The Agathon: Book One (14 page)

Main Observatory

Mars Colony 1

15:00 Martian Standard

Carrie stared at the blank screen. The chancellor was not what she was expecting at all. There was a softness in her that she had never seen on the Jycorp communication channels or media reports from Earth. She sensed a great sadness from her when she had been speaking about her brother, which she had barely been able to contain. She could feel her father’s heartbeat as he learned of his promotion. His ability to contain pressure and use its negative impact on the mind as a positive thing was what she admired most about him. She was alone in the lab. Most of the equipment had already been sent to The Agathon and Tyrell had left her in charge of his main lab. While the observatory array was still operational, its functions had been taken over by the Phobos Orbital platform. Tyrell had given an elaborate story to Carrie about what happened to the imaging chamber, which was now an empty space in the middle of the observatory.

“There was a breach of highly charged ion particles during a maintenance routine,” he had said. “I was rather lucky it didn’t kill me,” he had finished. Of course she had known instantly that he was lying. The easiest of human emotional tells she had learned as a child. She had expressed concern for the cuts on his hand, but had let the matter drop. Why would he destroy the imaging chamber?

She was having some trouble concentrating on her tasks, as the lingering memories of her encounter with Chavel in his shuttle pod remained in her mind. She walked into Tyrell’s personal lab and began a wavelength analysis of the final seconds before the signal changed. While Tyrell had already done several he had instructed her to compile a nanosecond report into several of the oscillations, which seemed to show minor variations. He was just trying to keep her busy and off the scent of what had happened to the imaging chamber. Carrie knew that. He rarely let her have access to his personal lab.

Behind her the sample of The Black sat quietly in the containment room. For several minutes Carrie watched as the computer ran a diagnostic of the wavelength patterns of the signal. It eventually revealed a minor variance in the upper phase of the atomic transference, but nothing that could account for such a dramatic change of the nature and strength of the particle wave. She eventually swivelled in her chair and faced the containment room where The Black was held. She gazed into the room and watched the container of black fluid. It was settled in a spherical transparent ball elevated above a solid metal platform. She stood from her seat and stood by the entrance to the chamber. There was a large sign stencilled on the clear glass door. DO NOT ENTER. HAZARDOUS BIOCHEMICAL SUBSTANCES.

She did not know why she opened the door but moments later she was inside the containment room and was staring directly into the glass sphere holding the lethal life form. There was an attraction to the fluid. She had never been this close to it, but she had a powerful urge to smash the container and release it. A strange sensation of calm fell upon her as she reached up and ran a finger across the surface of the smooth outer layer of the sphere. A small bubble formed on the surface of the fluid.

“Home,” she heard in her mind. A dark voice that was not her own yet sounded like her.

“You are of here,” it said.

“Yes I am,” she replied in a trance. Her eyes now wide and pupils dilated, she began caressing the sphere with The Black inside which was beginning to gurgle and pop.

“You are of here,” the voice in her head said again.

“I am of here,” she repeated out loud to the empty room. She began to close her eyes and as she did so visions of a utopian world began to fill her mind.

Blue skies with streaks of white clouds overlooked advanced and endless seas of technological civilisation. Flying craft darted amongst the hazy, white backdrop above. Enormous glass towers filled with lights pierced the atmosphere with grandiose and bold arrogance. The roads and streets of mega cities, filled with surface vehicles and millions of bipedal creatures swarming, filled her field of view. Interconnecting transport hubs linked an endless array of surrounding structures. She knew this place. There were forests with trees that reached for miles into the sky. Huge laborious animals with a multitude of limbs and defensive horn structures on their backs ran through an open plain. She flew over them and watched as they merged with an array of other creatures of various shapes and sizes, all huddled around a great lake.

She was snapped awake suddenly with a bolt of electricity that ran the length of her body. She felt as though she were having a heart attack as the burst of light that shot out of her fingertips connected directly with the electrical converters in the walls of the containment chamber. The force of the burst made her scream and she hit the ground, covering her head. The room flickered to red as the emergency lights kicked in and she found herself staring up at The Black in the containment sphere. It had become still. She looked at her fingertips, which were red.

She touched the tops of her fingers together. To her surprise they were cold to the touch. Like she had placed ice cubes on each one. The ends of her jumpsuit were frayed and smouldering. She looked around the floor to see if she had accidentally tripped one of Tyrell’s power outlets and the charge had not grounded itself properly. The floor was clear. She looked overhead. Just the internal lighting panel, at least eight feet above her. She stepped around the sphere container holding The Black and looked for loose connections. The container had no loose fibrous connections or connections of any kind attached to it. She slowly made her way to the door of the lab and opened it.

She felt as though she had been
sleep
-walking. Not fully conscious yet not really asleep. She closed the door behind her and left Tyrell’s personal lab. She poured herself a glass of water and tried to rationalise what had occurred. Her fingertips were still cold. There was no pain. No bruising. No third degree burns. She caught a reflection of herself in the mirror placed on a diagnostic table. Her eyes were pulsating brightly with the rhythm of her heartbeat. She shut them and opened them again. The electric blue became even more prominent, before starting to fade back to her natural colour. She looked calmly at herself and began to cry.

“What is happening to me?” she screamed to nothing.

9

T
ransport vessel ‘Ramona’

Six kilometres off the port side of the Jycorp Orbital Station

Phobos

Time since Evacuation 103 days

24 Hours to impact

C
aptain Harry Gray had fallen asleep at the con. He had spent the night staring out at the stars, wondering how long he had left to live. He awoke in the early hours to find himself alone as usual, with his legs perched against the flight controls. Most of the people he had been transporting had departed to the civilian orbital station with only three leaving for the Jycorp Orbital. He had positioned the long cylindrical ship towards the direction of Earth and had kept the viewing port tracked against its former position. He reached over to a raised side table and poured himself a glass of water.

“Status,” he said to the computer, after clearing his throat.

“All systems functioning within normal parameters, Captain.” The surrounding air was quiet. A slow hum from the ventilation system filled the cockpit. He stood up and made his way to a shelf to the rear of the cockpit and sifted through the old books that he had accumulated over the years. He picked up a copy of
Moby Dick
and sat back in his chair. A frayed bookmark was lodged securely in the centre of the book. He opened it and began to read. He had almost no contact with the people he had brought on board. He had had almost no real contact with people in years.

A true space junkie, but without the ambition or political knowhow to rise through the ranks of the fleet, he had contented himself on flying transports for the rest of his life. He was okay with it. He had no family to support and no peers to compete against. He was a quiet and reserved man. A forgettable face at a party. He had led a relatively uneventful life, taken up with the Mars supply and personnel run for the last six years.

He had read about Jennifer Barrington’s death and been saddened by it. The Ramona had been the transport that had carried the commander and his wife to Mars. He had remembered her being a charming and
kind
-hearted woman, who had always given him brief conversation in the corridors of the Ramona during their trip. The commander had taken the time to sit with him for several minutes at the control to check out the ship operations. He had found it awkward, but had appreciated Barrington’s courtesy.

He had no property or ties to Earth and had always known that his life would probably end at the control of this vessel or another. His castle was the Ramona. He did not submit his name to the lottery. Joining The Agathon in hyperspace, with thousands of strangers, was not how he planned to end his days and there was a strange fascination with taking this old girl to the outer rim under his command. And so it was that Harry Gray was to remain with the convoy. He began to read.
I know not all that may be coming, but be it what it will; I’ll go to it laughing
. His comm system chirped.

“To all personnel. This is John Barrington. We have incoming debris. Lock down all vessels and seal emergency bulkheads. To all transport vessels, begin evasive manoeuvres. Take cover behind the planet. This is not a drill. Barrington out.” Gray snapped his attention to the viewing port. He saw nothing.

“Computer, release flight lockout.” The main flight controls came to life and he began turning the ship to port.

“To all personnel, this is the captain. General quarters. I repeat, general quarters. Seal all bulkheads and prepare for impact.” He increased his rate of turn and began seeing a small cloud of rocks approaching from the starboard area of the vessel. Both space stations and the remaining transport ships came into his field of view. The ships were making similar turning manoeuvres. The glow from each of their engine housings was almost synchronised. He increased his rate of turn to port and set his engines to eighty percent. The warm reflection of the Martian surface filled his field of view, as he set a course for the rear of the plant.

“Computer, track incoming projectiles,” he shouted. A
three
-dimensional rendering appeared hovering over his operations console. What looked like a thousand small objects filled the image. It looked like a swarm of bees after a honey thief.

“Jesus,” Gray whispered to himself.

“Distance from objects?” he shouted at the computer.

“Five hundred and
sixty
-two meters,” came the reply. The Ramona was a manoeuvrable ship, but its speed and acceleration curve were relatively limited due to its drive systems being nearly sixty years old. The first impact hit shook the bulkheads of the cockpit.

“Impact aft quarter. Section two alpha. Take evasive action,” the computer’s voice sounded over a klaxon that began screaming from overhead. Gray increased speed to maximum.

“Damage?” he shouted. Before the computer had a chance to reply a second impact threw him out of his chair and sent him crashing into the side of his main control panel. He hit the ground and heard a defining crack. Blood began to flow freely from an open wound on the top of his head. The ship continued to shake.

“Hull breech, section 33 Beta,” came the report from the computer. The stars outside began to change wildly as the ship began to list uncontrollably. Gray tried to stand, but crumpled under a broken ankle. He screamed in pain.

“Hull breach section 22, section 24, section 29. Emergency containment procedures offline. Oxygen levels at critical. Evacuation recommended,” the computer continued.

Gray focused on his good leg and hauled himself slowly back into his chair. He tapped the comm panel.

“This is the captain, all hands to escape pods. Abandon ship.” The third impact hit, causing a deafening sound of crunching metal and internal explosions inside the vessel. Electrical systems began to explode all around him. A small fire broke out at the aft of his compartment and began filling the cockpit with smoke. Then everything went dark. He began finding it difficult to breathe and knew that the oxygen levels in the cockpit were beginning to fail.

He reached behind him and tried to activate the fire suppression systems, which ignored his commands. He dragged himself to the rear cockpit door, which was unresponsive. He glanced back through the viewing port and began to see the Martian surface fill the screen. More internal explosions filled his ears. His breathing began to become laboured as he dragged himself back into his chair. As smoke filled his thoughts he gave one last look to the book, which now lay on the deck plating. A deafening crunch blocked out his fear, as the glass on the viewing port exploded, venting what was left of the atmosphere, as Harry Gray was engulfed in a fireball.
I know not all that may be coming, but be it what it will; I’ll go to it laughing.

J
ycorp Orbital platform

“Mother of God,” said Sienna Clark, peering out of the viewing port at the explosion that had just lit up the night sky. The cold and callous collection of twisted rock had narrowly missed the space station. One of the transports had taken the full brunt of the attack and was now a broken flotsam of electrical fires and hull fragments.

“We lost one,” said Greyson, who was by her side. “Ma’am, we need to leave here.” For the first time since she had known him she thought she felt genuine fear in his voice.

“Clark to Young,” she said into a wall panel.

“Young here, are you all right? It’s over for now.”

“How many did we lose?” she asked.

“We are checking now. It looks like most of the people had transported off onto The Village.” Clark had taken it upon herself to rename the civilian station ‘The Village earlier that month. It had seemed appropriate.

Young continued, “We lost the captain and twelve on board.” Clark felt a profound sense of sadness as her own mortality and that of her people were suddenly thrown into her field of vision.

“How long until the fragment hits?” she asked wearily.

“Twenty
-three hours, Chancellor.”

“Jerome, I think it is time we left, don’t you?”

“Yes, Chancellor, I’m on my way to you now. We’ll conference with Barrington and begin final prep. See you in five. Young out.”

She looked at Greyson who was staring out of the viewing port. She placed a hand on his shoulder and walked over to the long conference table in the centre of the room. Spread out over the table were lists of names on long scripts of paper. Each name had a small picture attached to it. Hundreds of faces scattered in piles. She sat at the top of the table. She had been in this room for several days, sifting through the names of those that had survived. Some of them she had recognised, but most she did not. Scientists, civilians and a handful of children that had escaped on orbiting transports.

There had been some problems with the lottery. Not unexpected, with the high level of emotion running amongst the survivors. Small skirmishes had broken out when allegations of rigging had begun circulating amongst the people on the stations. The desire for a place on The Agathon had been greater than expected and she had had to address the people on a number of occasions, imploring them to be calm and assuring them that they would all make the trip to a new world. Most of the Mars Colony had all transported up at this stage, with only a few remaining to bring the last of the food synthesisers and power cells from the Atmo processors up from the surface. It had been discovered that they could be converted to adapt to the power output levels of both space stations.

The pile of documents closest to her held a selection of candidates to command both stations. Young’s decision to join The Agathon had been a moot point. His expertise had been an essential component in the choice. She knew there was no chance of him staying behind and had requested to see who they would be leaving in charge. There was no shortage of qualified personnel and they had shortlisted six candidates. The door hissed open and Young and Tosh entered the room. Sienna nodded to the two men.

“Gentlemen, how are we fixed?” she asked. Tosh looked pale.

“We have confirmed the numbers on the Ramona,” Young said.

“Fourteen, including the captain.”

“Any other damaged vessels?” Sienna asked

“No, we were lucky,” said Tosh. Sienna was taken aback by the comment.

“Lucky is not a word I would use to describe our current situation, Doctor Tosh.” Young held up his hand and directed them towards the table. Tosh floated across the room and positioned himself at the end of the table. Sienna felt bad for snapping at Tosh, but ignored it. She tapped a control panel on the table and a large screen emerged from its centre.

“Agathon, this is Jycorp Orbital,” said Young into the screen after opening a channel.

“Go ahead, Jycorp,” replied John Barrington’s voice. His face appeared on the screen.

“Report, John?” asked Young.

“We sustained no damage from the incoming projectiles. I have a report of minor damage to Atmo 3 but we evacuated the facility four days ago so no casualties. How many did we lose on the transport?” he asked gravely.

“Fourteen, including the captain,” answered Sienna.

“The fragment is closing, Chancellor. We are in the last stages of hull integrity checks, but we are getting readings from the main FTL drive that suggest the main plasma relays are fluctuating. Manoeuvring thrusters are fully operational and we are disengaging from the construction arms as we speak. We can’t engage the FTL in orbit or do a test on the system until we are at least one hundred thousand kilometres away from the planet.”

“The last of the crew and personnel are transporting over and I think we should get going in the next twelve hours. I would like to run a test of the FTL ring up to ninety percent torque before we do this, but I don’t know if we have time. The fragment is towing a debris field of several thousand kilometres. Chancellor, I would suggest breaking orbit as soon as possible. We are cutting this too close. Can you give me numbers for remaining people to board The Agathon?” Young looked at the Chancellor.

“Captain, we have one more transport and then we are clear,” Young answered.

“Understood,” answered Barrington.

“Captain, how confident are you the FTL will work?” asked Clark bluntly. There was silence in the room as Barrington looked around at his crew off screen.

“It will work,” he replied. Clark knew that statement was for his crew.

“I understand,” she replied. She looked at Tosh.

“Chancellor, the spatial singularity tests of this ship have been run as best we can run them. They all come out in the green,” said Tosh.

“But?” she replied, sensing his hesitation.

“There have always been small quantum variables which may affect the accuracy of the navigational system. So while we can navigate using star system special references, the exact accuracy of those references is not that precise. The ship may not end up precisely where it is supposed to be,” he said.

“Meaning?” she said.

“Meaning it may end up at the outer rim of a system. We just do not know. But my numbers show that it will fire correctly, if the components of The Agathon have been built to spec. As the captain just pointed out, this is its first run and right now I really can’t give you any more information on it.”

“Chancellor, it will work. We won’t let you down,” responded Barrington, with absolute assuredness in his voice. She believed him. She had to.

“Okay, Captain, contact us when you are ready to break orbit,” she said. Barrington nodded and the screen went blank. Young tapped the table and it sank back out of view.

“I have two names to take command of both stations,” Young said.

“Okay, let’s have them,” she replied.

“Richard Ellis will command this station,” said Young.

“He has been in command of station operations here for six years and I have absolute faith in him.” He handed her a dossier on Ellis. He was
forty
-three years old, well built and with a round bald head. Ellis had served in the military for most of his adult life. Clark had had a brief encounter with the man in Young’s office a few weeks earlier. He had been quiet, but had seemed highly competent. She had no doubt they were about to become very close.