Proxima Trilogy: Part 1-3: Hard Science Fiction

by Brandon Q Morris

  He examines the hole he just drilled. The upshot is fascinating. The material does not display any structures known to human technology. It is made all of a single piece, or to be more precise, it looks like it grew. The light is radiated by hardened cells that are supplied with energy by other cells behind them. However, these cells are not based on carbon, but on silicon. The aliens must either be silicon-based, or they managed to create life a second time, based on the life they knew, but with totally new components that are only theoretically known to humans.

  Marchenko 2 feels he definitely has to find out how he can use this for his own purposes. Perhaps he could become truly invincible. While he is based on the clever concept of nano-fabricators, that system still distinguishes between dead and living matter. Just thinking about this gets him all excited. If he could gain control of such a superior biology, supplemented by his immortal consciousness, humanity would no longer stand a chance against him. He will need patience, but he will then succeed in taking revenge on his irresponsible creator—and on all inferior creatures as well.

  Slow and steady, he thinks. Better concentrate on the next task—finding the control room. Even if electrical energy can reach the components by any route and without a specific path, that does not hold true for every consumable medium. What about water? Or air? The air in the ship contains enough oxygen for humans, which cannot be an accident. And where would the air probably be freshest? In the control center! That’s where the highest-ranked occupants would be, because the most important work is performed there. No commander would tolerate the air in the crew quarters being better than around his command chair. If he follows the air quality gradient he might take a detour or two, but he should arrive at the control center. Yet there is another essential task to fulfill first.

  He needs a weapon.

  Brightnight 36, 3876

  The doors of the moving chamber open with a slight whistle. Gronolf is prepared. The system did not call him to the control center without reason. Perhaps danger is already awaiting him. The only thing he notices is the light. The room was not as brightly lit formerly. Otherwise everything seems okay. Gronolf inhales deeply. While he can smell the presence of a foreign creature, the scent is stale, so it must have disappeared hours ago. There is something else in the air, the odor of death. It is very weak, but it is obvious a Grosnop died here.

  Gronolf starts to systematically examine the room. The consoles seem to be undamaged. He uses an ultrasonic command to open some of the motorized doors, but the equipment within the cabinets appears to be just as untouched as the outside. There is some ozone in the air. The holo-map must have been used recently. Gronolf walks around the consoles. He is ready to enter the center of the room when he sees the command chair. Gronolf starts breathing heavily, because a general sits there, recognizable by the patterns on his belly. He has to force himself not to drop to his knees in awed reverence. He has never yet faced a general without this natural gesture. Yet no matter how honorably this Grosnop may have lived, he is now obviously dead. His skin looks sunken, and the body can barely keep upright. The corpse must have sat in this chair for many years. What has happened here? Why did nobody pay his last respects to the general and take him back to the sea?

  He remembers more now. This planet also has an ocean. Therefore this long voyage into darkness happened. They marched through ice and snow. He saw tough women and honorable men die in the cold. Gronolf shakes his touch-arms, as usual when he feels deep regret. Yet what does this have to do with this general? How did he die in his chair? Did this stranger—whose scent molecules he can still smell—have anything to do with it? He cracks the joints of his load-arms, with which he is going to rip apart the skin sack of the intruder. What did his mother always say? He must proceed systematically. He should not start out hunting on his own, even though he really feels like it. He is going to avenge the general! But not now. He first has to find out why the system woke him, and him alone.

  Gronolf sits down on the other chair and looks the general in the front eye. He ought to ensure his honorable afterlife, instead of letting him sit here, but that will have to wait. He turns the chair around and taps on the top of the console. A control panel slowly slides out. It contains numerous small keys distributed among four sectors, but he knows how to use them. While he was trained in a ship, this console seems to be directly taken from a spaceship.

  First he has to log in. “Gronolf Carriontooth,” he says.

  “Welcome Gronolf, I recognize you,” the system says, “and I am handing over control to you.” The screen above the control panel turns on.

  “Why was I awakened?” asks Gronolf.

  “My subroutines agreed this was the only sensible option.”

  “Agreed?”

  “It was a majority decision. The psychological evaluation unit was against it.”

  “With what justification?”

  “It feared your lack of impulse control might cause problems.”

  Gronolf can barely keep himself from hitting the control panel. “I understand,” he says. “Yet I still don’t know why I was awakened.”

  “The Majestic Draght has been activated again.”

  “The... what?”

  “You still appear to be suffering from the aftereffects of sleep. The medical evaluation unit warned this was to be expected after more than 500 years in the capsule.”

  “I don’t understand.” Gronolf’s heavy knees tremble and make a clattering noise.

  “Please specify,” the system says. Was it always so cumbersome and slow-witted? Or was it his mistake?

  “You said more than 500 years.”

  “I told you the current cycle number a while ago. 3876.”

  Right. Gronolf hits his belly with his load-hand. The pain forces him to come to his senses again. He assumed he had slept perhaps 10 years, or 50. But more than 500? That’s impossible. He has to check this. He uses all four hands to go through the system diagnostic menus. The condition of the protective structure does not seem to be bad. That would be an argument against those 500 years. The maintenance obviously is still working.

  On the lowest level there is currently a damaged area he has to investigate—no, there are two. However, they do not affect the functioning of the building. Even the dark matter reactor is functioning within its parameters. Gronolf switches to the status report for the sleep capsules. His knees, which just calmed down, start trembling again. The display must be defective! Only a few of the 4,630 capsules seem to be fully functional. He goes through the list of the chambers marked green.

  He realizes why the system woke him. There is only one capsule left in perfect condition. Binara Steepfin, a young woman with a mediocre exam, lies in it. It is no special honor to get preference over this woman. After all, he was the strongest of his plex. Yet it is a reassuring feeling not to be completely alone. In case of emergency he could always wake up Binara. The status indicator for about 600 capsules is a light green. This means the occupants will require a longer wakening process with medical intervention.

  “How long would I have to wait for the occupants of the light green capsules to wake up?”

  “The convalescence will differ based on the individual, but you can assume three to twelve weeks. I would recommend the assistance of a doctor, or several.”

  How is he supposed to find those? He glances at the distribution of capsules marked yellow and red. If he assumes that half of the yellow ones will survive, they lost several thousand men and women of the crew. The number seems so abstract he doesn’t feel anything. He is much more affected by the death of the general, whom he can still see with his rear eye. He has probably been sitting in this chair for many years, a sad figure.

  Gronolf blocks out this image to focus on the status report again. The system talked about the Majestic Draght restarting. The name sounds like that of a capital spaceship. Gronolf’s belly skin feels hot, as if warmed by his whirling thoughts. He has to remember! He stops the movement of
his knees using both load-hands. He can’t bear sitting in the seat any longer and gets up. Gronolf starts walking around in the control center.

  He looks at the holo-map. He activates it and places the cursor on the current system. There it is, the red sun and its companion, on which his rapidly growing people had placed such great hopes. Yes, it was the Majestic Draght that transported all of them here. It was there, on some command deck, that he had learned to operate the control console and the holo-map. He remembers the touch-hand of the trainer who showed him the start sequences. These are only visual fragments he can call up now in his mind. He has to try to put them in sequence again so he can begin to form complete memories. That will have to wait, though. He has a task to finish first.

  He focuses the holo-map on the planet of Single Sun. The capital ship must be waiting somewhere in its vicinity. He finds the Majestic Draght sooner than expected. Its gigantic body, reminiscent of a sphere whale, is approaching on a direct course. If the ship does not decelerate, it will collide with this world in six days. He has found out why he was awakened.

  Gronolf immediately sends a warning message. The Majestic Draght has to change course right away. He estimates the current distance. The signal shouldn’t take longer than one-hundredth of a bubble period, as the capital ship is already so close. He has to wait. His foot automatically starts tapping the rhythm of the micro-bubble periods. Gronolf lets it do that. This way he can reduce stress, which otherwise would discharge itself in an explosive reaction. He does not want to destroy the control panel of the holo-map.

  Another 21, 14, 7 micro-bubble periods. By now the signal must have reached the Majestic Draght. Yet the ship does not change course. Gronolf hits himself hard on his sensitive belly region. Of course not! He has to wait until the time for the return of the signal is over in order to see what has happened. He lets his foot tap again. He focuses on the noise in order to distract himself while waiting. Should he already consider the next steps? One thing at a time, his mother used to tell him. He waits. 21, 14, 7. Now the time has come. For safety’s sake he presses the reload button so the map will update its display.

  The Majestic Draght is still racing toward the planet!

  May 9, 19, Adam

  Adam briefly shuts his eyes. He can’t believe what he just read. Yet there is no mistaking what the sentence says. “Wonderful,” he types on the small screen of the universal device. “How can I help you?”

  “Need energy.”

  Adam checks the status of his suit. He can give Marchenko a few watt-hours, but he had better wait with that until he is on dry ground. “Taking you into building,” he types.

  “Thanks.”

  He removes all cables and lifts the sad remnant of Marchenko’s body. Even under water it is amazingly heavy. He hopes he can still swim while carrying it. He aims his helmet lamp upward. After about ten meters, the water swallows the beam of light. So it must be at least 15 meters to the entrance. He can only use his legs to propel them up there.

  He holds on to Marchenko and pushes off. Flippers on his feet would be practical, but the suit was designed for the conditions on the ice, not in water. Adam moves his legs as fast as he can. The kicking movements slowly carry him upwards. He stops briefly, but immediately begins to descend. He can only rest once he has arrived. After five meters he sees a jagged edge. It can’t have been developed naturally. Perhaps Marchenko knows what happened here. He will ask him later, when he is recharging.

  Adam is breathing heavily. The added weight pulls on him and tries to drag him into the depth. He does not give up. The inside of his helmet visor fogs up, but he can still see his destination. Another two meters or so and he will be there. He should have held Marchenko a different way. His hands hurt. Damn, now the thing is starting to slide.

  Adam stops Marchenko’s body with his knee, but then he can’t kick anymore. He sinks one meter, then two. With a great deal of effort he manages to change his grip. Better—now it is not sliding anymore. He kicks his legs with all his strength and manages to lift Marchenko. Here comes the edge. He jerks the heavy body upward. He manages to place one end over the building’s exterior wall. Now he just has to push to get Marchenko to safety for the time being. While keeping in position by kicking with both legs, he pushes with both hands. Finally the thing slides onto the edge. Shit, he just smashed his left wrist with full force against the sharp edge. His suit is torn at that spot and he feels a stabbing pain. He sees blood seeping into the water. He slides slightly to the side and cautiously pulls himself up on the ledge. He sits down and takes a deep breath.

  He has still not quite made it. Adam shines his helmet lamp at his surroundings. One and a half meters to his right he sees a corridor. Is this their way out? He definitely has to check the water surface, as there might be a more comfortable exit there. Adam sighs, gets up, and swims to the top. Without the weight of Marchenko this presents no problem, even with his wrist hurting.

  He emerges in a spherical hall. It is filled with breathable air, according to the universal device on his arm. But there is no exit. He only sees a few openings high up, which he cannot reach. He has probably ended up in the garbage dump of this building. How did Marchenko get here, and what caused his current state? This is going to be an interesting conversation.

  He slowly slides back down again. Where is Marchenko? Did he... no, he is there on the left and has not moved. Adam’s heart is beating faster. He must not lose Marchenko again. He carefully lifts the heavy object. The corridor starts at this height, so he can now walk. While the weight pulls down on his arms, it helps him walk, as his feet get better traction on the surface. The corridor leads slightly upward. While it is not a difficult path in itself, Adam has to take a break now and then due to carrying Marchenko in his arms.

  After a while the corridor becomes steeper and Adam needs more frequent breaks. Twice he even slides backwards a bit. He deactivated the suit heater a long time ago, not just because he is sweating, but due to the gradually increasing water temperature. Is this the discharge pipe of a cooling mechanism? He hopes the water won’t get too hot. He would really like to take off his suit completely, to get rid of its weight, but he needs the air to breathe.

  Finally the pipe becomes horizontal. I should soon find an exit, he thinks. Then, just at the right moment, he notices light shining from above. The source is a rectangular opening in the top of the pipe. Adam takes a closer look and notices that a plate attached with screws must once have been located there. Somebody unfastened it and pushed the metal plate outside. That could only have been Marchenko 2. It is too early for an encounter, though. His own Marchenko is not nearly ready for action, and Adam alone would stand no chance against the crazy AI in the robot body.

  He puts Marchenko’s body down. Then Adam cautiously approaches the opening. He emerges from the water slowly to keep from splashing, places his healthy hand quietly against the edge of the opening in the pipe, and pulls himself up just far enough so he can peek over it. This room is empty, except for the pipe. It is brightly lit by the side walls. And here is the most important thing: They are alone. Very good!

  He bends down and picks up Marchenko. Now comes the tricky part: He has to lift the massive object without the buoyancy provided by the water, and get it up and through the opening. He won’t be able to hold onto it and climb out himself at the same time. The pipe runs at a height of about a meter and a half above the floor of the room. Before Adam can get himself out he will have to drop Marchenko from the pipe to the floor. Will the remnant of Marchenko’s body be able to withstand that without incurring further defects? He cannot even ask or warn him without once again connecting his universal device to Marchenko. He will just have to risk it.

  Adam takes a deep breath. Then he jerks the heavy body upward, lifts it through the air to the edge of the opening in the pipe, pushes it out and lets it go. He watches Marchenko fall down. It makes a resonant thud and the echo hurts his ears. Adam looks at his left wrist, which is
still bleeding. He must have left a trail of blood. He tries to pull his own body up to the edge of the opening in the pipe. Yet his right hand alone is too weak, and he cannot use his left as usual.

  Luckily he remembers his suit. He no longer needs it now. He takes it off, which takes a bit longer using just one hand, then he throws it down to the floor in pieces. When the helmet hits, he hears a nasty cracking sound. That must be the visor. Without it, he won’t be leaving this building the same way he entered. Later on, though, Marchenko should be able to create a whole new helmet for him.

  He feels considerably lighter now, as he is just wearing his thermal underwear. And he’s right—at this reduced weight he only needs a little assistance from his left hand to support himself on the pipe as he swings his legs outward and gently slides down. He lands on both feet. His right knee feels a sharp stab of pain. The pipe must have been higher than he estimated. He stretches and shakes his legs. At least he feels no serious injuries.

  Just for the sake of order he gathers the parts of his suit. The helmet can no longer be saved, so he might as well leave it here, but he can use the rest. He pushes Marchenko’s body toward the wall. Then he sits down next to it, activates the universal device, connects the cables just as before, and transfers the rest of the energy stored in his suit to Marchenko. Soon he will be able to talk to his old friend again. He is already looking forward to it.

  First, he has to get some shut-eye, at least half an hour.

  May 9, 19, Marchenko 2

  The perfect preparation for a murder is difficult if you don’t know what sort of creature you will be dealing with. Marchenko 2 is resting in a side corridor in order to think about the perfect weapon. It must handle three possible types of enemy.