The First Exoplanet

by T. J. Sedgwick

  The building services control room was more like an oversized cupboard containing a number of electrical and control panels on both the left and right walls. In front of her, opposite the door, was what she’d come here for. Mounted into the wall was a large touchscreen terminal. Set to the right of it, on an adjustable arm, was the retinal scanner. To log onto this terminal required double authentication: a password and a scan of the user’s retina. Just like a fingerprint, the patterns on any given retina are unique. Security was a balance between convenience and strength. The fact that getting into the WGA Joint Research & Space Centre was in itself a tough nut to crack meant that the twin barriers were deemed good enough. Dasha touched the screen to switch it on and typed in Dr King’s password. A box popped up with green tick icon and ‘Password Accepted, please complete retinal scan…’ whereupon she hitched up her dress and pulled something from her panties. The device was relatively standard in the espionage world—an eye scan dupe. About the diameter of a real eyeball, the dupe had a hemispherical end adjoined to a five centimetre long cylinder. The hemisphere consisted of a transparent polycarbonate shell with what resembled a human eye inside. Dasha had already calibrated it using a photo from a camera that she’d hidden in her apartment. She’d used it to take a picture of King’s retina. She activated the dupe and held it up to the retinal scanner. The screen changed again presenting another dialogue box reading, ‘Retinal Scan Successful - Welcome Dr Alan King (Authority Level 4)’. She placed the dupe device back into her panties where it would remain hidden until she got home that night.

  As the probe orbited 380 km above in the late afternoon sky, she closed the dialogue and set about accessing the fusion reactor operating system. The file structure was too logical for its own good and she easily navigated her way to the relevant network address. Next, she pulled the data chip, containing the virus file, from her shoe and slotted it into the card reader below the terminal. Her instructions were clear: there was only one place the virus should be copied to. She followed her instructions to the letter, her artificially enhanced memory ensuring no mistake. She removed the data chip and placed it back into her shoe and logged off, her work almost done. As she went to open the door from the diminutive control room she heard voices right outside.

  “Hey Don, how was the time off?”

  Her hand froze on the door handle, her breathing regulated so as not to give herself away.

  “Hey Tom, fantastic, we went to Hawaii…”

  The small talk continued for five minutes before the two men finally ran out of things to say.

  “Okay, great seeing ya,” said the man named Tom.

  She heard both sets of footsteps receding in opposite directions up the corridor. She waited another thirty seconds and moved out into the centre of the corridor as quickly as she could after closing the door behind her. She took the right back to her desk. Seven minutes had gone by and nothing had seemed to change there. She sat down and thought, Years of being Jenna Perez for a few minutes of work. Well, soon your life will come to an end, Jenna Perez, and you will live, reincarnated as the real Dasha Morozova.

  ***

  September 6, 2061 SVR Headquarters, Yasenevo District, Moscow, Russia

  It was already the day of the launch in Moscow, eleven time zones ahead of the WGA headquarters in Seattle. Sergei Bekov, Director of Cyber Warfare, sat at his desk at 9:58am enjoying the rich mocha taste of the coffee his personal assistant had brought. He swished it around his palate and savoured the velvety tones, as his operative, Delta-1, stood waiting patiently to be asked to sit opposite him. Bekov took his time and had another sip of coffee while Delta-1 stared into space. The handler of his asset in Seattle was two minutes early so had no right to complain.

  As his clock high on the opposite wall struck ten, he looked up at Delta-1. “Please, take a seat,” he said, gesturing with his hand.

  “Thank you sir,” replied Delta-1.

  “Report, Delta-1,” demanded Bekov.

  Referring to SVR field agent, Dasha Morozova, a.k.a. Jenna Perez, Delta-1 reported, “Sir, at 0950 hours our asset made a coded transmission. At 1635 hours local time the asset successfully uploaded the package as instructed. The operation has not been compromised and no duress phrase was used by the asset. All clear and ready to fly the nest on your orders. That is all, sir.”

  “Order our asset to remain in place until further notice. We need her there until the probe comes back. You are dismissed, Delta-1,” instructed Bekov.

  “Very good sir,” said Delta-1. He rose from the chair, tucking it in neatly in line with Bekov’s expectations, and marched out of the office.

  Bekov sat back in his top-of-the-range leather office chair, clutching his coffee mug with both hands, and breathed a sigh of relief. Everything was going to plan, but the crucial phase of the operation was still to come. One part of the plan would be hidden fifteen light years away in the Avendano system. The final act of Bekov’s probe operation would take place right here on Earth.

  ***

  Twenty minutes later, he tapped on his terminal panel and called his boss, Minister for State Security Roman Demenok. There was a planned video conference with Minister Demenok and the rest of the National Security Council due to start in a few minutes. Demenok instructed Bekov to introduce himself, somewhat needlessly he thought given his profile in the intelligence community. A round-the-table who’s who then introduced the dozen ministers and agency heads seated around the conference table, each giving their name and job title. Eleven men; one woman.

  Demenok, chairing the session, got straight into it. “Director Bekov, please now brief us on the operation…”

  “Sir, we have achieved success for this phase of the operation. The virus package has been uploaded to the probe and will be activated from its dormant state on arrival into the Avendano system,” reported Bekov.

  “Excellent news and nothing less than we expected from you, Director,” said Demenok in congratulations, but still managing to sound measured and cold.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Demenok continued, “Now, Director Bekov, summarise the remainder of the operation for us.”

  Bekov started, “Certainly, sir. Now, the virus is on board it will lie dormant in the fusion reactor operating software until it detects the power surge associated with the jump to Avendano. Two minutes after arriving in the target system, it will propagate into the central computer's operating system. It will gather data and at regular intervals place a hidden file of that data on the messenger microprobes’ storage media. That information will consist of operating data from the main probe’s systems and detected data from its sensors. The virus also contains a mapping bot—a program that was to interrogate the physical makeup of the probe. It would try to gather relevant design data that could not be gleaned from the system’s operating data. When the messenger microprobes return to Earth they will transmit the hidden data files as encrypted microbursts to our Earth station. The transmissions will be interspersed throughout the main, legitimate, data download to the WGA Earth station. So firstly, the Westerners will not be able to withhold anything interesting they find in Avendano since we’ll have the raw sensor data. Secondly, when combined with our existing knowledge of the probe design, the other data should be enough for us to reverse engineer the FTL. That is, if the final phase were to fail.”

  “Thank you, Director Bekov. Now talk us through that final phase, after which I believe we have some questions for you,” said Demenok.

  “Sir, the final phase will take place once the probe has jumped back to Earth from the surface of Avendano. As you know, sir, the probe will not be able to launch itself back into orbit once it’s made its descent to the Avendano surface. It will, of course, be able to jump back somewhere close to Earth using its FTL-drive, all going to plan. It cannot jump to the surface of Earth as it’s simply not accurate enough yet in terms of its terminal coordinates. It will, however, move into Earth orbit and back into the Citadel spac
e station. Or so the Westerners’ plan goes,” said Bekov.

  “Yes,” smiled Demenok, “so the plan goes! But we have something different in mind, don’t we Director Bekov? Talk us through this last crucial part of the plan, please.”

  “We will take control of the probe.” There were a few raised eyebrows and looks of surprise at this around the table. Bekov continued, “First we’ll lock out WGA access. Next, we’ll activate the probe’s cloaking field. Once in our control and stealthy, we’ll fly her to our waiting shuttle in Low Earth Orbit. At the same time, the shuttle will release a dummy probe and set it on a course for re-entry. It will burn up and, to the Westerners, it will look like a malfunctioning Santa Maria. All going well, we’ll land the shuttle and reverse engineer the real Santa Maria probe starting with the FTL-drive. We have the relevant specialists already security cleared for this work.”

  “Excellent summary and excellent plan, Director - thank you,” said Demenok. He looked around the conference table and went on. “So, in summary, there are three objectives. One: ensure full knowledge of Avendano discoveries. Two: gather technical data on the probe systems’ operation and design in case the final aim is a failure. And three: take the probe, cover our tracks and reverse engineer it.”

  “Now for questions,” notified Demenok, indicating to the council members that the floor was open for debate.

  The questions and answers session went on for ninety minutes, by which time Bekov was starting to crave another coffee. Still, he understood the necessity of these conferences. Once the information, and then the probe, made its way into Russian hands it would be a truly multi-agency endeavour. Coordination was vital, as were his continued good relations with Minister Demenok—his patron and sponsor. A lot could go wrong and Bekov knew this was a supremely high stakes game they were playing.

  September 6, 2061 WGA Space Mission Control Centre, Seattle

  “T-minus-five-minutes until departure. Assembly Module doors locked at full open,” said Sarah Townsley, Mission Controller from the WGA Mission Control Centre in Seattle. The diminutive Townsley, with her tight, natural ringlets and defined features had joined as a graduate just before the Avendano discovery five years before. She was now a highly valued member of the team. The honour of being the primary mission controller was recognition of her well-earned reputation as one of the best.

  The camera feeds from the brightly lit assembly module showed the Santa Maria probe in the foreground. It was as large as a truck and sat affixed to an articulated arm. It sat near the centre of the voluminous cylinder, in low Earth orbit. Beyond the probe was the circular opening at the end of the cylinder filled only with the blackness of space. Five years ago the green of vegetation was discovered on Avendano-185f by Helios, the Very Large Direct Imaging Array. Now the world watched and waited with an estimated five billion people tuning into the live broadcast. The articulated arm moved slowly forwards, towards the open assembly module end and space.

  “T-minus-3-minutes. Arm extended, probe in launch position. Commence power-up of manoeuvring jets,” said Mission Controller Townsley.

  The manoeuvring jets ramped up to departure flow rate. The sensors connected to the articulate arm, which still held on to the probe, detected the jets’ force. The tiny series of tell-tale threads near the nozzles oscillated rapidly as a secondary, visual indication of the jets’ function.

  “T-minus-one-minute. Release secondary retention bolts and energise hydraulic pusher.”

  Only the four primary retention bolts now held Santa Maria to the articulate arm. The hydraulic pusher was a simple liquid-filled piston, which was now pressured up and ready to gently push the probe out through the doors. The manoeuvring jets would then build up speed and track the pre-planned trajectory out of the station towards waypoint one.

  “T-minus-ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one… We have release of the probe ... and departure. The interstellar probe Santa Maria has exited the Alliance Citadel on its mission to Avendano, seeking out new life and civilization across the stars, departing 569 years after Christopher Columbus set sail to America and the New World. Humanity's hopes and dreams fly with her.”

  Rousing cheers and a standing ovation lifted the roof of the mission control room. Hugs and handshakes were exchanged with smiles all around as Townsley continued the job of monitoring the probe as it receded from the Assembly Hall camera’s view. Smiling and switching her attention to the rear on-board camera view, the Alliance Citadel became exponentially smaller and smaller as Santa Maria accelerated away. In another three minutes waypoint one would be reached and the chemical rocket burn sequence would be automatically initiated.

  The congratulations quickly died down as William Trantham, Mission Control Director, turned to Townsley and said, “Great job, kid, well done. How’s everything looking on the systems report?”

  “All system parameters normal. Reaching waypoint two in … one and a half minutes,” she reported.

  “Good deal. I’ll let you make your next announcement.”

  “Waypoint two reached in ten seconds,” announced Townsley.

  After the short pause she continued, “Waypoint two now reached; we have rocket burn and acceleration towards waypoint three.”

  Waypoint three would take Santa Maria a safe distance – 200 km – away from the space station. It was a precaution more than anything. The gravity spike from the FTL jump was known, from tests, to be highly localised. However, the FTL-drive was still considered experimental and the Alliance Citadel was irreplaceable. This distance would be covered in just five minutes.

  The main conference room was located a short stroll down the corridor from the mission control room. Over a hundred staff and guests sat in ten rows of twelve and viewed the action on a large screen taking up most of the far wall. Sitting in the front two rows were the key personnel who had guided the project to this point. Among them were co-discoverers of suspected life on Avendano-185f, Doctors Aidan Lemaie and Scarlett Hansen. They were here to bid the probe farewell in the hope that their discovery would be confirmed. Everyone wondered what this pivotal time in human history would reveal. They wouldn’t have long to wait; although it would be another twenty-four hours until the first messenger microprobe returned to the vicinity of Earth. Santa Maria would jump instantaneously across the fifteen light years—considered to be a near miracle in even the most jaded of minds. This advanced technology, to most people, really was indistinguishable from magic.

  The Russian Minister for Space was present in the front row. He was dressed in a bespoke, light grey suit and red tie with the insignia of the Russian state embroidered on it. He sat there with full knowledge that five rows behind was his country’s field agent, Dasha Morozova. The minister shared many of the same feelings as everyone else watching, but overlaid on these were thoughts of the espionage mission that Dasha had helped facilitate. Russia needed to know everything about Avendano and, at some point in the future, intended to go there and claim her stake on this new world. The minister was also acutely aware that Russia desperately needed to acquire the FTL-drive technology to have any chance of competing with the Westerners. Capturing the cloaking tech would be an additional bonus of hijacking and stealing the probe on its return. ‘It’s all in the hands of the gods now—or the virus anyway,’ thought the atheistic Russian dignitary.

  Seated next to the Russian was his Chinese counterpart. Rightly or wrongly, the Chinese had decided they would buy their way into a future on Avendano. They reasoned that it would be unthinkable to exclude major world powers from going there once a second Earth was confirmed. They had the reserves to fund colonies and felt certain that the Westerners would not want to go it alone given the scale and cost of the endeavour. The fall back plan, the minister knew, was a spoiling strategy and alliance with the Russians, which would force the WGA’s hand. But that plan-B would be most unfortunate, mulled the Chinese representative.

  One seat along was United Nations Secretary Gen
eral, Ekon Agbakoba. He was a stocky, middle-aged Nigerian, educated at Oxford, and wore a pinstriped three-piece suit and tie. The UN leader was invited more out of courtesy to the venerable, but now largely powerless, institution. It had always been a toothless tiger, lacking its own military. Relying on contributions from member states kept it in their servitude. Now, in its one hundred and sixteenth year, it had all but lost its moral legitimacy as well. A series of damaging corruption scandals and a succession of weak leaders had played into the hands of the world's three main power bases: WGA, Russia and China. All three blocs had, for different reasons, conspired to make the UN powerless enough to be unobtrusive to their agendas. Bilateralism between the power players was the current world order and probably always had been.

  ***

  1,300km to the south, Yau Min Chang sat watching from his hospice bed in San Francisco’s St. Luke’s Memorial Hospital. The doctors had told him he had days to live, and the worse his untreatable brain tumour became the surer of his expiry date they became. He never thought he’d live this long and thanked God that the probe launch had not been delayed. He would soon see the jump—what there was to see of it anyway. But he would not be fulfilled until news of its discoveries returned with the messenger microprobe in twenty-four hours’ time. This was his time horizon now—days shrinking to hours. He’d lived a good life and left his legacy of discovery. But he would not feel complete until he found out the truth about the broadcasts from Avendano. This desire kept him alive. “Please God,” he pleaded quietly, “just allow me this one last thing and I will rest in peace and join my loved ones in your kingdom…”