The Tau Ceti Diversion

by Chris McMahon

  Andrai was at his side. “Boss! What is it?”

  Karic could not speak. The nausea. The pain.

  “I’m taking you back to your cabin,” said Andrai.

  Karic tried to protest, but nothing but a groan came from his lips.

  Andrai guided him gently up the accessway, then into the lowest level of the habitat, where the sleeping quarters were located. By the time they reached the cabin door, Karic had recovered sufficiently to master his voice. His ideas flooded out in a torrent. Andrai listened intently to Karic’s instructions, nodding to acknowledge each key point.

  Andrai hit the door release. It slid open with a soft sigh.

  “Don’t worry, boss. I’ll keep working on it. A few hours of sleep will do you good.”

  “You’re right, Andrai.”

  He had pushed himself for long enough. His body needed rest.

  Karic pushed himself gently across the room, slipping into his sleeping sheath. The shiny plastic fabric felt cool and rough on his drug-sensitized skin. Around him, the walls enclosed him in a suffocating gray embrace.

  “OK. I’ll come to wake you at the end of the shift,” said Andrai, as he exited the tiny cabin.

  Karic was alone.

  For hours he lay awake, forcing himself to lay still despite the drug pumping through his system. Eventually, darkness claimed him.

  Then the dream began again.

  It always started with a silent scream. Karic would stand immobile, unable to move, barely awake, as Evelle slipped away from him. The radiation would appear before his mind’s eye like the blaze of dawn in orbit, blinding, and beneath this heat, Evelle’s body would appear burnt and smoking. A dead thing. Yet there she would be, floating above her body, hand outstretched toward him, fighting against a savage wind that tore at her, clawing at the bright substance of her being, impelling her to be away. She would scream, and he would feel it amid the silence and struggle to move toward her, his whole core longing to join with her and take flight. But slowly, she would slip away, lost eternally with each moment. Then she would be gone. The blaze would continue, peaking finally in a surge of power before fading.

  Then the presence would appear, floating outside the ship, a mass of undefined energy with two hate-filled eyes. He was convinced now it had come to watch them die, hot with desire for their destruction.

  Karic woke in confusion, the eyes of the watcher still upon him, lingering ghostly amid the clarion call of the ship’s alarm. It sounded in deafening waves from the speaker above him. Fighting weakness, he unzipped his sleeping sheath and floated across the room to get away from the speaker. The low-g gradually took him down to the floor, but allowed him plenty of time to flip himself around and get the soft polymer surface under his feet.

  Karic looked at his communicator. Four hours had passed.

  He touched a small button on his comband and croaked, “What is it?”

  It was Ibri who responded, his voice mocking, “Meeting in ten. Janzen and Mara already here.”

  The clarion stopped.

  Karic settled into a chair, his hands pressed to his temples. He had a pounding headache. His body felt weak, filled with the soul-numbing lethargy that followed the uppers. Usually he would be heading for the infirmary now. But the dangerous feeling of weakness in his body — and the incident in the access tunnel — told him it was time to stop. Trying to assemble his thoughts and clear the fog in his head, it was hard not to want that white diamond of instant clarity that the drug would deliver. That wave of energy that would banish all the negative thoughts.

  Thoughts that beckoned him now.

  This was the end of his life’s dream of space exploration. He would die without ever touching another world. He had lost Mara, Evelle … everything. The suspension equipment was destroyed, despite triple redundancy, his best designs and the shielding. The only thing he had left was the determination to give them every edge he could before survival became impossible. Perhaps if they could stabilize the ship’s systems, get control of the drive, they would still be able to achieve something, discover something remarkable before the last hours would arrive, with Starburst ceasing to be a starship and becoming instead their mausoleum, cooling steadily in the depths of space, even while their last transmission sped toward Earth.

  Now was the most dangerous time. The time when he could slip into the fugue state so easily. But he could not afford that, not with the crew waiting for him.

  His body was soaked in stale sweat, muscles stiff and taut from constant work and fatigue.

  He pushed himself upright.

  Karic washed his body in the stale fluids which the ship recycled and dressed in dry clothes, combing back his wavy hair, which he kept short in an attempt to control its willful nature. He looked at himself critically in the mirror for the first time in weeks and saw a stranger. Older than he remembered. Worn out. Face leaner, cheekbones even sharper.

  Karic turned and left his cabin for the conference room.

  As he worked his way down the shaft to the main deck, his mind worked over the familiar problem of Janzen. There was something odd about the commander’s decision to make for Tau Ceti — then a mostly unknown system. Janzen was always strategic, trying to stay one step ahead of the game. He always took the time to think things through. Yet when their exploration of Epsilon Eridani had proved a disappointment — based on a misleading analysis of their original target system — Janzen had immediately commanded the ship to divert to Tau Ceti. From what he knew of the commander, he would have expected the opposite response: a call for caution and careful planning.

  Having descended to the main deck, Karic made his way through the control room to the conference room. The fatigue in his body seemed worse in the full gravity and he felt every hour of the missing sleep. He paused on the threshold of the room and took a breath. The room was compact and tastefully furnished with faux wood paneling. The white polymer-glass table gleamed in the overhead lights, and the form-fitting metal chairs would not have been out of place in an Earth-side boardroom. It was a familiar, comfortable space for Karic. He must have spent thousands of hours in here, teasing out technical problems with his team, directing operations … those times seemed impossibly carefree now.

  All five of the surviving crew assembled, and he observed them with a clear head for the first time in many days. Janzen’s blond hair was immaculately styled, the blue eyes startling in his handsome face. The classic Davis looks that inspired confidence in their corporate machine and raised them to the status of celebrities. So familiar across Earth on vid-links and electronic billboards.

  “Sit down, Karic,” said Janzen, shifting in his seat. A smile played on his lips. It amazed Karic how Janzen managed to maintain his confidence in the face of this disaster. It made Karic question himself.

  Ibri’s dark, deep-set eyes were fixed on Karic. The direct stare from the lanky tech, sitting now at Janzen’s left, was unusual, and Karic felt some undercurrent of contempt that had overcome his passivity. Mara fidgeted with her e-reader and adjusted her hair, strangely distracted. Andrai was slouched over the table, looking tired and bored, and nodded in greeting.

  Karic sank into a chair. Janzen signaled Ibri to begin. Their situation was not good. The core processors that drove the Shipcom’s artificial intelligence functions were badly damaged, with more than half the ship’s sensors and all the robotic control units out of service.

  “Any indications on what caused the surge, Mara?” asked Janzen.

  Mara shook her head, spots of color rising on each cheek. “Nothing. I have been observing the system for days now, but haven’t been able to make any sense out the figures. Tau Ceti has a family of large terrestrial planets. Only the one orbiting at 0.55 AU shows any possibility of being an Earth-analogue. It’s right on the edge of the habitable zone and spectral analysis has shown indications of oxygen and water. We’ve known its mass for some time — over four times Earth’s — but now we’ve managed to get an accurate size
. Its radius indicates a lower density than Earth, not surprising given Tau Ceti’s low metallicity, putting the surface gravity a little over 1.2 gees.”

  “Excellent news, Mara,” said Janzen.

  “But it’s still impossible to say if the planet has an Earth-like atmosphere,” said Mara. “It’s on the hot edge of the habitable zone. It could be a super-Venus. Heavy gases like carbon dioxide would make it a hell planet.”

  “What about the planet at 1.35 AU?” asked Karic.

  “It’s right on the outside edge of the habitable zone,” said Mara. “The light atmosphere has worked against it. It’s a frozen planet. Despite the low density, its mass still makes its gravity just a little too high for colonization, around 1.4 gees.”

  “Is Tau Ceti the source of the radiation?” prompted Janzen.

  “I don’t think so.” Mara sighed in frustration. “I need more computing power and use of the remaining ship’s sensors. I will never get enough data manually.”

  Ibri leaned forward, looming over the table. “I need priority. I have to get the AI operating.”

  “I agree that the Shipcom is a priority, Ibri, but we need the astronomical programs online first to understand what danger we are in. I am sure you understand,” said Janzen.

  Ibri looked like he had just tasted something sour. His dark eyes fixed on Mara with a feral gleam.

  Janzen turned to Karic, his eyes cold, assessing, despite his affable expression.

  “Karic, perhaps you can give us your report on the state of the suspension equipment?”

  The crew turned to Karic.

  “All the suspension equipment is destroyed and completely beyond repair. That’s my report.”

  The room was silent, and the crew sat unmoving, all other concerns put aside.

  Janzen straightened in his chair, then smiled. There was something predatory in the commander’s expression.

  “This was to remain a contingency,” said Janzen. “But there are eight additional sets of suspension gear in storage in the heavy lander. They were to be kept secret until every other avenue failed. The additional shielding should have protected them.” He turned to Karic. “I expect you to check them out immediately.”

  For a brief moment, there was no sound as relief swept through the assembled crew, then the air was full of excited questions.

  “Kept secret!” A wave of adrenaline rushed through Karic, banishing his headache instantly. A second set of equipment. Another chance at survival. He shook his head in amazement, wondering how ExploreCorp techs had managed to smuggle the sets on board without his knowledge. Yet none of that mattered now. Karic had new hope. They could all look toward a future again. He could save them — save the ship — and his voyage of discovery. His dream of space exploration was alive!

  Then something clicked into place in his head. The lander was very tight on storage space. The only reason sets would be hidden on the lander was if someone knew about the radiation danger — even before the ship had left Earth orbit. Janzen had known about it all. He had known about the oxygen-water signature of the unknown system, and the radiation. He had kept it as a secret backup plan in case Epsilon Eridani had not been all he hoped. That was why he had been so confident about the radiation levels — and why he had been so shocked when they spiked. He had been expecting non-lethal levels.

  There was a loud rushing in Karic’s ears as his thoughts tumbled on. Janzen had known about the radiation, but had put them all at risk anyway, unwilling to forgo the financial success of the mission. Evelle, Ryal, Gemma and the rest of the crew — they would all be alive now if they had kept station at Epsilon Eridani.

  Karic slowly rose to his feet. The others fell silent. “You knew, didn’t you?”

  Janzen tilted his head back and stared at Karic from beneath his odin. There was a telling pause before his reply. The commander’s piercing blue eyes flicked to the side as he thought rapidly, then he turned back to the group. “We have a fresh opportunity here. It’s important that we all work together, that we all look forward. As a team, we have to focus on the future.”

  This is not the scenario. That’s what Janzen had said when the spike had hit. At the time Karic had put it down to shock, but Janzen had already been expecting a radiation threat — just not as lethal.

  “You knew about the radiation risk in the Tau Ceti system. Even before we left Earth,” said Karic.

  Janzen smile remained fixed, but his eyes gave him away. They darted across the room. Karic had caught him off guard. My God. It’s true.

  “Karic, I think you should wait until those drugs you have been taking leave your system before you start making accusations.”

  Janzen adjusted the position of his electronic notepad on the desk and looked up. He swept his gaze across the crew, then back to Karic. He straightened in his chair and tilted his head back once more, his head shaking with a kind of swagger. Karic’s heart burned with anger. Instinctively, Karic knew that Janzen had been waiting for someone to make the connection — and would have all the right answers ready for them.

  A cold wash of reality came across Karic. What he had seen as friendship had been nothing more than a convenient partnership — one that had benefited Janzen. This had always been about profit. The whispers of the ruthless Davis family — that he had always dismissed — now came back to him. Political opponents who were discredited and disgraced. Difficult employees who ended up in prison on fraud charges. Others who died in sudden accidents. He had hoped Janzen was different. Believed he was different. The sense of betrayal was acute.

  Karic was shaken. He had let Janzen sway him. He had accepted his reassurances when he cancelled the revival process for the crew. He should have realized. If he had fought harder, if he had challenged Janzen right at the outset — reinstated the revival process — the crew could have been saved. Now he felt that blood on his own hands.

  “Think, Karic. How could it be true?” said Mara. “Janzen would be putting himself at risk as well.”

  Karic nodded. “Yes, that’s true. He would not have expected the amount of radiation we were hit with. But he would have based his decision on data from Earth satellites, while the radiation we have been monitoring is directional. Earth would not have detected most of it.”

  “But what other evidence do you have?” continued Mara.

  “The spare suspension sets. They are bulky. They would have had to dismantle them to get them into the lander at all. They would need a very good reason to do that.”

  Mara’s eyes narrowed. She was silent as she considered the implications.

  “The lander is the most heavily shielded area of the ship,” said Karic. “The best place to put anything if you were concerned about radiation damage.”

  “Come now, Karic. This speculation doesn’t benefit any of us.” Janzen’s voice remained smooth. Reasonable. “We have to all pull together — now more than ever. As for the decision to put the sets in the lander, it was for … security.”

  Karic looked at the commander’s perfect face, the steady smile. The lie was effortless, his piercing blue eyes as clear as a summer’s day. Karic’s stomach flipped as he realized he would have to reevaluate every single thing this man had ever said to him. How could he have misjudged him so badly?

  “It’s credible,” said Mara.

  “There are a thousand better places to store suspension sets on this ship, Mara, and you know it,” said Karic.

  “That does not justify trying to kill someone! Even if Janzen deceived us, he would not have known he was putting us in this sort of danger. Besides, you haven’t proved anything,” said Mara.

  “Really?” said Karic. “Why don’t you ask Janzen to open up his private files? He won’t.”

  The commander smoothed back his hair. “Look. It’s natural to be feeling a high degree of stress in this situation. Accusations don’t help any of us. We need to put all this behind us and get on with the mission.”

  Mara was quiet for a moment. Then sh
e looked directly at Janzen. “I agree with Karic. The best way to settle this is for you to open up your files, Commander. Then we can see for ourselves you had no plans to make for Tau Ceti.”

  “You must understand that is out of the question.” Janzen gave them a patronizing smile. “It would mean compromising ExploreCorp security codes that I am honor-bound to protect.”

  Mara looked across to Karic. She was starting to believe him.

  “What else are you holding back from us, Janzen?” asked Karic.

  Janzen ignored the question.

  “I want you all working on the control of the fusion drive. In the meantime, we must characterize the source of the radiation. I want Ibri and Mara to work together getting the sensors back online. Andrai, you keep working with Karic.”

  Ibri frowned, displeased. He clearly thought that astronomy was secondary to the restoration of the Shipcom.

  “What if another X-ray surge hits us?” asked Andrai. “How will we protect ourselves? Not even the shielding on the lander might protect us if the source is in the Tau Ceti system — we are getting closer to it.”

  Janzen straightened in his chair and smiled, displaying a glib confidence. Karic was watching him carefully. He was back on familiar territory. All this had been worked out in advance.

  “There is no better radiation shield than a planet. As soon as we have full control of the fusion drive, and the sets have been put together, we will make for the planet at 0.55 AU from Tau Ceti.

  “That will be all for now.”

  Janzen swept from the room, his exit spoiled by the need to duck under the lintel. Ibri was hot on his heels. “The AI is crucial. Hundreds of systems …” Ibri’s voice trailed off as he disappeared into the corridor.