Contents
Title
Transmit
End of book stuff
Transmit
︙
Craig Lea Gordon
Copyright © 2016 by Craig Lea Gordon
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
[ETI: 377 hours, 33 minutes, 4 seconds]
In seven hours and twenty-one minutes, Grace Jordan would be dead. She checked her HUD. 10:10 a.m. Seven hours and twenty minutes. Still a few hours left before she had to be at the medical suite. She’d never forget last night’s farewell party; the brain-crushing hangover would guarantee it. She sat up to see what the little horrors were doing. Feeding the ducks with Daddy. She watched Sam pass the bread to the kids, and all she could think of was her frozen brain being sliced apart in the ultramicrotome. The monomolecular blades making short work of the soft tissue. She concentrated on the children. Trying to preserve in her head how they laughed and jumped around, oblivious to it all. She was going to miss them. And Sam, he’d been so understanding. Her first condition for accepting the mission was to get them queued as the first civilians, right behind the NASA staff. The disconcerting fact was it’d be years until they were together again… if everything went according to plan. Tears having nothing to do with being fed into a giant meat slicer welled in her eyes. If it doesn’t go according to plan, all this will be gone… and so will we. She wiped away the tears and watched the clouds drift overhead, trying to ignore the new star. Clouds… another thing she was going to miss.
The reflection of the sun on a camera lens made her snap her head round. Looks like the reporters had found them. The security team closed in around her.
Time to go.
︙
[ETI: 370 hours, 58 minutes, 38 seconds]
Her legs shook as they sat in the waiting room. All she could do was stare at the sign on the doors: Cryopreservation
“You OK, Grace?”
“That’s Commander to you, Specialist… Sorry Daniel, I didn’t mean to snap. It’s... Well... I keep thinking this might be a one way ticket to oblivion.’’
He merely nodded. They were all thinking the same thing.
She recognised Dr Lee as he opened the doors to the cryopreservation unit.
“Commander Jordan, ASC processing is ready for you now.’’
She shook hands with each of her team. Normally their clammy hands would have been a concern, but she decided to let it go, given their circumstances. Discretely wiping her hands on her flight suit, and taking a deep breath, she followed Dr Lee through the double doors.
︙
[ETI: 29 hours, 12 minutes, 4 seconds]
Name?
Grace Jordan
Location?
Operation Mittere: Server 6. Partition 1: Commander Jordan
Year?
2067
Remember these three words: Hat. Chair. Chicago.
Hat. Chair. Chicago.
Spell world.
W-O-R-L-D
And backwards.
D-L-R-O-W
Where were you born?
Kingswood, England
What was it like growing up in Kingswood?
The summers were beautiful. My friends and I used to steal apples from the local cider farm. It was a happy and fun childhood.
Recall the previous three words.
Hat. Chair. Chicago.
Thank you. Preliminary test complete.
︙
[ETI: 25 hours, 57 minutes, 22 seconds]
“Commander Jordan, how are you holding up?’’ asked Dr Lee.
“Just pleased all the tests are finished. Although, you know, there’s not a whole lot to do in here.’’
“I believe that is all about to change. Mission timer is almost zero. We’re copying you to the Control servers.’’
“Just be careful you don’t accidentally delete anything.’’
︙
[ETI: 24 hours, 51 minutes, 37 seconds]
“This is Mission Control. Renascentia servers are up. LaserComms Payload System aligned and patched. We are ready for transmission. Commander Jordan, Operation Mittere will commence in 10 seconds.’’
“Roger that, Control.’’
This is it, she thought. 10 seconds until the fate of the human race is decided. She tried to focus on her training and remain calm but, inevitably, her thoughts turned to everything that could go wrong, and had gone wrong so far. The technology was so new and brittle.
“This is Control. Commencing transmission.’’
The neon green lines of the substrate collapsed around her. A brief snap of blackness. A glowing red lattice unfurled underneath her. Renascentia Server 4 pulsed in giant letters.
“Control. This is Commander Jordan. Transmission successful.’’
The control room went crazy, their cheering and shouting echoing around the substrate.
“This is Control. Congratulations on your successful arrival.’’
“Thanks. Control, it’s great to be here.’’
If she could, she’d be beaming ear to ear.
“Ready for testing?’’
“Absolutely.’’
“Name?’’
“Grace Jordan.’’
“Location?’’
“Renascentia Server 4. Partition 1: Commander Jordan...’’
︙
[ETI: 21 hours, 47 minutes, 20 seconds]
“Thank you. All tests complete.’’
“Roger that. Is it time for my prize?’’
Laughter spiked around the substrate.
“This is Control. Yes, Commander, I believe it is.’’
The red lattice of the substrate disappeared, leaving only blackness. A smudged colour palette blossomed in its place.
“Control, the image is out of focus’’’
“Roger that. Adjusting.’’
The image resolved. She was looking across the medical room at Biofabricator One. A seven-foot tall sealed glass tube, with hundreds of bioassembly arms whirring away inside it. Nozzles dispensed the final layer as the body was completed. The empty cartridge block was whisked away to be replaced by a fresh one, the words ‘Commander Jordan bioink’ visible on the side as it was loaded into the fabricator.
“I’ve got eyes on now, Control. I’m looking pretty good for being thirty-four.’’
Grace pored over the picture of her perfect eighteen-year-old body inside the tube. She was amazed at how flawless she looked, even with no hair. Oh, to be eighteen again. She was looking forward to actually laughing at that joke. Something made her pause as she regarded the face. Not just that she was looking at a younger version of herself. It was something else. The eyes. They were open. Her green irises staring back at her. But they were looking through her. Looking at nothing. She remembered the sensation of a shiver running up her spine.
“I can’t wait to take her for a spin,’’ she said.
“Affirmative. The process is almost complete. Get ready for injection.’’
“Roger that, Control.’’
“Internal defib is primed. Synaptic firing mechanism ready. We have a go for transmission in 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… Transmit.’’
She felt as if a slab of rock crushed her chest and then slammed into her head. Her legs buckled and she collapsed against the restraining straps, bumping her head against the retracting bioassembly rig. The air tasted stale and medicinal as it pumped into her lungs.
“This is Control. Commander, your combined muscle strength is only at 41%. There wasn’t enough time to strengthen all the muscle groups.’’
No shit, thought G
race. Her arms shook violently as she slowly hoisted herself upright. She finally let out a big breath when she was standing again, her chest burning from the effort.
“Try and relax, Commander. Heart rate, rhythm and output are all elevated. Systolic and diastolic blood pressures within normal ranges. Oxygen sats are at ninety-seven percent. Your new heart is looking good, Commander. Continuing with diagnostics. Electrical brain activity… sitting pretty at 35 Hz. Sinus rhythm, QRS axis and all waves, segments and intervals are normal. Bloods now... pH, pressure and oxygenation status are at readiness levels. Magnesium, potassium, and phosphorus are within reference range. Ready for ventilator weaning?’’
She gave a thumbs up.
Oxygen and pressure values started reducing on one of the augmented reality panels floating outside the biofabricator.
The ventilator switched off and she started breathing slow, short breaths on her own.
After a few minutes, she signed ‘OK’ with her hand.
“Right, Commander. You may self-extubate now. Remember… long exhale.’’
She reached up and grabbed the endotracheal tubing, removing it from her throat in one swift movement. She doubled over from the coughing as the last of the tubing left her lungs. A face mask swung down and she pressed it to her face, gulping down some air.
“OK, blood gases show oxygenation is good. Ready to proceed, Commander?’’
“Roger that, Control.’’
Her throat felt as if someone had stripped the skin off. Talking hurt, but she didn’t care. She welcomed the pain. The headache resembling someone smashing her head in with a stone was glorious. The feeling of the cold glass against her new skin and the disgusting air was everything she hoped to experience.
“Retracting biofab.’’
Her fingers danced over the controls on the inside of the tube. As the detaching electrodes pulled at her skin and scalp, it felt as if someone was ripping off a hundred plasters at once. Two small robotic arms removed the catheters connecting to her vena cava and femoral artery, the portacaths closing automatically. With a hiss, the glass split apart into two halves, scything away from her to retract into the ground. The cold air from the medical facility washed over her, gooseflesh erupting all over her skin. She ran her hands over her arms, trying to warm them up. Smiling to herself when she noticed the absence of the marks and bruising from the Neupogen injections.
“Hey, Control? Who forgot to turn on the heating?’’
Laughter spiked in her ear.
“Sorry, Commander. There wasn’t enough time to get the temperature locked. We’ll boost it to help get that new blood circulating. I guess now’s a good time to give you your surprise.’’
Robotic arms connected to the ceiling swung in and clothed her in a white flight suit in one smooth motion.
“A new design for a new world,’’ Control said.
Underneath the NASA logo and the Union Jack, right next to her rank, was a flag and emblem she’d never seen before. Renascentia was emblazoned underneath. And next to it, the words: Colonist No. 1.
“That’s a nice touch, thanks, Control,’’ she said. She was the first. Hopefully the first of many. She fought back the tears. She had to be strong, the world was watching.
“You’re welcome, Grace. It was the least we could do.’’
“Ready to rock?’’ She asked, flexing her arms and stretching gently to push the feelings of fatigue out of her neck and back.
“Roger that, Commander.’’
She tried shifting her weight, testing her legs, making sure they weren’t going to buckle. After her previous stumble, she wanted it to be perfect. Everyone watching back on Earth deserved it.
“This is Captain Jordan. My vitals are looking good. Limbs feel great. All senses are present and correct. Exiting the biofab.’’
She took a deliberately controlled step forward, lifting her knee up high, making sure her leg was straight. She flattened out her foot, orienting it so the sole of her foot was perfectly level with the floor during the entire movement.
She planted her leg securely on the ground. A pain rocketed from her foot, up her shin, through her knee and detonated against her groin. She set her jaw, refusing to let any of the pain show through.
“That’s one small step for a woman. One giant leap…’’ The words died in her throat. Bloody hell. She’d practised it so many times. She wiped the corner of her eye with her hand. “Sorry, Control.’’
“That’s OK, Commander, take your time.’’ Was that a sniff from Control? Surely it couldn’t have been interference?
She took a deep breath and stared directly at the camera.
“That’s one small step for a woman. One giant leap —’’ she paused for a fraction of a second, and decided to go off script, “— towards survival.’’
Her smile was tinged with a little sadness as the Control Room went wild.
︙
[ETI: 3 minutes, 7 seconds]
It had been the party to end all parties, quite literally. Thanks, congratulations and toasts had come in from all across the globe. She’d lost count how many times she’d charged her glass. Just as well that the champagne had made the voyage intact, otherwise, it would have been a very one-sided celebration. She still couldn’t decide if she had drank so much to join in, or to commiserate today. In the end, it probably didn’t matter.
The klaxon sounded inside her helmet and she winced as her headache flared.
The sound finished as the airlock cycled open. Intense sunlight spilled into the chamber. Ragged grey mountain ranges were visible through the liquid glass dome, framed against the blackness of space above. She watched as harvester bots meandered outside the dome, collecting the jagged and sharp regolith.
“Control, this is Renascentia. Anyone there?’’
It was a futile effort. They’d all said their goodbyes last night. Everyone would have been transmitted from Helios Nexus to Renascentia by now. She didn’t really want anyone to be there, but she was already feeling a little lonely. She’d tortured herself last night, watching the recording of her goodbye with Sam and the kids. It had taken a full bottle of champagne before she could face reconnecting with Control.
She stared at the stars too long, torn between being the only witness to the most devastating cosmic event anyone was ever likely to live through, and wanting to simply hide away and finish off the champagne.
Her HUD pinged.
[ETI: 2 minutes, 3 seconds]
As she stepped out of the airlock, the sun-scorched surface of Mercury panned out in front of her — a stark and barren pockmarked landscape, all ridges and craters, a harsh and desolate planet. Her new home.
She looked out over the array of solar and thermal panels clustered over the surface, dormant now, but soon they’d again be powering the submerged colony. Or rather, the start of a colony. A colony of one. It’d be weeks before the biofabs completed the rest of the bodies.
An arrow on her HUD directed her towards where Earth would be visible. She turned to see the Earth and Moon ringed in space. A separate ring showing the approach of 2067 CE102.
With a gesture, she called up the satellite images being fed to Renascentia. Multiple panels slid down into her vision, giving a real time feed from multiple angles. CE102 and its 90-kilometre girth cast a giant shadow across the Earth as it closed in for the kill.
She tensed in her suit as the AR panels showed hundreds of thousands of people from all over the world standing outside, watching as the global killer approached the planet. There were so many who hadn’t been uploaded. She wondered how many made it to cryo but were never transmitted? Or were transmitted but never arrived safely in the holding constructs? Renascentia, Lunar Hub and Helios Nexus were all full. Would their data be bouncing around the universe forever?
She turned her attention to an AR panel transmitting from only a few hundred kilometres from the impact point. Thousands of people, all holding hands, facing towards the approaching asteroid
. Close enough to be killed instantly but able to witness something never to be witnessed again.
The AR panels closed as the feeds severed. Additional AR panels started sliding into her field of view, layering on top of each other, as more and more satellites and space telescopes started beaming their transmissions to Renascentia. Low-earth orbital satellite feeds gave way to medium and then HE orbits. Geostationary and then Lunar orbits. Imagery from Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus and Neptune obscured feeds from Mars, Venus and Mercury. She tried desperately to swipe them away, but they slotted over the top of each other faster than she could dismiss them. She was about to discard the feed from Pluto’s JW2 Space Observatory when a minuscule flash of light appeared against the blackness.
Grace collapsed to her knees, pounding the dusty surface of her new home. Water dripped from her cheeks to patter against the inside of her helmet. The Renascentia flag stared back at her. Colonist No. 1. Now she was the last and the first.
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