Solomon's Arrow

by J. Dalton Jennings

  “Good morning, to both the members of the press and to those watching on Earth,” a cheerful Lawrence Murchison said, his toothy grin seeming to stretch from ear to ear. “I will make a short statement before taking a couple of questions from the press corp.”

  The press was taken by surprise. A question and answer session hadn’t been on the schedule. Hearing this made their journalistic juices flow.

  “First of all, I’d like to say that it has been my distinct pleasure working for Dr. Chavez and his father. Some of you have questioned why I was chosen to lead CIMRAD after his departure. It’s simple: I was his right-hand man for ten years and his father’s for seven before that. I know the ins and outs of CIMRAD better than anyone. I will carry the company forward using the same business model that both Juan and Solomon Chavez ascribed to: creating products that further the health and welfare of mankind, while treating our customers and workers fairly.”

  He then looked directly into the camera. “Dr. Solomon Chavez shunned the limelight. To most of the world he was—is an enigmatic figure. He could’ve used his father’s wealth to jet around the world, partying and womanizing for the rest of his life, but he did neither of those things. Instead, he carried on his father’s work and made it his own. The world is truly indebted to him.

  “I’ll now take a couple of questions before playing his message.”

  Fifty hands shot immediately into the air. Murchison pointed to an up-and-coming Brazilian news anchor, whose supermodel good-looks had recently drawn the attention of the New York networks. “Ms. Fernandez.” No surprise he called on her, as the rumors were flowing of a relationship between the two.

  “Thank you, Mr. Murchison,” she said, standing. Her coverall seemed to fit perfectly. Many of the male journalists looked down at their notes, trying to keep their eyes from straying to her shapely figure. “Lately there has been a decrease in terrorist attacks by the CRA. Some in the media,” she said, cutting a quick glance in Darren Brantley’s direction, “have suggested that the organization is lulling us to sleep in preparation for a much more dramatic attack.”

  “What’s your question, Ms. Fernandez?” Murchison asked, looking annoyed.

  “I’m sure the public would like to know,” she said, unfazed by his interruption, “that every precaution has been taken to prevent another attack, like the bomb that destroyed Dr. Chavez’s plane and the one that nearly destroyed Elevator City. My question is: Can you assure us that we won’t be sitting here watching the Arrow go up in a ball of flames?”

  “That’s a fair question,” he said, nodding. “Not only can I assure you, and the public, that every precaution has been attended to, Ms. Fernandez, I can guarantee that Solomon’s Arrow will launch without a hitch.”

  Glancing around, Murchison studied the journalists, their hands in the air, and focused on the determined face of Darren Brantley, knowing that if he didn’t call on the flamboyant hack, he would be trashed on the man’s show for weeks. “Mr. Brantley.” “Thank you, Mr. Murchison.” He ran his hand through his hair in dramatic fashion. “I was wondering …. where’s Dr. Mona Levin? I was hoping to interview her. I assumed she’d be by your side on this momentous occasion … but she’s not, and it seems that no one’s seen her for the past two days.”

  Murchison hesitated, thrown by Brantley’s question. He’d expected a cynical follow-up to Ms. Fernandez’s question, not this mundane query as to Dr. Levin’s whereabouts. “I’ll check into that, Mr. Brantley. I’ve been told that she returned to the Lake Victoria complex the day before yesterday and is now at an undisclosed location, watching the launch in private. After the backbreaking work she’s put into this mission, she can watch the launch anywhere she wants, in my opinion.”

  “Will she be available for interviews in the coming days?” Brantley asked.

  “Possibly,” Murchison said, pausing to think, “possibly not. I’ve been informed that she’ll be taking a long vacation immediately after the launch.”

  “Do your ‘sources’ know where her vacation will be held, Mr. Murchison?”

  “That makes three questions, Mr. Brantley. And no, my sources have not told me where Dr. Levin will be spending her vacation. Frankly, that’s none of my business … nor is it yours.”

  A flurry of hands shot into the air. “That’s all the questions I’ll be answering.”

  Brantley received more than a few glares as the press groaned with disappointment.

  “Moving on, it’s now time for a message from Dr. Solomon Chavez.”

  •

  Sitting at the helm of Solomon’s Arrow, Richard Allison, who had recently been promoted to commander, watched the ten-inch by fifteen-inch view-screen embedded in the helm’s control console and tried to keep the smile off his face. He’d seen Lawrence Murchison reply to Darren Brantley and was impressed by how well he handled the preening, self-absorbed HV host.

  Hearing a soft chuckle, Richard looked to his left at the tactical console. Floyd Sullivant was shaking his head, a smile also on his face as he stared at his view-screen.

  “That guy’s always out to start trouble,” he said, catching Richard’s eye. “I wouldn’t have let Brantley anywhere near Lake Vic much less the orbital platform … he’s a dick.”

  With a mischievous glint in his eye, Richard replied, “Well, if anyone knows a dick, you do.”

  Floyd’s double take was priceless. He let loose with a loud guffaw. “Yeah … I’m looking right at one. In fact, from now on I’m going to call you Dick, instead of Richard.”

  “That’s Commander Dick to you, Lieutenant. That’s your rank now, right, Floyd?”

  Admiral Axelrod had commissioned the burly security officer earlier that month, stating that she wanted all of her senior officers to be military. “Don’t remind me.”

  Both men heard a throat being cleared behind them. “Do you have a problem with your new status, Lt. Sullivant?”

  Admiral Axelrod was standing outside her ready room door. Floyd spun around and came immediately to attention. “No sir! I’m happy to be of service, sir!”

  “That’s good to know. Chavez’s speech is starting. I’ll be in my ready room. My own will be shown live … so please, be sure you at least pay attention to that one. Have I made myself clear, gentlemen?”

  “Yes, sir!” the two men answered in unison.

  With that, Admiral Axelrod disappeared back inside her ready room.

  A muffled snicker could be heard coming from the only other crew member on the bridge, Lt. Julie Norwood, the ship’s navigator and communications officer. Richard ignored her and turned to face Floyd. “Floyd, take my advice: don’t come to attention at your work station or anywhere else while on duty. It’s not required and only makes you look like … um, like a dick.”

  “Ha, ha, you’re a real laugh riot.”

  “Excuse me, boys,” Lt. Norwood interjected, “but would you mind holding it down? There’s at least one of us on the bridge who’d actually like to hear Dr. Chavez’s speech.” With a high and mighty expression on her face, the petite redhead turned back around to her own monitor.

  Both men stared at her slim back for a second before exchanging a look of amusement. With a shrug, they went back to watching their monitors.

  The rousing speech by Solomon Chavez, which he’d recorded the previous afternoon, was filled with soaring rhetoric and high praise. Richard, however, was so amped by the thought of breaking orbit that he barely paid the good doctor any attention. He was about to become the first human to pilot an interstellar spacecraft. This was his boyhood dream. At the same time, he was conflicted: he would never again see his wife and son’s graves.

  Richard shook his head, reminding himself that their caskets were empty. The recovery teams had salvaged a few chunks of the plane’s fuselage, some seats, part of a wing, together with other assorted objects … but no people. As expected, the explosion had caused catastrophic damage to the passenger compartment. The oceanic impact had obliterated the re
st. Their actual presence notwithstanding, Erin and David’s adjacent graves were a symbol, one he’d visited on numerous occasions over the previous year and would greatly miss. So yes, he was conflicted.

  Solomon Chavez was wrapping up his speech, so Richard paid closer attention.

  The enigmatic, dark-haired philanthropist was standing on the banks of Lake Victoria as he spoke to the world. “… and in conclusion, I’d like to say that the date of the Arrow’s departure, January 20, 2061, was not chosen at random. If you haven’t heard by now, it coincides with the one-hundredth anniversary of President Kennedy’s inauguration. It was his call to action that jump-started America’s space program and sent a man to the moon, which in turn led directly to this great day.

  “The human race has come a long way in the last one-hundred years.” He paused to look over his shoulder at the vast stretch of water behind him. When he again faced the camera, Solomon’s tan face contained a wistful expression. “With any luck, the Ark Project will colonize a planet that approaches the beauty of our home world, but it’ll never exceed the profound glory we have here on Mother Earth. I hope, with all my heart, that future generations will solve the problems that brought about the need for an expedition such as this. However, humanity must hedge its bets. We must reach for the stars to ensure our survival. But whether we succeed or fail, this effort will hopefully inspire future generations to say, the Ark Project took a bold step to shelter humanity from eminent disaster, and now it is our turn to chart a new course.” Solomon paused dramatically, his coal-black eyes reaching intimately through the camera. “The future awaits you … but this is now. As such, it’s time for me and all those courageous individuals aboard the Arrow to say farewell. As you go about your daily lives, all I ask is that you pray for our safety and success. Thank you, and may God bless the human race.”

  Richard was surprisingly touched by Solomon’s speech. He watched as the enigmatic man’s face was replaced by Admiral Axelrod’s. She stood at attention, hands held behind her back, a real-time HV projection of Earth floating behind her.

  “Dr. Solomon Chavez has spoken eloquently,” she said. “I, however, am not one for flowery language. I am a military officer who speaks candidly to those under my command. However, this is not a military mission. I have well-trained military officers on this ship, but no soldiers. The Arrow is a ship of peace, of exploration and discovery, not conquest. When we’ve finished building a colony on the habitable planet orbiting Epsilon Eridani, I will lay my uniform down and serve in other ways. We will be starting over, but we will not be starting from scratch. We have the knowledge, and hopefully the wisdom, to create a civilization with no need for soldiers, a home where we at last beat our swords into plowshares.”

  The admiral came to attention and snapped her white-gloved hand up in a salute. “On behalf of all those brave souls onboard Solomon’s Arrow—I, Admiral Katherine Bethany Axelrod, bid the people of Earth a fond farewell.”

  With that, her hand snapped back down to her side and the screen faded to black. When that moment was documented for posterity, it would be noted that over three quarters of the world’s population of twelve billion souls witnessed her address, and most of them would tell you they felt as though she’d saluted them personally.

  Stepping out of her ready room, Katherine Axelrod stood for a moment admiring the bridge. It was small and serviceable, so unlike those extravagantly large bridges popularized in movies and on HV. Gazing down into Richard’s expectant face, she said, “Well, what are you waiting for, Commander Allison … let’s get this show on the road.”

  “Yes, sir!” he fervently responded, pressing a biometrically coded touch screen. “Engaging engines. Navigation heading laid in and awaiting your order.”

  The admiral took a deep, satisfied breath, before saying, “Take us out.”

  Slowly and steadily, Solomon’s Arrow broke from Earth’s orbit—and thus began humanity’s first manned mission to another star system.

  9

  ONBOARD THE ARROW: THREE YEARS INTO THE FLIGHT

  It had taken nearly a full year for the Arrow to achieve its top velocity of 99.9 percent the speed of light. The asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter had been a little tricky to maneuver through, not because the crew feared being struck by one of its asteroids (the warp bubble protected the ship), but because they feared dislodging a sizable rock, which would then hurtle toward Earth. There were some tense moments as the ship approached the outer reaches of the solar system, where the Kuiper belt (a region containing dwarf planets and comets) and the Oort cloud (a vast sphere of ice and comets enwrapping the solar system) were located. Thankfully, the massive amount of material contained in each was spread out far enough that neither posed much of a risk. There was some marginal buffeting when they reached the Heliosheath, an area of intense cosmic wind located between the two outer layers of the solar system, but no major problems were reported.

  After fourteen months, the Arrow finally left the Oort cloud and cruised unimpeded through interstellar space. By this time, the command crew was in desperate need of a rest, so their replacement shift was decanted from cryo-stasis and put to work.

  Two years later, the second shift was exhausted. It wasn’t as if their duties were difficult; quite the opposite, they were bored. With three weeks to go before the next scheduled decanting, that all changed.

  Three hours into the night shift, the crew was going about its business—everything seemed normal: all the equipment was working up to specifications; deep space was clear, with no rogue, dwarf-planet sightings in months—when the ship lurched, sending many crew members tumbling to the deck. Lights flickered; instruments recorded anomalous readings; and worst of all, the crew became lightheaded, with some passing out. Those who did pass out were unconscious for only a few seconds before regaining their senses. While unconscious, each reported seeing fleeting memories floating like soap bubbles in their minds.

  The lieutenant commanding the night shift ordered an account of all injures. A handful was reported, but none serious. When the incident occurred, she was on her way from the mess hall after picking up coffee for her and the bridge crew. The turbo-lift she was in had jerked to a stop, causing a few anxious moments, and spilling all the coffee, before continuing on its way.

  “Vargas, let me know the moment you find out if there’s been damage to instrumentation,” she said. As usual, Bluetooth implants acted as intercoms. “And image the outside of the Arrow. I want the skin examined for any damage. I need to know exactly what caused this anomaly.”

  Once the turbo-lift regained power and she arrived on the bridge, Lt. Marla Pruitt was met by anxious looks from her crew. “Royce, what’s our heading?”

  “I had to make a quick adjustment, but we’re back on course, Lieutenant.”

  “Good.” she suddenly realized she hadn’t contacted life sciences to check on the status of the passengers and crew in cryo-stasis. “Computer, connect me with Calloway in life sciences.”

  After a long pause, a female voice was heard. “Calloway here.”

  “How’re the popsicles doing, Sharon?”

  “We’ve had some … strange readings, Lieutenant,” the deputy department head replied, her voice sounding a note of concern.

  “How so?”

  “We’re in the process of analyzing data. I’ll send you the report when it’s complete.”

  “Make it quick. I’ll be in the ready room,” she told the bridge crew, “collating data.”

  Without waiting for a response, she strode into the auxiliary ready room and stood by her desk. Reaching up, she rubbed her temples, trying to relieve the headache building behind her eyes. “Computer, decrease the light-level by thirty-five percent. And have a maintenance bot clean up the coffee spill in turbo-lift 1-A.”

  She sighed with relief when she reopened her eyes. Reaching for a handkerchief, she dabbed at a small coffee stain on her blue coverall. “Computer, analyze the existing data on the inciden
t we just experienced. Use your extrapolation program to draw a conclusion, however preliminary, about what just happened.”

  “Extrapolating all data gathered by human means and ship’s sensors.”

  There was a long pause, which caused the lieutenant to worry.

  “The available data have been collated, and the requested programming has determined that an unprecedented space-time distortion has occurred, Lt. Pruitt.”

  She was stunned. “What the hell could have caused a space-time distortion?”

  The computer answered, “That is impossible to extrapolate at this time.”

  “What do you mean?” The Arrow contained the most powerful computer ever developed. How could it not know what caused this space-time distortion? It didn’t make sense.

  “Since the ship’s sensors failed to register the anomaly’s cause, there are not enough physical determinants present to provide a reasonable extrapolation of facts.”

  Something must have produced the anomaly; it wasn’t caused by a damned space ghost! An intense desire to head straight to cryogenics and decant “The Battleaxe” swelled in Lt. Pruitt.

  “Computer … institute a subroutine devoted to solving this problem. If any information comes in to change your determination, let me know.”

  At least she’d have an interesting report for the admiral when she wakes up, the lieutenant thought. “Computer, provide me with an injury report.”

  “Injuries were minimal. Ten scraped knees, seven bruised ribs, one broken wrist, and three minor concussions.”

  “What about the cryo-chambers? Life Sciences reported some strange readings.”

  “The anomaly affected them, but the present cryogenic readings appear normal.”

  “What? How were they affected?” The lieutenant rose to her feet, frightened by this news.

  “That is undetermined, at this time,” the computer responded.