by Colin Weldon
The brightness of the overhead lights made Florence squint a little. It was the only section of the colony that always had access to normal lighting. They reached the end of the umbilicus and descended a metallic staircase. The sound of Florence’s hard shoes bounced off the metal. Her escort followed closely behind. Each step he took made the hand rail vibrate with his weight. They reached the bottom and moved into the main reactor chamber. It was huge. Florence took a deep breath and let the feeling of the Morphine now coursing through her veins calm her nerves. This was the part of the station she hated the most. The hundred-meter square power reactor was split over six levels with the reactor itself built in its centre. The long solid tube was just over five hundred meters running from the top of the ceiling of the reactor room to its base six levels below. Walkways surrounded each level with an array of computers built into almost every available space on the outside walls. It was the reactor itself that sent a cold chill down her spine, morphine or not. She walked past it and made her way to another connecting staircase dropping to a lower level.
A few minutes later she was on the lowest of the six levels where the main lab was located. There, sitting with his feet up and seemingly asleep, was Doctor Charles Vishal.
Forbidden Zone
The title of doctor was given to anyone who had reached an acceptable scientific standard, had there been any official educational institutions on board the space stations. It was conferred historically by the sitting chancellor and overseen by the elders of what had been left of the scientific community. In Charles Vishal’s case, he would certainly have attained the position with ease, had there been a planet on which he could have had a formal education, as the ancient data files suggested. He had a brilliant mind. At forty-eight, he had a light grey beard and grey hair. Like so many others, he had been honoured and condemned at the same time to a life of forced isolation. He had not left this section of the space station for fifteen years. His only companion had been the regular communiques from Arturo, and of course the regular visits from Florence. He had accepted the loneliness as his sacrifice for the colony and he was happy to do it. He was one of the lucky ones. He had two loving parents with whom he had not spoken to since the moment he had stepped inside the umbilicus. He had attained his position mostly through a mistake. A horrible mistake that he had proposed to Arturo while looking at the power requirements to keep the failing space stations operational. It was a mistake he bore on his soul every day he looked up at the reactor that he had built. It had come down to simple math. The sacrifice of one to save two. The power that a human being produced while at rest was roughly one hundred watts. Based on that simple equation, he created one of the most ruthless and brilliant machines ever devised. From the moment he hesitantly proposed it to Arturo all those years ago, he was doomed to a life of solitude. The candidates were selected, usually from the Red Tribe at birth, with some being added later, but never after the age of ten. They were assigned a numerical reference and placed into the pods. Their brains and nervous system were synced up to the power conductors via a network of hundreds of nano fibrous wires that penetrated the skin all over their bodies. The clear pods were sealed and feeding tubes inserted directly into their stomachs. The pods were filled with stasis fluid, sealed and then placed directly onto the reactor wall itself, where they lay suspended until their twenty-first birthdays, when they were then removed, unhooked and disposed of into deep space to be replaced by a younger “volunteer”.
Vishal’s first test subject had woken halfway through the process. It was one of the reasons he had chosen to assign them numbers instead of names. The terror in the eyes of the young boy as he struggled and drowned in the fluid was something that etched a powerful memory in his mind. Sacrifice one to save two.
The reactor had worked. And worked well. Until now. The demands being placed on power generation for the FTL project on board The Kandinsky was beginning to take its toll on the old infrastructure. The nano fibres were starting to corrode and they had lost nearly a quarter of the pods in the last six months. Arturo had ordered the construction of a secondary reactor to take up the slack, but without access to the raw materials, like copper and gold, it was becoming a difficult task.
Vishal had been taking a nap when Florence approached him. He had been up for nearly twenty-four hours trying to repair the feeding tube of #3454, who was nearly at the ripe old age of twelve. #3454 had always been problematic. She had shown a greater resilience than the others due to her large muscle mass. It was normally not an issue, as most of the subjects in the pods suffered from atrophy anyway, but this kid’s genes were strong. As far as Vishal was aware, it was the same as being in a coma. He was, however, fairly certain that the subjects experienced some form of dreaming. #3454 had been smiling throughout the repair work. Her eyes had remained closed, but she was definitely reacting to the movement of the tubes. This was the part that unnerved Vishal the most. How could a baby reared in a glass pod, who had never seen or heard anything, dream?
“Good morning, Doctor,” said Florence as she woke Vishal out of his slumber.
Florence’s blurry shape came into focus as Vishal jolted upright. He took a moment to orient himself before leaning over on his hands and finding his bearings.
“Jesus, Florence, you scared the crap out of me,” he said trying to slow his heart rate. He spread his mouth wide and let out an audible yawn, running his fingers through his thick grey hair. He took several deep breaths before sitting back in his seat and looking at the frail woman. She looked bad. Even for Florence. In all the years he had known her, he had never to his recollection, seen her smile. She had been the only real human contact he had been allowed and so he had made the most of her visits. He recognised the sorrow in her eyes as being Arturo’s right hand and pitied her for what he must have put her through over the years. He had caught glimpses of scars now and then, but mostly she kept that side of things to herself. He wondered how she coped. Not well, judging by the dark circles that had become a prominent feature under her once pretty eyes. He noticed the Colonial Guard by her side. This was something that really worried him. He guessed the reason was obvious and wondered how long it would be before she stopped coming altogether.
“Can I make you a hot drink?” she said softly approaching his chair.
“Let me,” he said standing and moved over to a desk with a rusted old glass pot sitting neatly on it.
He filled it with water and activated the heating element. He turned and looked at the Colonial Guard.
“Guard, will you wait on the upper level please, this equipment is highly sensitive. The chancellor will not be pleased if there is an accident down here,” he said trying to control his frustration.
The guard hesitated before turning and making his way back up to the upper levels. Florence watched him leave.
“Thank you,” she said.
Vishal nodded and poured hot water into two metal cups. He mixed in an array of herbs and handed Florence one of the cups.
“All-nighter?” she said.
“Always,” Vishal replied smiling, “So, what’s on the order for Frankenstein’s lab today?” he said.
She handed him a file and took a small sip of the liquid. Vishal had prided himself on his herbal concoctions. Synthetic or not, he had managed to blend a passable tea even he had been proud of. He drank the tea down letting it work its way around his system waking him up slightly. His body had adapted to function well on less than five hours of sleep a night for years now. He opened the document and read the file number, #3454.
“Ah,” he said, “the trouble maker,” and took another sip.
Florence tilted her head in a questioning fashion.
“She’s been squirming more than usual. That’s what kept me up all night. I had to reinsert her feeding tube. The damn thing nearly ripped her stomach out. What seems to be the problem with this one? Early retirement?” he said.
Florence shook her head.
“Arturo w
ants her kept in the pod for the time being,” she said.
Vishal frowned at Florence. Arturo had never requested a subject be kept in the power plant before. Quite the opposite. He had recently insisted that once the subject reached maximum output that they be replaced by a younger model. Most of the humans inside the power plant at the moment were well under the age of ten.
“That’s odd,” he said, “what’s so special about her?”
Florence looked over at the power plant not answering. She looked back at Vishal and hesitated before answering.
“An opportunity,” she finally said.
This peaked Vishal’s interest. He recognised that Florence, given half the chance, would probably kill Arturo herself were she not so frail, but for her to even suggest something like an opportunity meant that this was important. He looked down at the photo in the file. He read on. He rarely looked at the bottom of a subject’s file as he never wanted to know their name, but in this case, Florence’s nudge had forced his eyes downwards. At the bottom of the page in block capitals was the name of subject #3454.
Maya Elstone
The Unity
“That was a human voice,” said Oliver from underneath the communications console next to Aron’s feet.
For the last several hours he had been rebooting the primary software that ran the ship’s systems in the hope of finding a back door into the locked out comms system. Aron and India had been rerouting the flight control pathways through the secondary computer buffer which meant less compacted coding in the main frame. Aron called it cleaning out the trash. In order for Oliver to reinstall the software, all the original programming had to be erased, which meant all the flight data that the computer had recorded since its operation began. This would not be good, as the navigational star charts, which directed the ship where to fly to while at sub light speeds, were stored on the mainframe. It was slow work. India had been manually doing memory core dumps to the secondary back up. Each logged flight plan took thirty or so minutes to transfer and there were a lot of them.
They had been quietly working away when the distinctly female voice crackled through the speakers of the cockpit. The sentence had been broken and for a second Aron thought it had just been one of his crew contacting the flight deck. Then came the voice again.
“… Agathon … Jycorp Orbital, do you read?” said the woman through the static.
Oliver poked his head out from under Aron’s legs.
“Did she say Agathon?” he said.
“Everyone shut up,” Aron said sitting upright and looking at the readout on the console.
The signal was coming in on the frequency set for The Agathon’s beacon.
“What the hell?” India said.
Aron ignored her and tried entering in his clearance code into the computer. It was rejected. He looked down at Oliver and frowned.
Getting the hint, Oliver’s head disappeared under the console again.
“Give me a minute,” he said.
“Couldn’t be,” India said sounding astonished.
“Ollie?” Aron said trying his code again.
“Keep your shirt on, Cap, I’m not a miracle worker,” he said grumbling.
Aron looked at India who looked genuinely shaken.
“Tell me that didn’t come in on The Agathon’s beacon,” she said.
Aron double checked.
“It did,” he said, “look!”
India leaned over Aron and looked at the frequency. It was definitely along the same carrier wave as the locked signal.
“Holy fuck!” said India.
“Jycorp Orbital, this is The Agathon. Do you read?” came the female voice.
The signal was strong now. Coming through like a ship to ship communication.
“I don’t recognise the voice,” said Oliver under the computer.
“No shit, Ollie,” said India.
She turned to Aron.
“Jycorp Orbital?” she said to Aron.
“It’s what Earth One used to be called hundreds of years ago,” Aron said.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” she said.
“None of this makes sense, India. Ollie, I could have built a radio by now, what the hell are you doing down there?” he said looking under his legs.
“No disrespect to you, sir, but you couldn’t tie your own shoelaces without me around,” said Oliver.
Aron gave a light smile, but looked intently at the bearded man.
“Don’t make me come down there and kick your ass, old man,” he said.
Oliver smiled and went back to work.
“Yeah, yeah … okay, reboot your system on the count of three. Ready? One … two … three,” Oliver said reconnecting a small cable.
Aron did as he was told and reset the whole computer system. The whole process took about four minutes during which time there was total silence in the cockpit. The light that indicated the signal from The Agathon went blank. Aron drew a breath as the computer blinked back to life.
‘System ready’
All three looked at the screen as it ran through the start-up processes and seemed to be working normally. The various screens changed, eventually coming to the access portal requesting a password from Elstone.
“Try it now,” Oliver said.
The light from The Agathon’s beacon signal began to blink once more. Aron leant over and slowly put in his access code.
‘Access Aron Elstone granted’ blinked the screen as it allowed him in.
He turned to Oliver and slapped him on the shoulder, just hard enough to make him sway a little.
“You’re a good man, Oliver,” he said.
“Now what?” said India.
Aron thought about that for a moment, but there really was only one thing to do. He reached over and pressed the transmit button.
“This is the Earth One vessel, The Unity, responding to whomever is on this channel. Please identify yourselves,” he said.
The three Earth One colonists waited quietly as the static gave way to the sound of the female voice once again.
13
The Kandinsky
“We lost radio communications with The Unity, they are not answering our hails,” Escat said to Arturo who was now struggling greatly to contain his anger at the situation. If there was one thing that annoyed him the most, it was disobedience. It sowed dissent and weaved questions in his mind as to why. There was something going on, on board that ship. He was beginning to think it had been a bad idea to let Elstone anywhere near this project. He should have carried out the deployment himself, no matter how long it took.
What if they have made contact already and have jumped to sub light to find The Agathon and their own Utopia? You are a buffoon! said the other voice in Arturo’s head causing him to turn away and grip his hands tightly together.
Go Away! he thought angrily to himself.
“Chancellor, are you alright?” Escat said.
Arturo had heard him, but took a moment to shut his eyes and concentrate on regaining his faculties. The other presence slowly began to recede. He looked up at Escat and nodded taking a breath.
“Headache,” he said quietly, as if not to disturb the other one.
He could see the doubt and suspicion in Escat’s eyes and would have to deal with it soon enough. But not today.
“When was the last transmission?” he asked Escat.
“Seven hours ago,” he answered.
Arturo looked past the general to the small window behind his shoulder. He let the image of the streaking stars clear his mind. He needed to focus. Time was running out. The power reserves on the stations were far worse than was generally known. The only way to fully sustain the colony was either to recruit every last man, woman and child into the PODS, a decision he was seriously considering, or else …
“Sir, if they have made contact, all we have to do is destroy the ship,” Escat said pulling Arturo out of his contemplative moment.
Arturo did not answer.
He was glad his old friend did not run the colony. It would have fallen long ago, with no Utopia in sight. Escat was becoming a little trigger happy these days and while that was a useful trait, it could also prove to be a very dangerous one. He looked at Escat’s eyes and saw a glint of something. It was betrayal. He knew it. Maybe not today, but it was there. Arturo would not stand for that. He thought about Escat’s own disposal. His old friend would need to be dealt with. They all would. But not yet.
“Don’t worry, General, you can have your prize, but I want Elstone alive,” Arturo said, making it more of an order than a request.
Arturo saw the look in the general’s eyes as he nodded his head. He was surrounded by traitors.
“We will rendezvous with The Unity as planned, at which time I will ask Elstone and Stanley to transfer to The Kandinsky for a debriefing. After that, you can use that ship as target practice if you want,” Arturo said.
The general smiled.
“Yes, Chancellor,” he said.
The Shuttle
A searing pain woke Carrie. She was on fire. Her left arm was smouldering and a thick acrid smoke filled the shuttle craft. She choked on the fumes and frantically patted small flames on her jumpsuit out with her hand. She could feel the heat from the burnt skin boring a hole in her senses. She looked around the cabin and caught glimpses of the computers through flickering lights and white sparks. “Tyrell?” she shouted through her dry throat.
No answer. She looked up at the flight chair of the shuttle craft and saw Tyrell’s outline slumped over the chair. Getting to her feet, she climbed into the seat next to him and punched in the emergency atmo venting command. The air in the small craft began to clear as the electrical fire was extinguished. She covered her mouth as the smoke filled air was replaced with freshly circulated atmosphere. Her arm hurt, but thankfully the burst of adrenalin was helping her cope while she got her bearings. She looked up through the windows of the shuttle craft, and squinted at the sight before her blurry eyes. She rubbed them and allowed the smoke to clear before letting her mouth open in total astonishment.