Starflight (Stealing the Sun Book 1)

by Ron Collins

  The image continued its sporadic flaring.

  “Man-oh-man,” Silvio said. His chair groaned as he lay back. “Reminds me of the big ol’ dust busters on Mars. Those things whipped up, and you just dug in and waited. But if you could find a safe place, they could light up the sky and it was like the good Lord hisself was paintin’ a picture.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Don’t believe me?”

  Torrance pointed to the image. “These flashes are too stationary to be a storm, don’t you think?”

  Nivead shrugged. “I seen storms sit down for a good while, LC. And Eden’s got more than her share of cloud cover.”

  Torrance pursed his lips, and kept his eyes on the image.

  It was a fact that dense clouds could distort this kind of signal, but he felt something deeper here and he had been around long enough that he knew he would hate himself forever if he didn’t follow up on this.

  “Let it run forward, please, Abke.”

  The stream of flares continued for some time, then came a single large burst. He waited several more minutes, but it didn’t come back.

  “Guess it’s done raining,” Silvio said.

  Torrance replayed the sequence.

  The flares rose and fell in yellow, white, and orange, beautiful in their own right. It was static, though, its source not moving. It could be a storm, he supposed. But it really wasn’t like any storm he had ever seen. It looked more like one of the radio towers he had fiddled with when he was a kid putting together com protocols for larks.

  The idea hit him cold.

  Scientists had studied the Alpha Centauri system for decades prior to Everguard’s launch. They listened for signals and imaged the entire system with deep-space telescopes. They scanned with radio interferometers, looking for the telltale wobble or the flickering dimness that identified planets. It was Mars’s Kochi Station that announced the discovery of three planets orbiting A and two circling B. Only the second planet from Centauri A, however, was inside the zone where liquid water—and thereby intelligent life—was possible.

  Scientists dubbed the planet Eden.

  Closer study, however, soon determined it to be anything but a paradise.

  Despite the existence of oxygen and the hint of carbon-based amino acids that some scientists still considered bio-tags for prospective life, the outer shell of the planet’s atmosphere was a horrific mixture of methane, carbon dioxide, and sulfuric acid that had combined to create a runaway greenhouse effect similar to that of Venus. Models also suggested that the extreme tidal forces of the Alpha Centauri tri-star system were heating the planet’s core, and would make for a volcanic world with stormy weather patterns that continually raged across the surface.

  The search for intelligent life, the scientists said, would have to dig deeper into the universe.

  But now Torrance wondered.

  The atmospheric shell was poisonous, yes, but it was still just a blanket. No one had really looked for what could be happening on the surface or even below it.

  Could this signal be from an intelligent source?

  “Abke,” Torrance said. “Can you run this file through primary and secondary linguistic recognition routines?”

  “Process initiated,” Abke replied. “Estimated to complete in two minutes.”

  “Linguistics?” Silvio said. “You think the storm is talking to us?”

  Torrance started to reply, then saw Silvio’s crazy grin. “Sure, Silvio,” he finally said. “I think it’s ordering a pizza.”

  Silvio slapped his thigh and gave a laugh.

  “Ordering a pizza. That’s a good one, LC.”

  Torrance turned back to the workstation. It had been a very long day, but even if he hit the rack now, Torrance knew he would never get to sleep.

  He cracked his knuckles, waiting for Abke to finish.

  CHAPTER 4

  UGIS Everguard

  Ship Local Date: May 6, 2204

  Ship Local Time: 0520

  The good news was that it wasn’t his fault.

  Torrance stood outside his CO’s quarters and gathered his thoughts. He was early, but he didn’t figure that would be a problem.

  “Romanov here.” The captain’s voice was alert and responsive through the intercom.

  “Lieutenant Commander Black, sir.”

  The door buzzed, then dilated open.

  The ventilation system blew a cool breeze. The room was quiet and calm despite being decorated with a row of flat-panel images of starships and other vehicles. Romanov was fourth-generation military, and the regimentation of his compartment showed it. The far wall, however, carried a holo of a waterfall from the backlands of Maui. A glass table with three chairs sat in the corner. Torrance could almost smell fresh water and island breeze.

  The captain rose from his meditation pad, dressed in a loose robe of red terry cloth. A thin film of sweat glistened from the curve of his collarbone.

  “Good morning, Captain,” Torrance said.

  “I think it is acceptable to be informal before 0600, Torrance,” Romanov said with only a trace of his Russian heritage lingering in his accent. He gestured toward the table. “You look as if you’ve had a very long night. Have a seat and tell me about it.”

  Torrance sat down, not certain where to start.

  The captain sat across from him.

  “We have a problem,” Torrance said.

  “Yes?”

  “When Everguard opened the launch doors, we encountered an electromagnetic disturbance.”

  “I see no problem, then. Shield what we need to shield and get on with it.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Why not? We have inventory.”

  “Yes, we do,” Torrance admitted. “But the disturbance is coming from outside.”

  “Outside of what?”

  “Outside of Everguard, sir. It’s coming from the star’s second planet.”

  Romanov’s face betrayed nothing as he thought through the ramifications of what Torrance was saying. “Why didn’t it show up in our scan?”

  “It was there. I checked the logs myself. But the configuration of the planets and the star itself cut the amplitude of what we received. For whatever reason, we overlooked it.”

  Torrance didn’t need to add that the we who overlooked it did not include either Torrance Black or Alexandir Romanov.

  “I see.” The captain clasped his hands together and leaned back. “So, am I to assume you’re thinking that this stray burst of EMI suggests there may be life on Eden?”

  “I don’t see how we can read it any other way.”

  “Despite the fact that all other examinations confirm the planet’s atmosphere is toxic?”

  “Only a life-form could produce this EMI.”

  “The planet is a perpetual storm,” Romanov said. “It is certainly possible that such a place could generate high-energy disturbances, is it not?”

  “What we’ve received has been tight, Captain, not random white noise.”

  “Have you run our translator programs?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing yet, sir. But just because we don’t recognize a pattern doesn’t mean one can’t exist. Our linguistic code should be reviewed before we go any further.”

  The ventilation system wheezed like the collected mumble of distant voices.

  “Lieutenant Commander.” The captain’s voice became firm, and Torrance realized that, pre-0600 or not, the discussion had just become formal. “We have a mission to accomplish. What you have found is not enough to warrant the conclusion of intelligent life when everything else we know to be true about this planet discounts that.”

  Torrance froze. He had expected Romanov to point the finger of blame at External Sensor Command and postpone the mission. But now the captain seemed more determined than ever to push forward.

  “But what if I’m right, Captain?”

  “I don’t think that is the case.”

>   “But, sir, if this is intelligent life, draining their star will leave them without energy. Whatever civilization exists will die.”

  “I understand, Torrance,” the captain said, his eyes blazing like dark lasers. “But even a simple trip planetside could cost us months both ways. And some very steep odds say all we would find are clouds that generate tight bursts of static. Do you want to be the one who tells the admiral that we’re going to hold back our understanding of the entire universe for half a standard year while we piddle around looking for thunderstorms in Eden?”

  Torrance did not reply.

  “You’re a good man, Lieutenant Commander,” Romanov continued. “You’ve always been part of the team. You’re a hard worker, and when the going gets tough, you stick your nose into the guts of problems and figure out how to make things work. It is a trait I most admire in you. I know I can rely on you to do what is right for us in the big picture.”

  Suddenly, Torrance understood.

  This was about position. It was about expectations and power.

  If Everguard diverted for a false call, the careers of every officer aboard would hang in tenuous balance, not the least of which was Alexandir Romanov’s.

  Now Romanov was staring at him with that firm but fatherly expression that said he expected Torrance to do his part, to play the game as it needed to be played. His CO expected Torrance to go along with him. Go along to get along, his father had once said, and that phrase had buried itself into Torrance’s psyche even back then. He had always gone along, but not because he thought it was right or wrong. He had simply ducked his head and gotten work done mostly because he trusted the system—he believed it when everyone said that what really mattered was doing the work. Do the work better than anyone else, and you’ll win, they said. Go along to get ahead.

  Torrance’s eyes slid away from the pressure of Romanov’s gaze.

  He looked down at his hands. His stomach burned, reminding him that the last thing he had eaten was the synthesized roast beef sandwich he had for lunch yesterday.

  “Thank you, sir,” Torrance said, more because it seemed he should than because he felt anything.

  “I understand your concerns,” the captain said. “I’ll take your report to the admiral for his confirmation of my order. But our mission is clear. I have a duty to the people of our Solar System, as do you. Those tubes need to be shielded and another launch profile prepared as soon as possible.”

  “I understand,” Torrance said, standing.

  “Do you?”

  He understood, yes.

  He was to be a good soldier and do as he was told. That much was clear. He was to engage in no more discussion of life on Eden. But a cold stone formed in his stomach then because he also understood the captain had just supported potential genocide of what might be an intelligent species, and he had done so with barely a second thought.

  “Yes, sir. I do understand.”

  Romanov nodded.

  “Thank you for your work, Lieutenant Commander. I’m sure it has been a busy evening.”

  Torrance sighed. “I’ve ordered the staff to their beds, but I think we can be ready to launch in under twenty-four hours.”

  “Very good. Looks like you could use some sleep yourself.”

  “Yes, sir,” he replied, saluting.

  Torrance turned and strode out of the captain’s office, his temples suddenly throbbing with a massive headache.

  CHAPTER 5

  UGIS Everguard

  Ship Local Date: May 7, 2204

  Ship Local Time: 0830

  Torrance stood alone on the officers’ radiation-shielded observation deck, and stared into the blackness of space. He had retired early the previous day and, after a fitful rest, woke even earlier this morning. Breakfast had been alone in the main mess. Now he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, thinking deeply about Adrienne for the first time in a very long time.

  They had met right after he entered the Academy.

  He remembered their wedding day, the sugary whiteness of their cake, and how Adrienne shoved an overly large bite into his mouth. It had been such an exciting day, the beginning of something that seemed so infinite. Adrienne was special—intriguing, and with interesting takes on everything from the politics of the moon to how to best grow lemons in zero gravity. Her Mediterranean background made her fiery at times, which fit against his own Midwestern stoicism in interesting ways. They had wanted children—Adrienne pushing for two, Torrance thinking more like three. But children never came. A series of trips to fertility doctors eventually found he was the problem.

  There were solutions, of course: adoption, or donor transplants, gene therapy or clone cultures. But Torrance was adamant that he couldn’t raise someone else’s children. He didn’t care that everyone else was doing it. It didn’t feel right, and no gene therapy in the world could change the fact that every time he looked into the child’s eyes he would see his own failure.

  Yes, it was selfish and stupid.

  He could see that now.

  But he had been scared and embarrassed, and, as usual, he hid from the problem rather than face it. This was his way when he felt out of control and things got too heavy for him to deal with. He had ignored the problem with Adrienne, and as usual, it had festered.

  They split a few months before the Everguard opportunity arose.

  He had needed something to focus on, something to take the pain away. All he had at hand was the military—with its rules that dictated what to do when and how to do it. It suited him. He felt comfortable here. He understood how it worked. The military had been his life.

  The idea of fifteen years aboard Everguard had seemed so perfect back then.

  Torrance jumped at his pager’s piercing bleat.

  “You have a call from Lieutenant Malloy, sir,” Abke said.

  “Pass it through.”

  “Connection made.”

  “What can I do for you, Karl?”

  “All our sensitive components have been shielded, sir. Do you want us to begin prelaunch preparations?”

  “Is the testing done?”

  “Yes, sir. No anomalies.”

  “Yes, then. Prelaunch would be the next step.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Torrance pressed his lips together. The shielding was in place. In something under two hours he would give an order that, knock on wood, should open the entire universe to the human species, arguably saving it when looked at over the span of millennia, but might doom another.

  There was life on the second planet in the Alpha Centauri A system.

  He had no proof of this fact, of course, but he felt it lying there inside the data like it was this invisible fire burning under his skin. He was right. He had to be. Proof or no proof—he felt it.

  Something, or someone, was there.

  No argument the captain or anyone else aboard this ship could put forward would convince Torrance otherwise.

  His uniform collar seemed tight against his neck.

  His stomach rolled over.

  He never asked for this.

  His career was likely over. He would return to his own world tired and used up—a man with no family, no future, and no dignity. And now he would return also as a man who felt genocide so deeply in his bones that he thought he might get sick right here on the observation deck.

  The thought twisted like a hunting knife in his gut.

  He felt powerless, beaten down.

  The idea of launching the pods made him feel dirty.

  He was one man in the entire existence of the universe.

  He had twelve buttons to push.

  The numbers, twelve and one, waded through his mind.

  He was one lieutenant commander with twelve wormhole pods, there was one star outside this one spaceship that he existed in, and one people with unknown technology on the one planet than existed in that one star’s habitable zone.

  Unknown technology, yes, but technology at least advanced enou
gh to release emissions that interfered with Everguard’s systems.

  And he had twelve buttons to push.

  An idea dawned.

  A thought. A concept, a harebrained idea, perhaps even an audacious brain blunder that gnawed at his belly and made his breathing rise with a sudden change of pattern that let him know he was on to something.

  One technology.

  A flare of energy burned at his spine.

  It could work, he realized.

  Competitive reengineering had fueled human progress for centuries. If the aliens he was envisioning were sharp enough, they could figure it out. And if he was right, the intelligence on that planet was at least advanced enough to broadcast radio.

  It was a huge personal risk.

  His activity would almost certainly show up if Romanov requested another shipwide scan. What was left of his career was certainly at stake.

  He gazed out the observation panel and recalled the expression on Romanov’s face as Torrance had reported his findings.

  The collider glimmered against black velvet.

  Protons and neutrons raced inside that ring, scattering themselves into the netherworld of quarks and leptons—universes that lived and died in fractions of seconds. A collector gathered each of these particles, separating them and funneling each into channels where supercooled electromagnets ensured they would find their antimatter counterparts. The resulting meeting of matter and antimatter pushed energy into the ship’s propulsion unit. Soon a small fraction of that power would be siphoned to feed the launch tubes.

  Torrance closed his eyes, and listened to the gentle hiss of the ship’s operational systems. It was a soft sound, warm. It reminded him of the wind that had blown past his open window when he was a teenager in Wisconsin.

  That was a long time ago.

  Lives, like military careers, can be made in the span of a single collision of a neutron and a proton. They can be broken in similar moments of time. Or they can merely fade away, decaying like radioactive waste with the half-life of a human being.

  It was time, Torrance realized, feeling truly comfortable for the first time since he could remember.