Aupes

AUPES

Les Broad

Published by Les Broad at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 Les Broad

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PROLOGUE

Some people perhaps the perceptive ones, perhaps the gullible, Believed.

Some said that lines on the ground in South America were alien landing strips. Others contended that corn circles were complex messages. It had been argued that even the Bible contained descriptions of alien spaceships as pillars of fire. Those who really Believed knew that Earth had been visited over thousands of years by travellers from other worlds.

So-called ‘reliable' witnesses gave undramatic factual accounts. Airline and air force pilots reported craft doing impossible things. Police officers saw flying saucers on the ground. Radar operators saw blips that shouldn't do what they did.

But, naturally, some people refused to accept the evidence, arguing that there were rational, earthbound explanations for these phenomena. The late twentieth century boom in flying saucer spotting was explained as weather balloons, low flying aircraft and other mundane occurrences. Roswell? Area 51? These were of no significance at all if you refused to Believe.

There were of course those who had met Them. Their accounts may have been dismissed as tricks of the memory, lies or the product of hallucinogenic drugs but these people Believed.

But none of these people could ever know how important they really were.

Because they were momentously significant.

CHAPTER 1

In the year 2207 the pace of degradation seemed to increase. The only habitable places on the face of the planet were Europe north of the Alps and Scandinavia, and even what had once been Sweden was getting bad now.

It had been going on for nearly two hundred years. Mankind had entered the new millennium with unbounded optimism, with new-found wealth being created in East Africa based on new generation intelligent computer, robotics and deep-space avionics companies setting up in the equatorial regions. Tragically, this explosion of wealth occurred as reliance on fossil fuels declined sharply, plunging the Middle East into a financial crisis with amazing speed. That decline brought to the fore expansionist rulers who were prepared to use any means to regain their financially pre-eminent position in the world. A first strike on newly industrialised East Africa with chemical and biological weapons led to a response, forced on Western politicians by their corporate paymasters. Within hours sufficient weapons had been deployed to wipe out all life in sub-Saharan Africa, the Middle East and North America.

Those who made fortunes creating and trafficking in such weapons of mass killing insisted in their sales pitches that the effects were short term. They could not have been more wrong.

As well as the original target areas, Asia was now, nearly two hundred years later, all but a dead continent. Even Australia and New Zealand could no longer support any life. South America had been completely dead within fifty years. Europe resisted, but at huge cost as all efforts in any academic or technological field were directed at stopping the spread of murderous chemical clouds. Even so, southern Europe was finished and the habitable areas were becoming smaller with every year. But this year it was getting worse faster.

Against the threatening, ominous background Sarah Gifford worked in a pocket of what might almost be called civilisation in Denmark (as it used to be called) controlling a vast team dedicated to survival. She was a toxicologist but these days seemed to be a full time panic controller and administrator. Two years earlier she had instigated, in the greatest secrecy, a survival option.

She had sworn a specially convened meeting, in January 2205, to secrecy before outlining what she wanted to achieve. She had managed, as had those who had been Controller before her, to hold together the best people in all the necessary fields to fight the poisonous onslaught, but had realised that she and her predecessors in the shrinking world's most impossible job had been merely deferring the ultimate disaster of extinction. By the time she hatched her plan, she knew she would be the one who would be unable to hand over control. When the time came, everyone would have been dead for a decade or more.

On that freezing morning two years before, she had looked at the weary, drawn faces of her chosen team. Bryn Jenkins the Welsh engineer could, it seemed, build anything with nothing and make it run perfectly on hope alone. Marge Dorowitz was a physicist of considerable skill and, for someone of American origin, discreet and sensible. Finally there was the biologist. Nikki Weaver was young, just 25 whereas Jenkins was over 40, as was Marge, but her knowledge of her subject was encyclopaedic. Sarah was also in the over forty category but her years in charge made her look and act much older.

Let's all sit down. I have something to put to you all and I am nervous enough already without you three milling about.

Sarah sat behind her desk with Nikki straight in front of her. The others sat off to one side.

I'd appreciate it, Sarah began, if, as far as anyone else is concerned, this is just a routine updating session. OK? There were murmurs of interested agreement.

Good. I am going to start by admitting I'm frightened. Well, it's more than that, really, I'm actually scared to death. I've been checking back, as far as I can, over the whole period since the war - nearly two hundred years now - and I can't find any, repeat, any time when we've regained so much as a yard of ground against this damned poison. Sure, from time to time we've slowed it down some, maybe even halted it for a while, but we've never pushed it back. Let's face it, people, if we haven't done it yet, it just ain't about to happen. We're losing and with our resources reducing all the time we're not going to change that. For two centuries we've fought a losing battle and it seems pretty clear to me that I'm going to be the one in charge when the last of us dies. Anybody want to argue with me so far?

We've made progress with artificial environments, Nikki said, but realistically we'd need a major slowdown in degeneration, maybe eighty per cent, to give us a chance of getting something working properly. Every time we try anywhere near the poison border we lose another team. As the degeneration is on the increase I'd have to say it's hopeless.

OK. Anything to add? Marge? Bryn? Nobody replied.

We're agreed then. We've had it, maybe in five, ten years. Fifteen if we're optimistic, but then we'd probably starve before the poison kills us. As I see it we've got one option. Leave.

And go where? Marge seemed cynical. About the only place better is north Norway, but it's too damned cold to grow food and anyway with Sweden being bad and getting worse that situation won't last more than a year or two. We can't go anywhere.

Now hold on Marge, Sarah must have something in mind to raise the issue at all. I don't see what it could be, but let her go on.

Thanks, Bryn. But Marge is right. We're in the best place on Earth. Where I have in mind isn't on Earth.

The trio in the audience looked at each other in astonishment, but quickly Bryn's face showed that he was thinking about the proposal seriously. Marge was the one who took the point up.

Fantasy! The farthest we've been is Mars and there's nothing there to justify any hope of a permanent settlement as we've known for two hundred years or more. Anyway, I doubt if we could now drum up enough expertise to build an orbiter, much less an interplanetary vehicle. Sorry, Sarah, much as I admire you for trying to think of a novel solution you can forget that one.

Sarah looked Marge straight in the eye as she leaned forward.

Marge, she said, I wasn't thinking interplanetary -

Well, Marge jumped back in that makes a difference! We screw together a vehicle with lunar capability and after a few dozen trips we've got a nice little community up there, peering down on Earth waiting for the grass to start growing again. I'd rather take my chances down here, thanks.

It would be possible, given time, though. Bryn sounded unsure but his face showed a more positive disposition.

I'm sure it would be possible, Bryn, Sarah went on, But it's not enough. I want interstellar.

Marge snorted. Good grief. You're mad, quite mad.

No, Marge, I think, Bryn said quietly, it could be done. The engineering records are pretty good and somewhere there are some theoretical proposals for going outside the solar system – I read that stuff for fun when I’ve got time. Never tested, of course, so even if we could build the vehicle it would be bloody dangerous at every stage. My gut reaction is that we've got damn all to lose, so let's look at it.

OK, said Sarah, appearing satisfied, this is what I propose. Nikki can work out a payload in terms of food production and a genetic bank to start a new population. Bryn can see if a vehicle can be built. And you, Marge, can offer your skills to Bryn whenever he needs them as well as, if you don't mind me being direct, a healthy dose of cynicism towards the whole project, so that we don't get carried away. Questions?

What's the next stage, assuming my so-called cynicism doesn't quash everything inside twenty four hours?

I suggest we meet again in fourteen days with a view to making a decision as to whether or not we try.

CHAPTER 2

That had been two years ago. The decision had been made to look seriously at the possibility and that decision led to Bryn, aided by a small team he built up, creating a computer model of an interstellar vehicle. Now, that vehicle was a reality, and it sat a hundred miles to the north. Two years of work in the utmost secrecy had given a hope of survival to a few, yet to be chosen, people. Sarah Gifford again sat in her office with the same three people as two years previously. Bryn had been talking for a long time.

That's it, really. In simulation it gets off the ground and can achieve orbit, then, provided that the theory about travelling faster than light speed is right, we can get there, wherever there is.

I think you should tell us, said Marge, if only for the record, what happens if that theory is wrong.

We'd still get there. But we'd have been dead for millennia when we arrive.

There is no choice in my opinion. Sarah still believed that it was the only chance for human survival. "The poison spread is still accelerating and survival here in any acceptable way is probably now down to five years. What we now need to do is to decide who goes and who stays. Of those of us in this room I have made a decision, and I confess I have shed tears every day for many weeks over this, and I'll cry again after this meeting, I have no doubt. But I expect you to accept and abide by my decision.

Bryn must go. He is essential to the efficiency of this operation. Nikki, your level of expertise and payload knowledge dictates that you must also go, and you will go as mission commander. I will stay, as will you, Marge. I'm sorry that I am ordering you to die an unpleasant death.

It might be just as unpleasant to die a million miles from anywhere. I've never wanted to go. I agree that Bryn and Nikki are vital and, Nikki, you'll be a great commander. May whatever God you believe in smile on you.

No comments from you, Bryn, or you, Nikki?

I feel staggered that you think I can command the mission. Are you sure? Sarah just nodded.

For myself, I'd hate to let anyone else loose on my bird. I know her and can keep her flying; thanks for letting me go with her, Sarah.

Good. From now on mission headquarters will be on the vehicle, where Bryn and Nikki will base themselves. Assemble a list of those you want with you up to payload maximum and let me have it. If I think you're leaving anyone because they'd do more good here I'll overrule. Now get on with it.

Sarah sat back in her chair as the others left. It was curious that nobody had asked where they were supposed to be going if the vehicle actually got into space, but Sarah supposed that, just at the moment, it was a small detail. She'd tell Bryn when she visited mission HQ. That was that, then, she thought. Still only Bryn's team, Marge, Nikki and Sarah herself knew of the mission, and no-one who was to be left behind would be told until after the leavers had gone. Cowardly? Perhaps, but it would help to maintain order until departure and prevent any possibility of riots or worse, which the community would be ill-equipped to deal with. Feeling exhausted, Sarah left her office for some rest, well-earned in her opinion.

Bryn drove back to the vehicle site, now mission HQ. He stopped his transport and looked at his creation. God, he thought, it's ugly. But it should work. An element of doubt crept unbidden into his mind. Humans had been planet-bound for two centuries, and the last time they went anywhere only three of them went and spent months in a weightless environment just to get to Mars. Now, with no testing other than computer modelling, he was expected to take a large contingent of people, and herds of animals as well, in a vehicle, vast by comparison, that had untried artificial gravity, untried earth-launch engines and a speed capability that defied the imagination. The Mars ship approached five per cent of light speed at its fastest. This object in front of him was designed to go a thousand times faster, and then some. Bryn shuddered at the thought and realised that, for the first time, he was scared. Not of dying - that was going to happen in a few years anyway - but of failing.

His small team of engineers and large numbers of intelligent robots were working flat out, just as they had every day for two years. It had used all the creativity that could be mustered over that period and everything that could be drawn from the databanks they had been able to raid. Bryn gave silent thanks to whoever had inspired the late twentieth century free exchange of information between the European Space Agency and the American National Aeronautics and Space Administration. NASA had downloaded vast amounts into the ESA computers and all that data was still being used. The Russians had also provided data to ESA, but that contained little that NASA hadn't done better. The one thing that the Russians had unwittingly provided was base data about long-term space flights from their old Mir programme. Nikki had spent days working on that in preparing her payload schedules, then weeks trying to adjust the base data to make it relevant to an artificial gravity environment.

Nikki caught up with Bryn while he was under a control panel, only his legs sticking out onto the Bridge floor.

Got a minute, Bryn?

Hold on, got him! Get in there! Right, Commander, what can I do for you? Bryn had slipped easily into using Nikki's new rank. She was one of only two people for whom Bryn had total respect. He didn't allow himself to think about the other one deciding that she must remain on Earth, but he would have expected nothing less from Sarah.

I was wondering if you could say when this thing will be ready to fly.

Big question. I'll never say it'll be perfectly ready, but give me another week and, apart from one computer with nothing to do, it'll be as good as it'll ever get.

Why does one computer have nothing to do? There was a trace of a smile on Nikki's face, expecting a complicated answer that would be obvious as soon as Bryn said it.

Well now. It's the one thing nobody has mentioned. Too final, I suppose, or something. Navigation, Commander. It's the box of tricks that will point us to wherever we're going.

Nikki, like everyone else who knew about the mission, had shied away from considering a destination. Thinking about that meant thinking about being the first group of humans to leave Earth, never to return; the first people to establish a human civilisation on another planet without the means to return. She shuddered at the thought.

I agree, Commander, said Bryn reassuringly, best not to think about it until we have to. That need was close, and getting closer as Sarah drove up to mission HQ.

Sarah was experiencing some strange emotions as she drove with Marge Dorowitz and saw the big, ugly vehicle in the cold light of late afternoon. She intended to agree with Nikki who went and who stayed. She also needed to tell both Nikki and Bryn where they were going. In other words, she thought to herself, I'm telling Nikki which people get five years and then certain death, and which get sent off with an evens chance of dying sooner. And I have to tell Bryn to aim his untested vessel at a planet that exists only in theory. For the first time she had doubts about the mission, but immediately put them aside: it was too late now for her resolve to weaken.

Sarah and Marge met up with Bryn and Nikki in a cramped room, that was to be Bryn's cabin, aboard the vehicle.

Marge looked about her, as she had since coming aboard. She was as glad now that she was staying behind as she had been on every other visit here. What are you calling this thing - the Jenkins Model T?

No, Marge, Bryn replied with a smile, unless the Commander objects, she's going to be KonTiki.

I see, said Sarah, it shouldn't get where it's going, but come hell or high water it will?

That's it. It seemed appropriate.

I like it, as long as it's as successful as its inspiration. Nikki looked happy enough with the name of her command.

Good. Sarah's expression became more serious. Nikki, I have to ask you now about your decision as to who goes and who stays. Do you have a list?

Yes. It's not been easy. I started with a complement of 206, but as the computer projections proved that I needed more food than could be produced, I ended up with a reduced complement of 180 and sufficient seed and livestock to farm effectively on arrival. It allows for an accelerated mortality rate among the livestock during flight, which might happen. I've tried to construct a balanced mix of skills combined with the correct genetic types to start a colony with a realistic chance of growth. To do this I've weighted the complement heavily towards females of child bearing age, with an overall age limit of 40. Bryn is the one exception. She passed her list to Sarah, who scanned it quickly without comment.

I'll look at this in detail with you later. I have been dreading this moment for a long time, but we must address the question of the destination. I decided this before we first discussed the possibility of leaving Earth, and although it may be a weakness on my part I've found it an awful burden to bear. Bryn, do you have a star chart?

Give me a minute, I'll call it up. He sat at his computer terminal and produced the chart. Sarah looked at it for a moment, then used the mouse to highlight an undistinguished-looking star a little further out on the sun's arm of the galaxy.

There, she said quietly, research carried out with space telescopes suggested that there is a planetary system. All that I've seen, and I spent a long time studying that star, makes me believe that one of its planets will be sufficiently Earth-like to support you when you arrive. None of you will be surprised when I say that the latest research was carried out pre-war and we may have lost some relevant data, so we can't be sure that I'm right. But it's where you're going, and if I am right you can name your first city Gifford, OK?

Nobody spoke as Marge sat back, more relieved than ever that she was destined to die on her own planet, and the others stared in silent contemplation at the screen.

Think of it this way, Sarah said quietly in an effort to lighten the mood a little, you go there, get organised, travel the planet and have children and grandchildren. No-one on Earth will ever know the pleasure of grandchildren, or be able to travel freely again. The risks are very, very high, but there is a chance. We who are staying have no future, no chance at all.

If the space telescopes were still up there we could have a closer look. Bryn said this in a matter-of-fact tone, but it prompted a reaction from Marge.

Let me see if I've got this straight. A hundred and eighty people are climbing onto this bucket of bolts full of untried systems, travelling for years if they're lucky and then hoping that the planet they've aimed for firstly exists and secondly might support life. Is that about right?

I think you do the research and the engineering some injustice, but essentially you're right. Do you still want to go, Nikki? Bryn?

I don't know what the Commander feels, but I reckon there's enough work gone into this vehicle to give us a fighting chance, unless we've made any major mistakes. Yes, Sarah, I want to go.

And I support what Bryn has said. I am still prepared to command the mission. I think we should keep any doubts about the destination to ourselves. Those going need to know that there is a viable destination and those staying should, I think, know that there's an outside chance of us coming back in the future, if they survive.

OK, we're agreed. Nikki, you and I must go through the list of leavers. I'm sure Bryn and Marge can get to work programming the computers now they have a destination.

CHAPTER 3

Several hours later Nikki's list had been examined, person by person, and Sarah had needed to make only one change. Bryn was able to confirm that the computer had worked out a course, and that dictated a departure that was now fifty three days away.

Sarah seemed happy that the leavers could be assembled and briefed in that time, but made it clear again that those staying would be told of the mission only when it had left. She told Bryn that she would send the leavers up to the site in small groups to be accommodated on board, but she and Marge would not return until the date of the departure.

The days passed quickly as groups arrived, knowing nothing at all about what was expected of them. Nikki and Bryn briefed each group as they arrived, dealt with questions, fears, and a few refusals. With ten days to go the whole complement was in residence, including those who had initially refused. There was an atmosphere of optimism on board although everyone accepted the huge risks. Two days before departure KonTiki was fuelled from the carefully assembled and created mixtures that had been gathered over the past two years, leading Bryn to mutter, constantly but inaudibly, about the weight of his beloved KonTiki, the engine power predictions and the containment on board of the fuel for acceleration to multiples of light speed. His stress level rose visibly with each passing hour and Nikki had to ensure that he took rest, otherwise he would never have stopped working. She also made sure that everyone else kept, as far as possible, out of his way.

Sarah Gifford arrived alone. Marge Dorowitz had declined the chance of seeing KonTiki leave because, she said, she couldn't be a witness to something that sent so many people to their deaths. Sarah knew her too well, and although she accepted the words, she knew the real reason was that Marge would, at some point, break down.

Sarah spent a lot of time meeting each and every one of the leavers, encouraging and supporting them and in some cases tempering their wild hopes. When she finally disembarked for the last time she had tears streaming down her cheeks as she stood with Bryn and Nikki on green grass.

I'm sorry, she said, I don't think I can stop the tears.

Don't worry, Bryn said cheerfully, if you can't be honestly emotional now you'd be less than human. Look after them, Sarah. When we've gone there will still be thousands who need you.

And they couldn't have anyone better, Nikki added, then paused. This is it, isn't it? When we go back up those steps, we lose contact for ever, whatever happens. You can't know whether we're alive, or spread across the galaxy in molecules. I should say something significant, shouldn't I? Sarah realised that, far from saying anything significant, Nikki could say nothing at all as she started to cry as well.

Well, you two, this really won't do. Bryn looked at the two tearful women. It's as well that those on board can't see their Mission Commander weeping away, and Sarah being worse. His tone was gentle and understanding, helping them to recover some composure.

This is goodbye, then, Sarah said, my thoughts go with you. Make it work.

We will, Sarah. Gifford base is as good as established. Nikki hugged Sarah and turned away, quickly climbing aboard and disappearing from Sarah's sight for the last time.

Mr Jenkins, I commend the wellbeing of the souls aboard to you. Take them swiftly and safely, assist Commander Weaver as and when she may need it and may this exceptional vehicle live up to your expectations. Goodbye, old friend. Sarah hugged Bryn briefly then walked away as fast as she could before she broke down again. She was a couple of hundred yards away before she trusted herself to