Forbidden The Stars
by Valmore Daniels
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An accident in the asteroid belt has left two surveyors dead, the asteroid completely missing. Their son survives, but develops alarming side-effects. The first mission to Pluto, led by the youngest female astronaut in NASA history, discovers an alien marker. We are not alone! From a criminal base on Luna, an expatriate launches an offensive. The secret to faster-than-light speed is up for grabs, and race for interstellar space is on!
Forbidden The Stars
by Valmore Daniels
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This is purely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This book may not be re-sold or given away without permission in writing from the author. No part of this book may be reproduced, coped, or distributed in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means past, present or future.
Copyright © 2010 Valmore Daniels. All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-9866593-2-4
Cover Art: Innovari
Visit the Author at ValmoreDaniels.com
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THE END
Copan :
Honduras :
Central American Conglomeration :
My ancestors tell us that on a calm, still night, if we listen hard enough, we can hear the planets move. They call it the Music of the Spheres, and its song is a tale of the return of the gods. I have heard this song.
But I am just an old man. What do I know?
My grandson comes up to me to ask permission to play with his friends. I ask him, “Do you want me to tell you the story of the end of the world?”
I know he has already heard me tell this tale, and he does not believe. He would rather play with his friends.
Maybe if I tell him a few more times, he will come to believe.
I can only hope; but what do I know?
I tell him of Hunab Ku, the god of gods, the creator of the Maya. I tell him that Hunab Ku rebuilt the world three times after three deluges, which poured from the mouth of a sky serpent—some say from the mouth of Kukulkan, god of the sun, the oceans, the earth, and the sky.
I tell my young grandson, who grows bored at my tales, that Kukulkan built the first world and the second world. He did this so that the third world would be ready for the People of the Earth, the Maya.
I tell him of the folly of the Maya, of their arrogance, of the decadent ways and human sacrifices, and the foretelling of the white man. I tell him of the end of the third world, of the destruction of our ancestors.
My grandson smiles. He believes I am just a lonely old man who tells grand tales.
I know the truth, and I know the future. I tell him that the fourth world belongs to the white man; but the fourth world is not going to be here for much longer.
The ancient gods decreed this.
The fourth world must suffer under a deluge to make way for the New World. If the white men do not accept the changes, Kukulkan will destroy them.
Above all things, the gods will build the New World.
The gods will return from the stars, and they will need a better world in which to make their homes.
The time is coming soon.
“How soon?” my grandson asks patiently, humoring his old grandfather.
“You will see the end of the fourth world in your lifetime,” I tell him. “And you will see the coming of the fifth world. I do not know if I will see it. I am getting too old.”
“Not so old, grandfather,” he says to me.
I smile at him, knowing that, at heart, he is a good boy; but he glances out of the corner of his eyes at his friends, and longs to play.
“Now go to your friends,” I tell him. “But remember what I have told you.”
“Yes, Grandfather. I will remember what you have said.”
He runs off, and I know that he will remember. But will he believe?
Or does he think I am just a silly old man?
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FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
NASA Press Release
Re: Orcus Mission
Barring the Oort Cloud and any wandering asteroids or comets orbiting Sol, Pluto is the last celestial body on the outermost perimeter of the Solar System’s family of planets. Pluto is a signpost signifying the boundary of Sol, and the beginning of interstellar space.
Now, for the first time, NASA is sending a team to explore the farthest planetary body in our system. The flight crew has not yet been announced, but a spokesperson indicated they were close to finalizing the shortlist. Whomever they assign to this envious mission will need to endure a six-month trip to Pluto, followed by another six months on the return trip. With an additional seven months on Pluto until the planet comes back into optimal orbit for the return launch, the crew of the Orcus Mission will be away from home for almost two full years.
Scientists have many questions about Pluto, and hope that this mission will provide them with the knowledge they have sought for over a century. One senior researcher at NASA indicated the possibility that information about the small planet may provide insight into interstellar travel.
Countless unmanned ships and probes have gone to Pluto on exploration missions in the past fifty years. The Orcus represents the first manned mission.
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Scientific Addendum:
Pluto orbits Sol at a plodding 17,064 kilometers per hour, taking 248 years to make the round trip. It is by far the most aberrant of planets, following an eccentric elliptical orbit at 17.148 degrees inclination above and below the ecliptic.
Preliminary readings confirm the makeup of the planet to be methane and nitrogen based, with trace elements of hydrogen, helium, silicon and a number of other elements.
The sun itself is no more than a bright star in the distant sky, about four times the apparent brightness of Polaris, the North Star, from Earth. Illumination during Pluto’s daytime is less than that of a full moon during Earth’s night, and gives the sky a dark purplish hue—quite exotic, and more than a little mysterious.
The stars themselves are visible through the thin layer of nitrous-methane atmosphere throughout Pluto’s 6-day rotation period, but they are easier to see at night, with no icy fog to obscure them.
2,320 kilometers in diameter, Pluto has a gravity of 0.04 Earth standard.
In 1905, the astronomer Percival Lowell predicted the existence of a ninth planet, but died before seeing Pluto—and in fact, the coordinates he had predicted were wrong. Still, in honor of Lowell, the planet is named using the letters of his initials, P.L. — Pluto.
The honor of first sight of Pluto fell to Clyde Tombaugh in 1930. A student of Lowell’s, Tombaugh photographed three images of that small planet from the Lowell Observatory. The analysis of their findings, however, did not support Lowell’s figures for the mass necessary to affect the orbit of Neptune. That left the possibility another celestial-body existed near Pluto.
It was not until 1979 when James Christy discovered that Pluto had a smaller twin, Charon…
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Macklin’s Rock :
SMD Mine Number 568 :
Sol System :
Asteroid Belt :
The sound of the emergency klaxon filled his septaphonic earmask.
In the background, the Ronge Nebula glowed, dark green in large swirls against a magnificent star field. Small pulses of light identified the incoming war-cla
ss fighters flown by the pirates infecting this sector of the galaxy. There were three of them.
Captain Alex Manez cursed his backup wingmen who had broke away to chase down a SID—Ship-In-Distress. Obviously, a false trail designed to split their forces.
With his first-gen thought-patch secured to his temple, Alex had no need to relay his commands verbally. It was second nature to do so, however.
“Hucs, key in an emergency call for wing-men Grande and Makato. Tell them to get their butts back here, flank!”
“Give me a scan of their defense system, and all possible ordnance arrays,” he ordered. There was time for a computer reconnaissance; it would take the pirates three minutes to pass within firing range.
When the assessment came in, Alex pondered it, and made a quick decision.
“I want foreshields at max., tap the aft, fifty percent on laterals. Charge two long-distance mantas, and key up maser cannon for close prox. Confirm!”
The chronometer signaled the pirates would be in range in one minute, forty-one seconds. An indicator light on the DMR casement flashed.
“Give me a zero-minus thirty projection of their position,” Alex told Hucs. “I want to preempt their attack, see how they react. Target wing men only, leave the leader for maser cannon.”
A nanosecond later, targeting coordinates appeared on the DMR. Alex knew that the computer never took into account the human reaction to being under fire; the parameters were too great. That was why the ships had to have human pilots.
Once the pirates’ scanners detected two deadly manta warheads approaching, they would split and try to separate the mantas; the ship not targeted would then try to disable the mantas with its own ordnance. In the case of the Ronge Pirates, they used standard laser repeaters; not as deadly as maser cannon, but ultimately quicker on the draw. Alex had something in store for them after that; a surprise he had been working over in his mind since his last melee.
“Hucs, alter coordinates for manta 1 to 118.12.335; manta 2 to 136.53.799. Confirm and launch.”
Before the mantas were halfway to their destination, a message icon flashed in the upper corner of the DMR screen, and Hucs’ redundancy told him:
Expecting it to be his wing men reporting back and informing him they would be joining the fray, Alex was surprised when the voice that came over the septaphonics was female; he recognized the voice immediately.
“Alex,” his mother said, “We’re ready to go outside. Come say good-bye.”
“Hucs: Pause; Save,” Alex told the program, and his game stopped play in mid-attack. He would have to continue the game later.
He took off his thought-link and ocular caps, as well as the septaphonic earmask that his mother made him use when his parents were in the TAHU. He left his personal cubicle in search of his mother and father, and sauntered into the communal area of the Temporary Asteroidal Habitation Unit.
There was a great show of nonchalance in his demeanor and his stride. He was trying hard not to care that he was once again going to be left alone for hours on end with, by his estimation, nothing to do. He gave a casual flick of his head, whipping his long hair back.
His parents granted him certain privileges on his last birthday. To test the limitations of his new responsibilities, they gave him the choice of how to keep his hair. He decided to grow it long and forestall a hair cut from the programmed valet servochine. Proud of the length of his hair, he took great pains to perfect the toss of his head to the side. The maneuver kept his bangs out of his eyes, and elicited a disapproving frown from his parents. He liked to remind them that it had been his decision to boycott the traditional cut.
His mother knew his equanimity was a facade. He knew his mother knew it was a facade. He still acted as if he did not care that both of his parents had to leave again for the day to go to the site. Inside, he hated when they left him alone in the small TAHU with only his uplink to the EarthMesh as company.
They had been on Macklin’s Rock two months, and his parents worked at least six out of every seven days. That did not leave much time for Alex.
Macklin’s Rock, one of the larger natural satellites in Sol System’s asteroid belt, resembled a cylinder with tapered ends, an egg stretched out to the extreme. A cross-section of its length would cover an area larger than metropolitan New York, but Macklin’s Rock was still just a large, unexciting rock.
Back home on Canada Station Three, the SF holovid rentals showed Sol System’s asteroid belt to be a crowded ring of rocks and debris circling the sun between the orbits of Mars and Jupiter. In the vids, the asteroid belt was usually home to refugees from a Terran global government gone bad, or for expatriates who had to hide from military sweepers trying to weed out the deserters; the ever-present danger of an asteroid collision kept the drama high in these pot-boiler stories.
The truth was a little different. From Macklin’s Rock, looking out the view ports of the TAHU, Alex could not see any other asteroid without the aid of a telescope. If there were any danger of collision, Hucs’ proximity sensors would alarm the TAHU inhabitants an hour in advance, then fire a deflecting shot with a laser. Rarely did a particle get through the computer defenses. It was all quite boring.
The sun was nothing more than a tiny glowing marble, giving as little light to the inhabitants of the belt as could be seen on a foggy day in London, England, but without the romantic atmosphere of that old city.
The other planets in the system were nothing more than tiny specks through a telescope. Earth, at its closest approach to Macklin’s Rock, was over a thousand times farther than the moon from the Earth. It seemed like a greater isolation than all that to a ten-year old without any friends close at hand.
Even Jupiter, more than eleven times the diameter of Earth, was nothing more than a tiny, steady star that could be seen from Macklin’s Rock by the naked eye for three-and-a-half months every two years; the rest of the time, it was obscured through normal telescopes by the glare of the omnipresent sun.
Hucs could filter the image out; enhance it to a magnification of 200 times to give it the apparent size of Luna as seen from Earth. Alex had seen more than his share of reproductions of all the system’s planets through telescopes; it was no different from the belt.
Standing on the surface of Macklin’s Rock and looking in all directions, one could get the impression of living on a desolate, dark, deserted island floating through the solar system.
It was all quite boring to Alex; all too mundane.
Not that Alex was lacking in chores. There were lessons to be integrated, and a biosyn analysis he had to make up from the day before when he had played hooky from the lessons given by Hucs, the Home-Unit Computer System; instead, opting to play the latest version of “Nova Pirates” he had downloaded from the Thai Multimedia Society.
But by and large, Alex was bored.
He sent audio-visual EPS messages to his friends on Canada Station Three, one of the dozens of the various country corporations’ inhabited orbitals positioned at the Lagrange point behind Earth’s orbit, trailing after their home world like goslings after Mother Goose.
The communication EPSes were more out of duty and obligation than desire; news of home made him miss it all that much more. The seven-minute delay between transmissions made for lengthy but shallow dialogue, even on the chat pages.
Alex watched his mother prepping for her excursion.
“Mom, can’t you stay home today?” he asked.
Alex’s mother turned from pulling on her bio-eco suitshield and gave her son a gentle smile.
“I’m sorry, Alex, but we’ve got to verify the new readings.
Hucs reported an anomaly in the elemental percentage readout of the Nelson II at site 14. If it is what we are looking for, we can be off this asteroid within the week and leave it to Canada Corp.’s miners. Won’t you like going home to CS-3 and playing with your friends again?”
“Yeah,” Alex said reluctantly. “But that’s too long. Hucs is boring. All he wants to do is teach me Fulman algorithms and astral stellography. I want to interface with a real face, you know?”
“I know, Alex,” said his father as he stepped into the communal area from the airlock, having finished re-checking the pressure gauges and atmospheric capacitors.
Gabriel Manez was shorter than his wife, his skin a permanent tan in contrast to her pale white flesh, his hair jet black where Margaret’s was blonde. Alex had inherited his father’s Mayan looks.
His was the voice of authority.
“Just remember that you agreed that it would be best to come with us on this dig. You had the choice to remain on CS-3; the company would have assigned an Andy to chaperone you.”
“Yeah. Maybe next time I think I will stay home, if it’s all right; it’s boring up here.” The Manez’s went on at least one survey every year. The previous years, Alex had stayed on the station, but this year he had not wanted to be separated from his parents. Considering his current predicament, he regretted his decision.
His father smiled. “Well, you can put in a tight beam to some of your friends after your lessons. I think we can afford the real-time charges. And we just might be home sooner than you think.”
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