Beyond the Beginning: Brock’s Adventures - The Boxed Set - Episodes 1 - 3

By Marsell Morris

In this the boxed set of the Beyond the Beginning - Brock's Adventures, series, you will meet and learn about Brock, a cyborg with a human brain, and what makes him tick. You will follow Brock through his adventures, several almost costing his life — will meet Number One, a highly intelligent android and Brock's sidekick, who is constantly tasked with saving Brock from his reckless desire to explore — will be introduced to several alien species, some dangerous, and their worlds, as well as many alien animals — will be introduced to my theory as to how wormholes are constructed and how they might work. In short, be prepared for an unusual and fun read. Get the boxed set and save the cost of one of the episode from the series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marsell Morris
• Release date: Apr 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311209771

Marsell Morris

Marsell was born in Detroit Michigan in the year of… well, a good while ago. After graduating from Cass Technical High School, Marsell went to work for the Chrysler Corporation as a conveyor loader. Shortly after beginning his employment with Chrysler, he married, and fathered three children. Thirty-one years later, and after having gained the position of production supervisor, he retired at fifty. After retiring, he began playing golf everyday and all day. Having lowered his handicap to near scratch, and winning a tournament at even par, and behind a debilitating injury, he was unable to continue playing. He had a lot of free time on his hands, whereupon, he took up writing as a hobby and time killer and discovered he had talent for spinning a yarn. After pounding out eleven urban fictions, covering everything from drug use, prostitution, gang crime, murder, and romance/erotica, and having always been a science fiction fan from his teenage years, he thought he'd try his hand at writing a Sci-Fi tail, which culminated in his first work "Alien Plot - First Contact" now retitled "Alien Offensive - Nanobot Storm" and its four sequels, and which, at one time before he ran into problems with its publisher, was considered good fodder for production as a movie, not because he is such a great writer, but because of its unique, previously unexplored, plot. He still lives in Detroit, and being a compulsive writer, he spends most of his time wearing out his fourth keyboard replacement, while pursuing what he loves doing — writing more tails with unique story lines.

Book preview

Preface

A half-millennium earlier . . .

. . . A benevolent alien race looked down on mankind — studied him, and saw he’d finally learned to live in harmony with those of his kind. They saw he’d done away with his murderous ways — saw man was beginning to master space travel, and beginning to visit other planets in his solar system. They also knew the human species was doomed without their aid, and, although, he’d all but destroyed his home planet, decided to help him.

After leaving a set of instructions on Mars Earth’s brother planet for man to find when the time was right, they returned to their home planet, and waited. It was now in humankind’s hands to save his species. Even with the instructions, it would take a global effort — all of mankind working together.

The alien race knew that failing a joint effort to follow their directions, the human species would parish much the same as countless other species of intelligent life-forms in the galaxy. But it had been proven many times over, their attempts to help other species succeeded when that species put their collective minds together and were able to follow the instructions. Would man be one of those intelligent life-forms — only time would tell, and the benevolent alien race that made it their mission to assist, had plenty of time and patients . . .

Chapter 1

The present . . .

The year, 2601 AD. The place, New Mexico, in what was once the United States of America, on a dying planet called Earth and one year before the launching of the humankind saving Time Ship. As predicted by the benevolent alien race, humankind found the instructions and, although, not following the instructions verbatim, was nearing the completion of the alien designed Ship.

Captain Brock paced back and forth in his cubicle, his six mechanical, spider-like legs tapping rhythmically on the metal decking of his cubicle inside the cube stack building serving as his residence until the mission was launched.

He’d just returned from a marathon session with the Time Ship’s design team and getting bored, again. The click of his leg-falls seemed to relax him — help him concentrate the same as someone might tap their fingertips on a tabletop when thinking about something.

He stopped to peer down on the Earth from his viewing port, his oversized football shaped head tilted down, the lens packaged on one end rotating to select a magnification. As he looked down, he saw only a vast, endless, cloud of pollution that had replaced the white clouds of yesteryear, and which almost completely blanketed the ground below. A constant wind whipped the pollution and dust filled cloud into tiny, tornado-like, vortices, as the dust laden gale came into contact with the side of his building. But his mind wasn’t on the ever-present pollution or the hot wind that never stopped blowing. He was more concerned with when he would be allowed to assume his command and with his hated living conditions.

He constantly thought about how he was relegated to a solitary existence away from the rest of the Starship’s design team, and wasn’t even allowed a short visit to his Ship. The very Ship he was designed to command and pilot — the very Ship that would carry all of mankind’s hopes for survival. I should be down below, underground, in the caverns with the others of my kind — with the other humans, he thought, as he had many times before. Why am I stuck in this metal holding pen, surrounded by these dumb droids? The humans only calling me when they need something. Summons me like some dutiful servant who’ll respond to their beckoning whistle, and then be sent back to my room until needed again — put away like some well sharpened tool. They never invite me down to just talk. Talk about their families, or how bad their day has been, or about anything other than the construction of the Ship. I can’t wait to get away from this dead rock of a planet and the narrow-minded scientist and politicians.

Just a matter of time, he said, aloud, to himself, using his voice box, as he absentmindedly tapped one leg, the pincer like claw retracted. Just a matter of time.

The good Captain Brock had no idea what awaited him in the future. Had he known, he wouldn’t be in such a hurry to board the Time Ship and leave Earth. He would discover the universe is a very dangerous place filled with more strange forces than he could imagine.

Brock switched his eyepiece to telescopic, choosing to magnify his vision by only one-hundred. He could, through the few holes in the pollution, catch a glimpse of the ground almost a mile down — not much detail, though, with the evening approaching and it getting dark. Besides, the blanketing, barely transparent haze covering the ground made it hard to see anything other than the larger structures. The haze had been there for as long as he could remember, which was since he gained consciousness and self awareness ten-years ago. It covered the entire planet like a transparent grayish fog. It replaced the beautiful blue skies of the past, and no matter how hard the dust filled wind blew, would never go away. It was part of man’s legacy — the direct result of the careless and thoughtless manor in which he had knowingly, with greed and convenience the motivations, destroyed his home.

The only good thing about being so high above the ground was he had the clear night’s sky with countless stars as his view. He’d sit for hours and stare at the overhead stars he wanted to be out in — one of which, Proxima Centauri, he hoped to visit one day very soon. If things went as planned, he’d get his wish — actually, it was as good as done. In about a year, he would lead a humankind saving expedition, and would be visiting those stars he lovingly stared up at every time he got bored.

His lens eye caught the glint of one star that was larger and brighter than others in the early evening sky, and seemed to be moving against the background of stationary stars. It mimicked other celestial bodies, and appeared to be something it wasn’t. That brightest star that he watched with growing anticipation was not actually a distant sun — it was the massive Time Ship in geostationary orbit, reflecting sunlight back to Earth, its brilliance, also, reflecting mankind’s hopes for his future — not only his future, but his very existence.

His name was Brock, the name of his choosing, and was a sentimental holdover from the past. His designated name, given to him by the World Body Politic when he gained consciousness, the ruling organization of his time, was Captain 1-TS-1, an acronym for Captain One of the Time Ship One. He preferred the surname, Brock, because the proper name seemed to separate him from the numerous robotic androids on the planet that had no living tissue or human parts, couldn’t think on their own, weren’t autonomous, and used numbers and letters as identification. They were androids with a limited amount of artificial intelligent, positronic, brains, and were mostly pre-programmed to perform designated operations, and not much more. I’m not a robot. I’m much more. I’m a human trapped in a metal exoskeleton that served as my head and body, he’d often think, especially, when he became bored from inactivity, and while brooding over the refusal of the humans to let him join them deep in the underground caverns.

He, unlike the all flesh humans, understood his superior mind needed constant stimulation — needed to learn — needed problems to solve, but he being stuck in his cubicle wasn’t receiving the challenges he craved. I know I have an inquisitive mind, and have a love for adventure, as well as have a tendency to get myself into tight situations at times, and I intimidate the inferior humans with their smaller brains and weak bodies, but that’s no excuse to keep me bottled up like this. Even though I’m only ten-years old, I’m not a child. My mind is fully developed, and I an a cyborg an can take care of myself, and it’s time those paranoid engineers realize that, he thought, again, while still looking up at the stars.

After many thoughts of doing so, he finally decided he’d find some way to become more involved with construction of the Ship, and not wait until the engineers ran into a problem before they consulted him. After all, I’m the Captain, and should have more to say about how this place is run. I should have more control over how my Ship is built — how it’s manned, and provisioned, he reasoned, as he looked out toward the horizon and saw only the fog-like haze that covered the curvature of the Earth. I’m the Captain, and it’s time they recognized that, he resolved.

Chapter 2

Brock had been standing at his bubble-like view port for hours while looking up at his future command, orbiting one-hundred-miles up — the night passing without his notice. His imagination worked overtime as he tried to envision being on the Ship, and imagine the adventures ahead of him in the near future as he zipped through the Milky Way at a previously unprecedented light-speed. He knew his Solar System out to the orbit of Pluto, if reduced to approximately one inch in diameter, the Milky Way, his home galaxy, would be the size of what once was the continental United States west of the Mississippi. He also knew the Sun was about three-thousand light-years from the center of the Milky Way and the massive black hole concealed there. He knew it is estimated the Milky Way Galaxy, including its halo, is over two-hundred-thousand light-years across. It was a big place all right, but actually mediocre as far as galaxies are concerned, but he’d have the Ship to help him explore it all, he imagined.

Although the approaching daylight threatened to make the Ship harder to see for most, he had no problem perceiving the vessel clearly. He could almost make out the individual smaller shuttles as they approached the massive Ship to deposit their loads and return to Earth to pick up another. That long procession of parts laden shuttles had been making the round trip for the last fifty-years, around the clock, and would soon end with the completion of the Ship.

He could stand there many more hours while watching his Ship grow before his eyes, but wanting to put his time to better use, and not being tired, turned to go to his memory implant computer to have more star charts uploaded into his brain. He knew, although it was a necessity, he’d soon become bored with that activity. During his first few years of consciousness, he’d already digested an encyclopedic knowledge of what Earth was like before man had destroyed it. Had memorized countless star charts, and was tired of studying. Besides, star charts were boring, and hard to relate too. He knew where he was going once he assumed control the Time Ship. He’d studied all he figured he needed to know about the red dwarf star, Proxima Centauri, his future destination, and the Earth-like planet circling it. Why would I need more information about this dead planet or the other stars in the galaxy, he wondered?

What he really desired was to take a shuttle to his Ship and monitor the final preparations — begin acting like a Captain, but he also knew he wouldn’t be allowed that small privilege. He knew those paranoid engineers and the Body Politic thought he much too valuable to be allowed an occasional visit to the Ship without good reason. I don’t know what they’re so worried about, he often thought? There is nothing in space that can harm me except, maybe, a black hole or a large gamma-ray bursts, or possibly a magnetar, and I’ll stay away from those monsters. I’m almost indestructible, and can take care of myself — they made sure of that when they built my transport. So why do they refuse me the opportunity to visit my almost completed Ship, he constantly questioned?

He returned his attention to the computer as he sat with his legs retracted, and stared at it for a while before picking up the co-axle plug to insert it in the rear of his brain case. He’d barely plugged in when he received a telepathic thought, ‘Captain 1-TS-1, will you please report to a meeting with the Time Ship’s design team being held in the engineer’s meeting hall.’

The message resonated in his head as clearly as if someone had spoken to him, but was probably telepathically sent by one of the Body Politics’ assisting droids from down in the caverns.

That’s what I’m talking about, he thought, as he unplugged, extended his six legs, lifted his transport from the deck, and headed for the elevators inside his building. If I were down there with them, they wouldn’t have to summons me as if I were some kind of dutiful servant. I’d be working alongside them, and this whole project would progress much smoother. I wonder what they want now, he thought. I've attended several hundred meetings with those narrow-minded geeks — even had a long meeting last night, and they still can't get it right. I thought we went over all the problems they were having with the Ship’s design. It’s not as if they were doing the project on their own. Can't they follow the directions the aliens provided them? Oh well, let me get down there and dig their fat out of the fire, again. Come to think about it, while I’m down there, I think I’ll have another word with Chairman Bostello about moving me underground with the rest of my kind. Hell, I might demand they move me and give me more responsibilities — give me something to do on the Ship. Yeah, I could threaten to go on strike until they make the move. After all, what can they do if I refuse to fly their Ship, or better yet, refuse to help with its construction, build another of me? That won’t happen. It took them decades of modifying the genes that led to the growth of my oversized brain. The mission is scheduled to begin in what, another year or two — they don’t have time to monkey around duplicating me. I’ll bet they’ll listen to me this time and give me the space I want?

Actually, deep inside, he knew his threat of refusing to fly the Ship held no true conviction. He wanted the command of the Ship as much as they wanted him at the helm. But, what the hell, he thought — I’ll give it a try anyway. And if they don’t grant my wish, I’ll idly sit by and wait for the Ship’s completion, and then take command and gladly leave them all behind. No point in pushing things at this late date. I’ve already waited ten-years, I can wait one more.

— — — —

Even though the instructions showing how to build the Time Ship, its radical engines, and how to genetically modify Brock’s brain and build its protective case, were found in a cave on Mars about sixty-years ago — probably, it’s speculated, left there by an alien race five or six-hundred years earlier, only a few people in the World Body Politic knew that fact. As far as the World Body was concerned, the whole concept of how to build a space traveling, interstellar, faster than light, Time Ship was conceived, engineered, and built using human ingenuity. But, because the instructions were very detailed, the so-called engineers still had problems modifying them to meet their own visions of what they wanted to do with the Ship and Brock, and it wasn’t what the alien’s had planned for how mankind would use their technology.

The problem with the construction of the Ship, while following the alien mathematical instructions, was they explained how to incorporate only one individual, or rather, one individual’s brain, encased in the alien designed, protective, life supporting, brain case, such as Brock’s, and no more into the design of the Ship. The instructions were very detailed about that aspect, leaving no room for modification. There was no indication as to how to incorporate an entire human body, let alone a whole crew as the World Body wanted. The Politic, now the governing world body, persisted in attempting to modify the designs to meet there own agenda, and while encountering problem after problem, were constantly requesting the assistance of Brock, and all the while not fully understanding the consequences of their actions.

The World Body, while not understanding the intentions of the assisting aliens, wanted to take the alien design a step further than its intended function. They wanted to build the Ship many times the size indicated in the instructions. They, in a desperate last chance effort to save mankind, wanted to send a crew of two-thousand people, one-thousand-men, and one-thousand-women, on an extended, one-way, long-range voyage. They wanted to populate another planet that circled the star, Proxima Centauri, which was located in our closest neighboring star system of Alpha Centauri. Alpha Centauri was only four light-years away and well within man’s reach with the new Ship and its alien designed engines. The human modified design of the new Ship would allow for Captain Brock's Brain to be in charge, and ten androids, with the aid of millions of alien designed microbots, carrying on the general operation and maintenance of the Ship.

Their plan was for Captain Brock to communicate with his android crew using traditional radio waves or through the less traditional method of mental telepathy if they had trouble with the radio. He’d use his voice box to communicate only with his human crew, or if all other means of communication failed.

This is why the design team sought more collaboration with the good Captain. His ten-percent larger brain being superior, his thoughts, and opinions, were un-measurably valuable. He was able to see things from a, more or less, human prospective, which was something their super fast quantum computers were incapable of. Yes, they were good for parsing reams of generic data, but not so good at deciphering the human experience. With his assistance, the Body Politics’ scientist felt they could make any modifications to the alien designs they wished. Although, many members of the Politic disagreed with tampering with the very specific design specs, the dissenters eventually acquiesced and allowed the modifications. They had no choice — the human species was in trouble and everyone felt this mission was mankind’s last and only chance for survival.

— — — —

After receiving the mental summons, Captain Brock, using his spider-like legs, began the long walk to one of the super-high-speed elevators for the ride down to sub level 103, underground, and directly below his cube stack building. The 2,600 level ride down would only take a few seconds. Because the elevators in the cube stack building weren’t designed for humans and their frail bodies, they traveled at speeds that would kill a man on the ascents and descents. Only androids and Captain Brock resided in the cube stacks so there was no need for conventional elevators. The 100-g force the elevators created when suddenly accelerating up from a stand still, would break a man’s bones, and drain the blood from his head. The ride down was just as dangerous. The elevators descended so fast as to create a zero, or negative-g condition that would pin a human to the ceiling, and when it neared the floor it was asked to stop on, with only a one-floor deceleration, it would stop, causing a human to be thrown to the floor. No man could handle that kind of acceleration and deceleration, unassisted.

The Cube Stack buildings were facilities of necessity. Simply stated, there wasn’t enough space below ground to house and maintain the millions of androids now in use. All dirty, monotonous, repetitive, and dangerous work is now relegated to the androids. The few foundries, factories, and fabricating operations that weren’t affected by the deadly Sun and its rays, is done above ground where no human could safely venture without full body protection, and even then only for a short while.

The Cube Stack Building, in which Captain Brock resided, is nearly a mile high, ten-miles-wide, and twenty-one-miles deep. It’s one of a few thousand spread over the entire planet, some larger, others smaller, but basically the same design. They’re situated anywhere there are people living underground.

The Stack Houses are a complete, cold fusion, and solar powered, self contained, automated, systems. Even the maintenance in the cube stacks is handled by androids and microbots. Each cube stack was just what it sounded like, a stack of 3-foot-by-3-foot, by 8-foot-high, cubicles. The cubicles are where most androids went when not in service. They could have maintenance and repair work done on them by the ever present, and swarming, microbots. Sometimes, the android would also receive new programming while docked inside its cubicle.

As expected, Captain Brock's cubicle was many times the size of the others in his building, and was the only unit with a view port, which was more of an afterthought hoped to appease him. His repeated request to be housed with other people below ground, was, repeatedly, denied, using the lame excuse there were no computer hookups or anything else he needed to carry on daily life. It was bull and he knew it. They could build any amenities I might need to live with them, if they wanted too, he, often, thought. They’re uncomfortable with my appearance, my intelligence, and my power. That’s why I’m relegated to this solitary living space in this building. But, what the hell, in another year I’ll be leaving the whole lot of them behind. I’ll be out among the stars. I’ll be carrying the future of the human race to its new home, and if things go as planed I’ll be their king and ruler, and no one will tell me where I can or cannot live, he dreamed, the thought bringing him a measure of solace.

— — — —

Yes, the perfect Captain had a plan. A plan conceived in his superior mind late one lonely night as he stood looking out at the blanket of stars, and up at his Ship, and while the moles of humans were resting below ground. His nefarious scheme was to take over the landing party once they were situated on their new home planet. To him, they were children who needed his guidance, and who needed his superior intellect to assure their survival. They’d need someone who would be around for a while to make sure the new society didn’t make the same mistakes they had on Earth. And because he’d outlive them by a couple-hundred-years, he felt he was the man for the job. Yes, I’m Captain Brock, soon to become World Leader Brock, he imagined that lonely, late, night.

— — — —

After a half-mile commute down a narrow corridor inside his building while on his way to the elevator, Captain Brock, looking like a giant metal spider, stepped onto one of the high-speed lifts. He saw several androids coming in his direction who wanted to get on the elevator with him. Catch the next ride, he thought, as he quickly closed the doors. He knew he was going below ground and didn't want to make several stops on the way.

As the elevator doors closed, the stabilizing field and inertial damper came on. The field would prevent him from movement as the elevator descended. The stabilizing fields were a new addition to the lifts. At one time, he and the droids had to hold onto the handrails that lined the interior of the elevators, as they made their quick accents and descents, and were still in the elevators after all these years.

The stabilizing and inertial damper fields were installed some twenty-years back after a newly appointed Chairman of the Body Politic, being a curious sort of fella, insisted on visiting the inside of one of the buildings — a place no human had ever visited before, nor wanted too. Hell, who would want to visit an immense warehouse full of boxes, but he did. Of course the adventurous fellow couldn’t ride the elevators as they were, so the Body Politic had several droids, working day and night over a week, installing the stabilizing fields and inertial damping as well as slow the accent and decent in several of the hundreds of elevators in Brock’s building. After Brock was brought to consciousness, the elevator he was now using was restored to its original configuration while leaving the damping fields installed. Of course Brock was thankful for the fields, but he didn’t really need them. He actually liked the idea that no human could ride the elevators until then. Being able to go where humans couldn’t, increased his feeling of superiority over them.

Level please? the elevator, asked Brock, electronically — no sound.

103 sub, Brock, transmitted back, mentally.

The seam where the doors came together disappeared while fusing into a solid wall. Brock's brain sensed a mild sensation of descending, but only because of his sensors. The stabilizing field held him firmly in place. And despite the inertial damping, his brain sensed the declaration of the elevator and then its stop ten-seconds later at level 103 sub-terrain, and twenty-six-hundred levels below where he started. The seam reappeared and the doors opened into a cavernous underground room, roughly a hundred-foot-high. The ceiling of the room was lined with millions of light emitting diodes that mimicked the natural light of day, and could be mistaken for the clear blue sky of a bright summer day. Had he switched to his telescopic eyepiece, he’d have seen the countless microbots scurrying around and between the diodes, inspecting them, and calling for a special droid that would replace any burned out bulbs. Having developed autonomous micro robots, of course while using the alien technologies found on Mars, the scientist perfected their design until they were capable of detecting any anomalies they were programmed for, and carry out the necessary repairs. They ran on tiny cold fusion engines, and would continue to run until something internally broke. That could take several hundred years with the new materials that had been developed. No maintenance people here, only semi-autonomous androids and microbots of different kinds, each designed for a specific purpose or purposes.

The most impressive of the machines, were the giant lifting droids. In various configurations, they were massive, with their small artificial intelligence capsules mounted in the strangest places — sometimes, high on the lifting arm, others, down low between the treads, while others had their capsules mounted on long stocks, giving them the appearance of giant crabs. They scurried everywhere while attending to their assigned task and while avoiding any contact with the many people walking around inside the caves.

The underground room, which served as mission central, was at least a couple hundred feet long, and equally wide, and was lined with a multitude of offices. People rushed around in all directions, leaving one office to race to another or down the long rock chiseled halls while carrying electronic note pads, and going to another equally large room. The halls, which extended left and right, ahead and behind, endlessly, were lighted the same, and had the same frenzied activity. The building of the Ship was considered a great time in humankind’s short history, and everyone having anything to do with it felt compelled to get it right.

Brock stepped off the elevator and switched to wheeled mode. He had a half-mile to go before reaching the design team’s meeting room. He could travel that distance while going a casual sixty-miles-per-hour, but because of the heavy pedestrian traffic, he’d keep his speed down to a crawling, ten. As he rolled through the massive halls and cavernous rooms, he received greetings from people he passed.

Hello Captain, from a woman, who stopped to watch him pass — she not quiet accepting him as human as she.

Hey Cap, bet you can't wait, can you? from a man wearing a white lab coat of an engineer — still used after all this time.

How are you doing Captain Brock? from a member of the World Body Politic, dressed in a red suite with no lapels — the garb of the Politics’ members.

Brock curtly responded in kind, using his voice box, the greetings continuing until he arrived at the design team’s meeting room. Sure, he thought, they can be polite in person, but they still won’t let me live with them — the hypocrites.

He paused at the entrance of the meeting room to retract his wheels and extend his spider legs, before entering. Now ready to impress, and entering the enormous room, which served as a centrally located meeting place where design teams could come together while discussing future plans, Brock saw several hundred lab coated scientist, engineers, and administrative personnel from the World Body, who were from every point on Earth, and each sitting at his or her dais. They all had virtual reality visors on their heads with the screens up. Several gave Captain Brock a smile, they knowing how he felt about being called only when he was needed to pull their fat out of the fire.

Using his spider legs, he climbed the stairs and took his place at his customary dais designed specifically for him, and was in the middle of a large stage. He liked clanking in on his legs, and watching the mystified stares of some of the opened mouth scientist, who, being new to the team, had never laid eyes on him before, and others, who, after all this time, still refused to accept him as human. He retracted his legs while dropping his metal transport heavily to the floor, and plugged in his VR lead using one of his four mechanical arms.

Brock being the last to arrive, the meeting began . . . Ladies and gentlemen, an amplified voice began, and of course, Captain 1-TS-1, welcome. For those of you who’ve recently joined the team, I’ll give a brief summation of our mission and where we are in progress. But, the primary reason this meeting was called is to address a problem we have with design complications concerning the Time Ship, which we must solve to continue the construction of the Ship, the anonymous voice said, while booming from the many speakers mounted on the rock hewed walls, and continued, I'm sure you all know the Earth is dying. All life on this planet is destined to end within the next millennia. We’ve literally destroyed our home beyond recovery, and if the human species is to survive, we must find a new home on another Earth-like planet. I think you’ll all agree that it’s a shame we all can’t go, although, it is possible to build a Ship large enough to transport all of Earth’s population. I’m sure you understand that to build a Ship of that magnitude, or a fleet of smaller Ships, would take more time than we have. As you all know, the deteriorating condition of our atmosphere, which we might be able to live with, we’re facing destruction on another level. Our sun is entering a period of unusual activity, and some feel that it might self-destruct relatively soon, possibly within the next hundred years. So we must resign to the fact that mankind will live on with this mission. Yes, we have populations on the Moon and Mars that are thriving, but these populations are fighting hostile environments much the same as we now are here on Earth. These populations also require support from Earth, and if the Sun does go red giant as some expect, even the Moon and Mars will be consumed by the expanding sun. If the human race is to continue to exist, and to grow and prosper, we need to populate a world that is much like our world once was. We want to send a breeding group of two-thousand people, one-thousand males, and one-thousand females, to a planet that was recently found in the Alpha Centauri star system, our closest neighboring system of stars. From all indications, this planet is almost identical to our own, and would make a good home for us if we manage to get there. While using genetics, Captain 1-TS-1 here, has, over the last several decades, been bread to lead the mission. With his superior capabilities, he is our last hope for the survival of our species, and I’m sure I speak for everyone when I say thank you, Captain. Now, on to the problem. We’re faced with providing life support for the two-thousand men and women who’ll accompany the good Captain on his voyage into the galaxy. As you all know, we have never attempted to send anyone on a Ship that will be traveling at anything near the speed of light, as the Time Ship will accomplish. We have theories as to the how accelerating to light-speed will affect the human body, none of them good. That is the problem we must address tonight, and which will, later, be discussed by our Captain. The instructions, left for us to find on Mars, indicated that anyone attempting to undertake such an extended voyage, should be configured much the same as our Captain. If our only objective was to travel to the edge of the Universe and view the past, view the Big Bang, view the beginning and beyond, we could launch in one year. But, as you know, we want more, the voice informed in a monotone, matter of fact, manner, and with a heavy African accent. We want to travel to the distant planet that we believe will support life. What makes this planet really attractive, besides the obvious fact that it can support life, is that it’s only four light-years from us — well within reach of our new Time Ship with its cold fusion, dark matter manipulating, engines. These engines, in ways we don’t fully understand, are so powerful that they can propel a Ship of any size, to light-speed in a matter of seconds. It has also been suggested, that the engines might be capable of super-light-speeds . . .

The voice paused for a moment, as if the speaker was searching for his place in a written speech, and then continued . . .

To get these breeding couples to the planet at conventional speeds, would take many generations, many of the future crew being born, and maturing on the Ship to continue the mission. That process would have to be repeated until they reached their destination. We guess that at sub-light-speeds, it would take as many as, maybe, a hundred generations to reach the planet we’re seeking. However, while at light-speed, it would only take four years to reach Alpha Centauri . . .

The voice paused for another moment, it was not clear why, maybe for dramatic affect, or the speaker was expecting some kind of applause, and receiving none, he continued . . .

As a secondary mission, and only if it’s true that the alien designed engine is capable of faster than light-speeds, we want to send the Ship to the furthest reaches of the known universe. The Ship will then stop to receive the light waves that were passed during the journey. It’s hoped that the Ship can get far in front of the first light ever emitted in our Universe, thirteen-billion-years ago. It’s hoped the Ship will be able to see the light from the Big Bang, the theoretical beginning of our Universe. We want to send the Ship, Beyond the Beginning . . .

The speaker paused again, expecting what was to come. And this time, as expected, the gathering of scientist applauded, and whistled, buoyed by the prospect of the mission. It was not clear why everyone was so jubilant about the launch. Was it because mankind now had a chance to survive the destruction of the planet, or was it that a global project, which the world had been working on for the last fifty-years, has come to fruition? Or maybe it was because humankind would, finally, know the true beginning of the universe? Who knows? The fact that many of the people of Earth would parish didn’t seem to stop their jubilation. Another thing was clear, but no one had stopped to consider, was that once the Ship was launched and gone, there would be nothing for the humans to do beyond existing until the day the Sun turned red giant. Oh, yes, it was definitely going to happen, and billions of years ahead of its time. There was absolutely no way the people of Earth could escape the planet wide destruction. There was no place to go — no place to hide. And yet they were joyful. In hopes of, maybe, preventing planet wide depression, The Body Politic decided to begin the construction of another larger ship. It would be started with no hope of completion. Most likely, as discussed by the Chairman of the Body and several other members, it would be started, but wouldn’t be announced to the public until after the mission was launched.

— — — —

The scientist knew several-hundred-years ago that the Earth was in trouble, and not only by the Sun. The releases of fluorocarbons into the atmosphere had been destroying the ozone layer for many years, while the increase of carbon dioxide released, elevated the greenhouse affect, causing a gradual increase of the ambient temperature of the planet.

Third world nations continued to clear their forest, cutting and burning down the trees at the rate of hundreds of acres daily — trees which not only sucked up the excess carbon dioxide, but also produced our life giving oxygen. The burning of the forest, along with the industrial boom, combined with the emissions from vehicles, added to the carbon dioxide levels, and further increased the greenhouse affect. The same thing was happening on Earth that had happened on Venus Earth's sister planet. The temperature on the surface of Venus was around nine-hundred degrees, Fahrenheit, because, some believed, the direct results of a runaway greenhouse effect. It was projected that Earth was heading down the same road, but because the Earth was further from the Sun, it wouldn’t get nearly as hot. Some experts felt that if things kept progressing as they are, within the next hundred years or so, the average temperature on the surface of the Earth might reach one-hundred-eighty-degrees — not the eight or nine-hundred on Venus, but way beyond anything human’s can tolerate. But back to what was happening now.

Because the Earth was warming, the ice caps started to melt while exposing the darker ground underneath. The radiant heat from the Sun was soaked up by the exposed land and larger oceans, instead of being reflected back into space by the now missing ice covering. The more the ice melted, the hotter the Earth got, the hotter the Earth got, the more the ice melted while exposing the darker land underneath and increasing the size of the oceans. It turned into a self-perpetuating system. It got to the point that it didn’t matter what man did, the damage was done beyond repair.

The large holes in the protective Ozone layer allowed ultraviolet, gamma, infrared, and other harmful rays to reach the Earth's surface in dangerous levels. A worldwide ban on the use of anything that would further harm the Ozone was instituted, but much too late. In an attempt to slow the global warming, and help protect the planet from the harmful cosmic rays bombarding the surface, a huge sunscreen, hundreds of miles across, was launched into space, and positioned between the Earth and the Sun. The hope was that the screen would act as an umbrella, blocking the harmful rays as well as the radiant heat that rained down on the Earth, but those efforts were also too late — the damage was irreversibly done.

To add to the problems, the Sun was going through a period of hyper-activity. Huge sunspots, massive, unprecedented, solar eruptions in the form of solar mass ejections bombarded the Earth with infrared radiation. Photon and ion storms proliferated at levels that would doom anyone who was caught outside when they hit.

The greenhouse affect continued to run, unchecked. Global warming escalated to the point that the polar caps, north and south, completely melted. The oceans levels rose a catastrophic two-hundred-feet above normal. Half the world’s landmass was lost under water. Weather patterns changed. It became hot where it once was cold and extremely hot where it once was temperate. Hurricanes and tornadoes roamed the Earth in increasing numbers, frequencies, and ferocity. The oceans currents changed or reversed. The Plankton and Krill died, and being the bottom of the food chain in the seas, most of the ocean’s life, also, died, along with the carbon dioxide ingesting and oxygen producing algae, causing an interruption in the carbon cycle and oxygen cycle and while further accelerating global warming.

Due to the above ground radiation, no farming could be done — it was too dangerous to be in the sunlight, besides, and crops grown above ground suffered genetic mutations while making them inedible. Even every tree on the planet died off while enhancing the greenhouse effect. All aboveground wildlife died off, including insects, while leaving the surface a barren, dust filled, scared, wilderness. The only alternative was for man to move underground.

Scientist had known of several underground caves for some time. All that had to be done was to excavate them, connect them, and make them amenable to supporting life. By the time the caves were ready to move into, two thirds of worlds population had died off. Disease ran unchecked, hunger took its toll, and genetically damaged babies were born, and as quickly, died.

That was several-hundred-years ago. The move underground proved to be successful, but was known to be a temporary solution to mankind’s problems. A governing body was instituted, called the World Body Politic, it was deemed the decision making body for the entire world and unlike the United Nations of the past, had at least one member from all the different countries remaining on the planet.

Because the caves couldn’t support an unchecked birth rate, strict population controls were enforced. All the caverns in Australia were devoted to the underground growth of hydroponic plants for food. Everyone in the caves was now vegetarian — they had no choice. The caverns were not large enough to raise and feed enough meat or poultry to provide food for the surviving peoples of the world. As time passed, the caves increased in sophistication, size, and numbers, and evolved into underground cities.

After fifty years of stabilizing the population and adapting to underground life, attention could now be returned to scientific pursuits including space travel, while focused on a desperate attempt to save the human species. Now that man had destroyed his home beyond repair, and his very existence as a species was in danger, he wanted to move on to another world, hoping to do things right, and not repeat the same mistakes. War no longer being a threat, all peoples who survived, learned to get alone and combine their resources. Man’s scientific prowess increased exponentially.

He searched for ways to spread his seed though-out the Universe, such as returning to the Moon, hoping that a way could be found to start a population there, and from there, use the Moon as a launching pad from which voyages to other star systems could be undertaken. Man knew that populating the Moon was a hopeless endeavor considering the condition of the Sun, but better than nothing. The same applied to our near neighbor, and brother planet, Mars.

It was during the attempts to populate Mars, that the alien instructions showing how to build a Time Ship, and its radical, alien engine, were discovered. The aliens made it easy to find their gift, but only if man were able to land on the surface of the planet. They placed the concealed package on top of Olympus Mons, the largest mountain in the solar system. They figured man would investigate the pronounce feature on Mars’s surface, if he was able to set foot on it. To further provide an impetus to visit the underground storage location of the instructions, the aliens left a beacon highlighting the location in the form of an, irresistible, low frequency radio transmitter. The signal from the transmitter was powered by a miniature, cold fusion, battery, capable of sending a signal for hundreds of years. And as expected, when mankind did manage to set foot on the red planet, it didn’t take him long to find the instructions. When the instructions were first discovered, many who were knowledgeable, wanted to spread the news across the globe. Not only were the instructions proof of extraterrestrial intelligence, but, for the first time, mankind had a chance to survive, and some felt everyone should know.

While the finding of the instructions was great news for all, others in decision making positions, felt to divulge the discovery might give false hope to the beleaguered masses. In the end, it was decided to keep the instructions secret — only the Body Politic and the scientist who worked on the Ship knowing of them. And to make sure the secrecy was maintained, the Body Politic threatened to banish from the underground protection of the caverns, anyone leaking the discovery — a sure sentence of death. It was further decided the construction of the Time Ship would be divulged at the right time, preferably, just before it’s launching.

It took the scientist many years to make heads or tails of the instructions. It wasn’t that the instructions were that complicated — it was because the greatest minds of the time couldn’t make any sense of the alien calligraphy. But once the script was deciphered, and found to be mathematic in nature, serious work was begun on the Time Ship, and, simultaneously, Captain Brock’s brain. Work progress relatively fast. The scientist now understanding the instructions, couldn’t believe how, using materials that could be found on earth, they could, while using previously un-thought of techniques, manufacture new alien materials, and devices. They marveled at the simplicity of the techniques, and the technology changed the way man viewed his approach to science. Using the newfound visions, mankind was able to construct just about anything he needed. If only these alien techniques had been discovered much earlier in mankind’s history — maybe he wouldn’t be forced to leave his home planet, particularly, while knowing how to build cold fusion power sources, which would have eliminated the need for dioxide spewing internal combustion engines, and radio active waste producing nuclear plants. Well, maybe not. The deterioration of the Sun still posed a threat, and was a problem no alien technology could stop.

The construction of the Ship well under way, the only concern of the scientist was whether they had enough time to complete its fabrication, provision it, and prepare the genetically altered Captain’s brain to lead the mission as called for in the instructions. Some of the scientist felt that the Sun’s strange activity was increasing much too quickly to allow enough time to wrap up the work on the Ship. They didn’t know exactly when the Sun would self-destruct, but knew that it would happen soon, maybe, within the next, several, decades — time was running out.

— — — —

Chairman Bostello had to wait a while longer for silence to return in the room. Eventually, the applause quieted, and the chatter between the scientist and engineers settled to a drone, as they discussed amongst themselves the possibilities of the future voyage. Bostello’s, heavily accented, voice, continued the narration after a semi-silence settled over the large room that held over five-thousand members of the design team and their support staff.

As you can understand, we can’t afford to make a mistake. It has taken us fifty years to construct the Time Ship and even longer to genetically produce our Ship’s Captain. We must find a way to ensure the absolute safety of our populating cargo if humankind is to continue to exist. Before I turn the lectern over to the Captain, is there anyone here who has any useful information to present . . .?

Silence . . ..

Okay, Captain 1-TS-1, you have the floor, the voice said, after a short pause.

Captain Brock stood, rising up on his spider legs, and peered out over the faces who peered back at him. He was a ham and wanted to milk the situation for all the dramatic effect he could. At the very least, he wanted to make a lasting impression on the gathering. He paused a moment longer than was comfortable, trying to build a sense of drama. Eventually he began his discourse, as he walked back and forth on the stage, his head down and while looking at the floor. Thank you, whoever, and wherever you are, Brock said, using his voice box, he not needing a microphone.

Most of the people in the room laughed and applauded his perceived attempt at humor, but he wasn’t trying to be funny. He disliked the way the speaker jumped into his narration without introducing himself and his location. Brock was actually trying to be sarcastic and actually knew who was addressing the meeting. And he definitely didn’t like being called Captain 1-TS-1 and was going to make that known for what he hoped would be the last time . . .

Before I begin my lecture, I want to remind you that I prefer to be called Captain Brock, and… he was interrupted.

Yes sir, Captain Brock. Let it be noted that you shall be called Captain Brock from this moment forward, and for your edification, I’m Chairman Bostello of the World Body Politic, and I'm right behind you, up high, near the ceiling, the voice asked, see me in the window?

Brock turned his brain box around and looked up, he found the window, saw the man waving, and waved back with one of his mechanical arms. The rest of the crowd followed the Captain’s lead, but only looking up.

Brock turned back to the un-needed microphone and again continued his commentary. Fellow scientists, will you please lower you virtual reality screens and follow my direction as I present to you the solution to your problem, Brock started. I wish you had consulted me earlier about such a minor problem, but be it as it may, I have a solution. As you can see on your screens, I’m displaying an animation of the elevator that I used not long ago to get to this level from high in the Cube Stack building above. Now, watch as the elevator starts it's decent.

After giving the crowd a chance to view the demonstration he, while using the demonstration program on his dais, he presented the solution he’d hastily prepared while the longwinded Chairman was speaking. Brock asked, rhetorically, Notice anything peculiar?

After a moment of watching the recreation of his ride down, he continued, notice how I’m held securely in place as the elevator accelerates to around six-hundred mils per hour in a matter of seconds? Is there anyone here who can explain why I didn't hit the ceiling of the elevator? he asked, while looking out over the crowd. Or why my brain didn’t get compressed inside of my brain case, as the elevator started down? And why I didn’t fall to the floor of the elevator once I was at the same velocity as the descending lift?

One, of the young scientists, about half way back in the room, while raising his screen, stood up and said, That’s no mystery? You were held in place by the stabilizing field and inertial damping.

Correct my man — you win the prize, Captain Brock, teased. Now, correct me if I'm mistaken. From what I gather, the problem you’re concerned about is how will the humans on the Ship react to the acceleration to light-speed? Your concerns must be legitimate because the alien directions stated that I be altered to withstand something — what, we’re not sure of, but it is speculated that, besides having greater cognitive abilities, my brain must, also, be able to handle the stresses of space travel. Why else would our friends, the aliens, instruct us to genetically modify my being to eliminate the need for a body and yet keep the brain intact? And furthermore, build a container to house the brain? There must be some danger in sending the entire body on such a voyage, yet they wanted a human to go . . . he paused again, for no reason other than dramatic affect. Actually, he was wrong about the alien’s reasons for his design, but didn’t know it at the time.

As I see it, Brock continued, in his self-assured, but mistaken way, We can handle the problem in one of two ways. The first solution would be to gradually accelerate the Ship to light-speed at the rate of 1-g. That method would assure the comfort and safety of the human crew, but will add two years to the four-year voyage. It would take one year to accelerate and one year to decelerate, with slightly less than three years at light-speed. I'm sure you’ve considered that course and have rejected it . . .

He paused again, hoping someone would agree with him. He received only silence. The gathering was waiting for this so called great thinker to reveal his solution.

The other solution, and the one I prefer, he continued, is to install stabilizing fields along with inertial damping on the Ship. The fields will protect the frail human bodies from the forces of acceleration and deceleration. The inertial damping will assure the comfort of the crew during acceleration, and deceleration. I believe this will work because, after all, I’m organic, the same as all humans, well, at least, my brain is, he said, adding the quick reminder of his humanity as an afterthought. And the stabilizing field protects me against the rapid changes while inside the elevator, as it also protects anyone visiting my cub stack and uses the high speed elevators, and should do the same for the crew on the Time Ship. We’ve already constructed the cabins for the breeding crew, now all we have to do is install stabilizing fields in each cabin and an inertial damper, like the artificial gravity that will encompass the entire Ship — problem solved. Well, what do you think people, do you concur? he concluded, and was now stopped in the middle of the stage while peering out over the gathering.

The collective crowd of scientist, almost in unison, raised their visors and looked up at him. A silence expressed their unanimous thought, that being, how they, the best minds on Earth at this time, could miss such an obvious solution. The applause started with one person and quickly grew to a crescendo of thunderous clapping and cheers.

Idiots, Brock thought, as he turned and walked off the stage while taking exaggerated steps with his spider legs. He really was a ham at heart. He could hear the applause continuing long after he left the room. There’s no doubt about it — these people will need my guidance after we reach our new home planet. Without me, the mission is doomed to fail, he thought, as he headed towards the Chairman’s office to discuss — no — demanded he be allowed to move underground with the rest of the humans.

He was sure that this time his desires would be honored. They better, he thought. I know it’s true the only thing human about me is my brain, but as far as I’m concerned, the brain is the domicile of the soul. The brain is the center of my being, and was the only part of the human body that couldn’t, even now, be artificially reproduced. And, because I have a brain, a living human brain, not some collection of electronic parts making up the positronic brains of the droids, and which were assembled to imitate real thought, I am human. It doesn’t matter what the rest of me is fabricated of, I’m human, and I don’t care what the narrow-minded scientist think.

And despite his past constant protestations, the humans continued to view him much as they saw the droids. No, they never said as much in front of him, but he could sense their feelings by the way that they never included him in any conversations they engaged in while he was present. He’d sit silently by, and allow them to discuss their plans without as much as a glance in his direction.

It was only after he decided he’d had enough, and spoke up, that they, the engineers, would acknowledge him. And even then, not as a human would acknowledge another human, but more as someone would recognize a computer on a desk, to be turned on, used, and then turned off until needed again. And he was sick and tired of it.

There where a few who agreed with him, although they never came right out and stated as much. The few, mostly members of the Body Politic, who sided with him, felt he was being judged by his appearance and not by the content of his character, or soul.

And it couldn’t be argued his appearance wasn’t strange to say the least. He was not what someone would think of when they thought of an humanoid android or cyborg, which might be thought of as somewhat human in appearance. Captain Brock’s brain case, which served as his head, resembled an oversized football with the ends cut off, and was temporally mounted on an exoskeleton conveyance contraption serving as his body, and was designed to allow him to move around on Earth.

Looking at his football shaped brain box, face on, and about one third in on the right side, he had a lens package containing four lenses serving as his eyes, and were linked to his brain through artificial optic nerves. Even though the optic nerves were artificial, the brain wasn’t and that was an important fact to remember. One, lens was for regular vision, much the same as normal human vision, only panoramic. Two other lenses were for variable vision, one up to 1000x telescoping, and the other for microscopic vision down to 1000 x. The fourth lens was designed to see the full light spectrum, from ultra violet, to the infrared — he’d be able to see no matter the light conditions.

The brain container also provided his brain with the stuff of life, chemically oxygenated, protein rich, artificial, blood, and so forth, which, besides being recycled, he had a years supply stored in his transport. The brain case had internal electrodes inserted into his brain. The electrodes were connected to sensors outside the case while providing Brock's brain with information about its surroundings. The information was of the most sophisticated level, including temperature, barometric pressure, and the nature of his atmospheric conditions down to the molecular level.