The Tau Ceti Diversion
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The Tau Ceti Diversion
Chris McMahon
TABLE OF CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
LIST OF CHARACTERS
GLOSSARY
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
EPILOGUE
This novel is dedicated to my wife Sandra, for her continued support, and unfailing faith in me.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thanks to Gary Lucas at Severed Press, and Mark Gottlieb from Trident Media Group, for bringing the Tau Ceti Diversion to the world. Special thanks to Marius Hancu for his invaluable insight and advice on the manuscript. Marius, more than anyone else, helped me to give shape and polish to the book’s final incarnation. Thanks also to all the people who contributed over the years to the final work that the Tau Ceti Diversion became, members of the Edge and Vision writing groups, and Marianne de Pierres from the enVision writer’s workshop.
LIST OF CHARACTERS
Starburst Officers and Crew
Andrai Wright
Lieutenant, responsible for onboard systems.
Bolan
Chief Warrant Officer.
Evelle
Lieutenant, responsible for biosystems, and Karic’s ex-wife.
Gemma
Lieutenant.
Ibri
Lieutenant, and computer specialist.
Janzen Davis
Commander, ExploreCorp executive, and heir to the Davis fortune.
Karic Zand
Sub-Commander, engineer, designer of the Starburst, and original inventor of the Starburst’s stasis equipment.
Mara Montes
Lieutenant, and astronomer. Born and raised on the space-based Davis Industries Platform.
Resk
Biosystems technician.
Ryal
Lieutenant, and propulsion engineer.
Imbirri
Ember
Member of the First, and of the red caste.
Green Patch
Member of the First, and of the gold caste.
Munch
Member of the First, acolyte of Utar, and member of the purple caste.
New Bough
Member of the First, acolyte of Utar, and member of the gold caste.
Otla
Member of the First, acolyte of Utar, and member of the green caste.
Reth
Member of the First, and of the red caste.
Swith
Member of the gold caste, and most senior of the Gathered gold.
The Awakener
Spiritual leader and chief of the Imbirri, and member of the green caste.
Utar
Shaman of the Imbirri, known as Deepwatch, and member of the gold caste.
Fintil
Asthel
Newly born female Fintil.
The Fountain
Guardian of Fintil knowledge.
GLOSSARY
AI
Artificial intelligence, specifically in computing systems.
AU
Standard Astronomical Unit of distance, based on Earth’s orbital distance from the Sun, about 150 million kilometers.
Comband
Wrist-worn video and radio communications device.
Cru
Planet in the Tau Ceti system orbiting at around 0.55AU from Tau Ceti.
DavisCorp
Earth-based corporation owned by the Davis family with diverse off-planet interests, including industrial space platforms, and arms manufacture.
Deepwatch
Formal title of the shaman of the Imbirri.
Epsilon Eridani
K-type main sequence star 10.5 lightyears from Earth.
EM
Electromagnetic.
ExploreCorp
Earth-based corporation formed as a subsidiary of the Davis family corporation, DavisCorp, with a focus on interstellar exploration and colonization.
Fintil
Technologically advanced, winged natives of Cru, dwelling on the bright side of the planet.
First
A select group of Imbirri awakened to sentience directly by the Imbirri leaders.
Free Colonies
A coalition of colonies inside Earth’s solar system comprising Mars, the Moon, and settlements on the Jovian moons.
Gathered
Imbirri raised to sentience by the First.
G-class star
G-type main sequence star varying between 0.8 to 1.2 solar masses and from white to yellow in color, of which the Sun is an example.
gee
Gravitational acceleration equal to one standard earth gravity.
IC
Integrated circuit.
Imbirri
Hairless, bear-like natives of Cru’s dark side.
Odin
Optical data interface with integrated computing power, worn as glasses.
Redwing
Vibrant red-winged butterflies that hatch annually on Cru’s dark side, and are used by the Imbirri to mark the passing of the years.
Shipcom
Artificial intelligence interface of the Starburst’s onboard computing system.
Singularity
Region inside a black hole where the laws of normal spacetime cannot exist.
Suspension
Human suspended animation.
Suspension field
Combination of electromagnetic fields used in suspension technology to suspend cellular biological action during stasis.
Stasis
Human suspended animation.
Tau Ceti
G-type main sequence star 12 lightyears from Earth.
Terminator
Planetary dividing line between night and day. The terminator is essentially stationary on a planet tidally locked to its star.
Tight-beam
High-energy focused laser beam used for interstellar communication.
Timezones
Registered communities whose members maintain the same relative aging in real time.
Transmission node
A mountainous, crystalline tower that provides heat and light on Cru’s dark side.
XR32
A handgun equipped with small, rocket-propelled, high-explosive rounds.
CHAPTER 1
Karic’s mind reeled. He looked again at the image of the Starburst that rotated slowly above the interface projectors and gripped the chill metal of the console to steady himself. His mind groped through the data as he tried to understand how their meticulously planned voyage, his state-of-the-art spaceship had found themselves in danger. The high-resolution digital image of Starburst, assembled only moments ago from pictures taken by a small probe as it wove around the ship, was splashed with red, orange and yellow highlights. All those bright colors — superimposed on the dark gray and black images of the metal hull — were visual aids showing estimates of structural damage.
Translucent interface icons floated above the console, bobbing slowly out of the way then drifting back to position as the virtual Starburst continued to rotate. Beyond them, the big screens that lined the room were filled with
diagnostic data. Over sixteen percent of their systems were on backup, their primary processes having failed outright. The failures were ship-wide. On account of the immense timescales of interstellar travel, the Starburst had been designed with multiple levels of redundancy, but this failure rate was way too high. A power unit on a hatchway and two remote systems had failed to respond to the AI at all. Taken in conjunction with the deterioration of the outer structure, it was all damning. The skin crawled on the back of his skull.
Karic, the sub-commander of the Starburst and Lieutenant Ryal, the officer responsible for the fusion systems, were the only members of the Starburst’s crew out of suspension. The Shipcom had roused them seven months early to investigate the damage. The other officers and crew remained in long-term stasis. They might as well be blocks of stone for all the help they could offer. He had to rouse them all. He needed every scientist, engineer and tech he had to save the ship, the mission … and their lives.
Karic took a deep breath and tried to quell the rushing flow of his thoughts. The air of the command deck was cold, sharp with trapped odors of plastic and ozone. He leaned back in the command chair, conscious of the quiet stillness, the empty workstations and darkened consoles. The flexible smart-metal of the chair molded around his back. Its chill had faded now, internal sensors heating it to match his body temperature. The silvered gleam of the fixtures was stark against the matte gray of the polymer-coated floor, and the curve of the hull beneath him was hardly noticeable here, on the outer level of the habitat ring.
The low hum of the interface projectors seemed loud in the silence, a rising counterpoint to the soft whisper of circulation fans.
Communication with Earth had failed.
They were alone.
The familiar solidity of the command center, its high-tech alloy and smooth, functional design, seemed a brittle thing now, like a polished facade concealing the unseen tension of stressed metal before its rupture.
“Shipcom. Begin the emergency revival process,” said Karic. That would revive the thirty crew and six other officers in suspension, including Commander Janzen Davis.
“Unable to comply,” responded the Shipcom in its flat, feminine voice.
His mouth went dry.
“Give reason for inability to initiate emergency revival sequence?”
“Radiation levels are currently above the upper limit for programmed revival risk factors.”
Karic’s heart leapt into a sprint, a flood of adrenalin threatening to swamp his brain.
The revival process was tricky. The suspension fields had to be reduced precisely, otherwise severe damage could occur at the cellular level. Ambient radiation could cause the fields to surge. He must have completed his own revival sequence before the radiation levels exceeded the preset danger levels.
That meant those levels were climbing!
“Idiot!” shouted Karic, slamming his hand onto the console.
“Please repeat the command,” replied the Shipcom, unable to interpret the context. Despite the advances in AI, in the 22nd century when Starburst was launched, they still remained only expert systems responding from a vast array of human-input decision trees. Syntax was crucial, and instructions had to be precise.
“Display the sensor feeds. Trend the radiation levels.”
A multicolored graphic appeared on one of the screens. The radiation levels had been rising fast over the last few hours, primarily X-rays.
“Oh my God.”
Neither the officers’ nor crew’s stasis decks would be safe in a radiation surge. The protocol was clear. All personnel had to be moved into the central hold. The big storage space was on the ship’s axis, inside the habitat ring. There they would be shielded by the habitat ring’s whole rotating mass as well as by the forward deflectors. But locked in suspension, none of the officers or crew could be moved. A surge would kill them all.
A vein in his temple throbbed.
It could take hours to bring someone out of suspension. If he waited — and the levels started to peak — there would not be enough time to move them. But if he brought them out of suspension now — overriding the presets — then he could be putting all of them at risk, since they were more vulnerable to the radiation in the revival process. His thoughts flew to Mara, then guiltily included his ex-wife, Evelle. The thought of Mara lying dead tore at him.
Karic had never felt about anyone the way he had felt about Mara. Their affair during the heady days of commissioning had been a whirlwind of excitement, technical triumphs, and snatched moments of passion. Only when it was over … when it was too late, did he understand how he felt. He never would have believed in those early days that a twist of fate would put his ex-lover and ex-wife on the same voyage.
Karic viewed the radiation levels critically. No one knew the suspension system better than he did. At the current levels, he was confident the revival would be safe. But how quickly could those levels change?
He scrolled through the system icons and isolated the computer controlling the crew’s suspension equipment. He flicked the icon toward the main screens. Data flared to life. It was all functioning normally.
“What is the crew revival time?”
“Two hours,” replied the Shipcom.
His hands clawed at the floating icons, drilling down to the systems controlling the officer’s suspension equipment, completely separate from the crew’s. Not for the first time, he cursed the lack of computing power in the dedicated systems. It would take three hours for the six officers. Anything could happen in that time.
He reached for a glowing red icon and dragged it into the center of the field. With a touch, it blossomed into a virtual keyboard. A message hovered over the input field in swollen red letters.
INPUT CODE TO DISABLE PRESETS
He grew lightheaded as the implications of the moment weighed on him. His decision now would change everything. Karic’s fingers teased open the smart seam of his flight fatigue to find the St. Christopher medal on his chest. Gripping it between his thumb and forefinger, his thumb circled the smooth, ancient metal of the backing in anxious circles. The superstitious affectation helped him to relax. Karic tried to broaden his thinking, letting his mind fall into a free-associative state, searching for any other way out of this. Starburst was en route to Tau Ceti. Less than a year out. They had completed their original mission to Epsilon Eridani, then diverted to the small G-class star system, twelve lightyears from Earth. As the moments stretched out, no flash of inspiration came to save him. The evidence was clear, and reviving the whole crew was the prudent solution. Eventually, the pressure to do something became unbearable. He let go of the medal. The seam of his fatigues slithered closed, the two halves writhing against each other until the collar tightened against his neck.
Something danced at the corner of his vision.
“No. Not now!” Relaxing his mind had been a mistake.
Karic felt the fugue coming. In the fugue state, his mind would slide into a dream, while externally he presented as catatonic — immobile and unresponsive for up to hours. It was a legacy of altered genetics inherited from his grandfather. No one knew about the flaw, and it was vital it stayed that way. Each time he roused from suspension it seemed to be getting worse. Increasingly, he was using drugs to control it.
He reached for his pocket, his fingers clutching for one of the stim-stabs he always kept there, but he was too slow.
The unstoppable wave of the rising fugue state engulfed him.
Karic’s mind expanded into space, stretching molecule-thin as it sought to fill the immensity. A distant sound, like a rushing river, roared through him. The stars boiled and the fabric of space hummed with energy as it shifted and stretched. He sensed awareness — a vast darkness, like a hand searching blindly, groping toward them. The fingers stretched like stilettos, each a razored knife seeking a fatal point of entry …
“Awaiting Code,” said the Shipcom.
Karic snapped out of his mental fugue.
He looked at his wrist. Twenty-six minutes! A trickle of cold sweat ran down the inside of his uniform. He put the stim-tab into his mouth and crunched it to powder, wincing at the bitterness. His heart began to thump faster, a new clarity flooding through him. He smoothed down his short, wavy light brown hair and tried to focus.
Karic expanded the 3-D graphic of the Starburst, zooming into the microstructure of the ship. The external surface of the main habitat ring had perished, particularly at the rear of the ship, which was not shielded by the forward deflectors. A cold feeling settled into the pit of Karic’s stomach. The stasis chamber for the main crew — thirty men and women — and the biodome were back there. His original design had included additional radiation shielding for the crew’s chamber, but the expensive shielding had been removed by the ExploreCorp Executive in a cost-cutting exercise.
It was a testament to her designers that the electronics, particularly the Shipcom, were holding up so well. Only the protection afforded by the forward deflectors had prevented wholesale systems failure.
Swallowing down the sick feeling in his stomach, Karic typed out the memorized code.
He stabbed at the input.
PRESETS DISABLED
Acting now would mean some people may die, but not acting might leave them in a situation too terrible to contemplate.
“Begin the revival process for the whole crew.”
“Confirmed.”
The silence left in the wake of the Shipcom’s voice weighed on him, as though the air pressure had ramped to twice atmospheric.