Voyage to Alpha Centauri: A Novel

by Michael D. O'Brien

  Man is a naming creature, Dariush once told me. During our outward voyage, he often lamented the impoverishment of modern languages, at least as they are spoken and written outside the realm of technical knowledge. He has chided me for my lapses into slang. He has also underlined to me the anomalies in language itself. He asserts that the breathtaking insights of Socrates and Aristotle, for example, or the natural wisdom of an earlier age, such as that of Solon the Law-giver of Athens, are clear indications that man, even on the brink of the prehistoric, was capable of highly advanced thought. Much of it was superior to our own thinking, which we in this era consider to be progressively more advanced than what went before. Early man’s conceptual and abstract powers were impressive.

  Dariush believes, moreover, that the nature of language itself, its semantics, its semiotics, was more developed during that primitive stage of civilization. For example, Babylon with 600+ letters in its “alphabet” and the Hittite with 350. I am not convinced that larger alphabets relate to any larger configuration of mind. It points to something unusual about them, but what? Tyrannical, cruel, power-hungry, and morally depraved, those ancient civilizations had something that eludes me. One would not want to live for a single day in their company, yet . . . yet their mental capacity was different from ours. And perhaps that is what I am straining to understand: As a species, is homo sapiens modernicus evolving, or are we degenerating?

  Then there is the question of the pre-flood civilization, evidence of which is now staring us in the face. The descendants of Noah had no such technology. Yet the Babylonians and Hittites and all the other races known to us had come from that survivor in his wooden ship. As his family multiplied and spread out over the reborn earth, living to great age and generating great numbers of offspring, did they move farther and farther away in time and geography from the original story of their miraculous rescue? Did the evil in man’s nature gradually increase as the memory of the flood dimmed? Did they retain only scraps and mutated versions that they interpreted according to their weaknesses, their desires, and even their growing attachment to evil? Did they lose the basic memory of mankind? Even in those early post-flood generations, had it become for them something of a myth? Was the Nimrod who built the tower of Babel harkening back to stories he had heard about the legendary peoples who lived before the flood? In his pride, in his disregard for the object lessons of his own history, did he desire to emulate the greatness of Krani-mhrod who had built the tower for the “sky-arrow”? We cannot know. We can only speculate.

  Of course, in my own way, I am avoiding the implications—I admit this much. If what I have written above is true, then the biblical account is more or less accurate. It displays mythlike qualities, but it is a myth that occurred. The question follows, therefore, that if the biblical account is accurate, what should be my relationship to it? I will think about this later. For now, the presentations about the ship are totally engrossing.

  As I said, man is a naming creature. And it looks like pre-flood man was no different from us in this regard. The ship has a name. Which brings me to a significant finding on its flight control deck. On the arched ceiling above the three bronze hands is a mural incised in the metal. It is a winged animal, clearly a reptile. Its wings extend from one side of the “cockpit” to the other. Its spiked head and neck is tilted back, fanged mouth wide open. In its left claw, it grasps the numerical symbol for 100. In its right claw, it grasps a star. Around the star are eighteen heliocentric planets. The star-sun is an embedded gold disk. The planets are merely incised, with the exception of the seventh, which is a blue nodule of lapis lazuli.

  Engraved in the metal immediately below the mural and immediately above the front windows are hieroglyphics which say:

  Heavens-ship Beast Sacred to the Lord of the Night-gods

  These are also the words inscribed in stone above the mural on the cliff face.

  Day 355:

  A rare privilege. By the Captain’s initiative, Xue, Dariush, and I were invited to join him and selected flight staff for dinner on KC deck.

  About five o’clock this evening, Dariush and Xue knocked at my door. As we walked along the concourse toward the nearest elevator with access to KC deck, I mentioned to them my uneasiness about my status, wondering how closely I am being watched. Since the invitation had come by word of mouth, not through ordinary communication channels, we hoped that our sojourn would go unnoticed.

  Alas, approaching the elevator, we came upon two people who looked very much DSI, one male, one female, both of them grim and determined.

  The male stepped forward and said, “Where are you going?”

  Xue replied, “We are going up to KC at the invitation of the Captain. A purely social affair.”

  “It’s not allowed”, he said.

  “It’s allowed if the Captain permits it”, said Xue, with his calmest Genghis Khan look.

  “Well, it’s not allowed”, said the man with the standard repetitiousness of the imprisoned mind.

  Then followed a dialogue that I need not record here. Let me say that it was an uneven match between an intelligent man and a bureaucratic male. Xue was polite and relentless. Whenever the agent was bested, he simply retreated into his zombie instructions. Neither of the two DSI agents carried weapons, and from this we may deduce that the department is so assured of its authority that they presume a word of command is enough to meet any situation, which in this case it was not.

  There were a few concluding exchanges:

  Xue: I repeat, the Department of Social Infrastructure has no authority over KC deck.

  Agent: Yes, but you’re standing on deck B.

  Xue: Then we will now depart from deck B.

  Agent: No, you can’t. It’s not allowed.

  Still, we did not have the access code for the elevator, and it looked like we were in a stalemate. Fortunately, at that point the elevator doors opened, and there stood two uninformed flight staff people, come to bring us on high.

  I walked past the agent, but he grabbed the sleeve of my jacket.

  “Not you”, he said. The female agent stepped close with a purposeful look.

  I gave them my ol’ cowpoke smile and said, “Sonny, are you a facilitator or an animator?”

  “I’m a facilitator, DSI-3 grade.”

  “And your fellow employee?”

  “She’s an animator, DSI-4.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, I can tell you’re a couple of good kids in your heart of hearts. You just don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “I know we’ve got orders to follow.”

  “Well, buddy, I suggest you just go on over to the nearest library computer and type in the following search words, making sure you put quotation marks around the phrase: ‘I was just obeying orders.’ Then, after you’ve done that, and after you’ve read a few articles about that phrase, I’d like you two to go have a drink in the Mexican bistro. You’ll be my guest. Here’s my Uni-card.”

  He shot a glance at the card and ignored it.

  I went on: “Then, tomorrow, I’d like to take you out to supper as my guests. Do you like Asian or Indian? Maybe Afro? We’ll talk about what you’ve learned. Will you do that for me?”

  I gave him a paternal pat on the shoulder and turned away while he was digesting this, though he didn’t let go of my sleeve. He was still wondering what he should do when the two flight staff waded into the thick of things and herded us three scientists into the elevator. They keyed the code, the doors closed upon the perplexed faces of the agents, and up we went into another country.

  Seconds later, the doors opened, and we stepped out into a lobby. There, we were welcomed by a commander, the Commander, in fact: the second in command on the Kosmos. As I may have mentioned before, the ship is one kilometer in length and a quarter kilometer wide. I can’t describe the layout of everything on KC, because I saw only a fraction of it. To say the least, it was big and complex. The residential section is aft. We did not go in that direction but instead we
nt forward along a wide central hallway toward the command centers. We passed several of these divisional wings along the way, identified by signs in various languages denoting what went on inside (propulsion liaison, navigation, officers’ mess, medical center, communications, etc.). I noticed a large cafeteria similar to those on the lower decks. There were no bistros or specialty restaurants.

  “This really is a city”, I said to Dariush.

  “One might become lost”, he answered.

  Xue walked a few steps ahead of us, chatting with the Commander and the other two, who were wearing the insignia of lieutenant commanders, heads of KC sections.

  I overheard chuckles and snatches of conversation, dismissive references to the nature of DSI “attitudes”. Of course, I already knew that KC people were somewhat independent personalities. Paul’s friends, the shuttle pilots, for example, were bona fide mavericks, but I had attributed this to the psychology of the few men in our world who were able to transcend the force of gravity, alone and in charge of their magnificent craft, facing the dangers of the lonely skies and the infinity above.

  “They’re so arrogant; they think they rule the world”, muttered one of the officers.

  “Well, they do”, replied the other with disgust.

  “It’s a big world and a bigger universe”, said the Commander. “They’ll need to print more of their little manuals.”

  These fellows seemed to have retained the semi-independence of the man of the sea, the man with his eyes on horizons. That their independence was limited by the state of our world and its government would surely be plain enough to them. Nevertheless, the conversation implied that they had made their own judgments about it, had broken out of the mind-box. Perhaps this was possible because the government was as dependent upon them and their expertise as they were upon it. Thus, the uneasy coexistence between the true man in a community of common purpose and the bureaucratic male in a collective of common uniformity.

  Such thoughts preoccupied me until we approached a dividing wall near the foremost section of KC—the ship’s actual command center. We did not enter it, but instead turned right into a cross street and through a double door into the Captain’s personal quarters. This, as it turned out, was an annex with a conference room, three small private rooms (presumably bedroom, bathroom, and study), and a fairly spacious dining room. The Commander brought us into the latter, where we were greeted by a tall, silver-haired man, rising from the head of a long, oval dining table. He was about my age, dressed in casuals, relaxed and warm, but exuding an unstated authority. He shook hands with Xue, Dariush, and me, introductions were made, and then he stepped back to allow Paul and Pia to greet us. Welcoming banter followed. Pia did not get up from her chair but flashed me a big smile.

  “How ya doin’, Mamacita?” I asked, sizing up her belly in a glance.

  “Purdy darn good.”

  “Countdown begun?”

  “Yup, six weeks to go.”

  “Everything healthy?”

  “Mother and child doin’ well.”

  “Wonderful, wonderful”, I murmured and gave her our customary little pats on the back. I suddenly wished I had a gun to defend her with. But then I saw the valiant Paul, beaming with pride and love, and remembered his mastodon killer and his sword.

  The Captain took charge and asked us all to find seats around the table. A dinner was wheeled in on carts, and servants placed steaming platters and tureens before our place settings, which were genuine ceramic plates, silverware, and glasses. I chatted with one of the servants, a Hispanic lad who came from, of all places, Santa Fe. I invited him to visit me in my cabin if we ever make it back to Earth. He enthusiastically accepted the invitation, and added that he would like to buy property and build a cabin in my neighborhood, after he has purchased a home for his mother and father and several cousins. I knew the scene. I knew the scene very well actually, and wrote out my address for him on a paper napkin, which he pocketed with satisfaction.

  The meal was a mixture of Earth-origin vegetables grown in the Base-main gardens, plus some small fruit items in salad greens from the ship’s hydroponics garden, followed by the main dishes of nova-turkey and nova-salmon, in sauces.

  I would like to add as a note of special interest that the vegetables were running with authentic butter brought from Earth by the Captain. This incredible item had been frozen in cold storage and thawed for this moment.

  “It must have cost a fortune!” I declared when I put a real buttered carrot into my mouth and closed my eyes in ecstasy.

  “It did”, said our host with a whimsical smile. “And may I mention, dear gentlemen, lady, and baby, so did the wine. It is black-market, made somewhere aboard this ship, of which I am ostensibly the master. I asked no questions, and no lies were told to me. Please, sample it.”

  We did. It was nova-berry, aged well. A delightful evening ensued.

  Did I mention that the Captain’s correct English is accented? He was born in the city of Siauliai, in the “republic” of Lietuva (old Lithuania). He began his career many decades ago with aeronautical studies in Vilnius, Berlin, and Brussels, steadily rising in the world-fleet. He piloted the first expedition to Mercury and was involved in establishment of the Mars base-colony. Later, he was the first man to land on Pluto.

  He told us fascinating stories about that “cold, cold” event and about “warm, warm” Mercury. Paul’s three pilot friends (Vladimir, Jan, and Loka) were present at the supper and contributed anecdotes as well. As the conversation unfolded, it was clear that they shared a trans-ethnic fondness for dark humor. They kept everyone laughing, even our rather somber Dariush and the gravely responsible Commander. In retrospect, I’m not sure what we found so funny, but perhaps that was not the point.

  The conversation turned to the behavior of the two DSI agents at the elevator. The Captain and his second-in-command listened to this latest development, frowning and exchanging looks with each other. The Captain sipped from his wine glass, then leaned back and stared at the ceiling. Everyone else fell silent, wondering what he would make of it.

  “How did they know about my invitation to you?” he said at last, as if to himself.

  No one replied. Doubtless, the possibility of an informant on KC crossed more than one mind.

  “Maybe they are now watching all elevators leading to KC”, suggested a lieutenant commander.

  “They exceed their limits”, said the Captain. “It is, how do you say, ultra vires, beyond the law.”

  “That is unclear”, commented the Commander “We seem to have a gray zone here. They can’t countermand your authority on KC, nor invade this concourse. But they are testing the perimeters of their authority, it would seem.”

  “It is good you resisted them”, the Captain said, turning to the two lieutenant commanders who had rescued us. “Nevertheless, it presents new problems. It raises the question of whether or not it would be wise for Dr. Hoyos to return to deck B and other regions below.”

  “Oh, I fully intend to return to my own room this evening”, I answered.

  “If you wish. I hope you understand that it will present a counter-test. And I am not certain about defending you down there.”

  “I may not need defense. There’s always a coward hiding inside a bully. I’ve got nothing to lose, and it would be interesting to call their bluff.”

  “Neil, it’s hardly a bluff”, Pia interjected.

  “I will lend you my sword”, said Paul with a half-smile.

  “Do DSI people have weapons?” I asked.

  “I have seen no instance of them carrying one”, said the Captain. “But I would think they have weapons in reserve, in case of emergencies.”

  “A talking mouth and the Manual are always enough of a threat”, said Jan in a tone of driest contempt. “Or freezing of Uni-credits for the really stubborn.”

  Loka laughed and added, “We have a proverb in my country. We say, the lizard knows the condition of his underbelly, and that is why he k
eeps it pressed against the ground.”

  “Let us hope he does”, smiled the Captain.

  “We also say, the lizard would like to stand erect, but his tail will not permit him.”

  “Yes, but has anyone ever resisted the lizard with force?” I asked.

  Heads around the table shook in the negative. No one had ever witnessed any real revolt.

  “My own form of resistance is within the lines of protocol”, said the Captain. “Dr. Skinner in a most courteous and menacing letter has informed me that my attitude is uncooperative. He is correct in this. We can be grateful that the designers of Kosmos installed private communications for me. I can send messages to Earth-base without our friends in DSI monitoring or blocking. Yet for the time being we are at something of an impasse. We must wait nine years for a proper hearing. DSI knows this. They also know that the authorities at home will want an accounting of their behavior. They will go more carefully now.”

  Xue said, “They are extremely careful but not invincible, certainly not omniscient. There’s the question of David Ayne’s death, for example. We have proof that a murder has taken place. We have the private autopsy report.”

  “Unofficial, written by a nervous doctor”, I said. “And we have a bucket-full of coincidences. Even now, we’re uncertain about what happened and why it happened.”

  As our thoughts returned to the deceased man, a pall descended on the company. But there was really nothing more that could be said about the unresolved questions, other than chewing our guesses to death.

  Turning to Xue, the Captain asked him about the discoveries in the three towers. Xue gave him a detailed account. One of the lieutenant commanders, the chief of flight-crew astronomy, asked Xue if his committee had now concluded that the towers had been used primarily for astronomical purposes. Xue replied that while no definitive conclusion had been reached, he and his colleagues were fairly certain that the towers were indeed for such purposes. If that was the case, the three spheres were probably elevated and exposed only at night, for reading what was happening in our home solar system, and other systems. The middle sections of each tower were full of star maps on bronze plates. Those examined to date were found to be mapped from a “topocentric” perspective, he said—meaning ground-based, specifically as observed from the towers.