Seeds of Memory

by J. Richard Jacobs

  -----------------------------------

  Seeds of Memory

  by J. Richard Jacobs

  -----------------------------------

  Science Fiction/Suspense/Thriller

  * * *

  Double Dragon Publishing

  double-dragon-ebooks.com

  Copyright ©2006 by J. Richard Jacobs

  First published in DDP, 2006

  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

  * * *

  Seeds of Memory

  Copyright © 2005 J. Richard Jacobs

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Double Dragon eBooks, a division of Double Dragon Publishing Inc., Markham, Ontario Canada.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from Double Dragon Publishing.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Double Dragon eBook

  Published by

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  ISBN: 1-55404-313-1

  A DDP First Edition January 4, 2006

  Book Layout and

  Cover Art by Deron Douglas

  * * *

  SEEDS OF MEMORY

  by

  J. Richard Jacobs

  * * *

  PROLOGUE

  On the afternoon of 15 October 2219, the pressroom of the International Space Administration in Detroit was packed beyond capacity with journalists and science writers. The great hall hummed with conversations cut short in the past and old disagreements resumed, with loudly expressed friendships and animosities renewed. Dr. Andrew Longbow, spokesperson for the Institute of Planetary Sciences in London, stepped up to the lectern and silence traveled in a slow wave to the back of the hall.

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. You all know who I am, and I know who most of you are, so we may dispense with preliminaries. We are going to run this session in reverse order today, because there are a lot of rumors and misleading speculations circulating in the media, the result of which will be catastrophic if we do not put an end to them ... today. So, I will entertain questions first, then we will have a brief statement issued by Dr. Charlene Clark, Director of the International Space Agency. First up ... Ms. Carlisle."

  “Dr. Longbow, do we know what this ... thing is? Is it true that it may be a piece of a fractured neutron star?"

  “No, Ms. Carlisle, we do not have any hard information on the makeup of the object. Its density remains unknown at this time, though its mass is reasonably well established. But, yes, it is possible that it is a fragment from a collision of two or more dense objects. However, it is very difficult to imagine something as dense as a neutron star being fractured by any known mechanism other than being ripped apart in an encounter with a black hole, in which case it could not be expected that any of its fragments would escape the episode. We have launched a probe from Uranus One. That occurred at 0100 hours UST yesterday, and we should have useful information by late tomorrow. Yes ... Mr. Benson."

  “Dr. Longbow, we have received reports that the object is more massive than the sun and, if so, what danger does it pose to the system as a whole ... Earth, Mars, and the sun in particular?"

  “Mr. Benson, I suspect I know the origin of those reports, but we have determined, based on perturbations observed in the outer planets, that the object is approximately zero point seven solar masses, that is, about seventy percent the mass of the sun. Whether it represents any major threat to the inner planets or the sun remains unknown. It is doubtful that the object poses any danger to the sun, but we need to gather more data before we can begin to model possible effects with a reliable degree of accuracy. What we can say is, AFO-8 will certainly have an effect on the orbit of Mercury, although we cannot yet predict what that effect will be. Venus and Mars will be relatively close to the event, but we doubt, owing to the speed of the object, that there will be any serious disturbance to the orbit of either of them during the pass. Earth will be in a place positioning it as far from the event as possible, minimally two hundred million kilometers, and should be perfectly safe. Let's see now ... Mrs. Leary, is it?"

  “Yes, Dr. Longbow. You have a phenomenal memory, sir. Um, you called this object AFO-8. Can you tell us, specifically, what that means?"

  "AFO is an acronym of the phrase Astronomically Free Object, although it would be more accurately described as Gravitationally Free. That is to say, an object not bound by the gravitational attraction of any other body, or system of bodies. The velocity of this object and its mass render it free from capture by anything but the most substantial of gravity wells. For example, if it were to pass close enough to a substantial black hole it could be trapped. Since there are many such bodies moving independently through our galaxy, indeed throughout the universe, the designation and numbering system has been restricted to those bodies penetrating a sphere with a radius of one parsec from Sol. This, then, is the eighth such object known to have passed through that sphere. Next? Ah, yes, Dr. Weiler."

  “Hmm ... according to Dr. Mathausen's measurements, the perturbations of Saturn and Jupiter indicate that—"

  “Dr. Mathausen arrives at conclusions rather abruptly, and his findings have historically proven to be erroneous, Weiler."

  “I would appreciate it ... Longbow ... if you allowed me to complete my question. The perturbations clearly show this object to be of sufficient mass, more than the zero point seven solar masses you indicated, to make it capable of seriously disrupting our sun—in spite of its velocity. Dr. Mathausen has suggested that there will be a time lag, he refers to it as flywheel effect, before we will be able to assess the extent of internal disturbances in the sun. He has suggested the time interval could be in the order of several decades before we would know to what extent the sun has been disrupted. Is that true?"

  “I remind you, Weiler, that those are the conclusions of a—"

  “Is it true?"

  “—of a madman. No. Of course it is not true."

  “What data do you have to support your position, Longbow? What precedents?"

  Two men in dark suits arrived to remove Weiler from the room. Weiler, a small man of advanced age, was easily subdued after a brief struggle. He was heard repeatedly shouting, “Is it true?" while he was being dragged out, until the closing of the heavy wooden doors silenced him.

  “Please, ladies and gentlemen,” Longbow pleaded. “Let us follow the protocol outlined for you before you came in this morning. One question and one response. If you are dissatisfied with the response given, follow up with a formal letter to the board. It will be answered in a timely fashion. Next question ... Mrs. Brin ... and how are the colonies these days?"

  I remember thinking that he didn't give a nanodamn about us and our little colonies. The only thing he cared about was orbiting Mars as part of the largest interferometry project in the history of
astronomy. We, the people, meant nothing to him and his elite band of esoterrorists.

  “Funny you should ask that, Dr. Longbow. The approach of AFO-8, which, I understand, carries the name of Vaunt-Courier, is said to have been responsible for new seismic activity that destroyed the Tharsis Town greenhouses and brought Olympus back to life. Phobos is now in a rapidly decaying orbit, and if it should survive its dip inside the Roche Limit, could produce a global disaster. The people in the colonies are concerned, and with good reason. Will there be similar disturbances felt on Earth ... and what about the moon?"

  “Mrs. Brin, Earth will be more than two hundred million kilometers away at closest approach. There will be some effect, to be sure, but nothing to cause alarm. As for the recent seismic activity on Mars, there is no reliable data linking AFO-8 to—"

  “Like hell there isn't. We have definite—"

  “Please, Mrs. Brin, the protocol—"

  “Screw the protocol. And why is no one aware of what has happened on Mars—a planet, by the way, that happens to be currently almost seven hundred fifty million kilometers from your object and...” Well, in self-defense, I was angry with the whole system, a system that ignored reality in favor of pet theories. You didn't need to be any kind of locked-in-your-tower scientist to put all of the recent occurrences in order and come up with pending disaster. So I was being a little obstinate, I admit that, but, damn it, these were important issues that had not been addressed publicly by anyone in the ISA.

  “Mrs. Brin, please. What has happened may be peripherally connected to the presence of AFO-8, but is certainly not a direct result. The orbit of Phobos was unstable to begin with. Your people were advised years ago to work up a program to stabilize it because any slight disturbance could cause a—"

  “This is not just any slight disturbance, Dr. Longbow. It is your Vaunt-Courier."

  “Mrs. Brin, I will have you ejected from—"

  And I don't doubt he would have done it, but at that moment a temblor measuring eight point nine ended the conference and flattened two-thirds of Detroit. Things have been accelerating rapidly downhill since. Phobos has begun to break up, and we have been hit by several large pieces already, setting back our terraforming efforts a hundred years or more. Dr. Longbow committed suicide last week, and Dr. Mathausen, of all people, has taken his place on the board. Vaunt-Courier is now plainly visible as a dark shadow blotting out the stars in the background. Heaven help us all.

  Iliana G. Brin, Staff Investigative Reporter, The Martian Chronicle

  1 December 2219

  * * *

  Chapter I

  “I'm not having second thoughts, Alex. I think I'd describe them as first thoughts. More accurate that way."

  “Okay, Marta, then don't go having first thoughts on me. Not now, please. We're too close to launch, and that means you can't back out. Not now."

  “What? You rewrote my contract? If I remember correctly, it specifically states I can drop out at any time. Right up until ... you know."

  “But you're the most experienced doctor in the bunch ... and the best gene juggler we have. I ... need you."

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but my contract—"

  “Will you forget the contract for a minute? What about the crew ... the mission?"

  “The devil with the mission, Alex. Oh, it's a grand idea, and it may even have some purpose to it ... maybe, but I'm having a hard time finding it right now. It's the crew ... they're the only reason I'm still here, otherwise I'd have been gone the first time I realized what I was actually doing."

  “Well, I'm glad to hear you're still thinking about the crew."

  “I imagine some might say it's my mother instinct at work."

  Mother instinct? You?

  “This instinct, whatever it is, is going to keep you in the flight?"

  “It has ... up until now."

  “Wonderful. How about I buy you dinner? We can suck up some sweet yummy to finish it off. They have real fruits and stuff here."

  “Why not? Besides, we should do it now or we won't be able to. Can't eat for thirty-six hours before going into stasis. That reminds me of a phrase I heard a long time ago ... or maybe I read it. I don't remember which. It went something like, ‘The condemned ate a hearty—’”

  “Stop it, Marta."

  “That an order, ma'am?"

  “No."

  “Good. ‘Into the valley of death rode—’”

  “Marta!"

  The two of them, dressed in the bright yellow and rich brown uniform reserved for members of the Finder Flights, turned into a passage marked "OBS DK & OFF LOUNGE." A yellow bar below the sign warned, "High rad levels inside lounge shield—tags are available at the bar."

  Working asteroid Medevac required an unflinching will to survive, coupled with the nerve to stare death in the infinite depth of its eyes—and a dedication tough to find anywhere in the SESC. Although she didn't look it, Dr. Marta Lavan had all that and much more. She'd served out there among the Belt mines for five years before signing up for the Finder mission and earned the Distinguished Service Stripe to prove it.

  Anyone seeing those bright red bars stroked across her shoulder boards knew immediately that she was no virgin to the rigors of space, yet she had one weakness she couldn't shake. Moving scenes, like the one displayed in the huge ports lining the planet side of the lounge, caused her to respond with a severe reaction that demanded the entire contents of her stomach be expelled instantly and violently without regard to where she was, or in whose company.

  Lead Officer Alexandra Guzman-Pax, well aware of the doctor's vertigo, took no offense when her junior officer charged in ahead of her. Lavan kept her eyes on the neutral gray carpet like a fastidious housemaid looking for lint. She wobbled a little as she went, and secured a chair with its back to half a Jupiter slowly turning in three directions at once—four if you counted the imperceptible lateral drift of the station.

  JS9 was set in a polar orbit that revolved axially once in the Jovian year. The axial drift kept the station out of the shadow of the planet. The drift was so slow it had no effect on Lavan's churning gut, but the axis of the station was pointed directly at the planet's center and the rotation of JS9 caused the planet to tumble in slow motion. That movement, combined with the natural revolution of Jupiter about its axis and the orbital swing of the station shot straight into Lavan's vomit center.

  Pax enjoyed the vista. There were times when she would sit in the lounge for hours, transfixed, fascinated with the beauty of it all. She slid out a chair and turned it so she could sit looking straight at the panorama and mused for a moment on how, from the station, Jupiter was always half planet, half ghost. The side in shadow glowed dully from its own energy, flashes of lightning giving it the look of deeply dark brown velvet with tiny diamonds sparkling on it. At JS9's tremendous distance from the planet the entire thing and most of its moons were visible, particularly the larger ones, which added greatly to Lavan's problem. Lavan, on the other side of the table, kept her eyes fixed firmly on the non-reflective surfaces of the bar.

  The lighting in the lounge was diffused and cast almost no shadows on Lavan's girlish features. Pax could not help noticing that Lavan's turned-up nose was still not quite a nose; like a small child's it appeared to be developing into one but wasn't quite there. She had deeply dimpled cheeks, lightly dusted with soft freckles, and large eyes of watery blue, dotted loosely with purple flecks. Here and there a silver strand peeked from beneath her short-cropped golden red hair, doing little to lessen the baby-girl effect.

  “Well, Marta, tomorrow we do it,” Pax said, motioning to a waiter who had expertly ignored their entrance.

  “Huh? Oh ... right ... tomorrow,” Lavan said, while she traced little looping patterns with an unpainted fingernail on the glossy black table top.

  She never uses cosmetics ... adds to that just-out-of-puberty look. One of these days I'm going to have to talk to her about that. How does she ever get anyone to ta
ke her seriously—or to bed, for heaven's sake?

  “Okay, what's troubling you, Marta?"

  “Nothing ... and everything. I'm thinking about what we're getting ready to do. How wonderfully exciting it all is ... and how dreadfully permanent. You know, just sorting through things one last time ... before you pull the trigger."

  That's novel. Like I'm holding a gun to all our heads ... and I'm the one who has the pleasure of deciding when to pull the trigger. Great, Marta.

  “Mm-hmm, I understand."

  Sorting through things one more time. Permanent.

  “I'm going over a couple of hours early. You're welcome to accompany me, if you'd like. That way you can keep your eyes closed during the transfer. Where is that waiter?"

  “He ducked into the kitchen a minute ago. He'll be back. Why?"

  “Because I'm hungry, Marta."

  “No, that's not what I meant. Why go over early?"

  “Oh, that."

  Were her jitters as obvious as Lavan's? Pax tacked a note to her mental bulletin board to be a little more guarded in the future.

  “I need to check the Rammix set-up again, and I found some anomalous readings on the hydrogen injector section of the guide tube field generator yesterday. I also want to make a pre-launch rock ... and I think it's going to be a long one."

  “Where's the sense in that, Alex? The pre-launch crystal, I mean. We're not coming back ... and no one is going to come get us. That's what I was trying to tell you. This is a one-way trip, Alex."

  Pax fixed her iron gray eyes on Lavan and deep furrows traveled across her forehead. She felt the hint of a tic coming, looked back to the half a Jupiter hanging in the ports and ran the heel of her right hand across her right eye.

  Lavan had a point and it struck at Pax's solar plexus like her mother's fist. There was no coming back for any of them ... ever. Even the shorter Finder Flights were strictly a one-way proposition.

  Dreadfully permanent.