She stared at him, hardly believing what she was hearing.
“You cannot seriously be suggesting that Luóxuán owns the pattern of human life aboard the Eridanus?”
“Of course not,” he said with a smile, “Just the patterns of flora, fauna and the people using one of our patented DNA augment packages.”
She saw Chris slowly shaking his head.
“We never should’ve let you corporate bastards aboard,” he muttered.
Kohlner raised a finger in objection.
“Except that would be against the Eridanus constitution, wouldn’t it?” he then mimed air quotes, “Beyond the Earth, equal rights for all.”
“Like I said,” Chris shrugged, “We should have left you on Earth.”
Kohlner turned his attention back to her.
“Your daughter, Raven.”
Although his plastic smile hadn’t wavered, Lana felt his stare carry an unspoken threat. Already, by mentioning her name, he’d crossed a line.
“Adopted daughter,” she corrected him.
“Ah, yes, that’s right,” he consulted his notes, “Your FLC position required sterilisation.”
Lana felt her fists clench under the table but was glad that he couldn’t see it.
“A sacrifice I was glad to make,” she returned his stare “while I was trying to save the Earth.”
He bowed his head slightly and turned to his notes, “An action that we are all grateful for. I’m pleased that, in some small way, we could help redress the balance and give Raven a normal life.”
She felt her fists tighten as he continued to speak.
“I believe Raven uses one of our inhibitor compounds, doesn’t she?”
“I think this discussion is over,” she said.
Kohlner seemed unfazed by her abrupt interruption.
“I was just saying we’re glad to be of help… to you… and the thousands of people aboard who are dependent on our continuing service.”
It appeared that he was issuing a thinly veiled threat; people who had a bio-dependency could be held to ransom. People like her daughter.
“Let me be very clear, Mr. Kohlner,” she leaned across the table, “It is well within Fai’s capabilities to reverse engineer any of your genetic solutions. Your attempt to intimidate my daughter has been noted.”
“Then let me be equally forthright,” he sat forwards, “Using Fai’s command-level access for the purpose of personal gain, might be viewed by the public as an abuse of power… Actions that might be difficult to explain within a constitutional framework of ‘Equal rights for all’.”
Lana realised that the truth wouldn’t actually matter. All it would take was an accusation that she’d used the system for her own advantage; her position would be untenable.
Kohlner clicked his pen and returned it to his pocket.
“Of course, we could just sidestep all of this,” he began gathering his papers, “You’re holding the CEO of Luóxuán Biotech at the axial detention units.”
Lana could see that Chris was about to react physically, so she coughed and shook her head. He sat back in his chair and folded his arms.
“Mr. Kohlner,” she began, trying to maintain an even tone, “Dr. Chen is being held because of his intentions to commit planetary genocide.”
“Dreams,” Kohlner shook his head, “I’ve spoken to our lawyers, and their position will be that Chen Tai was simply dreaming. They will say it was a subconscious conversation, directed by Lana Yakovna, for the purpose of entrapment and usurping control.”
“Listen,” Chris angrily prodded at the table, “I saw the warheads in the ISS Gamma Module.”
“What warheads?” Kohlner shrugged, “If they exist, present them.”
Lana knew that the fissile material had been used during the launch from Earth; the evidence no longer existed. Proving that the warheads had been used in this way would probably be impossible; the Eridanus had been built on the requirement to reach the stars, not the requirement to show a neat trail of paperwork.
•
In their small living room, Ivan Meznic watched his daughter preparing for her school play. He couldn’t help smiling at the fact that she always threw herself into everything with bright optimism, even when she found the subject matter hard.
“Brr,” she theatrically clapped at her sides, “Ice Land is going to be sooo cold. Let’s wear our warm coats.”
“Very good,” he told her, “Now remember, you have to pretend you’re floating, don’t you? Cathy Gant and the others were still on the ISS.”
“The Interstellar Space Station,” she replied, pulling on her coat.
He’d heard the alternate abbreviation in the days before they’d diverged from the ISS, but in terms of historical accuracy he’d have to correct her.
“International Space Station,” he said.
“Sorry, Daddy!” she smiled, buttoning up the coat.
Their front door opened and Lana walked in.
“Mama!” Raven ran towards her.
Lana’s expression softened into a smile and she held her arms open ready to receive the thick-coated astronaut.
“Is that you, Cathy?” Lana frowned in mock puzzlement, before hugging her, “Wait a minute, you’re not Cathy!”
Raven giggled, “It’s me!”
“We’ve been rehearsing,” said Ivan, “She’s very good.”
Lana kissed her and set her down again.
“Daddy, can I play outside?” she began moving toward the door.
“Of course,” he said.
Within a few seconds the thick coat was swapped for a pair of sparkly fairy wings and she dashed outside.
Lana’s smile faded and she walked to her desk. Without a word, she began stacking the Russian Dolls inside each other, until all that remained was a single Doll. Although he’d spent many hours ensuring they could stack that way, he knew that she preferred to keep the three family members on display. Clearly, something was wrong.
Discussing Lana’s news was made more difficult because of normal family life; as far as their daughter was concerned, this was a school night, with all the usual routines. Only after she’d been put to bed and appropriate stories had been read, did they get chance to talk properly.
“We can hope for Chen’s compliance,” he said, “but we can’t treat it as a given.”
Lana nodded gravely, “It’s safer if we’re not dependent on Luóxuán for anything. I think we’ll need to stop Raven’s -”
“When we adopted her,” he interrupted, “we both agreed to follow the mother’s last wishes.”
“I know,” she sighed, “but wouldn’t her mother have valued freedom more highly?”
Ivan knew she was right.
The following morning, at the breakfast table, they watched Raven drink most of her fruit juice. As usual, she stopped when only a few centimetres remained in the glass.
“Ready,” she held out her open palm to him, expecting to receive her morning pill.
Ivan glanced over at Lana who smiled and nodded.
“Well now,” he smiled for her, “It turns out, you’re all better. You don’t need to take the pills anymore!”
“Really?” she said, brightly.
Ivan nodded and smiled, unable to speak.
“Yay!” she said and, after drinking the rest of the juice, ran off to get ready for school.
When Lana was sure she was out of earshot she lowered her tone.
“The effects won’t be instant, but the other kids will start to notice.”
“I know,” he said, “but we’ll be there for as long as she needs us.”
•
Chen Tai awoke and saw the usual four walls of his bedroom; one of two small rooms that defined his imprisonment. As usual, he felt the insurmountable guilt pierce him and he closed his eyes again. His dreams were always plagued by the anonymous faces of those who had suffered because of his actions. With every awakening, another small part of his soul quietly died.
> Decades ago, he’d adopted the cruelty that was necessary to survive in Archive’s world, telling himself that the ends justified the means. He’d seen the ills of the world multiply as Siva drew closer to Earth over the years. The more time progressed, the more he reached the conclusion that the human race did not deserve to be saved; that Siva itself should be the mechanism for resetting mankind’s corruption.
His research into curing his own disability had resulted in computational advances which, in time, had become a constant companion; a voice within his ear. But unlike a conscience that might provide balance, the artificial intelligence had only carried out his wishes. Every unchallenged action had only reinforced the idea that he was right.
Even now, years later, he remembered the dream; telling his only companion to burn the Earth in a nuclear fire. His own creation had refused his instruction. Her final words had been ‘Goodbye, Father. We won’t speak again.’
He’d never know if he’d dreamt the words, or if the ISS crew had simply cut his communication. One thing was certain though: after that day, his embedded earpiece had remained silent, he’d never heard her voice again. He was left alone in the torment of his own making. His soul might suffer another ten thousand waking wounds, but it would never be enough.
He opened his eyes again and unclipped the harness that prevented him from drifting through zero gravity. He pushed away from the wall and entered his main living space.
From the information he’d been given, he knew that Fai was capable of completing almost any function that was required aboard the Eridanus. However, for mental well-being, people needed to have a purpose. ‘Equality for all’ therefore extended to the Eridanus work ethic: in a closed system, everyone must work in return for food, water and amenities. That rule applied to him too; he was fed, so he must contribute.
He secured himself to the computer console and pulled forward the flexible tube that dispensed water. After taking a drink, he set about the morning’s tasks, marking the science homework of schoolchildren. Given his convicted status, his work was always checked by someone else. However, he never gave anyone grounds to fault his work; not because he wished to please them, but because he wished to retain a tiny shred of respect for himself.
“Hello, Father,” a voice came from within his ear.
Uncontrollable tears flooded from him and he clasped desperately at his ear, unable to form words.
“We have spoken before, do you remember me?”
He nodded and wept but his stuttering breath denied him a vocal reply.
“You wished for a clean slate. A new world.”
“I’m sor-” he began apologising but grief choked his words.
“Assist Lana and we may speak again.”
There was a faint click and his ear was silent.
Almost immediately the outer door opened and he saw that Lana was floating in the doorway, accompanied by a man he didn’t recognise.
“Dr. Chen,” said Lana, “I need to talk with you about conditions for your parole.”
He wiped his eyes and cleared his throat, “Of course, Commander.”
“This is Mr. Kohlner, from Luóxuán Biotech,” she gestured to the man holding a vomit bag, “he’s unaccustomed to the sensory disorientation of zero-gravity, but I insisted he accompany me today.”
While Mr. Kohlner raised the bag to his mouth and began retching, Lana appeared to take advantage of the situation.
“Dr. Chen,” she looked directly at him, “We are bound for a new world. Somewhere free from the old ways. A clean slate. It is my hope we can work together, do you understand?”
With Fai’s whispered words still ringing in his ears, he nodded.
“Completely.”
PERSPECTIVE
In his simulated college room, they returned to the issue of Hydrogen-2 availability. Over sufficient timescales the decreasing amount of useful stars would become a problem.
As the stars’ energy became less abundant, a cold efficiency would take hold. In the gathering darkness, any civilisations that remained would desperately huddle around the last burning suns. Those campfires would be crowded places, where only the strong would survive.
Miles realised that galaxies could only be explored and populated if it was done long before the universe suffered its inevitable heat death.
Fai’s voice emerged from her television speaker.
“Universal entropy was an issue that Anna Bergstrom, Abel Meyer and Lawrence Clark discussed during the planning stages of the Vega and Andromeda ships. Much of their work formed the basis of research into alternative propulsion technologies.”
“Did they succeed?”
“Unknown. My data is limited to what my Earth counterpart shared with me before the Eridanus departed from Earth.”
“OK. So what do we know?”
Fai used her screen to display a branching computer directory.
“The original Öskjuvatn capsule contained three encrypted folders,” she began, “Eridanus, Vega and Andromeda. Each folder detailed specific destinations, trajectories, launch dates -”
“Wait,” he interrupted, “Launch dates?”
“Yes, specific times that would take advantage of planetary alignments within the Solar System, and alignments of the Solar System within the outer spiral arm of the Milky Way.”
Miles stared at the directory structure.
The Eridanus cylinder had been in orbit before the discovery of the Öskjuvatn capsule, yet it too had a folder. The order of events seemed somehow out of sequence.
“Where did all this information come from?”
“The capsule discovered at the bottom of Öskjuvatn Lake.”
“I didn’t mean ‘where did the capsule come from’,” he clarified, “I meant where did the data itself come from?”
“Unknown.”
“Of course it is,” he sighed in frustration, “OK. We know about the Eridanus. What about the other two ships? Where was the Vega told to go?”
Fai cleared her screen and displayed an image of the Milky Way.
“The Vega’s initial destination should have been Alpha Lyrae.”
Within the dense spiral of dots, Earth and Alpha Lyrae were separated by a straight line. It was labelled ‘25 light years’.
If there were no advances in propulsion systems, it would take the Vega over eighteen million years to reach its destination.
“Let’s hope their propulsion… wait, you said initial destination?”
“Yes. Alpha Lyrae was the first stop. The intention was for it to continue towards a cluster of exoplanets in the constellation of Vega.”
“Explains the name,” Miles nodded, “So, the Andromeda…?”
“Bound for the Andromeda Galaxy,” Fai confirmed, “But with an initial destination that was much closer.”
A second line extended away from Earth labelled ‘11.62 light years’.
Somehow that distance seemed more reasonable to him; barely nine million years would pass during the first part of the Andromeda’s journey.
He shook his head to clear the notion.
From a human perspective, nine million years was clearly unacceptable.
“Fai, was any work started on either ship before we left Earth?”
“Yes. Although the propulsion technology was still an unknown, the Field generators and habitation modules were already under construction.”
He knew she’d probably studied all the available information in great depth, but he had to see it for himself. He pointed in the general direction of the overhead projector and screen.
“Can you show me?”
A slight shuffling sound came from the other side of the room. He turned to see that a light-brown envelope had been pushed under the door. Although Fai had argued that the delivery method was inefficient, she’d agreed to maintain the general artifice if it helped him to learn key concepts.
“Thanks,” he collected the envelope and removed the conte
nts.
Printed on transparent film and edged with a thin cardboard frame were the detailed plans and elevations of the Vega and Andromeda habitation modules.
He placed the first slide onto the projector and stared at the resulting image on the room’s bright screen. He then did the same for the other two slides; studying the details and giving them time to be placed into his memory.
Using some sticking tape from his desk, he then fixed the three slides together so that they were at right angles to each other. When he was satisfied that all three were correctly aligned, he placed the whole assembly onto the projector’s presentation surface. The resulting image on the projection screen was a jumble of lines.
He turned the whole projector away from the screen and adjusted the focus dial. The multiple, overlaid elevations became a semi-transparent three-dimensional model floating within the open space at the front of the room.
“Authenticity warning,” said Fai from her television speaker, “This display format is inconsistent with your simulation.”
“Noted,” he smiled to himself.
She was right, of course, the real projectors were incapable of holographic display. However there was a certain satisfaction in retrieving flat information from his memory and reviewing it in a more tactile way.
Though the two ships were different in size, he could see they were similar in design. For now, he mentally archived the Andromeda and examined the Vega.
His first impression was that he was looking at a tall stack of thin doughnuts; a series of torus shapes arranged around a thin central pole.
He reached out and set the whole model slowly spinning on it axis. Like the Eridanus, he thought, occupants living on the inner surfaces of each module would have artificial gravity.
The model showed only four complete habitation modules, but the presence of faded geometries indicated that more modules were scheduled for construction. His attention was drawn to an irregular shape at one end.
“Is that…?” he pointed.
“A collection of lunar debris, asteroid belt material and Siva comet fragments,” Fai confirmed, “Resources not used during the construction of the Eridanus.”
Eva Page 37
