Proxima Trilogy: Part 1-3: Hard Science Fiction

by Brandon Q Morris

  Marchenko has created a technological marvel. The body weighs much less than a human being, but it is much more durable. Cold and vacuum cannot harm it, nor can a certain level of radiation or heat. It is not indestructible, as otherwise the body would have become too heavy and inflexible. He had instead constructed it in such a way that it can move quickly to evade dangers. Its sensors work in all wavelengths and it can process warning signals without its owner—Marchenko—having to be aware of it. There would be few obstacles which could stop this body for long, no enemy who could surprise it.

  He still pities it a bit, though. The way the body is lying there reminds him of a slave. Soon Marchenko’s mind will take control of it, but unlike the soul of a human being, he is not irreversibly linked to it no matter what. If an enemy pulverized this body with a nuclear explosion, that would also be Marchenko’s last moment. Yet as long as the body is not completely destroyed, he can leave it at any time—for instance, to flee to Messenger. How does that affect his consciousness and his human status? Should he suppress his humanity for now in order not to limit his objective decision-making ability?

  Adam and Eve are doing fine, he thinks. They don’t have to worry about such issues, as they don’t have a choice, and that protects them. On the other hand, there were enough individuals in human history who behaved most inhumanely. Life is complicated, and it does not get any simpler the more freedom you have. He should really appreciate his freedom, which is more comprehensive than any other member of humanity enjoys, yet he catches himself being discontent and sullen.

  His body is ready and the time has come to switch into it. Marchenko once more roams through space, drifts, enjoys the solar wind on his virtual skin... and then starts the transfer. He will be dead for several seconds. He feels goosebumps on his arms, even though he does not possess arms anymore. During the transmission he is neither here nor there. His thoughts are frozen and time stands still. It is a critical moment. If something were to go wrong, it could be his end.

  Activate transmission, he thinks.

  A few seconds pass on Messenger. Huge amounts of data move at the speed of light, tiny vibrations of photons pass through fiber-optic cables, into his new body where they are unpacked and installed. When Marchenko awakens again, he still feels an echo of his last thought before the transfer.

  He immediately checks the data integrity. No errors. Marchenko is relieved. The data connection to Messenger is still active, offering a way out if his body should not work as expected. He tests one limb at a time. Feet, legs, hands and arms, everything is working as planned. The nano-fabricators have performed well.

  Marchenko gets up. A brief wobble: The algorithms need a moment to balance his unevenly-distributed mass. Now nothing should be able to knock me over.

  Marchenko looks around. The orbital module seems smaller than it used to be, yet still pleasingly familiar. There are two smaller seats and a larger one. Marchenko walks to the smaller ones and sniffs them. His olfactory sense is working, but he can’t smell anything. He had hoped to detect traces of Adam or Eve, but that’s nonsense. His children never sat in this orbital module. If Marchenko 2 did not lie about them, his two children died from the effects of a flare when they were very young. It is quite shocking that his alter ego nevertheless followed the plans so strictly. The two seats, for example, would never have served a purpose, yet Marchenko 2 built them. He must have really been in despair.

  “Marchenko to base,” he says via the radio transmitter.

  Nobody replies. Did something happen, or are they all asleep? He cannot help but worry.

  “Marchenko to base,” he repeats.

  No answer. Perhaps nobody can react right now. There are only three of them. He should not worry, as most likely everything is okay. Yet he checks the sensors of Messenger to see whether they recorded anything unusual coming from the planet. But there is nothing.

  He waits for five minutes. Time seems to stretch. Marchenko walks through the tiny cabin on his two new legs.

  Then he reactivates the radio transmitter. “Marchenko to base.”

  “This is Adam.”

  He feels relieved.

  “Sorry, we were busy just then. What’s up?”

  “What is going on over there, Adam?”

  “Nothing much. And with you?”

  “The transfer into my new body worked perfectly. Messenger is on course and we will encounter the alien ship shortly after midnight.”

  “Good, then we will talk later.”

  “Say hello to the others.”

  “I will do that.”

  Adam interrupts the connection. That is strange, and Marchenko is still concerned. What is wrong with Adam? Should he worry about him? Are there any conflicts he is not aware of? Is it related to Marchenko 2? He starts pacing the cabin again, until he notices what he is doing. That’s useless, he thinks, I have to stop this. Gronolf is watching over Adam and Eve, so that is not his job. He has to take care of the Omniscience. Marchenko sits down in the larger seat and connects himself to the ship’s sensors.

  May 12, 19, Marchenko

  A shiny cube rotates in space in front of him. Marchenko had imagined the Majestic Draght appearing darker and more menacing, probably due to its representation on the holo-map. It looks just like a giant die without any dots, slowly rolling through space. The ship’s hull is not smooth—it is made up of cells that are clearly demarcated. There are so many that Marchenko’s first impression is that of a coating consisting of small gems. This is probably due to the fact that the sides, made of multiple metals, reflect the light of the warm yellow sun, and the image of the illuminated planet below them, in all directions.

  “Isn’t she beautiful?”

  This was spoken by the alien. By now, Marchenko is translating his words automatically. Gronolf, who is in the shelter building, has tapped into the data stream sent by Messenger’s sensors.

  “She is beautiful. Your people created a masterpiece.”

  “The design is the work of one of our most famous architects.”

  “In my world, spaceships are not designed.” Marchenko thinks of the practical but ugly vessels crisscrossing the solar system. One would not even have called ILSE beautiful, even though she was the most expensive spaceship ever built up to that time. “the thinking is that shape does not matter in space,” he adds.

  “We believe that it is easier to fulfill a mission if a warrior is proud of what he is doing.”

  “Pride is a tricky subject on Earth,” Marchenko says. “We will have to talk about it some other time. What’s next?”

  “Do you see the central axis? The shell of the cube rotates in such a way that the axis stays in the same position. That offers you the best entrance point.”

  “I can see it.” Marchenko mentally marks the point and calculates an appropriate course. An optical cable linked to the ship systems sticks out through the surface of his right hand like an IV needle. This way he can react faster, as the wireless data capacity is limited. “Messenger will take ten minutes,” he tells Gronolf.

  “I know.”

  Marchenko forgot that Gronolf can access all the data in the ship’s systems. He carefully watches the course taken by Messenger. With every minute the Majestic Draght looms larger.

  “This is insane,” he says. “The ship is really enormous.”

  “Thank you,” Gronolf says.

  Marchenko stands there calmly. The orbital module has no windows, which are unnecessary because he can visualize space, the planet, and the cube with his inner eye. Later he can overlay these images with what is happening directly in front of him, but right now he focuses on the view. The Omniscience might try to change its course. However, it can hardly escape him now. Such a huge ship has a correspondingly-large inertia, so that Messenger would always be faster during the first kilometers. It would be as if an elephant tried to escape a fly.

  A countdown indicates the last 60 seconds. Marchenko doesn’t actually need the countdown
, but it is a nice tradition that makes it easier to prepare for exiting the ship. He pulls the cable from the console. It retreats automatically into his body like an earthworm. Then he steps to the bulkhead. The orbital module does not have an airlock, but only a simple hatch he can use to get outside. As he did not fill the module with air to begin with, there is no hissing sound when he opens the hatch. The cube is directly ahead of him. It is no longer glittering. The ‘gems’ have turned into individual raised sections with a height and width between 30 and 50 meters.

  “Three, two, one.”

  “Jump,” Gronolf shouts.

  Marchenko pushes off slightly and then triggers the jets in his shoulders. Once he is ten meters away from Messenger, the ship changes course and retreats. He might need the vessel again. He approaches the Majestic Draght at a slow pace. He is glad he arrived near the central axis where the shell of the cube rotates more slowly.

  Where is the best entrance? The axis itself seems to be massive, having no hatches or anything similar. The round shaft in its center leads directly to the engine. Trying to enter there would be a guaranteed way to die, as the Omniscience would only have to activate the engine briefly and he would roast at a temperature of several thousand degrees.

  Not a good idea. Instead, Marchenko aims for a round structure on the hull in the sector next to the axis. “An airlock?” he asks.

  “Confirmed. But I don’t think...”

  “Don’t worry.” He did not exactly tell Gronolf about the tricks he was capable of performing. Some of that came from a desire to show off, but there was also the risk that the Omniscience might be eavesdropping. Marchenko does not expect that it is willing to let its former passengers escape easily.

  Only three more meters to the airlock. Marchenko decelerates with his shoulder jets. In order to cushion the impact he stretches his legs forward. They absorb the kinetic energy of his body.

  “The access panel is toward the axis,” Gronolf explains. “You should have the necessary access rights.”

  Marchenko looks for the panel Gronolf described. It has two buttons. “How do I identify myself?”

  Gronolf gives him a frequency. “You pronounce your name.”

  Marchenko establishes a connection “General Dukar,” he says, using the original voice of the dead officer. The Omniscience must know that the general is in the shelter building, so it would be plausible for him to appear here. Yet nothing happens.

  “Is the airlock receiving energy?” asks Gronolf.

  Marchenko looks at the area in the infrared spectrum. “Yes, there is electricity flowing.”

  “Then the Omniscience does not want the general on board. I don’t think it would be different at the other airlocks. So, do you have to use the shaft?”

  “I am not suicidal.”

  Marchenko touches the metal surface between the panel and the airlock. There it is, a slight indentation between the door and the outer hull. The airlock is airtight, but that is a relative term. While no air can escape, there is a little bit of a gap between the door and the wall. At least it is enough for the special tool he constructed. It consists of a chain of nano-fabricators he modified, which are as flat as a string of single atoms. He puts his right thumb against the center of the gap. Sensors locate the exact spot and then the string gets underway. The only problem is the time—the chain needs a few minutes to reach the other side. There it will start to produce small sensors and tools from available materials.

  After 20 minutes he receives the first low-resolution images through the string.

  “Not bad,” Gronolf says via radio.

  Another 20 minutes pass before Marchenko can have his ‘agents’ manually open the door from the inside. Two large bolts have to be pushed aside, and then the door can be opened outward. “I am inside,” he says.

  “I am impressed,” replies Gronolf.

  “I hope the Omniscience did not lock all the doors this way. That would cost us too much time.”

  “I cannot imagine it.”

  Marchenko would like to know what Gronolf’s optimism is based on, but he doesn’t say anything. He first closes the external door and then examines the inner airlock door. Even that door does not react to the general’s name. Does the Omniscience already suspect something?

  “Tshyort vosmi,” he says.

  “What did you say?”

  “It doesn’t matter, Gronolf. A swearword from my home country.”

  Marchenko once again searches for a gap between the door and the wall. He will probably need more patience than he expected. “How many hours do we have left?” Marchenko asks.

  “Six, I would estimate.”

  “I see nine more doors on the map.”

  Marchenko imagines going through the airlock door and entering a long corridor. Suddenly numerous new doors slam down. He can’t even count that fast. Then he returns to reality. “Nonsense,” he says to himself and shakes his head.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sorry, I am just thinking out loud. How are... Adam and Eve?” He almost called them ‘the children.’

  “They are watching and are very excited.”

  “Fine.”

  “Speaking of watching. The Majestic Draght will soon be entering the radio shadow of the planet. We will lose our connection.”

  “The way it looks, I am getting along quite well by myself. How much longer?”

  “I can’t tell for sure. As soon as the atmosphere interferes, the connection will degrade, and once you move below the horizon, it should stop altogether.”

  “I understand. I won’t be surprised when I suddenly can’t hear you.”

  Brightnight 39, 3876

  Marchenko’s plan is really impressive. Gronolf himself probably would have failed to get into the airlock. He might not have succeeded in breaching the hull with an explosive charge. One would not notice it from looking at this machine, but it has capabilities far surpassing those of a Grosnop. If he manages to get the humans to his home world, that might offset the costs for the entire expedition—and save his honor. The Production Experts and Knowledge Scientists would kill for a chance to examine Marchenko.

  But he is getting ahead of himself. They have not yet solved the problem. They are still in a life-threatening situation. If the Omniscience has really placed nine locked doors between itself and its visitor, they can only hope against hope that it will veer off in the end, instead of destroying the ship and the building—and the planet with it.

  Marchenko opens the inner airlock door, which requires some strength to overcome the air pressure there. The door slams shut behind him. With the aid of the cameras, Gronolf can see over Marchenko’s shoulders into a corridor illuminated by flickering light. This sector looks oddly familiar to him. It would be a great coincidence, but it is not impossible... He wants to use the right eye to look sideways, as usual, but there is nothing there. How can Marchenko work under such restrictions?

  “Could you look to the right?” requests Gronolf.

  The camera turns to the side while Marchenko slowly walks through the hallway. It captures the image of the side corridor. At its end... Marchenko has already passed it before Gronolf can clearly see what is at the end of the side corridor.

  “Could you go a few steps back?”

  “Aye, aye,” Marchenko says. He turns around and steps back. This causes the camera to be pointed in the wrong direction.

  That is terrible, Gronolf thinks. What kind of evolutionary trick allowed humans to survive in spite of the disadvantage caused by their physique? “Please look at the other side,” he says.

  Marchenko also fulfills this request.

  “And now stand still briefly.”

  The machine stops abruptly. Indeed, at the end of the side corridor is a door blasted off its hinges. Gronolf zooms in on the image. It is obvious. This is the place he and Murnaka must have been a long time ago. The corridor itself shows no sign of all the cycles that have passed. It looks as if it had been buil
t yesterday, except for the flickering lights.

  There is a crackling in the audio channel. Gronolf suspected it. He looks at the time. So far, this is only the effect of the atmosphere. He would like Marchenko to run, but he refrains from urging him on. Marchenko knows exactly what to do. If this is really the corridor he and Murnaka used in the past, the life-support control room should be located at its end.

  “I believe you will find the life-support room ahead,” Gronolf says.

  “That room also contains the airlock that will get me to the right path toward the security chamber.”

  “Exactly. Back then, the Omniscience placed its security robots in front of the airlock.”

  “And what is behind it?”

  “I don’t know. We failed in the life-support center.”

  “Good to know. If the robots defeated a fighting machine like you, it won’t be easy for me.”

  “They electrified the floor, and I simply ran inside.”

  “Without sufficient information about the area held by the enemy? A tactical mistake.”

  “I was stupid.”

  “You obviously survived.”

  “But Murnaka didn’t.”

  “Murnaka?”

  “Never mind.”

  “I understand,” Marchenko says. “But how can you be so sure she is dead? Did you consciously experience the end of the fight?”

  “You are right. I also found indications in the archive that she might have survived. Yet in my memory I caused her death.”

  “I am here now.” That went faster than expected. There are not nine doors left, that is clear, at most four—the one to the life-support center, two airlock doors and the entrance of the security chamber.

  “Are you going inside right away? I don’t want to cause you any stress. We still have a radio connection.”