by Paul Rix
An information droid directed him to the hangar where Raptor was being stored and, within five minutes, he was standing in front of the ship, admiring its smooth lines and seamless joins. Intense spotlights revealed no flaws or dents in the hull plates; the previous owners had taken good care of this ship. There was no doubting the quality and heritage of this vessel. Murphy had chosen wisely.
Garrett staggered unsteadily into the hangar, his head suddenly spinning in the cold early morning air. The next moment he was leaning over, throwing up everything he'd consumed in the last eight hours. The vile liquid splashed his boots and trousers and left a nasty taste in his mouth. Wiping his lips on the back of his sleeve, he decided the best thing he could do was climb aboard the ship and get away from the planet as soon as possible.
The sun had risen on another cloudless day by the time Garrett completed his final flight checks and obtained permission to depart. Raptor climbed rapidly through Vadia II's atmosphere and, within thirty seconds, was in the unforgiving vacuum of space. Before engaging his interplanetary propulsion engines, he switched the video feed to get one last look at the planet that was supposed to have been his home. His thoughts of the familiar green and blue globe were now filled with an overwhelming sense of loss and regret he didn't think he would ever recover from. Yet he would continue to return, however hard that would be. It was a penance for his failure.
"Goodbye, for now, my love," he whispered.
With a heavy heart, he turned his attention to the navi-computer and set coordinates to get as far away from Vadia II as possible.
However, Raptor's main computer interface was having none of it.
"Yes, I know. That's where I want to go."
Garrett was not used to having his orders questioned by a machine, albeit one with artificial intelligence. Lack of sleep and the beginnings of a hangover had not put him in the best of spirits for an argument. "I don't want to wait for an exemption. Just get us the hell out of here. And call me Garrett, not sir."
"What's the penalty for non-compliance?"
The ship's computer went silent as it attempted to uncover the relevant information. Garrett was about to engage the override sequence when the computer spoke again.
Garrett sighed. He was going to have to alter the settings on the ship's AI system. It was too smart for its own good and had already become annoying.
"Just point the ship in the direction I've set. Otherwise, I'll dismantle you myself."
"Noted. Although I don't have an ultimate destination in mind. Now, engage the propulsion units."
The brief sensation of acceleration in the pit of his stomach before the inertial compensators kicked in, was a welcome feeling. He let himself sink into the comfort of the pilot's seat, closing his eyes as he allowed the computer to guide Raptor from Vadia's planetary system into deep and uncharted space.
***
Three days later, after an uneventful journey during which Garrett had spent most of the time in his quarters reading up on his military history, both from Earth and the Stellar Cluster, the computer sprang to life.
"I thought I'd asked you to send it," Garrett lied. He was keen to find out if he could annoy the ship's computer.
Reluctantly, Garrett rose slowly from his bunk and trudged to the bridge. "How far are we from the boundary?"
Closer than he'd realized. "How long will it take to have an application approved?"
"That's unacceptable. I'm not prepared to hang around, drifting in space waiting for a bureaucrat to allow me to cross an imaginary boundary."
"I'm not taking advice from a machine."
"And were you programmed with an attitude?" replied an increasingly agitated Garrett.
"How can I adjust your settings? I want a computer that is more amenable. You're more annoying than most humans I know."
"Levi Murphy?" Garrett asked, already knowing the answer. It suddenly made sense why the computer was being so obstinate. It was one of Murphy's jokes.
"Contact Murphy now. I want this resolved."
Three seconds later, the computer replied.
Garrett was convinced there was a tone of smug satisfaction in the computer's synthesized voice. If Levi was off comms, it could be several days or maybe longer before he was active again. He wasn't sure how long he could survive the wretched machine.
The harsh metallic noise of the proximity alarm immediately brought Garrett back to more serious matters. "What the hell is that?"
"It must be a rogue asteroid. It's too far away from any inhabited planets to be anything else."
"Can you plot its velocity and trajectory?"
Too slow for a human vessel, but considerably faster than most asteroids.
"Can you analyze the composition?"
"Any imagery?"
Garrett sat down in his chair, leaning forward expectantly as he studied the first images of the strange object. It was initially hard to pick out the tiny object against the vastness of space. Only the telltale twinkling of two stars as the object passed in front of them revealed its location. But it was impossible to pick out any pertinent features.
"Magnify by a factor of ten."
The resolution on the screen adjusted to compensate for the magnification before providing the clearest possible view of the object. Garrett's heart skipped a beat as he recognized the familiar shape.
"That's impossible," was all he could say.
Chapter 4
Sunday mornings at the presidential palace near the center of Deliverance, the capital city of Constance II and the political home of the Federation, were normally a quiet family affair. This was the one time in her hecti
c weekly schedule when President D’Angelo caught up with her twin son and daughter, Delta and Frederick. The tradition began when the children had become teenagers and, during the intervening fifteen years, it had been a rare event when she had missed this precious moment. Over the years, these meetings had grown into more than simply a social gathering. It was now a candid debrief. She trusted no one else to be as honest and forthright as her children. Especially the sycophantic courtiers and politicians that hounded her daily.
It wasn't only her mistrust of people that made Sunday mornings so important. She was convinced there was sophisticated surveillance equipment throughout the palace, waiting to detect any slip she may make. There were enemies everywhere. That was an inevitable part of being a politician. You couldn't please everyone all the time, or any of the time it sometimes seemed. And when you'd been president of the Federation for as long as she had, thirty-eight years, there was no shortage of pretenders to the throne. She’d seen off countless challengers and was aware of several ambitious individuals in particular who continued to underestimate her because of her advancing years. While she accepted her body was frailer than it had been ten years earlier, her mind was as sharp as ever.
She had no intention of allowing any stranger to take her place and undo all the work she had completed or set into motion. There was no doubt in her mind that she would go down as the greatest president in history. Under her tenure, the Federation had flourished despite the attempts of opposition leaders to undermine her with lies and treachery. The only reasonable future for the Federation's continued prosperity was to build a legacy that extended beyond her lifetime. This was why she made the most of this time with her children, listening to the valuable information they shared with her about her enemies as well as coaching them to ensure they were ready to take her place when she died or could no longer lead.
President D’Angelo couldn't have been prouder of how Delta and Frederick had matured under her close tutoring. Delta, in particular, was showing signs of brutal ruthlessness and had learned that real power lay in the ability to manipulate people and to forge alliances with strategic friends and enemies alike. Leadership was knowing more than the next person and placing your closest allies in key roles across the Federation.
Under her careful guidance, Delta and Frederick had established a useful network of contacts, feeding back details from the most far-flung sectors of the Stellar Cluster. Either could be her successor, but President D’Angelo's favorite was undoubtedly Delta.
The presidential private garden, next to her personal suite, was the only part of the palace where President D’Angelo felt secure from prying eyes and ears. Over the years, she had filled it with her favorite flowers and plants that only she tended to. No one else was permitted to enter without her authorization. Extensive state-of-the-art countermeasures, sound suppression, and electronic dampening fields ensured no one could record her conversations. Even so, Frederick's first task this morning was to sweep the area for any surveillance devices. It was not until he nodded his head that anyone spoke.
"You're looking well today, Mother," said Delta, taking a seat in the center of the garden. She was the first-born by three minutes and had always acted as the eldest child. President D’Angelo was closer to her than Frederick, although she would never openly admit it.
Despite herself, the president smiled at the small compliment. "Thank you, my daughter. What news do you bring today?"
Delta opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by Frederick. "We've confirmed the object detected in quadrant Alpha-One is, as you suspected, an Exodus Ark."
The president shrugged. "It couldn't be anything else. Do you have any more details?"
"We've run hi-res telemetric vision through AI. So far it's been unable to identify a name that we can match to the registry. The ark is still on the boundaries of the Stellar Cluster and too remote from our sensor network."
"How long can we keep this information confidential?"
This time Delta rushed to provide the answer. "Plotting the ark's current course, we have another twelve days before it comes within range of a planetary system or regular transit routes. There's no reason for anyone to know of its existence before then."
"Good. We need to keep it that way." The president's mind was racing with possibilities, weighing up the likely outcomes of the news being made public. This was the first ark to appear in over one hundred and fifty years, and only the eighth to have made it to the Stellar Cluster since the end of the Great Exodus over two thousand years earlier. None of those previous seven arks had contained life, their systems and power sources having long been destroyed or malfunctioned.
"Recommendations?" she asked.
Delta and Frederick looked smugly at one another, knowing this was another of their mother's tests. They were well prepared, and it was a confident Frederick that responded. "From its tumbling motion and the fact it has taken two millennia to make the journey from Earth, it's safe to assume this ark is another derelict but as we all know with previous arks, their arrival stirs up a lot of public interest in the old Earth ways. When the last ark arrived in AD 4656, the riots almost caused the downfall of President Jones. Because of your policy of suppression, the algorithmic assessments calculate an extremely high chance of public engagement this time around."
"What Frederick is trying to say is that there is a ninety-three percent chance of a rebellion against our administration."
The high number nonplussed President D’Angelo. "I don't understand this overly active interest in ancient history. I've resisted many advances from opposition advocates keen on investing in the technology to have a workable mission to Earth. If it was such a better way of life, then why did one million people escape from Earth. The present and the future of humanity rests in the Stellar Cluster. I've created a far more stable society across the Cluster, with fewer conflicts between worlds. What more does the public want from me?"
"Advocate Deschamps has spent years fomenting unrest against you, mother. I don't know why you don't have him locked up. Or have him meet with a fatal accident," said Frederick. "I could arrange it. You only have to say the word."
President D’Angelo smiled. "I'll bear that in mind, Frederick. Unfortunately, there are more than Deschamps who support the revisionist movement. Although I know you'd be happy to remove all of my political enemies, there are only so many accidents that can be arranged without arousing suspicion. Keeping the ark from public knowledge is the simplest and cleanest solution to prevent an uprising."
Frederick slumped down in his seat at the rejection.
"We know the ark has too much mass to divert it away from inhabited zones," said Delta. "The only viable alternative to keep it secret is to destroy it at the earliest opportunity."
"How do we do that?" President D’Angelo knew the answer but wanted her children to work it out for themselves.
"If they're still online, we destroy at least one of the six arc energy reactors," Frederick hastily replied. "A large enough explosion will cause an instantaneous cascade effect throughout the ship and into the interstellar propulsion systems. The exponential pressure increase will disintegrate the vessel into unidentifiable pieces. The immense debris field will rapidly expand, leaving no evidence. No one need ever know another ark made it this far." Frederick sat back in his chair, folded his arms, and smiled at his mother.
"And if the arc reactors are no longer functioning?"
Frederick's smug expression immediately dropped away. Blushing, he stammered, "I didn't think of that."
"There are always options," said Delta, puffing out her chest as she enjoyed her brother's discomfort. "Spatial displacement mines, placed at strategic points along the central core of the ark will have a similar result. Six SDMs should be more than sufficient."
"Where will you find that many SDMs without raising suspicion? They're new technology and I doubt our arsenal stocks a significant number," Frederick scoffed.
"We actually
have access to forty-eight," Delta replied. "We can have them signed out for a training exercise. If we have to use them to destroy the ark, then we simply claim we lost them in a training accident. I can be ready to go in a matter of hours."
"As can I," Frederick said, in no hurry to concede to his sister.
D’Angelo looked at her children as they stared eagerly at her, waiting for her response. Enjoying the moment, she lingered over her decision. She had faith that either could do as she wanted, but one was clearly more capable. "I can't afford any mistakes with this. This is too important to be left to chance. Delta, I want you to lead the mission with a squad of your elite guards and get this done. Discreetly."
Frederick could not mask his disappointment. "Mother, I have my team ready to go. You can trust me to see this through."
"Thank you, Frederick. I don't doubt your abilities. I've made my decision and I expect you to respect it."
"I'm sorry. Of course, Mother. I will give Delta my full support."
D’Angelo smiled sympathetically at her son. He tried so hard to please her but lacked the killer instincts of his sister. It was such a shame that he couldn't be more like Delta.
"Is there any other news that I should know?"
"I don't believe so, Mother," Delta replied. "Frederick and I have attempted to engage with the religious factions to understand their intentions with the forthcoming gathering, but they continue to be reticent to share."
"They don't trust that you won't try to interfere," Frederick said. "The religious leaders believe it is best to remain independent from all governments. Their excuse is they want to attract new followers."
"That's disturbing news," said President D’Angelo. "We can't have any part of society thinking they can act outside of my dominion. Frederick, I'm tasking you with getting the religious leaders back in line before they become too strong. Use your initiative to make them see sense."
An evil smile curled Frederick's lip. "It will be my pleasure."