Forbidden The Stars (The Interstellar Age Book 1)

by Valmore Daniels

  “Yes, Boss.” Klaus averted his eyes.

  Chow Yin took a long, deep breath, and regarded his young protégé with the predatory eyes of a shark. “There is a slim chance that we may yet come out of this intact. It is a long journey home from Pluto; am I wrong?”

  “Yes, Boss. I mean, no, you are not wrong. It is a long journey, perhaps as long as six months or more … and fraught with dangers.”

  Chow Yin tightened his lips in what passed for a smile. “I see that we are once again aligned in our thinking. After all, possession is nine-tenths of the law, is it not? Contact some of those ‘friends’ that you keep bragging about; offer them anything they want to get the job done. I want all the secrets from the Orcus 1 mission in my hands by New Year’s. If luck is on our side, we will come out of this unscathed, and very rich. It would be a sweet victory to dominate the world—in the forefront, this time, instead of hiding behind Luna’s dark side.”

  With that, Chow Yin severed the communication, leaving Klaus’s DMR casement blank. A full minute passed without Klaus moving.

  At first, the only hint of the coordinator’s reacting to the remonstration from his superior was a slight quivering in his cheeks. Then all his emotions spilled out. He punched his open hand and cursed, “Damn it all!”

  He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Anger would not solve his dilemma.

  Opening the bottom drawer of his desk, he removed a small quart bottle of German whiskey he had stolen from his father, and poured a thumb’s depth in a plastic tumbler he also kept in the drawer. After throwing it back, his face grimacing from the burn as the hot liquid tore down his throat, Klaus poured himself another, and sat for a long while holding the tumbler in his hand. If Chow Yin caught him with alcohol, he would turn Klaus out.

  He stared out the window of his room onto the org-garden and contemplated. Was he doing the right thing? How could NASA be so foolish as to think they could harness the underlying power of the universe in their puny hands? The implications were clear to him. He was a student of technology, and knew that the scientific community regarded faster than light travel as a theoretical impossibility. They had their same old arguments, and would use them at every opportunity to discredit the notion that the stars were within human reach.

  Now, Klaus knew, they could stick their theories in their event horizons. That thought made him feel better. Once lauded as great men, those so-called experts would now be scrambling to come up with alternate theories to prove light speed travel was real, and pretend they had never been on the other side of the argument. Hypocrites.

  Still, there was a knot in his stomach when he contemplated his task. He had to ensure he could hire someone to hijack the NASA spacecraft. Even as Klaus did this, Chow Yin would see to it that he would never be able to slip out from under his Chinese master’s authority. Klaus would be as imprisoned on Luna Station as Chow Yin.

  But, if he did not do as Chow Yin directed, Klaus would soon be numbered among the dead.

  It would have been better if his father had never been posted to Luna Station, though his job with the European Space Agency dictated it; better still if his father had never touched a drop of alcohol. Klaus shuddered, remembering the drunken beatings he took.

  He’d had no choice: either run away from home or suffer the abuse. Klaus had run away, and straight into the waiting snare of Chow Yin’s network of teenage thugs.

  The anger in him surged. His father, and all those like him, would pay dearly. Chow Yin would make them suffer; and Klaus would make that suffering possible.

  With renewed determination, he opened a link to his EarthMesh account and began to make enquiries.

  22

  NASA Orcus 1 :

  Sol System :

  Flight Path Pluto-Luna :

  Excerpts from the Official Flight Journal of Captain Justine Churchill Turner—transcribed from voice:

  Captain’s Journal — August 21, 2090

  Confirming the reality of the sudden appearance of Macklin’s Rock, we shuttled the Orcus 1 to the asteroid, abandoning our previous two missions, the first of which was to explore Pluto; the second, to study the alien object we called Dis Pater.

  Upon arrival at the displaced asteroid, we discovered the sole survivor and rescued him.

  Young Alex had enough time to secure himself in the receptacle-floater and, to all outward appearances, arrived quite unharmed. I wanted to perform an exhaustive physical examination on Alex to determine his state of health the moment we brought him on board. There are people on Earth who are anxious to receive that report. Alex understandably pleaded exhaustion and First Mate Helen Buchanan concurred.

  “If he feels all right,” she said, “then there’s nothing that can’t wait. Once we brought it back online, the biometrics on his security receptacle indicated all readings within normal range. I’ll set up a cot in the medical bay and hook him up to the electroencephalograph AI while he sleeps. It will report any abnormalities to my belt monitor. I know, if I’d been through what he’s been through, all I’d want is a quick nutrishake and a dozen hours sleep.”

  I bowed to the first mate’s recommendation on the medical matter. Helen set up a bed for Alex, procured a protein and carbohydrate-intensive drink, and watched him fall fast asleep.

  Dale, Henrietta, Sakami, George and I saw to the dismantling of the TAHU. Helen returned to her post and continued to monitor the command consoles. Johan Belcher and Ekwan Nipiwin used the ship’s ATV to travel to SMD Site 14 in an attempt to obtain a specimen of Element X, which, according to the NASA-SMD report we received eight hours after liftoff from Pluto. That might have been the catalyst for the asteroid’s incredibly swift journey through Sol System. If they do not find evidence of the element, they are to perform a complete spectroanalytic survey of the entire area, and collect a cross-section of specimens for return to NASA.

  Addendum:

  They did not find a trace of Element X (I wish they would come up with a less mysterious name for it). The spectroanalysis proved completely useless. The specimens they collected revealed no evidence that anything untoward occurred.

  Once the TAHU is loaded, we will have to lift off immediately, or miss our window. A lost day at this end could mean an extra two-hundred days of travel before reaching earth.

  Nobody would be happy about that.

  Captain’s Journal — August 22, 2090

  An odd thing occurred this morning; something that I’m sure I will ponder at great length during the trip home when we finally lift off.

  Our ward, Alex Manez, slept the rest of yesterday afternoon, all evening and night, and woke early this morning. Helen had rigged the electroencephalograph AI to notify her upon Alex’s awakening and she quickly dressed and found me in the dining area eating breakfast.

  “He should be awake,” Helen told me.

  “Great.” I stood and dumped the remainder of my coffee in the vacuum refuge receptor. “Let’s go see how he is. Mission Control on Earth is practically yelling for a report on Alex.”

  “I’ll grab some food and meet you there,” Helen said.

  I wanted Helen along for two reasons: first, she’s Canadian, and I thought that might set Alex at ease having a fellow compatriot there—even though they are of two different ethnic origins; second, as part of Helen’s job description, she is skilled in first aid and rudimentary medical techniques. The first mate is a registered nurse, and she is qualified on the bio-analysis equipment. She can make diagnoses and recommendations usually reserved for those with M.D.’s.

  Stepping inside the medical bay a few minutes prior to Helen’s arrival, I cleared my throat when Alex did not immediately turn around.

  He was awake, dressed, and playing with a stethoscope. I said, “Good morning, Alex. Do you remember me? I’m—”

  “Yes, of course. Captain Turner.” Putting the instrument down, the ten-year old turned and regarded me for the first time that morning. His face was solemn, unreadable. I felt a momentar
y shudder of apprehension, as if the intelligence behind those eyes were ages old.

  “Good morning.” He was the epitome of detached politeness.

  “That was quite the sleep, Mr. Rip Van Winkle,” I commented, trying to sound jovial and friendly. “You’ve been in here a while.”

  “Fifteen hours, thirty-two minutes, and seventeen seconds,” he replied with easy confidence, his tone one that brooked no disagreement.

  “Why, that’s about right. How did you know—?” I began, and then realized the answer. “The EEG.” I pointed a thumb at it.

  The machine would have a running record of statistics on Alex. Heartbeat, respiration, blood pressure, every stage of his sleep and wake periods.

  “Where did you learn to read an EEG?” I asked, as I found a chair and sat down, waiting for Helen to arrive with breakfast.

  Alex shrugged, but did not reply.

  “I guess it’s not that hard to figure out.” I said. “You must be good with computers and stuff.”

  Another shrug.

  “Well, if you are technically minded, are you going to follow in your parents’ footsteps when you’re older and join the Canadian Space Exploration department?”

  “My parents are dead,” was his answer, plain and simple.

  Speechless, I stood there in stunned silence as Alex calmly sat down on the cot, folded his hands in his lap, and watched me with the eyes of ancient experience.

  I wished fervently for Helen to arrive and alleviate my discomfort; perhaps Alex would warm to a fellow Canadian. It was ridiculous, but this young boy intimidated me.

  Inhaling deeply, I closed my eyes and composed myself, recalled my senior leadership training. I willed myself to keep my wits about me and not be cowed by a child.

  “Well, Alex. How did you come to that conclusion?” With tacit agreement from Helen, I had refrained from informing Alex of the demise of his parents.

  “It’s not a conclusion; it’s a fact. They are dead.”

  I struggled to come up with a response. “How do you feel about that?”

  “How do you think I feel?” he returned.

  “I’m not certain. You strike me as a very special person. You are correct: your parents did not survive, Alex. I’m sorry to confirm this for you. They were outside of the TAHU, on the asteroid’s surface when—”

  “When the asteroid, at near the speed of light, traveled here to Pluto.”

  “How do you know all these things?” I asked.

  “I was there. It’s a little hard to miss.”

  I had to take a deep breath and collect my thoughts. “Do you feel sad about your parents, Alex?”

  “Of course.”

  “You seem to be taking this all very well; either that or you’re hiding your emotions from me. You don’t have to, Alex. I’m your friend.”

  Alex did not reply to that.

  “It’s all right to let out your emotions, Alex. If you want to cry, you should.”

  “Thank you for the offer, Captain Turner, but I’m fine.”

  He was being irritatingly polite. If I didn’t feel so sympathetic for his predicament, I would have felt the urge to slap him across the face, just to get him to show some emotion … even anger.

  Whatever else I might have said to him remained unspoken as the hydraulic door unlatched and opened to reveal Helen backing in, holding a large tray of food in her hands. It smelled wonderful.

  Helen smiled at Alex. “Breakfast. I hope you like eggs, toast and orange juice.”

  “Yes. Thank you very much,” he replied, looking at the food eagerly. It was the first sign of any emotion in the boy this morning. Therefore, he was human, I thought wryly. Not an alien changeling or simulacrum.

  “Coffee for you, Captain?” Helen offered me a cup. “Aspartame and non-dairy creamer.”

  “Thank you, Helen.”

  “You’re welcome.” She turned to Alex. “How are you feeling this morning? You had quite a rest.”

  “Fine,” he mumbled around the crust of the toast he had consumed in one bite.

  Helen said, “I’d like to run some bio-diagnostic tests on you, a little more involved than the electroencephalograph I hooked up to you last night, if that’s all right?”

  Alex shrugged, intent on his repast.

  The first mate’s expression turned to one of confusion, and she let out a small harrumph as she inspected the EEG machine.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Before answering, Helen initiated the EEG interface and began typing in a sequence of function keys, bringing up differing schematics and charts on the digital screen.

  “Nothing,” Helen answered finally, her voice tinged with concern. “There’s absolutely nothing on the EEG!”

  “What do you mean? It was on a few minutes ago! I saw lights!”

  “Oh, the machine is on, but it might as well be hooked up to the wall. It recorded nothing all night long.” She looked at the cords attaching it to Alex like a collection of umbilicals. “Perhaps I hooked it up wrong.”

  “Then how did it alert you that Alex had arisen?”

  “Well, either there’s something wrong with the connections, or— Alex, did you play with this EEG?”

  He turned from his eggs and shook his head.

  “Never touched it.”

  “It’s not working. If there were data, it’s gone now.”

  Shrugging, as if this came as no surprise, he said, “I could have told you that.”

  Both Helen and I stopped looking at the EEG interface monitor and stared hard at Alex.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “The EEG isn’t recording anything. Isn’t that obvious?”

  I put my hands on my hips. “Then how did you know how long you were sleeping, down to the last second?”

  “I wasn’t sleeping,” he replied. “I had been in the room for fifteen hours, thirty-two minutes, and seventeen seconds when you arrived.”

  “What?”

  That he knew that information indicated either he was obsessive about time, and kept meticulous track on a clock; or that the marking of time came to him easily, like second nature. I’d heard of people who could tell you the time of day down to the nearest minute, without looking at a clock, or even looking at the position of the Sun. It was like a person who has an internal time clock, and wakes every day at the same time. Perhaps Alex was such a person.

  Helen ignored the question of time, and grabbed her stethoscope, dragging a mobile bio-analysis unit from one corner. “What do you mean, you weren’t sleeping? Insomnia?”

  Alex shrugged. “I guess.”

  “Didn’t you get any sleep at all?”

  “No.”

  Helen brought the bio-analysis unit over and switched it on. The indicator light and the screen showed that the instrument was operational, but when Helen passed the vital receptors over Alex, nothing showed up on the monitor.

  “That’s odd.”

  Quickly, she reset the unit, and passed the receptor over me. My heart rate, respiration, body temperature, diastolic and systolic blood pressure measurements appeared alongside a brain wave chart and a micro-display of my major organs and their stats. It was similar to an EEG, but had many advanced functions, and could diagnose virtually every ailment known. All of my readings were at a hundred percent of normal, and my microorganism levels showed satisfactory. I was the picture of health.

  Helen reset the unit and tried Alex again, and still got no reading.

  “What the hell?” the first mate cursed. She turned and regarded Alex. Bringing the stethoscope to her ears, she indicated to the boy that she wanted to listen to his heart rate.

  “Normal,” she reported. “For some reason, the machine isn’t working; neither is the EEG.”

  I hovered over them. “Was the EEG working last night when you hooked it up?”

  “Yes. That’s the funniest part of this whole thing. There isn’t even a record of the first few minutes after I hooked it up to Alex.
I’m sure I checked it before I left.”

  Turning to Alex, I spoke in her most authoritative voice. “Now, Alex, are you lying? Did you play with these machines? They are expensive pieces of equipment, not toys.”

  Alex, having finished his breakfast, eased back on the cot and regarded me with an impassive look that sent a shiver down my spine. “I told you, I never touched them.”

  “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but—”

  Before I could finish my statement, Alex glanced over at the bio-analysis machine. There was a beep, and the unit suddenly flared to life.

  Helen dashed over to the monitor. “His readings are normal. DNA patterns match; there’s no sign of foul play. What’s the meaning of this?” she asked, her usual patience starting to run thin.

  Alex, giving a knowing cock of his head and a twinge of a smile, glanced at the bio-analysis machine again. The readings began to fluctuate past the normal spectrum. His body temperature went up ten degrees; his heart rate increased a hundred beats per minute; his respiration rate dropped to one breath per hour; his blood pressure was all over the place; and the unit began to diagnose Alex with every disease known to humankind.

  “What the hell?” I cried.

  Again, Alex glanced at the machine, and all the readings disappeared. The unit flatlined.

  “What are you doing?” Helen asked, her eyes wide and her face registering pure disbelief.

  Again, Alex shrugged. “Nothing much.” And he would respond to no more questions on the subject.

  Captain’s Journal — August 23, 2090

  The TAHU and all CSE equipment have been loaded aboard the Orcus 1, and we are preparing to lift off the asteroid and begin our journey home. I have scheduled the flight to begin first thing tomorrow morning, at 05:59 EST. It should take us about one-hundred-and-forty days to arrive at Luna Station; the Sun’s enormous gravitational pull will boost our velocity by more than thirty kps over our average velocity coming to Pluto.