Forbidden The Stars (The Interstellar Age Book 1)

by Valmore Daniels

  How far away can you control an electronic device? What do you do all night while you are awake? Do you never get sleepy? What do you think about? Can you tell me if you have dreams? Not even waking dreams? Do you still feel fatigued? Any other symptoms?

  Two thoughts occurred to Alex: first, this organization, whilst it knew more about him than anyone else on Earth knew, still had many gaps in its database.

  For instance, they had information about his ability to manipulate electricity, and to cause computer files and programs to activate without physically touching the keyboard. For some reason, they thought this power to be singularly dangerous.

  However, they had no idea about his ability to see beyond himself, to see outside the ship, and into the vast reaches of local space. He decided to keep this a secret; how it was going to help him, he had no idea, but if he had something they did not know about, it meant that he retained a certain amount of power over them.

  The second thing that Alex spent many a night pondering was the ambiguous nature of the enemy. The captain and crew, although they had kidnapped him—and broken several laws in doing so—beheld Alex with very little regard. He had expected them to be mean, callous, and to go out of their way to cause him grief. As long as he did not get underfoot, and obeyed the rules set out by the captain the first day of his capture, the crew completely ignored him. They didn’t extend him any courtesies if they didn’t have to; but neither did they seek to harm him. He was a passenger, little more.

  Then there was the Doc, who genuinely seemed to like Alex, although he was Alex’s captor, and obviously had an agenda.

  It made thinking of them as the enemy that much more difficult; but to think of them of such, he was determined.

  Perhaps they thought they could fool him; but Alex was no ordinary boy concerned with play. His parents had been assiduous in ensuring Alex’s education, and awareness of the world outside his family. There was always time for play, but only after the lessons—although Alex often cheated and played first.

  Now was not a time for amusement.

  He decided he was not going to learn anything significant until they reached their destination; so every night when he was alone in his small room, laying back on the lumpy mattress with his eyes closed, he floated outside himself, outside the ship, to check their progress.

  Alex wondered how they were going to circumvent the radar monitoring orbitals every country corporation used to control and check the flow of Earth-bound and space-bound flights. Anything larger than a two-meter meteorite was logged and traced. Surely, Alex’s kidnapping had been reported to all countries concerned with the Orcus project; and knowing the EarthMesh grapevine, word would have leaked out. NASA would approach the United Earth Corporate and demand a strict traffic watch for any ship approaching Earth in the time window they calculated the kidnappers would return there.

  It was a few days before final approach, as Alex learned from the Doc. He would have to wait and see until then. The Doc, when questioned, only smiled.

  Two days out from Earth, Alex used his extrasensory sight. He wanted to watch the Earth become larger and larger against the backdrop of the immense starfield of space, but when he did so, he was taken by a strange feeling. It was more of a certainty, an intuition.

  Suddenly, he knew deep within himself—as assuredly as he knew his own name—that the ship was on a course that would not take them to Earth.

  He thought back and recalled that not once had anyone said that their destination was Earth. Even when he had assumed it was so, and mentioned it, the doctor had not corrected him.

  In his field of extraspacial vision, he saw the Moon appearing from behind the horizon of the Earth.

  Luna Station.

  An independent port, owned by all, but accountable to none.

  The perfect hiding place.

  28

  Quantum Resources, Inc. :

  Toronto :

  Canada Corp.:

  Calbert Loche knocked tentatively on the Director’s office door.

  When Michael looked up, Calbert raised his eyebrows, silently asking permission to enter. The Director nodded, waving his loyal assistant in, and leaned back into his leather chair, rubbing the glare of the DMR casement from his eyes.

  It had been a long morning. So far, there had been no developments in the hunt for Alex Manez, and no clues to the mysteries of Dis Pater or Element X.

  However, there had been a deluge of meshmail requests from various news agencies and mesh newsletter groups requesting information. As part of Quantum Resources public relations campaign, Michael had decided to offer full disclosure on anything the governments of Canada Corp. and USA, Inc. had de-classified; as well as any ‘non-sensitive’ research Quantum Resources itself developed, releasing this information only after it had been confirmed.

  The info-pirates and leftist groups that monitored NASA (as if that agency were run by malevolent forces) attacked Quantum Resources’ computers with a passion that frankly shocked Michael. He thanked his lucky stars for Calbert Loche, who implemented his philosophy of clean computers. The research machines had no possible access to any mesh account, and no company secrets could be saved on any computer that had an EarthMesh connection. Outside correspondence was done on separate computers—dumb terminals only.

  Michael could imagine what would happen if any information on Element X was leaked. The mesh tabloids had had a field day on the subject of Dis Pater, that find being declassified by NASA within hours of discovery, but the farcical stories those rags generated had no end.

  It never ceased to amaze him how some groups obtained their information, and how much of it they managed to acquire. Their accuracy was as alarming as their theories were ludicrous. They spread enough misinformation to keep the masses on the edge of doubt.

  Since Michael had little function outside of administration matters until there were any developments, he took it upon himself to deal with the news agencies and mesh groups. If nothing else, it reminded him how important it was not to let himself be swayed by the tabloid stories and opinion columns.

  As the one with the facts, he could check them against the accounts generated by sub-news groups. The tabloids fell short every time. Opinion columns sometimes had a few informed participants, but most entries came from lonely, bored, or deranged people who had nothing better to do.

  He looked up at his aide.

  “Tough day?” Calbert enquired politely.

  “Yeah. It never ends.”

  “Uphill battle?”

  “Something like that.” Michael nodded.

  Calbert smiled. “Is there any other kind?”

  That elicited a chuckle from Michael. He saw Calbert was holding a folder. “What have you got for me?”

  Calbert lifted the folder, glanced at the cover. “Preliminary Budget for the Fiscal Year 2091—Quantum Resources, Inc.” He made a sour face. “It reads like award-winning fiction; only the writer can understand what the hell it says.”

  They shared a small laugh.

  Lifting his eyebrows, Calbert said, “No, I came by to tell you we’ve downloaded the preliminary investigation report from NASA on the Orcus 1 incident.”

  “Incident?”

  “That’s what they’re calling it until they can find a responsible party and lay charges. Also, the weekly Dis Pater/Element X update has been downloaded as well. I didn’t know if you caught it on your meshmail.”

  “No. Too busy with the media subculture.” He gestured to his computer.

  Calbert grimaced. “Tabloids. Never touch them. I stick to the Globe and Mail, and the Washington Post. Everything else is trash. Too bad the rags have ten times the circulation of any legitimate paper. Crackpots and unrateds.”

  “On that, we agree.”

  There was a short silence where Michael decided Calbert was gathering himself to ask something of personal importance. He gave his assistant all the time he needed.

  “Uh,” Calbert began, “My wif
e asked me to invite you and Melanie, if you’re available, for dinner this Friday. We’re having a few couples over for cards. If you don’t have any other plans.”

  “No, our schedule is clear. Mel would be delighted. We haven’t really socialized since moving to Toronto. How is Joan?”

  “She’s adjusting, but preferred Ottawa. The generous raise you approved for us helps keep her mollified, though. She’s got her eye on an Alaskan cruise this spring.”

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  “Yeah. If you like boats.”

  “I think they’re called ships,” Michael joked.

  “Change the ‘p’ to a ‘t’ and that’s what I get when I board them. Anyway, I’ve got to bring this budget down to Ray and see if we can figure it out together.”

  Michael laughed. “The mysteries of physics are laid to waste by your brilliant minds, and you can’t figure out a simple budget.”

  Calbert mimed offering the report to Michael. “Then you won’t mind going over it yourself.”

  Raising his hands in a forestalling gesture, Michael shook his head. “Not on your life.”

  Offering a conciliatory laugh, Calbert got up and said, “Talk to you later.”

  “Later.”

  When Calbert had left, Michael sighed, took a sip from his now-cold coffee and grimaced. Clearing his throat, he went back to his computer and pulled up the files from NASA.

  The incident report told him nothing new, and he closed the casement screen. The weekly update on NASA’s efforts in the Dis Pater investigation did not offer Michael any new insights, and he skimmed the long-winded paragraphs, scanning for anything of interest.

  He brushed over one paragraph, and the meaning of it did not register in his mind until he reached the end of the report. The author had alluded to an interview, but the report did not have any attachment that indicated where the interview was. He read the phrase again:

  ∞

  [Ref: n:982563\nvstgtn.dispater.ntrvw325.nasa.gov]

  ‘The translation of the sacred scroll the old man revealed to me leads me to believe a further investigation is fully warranted. There is a possible link between the fall of the Mayan civilization around 800 AD, and the discovery of Dis Pater…’

  ∞

  Michael checked the file location on the NASA LAN, to which he had been given access, but it was not there. He went back to the report and checked the file details. The author’s name was George Markowitz, and it gave his meshmail and vidcomm addresses.

  Dialing George Markowitz’s vidcomm through the DMR casement, Michael waited patiently as the ringer sounded four times. He was expecting a voicemail message, but was surprised when the screen blinked on to show a live person. George was man in his forties with a receding hairline and a sour expression on his chubby face. He wore a simple blue shirt with no tie.

  “Hello—” George checked the display bar on the bottom of the screen that flashed the caller’s identity. “—Director Sanderson.” The irritated look on his face did not alter with the knowledge or recognition of his caller’s identity. “What can I do for you?”

  “Hello, Mr. Markowitz. I’m sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if you could help me.”

  Markowitz nodded impatiently.

  “I’ve just finished reading the weekly NASA update on Dis Pater—Element X, and I saw your report. In it you make reference to an interview with a an old man from Honduras.”

  “Yes.” There was a decidedly bitter tone to his confirmation.

  “I tried to find the attachment, but couldn’t. I was wondering if you could direct me to where it is posted.”

  George Markowitz looked around him at the other end, as if ensuring no one was listening in. “Look, Director, I could get into a lot of trouble for this.”

  “My interest is strictly official,” Michael assured him, momentarily confused.

  “That’s almost worse. If you must know, I presented the interview to my Investigation Supervisor, and he dismissed it as irrelevant and ordered me to remove it from my report. He also directed me not to bother any of my superiors with this again. I haven’t shown the interview to anyone else, and erased it from the NASA LAN as I was instructed. The editing department must have forgotten to delete my header info in their daily update. It has been posted for a couple of days, but no one is all that interested in the oversight; you’re the first to say anything about it to me.”

  “So the interview was deleted?” Michael pressed.

  There was a moment’s hesitation as George considered his reply. “Officially, it never existed. But—” He sighed ponderously. “I have a copy on digital.”

  “Would it be too much trouble to ask you to transfer it to my LAN at Quantum Resources here in Toronto? I wouldn’t ask otherwise, but I have a bit of a vested interest in all aspects of this investigation.”

  “Yeah, I know.” George took a few breaths. “All right, but I’ll send it through a proxy mesh service, so there’s no official log, and no immediate link to me, even though, officially, the interview is no longer considered NASA property, but declassified and Public Domain; my Supervisor might not see it that way. It’s a lengthy video, so the upload might take a few minutes.”

  “That’s perfectly fine. Here’s my mesh address.” Michael typed it onto the video transfer so that it appeared at the bottom of Markowitz’s DMR casement. The NASA investigator copied it to his mailer.

  “Maybe you can do me a favor in return,” Markowitz suggested. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

  “Of course.”

  Markowitz’s demeanor had transformed over the course of the conversation. He became more relaxed and eager, finding someone interested in his work.

  “I would like to meshmail you my resume. I’ve been keeping up with your press releases, and reading your meshpage. I think you could use someone with a knack for gathering information. It’s not that I’m dissatisfied with NASA. I’ll be honest; there is a personality conflict between me and my supervisor. I … married his sister when we were all in university, and he’s never forgiven me for that.

  “Circumstances threw us into the same department a few months back, and he won’t authorize a transfer for me. I don’t mean to burden you with personal problems, sir, but just wanted you to appreciate my motivations.”

  Michael cocked his head. “I can’t promise you anything right now. If we don’t find any more samples of Element X, it might be me peddling my resume around town. But I will take a look at it and give it due consideration.”

  “That’s all I can ask. Thank you. I’ll transfer the interview file shortly, after I log on to my mesh service.”

  “Thank you.”

  They disconnected the transmission, and Michael decided to go get a fresh coffee while he waited for the download. By the time he got back, his inbox had a new item.

  There were two messages from George Markowitz. The first was his resume. Michael quickly perused it, and found himself growing increasingly impressed with the man’s qualifications and career history. They were wasting him as a junior investigator at NASA’s R&D department.

  He was thinking, Raymond could use a catch-all information analyst like this, and forwarded the resume to his assistant.

  Then Michael opened the second message.

  It was straightforward.

  ‘Here is the file you requested.’

  Michael loaded the file into his DMR AVOT Viewer, donned his equipment—ear-mask for audio, and ocular cap for visual. There were also the options of a nose filter for olfactory input, and even a full electronic suit for the complete tactile experience, both of which he opted out of. Michael was more interested in the content of the interview than smelling anyone’s perspiration.

  He ran the file.

  29

  Orcus 1 :

  Sol System :

  Luna Approach :

  Justine had been in space four times before. Whenever she returned home, she had watched in rapt fascination as the Earth beg
an as a tiny speck against the black backdrop of space, and slowly grew to the size of a walnut on the monitor screens. As the days progressed, the blue orb gradually encompassed her entire range of vision. She loved this part of it, and looked forward to it every time.

  There was little else for Justine to do on final Earth approach. The ship’s navigation computer handled most everything. A human observer was only needed in case the NASA guidance computer lost contact with the ship. When not in the observation lounge, Justine whiled away the days in her cabin, going over her notes on Alex, and on the coup that had taken both him and the CSE TAHU. She wondered whether she should have been able to predict any of it, or could have prevented it from happening.

  Standard procedure did not include the event of space piracy. Justine had used her judgment; and that had resulted in disaster. She knew she should not blame herself, but there were those in the Administration who would blame her, especially those who would use this incident as their own personal stepping stool for promotion.

  Her chances of redeeming herself were practically non-existent.

  She was on the verge of handing in her resignation, with plans to rejoin the Lowell Observatory, when her communicator chime captured her attention.

  Depressing the receive button, she mumbled a desultory, “Mmm-hmmn?”

  Helen’s voice came over the non-video communication transfer. “Priority message to you from Director Tuttle, ma’am.”

  “I’ll take it in here.”

  “Very good.”

  Justine’s computer beeped a few seconds later, indicating that it had accepted the data dump and was ready for her perusal. She entered the appropriate commands, and on her small DMR screen, the NASA Director’s face appeared.

  Justine listened carefully to all Director Tuttle had to say; then, her heart pounding with barely suppressed excitement, saved the message on the public drive and immediately called a meeting of all crew and science team members.

  ∞

  In the Command Bridge, she waited until everyone was assembled before addressing them.