Colony One

by E. M. Peters

  Colony One

  E.M. Peters

  1st Edition, published October 2015

  © 2013 by E.M. Peters. All rights reserved. Contact via www.somenerdgirl.com.

  Editing by Heather M. Hilliard

  Cover art by J Caleb Clark, jcalebdesign.com, 2015

  ISBN-13: 978-1516950126

  ISBN-10: 1516950127

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the publisher or author.

  Acknowledgements

  To Kyle and Kiersten – your inspired ideas and passion made this novel a reality. Thank you for sharing both with me!

  To my amazing beta readers – Maurna, Jonathan, Ada and Don – you all are beyond amazing for your support and dedication!

  “Earth is just too small and fragile a basket for mankind to keep all its eggs in.”

  —Robert A. Heinlein

  Prologue

  Deep Space

  “I gave you an order,” a woman’s voice trembled with restraint. “Change. Your. Heading.”

  The man at the pilot’s console continued to ignore her, his hands gripping the sides of the glass interface as warning alarms began to chime from the ship’s audio system. He looked straight ahead through the viewscreen, acutely aware of the gun pressed against his head. He clenched his jaw despite feeling dizzy and out of breath.

  “I said change it!” It was a rare display of emotion. She took a half step forward, applying so much pressure to his temple that his head bent to the side awkwardly.

  “I will not,” he responded through gritted teeth, as his eyes darted from the viewscreen to the console and back.

  “Izvinite,” a heavily accented voice cut in from behind them – a voice of reason, “Here is idea. Let us not kill only pilot.” The words were punctuated with irritation.

  “He is going to kill us all if he doesn’t change course.” The woman spat with conviction. Her demanding eyes remained on the pilot, unwilling to relent.

  “Charlie?” Another voice sounded – this one different; soft, feminine and intent on defusing. “What are you doing?”

  “I am completing this mission.” He said even as his neck began to ache with the forced angle. There was no delusion in him – he knew without a shadow of a doubt that she would shoot him. He just hoped she wouldn’t; not for this.

  “I don’t think so,” the woman changed her grip on the pistol and used her thumb to pull back the hammer. Charlie cringed and felt his body go numb as if his consciousness were abandoning him before what came next.

  “Captain! No!”

  01

  Earth: 2145 A.D.

  Population: 20 Billion

  “Today marks the one year anniversary of the launch of Colony One – the first ship of its size and purpose to be sent into Deep Space.” A sharply dressed newsman spoke into a camera from behind a glass table, which was lit with a scrolling light moving across it like a ticker. The recessed light reflected off his glasses, making his eyes indiscernible.

  “The day was marked with fanfare and optimism as the Confederations of Earth began their journey to colonize the rich and fertile lands of planets in the neighboring Alpha Centauri solar system. Since the initial launch, Colony Two and Three were launched with similar sentiments.

  “And while it has been nine months since the last verbal contact with Colony One, Confederation officials and spokesmen have assured the public of the mission’s success.”

  The man glanced down, and with the small adjustment, his mood shifted dramatically.

  “However, with the upcoming launch of Colony Four, there has been demand for hard evidence of the success of these missions and a call for increased transparency in the colonist selection process. Lance Richardson, of the Expansion Manifest Partnership, explains:”

  The image of the news anchor cut to a video excerpt of a tall, broad shouldered man with carefully manicured sandy blonde hair.

  “We all knew that contact with the colonies would be limited, which is why there are communications buoys spanning from our solar system to theirs. Because of the distance, these devices can only communicate in very simple terms – they send bursts of data packets that can be interpreted by our engineers. The last message was received just one week ago, informing Command that all was well, and that Colony One was looking forward to eating the first harvest of crops instead of the freeze-dried food and liquid supplements we sent them up there with.” He smiled, and it was a charming smile – engineered to be warm, soothing and adjusted for the levity of the message he reported.

  The feed returned to the newsroom. The anchor tapped the table in three spots and the light pattern changed. “Despite Richardson’s assurances, gatherings continue to be organized by a group calling themselves Citizen’s United – designed to protest the launch of Colony Four until more reassurances than just packets of ones and zeroes can be delivered.”

  The man slid his finger across the table and the screen filled with an altogether contrasting view. It was a wide shot of a large group of people – surrounded by stacked, slanted buildings. Smoke, smog or both swirled up and obscured the picture. The sight was not wholly unfamiliar; however, the media did not usually choose to broadcast the reality that was the numerous production zones around the world. The pollution might have been considered staggering 100 years ago – now, it was simply a fact of life.

  The thickening crowd in the scene was the differentiating factor. The production zones normally buzzed with activity and to see the stagnation was enough to send World Corp executives into fits.

  The camera cut in close and swung around with incredible speed, focusing on a woman scaling a scrapheap. A similar drone could be seen filming her from the opposite direction.

  “They’ve taken our sons and daughters – our mothers and fathers, and they have given us nothing in return except for the promise of taking us away, too!” The drone’s microphone zeroed in on her voice, which was enhanced by a rudimentary amplifier she held to her lips. The pollution filter that normally covered her nose and mouth hung around her neck, though an outline of it still remained. The parts of her face that had not been covered by it were darkened with filth from the day.

  She looked over the crowd resolutely as a noise rose up from them – a mixture of cheers of agreement and angry voices muffled by breathing filters echoing her sentiment.

  “My cousin was selected in the lottery for Colony Three.” A young man’s voice cut through the others. “He didn’t even register to go!” The woman on the heap pointed to him and the drone swiveled to focus on the new speaker. The young man ripped the filter away from his face to shout, “They told him he didn’t have a choice and no one has heard from him since the launch!” He exclaimed and began to cough violently before he could replace his filter.

  “Say no to colonization!” The woman led the crowd in a chant as the newsman returned abruptly.

  “Gatherings like these have been seen across the globe, some devolving into violence and others seriously impairing production zones. In response, Confederation officials from New America have indicated they may consider implementing protester demands by organizing a Task Force that would travel to the colonies. Once there, the Task Force would gather and bring back testimonials from the settlers in an effort to showcase the success of the missions and keep the colonization efforts strong.”

  He paused and pivoted to face another in-studio camera, “When we return, our coverage on a press release from the World Market Stock Exchange that has reported record-breaking highs.”

  The viewer
image cut to commercial. Patriotic music sounded at levels three times higher than the news broadcast. COLONY FOUR displayed across the screen in thick, white letters. The deep, ethereal voice of an announcer proclaims: “Make history and give yourself the life that you have always deserved with a…”

  Niko switched off the wall mounted viewer with an aggressive tap of his finger on a small handheld. The OMNI – Optical Multi-Network Integration – device was mostly translucent when in standby mode. When active, it functioned like the newsman’s desk – scrolling lights and intuitive icons. He stared at it in the palm of his hand for a long moment, then switched the interface and began to select a series of numbers.

  He held the OMNI to his ear and listened to tones that indicated he was not yet connected. As he waited, he tapped his foot and let his gaze wander around his apartment. It was sparse, decorated with only the included amenities – the mounted viewer, a galley kitchen with a World-Corp-approved encouraging message scrolling on the display screen of the refrigerator, a glass dining table that also functioned as a work station. It blinked to indicate it was in standby. The wall colors were soothing and earthy – in stark contrast to the view out his window, which faced east on the Mississippi River, overlooking a largely residential area of Memphis.

  It was a gray and overbuilt cityscape as far as the eye could see, though it was not unique. There were very few open spaces left on Earth – not even the mountains or former prairie lands were left untouched. From Siberia to the Deserts of Africa – the land was filled with skyscrapers and sprawling shanty towns. Only very wealthy communities still enjoyed things like grass or parks, where neighbors could be more than an arm’s length away.

  Between the opportunity to rebuild after the war and the boom in engineering over the past 100 years, the progress was staggering – though at a cost few anticipated. Technology made life easier and expansion over all else had led to population levels scientists were constantly shocked Earth could sustain. As a result of the explosion of engineering and human population, every day Niko looked out onto a maze work of infrastructure and people from his high rise apartment.

  That was the whole point of the colony missions, Niko reflected, wasn’t it? To alleviate some of the population pain felt at home. The thought made his hand grip the OMNI even harder as he waited.

  The tones in Niko’s ear changed, and then were replaced entirely by the sound of muffled movement.

  “At this hour, someone better be dead,” A voice grumbled, foregoing any formalities.

  Niko’s expression didn’t change – his jaw set and his gaze fell somewhere on the middle-distance. “I’m calling in my favor.”

  02

  One Year Ago

  Kennedy Space Center, East Central Quadrant, New America

  A platform was erected among a clutch of carefully selected onlookers, with the stage draped in patriotic red, yellow and blue. Corporate logos lined the frame of the stage – a compendium of similarly fashioned symbols as most of the companies were owned by the same conglomerate. The onlookers were all sharply dressed media, owned by the same sponsors.

  On stage was the charismatic, sandy haired Lance Richardson behind a bouquet of thin stemmed microphones.

  Nearby industrial air filters hummed laboriously – as they had for weeks leading up to the launch, ensuring that personal filters would not be needed by the audience.

  “As you can see,” Richardson raised his arms and swiveled to indicate the looming mass of Colony One and then swept them back towards the crowd to signify the far-off warehouse like buildings behind them that looked newly constructed. “The costly renovations of the – until recently, abandoned – Kennedy Space Center were necessary to shepherd in this truly historic moment in human history. Upon this ground, man set on a journey to the moon – just one generation after man-made flight was developed.”

  The onlookers cheered and Richardson smiled graciously.

  “Today, we remember all the achievements of men – the greatest of which we are about to witness. Through the power of collaboration and…”

  Richardson went on, his audience splitting their attention between him and gaping at the massiveness of Colony One.

  Drones swooped over the stage and crowd, and several could be seen attempting to traverse the circumference of the giant grey blimp-like ship. The prow of the spacecraft faced the stage –reminiscent of the hydrogen zeppelins found in the history archives. The cockpit jutted out from the round nose, the windows so thick they obscured the view of the interior. The length of the vessel was lined with rivets that outlined hatches installed with explosive hinges for emergency escape. A docking ring on the starboard side could be seen as the only deviation from the otherwise smooth brushed metal exterior. The streamlining continued aft, where a giant loading ramp had been opened and lowered to the ground.

  When the drones were midway to the loading dock, they turned back with a jolt. Unknown to the viewers, their warning sensors had indicated a pulse field that would deactivate them. With the passenger loading process off limits, they swooped back towards Richardson and his scripted speech.

  Out of view from the cameras, the passengers of Colony One gathered excitedly near the giant loading ramp. The vast majority of the group had a dusty appearance and gulped the clean air like water, their filters hanging around their necks or discarded entirely. Filter bins to recycle their discards were distributed throughout the staging area – many of the colonists taking the orientation at face value that they would not be needed on the ship or Colony Alpha once they arrived.

  A five hour orientation had been delivered through their personal viewer so each colonist could learn about the journey they would take. Launch day was the first day any of the passengers would meet one another, or even set eyes on the ship they would call home until arriving at Colony Alpha. For many, the journey had not been real until the moment they stepped off the rail transporter, where the girth of Colony One could be seen over the science buildings of the Space Center.

  The energy was thick among the throng – a mixture of excitement and anxiety as the whole concept became an inescapable reality.

  A young man – an intern by the look of him – wore a black vest over this white button-down shirt, in which he rolled up the sleeves to ‘get down to business.’ A lanyard hung around his neck, identifying him as a non-passenger. He stood at the top of the loading ramp and, after much arm waving, finally had the full attention of the crowd. “Remember,” the microphone strapped to his cheek picked up his voice and distributed it through speakers spread throughout the crowd. “Small groups of specialized teams have already been sent to Colony Alpha to prepare for your arrival. All you have to do is sit back and enjoy the ride.” He smiled. The crowd smiled back.

  The passengers’ energy calmed – though the information was not new. Orientation had been comprehensive, with a star chart to explain where they would be going, how long it would take, what life would be like on the ship for the several months the voyage took, what the effects of low gravity were, and more. Still, the collective nerves of the group were palatable.

  “Wide scans of bio-stamps have confirmed all passengers are present,” the Intern continued, his hand subconsciously brushing his forearm where his own bio-stamp had been inserted, like all citizens, at the age of eight. “Boarding will begin shortly. Please arrange yourselves by lanyard color,” he held up the laminated card from around his neck. His was black with a white NP – Non-Passenger – printed on it. He then pointed at another intern, who was holding up a blue banner that was visible above the crowd. Up to a half dozen different colors were represented by similar banners. “Your color will indicate where your quarters will be assigned. Blue boards first.”

  Alexa Dilyn looked down at her lanyard and unburdened herself by dropping her bag at her feet. She had read the itinerary – she knew that purple would be last to board and that she would be waiting for a while. Each color had somewhere between two thousand people assigned
– making this 12,000 person voyage just as cramped as home. Well, her former home. The only difference here was the promise of elbow space in the not too distant future.

  Her green eyes went from her bag to the newly landscaped sod. She ran the toe of her boot over the neatly trimmed grass and knelt to run her fingers through it. She was struck with the fact it had been a very long time since she had seen grass on Earth – and it was suddenly very apparent to her that there was no way to tell how long it would be before she would see it again.

  A draped orange cloth came into her view, the edges of it brushing along the healthy green turf – a stark contrast that made Alexa take notice. Her gaze followed the cloth up and was greeted with the vision of a traditionally dressed Buddhist monk with bronze skin, bald head and a kind, if not lopsided, smile. Alexa had to take a moment to assess if she was truly awake and not simply dreaming of this pivotal day.

  “Funny, is it not?” He asked as he looked down to regard her, the pronunciation of his words heavily influenced by the fact English was not his first language.

  Alexa was fixed in place – his question did not make her doubts about her waking state any better. “I’m sorry?”

  “That on our last day on Earth, we see its beauty. And for many, it is the first time in their lives.”

  Alexa’s brow furrowed. “Why is that funny?”

  “We must see the humor in life’s contradictions.”

  She nodded slowly – not in agreement, but because humoring this vision was all she could think to do. Her eyes found his lanyard – it obscured the view of beads slung around his neck. It was purple – the same as hers. Great, she thought to herself, she was going to be bunking with the world’s most optimistic person.