14:01. A soft distinctive sound from the receiver tells me a control signal is arriving. This helps me better adjust the reception, so not a single bit of information will be lost.
The transmission starts. I analyze the signals in my auditory center, which seems most suitable to me. I can hear radio messages. My fellow students would have envied me for this capability back in the cosmonaut academy. Now it helps me find out what our destination looks like.
The first image is constructed line by line. I recognize a glowing red landscape, and I involuntarily flinch. The photo seems so real. The probe must have approached the planet very closely. The ground is mostly flat, like a huge valley, and the orange light of its sun floods it as if somebody dumped a bucket of thin, bright orange paint all over it. Cragged mountains are on the horizon. It is difficult to estimate their heights. Assuming the world is similar to Earth in size, the mountains might be some 5,000 meters high.
The view is fantastic. The ISU sent three more photos, showing the same scene from slightly different angles. As seen from our perspective, the planet appears to be left of its sun, and the sensor unit made its closest approach to its surface at the spot where the sun stood in its zenith. The star itself is not visible on any of the pictures and would be located behind the observer, so to speak.
My excitement turns into a paralyzing shock when I realize what these images mean for us. This landscape looks decidedly hostile to life. The ISU also sent some data along. The surface temperature in the photographed area is 70 degrees. There is an atmosphere, but it is significantly thinner than on Earth. The probe measured the oxygen content to be about 12 percent, which is too little to take longer walks without a breathing apparatus. But who would even want to be outside in that heat? Adam and Eve will have to get used to life inside the spaceship, or they will have to build their future home underground.
I have to be careful not to become too negative. For the next two or three hours, I am still hoping to receive pictures from the second sensor unit. Perhaps it photographed other areas of the surface, where conditions are more favorable. But I wait in vain. The second probe appears to be non-functional.
So I only have the pictures from the first ISU. What else do they tell me? At our destination there is a planet with a solid surface, and a magnetic field offering at least some protection against radiation—otherwise the atmosphere probably would not exist anymore—where you do not immediately die without a breathing apparatus. If the probe photographed the area that had the sun directly overhead, it must be warmer there than elsewhere.
To analyze it from a different perspective, there must be cooler regions, maybe halfway to, or on the rear side of the planet. Based on the message that reached Earth we can assume life once existed there, and it might still exist where the conditions are more suitable. Of course it could be a strange form of life, like on the bottom of the Enceladus Ocean or in the lava of the volcanic moon Io. With a little effort I can deduce some good news from the photos. At least there will be tasks for Adam, Eve, and me, challenges we will need in order to lead a fulfilling life, even without return tickets to Earth.
June 14, 15
It does not happen very often that Adam is the first one to appear in the improvised schoolroom in the command module. Eve is the better student—she is curious and interested in almost everything.
The first lesson regarding Proxima Centauri is about to begin. Long before Eve, Adam realized why he was on this journey and what significance this destination will have for all of us. Consequently, for two years he has steadfastly refused to listen to lessons about Earth—ever since the day I explained to them that they will never see the planet from which they originated. I'm not sure what Adam’s true motive behind this refusal is.
“It is useless to learn something I will never need,” he said.
“But you are also studying Spanish, even though you will never meet a Spaniard,” I replied.
“I can speak Spanish to Eve. That’s fun, because J doesn’t understand us then,” he answered.
Following this particular conversation I taught J to speak Spanish. Afterward Adam stopped talking to me for a whole week. This was two years ago, shortly before the children had celebrated their eleventh birthday. Since then, Adam has not used the Spanish language. For three months he tried to convince Eve to switch to French. At some point he succeeded.
But now his favorite subject, Proxima Studies, is about to begin, and J is the teacher. After some major modifications, the robot handles the zero gravity in the command module quite easily. It grew alongside the children and now has a height of one and a half meters. J switches the large, special-glass window into its screen mode. Adam and Eve are sitting directly in front of it in their bowl-shaped, custom-fitted metal seats, and J stands next to it. Something interesting appears on the monitor screen. It looks as if Messenger is approaching the binary system of Alpha Centauri A and B and then takes a sharp right turn shortly before its arrival.
“Of course we will not reach the system in such a speedy way,” J explains.
“Yes, slowly, so slowly,” Eve says with a sigh. “Why can’t we go any faster?”
I immediately recognize this is no real question. Eve simply wants to get her teacher to start telling a story. J might not be particularly clever, but the robot skillfully deflects the attempt.
“We can talk about this in the lesson on space flight technology,” J says. Eve shrugs.
“And what do we see here?” J asks. The virtual spaceship has come to a stop. A white ball pulsates in the center of the screen. It is orbited by a much smaller gray sphere, which moves in scary proximity and with amazing speed.
“Proxima Centauri,” Adam answers with a bored expression, “and its companion Proxima b.”
“To be exact, Proxima Centauri b,” J corrects him.
“Well, yes.”
“And what kind of star is Proxima Centauri?”
“A red dwarf,” Adam said. Eve knows she will be undisturbed during this lesson, since Adam is going to give all the answers. She doesn’t seem to mind.
“And why does it not look red?”
“The color refers to its spectrum. Proxima Centauri radiates a large part of its light in the infrared range. But on its surface, it still has a temperature of over 2,000 degrees, and therefore looks white to the human eye.”
“Perfect explanation,” J praises him. Adam just nods.
“Can Proxima Centauri be compared to the sun?” the robot asks.
“Proxima Centauri is much darker than the sun,” Adam begins. “Overall, it only has 0.014 percent of its luminosity, and only half that much in the visible spectrum. It has about one-eighth of the sun’s mass and a seventh of its radius.”
“Is that all?”
Adam smiles and continues, “No, of course not—it is also a flare star. At intervals of 40 days, there are stellar eruptions during which the luminosity of the star in all wavelengths can double. Then the surface of the planet is bombarded strongly with X-rays, among other things.”
“We will cover the planet later,” J says. “Where approximately is Proxima Centauri located in space?”
“It is currently the star closest to the sun. In 26,700 years Proxima Centauri will approach the sun to a distance of 3.11 lightyears, compared to 4.2 lightyears today. It simultaneously orbits the binary system of Alpha Centauri A and B with an orbital period of about 500,000 years.”
I am checking whether Adam has access to any online databases. No, he has really memorized these numbers.
“Then you probably can tell me something about the planet,” J says.
Adam gave him a tired smile. “Gladly,” he said with exaggerated friendliness. “Proxima b is a terrestrial planet, at least as far as its size is concerned. It weighs about 1.5 times as much as Earth and possesses a metallic core and a rocky mantle. It is tidally locked in the orbit around its star, so it always turns the same face toward it. The equilibrium temperature is minus 39 degree
s.”
“Isn’t that much too cold?” J asks.
“No. The equilibrium temperature of Earth is minus 15 degrees, but there is a lot of water on its surface. We assume that on Proxima b, similar to Earth, a dense atmosphere and its greenhouse effect ensures higher temperatures.”
“Very good, Adam,” J says with a monotonous robot voice.
“Just one question,” Adam said.
“Yes?”
“You always say ‘we assume,’ when you tell me these facts, so that’s how I answer your questions. Don’t we have more exact data?”
“The astronomers make these assumptions,” J explains. “At least there must have been a civilization there, which would indicate the surface was somewhat livable.”
“But what about our own probes? Shouldn’t we have received results long ago?” Adam is kneading his hands while he asks this question.
“No, Adam. Unfortunately the probes appear to have been destroyed. They sent no images.”
I feel a stab in my chest every time J has to lie, because I ordered him to do so. But I don’t want to worry the children with the existing data.
December 25, 17
“Good morning, Adam,” the robot J says.
“No, it isn’t,” Adam grumbles in reply.
Adam has turned into a real stinker. Existing literature had pointed out this tricky adolescent developmental phase, but I was still surprised by it. I myself cannot remember ever having been such a disagreeable person. If I had been so moody, my mother—who had already been punished enough because my father, her husband, was a drunkard—would have suffered greatly because of it. I catch myself thinking that this boy simply has it too easy. Of course this is utter nonsense, because in fact Adam and Eve are traveling through space in what is essentially a prison. While their freedom appears limitless, it is restricted to a few square meters. The two of them are smart and saw through this illusion a long time ago.
Despite this, Eve is quite different from Adam. She has phases when she seems to be sad, but in other phases she is the most cheerful person imaginable. Yet no matter her current mood she participates in everything, while Adam would prefer to completely withdraw from life. Generally, Eve goes along with Adam, following the motto ‘discretion is the better part of valor.’ Thus they rarely quarrel and seem inseparable.
Both are strikingly attractive. The Creator must have selected their genes accordingly.
Adam is tall and at 15 years already measures 1.76 meters. The incubation chamber, which still monitors his physical development, claims he will probably reach 1.90 meters. He has a dark complexion, a straight, pronounced nose, and brown eyes. His hair is slightly curly. The only thing he still does voluntarily is exercise, and the result is readily apparent. He uses the exercise bike for hours a day.
On the other hand, Eve was already shorter as a baby, and she remains petite. Some three years ago, when she turned 12, she got her first period, and since then her breasts have developed. At first she did not know how to handle this, but about a year ago she must have accepted that she was turning into a woman, and now every morning she puts on makeup that the fabricators have created for her. Eve must have learned about feminine grooming practices in the novels she avidly reads. She usually lets J cut her almost black hair very short so it will not be in her way. Like Adam, she has a rather dark complexion. This is caused by a special pigment the Creator had integrated into their DNA to protect them from the expected strong UV radiation on Proxima b. Eve has a very friendly face, lacking any trace of arrogance, something one cannot exactly say about Adam.
Since their twelfth birthdays, the two of them have had separate rooms. That probably was the perfect moment, as three days later Eve started a serious conversation.
“Are we siblings?” she asked.
For a moment I felt I had to clear my throat. While I can perform calculations at incredible speeds, I often struggle for the perfect expression to use. “You grew up like siblings,” I began to explain. “Do you remember sleeping in one bed, naked, belly to belly?”
Eve did not want to get distracted. “We grew up this way, yes, but are we siblings genetically?” she asks. “Could we safely have children together?”
“You have some genetic similarities. Your skin, for instance, protects you against radiation.”
“Could we have children together?” Eve asked again, as if she wanted to start with it tomorrow.
“Basically, nothing would prevent it,” I replied. I did not mention that Eve receives contraceptives through her food. “However, I would strongly advise against it until you really settle down on Proxima b. We would not want to expose your children to unnecessary risks.”
Since then the topic has never been mentioned again, at least in conversations with me. However, both Adam and Eve scrupulously avoid appearing naked in front of each other. When their time together as babies is mentioned, they just roll their eyes.
The Christmas present that they both are about to receive is a deliberate gesture. I hope it will bring Adam a little out of his shell. It was actually intended for their 16th birthday next August, but now the ‘children’ seem mature enough to me.
J leads the two of them into the festively-decorated command module. Adam sits down at the table right away, while Eve looks around, full of curiosity. There is no present to be seen, and her face shows how annoyed she is.
I join them via the loudspeaker. “Nice of you to come,” I say in greeting them.
“Yes, Marchenko, we know. Now don’t keep us in suspense,” Adam says, almost impatiently.
I have to smile. Luckily, neither of them can see it. Otherwise Adam would once more feel that I am not taking him seriously. “Yes, your present. I understand,” I say. “I’ll try to be brief.”
J moves toward the tip of the command module, which of course lies in our direction of travel. He pushes against the wall with his left arm, approximately at waist height. With a clicking sound, a two-centimeters-thick board unfolds from the wall, connected to the wall by a hinge on its lower side.
“Why don’t you come here?” prompts J, and right away Adam jumps out of his seat. The robot brushes against the left edge of the board and lights start to blink in its center.
“Those are switches,” Adam says, obviously failing to hide his excitement.
“Please bend down briefly over there,” J says, pointing to a nondescript spot on the board. “I have to register your iris patterns.”
Adam and Eve follow this request, one after the other.
“Now,” J says, “you are registered as pilots of Messenger. This is your gift. From now on, you alone can determine our course. During the coming weeks we will learn in the virtual reality simulator exactly how this works.”
“We can fly anywhere?” Adams asks, seemingly still not believing it completely.
“Anywhere is a bit exaggerated,” I explain. “You know Messenger does not have a drive of its own, but you can change course as far as it is possible using the control jets. And once we arrive in the Proxima system, there also will be an engine.”
“But you would let us change the course the way we want?” Adam persists.
This is the question I expected and feared. On the one hand I would like to trust the two of them so much that I can say ‘yes,’ but on the other hand, I must not endanger the mission. Or would it threaten the mission more if I withhold this trust?
“Yes, you may fly wherever you choose,” I reply.
“Great... then I am starting a turn. We are going back.” Adam gets up and aims for the keys with his fingers. I am getting nervous, but I refuse to show any sign of it.
“No, that’s nonsense,” he finally says and sits down. “You first have to teach us how to do it.”
February 3, 18
Adam looks cool sitting in front of the control panel, I guess due to the fact that he’s wearing sunglasses. Built by the fabricators to his specifications, the sunglasses do not protect against sunlight. Inst
ead they contain tiny screens that give Adam the illusion of being out in space. This way he is supposed to get an impression of the effect his commands have. The console is connected to the VR simulator, and since New Year’s Day these lessons have been part of the training. Eve looks at this pragmatically. She considers Messenger a vehicle that will eventually get us to our destination. Of course it is good to be able to handle it, but she does not get the same satisfaction that Adam experiences. He especially likes getting the spaceship into extreme situations.
I have to admit this is not only exciting but also very instructive. It shows Adam that his abilities to influence the ship are limited. The universe is constantly trying to kill us, and we can only cheat death if we do not make mistakes, and consciously avoid those extreme situations. The main problem lies in the fact it is a battle of ‘one against all.’
Now, shortly before reaching its destination, Messenger has a diameter of twelve meters and a length of seven meters. It will travel at this velocity and will only decelerate once it is ready to land. A few months before reaching our destination—I would estimate toward the end of the year—the ship will use its available mass to increase its diameter considerably. The purpose is to accustom the passengers to the planet’s high gravity by means of a fast rotation. Previously, Adam and Eve only experienced at most a quarter of terrestrial gravity, but after the landing they will weigh 50 percent more than on Earth, or six times as much as now. While their bones and muscles are genetically geared for this, they will still need training and preparation.
Adam is currently testing how clumsily the spaceship would react after such modifications. The large cross-section makes us more susceptible to asteroid hits. We still do not know whether there are many such obstacles in our destination system, but we must assume so. I can see Adam leaning to one side, as if trying to avoid being hit himself.
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