Hoof of Nessus

By Suzanne Dome

Garen Engle desperately wants to save his children. Captain Jessica Hale and her ship, the TCSS Jemison, are his only hope.
In 2061, the Scientific Space Craft Garibaldi leads the exoplanet expedition as it observes Proxima Centauri B. Earth has drastically benefitted from related scientific discoveries and the near-eradication of contagious illnesses. When Garen hears his children are in danger of contracting plague, he stows away on the transport ship Jemison in hopes of rescuing them. Despite his dishonesty, Captain Hale agrees to assist him. Through mutual cooperation, Captain Hale’s skills, and Garen’s adaptability, they survive a pirate attack, ship malfunctions, and the dangers of the void as they race for the hoof of the Centaur constellation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Suzanne Dome
• Release date: Mar 2, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463831915

Suzanne Dome

Suzanne Dome was a special ed para for years, and supports STEM education. Now a resident of rural New Mexico, she wrangles chickens when not writing or crafting. Seamstress, jeweler, artist, diabetic, tree-hugging, star-gazing, crystal-gripping Bohemian, in black.Short Stories: Last Star, Tree Row Howl, BOOMER, SaviorWork available in print(Amazon): Weird Wheat; The Scrounger Trilogy: Empty Space, Second Signal, End Transmission, Lotus of the Stars, The Hoof of Nessus, Derelict Passage, Welcome to the Mutineer's Odyssey

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Hoof of Nessus

By Suzanne Dome

©2019

Acknowledgements

Special thanks to astronaut Charlie Duke, who visited the Kansa Cosmosphere and Space Center several years ago and answered questions about visiting the moon; thanks to Jason for his continued support, and my sister Melinda for helping me with the title; special thanks to Claire Tiwald for the glorious cover art, and thank you to everyone for kind words of support.

Cover illustration provided by Claire Tiwald.

For all those who have survived their trials, despite the odds.

Chapter 1

Captain Jessica Hale of the cargo ship TCSS Jemison calmly plugged in the coordinates for the space station in the navigation console at the back of her wave deck. She then sent her G-wave communication, and climbed back up the ladder to the control deck. Grendel, her Observer, waited for her at the copilot’s station. Her AI was meticulous about giving her space during the wave transmissions.

Anything I should know?

Nothing unusual Captain. Are you ready to sleep?

She grinned at the floating bot and nodded. At the end of a couple weeks of extended sleep cycles, she would arrive and dock with the infamous science station, SSC Garibaldi. For several years now, it had orbited Proxima Centauri, and its occupants monitored the Earth-like planet that clung to the red dwarf’s habitable zone. Over the last few decades, many exoplanets had been proposed for space station research, and many had been rejected. This planet in the foot of the Centaurus constellation, however, had stood the tests of time and science, and space stations extended out to it in a long filament from the web of stations within the Solar system.

Captain Hale hadn’t been out to that particular station yet. She was familiar with all of the in-system stations, so much so that the TCSS Jemison had its own reputation for timeliness and efficiency.

She left the control room and went to the sleep chamber, fluttering on the inside.

Another Earth.

Space travel hadn’t just become popular in the 2020s again; research and development had exploded. The confirmation of the exoplanet, the development of the gravity wave communicator, the creation of new reactor-powered drives capable of much higher speeds than previous systems, and humanity’s renewed interest in exploration all played a large part. Massive social upheaval and a renewed appreciation for science also helped; common diseases were eradicated and Observers took the place of cellular technology. Now, mid-century, Almost every adult on the planet benefitted from a loose form of socialism ruled by the United Nations, and supported by 95% of the planet.

Captain Jessica Hale had left her home, vowing never to return to that Luddite existence. Instead, she faced the stars, and their unforgiving vacuum, determined to be part of the future, and not stuck in the past.

She slid into her sleep pod, and Grendel hovered nearby, a metal egg the size of a football.

"Good sleep, Captain.

Night, Grendel.

The SSC Garibaldi hovered like a porcelain toy in orbit around the jewel at the end of Humanity. Proxima B glowed under the light of its sun, unconcerned about the man-made satellite on the sun side of the planet. Traces of green and blue splotched the brown surface, much like a jasper stone. Proxima B danced in eternal rotation with the rest of the galaxy, indifferent to the Scientific Space Craft Garibaldi and the primates that inhabited it. While the star system lazily traipsed around open space, the station clicked and whirred. Probe after probe visited the planet's surface, and craft after craft visited the station in orbit. The SSC Garibaldi was a moderately sized station, big enough to support a greenhouse in the central hub of the rotational field. Only two residents remained indefinitely with their hoard of hydroponic vegetables. When the first inhabitants of the space station had sent images back to Earth eight years previous, scientists squabbled over who would go. A rotation was created...but didn’t stick so well.

You'd better not be plugging up the vac! Dr. Bryanna Talford hollered toward the closet hatch for the Ex-Vac.

An ecologist, she had lived on the Garibaldi since graduation, and loved every minute of discovery. She was a plump, curvaceous woman of smaller stature, perfect skin, and red hair. She stood from her lab table and walked over to the door, tugging on the hem of the specially tailored gray flight suit. Her brightly painted Observer hovered nearby on a sigh of air.

Garen, you alright?

The hatch flew open, and Garen appeared sheepish. Failed fatherhood etched deep lines in his otherwise chiseled face and blue eyes; faint reminders of the requirement of human contact and lack thereof, on the edge of space.

Apparently I still can't eat hydroponic tomatoes, he shrugged himself out of a slump.

She smirked. We'll run out of bacteria at this rate!

Garen Engle laughed it off. He still felt mildly stung by the raucous humor and sharp tongues of American women, even after divorcing his wife. He was British, but claimed the long line of space stations as his home. He was well aware the Ex-Vac, or excrement vacuum, relied on septic technology and chemical imbalances could impact the ability of the bacteria to survive to break down waste.

Well, I guess you'll be eating your rehydrated noodles plain, she patted his cheek. She grinned at him, and the observers followed them into the lab.

Oh, hey, she picked up one of the scattered bits of paper. I got a wave from a captain about a payload of supplies, a Jessica Hale, you know her?

Garen rubbed his chin with his forefinger. How strange they would send a captain all the way out here. No, I don't recognize that name. He recalled a few others from his time bouncing from station to station, before landing here two years ago. He strolled to the view port and studied the green and