Rigel Kentaurus

By Rick Novy

It’s the first human voyage outside the solar system, and Proxima Centauri is the destination. The crew of the sleeper ship Deep Space discovers we are not alone, and not everyone out there is nice.

Diverted to Alpha Centauri A (Rigel Kentaurus) to fetch and return a faster-than-light prototype, the crew learns that humanity is the only civilization to ever solve the light barrier problem.

Now, this peaceful reasearch mission must defend it as a military secret, because the mysterious Betels have been at war with the brutal Thrace since before mankind discovered fire, and all with sublight space travel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rick Novy
• Release date: May 22, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476136394

Rick Novy

Rick Novy makes his home in a suburb of that great metropolitan desert region of Arizona known as Phoenix. He grew up in the frozen tundra of Wisconsin and graduated from the University of Wisconsin at Whitewater with a bachelor of science degree in physics and mathematics (double major).He moved to California and lived in the Bay Area for a decade, during which he earned a masters of science in engineering at San Jose State University. In 1999 he moved to Arizona (it’s a wry heat).Rick spent 14 years as an engineer in the semiconductor industry. He is currently adjunct faculty in the mathematics department at a local community college.Rick has more interests than he has time to devote. He is a fish keeper suffering from MTS (multiple tank syndrome). One tank features difficult to find purebred Endler’s Livebearers, a species he keeps because it is nearly extinct in the wild from habitat destruction and is being crossbred with guppies by shortsighted breeders and pet shops to the extent that uncrossed Endlers are nearly impossible to find.

Book preview

Chapter One

Bright lights. Headache. Frank hated emerging from cryo-sleep, and each time seemed to be worse than the previous. The headache, the nausea, the dizziness, and the bone-penetrating cold tore at him like blades of a knife. Shivering, he felt chilled to the bone, and perhaps a bit deeper. A warm set of hands reached under his shoulders to help him to sit.

Wake up. You're needed.

Through his groggy awareness, Frank tried to place the voice. It belonged to a man. Not good. Either something happened to Sarah Hoke, the doctor assigned to this bay for final wake-up call, or else something happened to Deep Space before arrival, and everyone expected Frank Lassiter to save the day.

He tried to speak, but his tongue didn't quite work properly. Someone abruptly tilted his head back and pried open his left eye. The bright lights burned, but a drop of liquid soon cooled that. The process repeated in the other eye.

A set of hands grabbed his legs and vertigo encompassed his being as legs dropped to the floor. Come on, Frank, wake up. The thrashing certainly didn't ease the headache.

O'Reilly, the bastard. He knew that voice now. O'Reilly put him to sleep what, about five minutes ago? How much time had really passed? A pair of hands, probably belonging to the same O'Reilly, reached under Frank's arms again, and lifted him to his feet.

Not yet, not yet. Still too weak. His knees buckled but those hands kept him on his feet. Frank struggled to stay up as he felt himself pushed forward. He struggled to open his eyes, squinting against the energetic photons pelting them.

Help me get him to the command center. A second set of hands assisted the first set. Frank continued stumbling despite the help.

Early. Frank knew it. Why otherwise force him to the command center just minutes out of the cryo-chamber? Did Bigby screw up the course like he did in sim? Frank tried again to speak, but his tongue still wouldn't cooperate. It came out like he had a mouth full of mashed yams.

Don't try to talk, Frank.

Sure, just toss ol' Frank around like a dog toy, a sock drenched in beagle slobber. Whose voice was that? The lights didn't sting his eyes quite as much anymore and he tried to open them wide. The additional light made him blink.

Being able to see the corridor helped to ease the disorientation and dizziness. He held more of his own weight.

Good. He'll be fine by the time we get to the command center.

What's his cryo-personality disorder?

Just grumpy.

Frank turned his head and caught a glimpse of orange hair that could only belong to O'Reilly. Grumpy indeed. He stopped just in time to succumb to more nausea and closed his eyes again.

Don't turn your head, just concentrate on walking.

Jawohl. He opened his eyes and focused on trying to regain control of his body, but something nagged at Frank's brain. A different feeling this time, unlike anything he felt previous times he emerged from cryo-sleep. A tickling sensation that felt as if a downy feather rubbed lightly back and forth across his cerebral cortex. Just as fast, the feeling disappeared.

They maneuvered him along the corridor to a hatch. The battleship gray steel with locking wheel and criss-crossed with reinforcing ribs gave it away as the entrance to the command center. No sign necessary. Frank dreaded finding out what situation warranted yanking a man out of cryo-sleep early, then manhandling him to the command center while not fully emerged from hibernation.

The second set of hands released Frank's shoulders. Rasha Tarek appeared at the door. She must be the owner of the second set of hands. Tarek turned the locking wheel and swung the door out before stepping through to the command center.

With help from O'Reilly, Frank stepped through next. Aside from the three new arrivals, Captain Alan Bigby, a.k.a. the Big B, sat at the navigation console as the only other occupant of the command center. He sat, eyes focused on the large monitor that covered the wall opposite the door.

Frank looked away from Bigby and turned his own attention to the monitor. A red star glowed like a chunk of hot charcoal in the dark sky, a star dim enough that staring directly at it caused no discomfort. The star covered about the same size region of space his own fist would if he extended his arm. Frank tried to look away, but couldn't. He found the image just too captivating. His first up-close glimpse of another star was almost too much to take in while still recovering from cryo-sleep.

Chapter Two

Lieutenant Malshaak couldn't understand why the harjis bothered with this type of planet. No enemy, wrong atmospheric gasses, and primitive peoples, all under a sickly yellow star. And this binary system with its eccentric orange companion could make even a Thrace dizzy. Hot and cold, hot and cold.

The Reik would, of course, pick a time when companion star neared the parent. Malshaak could feel the infrared on his skin even through the window. That second sun in the sky raised the air temperature to an uncomfortable level. How could a creature from this abysmal place possibly hold the secret?

He adjusted the stick to descend. Orange light from the companion star played off his normally grey hands, but the flicker on the window came from the fires below. The whole of creation had been set aflame on the planet, though he could not say why. Harjis scientists said the simple proximity of the companion star did not explain the fires. Still, how could life evolve on a hellhole like this?

According to the spy, these primitives held the secret, so the Reik said to find it. How could the grandest of prizes possibly develop on such a backward world? So many questions. Still, finding the prize would merit a fabulous tattoo. Malshaak swung the meki around, trading altitude for speed.

Thermal updrafts from the surface fires made for rough flying—not the least bit enjoyable. The meki rumbled and shook as he maneuvered past fire after fire, seeking a resident of this wasteland.

Then he saw one. Orange, like the companion star, and sickly thin like the spy. Long neck and spindly body, it looked as much like a flame as a creature. Clothed in furs slightly darker orange than its own skin, it darted between the fires, keeping Malshaak alert but irritated.

The creature ran into a large clearing and Malshaak seized the opportunity. He swung the meki around and cut the creature off. The thing spun about and ran in the opposite direction, and not as quickly as Malshaak expected it might.

Activating the snare as he lifted the meki over the creature, he aligned the sights and pressed the release trigger. The minor impulse through his feet told him the compartment opened. Through the trigger site, he watched the mesh fall and unfurl itself to ensnare the creature. The mesh snapped tight around its victim.

A swooping turn later, the meki settled into the soil between two walls of flame. The creature struggled against the mesh, trying to slice it with some sort of primitive knife. Malshaak felt satisfied it would hold. Even an ultrasonic knife would take time to cut through that mesh.

He fitted the helmet onto his environment suit, then purged the atmosphere in the cargo hold to fill it with outside air. The creature would travel in there. So many oxygen-breathers in this universe, things would be so much simpler if everyone would just breathe chlorine like the thrace did.

He set pumps working to bottle enough air to keep the creature alive on the koni, at least through interrogation. Once the pumps began that pleasant hum, all in unison, he cycled the airlock and emerged into the blazing inferno his captive called home.

As he stepped onto the crunching pebbles of the accursed planet, the refrigeration unit in his environment suit snapped on. He felt, rather than heard, the crackle of burning vegetation. Thankfully, the atmosphere wouldn't allow him to remove his helmet to smell the smoke even if he wanted to.

Upon seeing the suited figure standing before it, the creature tried to roll toward the nearest fire. It couldn't move, but Malshaak stomped on a flap of mesh just for effect.

The native produced a pathetic whimper, and Malshaak started the language computer on his belt. Most inferior species whimpered when cornered. The harjis called it begging for mercy.

Malshaak had no time for mercy unless the thing cooperated. He grabbed the mesh that enclosed the creature and lifted the whole package over his head. He looked up into the creature's terrified eyes. It trembled, it drooled, and it used short and fast breaths. It squirmed, but Malshaak's grip proved too much for the weakling native.

Perhaps he could avoid bringing the pathetic thing back with him. He released the mesh and dropped the contents near the landing strut of his meki. Momentarily stunned, the creature gained enough wits to scoot backwards, pinning itself against the landing strut.

Malshaak knelt in front of the native. He spoke with a soft voice and stared at the creature's face to catch any reaction. Where is Kinji?

No reaction. Malshaak lifted the native by the neck and carried it around the back of the meki to the cargo door. He punched a code and the cargo door opened, then he tossed the captive inside. The creature emitted a brief squeal. Malshaak closed the door so he wouldn't have to hear any more of it.

Chapter Three

Frank stood just inside the hatch leading to the command center, bracing himself against the doorframe to keep from drifting away. Transitioning from the spun-up outer hull to the stationary inner spine, to which the bridge was attached, always played havoc with his equilibrium, especially after waking from hibernation.

The faint background noises from nav computer punctuated the silence. Bigby's head bobbed in time to the rhythm of his keystrokes. Thinning black hair revealed the start of a bald spot that could fool a casual observer into thinking the captain a weakling. Nothing could be further from the truth. Lithe and sinewy, The Big B could hold his own against almost anyone in the crew.

Frank used the rail to aid in walking across the room to join the captain.

Ah, Mr. Lassiter, just in time.

What's wrong? Frank glanced at the numbers that covered the nav computer monitor. Why did you wake me up early?

Bigby didn't answer immediately. Instead, he manipulated the computer using the imbedded touch sensor and brought up a schematic of the Proxima Centauri portion of the Alpha Centauri star system. The red sun held the central position. He recognized the planned trajectory of their ship, the Deep Space, but a new circle had been added to the diagram.

Bigby said as he pointed to that circle, This is a newly discovered planet. Nguyen has named it Gerrold's World, not sure why.

Hardly surprising we found something. The charter of Deep Space included the study of any planets they happened to discover. Finding a planet did not warrant waking the senior pilot. The approach vector for Deep Space had been selected specifically for ease of transfer into a planetary orbit, so why the change?

Bigby looked over his shoulder after Frank spoke. Not surprising that we found a planet, no. The commander tapped a few keys and a blue trajectory appeared. Here is something a bit more interesting.

Frank recognized the new track immediately by its color. The fuel drone. His eyes followed the blue track from out-system inward toward the star. The trajectory of the fuel drone ran tangential to the planet's orbit.

Bigby turned in his chair to give Frank a better view of the monitor. What do you make of it?

Have Nguyen and Dietrich determined the planet's orbit yet?

Bigby nodded. He tapped a few keys and the display changed. The red sun stayed in the center. The planet's orbit vanished, leaving only a green dot to represent the new world. A purple dot represented Deep Space, and a cyan dot the fuel drone. Dietrich sent me this simulation about an hour ago. Keep your eye on the drone.

Bigby started the simulation, setting all the dots in motion. Deep Space moved slowly, probably not the point of this exercise. The planet started at the far side of the star, and the fuel drone started Earthward.

It didn't take long for Frank to jump ahead of the simulation in his mind. He just didn't know which outcome caused his early wake-up call. With painful sloth, the simulation caught up. The fuel drone and the planet converged. A crash seemed an unlikely catastrophe, but a close pass with the planet would send the drone who-knew-where.

The cyan dot and green dots merged into one. A moment later, they separated with the green continuing on its merry way, and the cyan now headed inward toward the star.

Do we lose it?

Bigby shook his head. He clicked a few keys and the simulation sped up. The cyan dot fell toward the star, then swung around the back side and entered into a highly eccentric orbit.

The simulation stopped, and Frank rubbed his chin. That's going to be difficult to catch. Especially if Bigby had Deep Space falling into the star. No telling how much the Commander meddled with the vectors. He shouldn't be awake yet either.

Difficult, yes, but obviously we have to try. Bigby turned his chair to face Frank. Despite your history, you're still our best pilot. We need you to catch the drone before it enters that eccentric orbit.

Being the best had its disadvantages. Frank thought Big B decided to let the past stay in the past. Clearly, nothing had changed. Frank sighed, despite his best effort to keep those thoughts to himself.

Bigby's eyebrows furled and he opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself short. Instead, he pinched his lips and said nothing.

The commander still held the grudge, that much, his expression made clear. Frank could do nothing about that at the moment. Lives depended upon bringing that fuel drone home to roost. Like everyone else, Bigby wanted to go home eventually.

Where is that file? The sooner he plotted the necessary thrust vectors, the sooner he could get this job finished. No sense in delaying.

Bigby pressed a button and removed a silver memory stick from the terminal. He handed the stick to Frank. It's all here. You'd better get going. Frank took the stick without comment.

Frank didn't need calculations to tell him the easiest place to catch the drone would be just before it swung around the planet. The orbital analysis took only a few minutes since most of the data had already been crunched, provided on the stick from Bigby. Frank needed only to tell the computer where he wanted the shuttle to go and it spit out the departure time and vector.

Frank had already pulled the shuttle away from the dorsal docking port, leaving only a thin robotic arm connecting it to Deep Space. The navigation computer would sever the link at the programmed time. The situation tempted Frank to lean back and put his feet up. He wasn't needed for the rendezvous. The computer could handle that just fine.

Once the shuttle and the drone came together, things would get interesting. No computer could control something as delicate as a capture, and this would be no ordinary capture. One wrong move could doom the crew of Deep Space to finding a permanent home at Proxima Centauri. Not exactly fertile land, so to speak.

Of course, he hadn't seen the planet yet, something he intended to change before Deep Space started her trip back to Earth. Any planet orbiting a red dwarf could not possibly support a colony of unprepared humans. It probably wouldn't support any kind of life at all.

A pop from the robot arm release mechanism brought Frank back to the here and now. Not long after he felt the pop, the thrusters fired, pushing him hard against the back of his seat. Newton's laws, they couldn't be escaped, giving Frank another good reason to strap in properly and keep his feet off the console. He learned that lesson watching Kambo break his leg, costing him a spot on the mission roster.

Bigby held up Kambo's stupidity as an example that even the best person for the job isn't necessarily automatic. Likely Deep Space would miss Kambo's talents, but Frank didn't care. Kambo's dismissal allowed Doris Vasquez to go from stand-by to crew. She was easy on the eyes, even if he didn't expect to see her much.

Everything looked according to plan. The computer still projected the drone and shuttle to come together as expected. Satisfied with the situation, he unstrapped himself and floated back to the airlock near the back of the crew cabin to check on the towing cable.

It amazed him how much of this mission involved solo work. In Earth orbit, a space walk would require a minimum crew of three. Safety over everything. That luxury didn't apply three light years from home. Out here, it made more sense to risk one pilot instead of two or three. The others could try again if something happened to Frank.

He inspected the cable, making sure the latch on the hook opened easy enough to allow attachment to the drone, yet held once it closed. He found it acceptable and went back to the cockpit and strapped himself in.

Frank attached a tether to his vacuum suit, then picked up the cable that he would use to reel in the drone, attaching that one, as well. After one last check of his helmet, he cycled the airlock and opened the door.

Outside, he could see the drone, still falling toward the planet on its way to a new orbit. Both drone and planet glowed crimson in the light of the cool red dwarf. The drone seemed not to be moving at all, scale and relative motion being the overwhelming influences.

To the right, Proxima Centauri loomed, partially covered by the hull of the shuttle. Although it appeared a dozen times larger than the sun looked from Earth orbit, the dim light didn't even force Frank to squint. Roiling and boiling gasses on the surface of the star could be hypnotic. Training in earth orbit never had this kind of distraction; he would have to force himself to concentrate on the job.

Not only could being distracted by the surface of the star be dangerous, just being near the star could be dangerous. Frank stared at it, looking for any sign of a flare. Not that he knew what to look for—all he knew were the warnings from the astronomers during training. The threat of a flare would always be on his mind.

But, the threat of staying here forever had more sway. Back to the task in front of him. With a foot hooked under a loop in the deck, Frank gave a good tug to the tether attached to his suit. Satisfied it would hold, Frank took the tow cable in both hands, then eyed the fuel drone. Leaping to it should be no different than leaping the stream at his uncle's farm. Except for the endless void part.

He hesitated as the curdling inside his stomach worked its way into his legs. He quivered, but got his head about him. The sooner he got on with it, the sooner he could get back to the relative safety of Deep Space.

The fuel drone really was too big to miss. He had to convince himself of that. No help to be had with that job. With a single motion, he removed his foot from the loop and pushed off the hull of the shuttle. That action sent him sailing across the narrow gap separating him from the drone.

Ahead, the fuel drone grew until he could reach out and grab a metal loop. Frank scrambled with his feet until he stopped his momentum. Once soundly clinging to the fuel drone, Frank began securing the line around it. Towing it back to Deep Space would probably be the most important task he would do this entire mission, so that line had to hold.

As he secured the cable back to itself to finish up the job, he felt a prickly sensation that seemed to come from inside his head. Frank tried to scratch against the inside of his helmet, but that was no help at all. In fact, the more he tried, the worse the feeling became.

He instinctively tried to scratch his head with his hand, but the helmet prevented that, of course. It felt as if all of space were about to implode into his head. He had to get back inside, tow the drone back to Deep Space. He tried to focus, but could not. The sensation, it wasn't exactly pain, just wouldn't allow him to concentrate on anything.

All he could see were images of a place he had never been. A dark place, like a cave or perhaps a mine, filled the awareness in his mind. Another image soon took its place—a rusty brown environment, dimly lit, yet he could clearly see the tracks left by a vehicle. A third image came not in the form of a vision, but in the form of pain from a part of his face that never was. It hurt, but felt artificial, like pain from a distance. The pain was no more real than the visions.

And then, it was gone. All of it. Just as quickly as they came on, the sensations vanished. In their place, a sweat-covered Frank panted for breath. It took a few moments before he could function again. He still had to bring the drone back to Deep Space.

Chapter Four

Though he would never admit it, Malshaak occasionally questioned whether he should be a soldier, whether he had the necessary stuff. He should enjoy these interrogations. After all, he sported a number of tattoos for success. Months ago, slicing bits off the spy yielded the information that brought them to this hell-hole. It seemed such a barbaric practice. Barbaric, yet effective, but that didn't make interrogations any easier.

Malshaak slapped himself in the face. When did he start thinking Sythian? Must be getting old, becoming soft and weak like the spy. What a chilling thought, to be like the blank-skinned one who spends eternity inside a rock staring at the walls.

The native creature remained motionless in the corner of the cargo hold after it capitulated. Malshaak simply let the creature wear itself out while he kept himself busy taking the meki back into space. Once the creature realized it could not get out, it became surprisingly docile. Now, many hours would pass before the meki neared the Koni. He could at least begin the interrogation.

Enough time and whimpering had passed that the translation computer would likely produce passable language. He suited up and placed the helmet back over his head to protect himself from the oxygen the creature breathed. He cycled the airlock, then passed through into to the cargo hold.

In the aft-starboard corner, the creature leaned against the bulkhead with apparent apathy. Malshaak crossed the cargo hold and towered over the creature. He flicked on the translation computer and spoke with a booming voice, though the computer couldn't duplicate it. Where is Kinji?

An attempt at translation emerged from the computer, sounding much like the bovine brays of the pack animals on Tonis—another abysmal oxygen planet under a yellow star. Despite the dissonant sounds, Malshaak watched the creature for a reaction.

Bovine braying came from the creature, and the computer took a stab at translating. Why did you kidnap me?

Where is Kinji?

The creature slunk deeper into the corner and crinkled its face as it responded with more braying. What is a Kinji?

Malshaak kicked the creature hard enough to cause pain, yet not so hard to cause any real damage. Don't play stupid.

That one kick threw the creature into apparent panic. It trembled and drooled, like it did in the net on the planet. I don't know. It took a breath broken with staccato spasms. I know nothing about a Kinji.

This interrogation seemed futile. Malshaak wondered if the creature told the truth and knew anything at all. He decided to try one more time. I want to know where to find the one called Kinji.

This time, the creature moved its head from side to side. I don't know. The braying took on a whining tone. Kinji is not a name, it has the wrong form.

That answer perplexed Malshaak. He brought up his arm and punched a few buttons on the keypad of his environment suit. He wanted the translator to play that last bit back. Kinji is not a name, it has the wrong form.

What an odd thing for the creature to say. Unexpected, certainly. He turned to the airlock and passed back into the crew compartment without another word to his captive. Best let the Reik decide how to proceed.

The trip back to the koni dragged. Normally, Malshaak enjoyed the solitude of these transits. This time, however, he wanted only to get this native into somebody else's control. He sensed the creature really knew absolutely nothing about Kinji. Could the Reik be so wrong, or did Malshaak simply capture an idiot?

It had been a long time since the harjis had to deal with bringing an alien prisoner aboard. They interrogated the spy on location. Malshaak extended the transfer tube that would keep the native isolated from the Thrace living environment. Malshaak suited up so he could accompany the native.

The tube led to an iris valve hatch. Malshaak opened the hatch and led his captive down a sealed corridor that ended in a hallway connecting a small complex of rooms, isolated from the rest of the harjis. The rooms were actually cells designed to hold prisoners in their native atmosphere and temperature. The hallway had been filled with oxygen atmosphere to accommodate the prisoner, but would be returned to the usual chlorine with the prisoner safely in its cell.

Malshaak guided the captive to the room designated by the Reik before the trip planetside. He ushered the thing into the airlock leading from the hallway to the cell, and then cycled it. With the prisoner safely stowed, Malshaak stepped toward the airlock leading to the rest of the koni. The Reik expected him for a debriefing.

Chapter Five

Frank shook his head with vigor. All I did was tow the drone. I never got anywhere near the valves.

Bigby didn't look convinced. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back. That isn't nearly enough fuel to get us back to Earth.

Frank didn't appreciate taking the blame for this. Whatever fuel is in there now is all the fuel the drone had when it arrived in system. How could it be otherwise? He touched no valve or Newton's Laws would have given his blunder away. Bigby knew that. Something must have happened to the drone on its way to Proxima Centauri.

Bigby ran his hand along the hull of the fuel drone. That's what worries me. The drone filled the cargo bay and would have to be jettisoned once the fuel had been transferred into the tanks of Deep Space. No sense keeping dead weight, though Frank would rather keep it to cannibalize. That argument, he could have later. Right now, everything depended on how much fuel arrived intact.

"Frank, once we know how much fuel is here, I need you to find out