For the past hour, or so, there
had been a quiet murmur of conversation between Graeme Elliott and his
colleague, Charles Wilfrey-Turner. They had been deeply engrossed in
making the final connections to the flight computer built into the spaceship
they were constructing in an old, disused hangar. Some other people were
responsible for the drives and the warp engines but Graeme and Charles had been
the electronics wizards needed to design the chips and the programming for the
computers.
Charles leaned back, “I think
that’s about it. Let’s go up to the flight deck, put the power on and cool
off a bit.”
Both of them were sweating
profusely. It was hot in the electronics bay so they were both anxious to
get the cooling systems on to protect the circuits; they were less
concerned about themselves but both knew they could really do justice to a
long, cold, drink.
The soft seats on the flight
deck molded themselves to their bodies.
Gradually the screens came to
life, flickering a little at first, then resolving into views of the
outside and a couple of displays showing the systems on the ship. There were
no windows to look out of the ship, all the views to the crew came through external
cameras positioned to give maximum coverage.
The seats were separated by a
centre console containing the switching for several systems; the right
hand seat had the monitors for the systems and controls circuits for those
systems, the left hand seat had the controls for the ship and the navigation
console.
Behind Graeme and Charles was a
bulkhead into which two hatches had been built so that they could enter
and exit the flight deck into the living quarters.
The quarters were cramped and
confined, mostly given over to freezers for the food and drink packs
required for several years in space.
Forward of the flight deck were
the positional gyros that spun endlessly around the three axes necessary
for the control of the ship. In front of the gyros were storage areas for
more food and water and, forward again, were the shields that would, in
theory, protect the crew from meteors and space dust.
Behind the living quarters
there were the drive units, primary and main drives.
The primaries would take the
ship out of earth atmosphere and the ellipse of planetary orbit. Once the
Van Allen belt had been cleared the crew would fire up the main drives and
make their heading according to the indication on the navigational computer.
At seventy three per cent of
the speed of light, point seven three C, the fold motors would become
operational and turn space into a huge ripple so that the ship could leap
from one ripple to the next leaving space to flatten itself out again.
By this means they would
traverse light years in moments. The fold motors were massive beams, four
of them, jutting out horizontally from the side of the ship on great
cantilever arms.
At each leap the cameras would
record the star positions and enter them on the computer for a record of
their journey. The computer would keep track of the journey and their
position in space by resolving the pictures into a three-dimensional image
that would locate the ship at its centre.
‘Always know where Earth is’
was the theme of the programming for the navigational computer.
The idea was to triangulate. Go
out so many light years, turn ‘left’ at a right angle so many light years
and then return to Earth. Ideally they would go on a three, four, five
trip. This would give them a right-angled triangle. Go out forty light years, cross
thirty light years and come back the fifty light years to complete the third
leg of the trip. Unfortunately there were no stars precisely located for
this plan to be effective and so the course had been modified to
accommodate the difference, small though it was.
Graeme and Charles went through
the checks quietly and efficiently. No short cuts could, or would, be
taken. Even the smallest error in their computations and programming would
be the difference between success and failure—life and death.
They were well aware that James
and Manfred had been through the primary and main drives with equal care
and precision, and that Stuart, Terence and Jonathan had carried out tests
to exhaustion on the fold motors.
All the other systems people
had been fastidious in the extreme right down to the people who had
planned the food and drink and the professor from Boston that had measured
every inch of the interior of the ship to make sure that his calculations for
the oxygen converter were sound.
Nothing was left to chance. The
fuel reserves were adequate for all imaginable emergencies and the major
systems all had automatic back-up, many were on active redundancy, so that
there would never be a moment when nothing was in control.
Graeme stretched, “I think that’s
it, Mate. Let’s go and see who’s going to fly this baby.”
Charles looked at him, “As long
as it’s no you or I,” he spoke slowly in his soft Scottish accent.
“I cannot believe that you
would not wish to go up in the first ever interstellar craft. You come
from generations of explorers and travellers and you really don’t want to
go out into space?” Graeme finished on the rising note of an interrogative sentence.
“Aye, well. It’s no everyone’s
cup of tea. You might be glad to get out there and be a hero for future
generations but my family has finished with that. I’ll stay here, if it’s
all the same to you,” Charles pushed the last of his tools and test equipment back into his bag and
stood, turning, to wait for Graeme.
Graeme was very precise with
his tools and had everything laid out so that it all went back into the
roll and the box exactly as it had come out and precisely as clean.
Happy at last he stood, “Right,
Mate. Let’s go hear the numbers.”
He grinned at Charles who
pretended to be disinterested.
Roughly two hundred and fifty
people were in the hall at the back of the hangar. Most of them were
technicians but there was a fair smattering of clerks and accountants who
had been responsible for organising the contracts and pay for everybody
involved. Charles tried to speak to Graeme but he was not heard above the
din of people all excitedly talking to each other. He pulled at Graeme’s
sleeve.
Graeme leaned towards him, “What
is it, Mate?” he shouted at Charles’ ear.
“This is madness. If
anything happens nobody will know with this noise,” Charles was incapable of
shouting.
“I don’t think they’ve laid on
anything to eat. Let’s try to get nearer the front.”
Charles gave up and valiantly
tried to follow Graeme as he forged through the throng.
Twenty minutes later, just as
Charles was trying to get Graeme’s attention, there was a tapping from the
direction of a raised dais at the end of the hall that had been loosely
designated as ‘the front’.
“People, people,” a lady’s
voice trilled, “Listen, everybody,” she continued.
At last the hubbub gradually
died down in stages. A few times it appeared as if it would become loud
again but some insistent ‘shushing’ from the back reminded everyone to be
quiet.
Lady Madeleine Stokes, wife of
the late Sir Arthur, held centre stage rather like a battleship holds
centre of a formation of fighting ships. Graeme thought she had stepped
straight out of an Agatha Christie novel complete with huge fur boa. He even
imagined there was a small head dangling down her left breast until he saw that
the small, beady eyes were, in fact, buttons.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your
attention, please,” she continued to trill happily, “It gives me great
pleasure to introduce the man who undertook all the planning in pursuit of
this dream of my late husband’s, after his untimely death four years ago, so
that he will inform you of the decision of the flight committee about who will
go into space in this great venture that you have so recently, and so
brilliantly, completed.”
The whole hall inhaled deeply
in sympathy for Lady Madeleine’s tortured lungs.
“I am also sorry to have to
inform you, Professor Harrison, after all that sterling work that you have
put in, that we believe that your countrymen were responsible for the
death of Arthur, rest his soul, and that places you outside the parameters
necessary to qualify for this mission because of potential sympathies and
risk to yourself for being such an important cog in these wheels.”
The hall inhaled again.
Graeme and Charles looked
around but failed to see Professor Harrison.
“He’s getting on a bit for
this, anyway,” Charles whispered, “He must be pushing sixty or sixty five.”
“No. I shouldn’t think this
will take long,” Graeme nodded.
Charles shook his head and
peered up at Lady Madeleine who had just taken another deep breath.
“I give you,” she paused for
effect, “Dr. James McArthur.”
Everybody dutifully clapped and
one or two cheered—perhaps thinking it was the right thing to do, given
the circumstances, or, perhaps, they knew him. Mostly people were glad she
had kept that bit short.
“Good evening, ladies and
gentlemen. We have taken into consideration your professed wants and your
apparent state of health. Some of you, as well you will be aware, are less
than in perfect health and some of you are short of peak fitness as is witnessed
by your girth. I notice, John, that your corporation has become almost an international
one over the last few years.”
There was a little guffawing
and movement over to Graeme and Charles’ left.
John Ede, nicknamed the ‘veritable’
Ede, called out, “It’s your own fault for laying on good food for the
troops, James,”
“An army marches on its
stomach, John.”
“I challenge anyone to start
marching on mine!” John laughed good-naturedly. He had no need to feel
embarrassed, every member of the crew knew him to be kind, helpful and
entirely guileless. He was a popular and knowledgeable man with an
expansive sense of humour, “Anyway, James, this little scout ship is just
too damn small for the likes of me. Let me know when you start building cruisers,
at least.”
James grinned at him from the
dais, “Very well, then. Let’s get on with it.”
Somebody shouted, ‘About bloody
time!”
Everybody, including James,
laughed.
“Yes, I know you’re impatient
to get at the food in the back. The ‘Taj Mahal’ from the town have kindly
sent up some grub in the hope that we will paint their name on the side of
the ship. We are not actually certain they are aware what type of ship we
are building but it would take a hell of a telescope to see their logo once we’ve
left Earth orbit!”
The population of the hall
laughed again and somebody called out “Three cheers for the ‘Taj’—hip,
hip!”
Everybody joyfully played the
game and cheered heartily.
James let the assembled throng
settle and then coughed to clear his throat.
“Right, then. The Skipper is to
be Graeme Edgeley.”
Heads turned and necks craned
to see where Graeme was. They all wanted to see his reaction. He had not
reacted. He had looked at Charles and asked him who it was.
“Seems the Skipper is your own
wee self, Graeme. And very happy I am for you, too. Bring me back a stick
of rock from Betelgeuse—or where-ever it is you’ll be ending up.”
“Me? Bloody hell. Me? Ye Gods
and little fishes.”
He had never expected this. There
were so many people on the project that he was certain that he would be
overlooked. He was sure that his tinnitus would rule him out.
He looked back towards the
stage, “Are you sure, James? I’m a bit deaf, you know.”
"Yes, Graeme, we know and
have taken that into account. We feel that you have the qualities needed
for leading this mission and the ability to see it through. See you when you
get back,” he smiled happily.
Graeme looked stunned. Secretly,
he was quite proud to have this honour. Inside he was tremendously buoyed by
being chosen and was looking forward to being a pioneer in space.
James continued, “Your
colleague on this trip should be somebody with whom you have a proven
track record of camaraderie with. Someone you know that you can trust
implicitly and with an absolute knowledge of the ship’s systems,” James nodded
sagely, held up his piece of paper and carefully enunciated, “Charles Sime-Templeton
is selected as Systems Technician for the trip.”
Everybody knew that Charles was
averse to going. A dull hush fell on the crowd as they all turned towards
him.
“Aye, well. A reluctant hero,
then. If that’s it, so be it. I’ll go and pack my bags.”
“After the curry, Charles. Might
not be a good idea to have another one once you’re in the ship, what?” James
chuckled and blew a raspberry to illustrate the point that needed no
illustration.
Charles grimaced at him,
everyone else smiled and turned towards the back room and the waiting
curry.
Neither Graeme nor Charles had
anticipated the vast crowds that had turned out to see them off. There had
been little publicity in the newspapers as the organisers had wanted to
keep the while thing a low-key affair in case of failure.
Naturally, nobody thought that
there would be problems but with so much new technology involved there was
always the possibility of a last minute, embarrassing hiccup.
The two crew members walked
over to the bucket, opened the front door and stepped in. Graeme pushed
the button marked ‘retract’ and the hydraulic jacks smoothly raised them
from the floor and drew them, at forty-five degrees, into the ship. Both
of them waved to the crowds even as Graeme closed the outer airlock door
to hide them from view.
“What was the point of waving,
Graeme? The people are so far away from the launch pad they wouldn’t see
us.”
“TV. Cameras with long lenses. People
have digital cameras with zoom lens. Some people may have binoculars.”
“They could be surprised if
there is a brief burst of nuclear sunshine and, presto! No spaceship.”
“Well, we won’t care, my
cheerful little ray of non-nuclear sunshine. We will, as the saying goes,
be observing the proceedings from the molecular level at that point.”
“That’s cheering, by the way,” Charles
said over his shoulder as he led the way up to the flight deck.
It took them thirty minutes to
go through the pre-flight checks before Graeme said, “OK. Power on.”
Charles reached up above his
head and flicked a switch. Lights lit up the console and the screens
started to glow.
“Power ‘On’. Batteries stable;
battery temperature steady.”
Another forty minutes starting
up the systems and Graeme said, “Anti-gravity pads ‘On’.”
Charles flicked another switch
and observed the gauges for a few seconds, “Anti-gravity pads ‘On’ and steady
at one ‘g’. All systems are in the green and ready to go. Selecting Nav
and Comms ‘On’.”
Graeme watched the frequency
come up on the UHF panel, grunted and spoke into his boom microphone, “Launch
pad control, launch pad control. Message. Over.”
A brief hiss of white noise and
then, “Space Maiden this is launch pad control. Pass your message. Over.”
Graeme and Charles looked at
each other, frowning, “When did we become ‘Space Maiden’?”
Graeme shrugged, “Must be some
sort of PR exercise. Maiden flight into space, sort of thing.”
“Jings. What next?”
“Control, er... Space Maiden. We
are ready to float. Permission to ascend to FL100 for secondary drive
fire-up?”
“Maiden. Permission granted. No
traffic above.”
“Control, thank you. Listening
out.”
Graeme looked over at Charles, “This
is it, Chum.”
“Aye. Let’s go.”
Under Graeme’s left hand was a
small joystick that controlled forwards, backwards, left and right as
usual but had an additional refinement of also controlling up and down by
pulling up on it or pushing down. Graeme pulled gently up on it.
There was no sensation of
movement but the gauge slowly wound down to point nine g, point eight g,
and maintained the downwards sweep until, at last, it said ‘zero’ and then
minus nought point one. The radio altimeter registered a rise as the legs came
off the ground and the ship moved gracefully upwards. Several minutes later, at
ten thousand feet, Graeme neutralised the joystick and pushed down slightly
until the gauge read ‘zero’. The ship stopped rising and hovered at that
altitude.
Charles said that it might be a
good idea to do the next one in ‘auto’ to check the system.
Graeme nodded his agreement and
pressed the transmit button on the forward control column. “Control. Maiden.
Holding at FL100. Repeat, holding at FL one zero zero. Acknowledge. Over.”
“Maiden. Control. Acknowledged.
We have you at FL one zero zero. You are clear to start secondary drive units. Over.”
Graeme suddenly realised it was
James in the control tower and mentioned it to Charles.
“I bet he pushed hard for that.
There’ll be tears in the wain’s eyes, ye ken.”
Graeme chuckled and watched the
gauges for the secondary drive units climb steadily into the green, “Secondaries
on line and batteries charging. Battery temperature rising, charge rate
decreasing, temperature stabilising. Secondaries all in the green. Starting
air circulation.”
“Phew. That’s better. Starting
to get a bit clammy in here. We’re ready for climb-out and primaries now.”
Graeme pressed transmit again, “Control.
Maiden. Message, over.”
“Maiden. Control. Pass message,
over.”
“Control. All systems green. Secondaries
running. Permission to ascend to FL1000, repeat, FL one zero zero zero to start
primaries. Request clearance from space debris and satellite traffic. Over.”
“Maiden. Control. Hold please,”
Graeme counted thirty five before James replied, “Maiden. You are clear of
overhead traffic for twenty minutes. Permission to proceed to FL one zero
zero zero.”
“Control. Thank you. Climbing
out. Out.”
Graeme pulled up on the
joystick again. Once more the gauge sank to minus point one, point two. The
rad alt climbed a little faster this time. Charles checked the
pressurisation state and gave Graeme a thumbs up, “Holding at point eight atmosphere.”
A hundred thousand feet. Hover
again and fire up the primary drives. Now the inertial computer started to
register forward speed.
“Control. Maiden. We are making
fifteen hundred feet per second on primary idle. Preparing to lift into
orbit. Request traffic clearance. Over.”
“Maiden. You are not clear for
three minutes. Please hold, will advise.”
Graeme and Charles looked at
the side screens and saw that they were almost over Eastern Europe now. Afghanistan
was getting closer.
“That was a braw curry the
other night,” Charles mentioned.
“Bloody good, eh? Thought of
India approaching, did you?”
“Aye. Maybe we’ll go there when
we get back. Get an original one.”
“Maiden. Control. You are clear
for sixteen minutes. Good luck. Over.”
“Control. Thank you. Will
comply. Lifting now. Out.”
Graeme edged the primary
throttles forward and eased up on the small joystick. The inertial
computer started registering large numbers on the speed indicator and the
radio altimeter began counting off in miles rather than feet.
Charles set a course on the
navigational computer that would take them out at an angle of fifteen
degrees to the ecliptic. Graeme selected Auto Nav ‘On’ and watched the
screen shift and rotate. Now the rear view showed Pakistan and most of the
sub-continent becoming smaller and smaller.
The radio altimeter gave up and
passed control to the nav computer. The speed started to come up in
fractions of ‘C’ - the speed of light. Small at first but coming up to the
point one marker. The moon, still small at this altitude, slid past under the starboard camera.
“Point one ‘C’ coming up. Start
check list for main drives,” Graeme said.
Charles grunted and went
through the motions until, eventually, Graeme pressed the main drive start
button. Anxiously they both watched the gauges climb.
This was a system that could
not be run on the ground on Earth. The forward velocity needed to be above
point one ‘C’ before firing these motors up or the blast would catch up
with them and turn everything to steam—including Graeme and Charles.
The gauges went into the green.
Graeme and Charles looked at each other, checked the speed dial and noted
it was just over the point one, looked at each other again.
Charles nodded. Graeme pressed ‘Main
Drive Ignition’.
Even with the inertial dampers
and the anti-grav pads there was a gut-wrenching surge of power that pushed
them both hard into the seats.
Graeme compiled a short message
giving the details so far and sent it on a burst transmission towards
Earth. He knew there would be no reply—they would be well out of radio
range by the time the reply arrived.
Two days later they were past
the orbit of Pluto and looking at a velocity of point seven ‘C’ still at
fifteen degrees. Charles entered the codes for the navigational computer
to aim for the next waypoint. Graeme crosschecked the codes and pressed ‘Enter’.
They both watched in anguished anticipation as the gauge crept up to the
red line at point seven three ‘C’.
The computer took over. They
watched the stars gently rotate wondering why there hadn’t been a colour
shift on the screens.
Eventually the new course registered
and the gauge hit the red line. Both of them sub-consciously squeezed the arm-rests until their
knuckles were white. This was one more item that could not be tested on
Earth. The fold motors.
Graeme glanced at the clock,
frowned, and felt his intestinal tract turn to water. The sense of vertigo
was overwhelming. He tried to lift himself out of the seat to get back to
the toilet but was too weak to lift himself up. He tried to focus on the sick-bag that was in the
pocket on the left side of his seat but his eyes failed to co-operate. He
managed to grope it up and then fervently hoped that it was big enough.
At last his body returned to
normal. He sat back, gasping for air feeling weak and disorientated. He
turned to Charles to check he was all right. There was nobody in the other
seat. He pulled himself out and fell back into the living accommodation.
Leaning heavily on the small
table he surveyed Charles eating from a bag of crisps, “You look a wee bit
grey, my friend.”
“Grey? Grey? Ye Gods. Never
again. Never, ever, in my entire life do I want to go through that hell
again. I shall never be able to stand upright again. What the hell happened?”
“I watched the stars go kind’ve
flat on the screens, then they changed position so I got up and went for a
snack. What happened to you?”
“I turned inside out,” he held
up the bag, “I’m going to empty this,” he stumbled towards the toilet.
Charles heard more emptying of
stomach contents and then the flush operated.
Graeme re-appeared still pale, “How
come you weren’t affected?”
“Generations of travellers and
explorers, I expect. Probably why I was chosen for this wee trip.”
“I think I have developed a
strong and irrational hatred towards you.”
Charles grinned, “They did say,
in the briefing, that we may suffer some discomfort during the fold.”
“Discomfort? Holy shit! Discomfort,
you say. Can we go home now?”
“Not without another fold
operation,” Charles grinned hugely again.
He was, he had to admit to
himself, enjoying this even though he was concerned for Graeme’s health.
They returned to the flight
deck after Graeme had had a chance to recover.
Charles surveyed the screens
and scanning equipment, “You will be pleased to note, however, that we
have arrived near a system as planned. There will be no need to go into fold
again immediately.”
Graeme groaned. Just the
thought of going through that again was more than enough to deter him from
any enthusiasm.
“There would appear, from
preliminary scans, to be several planets in the system. Two of them are
about the right distance from the star, according to conventional wisdom,
to be at the right temperature to support life. Do you want to start at the one closest to the
star or the other one?”
“Asteroids? Comets?”
“There is an asteroid belt just
in from a gas giant that looks similar to Jupiter. I don’t detect any comets
yet.”
“Probably best to go close in
and then pick up the outer one on our way out.”
“Inner one it is, then. I’ll
just tap in the numbers for the computer. We’ll have to keep an eye out
for stray bodies.”
They edged in closer and closer
until, at last, they could get a view of the inner planet. It was really
the third one out from the star, they discovered, but the other two were
far too hot to support life in conventional terms. Once in orbit they used
radar to map the planet and infrared to look at thermal differences. The overall
temperature of the planet was rather more than a hundred and twenty degrees
centigrade; the coolest areas were still well up in the eighties. No ice caps and
almost no water to speak of. Most of it was in the form of clouds, thick and roiling
with lightning storms.
They broke orbit and climbed
out of the ecliptic to describe a curved course over the star to the next
planet out.
This time they went into orbit before
deploying sensors. This planet was icy. Very nearly completely covered in
ice, rumpled and cracked there were vast fissures radiating from several
points. The epicentre of each series of crevasses seemed to be a point of
higher ground underneath the ice. Only around the equator was there a band
of liquid water and a few small areas of dry land.
Most of the land was islands but
one isthmus crossed from north to south connecting the two ice caps. Charles wondered
at the effects on tidal flow caused by that land block. Graeme supposed that
the sea level would be much higher one side than the other. He had also discovered
that the sea extended for a considerable distance under the ice, both north
and south, at an equable temperature.
“Why do you think that the ice
edges aren’t straight. Is it possible that there are local variations in
climate that would cause the curved edges?” Graeme suggested.
“I should think that coriolis
effect would be to blame for that. Ice is still a fluid, when all is said
and done,” Charles responded quietly. He was focussed intently on the
screen showing the land crossing, “There’s plants on that land and there’s
algal growths in the sea. Perhaps there’s something eating the plants. The
potential for development is limited given the small amount of territory
available to them but still...,” he tailed off, musing to himself.
“Limited? The land bridge is
nearly two hundred miles across and a good thousand miles long. Some of
those islands are as big as Britain, for heaven’s sake. How big a plot do they
need to grow vegetables?”
“Perhaps they eat fish. We
should collect as much data as possible and then let someone else come and
sort it all out.”
“Agreed. Landing could be a
problem if there’s things that are going to nibble on us for lunch.”
“Or pathogens inimical to our
form of life.”
“Quite. Nothing like a set of
inimics to cramp your life-style.”
Charles glanced over at Graeme
and grinned at him, “Feeling better, are we?”
Graeme grunted again, “I was
trying to forget that. Thanks for reminding me, oh, evil one!”
Charles laughed and, together,
they examined what they could from low orbit including thousands of high
resolution digital photographs that were all stored on the ship’s computer
ready for Charles to sort out later.
“Are you ready?” Charles
regarded Graeme solemnly.
They were at the Kuiper Belt
and about to engage the fold motors. The computer had all the necessary
information but had put on hold. Graeme looked at the speed, they were
making just short of point seven four ‘C’.
“No. But there’s no choice,
Mate. Just punch it in.”
He took a deep breath and
squeezed his eyes shut. Almost instantly the computer took them into fold;
almost equally instantly Graeme felt his stomach churn into a liquid mess,
his brain started doing circuits of the flight deck and the urge to vomit
was irrepressible. This time he had the bag ready—a really big one.
“Fancy a wee snack? I’m frying
some bacon and eggs,” Charles grinned at Graeme who peered hollowly at
him, “I must say, you don’t look too well. I wonder why you get hit and I
do not. Strange, don’t you think?”
Graeme’s lip curled up, “Sometimes
I consider the possibility of watching the effects of almost total vacuum
on the human physiology by throwing you out of the door.”
“Airlock, Graeme. It’s called
an airlock, ye ken?”
“Where are we?” Graeme buried
his head in his hands as he asked.
“Decelerating nicely into a new
system. This one has fewer planets than the last so I hold little hope of
better success in the life stakes. The Oort cloud is a bit thicker—as is
the Kuiper Belt and the asteroid belt so I should suppose that the agglomerates
that make up the system failed to coagulate into sizeable mass as they did
in the last system or our own solar system.”
“Fascinating,” Graeme favoured
Charles with a look of profound boredom.
“Did anybody remember to pack
travel sickness pills?”
“Aye. I put ginger pills in the
medicine rack. We... I... forgot all about them. Perhaps you should try them
next time.”
“Next time? Oh, God,” Graeme
grumbled into his hands, “Ginger? What good are ginger pills?”
“Chinese sailors swear by them
to prevent sea-sickness. Can’t do any harm.”
Graeme shook his head slowly
and collapsed gently onto the table top.
Just over twenty four hours
later they were in low orbit around a planet that was approximately the
same size as Earth. It was covered in wispy white clouds, had two polar
ice caps and lush vegetation around the equatorial belt. The scanners showed
them some large desert areas but also, when they passed the night side, use
of energy that proved to be fire.
“Fire? That means civilisation,”
Graeme suggested.
“Not necessarily. We could
debate whether there is intelligent life on Earth. The use of fire only
represents a step towards development—not civilisation,” Charles thought out
loud, “Still. It would be interesting to find out,” he mused.
They spent a week looking at
all the evidence including high resolution photographs. They really did
not want to get too close in case they infected a growing civilisation
with the sight of a damn great ship descending from the heavens - who knows what harm that could
do? That led to all sorts of theological debates between the two of them;
Graeme was a devout atheist whereas Charles was a member of the Free
Church of Scotland. Ultimately they had to agree to disagree because there
was no logic or evidence that would swing the argument in either one’s
favour.
Once they had the photographs
and the various scans from radar, infra-red, ultra-violet, filtered images
and even a form of ultra-sound, they examined and debated the collection
of images. There appeared to be no orderly rows of houses and no fields. Small plots of
land that were filled with the same type of plants but no organised
agrarian culture.
They found it was difficult to
assess the people. Certainly they were bipeds but the view, as it was,
from above did not give any clue as to their appearance.
People seldom lie down outside
unless they have sufficient leisure time to enjoy their surroundings. Clearly
this was not the case. They came to the conclusion, between them, that
this was a hunter-gatherer population with the beginnings of agriculture.
No livestock in pens so
possibly no milk or milk products. Eggs would be collected in season and
used immediately - possibly as a seasonal treat. Since the plots were surrounded
by fairly crude looking huts within some type of enclosure they surmised that
all was not peaceful and that some sort of warfare existed or there were predatory
animals.
Satisfied that they had
accumulated as much data as they could and conscious of food and fuel
supplies, they decided to leave orbit and head back to Earth.
Graeme dutifully swallowed the
ginger pills offered by Charles, picked up his large plastic bag and
clenched his stomach ready for, what he considered to be inevitable,
gut-wrenching exercise of fold-space.
He watched Charles carefully
peel an orange, smelt the tang of it in the air and mused, with
considerable misgivings, that this was not going to help. The speed gauge
slowly crept up to point seven three ‘C’; the computer kicked in the fold motors
and Graeme’s head turned inside out.
He came out of the toilet to
Charles’ announcement that they were inbound from Neptune and that Saturn
was visible on the forward screen at maximum magnification.
Much as it was in Graeme’s mind
to say that he didn’t really care if Charles could see Uranus through the
keyhole. He kept his acerbic comments to himself, he was just grateful
that this was it. This was the last time he would have to go through that
hell. Now he could hand over the problem to James and John ‘The Veritable’ Ede
and let them figure out why he was so ill and Charles could suck oranges and eat
crisps while going through fold.
“Have you told them we’re back?”
“Aye. Sent a burst transmission
a few minutes ago. Told them where to look for us so they can get their
pocket telescopes out.”
“You sure this is the Solar
system? I’d hate for the computer to have got it wrong and brought us out
somewhere else. Can you imagine being entirely lost and spending the last
drop of fuel on a guess?”
Even Charles shuddered, “No. We
are back. All the sensors and scanners indicate that this is the Solar
system. Strange thing, though.”
Graeme’s heart sank. He hated
it when Charles said that, “What’s strange?”
“No radio traffic.”
“Aren’t we a bit far out?”
“We should still get bits of
BBC that leaked through the ionosphere. Of course, it would be a bit
old - like yesterday’s news but it would be new to us. And welcome. Well,
there’s none. Odd, that.”
Graeme was non-committal. He
went back to the toilet to be ill again, ‘So much for bloody ginger tablets,’
he thought.
Both of them stared, horrified,
at the screens. Occasionally, one of them would peer at the computer,
shake his head and go back to the screens.
They had snuck quickly back
through the van Allen belt with Charles becoming ever more distraught at
the lack of communication. They slipped into low orbit and killed the
secondaries.
“Control. Maiden. Message. Over,”
Graeme tried again and again out of desperation and vain hope.
No answer.
Earth was a glowing heap. No
life, nothing. The computer said that they had been away for two hundred
and eighty years. The South Atlantic, such as remained, had an extra
island. It was a vast crescent shaped land mass pointing at West Africa. Argentina
had a massive scar across it where Buenos Aires might have been. The rate
of Earth’s rotation had increased so that one day was now twenty three and three quarter hours.
“Nearly three hundred years. Do
you see that? Nearly three hundred years. How does this come about? When did
the asteroid hit? Was anyone we know alive?”
“Does it matter? Clearly
everyone—everything, was killed. Einstein said that as you get nearer the
speed of light so your mass increases and time dilates. We‘ve been flying
at nearly three quarters the speed of light and, maybe, fold space affects things
as well in ways we neither know nor would understand.”
“I don’t feel older.”
“In real time, to us, we are
only a few months older. That three months to someone who as been
travelling at ‘normal’ speed must have seemed like we were barely moving. Just
think, you could have been throwing up for over a year at a time, to coin a phrase.”
“I feel no better for that
observation, thank you, Charles.”
“Our plan now is? What?”
“What have we got left in the
way of fuel and provisions? We could try broadcasting on all frequencies
to see if someone picks it up somewhere. Well, somebody might have got
away, you never know.”
“I’ll check the food and water
and run the calculator over the oxygen generators. You do an accurate fuel
check and start broadcasting. How’s that?”
“If we’re short anywhere then
it’s into the sun, then?”
“No need to be that desperate
yet. Yet.” Charles emphasized the last word as if to indicate that this
could well be answer. That or fade away somewhere in space to be
discovered by explorers from another planet in the future.
They met again an hour later in
the accommodation room. Charles had made tea and broken out a pack of
biscuits.
“Looks like bad news,” Graeme
observed the pouring and the adding of powdered milk and sugar.
“We’ve got rations to last
another few months so no problem there. It’s fuel that could be the major
set-back.”
“We have enough for one fold
of, maybe, eighty light years. That will not leave an awful lot for
manoeuvring at the other end.”
“So fifty light years would be
within limits and leave landing fuel?”
“That’s about it. We won’t be
able to charge up the electric toothbrushes once we’re there but we’ll be
on an oxygen planet.”
They both had the same idea. Get
back to the last planet. A sparse agrarian economy could support them
better than a dead Earth.
“How long do you think we’ll
have been away by the time we get there?” Graeme asked.
“Not sure. It’ll be over a hundred
years if our measurements here are accurate.”
“Got any more ginger pills?” Graeme
grimaced and turned back to the flight deck.
Charles imagined Graeme’s
discomfort. He had thought that there would be no more and then they had
both been hit with the realisation that, not only had everyone on Earth been
wiped out but, even had they not, there would be nobody left that they
knew.
And who knew what sort of
civilisation there would be nearly three hundred years on. Still, any sort
of civilisation would be better than this.
Charles climbed into his seat
and peered at the screens again. He was still hanging on to a desperate
hope that they would, at last, find someone alive; some semblance of
organisation remaining intact under the devastation. Nothing. He sighed
and started to go through the procedures for bringing the navigational computers
back on line.
Just for the sake of the thing,
they checked the moon on the way out. Then they looked at Mars and Titan
hoping to find a last surviving colony. There was nothing. Everything was
dead. Cold, bleak and desolate.
Graeme looked at the Kuiper
belt and remarked that it was a bit sparse, “I’d always rather fancied it
to be quite a thick collection of rocks. Actually, it’s hard to spot
anything out there.”
“Might have been a good idea to
pack a woman, or two,” Charles said.
Graeme looked at him,
surprised.
“Well. When you said ‘sparse’ I
thought that female companionship has been a bit thin on the ground
recently. Given the outcome of this mission it might have been a good idea
to bring women.”
“We’d have got ugly ones with
huge brains. Besides, it’s always easier to be a historian than a prophet.
We thought we’d come back as heroes and, potentially, take our pick of the
hero’s spoils. Instead we’ve got precious bloody little!”
“We’re coming up to speed. Want
to lie down, or something?”
“No. I took those bloody pills.
They might work this time. Huh!”
Graeme gripped his bag tightly
and hoped that it wouldn’t be as bad this time.
He came to with Charles leaning
over him with a concerned look on his face.
“I thought I’d lost you there. We’ll
have to stop doing this, it gets worse each time.”
“Was that a joke? Happily there
will be insufficient fuel to do it again. Whatever else, this is definitely the
last fold we do. Are we there?”
“Aye. We are that. We are on
the approach to the planet.”
Graeme tried to get up but
Charles pushed him gently back onto the floor.
“Just rest awhile. You are
still very weak and your pulse is erratic. Ugly women are all you could
manage at present,” Charles grinned at him and went to the flight deck.
Graeme realised that there was
a cushion under his head and a quilt over his body.
He had to admit that he really
did feel weak.
A day later Graeme joined
Charles on the flight deck and looked at the screens. He raised his
eyebrows “Towns?”
“Aye. And a network of roads
between them. No cars but quite a traffic in what looks like horse drawn
vehicles. Still a fire based culture. Can’t see any evidence of
electricity or industry.”
“Back to the simple life, then.”
“Life, at least,” Charles
nodded.
“Any idea of what they look
like?”
“No. None. Nobody wants to look
up just at the right time.”
They spent some time manufacturing
clothing that seemed to approximate what the locals were wearing as best
they could estimate and, eventually, eased the ship down onto a deserted
piece of land in a forested area.
The lift lowered them gently
down to the ground with only the slightest hiss of the hydraulics. They
crept through the trees to where they had seen the nearest town until, at
last, they could see the houses at the edge. It appeared quite civilised but
there was still no sign of any heavy industry or energy usage above that of
fire.
Some people were moving about,
doing small jobs here and there. Graeme and Charles walked slowly over to
where they were and watched. A small boy looked at them curiously and went
to an adult. He pointed at Graeme and Charles; there followed a discussion and
the adult, with two companions came over and spoke.
“I’m sorry, we don’t know what
you are saying,” Charles spread his hands out.
The people took a pace back and
frowned. There was more discussion and another approach. The man used some
sign language that neither of the two understood. Charles remarked that
they were very similar in appearance to themselves and tried a bit of sign
language back. This was clearly not understood either.
The leader of the group stroked
his chin and surveyed the two of them as if he was wondering what to do
next. Charles picked up a stick and tried to draw in the sandy ground a
picture of the area they were in at the moment.
Then Graeme’s watch alarm went off.
He automatically switched it off and reached in his pocket for his
painkillers.
Suddenly the crowd was upon
them. The tablets were taken from him and the watch ripped from his wrist.
“What’s happening, Charles?”
“I dinna ken...,” Charles got
out before he was gagged and tied.
They were dragged off to the
centre of the town. A man appeared wearing a tall black hat. He took out a
book and intoned various pronouncements that all seemed very serious. He
punctuated the speech with much pointing upwards and prodding of the book
he carried in his right hand.
Eventually he nodded and
pointed to something behind Graeme and Charles. They were dragged up some
logs and lashed to something hard and round.
Then someone lit
the logs and the crowd sang.
