The Tabit Genesis

by Tony Gonzales

  At best, it was to relieve him of command.

  The wishful thought accompanied a burst of narcotic inhalants, sending a rush tingling down Wyllym’s spine. His legs floating freely, he pulled himself into a narrow passageway that ran the length of the corvette’s centreline. The Belgrade’s engineering officer was clomping her way back to the engine room in greaves when Wyllym emerged.

  ‘Ten, hut!’ the engineer proclaimed, snapping a crisp salute.

  ‘As you were,’ Wyllym mumbled, coasting forward. The young woman opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it. Wyllym was grateful; he was in no mood to converse but did not want to be rude. He passed by without another word, gliding over the thick bulkhead separating the engine room and its fusion reactor from the main compartments.

  The Belgrade was a Keating-class corvette, the workhorse of the Orionis Navy fleet. From above, she looked like a long, flat arrowhead; at the end of each of her ‘wings’ were oversized, cylinder-shaped vectored plasma thrusters that could swivel in almost any direction. She was eighty metres long from bow to stern, and less than half as wide, covered in a quilt of grey and white armour plating all over her hull. Beneath her keel was the main drive, an ion pulse engine that could push her to velocities approaching a quarter of the speed of light. Her smooth contours tapered into the hangar at the stern, large enough to house a boarding tug or a rear-facing point-defence gun turret.

  Wyllym remembered when there were just a few of these magnificent ships in existence, long before cruisers or even frigates existed. The Inner Rim was teeming with warships now, and it was near impossible to pass by a station or outpost without seeing one. In Wyllym’s mind, Orionis had been better off when there were fewer ships flying around, before men like Vadim Hedricks rose to power.

  The corvette was more of an interceptor than anything; excellent at chasing down speedy shuttles or mid-burn heavy freighters and disabling them with virus bombs and mass driver cannons. Maybe it could chase off a few light gunships or another corvette. In those scenarios it came down to the skill of the crew and their pain threshold. Against a frigate, if the captain was very talented and could get in close, she might even last a few minutes.

  But if a corvette engaged a Gryphon, she would be obliterated without ever knowing what hit her.

  The bridge hatch slid open before Wyllym could knock on it.

  ‘Please.’ Captain Yoto Ishiin gestured. ‘Take the engineer’s seat.’

  Like most of the crew compartments, the bridge was crammed into a tight space. Captain Ishiin stood before the projected viewscreen, surrounded by volumetric ship telemetry. There was barely enough room to accommodate his height, and he wasn’t an especially tall man. He had Eurasian features; thick, dark, perfectly combed hair, dark narrow eyes and a lean, athletic build. His smooth, cleanly shaven face seemed incapable of growing a beard.

  Wyllym lowered himself into the seat as the hatch closed behind him.

  ‘If you don’t mind my saying,’ Captain Ishiin remarked, taking his chair at the head of the bridge, ‘you look like hell.’

  Wyllym’s eyes did a casual sweep of the instrumentation, absorbing the ship’s data without even being fully aware of it. His mind sensed that the Belgrade was operating normally, but the ship’s velocity was too high for an approach to Corinth. But he decided not to ask questions just yet.

  ‘It’s the mileage that gets to you,’ Wyllym said, stretching out. ‘Not so much the years.’

  The Belgrade captain regarded him thoughtfully. Judging from his appearance, Wyllym guessed he was three times the man’s age.

  ‘The crew would love to speak with you, but I’ve ordered them to respect your privacy,’ Yoto said. ‘When they heard you were coming aboard—’

  ‘When they heard who was coming aboard?’ Wyllym interrupted, deciding he didn’t care for the young captain. ‘Hedricks warned you not to say.’

  ‘They recognised you at port,’ Yoto said, with a slight smile.

  ‘Didn’t realise I was famous,’ Wyllym grumbled. ‘I’ll talk to anyone you want, but I can’t answer questions about the Gryphons.’

  ‘Oh, they know that,’ Yoto said. ‘They just want to meet the highest ranking ghost in the Navy.’

  Wyllym narrowed his eyes at the man.

  From the day it was founded, the Orionis Navy had run a strict firstborns-only culture – until the elected government forced them to allow lowborn recruits. Reluctantly, they accepted, restricting promotions to administrative roles only. Captain Wyllym Lyons, however, had broken down one heritage barrier after another, becoming the first lowborn officer on a combat ship, the first to be awarded a command, the first to record combat kills, and the first to receive Navy medals for valour. But his promotions drew the ire of a culture programmed to mistrust anyone who didn’t represent a direct link to Old Earth.

  By the time the original wave of firstborns reached adult age, the colony was capable of supporting a much larger population. A third torus had been constructed around the Tabit Genesis, and the lunar camps on the Eileithyian moons were now producing their own food. To encourage growth, the Orionis government passed the Heritage Act. Highborns were urged to have more children, and incentivised their eldest sons or daughters to spread out beyond the space now known as Tabit Prime.

  Under the new law, the Orionis government guaranteed firstborns and their children access to basic necessities such as food, healthcare, education, and employment as a fundamental right of citizenship. To encourage exploration and development, each was granted access to emerging technology, manufacturing capacity, ships and specialised equipment suited to their area of expertise. This was a debt-free loan: a single chance to wield these assets in the creation of a sustainable enterprise that could help Orionis expand.

  The policy was intended to promote the growth of communities, commerce, and self-reliance. Some of the largest corporations now existing began with the Heritage Act in 2665. But even with no restrictions on breeding, the rate of growth was still too slow for ageing highborns who wanted to see a stronger resurgence of the human race. An impassioned plea to repopulate the species was heard throughout Orionis, driving the commitment of scientific resources to find ways to accelerate human reproduction. By 2667, amniosynthesis was created: the ability to grow human embryos to term inside a machine.

  The passage of the Amniosynth Charter decreed that the technology and access to the human gene bank of the Tabit Genesis be made available to any firstborn on the condition that they demonstrate the means to raise children responsibly and to provide the same basic rights that Heritage granted to firstborn citizens. Some corporations took this charge with great care. Sadly, many others did not. Failed ventures, accidents, and outright neglect or abuse left a generation of amniosynths orphaned, and the resulting humanitarian crisis taxed the resources of Orionis and corporations to breaking point.

  Many amniosynths, particularly those created beyond the planet Eris, were born with defects. Without basic rights, they were unable to procure the blood transfusions they needed to recover from the radiation damage sustained by working in space, particularly around Zeus and the Great Belt. The government could not – or would not, depending on the political perspective – amend the Heritage Act to include them. They became known as ghosts: human beings without a true biological mother or father, with neither rights nor place in a society ruled by last living connections to Earth.

  But the lowborns fortunate enough to be taken in by noble corporations thrived. Some banded together and formed the first privateer corporations: those with no ties to Orionis, free of government taxes, able to conduct trade with any party they chose.

  Wyllym was the third child born to ghosts who owned property on the agricultural moon Peleus, where he spent his childhood in vast subterranean caverns excavated beneath an airless surface. Water drawn from underground streams and reservoirs irrigated crops grown on imported Merckon soil. Sunlight harvested from orbital solar arrays powered artificia
l illuminators in the caverns below, nourishing the fields and prized livestock commodities that thrived there.

  The workdays were long and backbreaking. But Wyllym never complained, and his own aspirations were never more ambitious than to own his own farming outpost someday. His brother Rob was of similar demeanour, a simple man who loved getting his hands dirty. But with the blessings of his parents, his sister Amie sold her share of the business and moved to the Inner Rim to pursue a corporate career in finance; her gift for numbers would have been wasted tilling soil on a Heran moon.

  For Wyllym, life on Peleus was fulfilling. And it came to a horrifying end all too soon.

  ‘Where I’m from, the word “ghost” is rude,’ Wyllym growled. ‘But your ship, your mouth, your rules.’

  ‘My sincerest apologies,’ Yoto said, sounding like he meant it. ‘Truly, I meant no offence. Forgive my ignorance, but what is the correct way to address—’

  ‘‘”People”.’ Wyllym glared. ‘Human beings who weren’t born with privileges. I’m sure that’s what you meant.’

  ‘That’s what makes your accomplishments all the more impressive,’ Yoto said, leaning forward as though fascinated by the musings of a toddler. Wyllym sighed. The crew’s order to stay mute didn’t apply to the captain, it seemed.

  ‘The competition to make the rank of captain … how did you …?’

  Wyllym knew he was trying bait him into talking about the Gift.

  ‘By earning it,’ he said.

  Captain Ishiin was undeterred.

  ‘But how, exactly, were you able to defeat so many of your—’

  ‘I was better than all of them at one thing,’ Wyllym said.

  ‘Fighting?’

  ‘Teaching,’ Wyllym said. ‘By taking heritage out of the mix and training my squadron to work as one.’

  Captain Ishiin seemed disappointed at first, then his face brightened.

  ‘What was it like, battling Ceti?’ he asked. ‘At Hera’s Deception … when Brotherhood was lost?’

  Wyllym was certain that Captain Ishiin had never fired a weapon outside of a training sim. He had been promoted simply because of the blood in his veins.

  ‘You don’t think about fighting for your life,’ Wyllym said. ‘You just move from one decision to the next.’

  Captain Yoto Ishiin frowned as he mulled this answer.

  ‘They say you shot down six Ceti corvettes and many more gunships before …’

  ‘Before I died?’ Wyllym said.

  ‘Yes. Is that true?’

  Wyllym had been barely a month into his own command then, patrolling the privateer outposts in the Hera Belt when Ceti descended upon his corvette Santiago. They attacked in packs of three, indiscriminately destroying civilian and military targets in the rings. As the Navy rushed to divert ships to Hera, Wyllym battled against odds that should have killed him instantly. Instead, he somehow knew where to manoeuvre the Santiago to avoid hull-shattering cannon fire, and he was doing it impossibly faster than any computer.

  It was strange enough that he seemed to know what the enemy was going to do before they did themselves. But while he fought, Wyllym declared that the Ceti fleet attacking the Hera outposts was a diversion, and warned Navy Command that Brotherhood Station was in danger even though it was millions of kilometres away.

  This was the red flag the Navy was looking for. The telemetry of what Wyllym Lyons was accomplishing – singlehandedly mauling one Ceti ship after the next – triggered a secret protocol whose urgency exceeded the outcome of the battle itself: the captain of the Santiago had to be recovered, dead or alive, because it was clear that he possessed the Gift.

  ‘I remember a rock the size of a frigate tumbling towards me,’ Wyllym said. ‘Next thing I knew I was in a medbay with a bunch of doctors telling me six months had gone by. They said I died a few times. I have no idea. You’ll have to ask them.’

  Captain Ishiin shook his head.

  ‘You must possess extraordinary skill,’ he said. ‘They’ve never gone through such trouble to bring a man back before.’

  ‘Might wish they hadn’t, depending on how the Gryphons turn out,’ Wyllym said.

  ‘I doubt that,’ Yoto said. ‘Is it true your students are all as … Gifted as you?’

  ‘It’s a classified programme,’ Wyllym said. All his students had the Gift, though some used it better than others.

  ‘My crew really does admire you,’ Yoto said. ‘I confess, I am somewhat envious. There are few enough opportunities for a captain to accomplish what you have.’

  ‘A crew has to respect you before they’ll admire you,’ Wyllym said.

  In spite of the insult, Captain Ishiin smiled pleasantly while the sound of hydraulics and metal gears rumbled through the bridge.

  ‘We’re almost there,’ he said, strapping on a five-point harness. He flashed one of the belt straps towards Wyllym, gesturing that he should do the same. Then all the seats on the bridge rotated to face the rear of the ship.

  ‘You’re accustomed to Gryphon braking manoeuvres,’ Captain Ishiin said. ‘So this should be no bother.’

  Wyllym felt the impulse drive beneath the Belgrade ignite, and the bridge instruments indicated the wingtip vectoring thrusters were doing the same: the ship was executing an emergency high-G burndown. With barely enough time to fasten his own straps, unrelenting pressure mashed him into his seat, pushing him to the brink of unconsciousness. Crushing agony stretched seconds into hours and stamped the breath from his lungs; waves of bone-crushing pain tested his will to survive. After what seemed like an eternity, the pressure finally let up.

  ‘I hope that wasn’t too unpleasant,’ Captain Ishiin announced, as the bridge seats all resumed their forward positions. ‘The Navy requires us to perform these burndowns to maintain combat readiness. It couldn’t be avoided.’

  ‘I’m…sure,’ Wyllym stammered, as the tunnel vision subsided. Captain Ishiin was slightly out of breath, but appeared no more the worse for wear. A burn that aggressive should have left him incapacitated … unless the Navy had given him the same genetic augments that kept Gryphon pilots alive for their own combat manoeuvres.

  Then it dawned on Wyllym all at once: Admiral Hedricks had insisted on seeing him in person to make the subtle point that neither he nor his Gryphons were that special any more. It was a threat, and Captain Ishiin was the messenger.

  ‘Ah, she’s in range,’ the captain said. ‘Let’s look upon her with our own eyes, shall we?’

  Shaking, Wyllym unbuckled his straps as segments of armoured plating retreated from the Belgrade’s bridge, revealing viewports that offered an unaided view into space. Even from their distant vantage, the Archangel was breathtaking and foreboding all at once. Her construction resembled nothing else in the Navy, and for several ethereal moments Wyllym had difficulty believing he was looking at something built by humans.

  He had heard about her dimensions: a kilometre longer than the Tabit Genesis and nearly twice as wide. Captain Ishiin set the Belgrade on wide approach pattern, no doubt so he could admire the beast himself. Every metre of the Archangel’s hull was a reflective ebony sheen broken only by the glare of construction lamps and navigation beacons. From above, the hull resembled an elongated pentagon with two superstructures cutting through her beam like oversized keels. The front and rear of these structures housed recessed thruster nozzles wide enough to accommodate a cruiser. Her cross-section was hundreds of metres thick, lined with docking bays that could take a frigate aboard. Docking ports for corvettes lined her dorsal and ventral surface areas, with launch and recovery systems for the Gryphons built into the twin superstructures.

  But her most startling feature was the four vertical columns rising through the centre of the ship, extending all the way through the decks. If their endpoints were connected, they would form a perfect cube, at the centre of which was … nothing. A massive circular gap whose diameter matched the distance between the columns was cut into the main body of the ship. The towering
walls lining this gap were buzzing with construction activity; arrays of instruments and machinery ringed the cross sections of unfinished deck levels, the only segment of the ship not doused in black.

  As the Belgrade closed range, Wyllym scoured the hull for signs of more traditional weapons, like turrets or missile bays. But all he saw was the reflection of engines and welding sparks against the onyx curves of this mysterious ship.

  ‘Magnificent, isn’t she?’ Captain Ishiin whispered.

  Wyllym snorted, motioning towards the four towers.

  ‘Is that the drain for this money sink?’

  ‘Rumour is that’s Raothri technology,’ Captain Ishiin said.

  ‘Civilians can spread rumours,’ Wyllym said. ‘Soldiers can be court-martialled for it.’

  Captain Ishiin smiled again as the Belgrade changed course.

  ‘The people who live there must know the truth,’ he said, pointing to the torus-shaped station adjoining the construction yard of the Archangel. Within it lived thousands of lowborn employees, all skilled labourers plucked from the general population. Many would spend their entire lives there, building this ship and nothing else, with little to no contact with the outside colony. The station was as finely equipped as any built in Orionis, even Luminosity. They lived more comfortably than most, and in many respects were like the generation that built the Tabit Genesis centuries ago.

  But to Wyllym, they were slaves in all but name.

  ‘I bet they don’t even care,’ he muttered.

  The captain’s expression changed to frustration as the Belgrade approached one of the open hangar bays.

  ‘Why do you hate the Archangel so much?’ he asked.

  ‘Because we could have built a dozen stations or terraformed a moon with what it cost to build this,’ Wyllym said. ‘For millions of people, this is home. The Archangel was never going to bring them all to another system, let alone a new world. We should keep building here.’

  ‘Or we find the right world now, instead of trying to change one that will never be what Earth was,’ Captain Ishiin said. ‘With the Archangel, we can link with the Tau Ceti settlers, build more ships like her and find another pale blue dot to colonise. Who knows? Perhaps someday we can return to Earth—’