“On the contrary, it just demonstrates that you are not one of his cronies, and I’d say that’s a good thing. You know, there is a reason I called you, and it’s not just to give you bad news. We mean to change the game, and I believe we have the means to do so.” Joe looked quizzically at him, while Thatcher paused for a moment. Then he turned toward the younger man.
“Lieutenant Frost here comes from a very prominent family in Houston, Texas.”
“Black gold, old fossils, also known as oil,” Frost grimaced.
“Yes, oil money from back in the early nineteenth,” Thatcher continued. Money that was used to finance the campaigns of both Holloway and Andrews.
“Money that got me into the Academy,” Frost said quietly. Thatcher shook his head and dismissed his comment with a hand.
“I don’t think so, Deacon. But yes, there is corruption at work, and we mean to use it to our advantage.” He turned back toward Joe and picked up another file, scanned it for a moment, and then explained.
“Lieutenant Frost has been selected for a very special mission out west. He hasn’t been told what it is, but I happen to know that in six months the first candidates for an undisclosed space mission will start gathering in an old air force base in Arizona, and it seems our young lieutenant’s destination is that very same place. Now, that could mean anything, if it wasn’t for his prior assignments, his résumé, so to speak. Since graduation from the Air Force Academy, Lieutenant Frost has been an instructor at the Advanced Tactical School, which turns out most of the scramjet pilots. To understand the significance of this, you need to understand that most instructors at ATS are seasoned veterans, scramjet-certified pilots themselves. What I mean to say is, no offense Deacon, but your comment on money getting you into AFA is a load of crap. You’ve distinguished yourself too much for that to be true. No, to be selected for such an assignment without all that experience, you have to be extraordinary.
“When we send a starship into space carrying the hope of mankind, there will be a rigorous selection of candidates. Lieutenant Frost’s specialty is assessing the capabilities of others for extreme conditions, for coping with the unexpected and making do with the resources at hand. It’s a perfect match of the capabilities needed to create a viable colony off-Earth, and the lieutenant is an expert at it himself, as well as assessing it in others. My guess is that he will be on the team of instructors that will also be responsible for the selection of candidates.”
“All right,” Joe interrupted. “I can see where you’re going here. Lieutenant Frost will be able to influence the selection of the candidates, and that’s all very well. I like the idea of having someone carrying the torch when the rest of us are gone. But that’s already in play, and I still don’t know how I fit into the picture.” Thatcher leaned forward on the table and stared intently at him.
“Senator, Lieutenant Frost’s efforts will be of utmost importance. The crew and passengers of the starship will shape the future of our species. There may be others that will try to save some of their population, most notably the Chinese and the Indians, but we have no way of knowing what that will amount to. So, as far as we know, the ones gathering out in Arizona six months from now will be the most important people on the planet.
“If you decide to help us, Senator, you will play an important role, and your actions will be crucial to the outcome of this. You need to gain President Andrews’s trust. He already knows that you don’t agree on certain parts of his politics, but since you’ve been careful, he doesn’t know what kind of rebel you really are.” That last comment was said with a wry grin.
“You do have his ear, at least to a certain degree. Now use that. De
velop a trust with the man; influence him as much as possible. There are issues that can significantly alter the chances of actually preserving something of what this country once was. Such as whether or not to accept certain of the more prominent candidates, such as leading scientists with views that differ from the mainstream, the choice of commander for the mission, whether there will be a large security or military contingent, or whether to allow the rich to buy passes with donations. We actually have a good number of supporters in that group, believe it or not. There are more of us than you could possibly know, Senator, and some are in a position to really make a difference. As for selection, if we get a good number of people on board that are able and willing to think for themselves, there will be hope. While Lieutenant Frost works on the selection of individuals, you may be able to influence selection policy. We may even have a plan that would place us on the inside of the loop, to practically take over the entire project—quietly of course. That plan involves you. And that, Senator, will be your true legacy when the time comes to start all over on a new world.”
Chapter 5
April 2074 ~ Somewhere in Arizona
The hangar was open on one side, facing east toward the airfield. The morning sun still sat low on the horizon and lit the interior where a group of people, obviously figures of authority, a few uniformed, most civilians, was gathered on a raised podium. As Maria Solis entered the hangar, a man in a dark suit stepped forward to the microphone, tapped it lightly, and started speaking.
“Everybody, come closer. You all need to hear this.” There were a couple of hundred gathered in front of the podium, and they all stepped forward a bit. Maria stayed back, but followed. A blonde girl her age smiled at her.
“Hey,” the girl whispered. “You know what this is all about?” Maria shook her head, and the girl continued.
“My high school principal came and took me out of class just the other day. He said he didn’t know anything, but he had orders to get me to the airport as soon as possible. Guess it’s something special, with all the suits up there.” She grinned with the whitest smile Maria had ever seen.
“I’m Geena, by the way.”
“Maria here,” she said. Then they quieted down as the man began speaking again.
“I’m Daniel Shaw, director of the Exodus Project, as it is known. Actually, it’s more of a program, with many projects going on simultaneously, but somebody, somewhere decided to call it a project, so what the heck. The details of the project will be revealed to you gradually as it evolves, but I’m here today to welcome you all. You are to be part of a selection process for a space mission.” There were gasps and surprised whispers that were quickly subdued by Shaw’s raised hand.
“Hear me out, please.” He paused and looked out over the audience.
“Now, to most of you the idea of a space mission will sound absurd. You are lawyers, business people, soldiers, librarians, high school students, dentists, and so on. That will all be explained to you later. But let me tell you this. In two weeks there will be about ten thousand others, give or take, with just as diverse backgrounds, gathered on this site. All of you will have been chosen for some reason, and there will be others with similar backgrounds as yours.” Maria looked around her, and now she saw others that looked like they could be in high school too. She wondered what would be the reason for taking kids out of school like this. She would miss so many classes; there had to be something really serious going on.
“At first you will be placed among others like yourselves, so that the instructors can compare you more easily. In the time to come, some will drop out and some will be cut from the process. You will be taught a variety of subjects, and you will be given tasks to complete, alone and in groups. And at all times there will be instructors around who will assess your performance. I cannot say how long you will be here, or how many will make it in the end.” He paused, looked down at his notes, and bit his lip. He spoke clearly and authoritatively, but Maria thought he looked nervous as he fiddled with his papers.
“Some of you will think this is a load of crap, and I assure you it is not. This is about as serious as it gets, and although I’m not at liberty to reveal any details to you, all I can say is that you have been given an opportunity most people could only dream about. And when you know the whole truth of this, you will know why you must make every effort, use every skill you have, and learn as much as you can. Thank you for your attention, and good luck to all of you.” He turned and walked back to the others, and then walked down from the podium and through a door in the back. A bald, mustached man in uniform took his place, turned off the microphone, and just stood there for a second. Then he spoke, in a gruff voice, loud and clear.
“Listen up,” he called out.
“I’m Colonel Harris, and I’m in charge of all day-to-day operations at this site. You will see me and hear me, but you will not speak to me unless spoken to. Are we clear?” He seemed to look right at her for a second, even though she stood as far back as she could get, and thought she looked as anonymous as anyone. He pointed to the southern end of the hangar.
“On that wall there are lists with all your names on them, in alphabetical order. To the right of your name you will find a number. That is the number of your group. You will also find a capital letter after your number. That is the building where you will be staying. Throughout this compound there are a number of buildings, so you will also be given a map of the area. Now, when you get to where your group will stay, get to know each other well. You will need to. As the director told you, you will have about two weeks until everybody has arrived, so there is plenty of time for that.” He paused for a moment, then gave the audience that see-through-them stare again.
“Now, I could wish you good luck, as the director did. But my task here is to make sure we get the very best of you, and that everyone else is weeded out, so I’m not going to wish you any luck at all. What I wish is for everyone to do their best, pay attention, learn, and then perform. That’s it. And then, if you do that, you might have a chance to stand out, and get through the selection process. Those of you who do that will be on my final list, and that’s really all you should wish for.” Then, surprisingly, he smiled broadly, as if he’d said something funny.
“Welcome to Project Exodus.”
May 2074 ~ Los Angeles, California
The Consortium had been through this discussion many times already, but the time had come to make a decision. Out west, the selection of candidates for the starship had already begun, construction of hab and cargo modules were already under way, and the scientists were already conducting human testing of cryo techniques that would be used during interstellar flight. It was time to decide on the means of propulsion, how to get from Earth orbit to the new world. They were sitting in a conference room in the Pasadena offices of JPL, and on the furthest wall there was a screen where President Andrews, the science advisor, and George Havelar followed the discussion from their seats in the White House, and sometimes interjected comments or questions. Dr. Amanda Shearing of JPL started by summing up the discussion so far.
“Back in the early days of space flight, there were a few options, but none was sufficient for reasonable interstellar flight. Chemical propulsion could theoretically get a starship from Earth to Alpha Centauri, just 4.3 light years away, which is closer than any other star system, in a little less than eight millennia.” She paused, grinning wryly.
“Which, of course, would be out of the question. With nuclear fission, the time would be reduced drastically. In principle, with nuclear fission we could generate an exhaust velocity of 4 percent of light speed, and using a gravity assist, such as that of Jupiter or the sun, we would be able to achieve 8 percent of light speed. That would enable the journey to Alpha Centauri to take fifty-four years, although one critical factor needs to be accounted for: deceleration. Using nuclear fission for deceleration would increase transit time to 108 years. Of course, with a magnetic sail for deceleration, which is certainl
y doable, we would be able to utilize the entire exhaust velocity for acceleration, so 8 percent is probably the number to keep in mind here. But remember that these speed estimates are theoretical possibilities. In the real world, we’d probably not be able to achieve much more than 2 or 3 percent of light speed with fission.
“Also, let’s not forget that it’s unlikely that we’re going to find the planet we seek at the shortest possible distance. My guess is that we’ll have to be looking at the stars further out, such as Gliese 581, at a little more than twenty light years away, or 55 Cancri, which is about forty-one light years away. Not much further though. I guess there will be a limit somewhere around fifty to eighty light years away though, and we’ll plan accordingly. But even so, at twenty light years, fission is also impractical.” They all nodded; they’d been through this before, so this first session was mainly to bring their White House attendees up to speed, although Ramon silently felt better getting the condensed facts this way, since sometimes these discussions seemed to go way over his head. Now, having patiently presented the pros and cons of the impractical options, Dr. Shearing turned to the more realistic options as to the prospect of being able to bring the starship from A to B.
“Now, a deuterium and helium-3 fusion rocket may be able to produce an exhaust velocity of 5 percent of light speed. With gravity assist and efficient engineering, this could be increased to 10 percent. That would give us a transit time to Alpha Centauri of approximately forty-three years, or eighty-six years if we also use this method for deceleration. For distances of twenty light years or more, it’s still a bit on the slow side, but the technology is within reach. It can be done.
Exodus (The Exodus Trilogy) Page 6
