Chapter 10
February 2080 ~ Earth orbit
Tina Hammer eyed her new distinctions; major now. It didn't mean as much to her as it once had, but she still considered it a sign of the confidence entrusted upon her by the admiral. As second in command, she was expected to hold a higher rank. Admiral Hamilton had picked her himself, and she had been surprised. After all, she'd only been a captain, and she had expected a middling position on Exodus. She hadn't even been sure she'd be selected at all. But here she was, entrusted with command of the greatest achievement in human history, second only to the admiral himself.
Considering they were now finally orbiting Earth, she felt immensely proud. The feat accomplished in less than seven years was nothing short of amazing, but she also knew the price that had been paid. While almost every part of the Exodus was built on Earth, orbital assembly had been a massive project, and the safety regulations that would have been mandatory on any ordinary construction site had been virtually nonexistent for the assembly workers in space. There had been several bad injuries and even a few losses. A few unlucky workers were actually floating lifeless through space somewhere right now, while Tina was taking in the view of Earth from the bridge of the Exodus. The cost, in both monetary and human terms, had been astronomical, but the starship was ready, and the 1,628 crew and passengers were soon to leave on their final journey into deep space. This was the day they had been waiting for, the day the greatest adventure in human history would begin. She thought of her own journey so far, which had taken her through every obstacle the instructors had been able to throw at her, and even close to the front lines of a civil war, and she felt grateful. She knew that her own efforts and dedication had played a great part, but there had been a substantial element of luck involved. She was one of the very few who were given a chance for a new life on a distant world, and she felt that there were so many others who deserved it more. That’s one of the reasons she’d stood up for the children from the last shuttle, and that was why she was so determined that every single person on board would be given the same chance to see the new world and build their new life there. The idea of sending the kids from the last shuttle back to Earth had made her stomach twist, and she would do whatever it took to avoid that. It seemed now, that with the plan for keeping a small part of the crew awake at all times, that could be avoided. And as an added bonus, they could get so much work done while in transit. Of course there would still be a while before anyone could be put to sleep, as the cryo cells needed adjustment, and there was still a lot of other work to be done. But in a couple of months, the first passengers would be put to sleep, and several of them wouldn’t be revived at all before they reached Aurora, 165 years from now.
The Exodus was the pinnacle of human engineering and adaptability, and the designers had made redundancy, ease of maintenance, and speedy assembly the ruling guidelines in every aspect of its construction. And the time from decision to execution had been nothing short of a sensation. Humanity had shown that it actually did possess the ability to build a starship. When they discussed it, a lot of people wondered why it hadn’t been done before. The media, slowly realizing their limitations within the current system, had started asking difficult questions, and down on Earth, the president was under a lot of pressure. The what-ifs of space exploration had suddenly become a major debate. Observers and opinion makers had started asking the questions that everyone asked themselves now that Earth was in dire peril. What if NASA hadn’t been disbanded? What if this kind of ingenuity, combined with government support, had surfaced earlier? What if ten such voyages could have already colonized other planets? What if humanity hadn’t been Earthbound, and hence fragile and vulnerable in the face of such threats as Devastator? The answers seemed to be multiple. Lack of visionary leadership, the priority of immediate needs before long-term planning, control issues due to the impossibility of Earth’s leadership to fully control a colony light years away, inability to plan for projects across generations, inability to fully realize the risk inherent in having all eggs in one basket. Tina had thought about all these things, and even discussed them with some of the others on board, such as Kenneth Taylor, whom she’d gotten acquainted with just a few weeks ago. Tina had been put in charge of the practical issues associated with reviving certain members of the crew throughout the duration of the journey, and thought it wise to consult with the psychologist on board. Although there would be a certain psychological strain involved in the periods of wakefulness on a large ship traveling through space, while most others would be asleep, the thing that concerned Tina the most was the waking process. From the experiments conducted on Earth, she’d learned that a percentage of those who were revived were prone to several afflictions, such as depression, despair, disorientation that could last for weeks, and in more rare cases even psychosis. It seemed there was something in the waking process that caused all this, although they couldn’t be certain. But because they were going to have a lot of people experiencing that traumatic event—twice, they needed to do something about it. Taylor had offered some great advice on it, which would now be possible to implement, given the time at their disposal.
She had also discussed her thoughts on why man hadn’t journeyed into deep space before with her long time friend Henry Carroll, who apparently had also given it a lot of thought. Henry, though, had come to different conclusions, and explained that what seemed so feasible now, would have been almost impossible to imagine with any degree of realism only a few years ago, when everything about the situation had been so different. From her discussions with Dr. Taylor and Henry, she had adjusted her views quite a bit. While sending a starship on an interstellar journey was something that could be done now, it had been very different in the years prior to the arrival of Devastator.
The truth was that any earlier starship would have been fundamentally different from the Exodus. There were three things that made the Exodus groundbreaking, in addition to its size and purpose. First, there was the fusion rocket, which enabled it to reach 5 percent of light speed. Combined with a gravity assist, a technique that had been used both in manned and unmanned spaceflight for a long time, and which basically meant sending the ship through a slingshot maneuver by the sun that actually doubled its speed, the fusion rocket was able to achieve 10 percent of light speed. Any attempt at sending a starship into deep space, utilizing either chemical propulsion or nuclear fission, would have been a lot slower, and the journey would have taken thousands of years. Nuclear fusion though, would have been the least of the problems, since the theory had been established and fusion reactors had actually been around for decades, but without a strong incentive, that had been as far as fusion technology had gone, until the need made further development imperative.
Second, the development of the modern cryogenic technique made the journey possible within the lifetime of its participants. Cryo sleep, or just Sleep, as it had come to be called among the inhabitants of the Exodus, was a technique that combined the old idea of lowering body temperature to slow down metabolism with newer developments that utilized chemicals to achieve and enhance the same purpose. That combination would, according to the scientists, prevent expansion of the cells due to lower temperatures and thus deterioration of the body, which had been one of the main concerns associated with the technique. The various stages of development had been tested on humans, and although very little information had come out of the labs, it was known that there had been losses and human suffering that would have been unbearable for a truly democratic society. Such a practice had been impossible to defend in public before the reforms. Even under the Andrews presidency and in the face of a threat to the survival of mankind, the inhuman aspects of such a practice had made the research and development of the technique one of the most guarded secrets of the government. But being able to put the participants on a journey of this scale to sleep, and to revive them again once they reached their destination, without their bodies having aged more than just a few mon
ths, made such a journey more likely to succeed for two reasons: first, the ones entering the ship to leave Earth would know that they would wake up to take part in the exploration and colonization of a new world. That would ensure that a sense of purpose could be preserved, and not be diluted and even lost throughout the ages. That was a very real possibility if the journey was to be undertaken by a generation ship, where the original spacefarers raised new generations on board, and those who reached their destination would have no personal relationship to Earth. Second, mastery of the cryogenic technique also made construction easier, because those asleep would need very little in the way of supplies, compared to an awake human being, and they could be stowed in their cryo cells, much like cargo containers on an ocean-going ship. That made the ship more economical in terms of volume. There would also be much less need for living quarters, although some living space had to be allowed for, not only for the crew, but because there would be periods at the start and the end of the journey when all would be awake. But for such limited periods, crowding and very little personal space would be more acceptable.
Third, the discovery of Nemesis. As the ESA had confirmed during the early brainstorming, Nemesis could serve as the key to decreasing the travel time from several millennia—clearly not an option—to just 165 years, which would feel like 161 to those on board, due to the time dilution effect caused by relativity. Without the existence—and discovery—of Nemesis, it would have taken more than four centuries to reach Aurora.
So any earlier attempts at colonizing other star systems would have taken a lot longer, and it would most likely have had to be undertaken by generation ships. It would have been possible, but both the technical and psychological aspects would have been vastly different.
Tina had only a few minutes before she had to join Admiral Hamilton for the final preparations for the initial boost that would take them out of Earth orbit. As her eyes took in this magnificent image of Earth, she realized that this was an entirely new stage of human development. They were being sent on a journey through space, to colonize and create a new life for human kind, and in the process they had learned to master interstellar travel. Although their new lives on Aurora would initially be a fight for survival, and primarily revolve around the exploration of a new planet for a long time, eventually they would want to explore even more. They would remember what happened to Earth, and there would be a drive to reach further, to find new worlds on which to plant the seeds of humanity. By then, they would have the means to do so, which meant that mankind would never again be as vulnerable as it was at this time. The thought comforted her, as she turned away from the view of Earth, so undisturbed and peaceful from this distance, and recognized she had seen her home world for the last time.
September 2080 ~ Solar system
There was really nothing remarkable about Thomas Dunn, no obvious reason for anyone to consider him an asset, but somehow he’d been able to convince George Havelar and the rest of the Consortium during those last few weeks before the launches began, that they needed to bring him along. He had none of the obvious skills required: he’d flunked out of college in his sophomore year, he had no military background, no medical skills, no craftsmanship or technical background, although he was handy enough, and of course he was not one of the lucky few who’d been able to buy their ticket off Earth. When asked about his role in the venture, he’d either shrug it away, or give some vague reference to colony management or personnel, but hardly anyone could actually say what his job would be once they reached the new world. His official title was junior executive, which of course meant absolutely nothing to anyone. Anyone except Havelar and a select few of the head figures on the Consortium, that was.
Before he approached Havelar’s people the first time, Dunn had gotten his hands on a detailed description of the selection process out west, and he instantly knew that he wouldn’t stand a chance going that route. So he had devised a plan that involved quite a bit of risk, and also a sacrifice; but the gains outweighed the risks, so he went through with it. He had his doubts about the sacrifice, but he’d pushed them out of his mind. He had, with the assistance of some very talented people, been given an entirely new identity, and his old life had been completely erased. The old Thomas Dunn, or whatever his name might have been, existed only in his own private memories now. When Havelar, or anyone else for that matter, did a background check on him, they would find that he’d been involved in some shady business in Europe, involving an attempted overthrow of the mainly socialist government of Greece, and had barely escaped the authorities there, before settling for a while in Turkey, running a restaurant business. From time to time his name would appear in reports pertaining to several arms dealers and security service providers in the Middle East and Africa, although he never seemed to have a prominent role, and there seemed to be no active participation on his part. Then, during the civil war, his name would pop up in connection with Istanbul intelligence. Of course, that could never be completely verified, since all intelligence records had been burned before the fall of Istanbul, and those who could be connected to his name had fallen or disappeared during those last chaotic days of the regime. Thomas Dunn had then turned up at Miami International Airport six months later with a forged French passport and been detained briefly, until the authorities had finally bought into his explanation that he’d had to get a fake passport to get out of Turkey alive. He’d been charged, but released with a suspended sentence for carrying forged documents to gain access onto American soil.
When he’d contacted Havelar’s people, they had immediately checked up on him, once he offered information on a conspiracy against the Exodus project. He’d told them that he’d been approached by an Englishman who had known ties to terrorist financiers, a man that only existed on paper, of course. This man had, according to his story, said he could get him into the selection process for the Exodus. His role then would be to send information out through an associate, who happened to work for the Energy Department. The reason he’d been approached, he was told, was his reputation for being a professional and utterly mercenary. And although he’d been involved in a lot of dirty business in the cause of good money, he was also a true patriot, so he’d considered going to the police with this information. But then it had occurred to him that there was another way to go about this. So he’d decided to go to the Consortium with the information, on one condition; that they got him on board the Exodus. In return he would smoke out the conspiracy, get to know the people who could be involved, and use his knowledge to infiltrate and subvert the conspiracy from within. After a few initial meetings with Consortium security officers, he’d been given an audience with the man himself, George Havelar. At that point he knew that they had bought into his story. But there were even bigger schemes at work, and with his seat on board the Exodus secured, his next move could be made.
He was late for his meeting with Havelar, but he saw no reason to rush it. His cool, unconcerned demeanor was all part of his persona, part of who Thomas Dunn was. So he walked with a slow pace through the corridors, while thinking how convenient the artificial gravity was, to a person like him, who had worried how the lack of gravity would affect his way of behaving; whether he would be able to keep up the whole charade. One less thing to worry about, he thought to himself. He came around a corner and almost bumped into a man he seemed to recognize.
“Ah, Kenneth Taylor, right? The shrink?” He winked.
The psychologist smiled back and replied. “That’s right, ah, Mr. Dunn?” Thomas nodded quickly. So he’s noticed me, he thought.
“So what are you up to, Mr. Dunn? One last glimpse of Earth? We should be able to see it by now,” Taylor continued. After the gravity assist by the sun they were now passing Earth one last time on their journey through the solar system.
“Nah, just getting some exercise.” As Thomas heard his own words, he heard how lame they sounded. He was a fit young man; walking wasn’t what he’d consider exercise.
“Well, that’s important, I guess. Or, it used to be, back when I was a space cadet.” Now that was interesting. The shrink had been a space cadet? He’d never have guessed. Maybe there was more to the old brain tinkerer than he let on. He’d have to check up on that.
“I didn’t know you were a space cadet,” Thomas said. The psychologist just smiled.
“Well, maybe I’ll tell you the story later, over a beer. Say, in 165 years perhaps?” They both laughed politely, and then carried on in opposite directions. Thomas continued toward the rear of the living quarters area, where the Consortium held a small compartment that Havelar normally had reserved to himself. As Dunn reached the door, he paused to gather his thoughts.
His cover story was a mix of details, a lot of them true, others convenient little half truths and lies that fit the mix and the purpose of his story. Of course, the picture he’d painted to Havelar and his goons wasn’t even remotely close to the truth about who Thomas Dunn really was.
He knew that the stakes were high, and that he, just as every other individual involved, was expendable. The greater good was the important thing, and as long as the main objective was preserved, that justified all sacrifices. After all, this was about the future of mankind, and what mankind would become. So, for the greater good, he had condemned a poor Energy Department employee to torture, using him as bait to gain the confidence of his enemies. That had further led to the death of a great man, as dedicated to the cause as he was. He had only met him once, but the man had impressed him with his vision, his long-term planning, and his ability to get results without the FBI suspecting anything. Thatcher, he recalled, had been one of the masterminds behind the plan, and so he must have known that his own fate would be sealed. Now even the senator was a wanted man. Dunn could only hope that he’d get away, although it didn’t seem likely. America was a police state these days, and to disappear from the eyes of the powerful FBI took considerable resources, lots of planning, and preferably help from the inside.
Others too would be sacrificed, and when he thought about that, he remembered a quote from Nietzsche: “Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster, and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.” Every time he thought of that quote, and he had done so frequently of late, he got a feeling he was balancing on a knife’s edge, and that the abyss was reaching up for him.
As he entered the room, the question still remained: who was Thomas Dunn?