The Imperative Chronicles, Books One and Two: The Mars Imperative & The Tesserene Imperative
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The Imperative
Chronicles
Containing the complete, unabridged Books One & Two
The Mars Imperative
The Tesserene Imperative
§
Mark Terence Chapman
Other than for review purposes, no portion of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any print or electronic form without permission.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and coincidental. Any resemblance between persons living or dead, establishments, events, or location is entirely coincidental.
Empty Sea Intergalactic Enterprises, by arrangement with the author
First edition, publication December 2014
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The Imperative Chronicles (Books One and Two)
Copyright © 2014 by Mark Terence Chapman
All Rights Reserved
Published in the United States of America
The Mars Imperative
The Tesserene Imperative
The Mars Imperative
(Book One of the Imperative Chronicles)
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Prologue
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
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Afterword
About the Author
PROLOGUE
History of Space Exploration: 21st and 22nd Century—By the late 21st century, it was clear that humanity couldn’t subsist indefinitely on Earth’s rapidly dwindling natural resources. There were simply too many people. The consequences were inevitable: pollution, overcrowding, rampant psychological ills, incessant border skirmishes, and spot food shortages, to name a few. Advances in medical science and technology helped extend the human lifespan, which merely exacerbated the problem.
Earth could not be the sole home of humanity forever. The only long-term solution was to colonize the stars; however, the meager chemical rockets at mankind’s disposal were not up to the task. It would have taken centuries to reach even the nearest star systems. The stars had to wait. First, humanity had to find a way to survive on Earth until the technology improved. That meant another approach had to be tried first: mining the asteroid belt and the other bodies in the Sol system.
The advent of space elevators, in the second half of the 21st century opened the solar system to cost-effective space launches and the efficient shipment of cargo between Earth and other planetary bodies.
By 2170, Earth's population had grown to more than thirty-eight billion, resulting in severe shortages of many resources. Earth needed all the raw materials it could extract from elsewhere in the solar system, to keep civilization from collapsing under its own weight.
— Excerpt from Encyclopedia Solaris, 2176
* * * *
The door slid open with a sigh. A stocky man double-checked the passageway.
No tails—that I can see, anyway.
He slipped inside and waited a few seconds beside the door, fist cocked, in case anyone followed him in. When no one did, he tapped the control panel to close the door and went to work.
He unzipped his jumpsuit and removed the small package he’d carried close to his heart. Moving quickly, he slid between the racks of goods carefully arranged in aisles: coveralls here, spare parts there, replacement wall panels over by the far bulkhead.
The bulkhead was his destination.
Pushing aside the stack of wall panels leaning against it, he pressed the package against the bulkhead and held it there for a second while the bonding agent anchored it in place. Then he adjusted the controls and removed the key to lock the settings. Finally, he slid the panels back in place to hide the package.
Striding to the door, he opened it and exited, closing the door behind himself. There was no one else in the passageway, not at this time of night. Everything was going according to plan.
By the time they know what happened, I’ll be back on Earth and long gone.
He carefully composed his face with a vacant smile and sauntered off toward the elevator terminal, softly whistling the strains of Strauss’ Also Sprach Zarathustra.
CHAPTER 1
Engineering Marvels: Space Elevator—A space elevator consists of three sections: 1) A GEOSTATIONARY space station, called an ORBITAL DOCKING FACILITY (ODF); 2) A base platform, which serves to anchor the ODF on or near the equator of Earth or another planet; and 3) Multiple ribbon cables and elevator cars connecting the two.
Each cable is formed from a high-tensile composite consisting primarily of dozens of micron-thick bonded layers of BORON NITRIDE Nanotubes (BNNTs), which have a strength-to-weight ratio hundreds of times superior to that of steel. Elevator cars operating on the principles of Magnetic Levitation (Maglev) ride along these cables at high rates of speed.
— Excerpt from Encyclopedia Solaris, 2176
* * * *
“Crap, crap, CRAP!”
James McKie clenched his teeth and watched the aftershave bottle roll across the floor.
This was the final straw, the ultimate thread in a richly-woven tapestry of frustration. It was as if the gods of travel had decreed that nothing would go right for James this day. Born of extreme exasperation, a grunt like that of a strangled moose caused other travelers in the terminal to cast puzzled glances his way.
His day had started out well enough, with a pleasant family breakfast. His mom made waffles while he and his dad swapped jokes. After the final morsel was used to mop up the last swirl of maple syrup, it was time to leave.
“You make sure you keep warm, Jamie. It’s awfully cold out there.” Jessica’s deep blue eyes peered into her son’s hazel ones. She fought back tears.
“Yes, Mom.” James made an effort not to roll his eyes as he spoke. “I think I know how to dress myself by now.” His smirk made Jessica smile and sniffle.
“The taxi’s on its way, son,” Talmadge said, stepping away from the phone. “In the meantime, I think your friends want to say good-bye.” He nodded in the direction of the front door.
James tucked a wayward lock of sandy hair under his stocking cap and yanked on his down jacket. His beat-up old duffel bag was already waiting for him by the door.
He turned to his mother and gave her a big bear hug, then he stepped back and shook hands with his father. Jessica dabbed at her eyes with the flowered dishtowel draped over her shoulder.
“We’ll miss you, son,” Talmadge said.
Jessica nodded, silently.
“I’ll miss you, too—both of you. But I can’t turn down an
opportunity like this.”
“We know, Jamie. But almost three years. That’s such a long time.”
James shrugged. What else could he say? He turned and picked up his bag. As he held open the door to leave, he turned back. “Bye, Mom, bye, Dad. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I love you both.”
Jessica’s eyes overflowed at last. Talmadge spoke for both of them. “We love you, too, son.”
James waggled his fingers in a half-wave and slipped through the door, closing it firmly behind him.
Outside by the curb, his friends were awaiting their turn to say good-bye. Mary-Anne Sevinski and Dave Plowright were his oldest friends. The trio had been together since grade school. James trudged through the fresh knee-deep snow on the walk until he reached his friends.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving like this,” Dave said. “We’ve always been here for each other. Now you’re running off and leaving us.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic,” Mary-Anne scolded. “He’s just taking a job. You’d do the same, given the chance.”
“Well, maybe. But I’m not the one who’s leaving.”
“That’s only because you have a job waiting for you at your dad's company,” James said. “We don’t all have that luxury.”
Dave shrugged. “Still, I hate that you’re going.”
“Me too,” said Mary-Anne. Now her eyes were beginning to mist over.
It was James’ turn to shrug. “I’ll be home before you know it.”
“Yeah. Sure.” Dave looked like his best friend had just died. It wasn’t quite that bad, but for the next few years his best friend would not only be out of town but millions of kilometers away. In his eyes, it wasn’t much better than being dead.
From that point on, the goodbyes devolved into a teary affair involving much hugging and back-slapping. Mary-Anne made a point of fussing with the scarlet wool scarf she’d given him as a going-away present. It wasn’t going to do him much good on Mars, but…. Eventually, the taxi arrived to take James to the airport.
That’s when things started to go wrong.
* * * *
The overnight blizzard had dumped a half-meter of fluffy white snow on Winnipeg. It sparkled in the scattered morning sunlight shining through gaps in the leaden cloud cover. This briefly gave the city a pristine appearance.
It’s too bad it doesn’t look like this all winter. James knew from experience that it wouldn’t be long before air pollution desecrated the unsullied surface with a peppery coating.
The snow, heaped atop the previous accumulation, barely slowed the cab—the snow chains had been on the tires for months. Nor did the changing landscape befuddle the vehicle’s autopilot, a veteran of more than a decade of severe Canadian winters. Unfortunately, the dozens of wrecked and stalled vehicles that clogged roads all over the city accomplished what the snow alone couldn’t: the cab slowed to a crawl.
It didn’t matter that James had allowed four hours to make his flight. The city’s icelock made the roads nearly impassable. The cab took the entire four hours just to reach the airport.
That’s it, then.
Because clearing the multiple security checks typically took the better part of half an hour, he knew he had no hope of making his flight.
James took his time getting to the ticket counter, where he hoped to find another flight sometime soon. Having nine people ahead of him in line didn’t exactly improve his disposition. Finally he reached the counter.
“Good morning, sir. Welcome to BrazAir!” In James’ current mood, the chipper tone of the AI on the holoscreen grated like fingernails on an old-fashioned blackboard. His irritation was offset somewhat by the name of the airline, which—as always—made him think of women's undergarments.
“Morning. It looks like I missed my flight. When’s your next one to Macapá?” He held out his arm so the terminal’s scanner could read the subdermal chip embedded in the back of his wrist.
“Let me check for you, Mr. McKie.” A long second passed. “It looks like you’re in luck, sir. Your flight has been delayed while the airport finishes clearing snow off the runway and de-icing the aircraft. You have just enough time to make your flight—if you hurry.”
James closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head. Here we go again. He thanked the AI and took off running.
Jogging through the terminal with his duffel, he worked up a sweat dodging passengers with too much time on their hands and electric carts moving passengers with infirmities from one place to another. Rounding a corner, he tripped over a bag someone had set down while checking the wall holoscreen for departure times. James fell, banging his right knee solidly on the floor.
“Damn it!” This got him a rude look from the passenger whose bag he’d stumbled over and kicked.
When James regained his feet, he found he was reduced to a shambling shuffle by his throbbing knee. He pushed on, eventually working through the stiffness and resuming a jog until he reached the security checkpoint. The agent seemed determine to find something in James’ bag. Maybe it was due to the wild look in his eyes and the sheen of perspiration on his face.
Finally James reached the gate, only to find the suborbital plane gone.
“Damn it!”
The AI at the next gate looked his way. “Sir? Are you looking for flight 1139?” When James nodded, she crooked a finger and said, “The plane was moved to this gate. We’ve just begun boarding.”
Sighing in relief, James limped over to the gate and presented the back of his wrist. The terminal scanned it and compared James’ face to the image stored in his implant. The AI smiled. “You’re in seat 73E, Mr. McKie.”
James smiled for the first time in hours. “Thanks.” He followed a little old lady onto the suborbital. She seemed determined to walk as slowly as humanly possible down the aisle; but at this point James didn’t care. He was aboard the plane and that was all that mattered. He stuffed his jacket in his duffel and the latter into the overhead compartment. He then took his window seat next to an extremely tall and burly man, one who spilled over into the seats to either side of him. Why do the largest human beings on Earth always seem to end up in the middle seats?
For the moment, being crowded didn’t bother James. This, however, was a feeling that didn’t last.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain. Unfortunately, the snow-removal is taking longer than anticipated. It looks like we’ll be stuck here for another forty minutes or so. You might as well get comfortable.”
Comfortable? Ri-i-ight.
The flight attendants bustled about, serving a late breakfast, but James couldn’t eat. His stomach was in an uproar.
Eventually the plane received the go-ahead to depart. Even at a top speed of just over Mach 10, it took nearly two hours, including circling, for the suborbital scramjet to travel the eight thousand-plus kilometers to its destination—two hot, cramped, thoroughly unpleasant hours.
The large man next to James dropped off to sleep almost immediately after takeoff—and snored the entire rest of the trip. Before long, he’d slumped to one side with his shoulder pressing against James’.
Wonderful. Can this day possibly get more annoying?
By the time the suborb landed in Macapá, James was irritated, overheated and feeling as fresh as a crumpled, used tissue—and just about as damp.
The vehicle finally rolled to a stop and the passengers rose to leave.
Thank God that’s over with. I was beginning to think I’d never get here. Well, whatever happens from here on out, it can’t be as bad as what I’ve already been though.
He was mistaken. The gods of travel weren’t quite done having fun with him yet.
* * * *
James disembarked from the suborb and squinted in the intense sunlight. It was a glorious day, so unlike what he had left behind just hours earlier. Overhead, feathery white clouds played tag across the sky. Just beyond the airport fence, a stand of cajueiro trees danced to a gentle breeze, while a flock of mult
icolored parrots argued noisily among themselves.
All right! This is more like it! It’s too bad Dave and Mary-Anne aren’t here to see this. He pulled the holocam out of his duffel and took a minute to film his surroundings and record a brief greeting. It’s not quite as good as being here, but….
James drew a deep breath, filling his lungs with the thick, humid air. I wish the cam could record scents. He sighed. A salty tang hinted at tropical delights to be had somewhere nearby. It was nothing like the foul, polluted soup of home; the very air here seemed alive with energy.
James, however, had little time to contemplate the possibilities. Best laid plans and all that. Even making up time en route, the stupid suborb was more than an hour late getting here. Now I have…jeez, ninety-seven minutes to reach the port. He grimaced and shook his head in frustration. Wonderful, just wonderful. Wouldn’t it make a great impression to be late my first day on the job? I knew I should have taken that flight last night, just in case.
He stuffed the cam back in his bag before heading for the terminal. The airport authorities evidently hadn’t felt the need for an enclosed air-conditioned walkway between the suborbital and the terminal. It didn’t take James long to curse that decision. If it weren’t bad enough that he already reeked from the trip thus far, he belatedly realized that his heavy northern clothing—perfect for Winnipeg in midwinter—was gross stupidity for the hot, sticky climate of equatorial Brazil.
I should have planned ahead. It’s always summer on the equator. Why didn’t I change on the plane? He grimaced. Chalk up another life lesson: always dress for the local conditions.
By the time James traversed the thirty meters to the terminal, his hunter-green turtleneck shirt and black thermal pants clung to him like flypaper and his longish sandy hair was glued to his forehead. Drops of sweat slalomed down the upturned nose that made him look even younger than his twenty-three years. It took barely a minute to cross the tarmac, yet he imagined the pale skin at the tips of his ears already beginning to crisp. He shifted his grip on the sweat-slick faux-leather handles of the duffel.