New Frontiers- The Complete Series

by Jasper T. Scott

  A stampede raged in her living room. Dust trickled down from the concrete ceiling in a steady stream. The overhead lights flickered out and came back on, now dimmer than before, and running on battery backups. Caty’s legs shook like a newborn calf’s and gave out suddenly. She hit the ground with a jolt and sat with her palms pressed to the cold cement floor, listening as debris settled overhead.

  After a few minutes, the noise gave way to a ringing silence. Then the air grew uncomfortably warm, and Caty realized that what was left of her home was probably burning. The basement was insulated and air-tight, so she wouldn’t suffocate, but given how fast she felt the temperature rising, she might still cook like a lobster in its shell.

  Waves of heat poured down from the ceiling. Panic gripped her. Caty stood on shaking legs and walked past row upon row of canned food and bottled water to start up the basement’s hydrogen fuel cell. It was at the back of the shelter, right beside the bathroom. Caty flicked a simple mechanical on/off switch, and the fuel cell started up with a quiet hum of electricity. That done, she configured a control panel on the wall beside it and activated the basement’s climate control system. The thermostat read 90 degrees… 91 degrees…

  No wonder she was so hot!

  Fumbling with the controls, she set the system to power cool, and selected an unlikely target of 65 degrees. A welcome whoosh of cool air came rushing out through overhead ducts. Caty breathed a sigh of relief and went to stand under the nearest vent, letting the air wash over her face and dry her sweat.

  As she stood there, she mentally took stock of her situation. From what Alexander had explained about the shelter’s life support systems, the air was all recycled, not circulating in from outside, so there was no threat of radiation creeping in through the vents. As for the heat exchanger responsible for the cool air, it was heat-sinked through an underground tank of water that supplied the shelter’s bathroom, so the system’s cooling capacity would likely outlast any firestorms raging overhead. She probably wouldn’t want to take a shower until the tank cooled down, but otherwise she’d be fine.

  Caty looked around the basement. Food, water, and liquid hydrogen for the generator lined the walls. The supplies would last for a month, but without Alexander to share them, she could stretch that to two. With rationing maybe two and a half. She wouldn’t be able to run the generator constantly, but since the main power draw was from the heat exchanger, she could afford to turn the generator off just as soon as the fires died down outside. The lights would stay on for days running on battery backups before she’d have to turn the generator on and charge the batteries. The refrigerator was another matter; it would run the batteries down in an hour or less, so she’d have to turn it off and keep it shut whenever the generator wasn’t running.

  Two and a half months. Radiation would be down to survivable levels by then. Assuming the basement door wasn’t completely blocked with debris, she would be able to get out and go find help. If there was any help to be found…

  Caty’s mind flashed back to the swarm of missiles raining down over Los Angeles. She saw the city’s defenses flashing up, bright blue beams slashing the sky open and turning incoming missiles to molten clouds of debris. She hadn’t stuck around to see the remaining warheads get through, but it wasn’t hard to imagine what had happened next. That blinding flash of nuclear fire had haunted humanity’s collective nightmares for centuries. That’s what this is— Caty thought with a sudden desperate hope —a nightmare. She squeezed her eyelids shut, willing herself to wake up.

  But when she opened her eyes once more, she wasn’t lying in bed, waking up from a bad dream; she was standing in her basement, alone, and facing months of isolation while waiting for a rescue that might never come.

  Nuclear war. How many other cities had been hit? For all she knew the entire planet was one big smoldering cairn, and her two and a half months of emergency supplies were all she would ever get.

  Caty’s thoughts went to Alexander, and she wondered if he’d already died in the fighting. Her eyes grew hot and blurry. Fat teardrops slid like burning embers down her cheeks.

  You left me, Alex. You promised you were coming back. Liar! I told you not to make promises you can’t keep. Caty shook her head and sank to the ground, watching her teardrops make a puddle on the concrete. She dragged her finger through it, using her tears to mop the dusty floor.

  Dust to dust… she thought, smiling bitterly. I guess that's all that’s left now.

  CHAPTER 10

  “Good luck, Lincoln, and rest assured that your loved ones are all safe and well.” President Ryan Baker saluted the camera and smiled. The red recording light of the holo camera winked off, and the cameraman gave him a thumbs-up before carrying the camera and its attached tripod out of the office.

  Fleet Admiral Wilson nodded to him from the far corner of the room. “That should satisfy their curiosity about Earth, sir. It should come as a relief.”

  “Yes, that’s the good thing about lies. They can be a great comfort if you believe them. I’m just not sure they will.”

  “We couldn’t tell them the truth without putting their mission in jeopardy, and their mission is more vital now than ever.”

  Baker frowned and glanced behind him in time to see the holoscreen behind his chair fade from a pre-recorded view of his office in the presidential palace to a blank screen with a concrete wall behind it. The presidential palace was long gone, a pile of rubble lying hundreds of feet above their heads. Baker turned back to Wilson. “That all depends if the cease fire lasts long enough for them to return.”

  “The Confederacy is hurting just as much as we are. Maybe more, and with dozens of cities all around the world reduced to radioactive ash, I don’t think anyone would be stupid enough to launch a second strike.”

  Baker sighed and shook his head. “If we were stupid enough to launch the first, we could be stupid enough to launch the second, and now that the genie is out of the bottle, it’s a lot easier to contemplate a nuclear strike than it was before.”

  “Then we’ll need somewhere to go after the dust settles,” Wilson replied. “Wonderland sounds like a good fit to me.”

  Baker blinked twice before he remembered to smile and nod. For a moment he’d forgotten that Admiral Wilson didn’t know. The truth about Operation Alice had died with Lewis Station’s crew when their lifeboat was taken out by shrapnel. That was probably for the best. The fewer people who knew about Operation Alice, the better.

  “We should go. We’re late for a meeting with the Joint Chiefs of Staff.”

  “After you, Mr. President,” Wilson said, gesturing to the door.

  * * *

  “Cutting things a bit fine, aren’t you, Commander?” Alexander asked as he sat down in the chair facing his XO.

  Korbin shook her head and covered a yawn with one hand. “You’re my last interview before we hit the tanks, sir.”

  “Good. Why don’t you give me the rundown.”

  “Lots of fear and uncertainty over the situation back on Earth. Most people aren’t buying the president’s reassurances. Not a lot of signs of aggression directed at the Alliance, but plenty against the Confederacy. There’s also early signs of depression in at least half of the crew.”

  Alexander nodded. “What did you think of McAdams?”

  “Sad, angry—guilty for not noticing the engine malfunction.”

  Alexander nodded. She was becoming less and less likely as a suspect. He and Davorian had already looked over McAdams’ proposed updates to shipboard systems after she and her engineers finished their shift, and there was nothing amiss this time around.

  “She gave me no reason to suspect she knew about the bad code.”

  “Well, let’s hope it was plain oversight on her part and not collusion.”

  Korbin nodded. “She’s young and inexperienced, particularly to be a ship’s chief engineer, so oversight makes sense.”

  “All right, then who was responsible for the faulty code?” />
  “The engineers were all equally aghast when I interviewed them. One of them admitted to being in charge of that section of the code, but he’s adamant that it wasn’t his fault.”

  “So all signs point to Williams.”

  “I do think he was lying about his involvement.”

  “But you can’t be sure.”

  “No, not without a confession.”

  “You’re a deception expert.”

  “It’s an art not a science. But speaking of that art, there was one other thing I noticed. You know that all of the meetings in my office are recorded.”

  Alexander nodded.

  “When I was going back over the recordings to see if the surveillance system picked up on anything that I’d missed, I noticed that the ambassador’s interview was flagged with multiple counts of possible deception and masking.”

  “You think he sabotaged the ship?”

  “No… not exactly. We were talking about Wonderland and the ambassador’s role with the mission when the cameras flagged his deceptive behavior.” Korbin looked down at a holopad she was holding. “Behaviors flagged were looking to the right—lying and fabricating; scratching his nose while talking—same thing; excessive eye contact—dishonesty or honesty, depending—but given the previous two cues I’d guess the former. There were also plenty of tight-lipped smiles, clenched teeth, crossed arms, hesitation when answering questions… it all agrees. He’s hiding something about his role with the mission, Captain.”

  Alexander snorted. “That covers a lot of ground. He’s the president’s direct representative, and a politician, so I’m sure he has plenty to hide. As for his reasons for being here, I never bought that line about first contact. If aliens built the wormhole we’re busy traveling through, we wouldn’t be the ones making first contact—they would.”

  Commander Korbin tilted her head to one side and raised her eyebrows. “Aliens? That’s the official reason he’s here?”

  “He didn’t tell you?”

  Korbin shook her head.

  “Then maybe that’s what he was hiding. Admiral Flores discussed the possibility with me on Orbital One before I came aboard. That’s supposedly why he’s here. To represent our government in case we run into any intelligent lifeforms on the other side of the wormhole.”

  “Interesting. He said he was about to retire and he requested this assignment so that he could observe and document the trip.”

  “And you believed that?”

  “There’s a lot of people back on Earth who would have jumped at the chance, but none of them have the necessary security clearance. It seemed plausible.”

  Alexander snorted. “More plausible than aliens, anyway.”

  “Do you want me to speak with the ambassador again?”

  Alexander stroked his chin as he thought about it. “There’s no time. We have to be in the G-tanks in less than an hour. And besides, my guess is Max didn’t become plenipotentiary to the Alliance by spilling state secrets right and left. You’re not going to get anything out of him besides what he’s willing to share. We’ll keep an eye on him just in case, and you can schedule another meeting with him when we get to Wonderland. Meanwhile, he can’t get into much trouble while he’s sleeping in a G-tank.”

  “Yes, sir.” Korbin checked her comm band. “We have fifteen minutes left. You ready for your interview?”

  Alexander shrugged. “Do we have to?”

  “You’re the captain of the ship. Our lives are all in your hands more than anyone else’s. You need to watch your mental health—especially now, with everything that’s happened.”

  “What about you?”

  “Me, sir?”

  “You’ve spent the past day listening to everyone unburden themselves on you. By now you must be ready to explode.”

  Korbin folded her hands on top of her holopad, fingers steepled and pointed toward him. “I’m trained to deal with the burden, Captain.”

  “That’s defensive body language,” Alexander said, nodding to her hands. “You’re creating a barrier.”

  Korbin looked down at her hands and then relaxed her posture. “Your point?”

  “You’re not the only one who can read people, and I know that you’ve been worried sick about your kids.”

  “Everyone’s worried about their loved ones, Captain.”

  “But they all have someone to talk to—you. So who do you talk to?”

  Korbin started to say something but then stopped herself, as if there was nothing she could say.

  “Exactly,” Alexander said. “You can talk to me, you know.”

  “All right, then let’s interview each other. We’ll take turns.”

  Alexander nodded. “Fair enough.”

  Those fifteen minutes went by quickly. By the end of the meeting Korbin was crying and Alexander ended up giving her a hug. “Come talk to me any time you need to, Sirena, and don’t give up hope. Your kids are in a first-rate government institution. Even assuming the worst, that school will have one of the best-equipped shelters in the city.”

  Korbin nodded against his shoulder. “Thank you, Alex.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he said, smiling as they withdrew. “Go clean yourself up and meet the rest of us on Blue Deck. Doc Crespin must be waiting for us by now.”

  “You think it’s safe? Putting us in a coma for seventy days?”

  “I don’t think any of this is safe, but what choice do we have?”

  “It’s strange,” Korbin said, brushing a stray lock of brown hair behind one ear. “In all those interviews, no one talked about how dangerous this mission is, about how we might all die or never come back. We’re all too busy worrying about the people back home.”

  Alexander nodded. “Maybe that’s a good thing. See you on Blue Deck, Commander.”

  “See you there, Captain.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Alexander stood on level nine in a circular chamber, surrounded by all 57 of his surviving crew. Numbered doors ran around the edges of the room, each one leading to a separate G-tank. The tanks had been installed specially for Operation Alice. The crew already had experience using them from their mission training, but back then they hadn’t known what the tanks were for.

  Now Doctor Crespin settled the mystery for them by going over the basic functions of the tanks. The doctor explained that the fluid inside the tanks was set to carefully mimic the density and temperature of their bodies. Their lungs would be flooded with an oxygen-rich perfluorocarbon and breathing handled by a liquid ventilator. There were relief tubes for waste handling, and a nutrient line for food and water—just like the ship’s acceleration couches.

  Doctor Crespin compared it to being a baby in its mother’s womb: the relief tubes and nutrient line made up the umbilical cord, and the tanks were the wombs.

  Someone asked how the tanks worked, and Crespin explained that any extreme forces their bodies might be subjected to while traveling through the wormhole would be evenly distributed as a pressure gradient inside the tank. Crespin went into some technical details about how liquids aren’t compressible so the water would push back and prevent blood from pooling. It all sounded reasonable enough, and Doctor Crespin assured them it was quite safe and really no different than deep sea diving.

  “What about muscle atrophy?” someone asked. Alexander turned to see that the question had come from Lieutenant Ryder of 61st Squadron. He had plenty of muscles to worry about atrophying.

  “Hormone regulation and involuntary stimulation will help to maintain the majority of muscle tone and strength, but without active loading, some atrophy is to be expected. Don’t worry, the gym will still be waiting for you when you get out.” A few of the crew snickered at that. “Any other questions?”

  “What if something happens to the ship while we’re in the tanks?” Max Carter asked. “No one is going to be awake to keep an eye on things?”

  Doctor Crespin shook his head. “If anyone could safely avoid using the tanks, then all of us coul
d.”

  “But what if there’s an emergency?”

  “Such as?”

  “Anything. Engine failure.”

  “Then we’re going to be locked in the tanks a lot longer than we thought. The system is only set to wake us when it’s safe, and that will be when we’re almost already through the wormhole.”

  “How long can our life support last?” McAdams asked.

  “The tanks can keep us going for decades, so even in the worst case, we should still make it to Wonderland.”

  Alexander frowned. Worst case being we all lose a few extra decades of our lives?

  “Are there any other questions?”

  A chorus of No, sirs, and head shakes went around the room.

  “All right then. I’ve sent your tank assignments to your comm bands—and no switching please. I don’t care what your lucky number is. I’ve already pre-configured the tanks to meet each of your individual needs, and if you pick the wrong one you’re either going to starve to death or wake up a lot fatter than you remember. Once you find your tank, please strip and store your personal belongings in the locker beside it and then wait for me or one of the nurses to assist you.”

  Alexander checked his comm band and found that his tank was number 23. He walked up to it, noting as he did so that the saboteur, Lieutenant Williams, was being escorted to his tank by Lieutenants Stone and Ryder. There was no need to make special provisions inside Williams’ tank. Between the medically-induced coma and the tank’s auto-locking door, there was no way Williams would be able to get out. Alexander wasn’t sure he liked the idea that the G-tanks could double as prison cells, but at least he wouldn’t be aware of his confinement.

  As Alexander stripped out of his pressure suit and uniform, his hand brushed the pocket where he kept Caty’s farewell gift to him. He reached in and withdrew the pocket watch, running his thumbs over the engravings and reading them once more. Then he depressed the catch and stared at the photograph of him and Caty on the inside of the cover. He studied her face, burning her features into his mind. If he was going to have any dreams while he was in a coma, he wanted them to be of her.