The Tabit Genesis

by Tony Gonzales

  Myrha was stunned to hear him say it. Hyllus alone was home to thousands who called themselves Obyerans, and this was the only world they had ever known. Far beneath the ground where they were standing was breathable air, flowing rivers, and lush fields where grains and vegetables grew under the glare of artificial sunlight. Masaad Obyeran had broken from the pack all those years ago to build this great House, and today provided them with a life that was inspiring and worthwhile.

  She would never mention it to her father – he was ever the atheist – but she felt a spiritual bond to the place.

  ‘For us, Earth is a myth,’ she said. ‘Hyllus is our home.’

  Masaad shook his head.

  ‘I am old,’ he said solemnly. ‘The machines say I’m in good health, yet I sense I may not wake from my hypersleep.’

  He faced her, reached up with both hands, placing them on her shoulders.

  ‘Myrha, by the time Alim rises, I promise that you will be walking the shores of another world and breathe its air with no mask. When we reach it, I will leave you to carry on the work I have begun.’

  Myrha took a breath, staring into her father’s amber eyes.

  ‘Are you saying … you’ve found—?’

  ‘Nothing else would stop me from taking revenge on those who murdered my beloved wife,’ Masaad said, his eyes glistening. ‘Our Lightspears must carry us to a new world … not to war. That mission is greater than me … greater even than her. She made me swear it before my brothers. We all did. Nothing must come between us and our new home.’

  ‘Who else knows?’ Myrah brought herself to say.

  ‘Your uncles, and now you,’ he said, resuming his stroll.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Ch1 Orionis AB,’ he said. ‘Ten light years from here, twenty-eight from Earth.’

  Myrha knew it: a binary system with a yellow-orange main sequence star very similar to Sol, which was orbited by a red dwarf companion every fourteen years. No planets, not even torch companions, had been detected, at least not the last time that anyone looked. The gaze of Orionis was locked on the Tau Ceti system, pinning its hope on the Archangel as a means of reaching there and joining the other human colony.

  ‘You know for sure there’s a habitable planet there for us?’ she asked.

  ‘Al Khav has been there for twenty years,’ Masaad said.

  Myrha stopped in her tracks.

  ‘By himself?’

  ‘With his crew. They are building a colony, laying the groundwork for our arrival.’

  With a wave of his hands, a bluish-white sphere appeared, suspended in the cold air. Huge white continents with specks of green and brown peeked from behind swirling white clouds, all surrounded by vast blue oceans.

  ‘Our new world,’ Masaad said. ‘I wanted to name it Lyanna, but your uncle has more than earned the right to name it himself.’

  ‘Did he get there on a Lightspear?’

  Masaad beamed.

  ‘The Lightspears can take us there. This is what they were made for.’

  ‘Have you been in contact with him?’

  ‘Every day for the last eighteen years,’ he said. ‘But each message is a decade old.’

  And so much could have happened in that time. The passengers of the Tabit Genesis could certainly attest to that, Myrha noted.

  ‘But you have enough information to make a decision?’ she asked. ‘We’re really going to leave here?’

  ‘Alim believes we should,’ he answered. ‘The world is a closer fit to Earth than Eileithyia ever was. And so far, we’re the only humans who know for certain it exists.’

  ‘And Al Khav?’ she asked, fearing the answer.

  ‘There are no intelligent civilisations, the air is breathable, and he supports a mass migration, all at once, with no notice to Orionis or anyone else.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I see no reason why any of us should remain, except to protect our holdings against the unlikely event any of us have to return.’

  It was tempting. So tempting, in fact, that Myrha was certain it was a mistake.

  ‘Your silence is telling,’ Masaad said.

  ‘To be honest,’ she admitted, ‘I’m terrified.’

  ‘You should be,’ he said, ‘because now you must continue The Rites.’

  The siblings had earned their lance commands in the arena, but the test of a Lightspear Fleet Command was voluntary and the most brutal trial by far. It was called The Voyage Home. A captain was towed in a disabled Lightspear to a random location with no functioning instruments or crew. The experience simulated survival conditions in extreme emergencies; explosions, EMP bursts, collisions or engine failures could leave a crew incapacitated in a ship tumbling out of control. Recovering one’s bearings under a high-G spin, often with no reference point, took special skill that only a worthy captain could master.

  Many unravelled just trying to stabilise the ship. Others could not find their way back to Hyllus. There was no time limit; a captain could take a lifetime if he chose. The Lightspear was equipped with a beacon they could activate at any time to declare surrender, at which point Obyeran ships would come for them.

  But for those who returned under their own means, there was no greater honour, and no greater respect among the people of House Obyeran. To date, only two captains had succeeded. One was Al Khav. The other was King Masaad himself.

  ‘The Queen who leads us to the new world must prove she can find her way home,’ he said.

  ‘And if I cannot?’

  ‘Myrha, I love you so much,’ he said. ‘Never doubt yourself again.’

  8

  ANONYMOUS

  22 February 2809

  Dear Amaryllis,

  Since my last note, I have participated in some rank atrocity.

  My actions were so cruel they made me think of you, as I do whenever I despair. That is testament to your power, your absolute control of me. I only wish you could see my barbarism for yourself, so that you might understand the true nature of the universe.

  I’m often asked what similarities there are between Orionis and the homeworld some of you remember, specifically how humans have changed since the Apocalypse. My answer is they haven’t. Ignorance blinds them. Greed kills them. Pride compels them. After all that’s happened, they still struggle to make the right choices. How can a species continue on that path? And I answer: because humans are inherently selfish. Their design is flawed; the attributes of free will and intelligence all but ensured their destruction.

  Yet nature still tolerates them. Still! My colleagues introduced me to the poem ‘Do not go gentle into that good night’, citing its relevance to humans, whose resilience astonishes them.

  Even me. I’m beginning to wonder if other forces are conspiring to keep you alive.

  Once upon a time, a charismatic minority with inordinate political power preached that a higher power created the universe and all life within. For centuries, men amassed armies to kill one another in the name of some creed or deity. I always believed such thinking contributed more to humankind’s destruction than anything else. But given Earth’s fate and the Raothri invasion, I’ve come to realise the zealots were necessary. That their actions, twisted and despicable, played a crucial role in keeping the species alive.

  You see, a curious thing happened to the human population when it was culled from fourteen billion to fewer than fifty million people in just a decade. When that happened, humans were about to join the legions of extinct species that once lived on Earth. Over the long view, catastrophes – self-imposed or otherwise – are no rare occurrence. The most effective ones throw out the old variables for survival and introduce new ones. For instance, you owe your charmed life to a rogue asteroid. Before then, you were just a rodent living beneath massive reptiles who were indifferent to your existence.

  But subtle attributes make all the difference when the system changes. An insignificant creature clinging to life in a remote corner of a world begins to thrive once the prev
ailing conditions become more favourable. Nature always hedges its bets, placing varieties of creatures with exotic combinations of attributes at the boundaries of ecosystems. The strongest of those are the ones that survive.

  So it seemed that nature had failed to spread its risk with humans. The primates were all but extinct by the twenty-second century, and humans were the last of the hominidae. Evolution takes time, and the species that don’t have it expire.

  Yet, uniquely, humans evolved three characteristics in a single generation. One person in three hundred thousand born after World War Three had at least one major mutation. By the time the Genesis motherships were finished, it was down to one in fifty. Unlike your ancestors, you have some tolerance to radiation thanks to an evolved DNA mismatch repair system orders of magnitude more effective than the one they had. Because of it, your body’s cells can fully repair damage from low doses of ionising radiation ninety-nine per cent of the time. The blood transfusions that are a regular part of your privileged firstborn regimen are merely an additive to scrub away what your own defences cannot, making you all but impervious to radiation sickness except in the most extreme exposure conditions.

  Next is your body’s ability to heal from wounds. From initial hemostatic response to resistance to infection, every stage of cicatrisation is quicker and less prone to complications than ever before. Combined with the regenerative biotechnology advances of the last five decades, your species has within its grasp the means to end all disease and extend lifespan by centuries for every member of its population.

  But the third change isn’t really a mutation. To call it such would imply we can find it in the human genome. It’s the Gift we’ve heard so much about, Amaryllis, and it has been hidden in plain sight for the entirety of human existence.

  After the Third World War, the number of reported paranormal experiences increased by a factor of twenty, despite the drastic reduction in population. It was as if nature foresaw what was coming to mankind, and, in a desperate bid to save it, designed a new type of clarity: a sixth sense. To be clear, no one can see into the future – as in witness events forward in time and then report them back to the past. But one can reach a hyper-consciousness of an inevitable future based on observable conditions and information available now, at this moment – not unlike forecasting the weather.

  Those endowed with the Gift reach an unparalleled level of awareness of the universe around them, down to details transcending the five physical senses; they sense every dimension of causation; they are attuned to the frequency of matter itself, able to glimpse all the possibilities at this nexus in the universe in an instant.

  The Gift is powerful. It conveys information to possessors in different ways; it finds some in their dreams, others moments before combat; some just before it’s too late and others with time to spare. Not all Gift bearers are the same; speed, skill and intelligence make all the difference. The most talented among them react the fastest to information they receive – with the right course of action.

  As far as I know, humans are the only species in the universe that possess it. Again, you can run a Gift bearer’s DNA side by side against someone who lacks it, and you would see nothing amiss. In rare cases, active brain scans will catch a premonition episode in progress – for a fraction of a second. The regions that are most active when humans dream illuminate like supernovae whenever the Gift whispers to them.

  Of course there are sceptics, and I’m sure you’re one of them. Evolution takes time, and grants no preference to species no matter how dire their situation. That should have also applied to humans. But it did not, there is no explanation why, and that is deeply unsettling. The Gift is a mystery that has made me consider the possibility that a higher intelligence exists. For the first time in my deranged life, I am uncertain. The more I see of the universe, the less it makes sense. I suppose that distinguishes me from the zealots.

  But I now think they are right to say that not everything can be explained away by science. Your notions of what real is, or ought to be, are biased, constrained by the limits of perspective from a single world. If you knew what I did … if you could see what I’ve seen, you would agree.

  The Raothri are not the only intelligent race that humans have encountered. There are others, some with technology just as advanced, and possibly with the same intentions. One of them stalked the Tabit Genesis on its journey from Earth for years, hovering in its wake, blinking in and out of sensor range in a ghostly jeer that screamed we are watching you.

  That precious ship, holding what may have been the last humans, as vulnerable and insignificant as a mote of dust between the stars, was allowed to pass.

  Please excuse me. I’ve more atrocities to commit. More lives to curse.

  I hope I haven’t offended you. But again … you know so little.

  - A

  P.S. I’ve never seen Lunar Base Hadfield. UNSEC didn’t take us there.

  9

  ADAM

  A spinning globule of high protein, nutrient-rich slime floated untouched before Adam’s eyes, his appetite ruined by the confrontation under way. Tonight’s dinner originated from the discarded tube tumbling nearby: a single serving of survival rations stamped with a faded Merckon logo and overdue expiration date, its contents divided evenly among the Lethos family. Abby eyed his portion, clutching her straw, waiting for the chance to impale the neglected sustenance when he wasn’t looking.

  His crippled father was smiling, and the corners of his mouth were crusted with residue that his mother had yet to clean. Instead she focused on Adam, glaring as she waited for an answer that would infuriate her more.

  The spectacle of his parents filled Adam’s heart with sadness. They were gaunt and sickly, with ominous dark splotches covering their pale, mottled skin. Neither had received blood transfusions in months, and that was a death sentence in such proximity to Zeus. Dad’s hair, once a thick brown mane, was all but gone, and his sunken cheekbones seemed incapable of holding his dark eyes in place. Mom was the healthier one, but hardly looked any better. She had been beautiful, once. Now her hair was falling out in clumps, and what few strands remained floated on end like wisps of vapour.

  ‘Adam,’ she snapped for a second time. ‘What were you thinking?’

  He had Abby to thank for the betrayal, though it had been wishful thinking to believe he could hide the truth forever. The rig was no longer producing Three, not least because Adam had been unable to visit the platform since his near deadly encounter with an Arkady hunter several weeks earlier.

  His claim was that turbulence, not direct Arkady contact, had damaged the old machine. It was a plausible lie, since it wasn’t unheard of for bits of Arkady residue to collide with mining platforms, especially on the equatorial rigs. The trouble was there were a lot of entrails stuck to the Pegasus, including an intact hunter tentacle that Adam had managed to hide from them. He had heard from other trawlers that on occasion, freight captains would pay for Arkady samples. So he thought of a clever scheme to get rid of the evidence and raise the money he needed for repairs.

  When the fuel tanker arrived to collect their meager gas harvest, Adam offered to sell the tentacle instead. The captain readily agreed to his price, and as a deal sweetener, included some spare mech parts as well. Both parties felt very good about their exchange.

  Of course, Abby learned about the trade from the money transfer. When she discovered how little Adam had received versus what the sample was actually worth, she snapped. Adam was made to realise his ignorance during a profanity-laced tirade on how he had effectively traded the value of a bumper Three harvest for a handful of scraps.

  ‘Why wouldn’t you tell us?’ Mom demanded. ‘More to the point, why would you lie?’

  Adam knew that his sister’s unpleasantness scaled with her hunger, and times were lean. The truth came out, not by accident, when they were down to their final crate of rations. The comment launched an investigation led by Dad, who still knew his way around a mech’s
datacore, where the truth of what really happened that day was stored.

  ‘Because …’ was the only word Adam could mumble.

  Abby finished the sentence for him.

  ‘… you’re selfish?’ she offered. ‘Or just dumb?’

  ‘Abigail, shush,’ Mom snapped. ‘Because …?’

  ‘I knew you’d get mad,’ Adam said.

  Mom struggled to control her exasperation.

  ‘It’s not anger,’ she explained. ‘It’s concern for your safety. The Arkady are deadly creatures – you know they’ve killed miners before! At the first sign of them, you have to—’

  ‘Abort, I know,’ Adam said. ‘But I don’t … I don’t think they mean to harm us.’

  Abby snorted, and Dad just kept smiling.

  ‘Never, ever presume to understand any animal’s intentions,’ Mom said, ‘let alone an alien species.’

  ‘It was a stupid risk,’ Abby said. ‘You should have let the thing die.’

  Adam let the thought linger before answering.

  ‘Well, you kept going on about how important the harvest was,’ he challenged.

  ‘Oh, don’t you dare,’ Abby warned. ‘I said we were going to starve if we didn’t get a decent yield, but I never said to take any chances down there.’

  ‘If I don’t take chances, we can’t eat. Here,’ Adam said, nudging the floating globule across the table, ‘you’ll make more sense on a full stomach.’