Voyage

by C. Paul Lockman

  And now I was on my way. I was going home, by the most extraordinary route. A mixture of anticipation, fear and excitement welled in my chest. None of the other passengers seemed to recognise me, which was just fine. I was on my way back to anonymity, back to just being myself. I couldn’t wait.

  At the orbiting station, the car stopped and everyone floated out. The other three humanoids were waiting for me. They looked almost identical, dressed in ornate green robes. “Your Cruiser is here. You can board.” I acknowledged this with a nod and was taken down a long corridor, using grab-handles in the zero-G, to a docking bay at the far end of the station.

  There she was.

  My Cruiser was the most beautiful ship I’d ever seen. The sleek, silver design was just captivating, like a paper dart but sexier, more graceful, aerodynamically curved and graced with elegant, silken lines. Perhaps sixteen meters long, with an expanded cabin section and upgraded engines, she sat there, waiting solely for me, shimmering in the reflected light of the planet. She was designed to operate in atmospheres, one could see from her short wings, which were upturned at the tip. There was a classic cockpit with a bubble canopy and the nose tapered into a sharp, metal point. She had the grace of a classic sailboat, or a much-loved sports car, but under the hood, my Cruiser was a thoroughbred. She was designed to operate at speeds well in excess of the speed of light.

  You see, according to Einstein, a ship accelerating towards the speed of light would need an infinite amount of energy to actually break the ‘light-barrier’. Even Holdrian or Takanli engines cannot produce infinite power. So, instead, the ship featured a warp field generator, reassuringly similar to those of the starship Enterprise. Colossal amounts of energy, produced by hydrogen fusion in the ship’s engines, enable special coiled nodes in the ship’s rear to generate a field which literally changed the shape and size of the space through which the ship travelled; recall that space is not truly empty, but is a network of energy which can, itself, be manipulated if you know how. And, oh boy, did those eggheads on Holdrian know how.

  The ship would reside within a bubble, in front of which space would be contracted by the warp field, and behind which the fabric of space would be expanded once more. I thought of it as a form of interstellar lubrication, a slipway down which my ship would glide, unfettered by the limitations of general relativity. Within the bubble, the passenger and everything else would remain weightless and experience no inertia. We would fall, faster and faster, oblivious to the outrageous speeds which, I was confidently told, would exceed 3C, perhaps even faster. This depended most critically on the efficiency of the warp field, the amount of energy created by our engines, and how long our fuel source – liquid hydrogen in the Cruiser’s tanks – would hold out.

  And so the Cruiser first appeared to me, nestled in its docking back. It could defeat the laws of physics. It was going to shoot me into a wormhole, and back in time. It was going to take me home. I fell in love with it straight away and that has never changed.

  Even the Holdrian engineers were impressed. One, in particular, gazed longingly at her clean lines and admired her almost garish reflectivity. I took the final few grab-handles and opened the door of the bay. There was a soft whoosh as old air was replaced by new, and I climbed into the airlock, which was more spacious than I had expected given the size of the bay. I waved to the three.

  “Have a good trip”, they managed, still amazed by my ship. I smiled, thanked them, and closed the airlock. Following my instructions, I pressed a sequence of buttons and the forward port opened, revealing the inside of the ship. She was docked by her belly, and the airlock lead into the largest section of the ship, which contained the stasis unit and racks of supplies on the walls, including the three modest suitcases I would be taking home. Forward of that was the cockpit and behind it was the back wall which separated the cabin from the fuel supply, hydrogen-fusion engines, and warp drive mechanism.

  She was compact, beautifully designed, surprisingly spacious; padded too, I found as I smacked into the spaceship’s wall following an gleeful zero-G cartwheel.

  The first thing to do was to get my license, so to speak. Jackson was right about the learning mechanism. Waiting on the pilot’s seat (my seat, I chuckled) was a metal tiara which I clicked into place. A Red Cube was strapped to the seat also and I attached this to an adaptor wire which ran into the tiara. I pressed the Cube’s central button and the transfer began. It was the same, slightly odd sensation of disorientation and drunkenness I had experienced at the Boffin’s lab on Takanli, but it didn’t last long.

  There was about an hour of preparation to complete before I left, not unlike the checks performed by airliner pilots on Earth, I mused to myself. Diagnostics checks were performed automatically by the onboard computer, and these showed all systems in the green. I contacted the station’s traffic controller and got priority to depart. Some final buttons to press, including turning on my lights, and we were ready to go. My movements were fluid, confident, like I had done this a thousand times. In my mind, I felt like I had. Remarkable.

  The ship eased away from the station and I decided to retain a consistent angle with reference to the planet, just for my own orientation and to avoid any dizziness or vertigo. I used only the ship’s manoeuvring thrusters for this small change in delta-V, waiting until I was safely away from the station to begin engine start-up. I flicked the appropriate switches, monitored the engine displays and watched as the fuel flow began and our first thrust was produced. I felt the impulse in my back, which grew as we throttled up and began to accelerate away from the station.

  Within minutes we were at 0.01-C and streaking away from the planet, which I could see disappearing behind me in the ship’s cameras. I pushed the throttle further and the ship rocketed through 0.2-C. That would suffice, I thought, shutting down the engines for the interplanetary cruise. At this speed, the computer told me, I would be there in just over two hours. Time enough to think, enjoy some privacy, check out the view. And explore this fantastic ship.

  The replicators worked, I was delighted to find, sipping hot, green tea and snacking on a small cheese and bacon calzone. I wondered, as I often did, just how these scientists had gained data on the physical properties of the calzone, or scotch, or coffee. Had aliens been wandering around the Earth, buying up foods and taking back samples? What was the name of that journalist guy who reckoned that aliens were living secretly among humanity, learning about us? He could be more right than he knew.

  Holdrian disappeared almost completely behind me, mingling with other small points of light. The ride was extremely smooth, as I guess it should have been, as we were speeding through total vacuum. Not even interstellar hydrogen, the computer said. But when I lost sight of the planet, and could not yet see our destination, a strange feeling set in. I had no frame of reference. I had forgotten which way had been up, as I left Holdrian, and was now completely turned around. I guess we were going the right way, but we were only heading into infinite blackness.

  The computer straightened me out, producing a 3-D map of the system on the main head-up display, and relating my position within it. We were only an hour out. I got up from my seat once more and floated back into the cabin where the stasis unit was patiently waiting. It was upright against the wall to save space and resembled a glass and metal coffin with just enough room for me to lay in. I wouldn’t try it yet. To be honest it gave me the creeps. Controls on a panel to its left indicated oxygen and CO2 levels, temperature, pulse rate and blood pressure (currently zero) and a host of other vital signs. The sight of it made me shudder. There were far too many similarities between Cosmic Sleep and the more permanent kind. I mean, was a journey like this even survivable, especially twice? I pushed the thoughts aside.

  There was a tiny bathroom and I remembered that the ship could begin a controlled spin which would induce 1-G if I wanted a shower. Or the toilet, which I was hoping to avoid. That said, having been asleep for forty years, I’m sure one of my first ne
eds would be a huge piss.

  The computer beeped gently up front and I returned to the cockpit. There it was, dead ahead, a shining point of light. I’d better identify myself, I thought. These people were not exactly thrilled by the prospect of strangers warping over to steal their technology. A gravity bomb was not my idea of a warm welcome. The computer handled the enquiry, and we received an electronic welcome in the form of docking instructions. Not landing, I saw, but docking. Was I not going down to the surface?

  Soon I realised why not. This was neither planet nor moon, but a giant metal sphere in space punctuated by entry ports, encrusted with communications antennae and surrounded by orbiting stations and waiting spacecraft. It was a high-technology dream in metal, hanging there in the depths of space. The computer referred to it as a planet because it was 4000km across and orbited the star, but this was entirely man-made. It must have taken millennia.

  As we approached, a set of lights emerged out of the blackness like a runway, guiding us through the maze of stations and ships to our allotted bay. Some of the ships were bizarre designs. One was nearly a mile long, almost pencil-thin, with a gigantic bell-shaped engine on the back. Others were wheel-shaped and still others resembled traffic cones with rounded bases, hanging there, waiting for something. There was a massive ship which dominated one section of the parking area. It must have been five miles long and was bulky, metallic, huge, with giant glass domes attached all down its length.

  We slid into our bay in a comparatively modest station, following the lights and coming to a halt inside a small hangar. The hangar doors, which had slid open to allow us in, now slid closed, top to bottom. I checked the systems, made sure the Cruiser was in ‘park’ and took air samples from the hangar. It was breathable and pressure was resuming normal levels after the exposure to vacuum. I waited until it seemed it wasn’t going to rise any more, and held my nose as the pressure equalized inside my airlock, and opened the outer door.

  As my feet touched down on the hangar floor, more lights emerged from nowhere and marked out a path which led out of the hangar through a small door. I glanced around, saw no-one, and begin walking. Gravity was near 1-G, slightly less, which made me feel light-footed and rather jolly. Through the door was an airport-style waiting hall with rows of blue chairs, potted plants and large windows which gave an amazing view of this man-made planet and the myriad objects in orbit. The lights petered out at the chairs, so I sat down and took in the view.

  A green cloud of gas condensed on the window in front of me, slid down to the floor and turned into a puddle of viscous liquid. The liquid bubbled slightly and then rose, expanding, into a short, green tower. The bottom of the tower was changing faster than the rest, quickly becoming a familiar shape. The rest of the tower followed, and then the upper parts expanded and fountained quickly out to form arms and hands, then a head. Once the form was complete, the green leached out, revealing black skin and hair.

  It had taken less than a minute. The human emerged to be over six feet tall and perhaps forty years old. He was smiling.

  “I am Bassar. You are right on time.” An intriguing welcome from one of the galaxy’s two surviving time travellers. He extended his hand. I felt like I was meeting a celebrity or a king. He was certainly as impressive as any leader I had met. He had a deeply resonant voice and a calm manner which seemed to extend beyond his skin, so that one felt instantly at ease.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for the opportunity to visit your station.”

  He beamed politely. “Are you familiar with Relocation?”

  I nodded with a shy smile, remembering the last time I’d been asked about that. “Ready when you are.”

  He took my wrist... and then we were in the lobby of a theatre. The carpet was crimson and the walls decorated with posters for movies I was familiar with – Silent Running, 2001, Apollo 13 and Armageddon. Someone obviously thought I would get a giggle out of that. Stories of loneliness, exploration, near-disaster and redemption.

  “I hope you don’t mind the re-creation. This is a famous theatre in Amsterdam which you might know. I’ve brought you here to show you a few movies which you might find illuminating.”

  The ticket booth was empty, so we walked straight in. The theatre - which managed even to smell like a theatre - was also deserted. We took seats in the balcony and Bassar handled the introduction while the curtains parted and the screen showed blackness.

  “You understand already that we have made time travel possible using clusters of wormholes and Closed Time-like Curves.” I nodded, remembering the exam. “We understood that this technology is considerably more advanced than that available on your planet, so we thought we would arrange a little demonstration before you encounter it for yourself.”

  The movie began. We see a group of technicians working on a space probe, complete with golden antenna dish and traditional thrusters. “This is a class 4 probe, the kind we use for long-range surveillance and information-gathering. This particular model was equipped with a couple of sub-probes which would gather data on the Earth from close quarters, as well as one equipped to survey the system more generally. The scientists at the Ministry on Takanli were most helpful. Their in-situ resources were able to download your ‘internet’ and make it available to us through subspace download.”

  I stared at him as the documentary proceeded. “You downloaded the whole internet?”

  Bassar smiled. “Believe me, this represents a trifling amount of data compared to that with which we are used to dealing.” Jesus, I thought. These people truly were in a different league. “Your internet, particularly its encyclopaedia sections, was most useful. It enabled us to put together target lists for events which might be of interest to you. Some of these might be a little alarming, but we do this to prove a point.”

  “What’s the point?”

  He smiled once more. He exuded patience and kindness. “The point is that, with foreknowledge, the future can be changed for the better. And also to demonstrate the technology, to give you more confidence in this remarkable design. Finally”, he paused, “we thought you’d get an enormous kick out of it.”

  He chuckled to himself and we watched the probe being prepared for time travel. It was encased in a shroud made from an exotic metal alloy. I recognised molybdenum and tantalum from the chemical formula, but there were others which were new to me. Safely encased, the probe was hauled into deep space by a bulky cargo ship. The camera panned out to show the ship approaching an area of great disturbance, pulsating lights and whirling gasses.

  “This is the chrono-travel vortex. It consists of six wormholes clustered around each other. I cannot reveal the techniques by which we give specificity to the time of arrival, as these are very recent developments. They may”, he paused, “hmm… yes, they may be part of the Red Cube package we give you on departure. We understand your planet could use some help.”

  I thanked him and kept an eye on the movie. The cargo ship released the probe like a jet plane releasing a bomb, swinging sharply away accelerating to put distance between it and the gassy maelstrom ahead. The probe continued on, into the centre of the vortex, which simply swallowed the tiny machine. No puff of smoke or flash of light. It just entered the vortex and vanished.

  “How do you know if it is a success?”

  Bassar simply motioned to the screen. A second, not even that, after the probe had disappeared, a reading from one of the computers changed from zero to 1887. The scientists crowding around it cheered loudly and patted each other on the back, as if their little probe had just executed a perfect landing on a new planet. “This is how we know”, he stated. “That figure represents Cubes of data. This data retrieval and storage module, one of thousands we prepared in the distant past, began receiving data from the probe through subspace communications almost as soon as it arrived. This was some 4000 years ago. The accumulated data is now ready for analysis. You see, we know straight away if the mission was a success, because all the data w
ould already have arrived. The probe is unlikely still to be functioning after this extended time, but the data is safe.”

  “Wow”, I gasped, watching the scientists fill Red Cubes with data and distribute them around the room for analysis. “What kind of data?”

  “The probe had a pretty comprehensive telemetry, audio and photographic package, so we should get some interesting stuff. First, let’s see what the solar system sub-probe got. It was orbiting the sun, and two of the planets, for around a thousand years before it ran out of on-board power. The team highlighted two moments of significance.”

  The camera was zoomed in on a small patch of yellow cloud. Could this be Earth? As it zoomed out, the planet gradually took shape, with its glorious rings and scattered moons. It was Saturn, but four thousand years ago. “Watch the top left of the screen”, said Bassar. Sure enough, a bright light appeared there and seemed to head straight for the planet. The camera, nudged by some onboard system to track unusual events or fast-moving bodies, quickly resolved the incoming comet.

  “Oh, wow, no way…” The comet, merely a ball of ice and rock from the distant realms of the solar system, streaked across the image and, without pause, plunged recklessly and directly into Saturn’s upper clouds, splitting up into a dozen white-hot fragments. Their smoking streaks stained the upper cloud layer a dark, purple colour. Saturn continued revolving, apparently unperturbed by this violent visitor from the icy, remote Oort cloud.

  “Impressive, no?” I nodded vigorously. “Our only disappointment was that the massive impact which knocked Uranus off to the side, skewing its magnetic pole away from its geographical pole, was far in the past, way too far for our methods to capture it. I apologise for this. Alongside the impact which shoved your moon out of the Earth, it was probably the most impressive sight in the history of your system. That and some of the volcanic eruptions on Mars. Sorry these things aren’t available.”