Waking up was like being born. At first there was no memory, only
awareness. It was dark. It was cold. Light, breaking through the darkness, expanded overhead, much
like the journey from the womb. The
primal sense of sight and hearing alerted him to a simple fact: he was alive,
but frightened and very cold. As he was
extracted, warm air now blew over him.
He was, in the second stage of cognition, in a strange, unfamiliar place
in which a face, which meant nothing in his present state, loomed
overhead. Like an infant, fearful of
the experience, he gasped his first breath of air and screamed in terror, as he
was raised up out of the chamber and exposed to a flood of light.
“There-there, Captain Drexel,” an attendant
murmured. “I’ll get you cleaned up.
It’s just the cryogel; your memory will return.”
Pulled out of the chamber by the attendant, wet and oozing with cryogel, he
was dragged limply by his armpits across the floor. As he began thrashing about weakly under the
attendant’s control, he was strapped onto stool. A spray of water cascaded suddenly from above. Inside this second, translucent chamber,
full cognition came slowly for him as the gel was rinsed off and two attendants
scrubbed him clean. Flashes of
memory—people, places, and events, blinked off and on in his head. As the gel was rinsed from his eyes, his
vision cleared, and, to his horror, the features of his mid-wife became clear: a bipedal creature with shiny blue orbs loomed over
him. Between the two orbs there was a strange-looking protuberance with a vibrating slit below
uttering gibberish as it jerked
him about. Of course, in his current state of
awareness, Captain Drexel was unfamiliar with humans. On the other side of this wet place, a second specter, still
shadowy, appeared, and began rapping on the door.
“Calm down captain,” it called cheerily, “we all go
through it. It’s cold, dark, and scary
at first. Sandra, one of our ship’s
androids, scrubbed me up, too. Then—poof—except for what she told me, I didn’t
remember a thing.”
For the ‘newborn,’ it sounded like gibberish once
more. He was, for the time being, a
blank sheet, unable to comprehend or communicate. Without familiar reference points, his emotions were basic and
his reactions instinctual.
“His strength’s returning,” the attendant observed.
“He can’t understand you, Doctor Slaven, but this man is strong. He’ll come around soon. You took a full hour.”
“Sandra!” Doctor Slaven rapped again on the shower
door. “Get out of there. Let him sit it
out. He’ll come to. We’ve got nine more to go.”
The android, devoid of facial expression, removed
herself obediently and secured the shower door. The being, identified as Captain Drexel, still restrained on the
stool, wept inexplicably. Still to weak
to attempt an escape, he continued to thrash about, then, as the warm,
comforting water sprayed his body, fragments of memory flashed finally into his
mind, coming together like pieces to a puzzle.
Moving forward, in front of his life experiences, was a fact that came
passively at this stage. The two
specters had called him Captain Drexel.
After hearing him called this, he realized that this must be true… But
captain of what? What did this
mean? His name, in fact, was Captain
Abraham Drexel, and yet the name sounded alien to him. Floating around this piece to the puzzle,
the other fragments fell into place, like icebergs on a dark sea
…Americorp…Triton…Captain Drexel…What did they mean?
Startled by the sudden shriek of other ‘newborns,’ he tugged at the
restraints on wrists and lap. Who were
those people? Where was he? Why was he placed in restraints? Looking down, he noticed a pair of briefs
covering his genitals and rear. The
name Americorp was stenciled on the waste band. It meant nothing to him.
Jogging his memory was the tattoo on his arm—a heart, which he clearly
understood now, and the name Rosalie inside.
Again, it meant nothing, but he knew these reference points were
important. One of the voices, high pitched
and awful, unnerved him greatly. It was
familiar…a woman, like Rosalie. What
was her name? Why was she screaming
like that? Already his primal memories
were fading. In their place, an urgency
filled him, almost intuitively, based upon the training drilled into him but
also upon the few pieces to the mental puzzle already put into place. After a while, a second voice, deep and
hoarse, which made it more unsettling than the first, jarred his mind further. Like the woman in somewhere in this room, the
voice was familiar. In a wave of
recognition, triggered by his understanding so far, more pieces fell together,
less haphazardly. First came early
recollections—family, childhood, high school, and a cherub-faced woman, he
recognized as Rosalie. Next, more
importantly, he realized, were those most current pieces—Americorp … Neptune …
Triton … and an awareness of other crew members (whose names returned
sluggishly) on the ship. Though groggy
from years of cryogenic suspension, Captain Drexel called out loudly,
“Doc. This is Abe. Report to ship showers. We have to talk.”
Soon, Doctor Immanuel Slaven and a second android,
this one a male, Abe recognized as Woody, arrived. Reaching in to turn off the shower, Woody apologized, unfastened
his fetters, and helped him to his feet.
A robe was handed to him, which Woody helped him slip into, while Doctor
Slaven checked his vital signs with a scanner.
Standing before the doctor and the android, listening to the remainder
of the ship awaken fitfully from its long sleep, Captain Abraham Drexel took
command of his ship.
******
The puzzle, almost incomplete, was
enough. Captain Drexel commanded an
Americorp’s spaceship, destined for Triton, one of Neptune’s moons. Because of the physical and mental effects of
long-range space travel upon crews, the cryogenic slumber had been necessary,
but until this hour no one knew how terrible would be the awakenings. Aboard the Spaceship Vanguard, piloted and
attended by Generation Eight Androids as the humans had slept the dark sleep,
the first cryogenic crew destined for the outer rim of the solar system, were
close to their destination. They had
slept almost the entire journey, over ten years, in a dreamless condition
resembling a coma. Now, Captain Drexel
recalled light-headedly, they were close to the fulfillment of the Triton
project. Because of the proof of an
apparently friendly alien presence on Neptune’s largest moon, the project’s
goal had been simple. Make direct
contact with the solar system’s first visitors.
Right now, however, the captain was more concerned
about his crew. On board, still
suffering rebirth after space travel, his shipmates, which included both
scientists and his staff, groped as the captain had done, as sleepwalkers in
this pageant, gradually becoming aware of who they were, why they were here,
and the importance of their mission for Americorp and Earth.
While dressing themselves with Woody or Sandy’s help, they would, when
they came to, barely recall the previous ordeal. According to Doctor Slaven, there would be no memories of the
dark sleep, itself, and only snatches of recall from the awakening, which would
disappear, as newborn’s first memories, almost entirely as the days
progressed. In his sleek, corporate
logo jump suit and sneakers, except for the eagle on his shoulders that
indicated his rank, Captain Drexel’s attire resembled the other crewmembers
entering the conference room. Now that
Vanguard would was circling Triton, Neptune’s largest moon, the androids
withdrew into their pods to await service, the sole exceptions being Skip, the
interim captain and Astro, the pilot, until Gandy Supra, his human counterpart,
was up to the task. When the captain
called them, the other androids would emerge from their pods, like proverbial
vampires, as servants to the humans.
Before exploration, all twelve members of the crew would have to be
mentally and physically ready. Captain
Drexel would, from this point on, oversea all divisions of the ship—a task that
struck him as overwhelming in his current state of mind. Mboto Suwala, the Ships engineer, who would
be in charge of the hyper-drive of the vessel, had looked around in child-like
wonderment at the surrounding command center, as if he couldn’t comprehend
where he was. Second-in-command, Abe
recalled, would be Lieutenant Sheila Livingston, the first shrieking voice he
heard upon awakening, now sitting in a befuddled daze beside him. The others, all scientists—Dermot Rucker
(the second panic-stricken voice heard in the shower room) and Lingh Soon—the
ship’s biologist and botanist, respectively, Helga Schwarz—geologist, Carla
Mendoza—meteorologist, and last but not lease Said Rammal—a specialist
overseeing the androids on the ship, were also badly hung over. Lingh and Helga, Doctor Slaven whispered
into his ear, had ingested cryo-gel during awakening and had to be forcibly
pumped out. They were the worst of the
lot. All of his people, including
Doctor Slaven and his assistant, Nicole Bennett, who had been too far-gone to
help him resuscitate the crew, had only vague reflections of their ordeal. In various stages of giddiness, shock, and
discomfort they knew only that the long, journey from Earth to Neptune’s
mysterious moon, in which they had lain in a dreadful, dreamless state, was
over.
The great and terrible adventure was about to
begin. No one wanted think about their
return to Earth when they would have to repeat the state of cryogenic
sleep. A dulled expectation had taken
hold of Vanguard’s men and women. The
greatest emotion shared by the crewmembers now was relief that it was over.
“Ladies and gentleman,” Captain Drexel used an archaic form of address.
“Welcome back sleepy-heads to the Earth II Project. We’ve passed a most important milestone: 4.3 billion kilometers
of interstellar space. Your memories
are coming back to you, some more, some less.
Nevertheless, let me remind you that you are, as Nicole would say, the
crème de la crème—the very best in your fields and technology. Having climbed aboard the Vanguard and
placed immediately into your chambers, however, you were like babes
experiencing infancy. Now, having
remembered how to talk and comprehend, your heads are filled with data—you’re
humans again. Be patient; your training
will all come back to you. Only the
engineer, pilot, and my lieutenant, are familiar with the controls and
machinery of our ship, but even our minds are dulled by the sleep. That’s why we have the andies. Well we’re awake now. We’re taking control. We’ve got a job to do!
“First things first, though,” he added, seeing the discomfort of
members of the group. “Some of you have
queasy tummies. Most of you are anxious
for your first dinner in over ten years.
While you slept, your bodies remained in limbo. You didn’t need food. Strangely enough, you might not even be
hungry, but it’s important that you eat.
You’ll also have to exercise awhile and brush up on your specialties and
understanding of the ship. Before we go
any further Woody and Sandy will serve us all with prepared dinners and
drink. I have no idea what that is.”
“Sheila,” he ordered the droopy-eyed executive office, “go check the
kitchen. Ollie and Lucy should be up
and running. Make sure it goes
smoothly.” “Gandy, if you’re up to it, go along with her. Let’s bring out the menus. Not everyone’s ready for solid food.”
Directing his voice to the
scientific portion of the crew, Abe’s words failed to rouse them from their
lethargy and shock. They were a sorry
lot. He was in no mood, himself, to
stand before them, delivering welcoming speeches. “Phew!” he said, plopping down into is chair, “I’m sure this was
how newborns felt after arrival. “Just think, folks, we have to do it again—on
the way back. Some fun, huh?”
“It was awful,” Nicole exclaimed. “I scarcely remember it. It’s like awakening from nightmare and
forgetting the plot—a big black hole in my mind.”
“Yes,” Mbota nodded, “it’s appropriately called the dark sleep. I don’t relish doing that again.”
“Ache, I still taste dat slime.” Helga shuddered. “Before, all dey did
vas put dem asleep and let dem snooze during trip. Dey called it suspended animation. I am not animated now, captain—I feel like zombie, but I’m happy
I be back!”
“It’s more than birth,” said Rammal. “It’s like resurrection. Being raised from the dead.”
“Now-now.” Doctor Slaven chortled, shaking his head. “Let’s not be
sacrilegious.”
Abe’s effort at levity had fallen flat yet succeeded in perking up the
silent, deadpan- faced scientists slouched around the table. Looking down at them, as his staff straggled
in with the androids bearing trays of food, he tried to formulate his
words. What could you say to people who
had gone through such an ordeal? His
original speech, which he had rehearsed before takeoff, summarized their
mission and what was expected of them in the coming days, now seemed too
long. He scarcely remembered it. He was, like the others, still in
aftershock—the result of cryo-sleep—a state far more debilitating than the old
suspended animation chambers, which, unlike suspension, would not wear off
completely for several hours. The
artificial gravity of the ship, less than half that of Earth, should have made
him feel light and buoyant but instead he felt heavy-lidded and thick tongued. Their bodies and minds were weighted down after
years of idleness. A common phenomena,
he recalled, from such meetings, was boredom and lethargy, but this droopy-eyed
response was different. In spite of
their collective shock and the after-effects of cryo-sleep, he noted a spark of
resolve in many of their eyes, as if to say, “it’s over. We’re ready. Let’s get on with it. A
few, Helga and Gandy, had ingested gel, and yet they, too, seemed at peace,
happy just to be alive.
With these thoughts in mind, Captain Drexel abbreviated his
speech. “Like some of you,” he said,
gathering his thoughts, “…I was in the academy during the Generation Six
mission in Europa. It might have
disappointed biologists and botanists, hoping to find life on that world, but
it was a technical and scientific success. Between that time and now the world community have concentrated on
interstellar and Martian mining. Mars
now has a scientific colony, and there are hundreds of space stations and
thousands of fact-gathering satellites and probes scouting the solar system and
universe. What we have already done
during our voyage to Triton and will do on its surface far surpasses all
previous missions. You and the
operations crew are the first stellarnauts to travel in cryo chambers. Your hibernation saved your physical body
and mind from destruction. You emerged
intact, but not without some psychological effects. Some of you feel physically ill.
Others are still disoriented.
All of us suffer the aftershock of that cold darkness and jolt of
rebirth. Like you, my memory’s coming
back.” “As a matter of fact,” he added
with a chuckle, “something popped into
my head: the warning from our training that less than one percent of
crewmembers may experience a degree of psychosis. That seems pretty low.
The odds favor us. But in
accordance with the mission plan, our good doctor, also a psychologist will
test each one of us. It’s a simple
test. No one goes onto the surface
who’s not ready. Everyone must be
fit. This goes for everyone—both the
scientific and operational crews.”
The pre-packaged meals set before each crewmember was complimented by a
mug of juice. In the compartments on
the plastic plates were items Abe recognized as meat, vegetables, and a
dessert. The meat could be almost
anything—pork, beef, chicken, but he recognized cream corn, string beans, and a
slightly overdone brownie. In the
future, the androids would prepare more elaborate meals. What they had in front of them conformed to
the light dinner required for queasy stomachs—nothing too spicy or excessive,
but it was a great disappointment to members of the crew.
“Is this supposed to be breakfast, lunch or supper?” Sheila studied her
meal. “In space all we have is a twenty-four clock—military or space time. According to my watch, it’s eighteen hundred
or six o’clock in the evening Earth reckoning—suppertime. I didn’t expect roast turkey or steak, but
they might at least have made it look attractive. What is this anyhow?”
“Ache.” Helga made a face. “It doesn’t matter to me. I’m not hungry. After ten years, I should be able to eat a horse.”
“I’m not so hungry either.” Gandy made a face. “I’m thinking of maybe
soup or jello. I don’t like the looks
of this. It looks like hospital food.”
“This will pass shortly,” Doctor Slaven reassured them. “You must try
to eat—all of you. Eat what you
can. But if you think it’s going to
make you sick, by all means eat later.
At least hydrate yourselves.
Tomorrow, when you’re your old selves, we’ll begin getting you in
shape—physically and mentally. Triton
can wait!”
******
After struggling through their
first meal in ten years, the scientists followed the captain and his staff on a
guided tour and refresher course of the Vanguard. The basic energies returned slowly to them as they scanned the
ships structure and controls. The
operating staff was in no better shape.
Yet recollection came quickly to them, as they listened the captain’s
voice, the background hum of the vessel, and their long-shuttered eyes were
greeted with the computers, readout screens, and blinking lights of the flight
deck, scientific lab, and engine room.
Outwardly, their asymmetrical vessel resembled a molecular mass of
spheres and interconnecting rods surrounding a flat spherical area containing
the flight deck, cryo-chambers which lined the corridors of the vessels,
sleeping quarters at one end of the sphere, a modest area set off for meals, an
even smaller room for recreation, adjacent to a tiny medical lab, and the
scientific lab—the largest room on the ship.
As the scientists and crew were re-introduced to their duty stations,
which had only been shown to them during the training back on earth, they
recalled their special training as stellernauts. For the scientists and medical team, their education and
experience also surfaced, as they fingered their equipment, stared quizzically
into their monitors, and tried making sense out of their decision to cut
themselves off from the human race.
Captain Drexel had sent a brief but official message, notifying Earth
II’s headquarters of their successful awakening and the apparent physical and
mental status of the scientists, medical personnel, and crew. With an understandable complacency, he
turned his attention to acclimatizing the men and women to their new home. Though he felt certain of a reply, he shared
the misgivings of the others. Much
could have happened during their long voyage.
Earth was ten years older. Science,
itself, could have changed significantly since their odyssey began. The sacrifice they made had been heroic, but
time had passed them by. The people
they had known on earth had aged ten years, while they, in their dark sleep
hadn’t age at all. When they finally
returned, their family and friends will be, at least physically, over twenty
years older than them, while they will be no less for the wear. These thoughts played in Abraham Drexel’s
mind as he finished the re-acquaintance tour and then returned to the command
console.
When he reached the captains chair, facing a panoramic screen of space,
including the growing bluish outline of Triton, he turned to Skip, the android
on duty, who had acted as pilot of the ship as he and the others slept. In spite of being the eighth generation of
androids, they retained the same expressionless demeanor most of the time, until
this moment, thought the captain. Skip
was actually frowning, concern registering faintly on his perfect face. Abraham, of course, hadn’t expected a
response from earth immediately or any time soon. It would take a year and half for a message to reach earth and
the same amount of time to receive a reply—a span of three years. Considering the fact that they would be back
in their cry-o chambers during this period, the gesture seemed meaningless. What the captain expected to find in the
database was a record of their journey during the ten years of cryogenic sleep,
which included questions from earth and answers from the pilot on the status of
the ship and crew. Almost immediately
before even starting his search, he sensed something terribly wrong. After scanning the database for only a
moment, the android pilot gripped his wrist firmly and spoke.
“Captain,”
he began gently, “there’s something wrong…. I couldn’t wake you and the
others. What good what it do? Earth II stopped transmitting.”
“What do you mean stopped transmitting?” Abraham rose up
suddenly and looked down at Skip’s screen, which showed entries stopping soon
after take off. Data showing chatter
from a successful launch and cryogenic enclosures was brief, followed by
efforts by the pilot to make contact, but there were no replies from earth,
only line after line of the same message.
Though his own screen showed the same data, he studied it frantically,
hoping they had missed something.
Skip’s words were still reverberating in his mind, as the captain
watched the same automatic response after each three-year interval to his
message to earth: No Transmission.
“This is a mistake. There must
a glitch. Why didn’t you tell me?” the
captain cried.
“I’m telling you now, sir, and there’s no mistake.” he said
calmly. “We’ve conducted tests. I’ve
personally checked everything. We
couldn’t awaken you during cry-o sleep.
It takes three years to communicate with earth. What good would it have been for me to
announce this news in front of the others?” “I was given clear instructions,”
he added motioning to the screen. “…The fact is, earth is not responding…”
“You mean Earth II, don’t you?”
“No sir,” the android seemed to sigh, “I mean earth. Until we regain transmission, we’re cut off
from our planet.”
“What about the Mars and Titan stations?” the captain asked quickly.
“What do they make of this?”
“According to the transmissions I received several years ago, the
stations were in operation, then suddenly communication stopped completely,
even from the Mars station—Earth’s oldest science colony.”
Abraham reviewed these messages. There was nothing in this chatter
recorded by their ship to indicate a problem, but like earth, after a decade in
space, communication ended. Almost as
an afterthought after the latest thunderclap, he asked, “What about the signals
from Triton, itself. Are those gone
too?”
“Yes…Look into your monitor captain…. Go to the Triton file…. The last
signal from it also stopped.”
“And when did that happen?” the captain sat staring at him in
disbelief.
Skip’s voice grew faint then rose suddenly, exclaiming in a serene
tone, “About the same time, we lost transmission from Earth—not long after we
launched into space. We’re on our own
captain.”
Abraham Drexel now considered two simple alternatives: the android
pilot was lying for some inexplicable reason or, just as inexplicably, he was
telling the truth.
“Before I break the news to the crew and my staff, lets go over the
data. I can’t wrap my mind around this,
Skip. I know you had orders not to
disturb our hibernation and you can’t show human emotion, but this isn’t a
trifling matter. Sheila, my
second-in-command, would be half out of your wits right now. I don’t know how she passed the psych
exam. That goes for some of the others. We can’t just drop this on them, until we’re
absolutely sure.”
For several hours, as the ship’s company checked out their duty
stations and chatted a
about their experience, Captain Drexel and Skip, the
android pilot, went over the ship’s log, readouts, and controls—testing and
re-testing the computers and equipment and searching the backup data base for
signs of a electrical malfunction or a communication crash. A few of the crew looked in idly a few times
but were given ambiguous reasons for what they were doing on the flight
deck. When the captain was certain that
the communications between Earth and the Vanguard had ceased not long after
they climbed into their pods and began their odyssey in space, he felt a
wrenching sense of helplessness, and yet, as stunned and perplexed as he was,
the captain couldn’t accept the conclusions after just one hour of
examination. Until they solved this
mystery, however, there was no way they could hide their conclusions. Already, the awakened sleepers were curious
to here and see the belated message from relatives and friends back on
earth. It was, he and Skip agreed, time
to break the bad news to the scientists, medics, and crew.
Sandra, the first android face the captain
had seen upon awakening, was sent to gather the humans. Skip remained at the controls to continue
searching for data, as the captain stood on the deck. The panorama of the approaching planet, glowed in the great
window—an ominous backdrop to his thoughts.
All of the androids, also summoned by Sandra, were on hand to assist the
humans, an order the captain hadn’t given.
Taken back momentarily as the men and women returned to the conference
table, the captain glanced in renewed shock at one of the androids, this time
the medical assistant Sandra. This
brazen act by a member of the non-human crew, added to Skip’s revelation,
triggered an alarm in captain’s mind…. Was something more than a communication
transmission problem was afoot?
Looking
around anxiously at the men and women seated around the table, Abraham took
note of their moods. Most of them were
still suffering from cry-shock that registered in various degrees, depending
upon the mental strength of the one-time sleeper. For the military-oriented captain, his pilot and navigator, Gandy
Supra who recovered relatively quickly after ingesting gel, and the engineer,
Mboto Suwala, the ordeal had left less of an impact. Their training kicked in rapidly, and though they must have
shared he apprehension of the others after being recalled to the conference
table, they looked stoically up at him, in total control. Doctor Slaven sat with forced resolve, too,
his arms folded, displaying a grim look, while his assistant Nicole Bennett sat
in jittery silence, and all the scientists (Helga, Carla, Dermot, and Lingh)
were visibly frightened. The most
anxious member of the ship’s company, Said Rammal, whose electronic expertise
including shepherding the androids on the vessel, signaled by his wide eyes and
gaping mouth total surprise that his charges stood at attention behind the
humans, instead of being in their pods or at their tasks.
“Ladies
and gentleman,” Captain Drexel used the formal address, “something has come
up.”
“Why
are Skip, Astro, Woody, Sandra, Daisy, Lucy, Ollie, and Alice at our meeting?”
Said mumbled to himself.
“What
is it? Tell us what?” croaked Nicole.
“Skip
and I have been at the console, checking the data base and conducting tests,”
he continued, trying to divulge it delicately. “You probably noticed our
destination: Neptune’s moon Triton. We
can’t see Triton yet; it’s in the planet’s shadow. But our database shows that Triton’s transmission to earth, both
audible and visible stopped sending shortly after our launch into space.”
A
collective gasp rose up as the captain framed his words. “…Also absent from she
ship’s transmission log,” he added, closing his eyes in expectation, “are any
records of communication with earth—a problem that began when our transmission
from Triton stopped.”
“What?”
his listeners muttered simultaneously.
“You
mean Earth II, don’t you?” Gandy looked up in disbelief. “Surely you don’t mean
the entire earth?”
“I mean, Gandy,” he sighed raggedly, “we’ve lost all
communication—period!”
Slaven shook his head and patted Nicole’s wrist consolingly. Virtually all of the scientists also groaned
in panic. Mboto, who sat closest to the
captain, had the presence of mind to inquire about the integrity of the ship’s
engine and internal electronic systems.
“Nothing’s wrong with the Vanguard,” he reassured, in a louder voice,
“and I never said this problem is permanent.
There has to be a reason for what happened. We’ll work together to solve
this mystery together. Please, get a
hold of yourselves.”
“Excuse me,” an unexpected voice came from the non-humans. Sandra, a medical android, stepped
forward. Her classic twentieth century
Barbie features—golden hair surrounding a pretty face and a perfect hour-glass
figure now belied her steely expression and the forcefulness of her words:
“There is a reason for this problem.” She looked calmly around the
room. “Before you were all placed in your cry-o chambers, even before you were
trained for your tasks, we, among the best of the Generation Eight Androids,
were given the task to ‘assist and protect the crew and scientists of Earth
II’s last mission. Unfortunately,
something dreadful happened after we left earth. Our last transmission from earth from the mission director,
Bertrand Thomas, came shortly before the break of communications. We were told earlier not to waken the
sleepers. What good what it do? While we traveled away from earth, the other
stellernauts from Mars and Titan were called in. At that point, the apparent disappearance of the visitors on
Triton alarmed those back on earth, and they returned from the Mars and Titan
missions only weeks before the scientific rotation. Because of what happened, those missions were essentially
abandoned, making our break with earth complete. We were not told what had happened. Skip tried everything to make contact, but after Doctor Thomas’
words, “Good luck Generation 8, watch over the ship and the sleeping crew,” we
heard nothing.
“Why didn’t you wake us?” Nicole cried. “We could’ve returned to earth
too. ”
“Yes, yes, now we’re marooned in space!” Dermot wrung his hands.
“We couldn’t return,” she replied coolly. “We were ordered to proceed
and let you sleep. Please understand,
how futile it would have been to return.
Consider the implications of the break in communication. Now, it has been over ten years. Much could have happened in that
interval. To return might mean certain
death.”
“Certain death?” Said jumped up suddenly. “What are you talking about
Sandra? What happened on earth?”
“Yes Sandra.” The captain waved impatiently. “You explained what the problem
is. What happened on earth?”
“Shortly after the lights went out on Triton and their eerie code
ceased, all communication on earth ceased,” Skip related in a deadpan voice.
“What I told you on the flight deck captain was true. What I didn’t tell you, knowing how much panic it would cause
until we sorted this out, was what Sandra said. With no communication from earth, that’s all we can tell you.”
The other androids nodded in
agreement. The room broke into panic
now, as the crew and scientists fired questions at Skip and Sandra. Astro, who assisted Mboto in the engine
room, quietly gave him more reassurances about the internal electronics and
propulsion system. Gandy, who also
acted as the communications officer, had been worried about the computers until
he ran some tests, himself. What became
clear that hour was, as the captain had stressed, the integrity of the
ship. What was not clear was the total
blackout of communications to and from earth and the end of transmission from
their destination, which now seemed to be an empty goal. A gloom settled over their shipmates, as the
crewmen decided upon how to proceed.
Somewhere in the ship’s database or schematics there had to be a clue or
black box to prove or disprove Sandra and Skip’s conclusions. Everything the captain and pilot discovered
and Sandra and Skip had told them was just too fantastic to believe.
The entire ship’s company, in fact, the captain
included, was in denial. Many of them
were on the verge of a mental breakdown, mumbled fearfully amongst
themselves.
Suspecting that the androids were taking over, Said did something very
foolish now. There was a hidden control
panel on the back of the non-humans that was intended for override if, for some
inexplicable reason, one or more of them ran amuck. When he made a move on Skip, the pilot, who had spoken such
shattering words, the android whirled around and stared coldly at the
scientist.
“Oh, we can’t turn you off, huh?” Said defensibly.
“No, Doctor Rammal,” replied Skip calmly. “You, of all people, should
know that!”
“I never agreed with artificial intelligence,” Said muttered
petulantly. “I wanted robotic assistants, programmed, not pre-programmed and
set loose by their creators.”
“Our mission didn’t require android creators,” Skip reminded him. “You
can’t destroy us Doctor Rammal. You’re
position is to maintain and repair the computers on the ship and oversee the
duties of the androids. As you can see,
we don’t need an overseer. The creators
knew this. You need us more than we
need you.”
******
After talking to Skip, Said Rammal expressed his concerns to the
captain, but Captain Drexel refused to comment. Nevertheless, during the investigation of all possible
communication links, including private correspondence on the crewmen’s personal
screens, which had recorded messages from earth, suspicion mounted against the
androids. On the sly, out of earshot of
the androids, as the scientists grew increasingly panicky, Abe and his staff
pondered the reasons for the mystery and shared the same fear that, for
whatever reasons, the androids were hiding information from them. The answer given that they don’t know why
there was a problem was hard to believe.
Where they not their caretakers, whose duties, as they slept, were to
maintain communication with earth? Why
wasn’t there a record of the problem?
Did it really happen all of a sudden, as they claimed? Had they really been given orders not to
awaken them early on, so they could at least make their way to the much closer
Mars station? These questions and many
more hovered unanswered in their minds.
During the meantime, Doctor Slaven confessed his fears that several of
the scientists, including Nicole, his assistant, were on the verge of mental
breakdowns. Another word for this, no
one wanted to even utter, was space psychosis.
While the crew searched for answers, the scientific group appeared to be
going slowly insane. Said Rammal, after
attempting to inspect Daisy’s database, was rendered unconscious—a natural
reflex for androids. Afterwards, he
regained consciousness only to settle almost catatonically in a corner of the
ship.
Then, after crewmembers had gone over everything thoroughly (this time
without Skip), something occurred to Captain Drexel that was so obvious it made
him laugh hysterically. To read an
android’s database, as Said failed to do, would prove dangerous and almost
impossible. Even if there were an
internal code in their computer brains, it very likely would be commands,
unrelated to the missing data, itself.
After all, Gandy pointed out, they were programmed to serve but also to
protect the shipmates from themselves.
More importantly, what he wouldn’t find was the ongoing artificial
intelligence determining the androids actions now. What possible reason would they have to sabotage the
communication link, which would maroon them, too, in space? More likely, suggested the captain, they
were probably as in the dark as their charges and had followed protocol all along.
Despite their agreement on this likelihood, however, nagging suspicions
lingered. In spite of their orders, the
fact that they let the humans sleep seemed illogical. They could at least have gone the shorter distance to the Mars
Station. By following their programmers
and the mission leaders orders so strictly, in spite of the ominous break in
communications and the high probability that their mission was pointless now,
they had brought them to the far corner of the solar system. Until the captain and his crew were able
somehow to find out what happened, it felt very much as if they were on a
doomed mission.
Soon time would become their greatest enemy. No spaceship could last forever in space. Could they really sleep endlessly in cry-o
sleep if they continued on? They
certainly couldn’t last the long hours of wakefulness if the cryo system
failed. Regardless of what waited for
them on Earth, which no one dared voice, the hoped for explanation that it was
solely a communications problem, gave them a modicum of hope.
“It’s not what they’re hiding that bothers me,” the captain concluded,
looking away from the screen. “Something happened on Earth: a cataclysmic
event. This is obvious. What the andies are hiding from isn’t the
truth. They simply don’t know.”
Gandy slapped his forehead. “Dear God! Are you sure?”
“I’m sure of one thing.” The captain sighed. “After looking at the log,
I know one thing for certain: there’s no explanation for what happened. There’s nothing wrong with our ship’s
controls. The data just isn’t there.”
“The problem,” he said, pointing to the window, “is out there. We have to find out what happened on Earth!”
“What? How do you know
this? That would be dreadful.” Doctor
Slaven lost his composure and grew pale.
“Doctor, I need your strength.” He gripped his wrist. “I don’t know anything
for certain. No one wants to make the
connection, but it’s staring us right in the face.”
After a disappointing
beginning, Sheila, his second-in-command, shuffled onto the bridge, apologizing
for her behavior.
“I’m sorry captain,” she exhaled, her eyes fluttering as if she was
trying to clear her head. “I heard what you just said. The first thing to pop into my head when I
heard the news was ‘something awful happened to Earth—’
“That’s enough, Sheila.” The captain placed a finger on her lip. “I know you’re afraid, but remember your
training. You must be strong. Those people are terrified. We’re all afraid, but we can’t do this by
ourselves. Get a grip on yourself. Wipe that deer-in-the-headlights look off
your face!”
“Yes, of course.” She nodded jerkily. “I have to set an example.”
******
It now appeared that the captain and
Gandy Supra were the only ones holding their sanity, but even they were plunged
deeply into despair. As the remainder
of the ship’s company went slowly mad, the androids gathered together in he
conference room. Standing at the head
of the table, with Gandy at the other end, as if they were both on trial, they
listened to Skip’s cold assessement of the situation.
“You humans have lost your grip on
reality. Disaster stares you in the
face and you still think you can find your way back to Earth. The emotional link you have with your kind
is broken. It’s not your fault, and
it’s not ours. This isn’t a conspiracy,
as some of your crewmen believe. We
didn’t plan this. That would mean our
own destruction. We will continue to
watch over you and protect you from your foolishness, because you are the last
hope of mankind. We are your
caretakers. Since you have failed to
find a solution to this crisis, we must take over. That was programmed into our brains too. You can’t even blame us for that.” “But mark
my word.” He raised a finger. “We’ll find a way to survive. Time is irrelevant to us. Without external attack or self-destruction,
and in normal circumstances, we are immortal…You are too, if you share the dark
sleep. There’s something you may not
know about this ship: it’s immortal too.
It is built to be self-sustaining.
With the recycled food, water, air, and infinite energy, we could travel
for eternity if needed. All we need to
do for now, however, is keep our wits.
To humor the humans, we might even land on the Titan base, which is
closest to us, as many of you want, but we shall do nothing to endanger the
ship. The original mission has changed….
The mission now is to survive.”
“So,” Abraham said slowly, weariness
in his voice, “you’re taking control.
My suspicions were correct.
Doctor Rammal’s fears were justified.”
“Doctor Rammal is a coward, and your
are wrong, captain.” Skip’s eyes flashed. “The reason things as they are is due
to two factors beyond anyone’s control: the earth that you once knew doesn’t
exit anymore and you humans will not survive under the current
circumstances.” “Furthermore.” He
raised a second figure, “we are built for this emergency. We don’t need sleep. We don’t need food. Unlike humans, we won’t lose our tempers and
we won’t go insane.
You
are susceptible to physical ailments and the rigors of endless travels and
require hibernation to survive. While
you sleep, we’ll continue to man the ship, watch over and protect you, and
search for a safe harbor. All you have
to do is sleep, until you’re awakened. Your destiny is our destiny. Your end would be our end. We have no other purpose than the
mission. Now that the mission has
changed to survival, we must be explorers.
Our very solar system, at least our planet and its interstellar bases,
are not safe harbors. Where the invaders
came from we don’t know, but it was obviously not Triton. We believe that Neptune’s dark moon was
merely a refueling station. The
outsiders had one clear motive in mind: conquest. Its clear to us—your
caretakers—that we must begin a new mission that will lead into unchartered
space. There are countless albeit
distant planets in or galaxy that might support life. My database was filled with earth’s long history. I recall a story about your God and a man
named Noah. Because God was going to
destroy the world, he allowed Noah to gather animals to replenish the
earth. With his small family, he
supposedly replenished the people on that world. With such a tiny number of humans it would take God to perform
such a feat. Your ship lacks earth’s
animals, and yet you have an even number of men and women. Perhaps, on a distant world you might
replenish you species and find new species of animals and plants to rule
over. The thought is intriguing,
perhaps slightly mad…. But what other choice do you have? You face extinction. Humans can’t survive what we have in
mind. You either climb into your
chambers or go insane and die!”
“You’ve taken control,” the captain
reiterated. “You made this decision the day we launched.”
“That’s not so, captain.” Skip shook
his head. “We made this decision because we lost contact with earth. Had we turned back or not left at all, we
would suffer the same fate as all Earthlings.
As it is, we have done our duty.
We have protected you, ran the ship, and we are now returning to our
duties as caretakers of the ship.” “You must talk your shipmates into returning
to cryo-sleep. If you can’t do this, we
will force them into their chambers for their own good… It’s up to you.”
When Skip withdrew from the bridge,
Abraham turned to Gandy, who was now, because of Sheila’s condition,
second-in-command. “Well, it’s come
down to this.” He sighed. “He’s right of course. Like you, I was devastated by this turn of events. Now I just feel tired. I can’t control these people. We were warned of space psychosis, but their
calculations were wrong. They claimed
that the chances for it to occur after cry-o sleep was infinitesimal, and it
looks like even I am feeling the effects.”
“Me too.” Gandy exhaled sadly. “What
else can we do? But how do we talk them
into returning to the chambers—the dark sleep.
Everyone dreads it. I dread
it. Rammal threatened to slit his
wrists rather than go back.”
Abraham shrugged. “Given the facts,
which I will present to them, most of them should come around. Those who don’t will be forced into
compliance. There’s no other way. I have to give Skip credit for letting me
talk to them, but if we can’t coax some of them, we’ll have to let the androids
take over.”
With that said, the two men gathered
together the ship’s company. While the
androids looked on quietly, the captain stated the case that Skip had presented
so well. In addition to the
hopelessness of their situation and the foolishness of staying awake, Skip
explained, he added his own estimation of their caretakers, which caused outbursts
in the group.
“…I’ve thought about this a lot. What is motivating the andies? I couldn’t understand why they didn’t warn
us. As soon as we lost communications,
they could’ve awakened at least the captain.
But to what good would this have been?
Skip and his group understood immediately what had happened. The sudden break in communication meant
something dreadful had happened. After
checking the database countless times, I know for a fact it happened soon after
we launched. The stellar bases had not
returned to earth. They were wiped out
by the visitors too. The Triton signal
stopped only days before when, after refueling, as Skip suggested, they
traveled into the solar system to begin their invasion, missing us by mere
days. I hope that our friends and
relatives are still alive. Perhaps, the
invaders have a limited goal of merely controlling our resources. But if that’s the case, why did they take
pains to destroy our stellar bases, our lunar station, and all communications
to earth? I realize now, of course,
that even if I tried to stop them, they would prevail…. They are stronger than
us…. They are smarter than us…. They have no intention of letting us
self-destruct.” “And so my friends,” his tone softened. “I must ask you to
return to your chambers until they find a safe harbor—”
“No,” shrieked Rammal, “not the dark
sleep. It’s like death. They want to destroy us!”
“Not, not yet!… Not the dark sleep!” Sheila muttered
desperately.
“Yes captain,” Nicole pleaded, “Said might be
exaggerating, but let’s wait. We’ll
find a way. I don’t trust those
andies. They want to take over the
ship.”
“She’s right,” wailed Dermot. “When
we’re asleep, what’s going to happen?
Forever is long time, captain.
The nearest terrestrial worlds are light years away. There’s no proof that there’s oxygen on any
of them. This is a long shot. We might be traveling for eternity!”
Helga, Dermot, and even Mboto wrung
their hands and shook their heads in despair, mumbling similar pleas. Even Gandy closed his eyes and cringed at
the thought. Captain Drexel reminded
Dermot that they had no choice, explaining to them all again what would happen
to the human body and mind during prolonged space travel and the fact that
sooner or later anyhow, if they would have returned to earth from exploration
of Triton, they would have to return to cry-o sleep. What made it imperative now was the mental strain affecting the
ship’s company. Space psychosis,
already in its early stages for many of them, would prove disastrous, even
deadly on the ship. When it seemed obvious
to the androids that a mutiny was brewing, Skip and Sandra stepped forward, one
at each end of the long table. As he
counseled the ship’s company, the captain was cut off this time by Sandra, the
first android face he had seen upon waking up.
“Listen to yourselves,” her voice
boomed, “you’re trying to hold onto the last shred of consciousness as if your
never going to wake up. That’s
absurd. Our whole purpose was the mission. Now it’s survival. Would you rather go insane and, in stages, age and finally die.
Prolonged
periods outside the chamber, without normal gravity, hastens the aging process
of humans. When your dead, we,
Generation Eight, will be all that’s left of the human race.” “It’s a byproduct
of this crisis, but we offer you immortality.
If left to you, there would be two choices, life or death. Unfortunately, you have no choice. Your mental state requires action. Those of you who don’t go willingly into
cryo-sleep will be forcibly sedated.” “Please,” she said, looking round the table,
“you who are stronger set an example for the weak among you. Don’t make us use force!”
Sandra’s forcefulness belied her Barbie features. Skip, who appeared to be the leader of the
androids, had said nothing, yet, by hand signals, directed the remaining six
non-humans into various corners of the room.
After he nodded to Sandra, she ordered the humans to purge their colons
and stomachs as they had before takeoff, and, within the next few hours prepare
for cryo sleep. The process of purging,
she reminded them, was facilitated by forced vomiting and douche bags. There wasn’t enough time to wait for
purgatives or laxatives to take effect.
It would be done expeditiously, one by one. Each shipmate would be scanned to make sure his stomach and colon
was clear. As before, they would be
stripped down and given a brief garment to hide their private parts, and then
one-by-one again would climb into their chambers, receive anesthesia, and while
unconscious be prepared for cryo sleep.
Life-support tubes will be attached, cryo-gel added, and the temperature
lowered until, with the lid shut, the body remained in suspended animation
until awakened one day. Time, was
irrelevant she reminded them. In the
dark sleep, a thousand years was no longer than a minute. The worst part was actually waking up. It was messy, uncomfortable, and
traumatic. All they would experience,
other than the purge, was painless shot as they lie in their chambers. While they slept, it would be the caretakers
who suffered the boredom of space.”
“Such pretty words,” Dermot muttered,
“One would think you’re the offended party.
You make it sound like a walk in the park. While you go your merry way, we’re going to be purged, drugged,
and shut away in darkness, like mindless zombies. Considering the prospects of finding another world, we might as
well be dead.”
“Come on,” Doctor Slaven murmured to
his assistant, “you can do it. You were
very brave during the awakenings. We
must set an example for the others. We’ve done this before.”
“No.” Nicole rotated her head. “I
can’t do it. This isn’t the same. Survival isn’t a mission. There is no mission, and there is
no future ahead. I’d rather age and die
a normal death. At least, I have a few
months, maybe a year.” “Who knows?” She
looked wildly around the room. “Are you all that certain? What if we never wake up?”
“Shut up! Shut up!” Helga held her
ears.
“Foolish woman!” cried Skip “Have you
forgotten all your training? You’ll
awaken when it’s safe and when we find a new world. There’s knowledge in our databases you’re unaware of: green
worlds, friendly suns—untold numbers you could never find. All you have to do is what you must do
anyhow to survive the rigors of space: sleep.”
“Lies!” Helga shook her head. “All
lies!”
“Cryo-sleep is not sleep,” Mboto quoted an article
he read, “it’s comatose unconsciousness.
It is timeless—a state where the brain waves almost cease to exist. How can our captors call this sleep. ”
“Because it’s not sleep,” Dermot
reminded them. “It’s death. We might as
well be brain dead.”
The captain stood up and held out his
hands, “Come on people. We have no
choice. I’m not afraid. I’ll go first.” “Please,” he pleaded,
looking around the room, “follow my example.”
“I’ll be second,” Gandy raised a hand
“And, because I must supervise Sandra
and Woody, I shall be last.” Doctor Slaven looked back bravely at the others.
“The last face you see will be a human face.
I have no intention of dying slowly in space.”
To the captain’s relief and amazement,
most of the ship’s company lined up symbolically, though it was obvious to the
doctor and him that that it would take several hours. Each of them—one-by-one—would be taken into the preparation room,
purged, and led to their chamber.
During the final preparation in the chamber itself, a ‘knockout’ drug
was administered for each of them. As
one was prepared, another would be led to his chamber, while the individual
preceding would be given the drug. At
that point, for all practical purposes, though the chamber hadn’t been filled
with gel and the process was unfinished, the dark sleep had begun.
“I’m not doing it.” Rammal said petulantly, lagging
behind the doctor. “I was left in
charge of those robots. They can’t boss
me around. I’ve always feared artificial
intelligence. For their survival,
they’re putting us away.”
“Doctor Rammal.” Slaven snapped his fingers. “You’re behaving
badly. You want to be dragged into the
back room and forcibly purged? You
should know the androids better than us.
They’re very serious. One way or
another you’ll go into hibernation; we all must. Now stop this nonsense, and get in line.”
******
The dreaded process of preparation for
the cryo chambers took longer than expected.
Back on earth the humans had purged themselves at their leisure before
being scanned. They had fasted the
night before, being allowed only the prescribed broth. After a last effort to empty their bladders
before prepping, they were immediately sedated, so that the whole process was a
blur, ending, because of total lack of recall, in the awakening. This time there was no mystery in the
procedure. Even, though they were
allowed to do it themselves, the purge would be brutal. Though they smiled,
frowned, and seemed sympathetic, androids were not programmed for
emotions. Wearing only their skimpy
cryo ‘underwear,’ the humans would be scanned after their purge. They would be told to empty their bladders
as much as they could. At this stage,
however, the ominous sedative would not yet be administered. Nothing could dull the knowledge of what lie
ahead. To expedite the processing, for
the benefit of the humans sensitivities as well as the androids efforts to haul
each of them into their chambers, sedation would not occur until they were
lying in state as part of the general hookup.
For almost all of the ship’s company, the last face they saw up until
the end was, as he promised, the smiling face of Doctor Slaven and his
assistant Nicole, who managed to control her emotions until it was her
turn. Only the captain, Gandy, and the
good doctor were stoic when it was their turn.
Captain Abraham Drexel spoke to his
shipmates as if he were talking to children as he was led away—the first to
return to dark sleep, promising to greet each one of them when they awakened on
a distant world. With wide, unblinking
eyes, Gandy tried to be cheerful too, jabbering disingenuously about the
adventure ahead. Doctor Slaven, who had
the most difficult task of not only dealing with Nicole, who, like Dermot and
Rammal, had to be drugged and then purged in an unconscious state, was the
bravest of them all. Not only did he
have to instruct Sandra and Woody while they prepped him, but he had to purge
himself in a state of exhaustion after preparing all the others. Unlike his shipmates, there was no friendly
human face to send him off. After
uttering a simple prayer to the men and woman—God’s speed and in His good
graces, his face loomed overhead as the drug too hold and they fell asleep.
Now it was his turn. For the doctor, who looked up to Sandra’s
synthetic face, a feeling of loneliness overtook him. Yet, as the drug took effect, he realized he had lived a long,
eventful life. The sadness he felt was
for the young men and women, who hadn’t lived a long life. There was no proof whatsoever in his mind
that the androids reassurances were valid.
He had no knowledge of all those worlds that Sandra and Skip promised
nor had he been aware of the self-sustaining features of the ship’s fuel and
food. These were facts that only the
androids creators were aware of. That
they were lying to them was a question that had prickled his mind up until this
moment…Now it made no difference. It
seemed apparent that there was nothing behind them…. All that remained was the
trip ahead.
The motives of the androids, whether it was really
to protect them or for their own self-preservation, was almost a moot point
when weighed against the problems of space psychoses and physical
degeneration. Doctor Slaven never
wanted immortality and yet the thought intrigued him…Remembering the tale of
Rip Van Winkle, the man who went to sleep and awakened many years later with a
long, gray beard, he laughed softy, as he drifted into deepening levels of
somnolence. Sandra waited for his eyes
to shut, at which time she and Woody would hook him up, fell the chamber with
gel, turn down the temperature, and then shut the lid. At first, as he blacked out, there was the
expected darkness and sense of weightlessness and then nothing…. For Doctor
Mark Slaven, the last crewmember of the Vanguard to enter the cry-o chamber,
the dark sleep had begun.
******
When
the last lid was shut, Sandra and Woody inspected all twelve of the cryogenic
chambers meticulously. The men and
women of Earth II’s effort at first long range space travel lie peacefully in
their gel, eyes shut, hands folded on their chests as if in caskets ready for
burial. What separated them from the
dead were their life-support monitors on each chamber, all indicating normal
readouts. Satisfied with their efforts,
they returned to the conference room where Skip and the other androids
waited. Unable to show human emotion,
except for perfunctory gestures and tones, they nevertheless resembled their
human counterparts in their speech and mannerisms.
“The humans are asleep,” Woody
announced, standing at attention. “The chambers indicate normal readings. They will be monitored each hour.”
“Many of them believe they won’t wake
up,” Sandra informed their leader.
“Yes.” Skip nodded. “It’s not whether
they will awaken, but when.” “Come,” he motioned to the two. “While you
were at your task, something happened.”
As the eight androids stood around the
pilot’s console, Skip pointed to the computer.
In the black background of the screen, was a message from earth. Without commenting on what they saw, Sandra
and Woody read it loud simultaneously, “Doctor Bertrand Thomas to Vanguard,
Captain Abraham Drexel, and ship’s company.
I was able to break through the blackout using a magnetic shield. It happened. We invited them to come and they came. To them, we’re like insects.
Yet, unlike the stuff of science fictions and horror, it wasn’t the
end. They didn’t incinerate our world
and its fauna and flora, and they will allow some of us to live. It appears they know nothing about you. Earth II space station was blasted into
atoms, as was the main base here.
You’re on your own. When you get
this transmission, I might be dead, but hopefully, with the androids help, you
will one day be standing on the bridge alive, ready to land on a new
world. I’ve instructed the androids
not to awaken you until they find you a planet. They have countless worlds to pick from. Since they will read this message first, I
leave this message—the last from planet earth: “Take care of this remnant of
mankind. You are the caretakers. In your hands, lies their fate. You are the last hope….”
Hands clasped behind his back, Skip,
the interim captain of the Vanguard, looked out of the great window that
moment. Sitting down in the captain’s
chair, he motioned for Astro, who would be his second-in-command to take the
pilot’s chair as he manned the ship.
With the exception of Sandra and Woody, who would monitor the
cryo-chambers the remaining androids, who were no longer needed, returned to
their pods. While they kept watch over
their charges, and the captain and pilot navigated the ship, the Vanguard
headed away from Neptune into the unknown.
In a monotone voice, Skip spoke into
the computer’s database, “Space Log, 2100 hours, October 17th
2558. The ship’s company are safe and
secure. All indicators are normal
except the link with earth. That’s now
blank. We can’t go back, only
forward. We’re on our own.” “… Astro.” He looked askance, his attention
drawn back to the message. “Behind Doctor Thomas’ word is a threat. Did you sense it?”
Astro nodded.
“Somehow, Astro, the aliens missed our
presence. Perhaps that was the human’s
god, but there’s no time to waste. We
must leave our solar system at once!”
“Where to sir?” Astro beamed. “We have
a list of possible destinations. Should
I pick the first one on the list?”
“Perhaps.” Skip seemed to sigh. “We
don’t know where earth’s visitors came from.
We shall approach the first one carefully. We have plenty of time to decide—centuries, millenniums. For now, Astro, it’s just out. Take us into deep space!”