The Tau Ceti Diversion

by Chris McMahon

  Karic engaged the wing and tail, listening anxiously to the sound of the motors as they labored to extend and lengthen the exterior surface, creating the additional surface area that would give the pod an aerodynamic profile.

  Waves rose from his mind. Surging, sighing. Falling. Drawing him down. He felt his mind expand, quivering as it filled the pod’s tiny space. His heart slowed.

  “No!”

  Karic hit the console in desperation, smashing his fist into the hard metal until he was bleeding; until his hand was a mass of pain. He could not let the fugue take him now.

  His mind expanded. It stretched, then filled like a balloon. He was both inside and outside the pod. The surging rhythms of his mind flickered rapidly, sweeping the space around him with tendrils of sentience.

  He tasted the cold, bitter scent of the cloud. Saw into its dirty red depths. Felt its fury. His skin was searing with heat, at one with the pod. A hurricane washed over him, but did not cool him. He heard the ticking clockwork of silicon circuits, watched the roar of chemical ignition as his mind swept through the rocket nozzles. The combustion is not in balance. Lein was outside in the storm, riding the turbulence that surrounded the pod, his eyes far away, staring at a distant point of light. Evelle was gone.

  This was the fugue state, yet unlike Karic had ever experienced it. Time had not dilated! He saw the console, the meters and readings, the tiny viewscreen, yet his mind was also expanded. At his wrist, the display on his comband ticked off the seconds with mundane regularity.

  He turned.

  A huge storm front was approaching from the east. It filled some part of his mind, churning with a mindless fury, moaning with a desire for his destruction. If something like that had hit the probe, no wonder it didn’t survive entry.

  Amidst the vast vista of his enhanced senses, the pod’s console gave no hint of its approach. It was far away, yet approaching rapidly.

  His hands were sure on the controls as he turned the pod into a soaring dive that would take him below the storm.

  The warning tones sharpened. The exterior temperatures increased to critical. He was burning. Dying. The ceramic surface was now failing across the entire leading edge of the lower wing. The pod began to destabilize and spin in the intense turbulence.

  Karic worked at the console frantically.

  The clouds vanished.

  His mind was a blur of green. He tasted sweet moisture.

  The lower hull was melting, and the cabin filled with choking smoke.

  Karic gripped his chair with desperate strength as the pod shook in the hostile atmosphere. If he did not slow soon he was finished. Below, he could sense the surface of the planet rushing up to meet him.

  His throat burned, and the fugue state fled.

  The cameras on the console showed a wall of green. They must have been damaged in the descent.

  Karic diverted the small chemical rockets downward and increased the thrust to maximum — then waited. His breathing was ragged, his hands shaking. But he was alive. And he was beneath the cloud. Below the storms.

  The craft continued to hurtle downward, yet the deceleration was mounting. He watched the meters on the console with a grim finality, strapping himself into the pilot’s chair. He was falling, the deceleration increasing; one gee, two gees, three gees …

  Karic regained consciousness slowly, choking on fumes from burning plastic. He thumbed the release stud on his harness and fell forward onto the console, his eyes blurring. The pod was now making a controlled descent, the maneuvering rockets easily pacing the gravity of the planet.

  He had survived!

  Coughing, he slapped the console, attempting to clear the external image, which was still a mass of blurred green. He checked the speed of the craft and opened the front viewport, hungry for his first glimpse of the planet’s surface. The screen drew back — revealing a verdant landscape flooded with ambient light.

  “Mother of God.”

  He took control of the craft, spinning it in a full circle. It was a jungle wilderness, filled with life.

  “It should be in darkness,” he said. “This is the night side.”

  The filters had now removed most of the smoke from the cabin air.

  He sped over the endless canopy, searching for a place to set down the pod and assemble the transmitter.

  How could this be happening? It was a paradise. A new Earth!

  Karic checked the outside atmosphere. The humidity was high — mists shrouded the tops of the forest — and it had an abundance of oxygen. He carefully trimmed back the feed to the rockets, switching to a partly air-breathing mode that made use of the local oxidizer, saving his stored oxygen. The pod was flying well, despite the heat damage to the outer shell.

  Karic spotted a clearing near a small lake. He angled the pod toward it.

  He could see a mountain range in the distance … but it was no normal landform. It glowed, emitting a warm, soft light. This was what lit the surrounding area of the dark side. But how could anything like this possibly develop naturally? It was huge. Crystalline. Transparent. It glittered, shedding light like a jewel, making shadows in the lee of the hills and deep within the forest canopy.

  Karic hovered over the clearing, spellbound by the soft white light, the stillness of the wide lake beneath him and the tall, unearthly vegetation that crowded around it.

  He gradually cut the power to the pod’s rockets and lowered the craft to the thick grasses of the lake shore. He watched in amazement as bizarre, fleet-footed animals with segmented legs and huge multicolored insects with wingspans of up to a meter sped away from the pod into the plush growth.

  He waited, impatient, as the small analytical devices within the ship analyzed the trace elements and gases in the atmosphere, searching for toxic components.

  Clear.

  Karic’s heart beat wildly against the wall of his chest as he shrugged off his spacesuit. In place of the suit, he donned a small mask, designed to filter out hostile bacteria and viruses. He broke the seal on the hatch. With a hiss of inrushing air, the pod’s door swung wide. The ceramic tiles on the stubby wings and the leading edge of the hull glowed with a red heat. They hissed as a light, misting rain blew in off the lake.

  He felt the cool touch of air on his skin.

  Karic exited the pod, moving awkwardly in the planet’s gravity, which was twenty percent above Earth’s. At eighty kilos, that meant he was carrying an extra sixteen kilos with every step he took. He carefully regulated his breathing, wary of the high oxygen content. He did not want to hyperventilate.

  Karic looked around him in awe. He stood in another world — filled with alien life. He had dreamt of this, and now he was here. This was real!

  Bending down, Karic ran his hands through the thick, luxuriant grass. It felt coarse beneath his fingers. The thick blades of grass were bluish green on the underside. He looked up to the thick wall of vegetation nearby. Everything was familiar, and yet … odd. The shapes were different. Some trees too thick, others impossibly thin. Leaves were broad and slick with moisture, dropping like green sheets to the ground.

  Three big, green insects, reminiscent of dragonflies, but with heads like birds, glided from the canopy nearby, sweeping down to drink from the lake on the wing.

  Two multi-faceted eyes watched him from a tree. An enormous yellow insect with six legs moved out slowly from cover. It was close to a grasshopper in shape, yet almost a meter and half long, with strong, well-developed mandibles. Its abdomen pulsated in a quick rhythm, hinting at speed.

  The rain grew more intense, but it was warm. Karic hardly noticed as it sheeted off the high-tech fabric of his uniform, leaving him dry beneath.

  How could all this life survive here on the night side? And what was producing the light that emanated from the crystal range?

  There was a quick movement. A rustle of leaves.

  The big yellow insect and the flyers vanished back into the trees.

  The lakeshore was wrapped in si
lence. Not a breath of wind stirred the forest.

  Above, the sky was empty.

  Karic retrieved the beacon transmitter from the cabin, carrying the sleek metallic cylinder outside, where he pulled down three legs folded flush with its sides and extended them until they formed a tripod base. He set it upright then flipped open the access panel to begin programming it.

  Around him, the silence seemed unnatural.

  He found himself stopping without warning to scan the undergrowth, or peer into the queer reeds that grew thickly around the edge of the lake.

  There was nothing, and yet … his unease grew.

  Here he was, in this fantastic world, yet beneath his excitement, he knew he was alone — and far from Earth. This world, so green and lush, was strange to his human senses. The sooner the others could join him the better.

  As the alien sounds of the jungle gradually returned, Karic found himself watching the sky, looking for any sign of change in the seamless dark blue.

  But there was nothing.

  CHAPTER 6

  It was dark in the lander’s cabin.

  The high-pitched roar of the lander’s six rockets filled the space as it descended smoothly toward the upper atmosphere of Oasis, using a delicately balanced combination of aerobraking and thrust to make its controlled descent. Yet one sound was missing. Every moment without the reassuring tone of Karic’s beacon signal ratcheted the coiled tension inside Mara up another notch.

  Starburst had received the beacon transmission less than two hours after Karic’s drop, signaling Karic was alive and that the planet was safe for the descent of the main lander. With only a limited supply of oxygen in the pod, Karic needed immediate rescue. They had begun the descent within an hour of receiving the signal. The lander’s less sensitive radio receiver could not match the Starburst’s high-gain dish antenna and amplifier, so they now waited to pick up the beacon again. So far it had been blocked by the thick cloud cover.

  Mara was in command, and she felt the responsibility keenly. Analyzing the display, she checked the rate of descent and fuel use against her projections, then the lander’s attitude. The lander’s external tanks nested around each other and could be jettisoned in series during the descent as each emptied, reducing weight, yet preserving the vehicle’s overall aerodynamics. Two of the biggest external tanks had already been discarded and the heavy craft was handling well.

  She turned to her right, eyes narrowed. The crew were strapped into four of the six chairs along the console, which ran around three walls of the roughly square cabin. The lights were dimmed for flight. Mara tried not to think about who might have been sitting in the empty seats if things had gone differently. Mara had positioned Janzen along the right-hand wall at a non-critical workstation, an empty seat beside him, leaving her and Andrai free to work the center or “front” console where the flight controls were. Ibri sat at one of the two stations along the left-hand wall, opposite Janzen. The soft white light of their display terminals lit their faces, while their field gear was outlined in an irregular patchwork of green, red and yellow by the console lights. The two chairs that had been positioned along the remaining wall — on either side of the airlock — and the two emergency chairs that had folded up from the floor in the center of the cabin had all been removed to give them room to set up the suspension equipment.

  Andrai was piloting, his hands white on the controls. He gave her a quick smile, wiped the sweat from his palms, brushed his chaotic blond hair back from his face, then returned his attention to the lander.

  Ibri worked methodically to monitor the lander’s systems. He was relaxed, leaning forward over his workstation, a slight smile on his lips, as though amused at a private joke. The console lights etched the contours of his long, dark face into sharp lines of shadow.

  Janzen’s gaze flicked between Andrai and Mara. He could not keep his left leg still, and his knee jigged rapidly. He put his odin on, then a moment later took it off again, the left data-shield still lowered.

  Mara’s fingers tapped out an impatient rhythm on the gleaming console, giving vent to the internal pressure. “Come on, where’s the signal?”

  She had expected this. They should easily receive the beacon once the lander had descended into the lower atmosphere. But how far into the lower atmosphere would the turbulent storm activity extend?

  “Andrai, don’t descend too rapidly. Keep control,” said Janzen.

  “That means more fuel, Janzen,” said Mara. “We are working to optimize it. We will be on the surface soon enough, don’t worry.”

  Janzen went to speak, then stopped, returning the odin to his face, his mouth tight with restrained anger.

  Mara smiled to herself. Even after the last few months, Janzen was not used to being rebuffed, or taking orders. He still ordered Ibri around as though he was commander and challenged Mara on every second decision. He had found some obscure reference in the ExploreCorp rules of command that allowed major shareholders a voice on commercial decisions. Since then, everything was a commercial decision according to him.

  Old habits died hard. Without Karic around, even Andrai would sometimes unthinkingly follow Janzen’s orders. During the preparations for launching the lander, there had been too much to think about to follow Janzen around countermanding every minor order he gave to the crew.

  “Andrai, recheck the frequency,” asked Mara.

  Andrai checked the frequency for the seventh time. “We are on channel.” But there was nothing but static.

  Then the beacon tone rang out.

  “Yeehaa!” cheered Andrai. Mara reached over and hugged Andrai, tears of relief falling down her cheeks. She found the solid warmth of his shoulders comforting and melted into him. He was always there for her, yet demanded nothing. She looked across to see Janzen watching her critically. The former commander’s brows drew together with unspoken disapproval. She broke away from Andrai on reflex, wiping away her tears. Ibri shook his head, no doubt wondering what all the fuss was about.

  Janzen shifted in his seat. He was dressed in a gold, body-hugging jacket of shimmering synthetic material with an ExploreCorp logo on the shirt-breast and sleeve, with matching pants and boots. With his chiseled features and stark blue eyes, he looked as though he had stepped out of an ExploreCorp vid-link advertisement. In contrast, the rest of the crew were in standard field gear, plain khaki uniforms, their badges of rank the only adornment.

  “We should be concentrating on the descent,” said Janzen, the tone of his haughty comment barely concealing the barbed taunt beneath it, implying her conduct was unprofessional.

  Mara tensed, and bit back a sharp retort. The blond tech gave her a smile and she relaxed. She was in charge here, not Janzen. Mara refused to dignify his commentary with a reply.

  Mara turned her mind back to the mission. She looked over at Ibri, who was working steadily at his console, monitoring the operation of the thrusters. Typically, he had ignored the whole exchange.

  The beacon’s low, regular tone sounded strongly through the cabin. Based on a series of readings on the incoming signal, Mara calculated Karic’s approximate position. It was way too far inside the terminator. It had to be wrong. She decided not change their course. Perhaps the cloud was affecting the instruments. She would get a more precise fix when they were below the cloud.

  Above them, the Starburst was far back in the shadow of Oasis, protected from both the harsh emanations of Tau Ceti and the lethal radiation emitted by the black hole’s ejecta — the tortured portion of gases that escaped its steep gravity well as it slaked its endless thirst for matter.

  The last eight hours had been a frenzy of activity as they shut down non-critical systems and prepared the ship for the long wait. They were confident they would be able to keep contact with her for the many long years ahead before their rescue. The Shipcom was fully functional, and should have no trouble controlling the ship’s drive and keeping station above Oasis. And over the last few weeks, Ibri had also assembled an
d programmed a pilot robot that would give them arms, legs and eyes in the control room. They all felt more secure knowing they had command of some mobile artificial intelligence on the ship, should any problems arise.

  All’s well. I just need to keep following Karic’s beacon to the source, reunite the crew and get everyone into stasis.

  It was hard not to consider the possibilities for scientific exploration on Oasis, but the environment was likely to be hostile and dangerous. The dark side would be frozen, locked away from the touch of the planet’s sun, swept by violent storm activity. They did not have the gear, or the resources. They would need to stay in stasis simply to survive.

  The plan was to take very short shifts out of stasis each year for the next twenty-three and a half years; little more than a few weeks of personal time. Hopefully by then Starburst would have received a reply from Earth. They would find out if there was to be a rescue mission … or not. Like all the interstellar exploration companies, ExploreCorp would be keeping a fleet of colony ships ready for flight, poised to reap the enormous profits of claiming a new world. Should the news arrive, they would be the first to respond. Yet Earth was so far away. Would ExploreCorp still exist when their news arrived? Would they respond with a rescue mission without the lure of profit? Or would the jury-rigged Starburst have to risk the journey home?

  The lander trembled.

  Mara took a deep breath, then looked down, to check her display. She laid her palms flat on the cool silver metal of the console to either side, comforted by the smoothness, the familiar technology at her command. At heart, she was a space-rat — born and bred on a station — and this was the world she knew.

  “OK, we are starting to enter the lower atmosphere. It’s all yours, Andrai,” she said.

  They checked their padded harnesses to make sure they were firmly strapped in. Janzen carefully folded his odin and zipped it into a pocket on his shirt. He pulled the straps tight across his broad chest.