Terminal Reality

By Erik Seedhouse

The spaceship is the Halo Genera. Its occupants, which include four humans, two bio-engineered synthetics, and an obstreperous robotic assistant named Larry, represent mankind's last-ditch, desperate but bold attempt to save the human race from extinction. Their destination: Despond 5, a planet light-years away from what was once home. But, as so often happens when manned spaceflight is matched with cutting-edge exploration, things don't go according to plan. Plagued by system malfunctions, subterfuge, sabotage and malevolent aliens, the Genera's crew race towards their destination. But can they reach it in time to save the human race?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781664122925

Book preview

Chapter One

19th June 2094 01:15:00

Malfunction

Shafts of strobing dirty light shimmered through the ship’s windows, illuminating dust motes inside the propulsion bay, an enormous grey vault that stretched into the darkness. Towering cylindrical tanks glistening with blue coolant lined the bay. Steam billowed through rusty deck grates.

In the distance a dull, amber light approached, it’s bearing purposeful and steady as it hovered stealthily above tracks of erratic deck lighting. A pulse of murky light revealed a battered metallic basketball-sized drone going about its business, deftly navigating the huge structures. Recessed into its surface were stereo cameras, propulsion fan ducts, infrared sensors, vents, and weapon pods.

The thrumming of the air revitalization system echoed through the bay.

The amber light shone steadily from the drone’s lower hemisphere. A nametag identified the drone as Larry.

Larry had been designed as an autonomous mobile guardian to assist astronauts during spacewalks; he was capable of sensing activities, autonomous navigation and packed a powerful punch. After the first Sino-American war, the versatile drone - a term Larry despised - had been upgraded with an extensive weapons system. He’d used it to great effect on Mars in 2063 during the now infamous skirmish between Russian contractors and French spationauts. With his military hardware Larry was the most combat-capable and versatile drone ever designed, so when he had been assigned as a guardian on a 39-year interstellar voyage to Despond 5, a planet he’d never heard of, he was understandably upset. He had become even more flustered when it was revealed that the vessel assigned to the mission was none other than the Halo Genera, a rust-bucket freighter that had been retrofitted with an amat drive and somehow pronounced worthy of interstellar travel. Larry was uncomfortably familiar with the Halo Genera’s checkered record. Its life support system had malfunctioned on its maiden voyage to the mining colonies on Enceladus. Then, on the return journey to Earth, its nav computer had been accidentally programmed with incorrect star coordinates resulting in the vessel being lost for nine months in the Kuiper Belt. Just weeks after being found by a scouting mission, its hull had been penetrated by a micrometeorite, resulting in an explosive decompression and loss of the crew. Its sister ship, the Rubicon Flux, hadn’t fared much better; Earth’s first interstellar vessel had disappeared just weeks before arriving at its destination. As far as Larry was concerned, the Halo Genera was jinxed.

Cursed perhaps.

In Larry’s mind, a cursed ship was hardly the right choice for a colony vessel, although this wasn’t a traditional colonization mission. That was because the Despond 5 mission was a bare bones endeavour that had been hurriedly patched together by the Saberhagen Consortium. The idea for the mission had taken root the same day an interstellar probe had returned footage of lush foliage from the surface of Despond 5. The probe, which had been designed to conduct surface operations for a year, had survived for less than 30 minutes before its signal mysteriously died. There had been story of a cover-up following the release of a smudgy but convincing videotape of what appeared to be a creature approaching the probe. The tape had been released by a disgruntled Saberhagen engineer who insisted the probe had been destroyed by the creature.

Shortly afterwards the engineer had disappeared without a trace, prompting the usual conspiracy theories. Those theories had had little time to gain traction because two days later the nano-plague had struck, wiping out most of the world’s population in just two days. All of a sudden the Despond 5 mission assumed even greater importance. The Saberhagen Consortium, the pan-governmental paramilitary organisation many suspected of being implicated in the plague, announced it would send a colony vessel to Despond 5 in what had been promoted as a noble attempt to ensure species survival. A rag-tag group of six astronauts for hire had been hastily recruited and dispatched to low Earth orbit where they had boarded the Halo Genera, a dozen artificial wombs in tow. The artificial wombs were necessary because the crew would arrive at Despond 5 sterile thanks to radiation exposure en-route. The mission had gotten off to an inauspicious start when the antimatter propulsion drive had failed after two weeks, prompting emergency revival of the crew from hypersleep. Three years later, the amat harvester had broken down resulting in another awakening. The failure of the amat system had been just one in a long line of issues that had blighted the Halo Genera.

Larry didn’t like pondering the Genera’s bad luck, choosing instead to focus on his innumerable tasks. At the start of the mission he had performed his maintenance duties fastidiously, but trying to keep the Halo Genera shipshape was a losing battle. Systems failed on a daily basis. The most problematic was the cooling system, which was why the decks were awash with coolant. No matter how many times Larry fixed them, the pipes still leaked. On this particular day, which happened to be a Saturday, having lost patience with the pipes, Larry had spent much of his time in the amat compartment, which was an endless source of fascination for a drone with Larry’s inquisitive mindset.

Unfortunately, he had become distracted by the antiproton trap schematics and the intricacies of the channeltron detector, which was why he found himself behind schedule; he was supposed to have visited the cargo bay an hour ago to exchange the carbon dioxide scrubbers.

He hovered to a halt in front of the cargo bay hatch, a large vault-like structure ringed with titanium and steel bolts which leaking coolant had pitted with corrosion. The hatch led to the airlock that separated the propulsion compartment from the sterile cargo bay that contained the artificial wombs and life support systems.

Tiny white exhaust plumes vented from Larry’s propulsion control system as he waited for the airlock to scan for foreign particulates. A red light changed to green and the airlock buzzed open. Larry hovered through and was greeted by the sound of Mozart’s Andante Grazioso Sonata. He liked classical music and had compiled what he considered to be an eclectic collection of classics.

The cargo bay was a circular chrome and glass compartment five meters across. Clean and sterile, it was illuminated under stultifying florescent yellow light that reflected brightly off the translucent surface of the vault. The vault contained 12 briefcase-sized artificial wombs, designed by the Saberhagen Consortium, whose record on genetic engineering had been less than laudable. Larry hovered in front of the vault’s whiter-than-white control panel, extruded a mechanical arm and gently pressed a blinking blue button. A holo-vid pulsed to life.

In time lapse, cells replicated exponentially, growing in numbers, from a few hundred to thousands, millions and then billions. Blood, veins, flesh and bone stitched together. The murky image of a shape that approximated a fetus appeared.

It pulsed rhythmically in its liquid environment.

Larry stared, fascinated. He had watched the video hundreds of times but never grew tired of it; especially since the wombs had taken on even greater significance since the message informing the crew that Earth’s population had ceased to exist. Larry wasn’t looking forward to seeing the crew’s reaction to that news item.

Larry hovered to a bank of blinking read-outs scrolling changes in air pressure, temperature, and the presence of contaminants. All systems were in the green. He pulsed his way across the aluminum grid deck and stopped in front of a large panel that housed the carbon dioxide scrubbers. Larry was about to exchange two of the scrubbers when Kona, the ship’s AI, interrupted in the soothing voice one usually associates with flight attendants.

Criticality 2 Alpha malfunction in amat module. Hypersleep exit procedures for Commander Renshaw initiated.

For a moment Larry deliberated whether to continue with his tasks before responding, thinking it might be a false alarm. But Kona was the most reliable AI ever built and wasn’t prone to making mistakes. And a Criticality 2 Alpha malfunction was a serious failure; one with the potential to severely compromise the mission. While the malfunction posed no immediate risk to the crew, it required input from the senior officer which was why Kona had chosen to wake Renshaw. Hypersleep exit was one of the mission’s riskiest procedures due to the lengthy period of disorientation and the potential for brain damage, which was why exit was only initiated in the direst of dire circumstances, and why it was usually limited to the commanding officer. Larry would be required to clean up the hypersleep goop, a task he hated almost as much as watching the revival antics of crewmembers who had been subjected to the hibernative procedure. During mission training Larry had witnessed week-long hypersleep indoctrination increments, none of which had been pretty, although bioware products like Renshaw and Voeckler seemed to cope better than baseline humans. For humans, even a week of hypersleep caused severe discombobulation and memory loss that took several hours to regain.

Chapter Two

19th June 2094 03:01:00

The Hypersleep Compartment

Larry arrived in the hypersleep compartment, a circular room filled with high-tech black modular technology and six equidistantly-spaced sarcophaguesque hibernation pods.

Hypersleep couches.

Each couch was hooked up to a tangle of high-tech medical equipment designed to keep the crew alive during the interstellar voyage.

Larry hovered above Couch #1. Renshaw`s couch.

Larry had worked with Renshaw during the Hyperion Uprising when he had been assigned to the Terumae Corporation to protect its interests following a revolt by the colonists. For Renshaw, a military bioware product owned and operated by the Saberhagen Consortium, the Hyperion Uprising had been her first mission. Leased as a contractor, Renshaw had distinguished herself by playing an integral role in quelling the insurrection. The Uprising was the first time a bioware product had been deployed to intervene in a human revolt, which was why the Terumae Corporation and the Saberhagen Consortium had tried to keep Renshaw’s true identity a secret. Unfortunately, Renshaw had been injured when a scramjet bullet ripped her frontal lobe, rendering her unconsciousness. She had been found by a group of colonists who had become understandably flustered when they saw nano-devices buried in her head. She had been rescued by Saberhagen Consortium contractors after a sizable ransom had been paid but not before the story had spread through the inner and outer planet colonies; bioware contractors were at work.

Larry hovered silently as a blue function light above the couch pulsed insistently. The light persisted for several seconds before fading to a dull glow. Above Couch #1, a vial discharged a blue fluid that flowed into a cannula inserted into Renshaw`s forearms. Once all the fluid had been released, a 60-second countdown began. Renshaw felt the fluid enter her body. After a few seconds the sensation subsided and was replaced by a numbness causing her to shiver. Maybe it was just another dream. Less than a second after she had this thought an involuntary shudder pulsed through her body. She tried opening her mouth to scream, but the oxygen mask covering her face and the endotracheal tube inside her throat prevented her from making any sound.

This definitely wasn’t a dream.

Renshaw blinked. She saw nothing but the empty, dull gray space of the hypersleep compartment. She blinked again. Everything was still gray. Ghostly gray. She felt surprisingly drowsy. The sensation in her forearms had returned and was making its way through the rest of her body. She tried to lift her head but managed only to raise it a few inches before it hit the translucent glass of the pod. The movement triggered a nauseous sensation in her stomach. Her head felt like a truck had just run over it. She rested her head and watched the shades of gray slowly dissolve into the vague, barely recognizable shapes of the hypersleep compartment’s wallscreen and medical equipment. Where was she, what was she doing in this glass tube and why couldn’t she remember anything? She looked down and saw four opaque tubes attached to her forearms. Blue fluid coursed through them. Above her head a blue light began to pulse and a heads-up display scrolled instructions. A soothing, almost melodic, female voice whispered softly.

Activating hypersleep revival protocol stage three. Prepare for transfer. Kona continued. Transfer of what? Renshaw heard a faint gurgling from outside the pod. The gurgling grew louder and more insistent until it became a loud flowing sound of more fluids flowing inside tubes. But why? Once again Renshaw felt cold fluid entering her veins. What was this machine pumping into her?

Please be patient. The pod will open shortly. Metabolic function off-nominal. Oxygen saturation 86 percent. 87 percent. Core body temperature 25.6 degrees Celsius.

25 degrees! No wonder she was so cold. Electrical machinery started to hum around her.

This won’t take much longer. Your cooperation is appreciated.

Core body temperature in T minus 35 seconds. Nominal metabolic function in T minus one minute and 18 seconds. Fluid replenishment in T minus one minute and 22 seconds. Nominal oxygen saturation in T minus two minutes. Please remain calm.

Two minutes. She had to stay inside the glass tube for another two minutes.

Renshaw waited.

As soon as the pod cover was open, she pulled off her mask, eased herself into a sitting position and gently pulled the feeding tube out of her trachea. She coughed a large mouthful of blue phlegm onto the deck. Once she had cleared her throat she took her first deep breath of stale, musty air in what she figured must have been a long time. She wanted to get out of the pod, but was still attached to a rat’s nest of medical instrumentation.

Please remain lying until your oxygen saturation has stabilized. Kona enunciated.

AI. Where am I and how long have I been here?

Please call me Kona. You are onboard the Halo Genera en-route to Despond 5. You’ve been in hypersleep for quite some time.

How long?

27 years, one month and four days.

Renshaw delved into the recesses of her bioware memory trying to remember more.

27 years.

Why can’t I remember any of this?

A side-effect of hypersleep is delayed memory acquisition following revival. Even in bioware such as yourself. You will gain full retrieval after Larry has administered the revival tests.

Twenty-seven years. Renshaw tried to come to grips with what Kona had just told her. Why had Kona referred to her as bioware?

I’ll detach the cannulation tubes and you can get out. I`ll brief you once Larry has helped you through revival. I haven’t had much in the way of conversation lately so it’ll be nice to have an opportunity to chat.

A low-pitched whine emanated from below the couch.

Deactivating hypersleep. Releasing cannulation. Please use the handrails when you stand up. You’ll probably feel quite dizzy and I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.

A low-pitched electrical hum reverberated around the compartment as the life support unit switched off and the cannulation tubes fell away. Renshaw stood up slowly in the couch, her head pounding even harder than before. She was completely naked and covered in viscous blue gel. She rubbed 27 years of sleep from her eyes and clambered slowly out of the couch. She had to use both arms to lift her right then her left leg over the edge. She stopped for a moment and wondered if her legs would support her bodyweight after nearly three decades lying down. A moment later she sprawled on the deck, blue gel sloughing off her head and shoulders. Larry sprang to action and began hoovering up the mess. Slowly, ever so slowly, Renshaw cautiously raised herself to a standing position. She felt as weak as a kitten, but after a few discombobulating moments she managed to stand relatively upright. In the reflection of the hypersleep compartment’s musty wallscreen she saw herself for the first time in more than 27 years; a stooping, haggard, naked crewmember. Dark-ringed eyes, skin the color of a corpse dragged from a lake, and hair strangled in ponytails. Strips of faux marble-white skin hung loosely from her forearms and shoulders, revealing her synthetic anatomy. She picked at her skin, which flaked off and fell to the deck. She gingerly poked her left index finger into an open wound in her right forearm and gagged.

Yes, that’s unfortunate. Kona said. It seems the structural integrity and elasticity of your skin was compromised due to a failure of the regenerative hormones. They really should have done a better job designing you, shouldn’t they?"

Renshaw turned her back to the wallscreen and traced a finger along a deep horizontal seam that ran between shoulder blades and across her spine.

Viscous nano-fluid seeped out of her forearms.

Renshaw looked as if she should have been in an infirmary and not onboard an interstellar spaceship. She looked around. Dull blue function lights pulsed softly above each couch, their occupants oblivious to the surroundings. On the control panel a flashing red light pulsed brightly, accompanied by the legend: ‘Criticality 2 Alpha malfunction.’

Kona. What is a Criticality 2 Alpha malfunction?

I’m sorry, but that will have to wait. Mission guidelines require each crewmember to complete hypersleep revival procedures and regain full mission recall before being briefed.

Larry finished cleaning the goop pool. He hovered to Renshaw, handed her an electronic key and motioned for her to insert it into the hypersleep control panel.

Renshaw rubbed her eyes, squinting as she tried to make out the text on the key.

Hypersleep Revival Administration and Scoring Guidelines.

She slumped against a bulkhead, slotted the key into the control panel and listened as Kona instructed her.

Commander Renshaw. You have been revived due to a Criticality 2 Alpha malfunction. You will now proceed with hypersleep revival procedures. These procedures require responses to auditory, visual, motor and verbal tasks as well as an assessment of communication and arousal. Each item is scored from ‘none’ to ‘functional’. You must score ‘functional’ on each item before being pronounced fully revived. Do you understand?

Renshaw nodded weakly. She slowly peeled another membranous layer of gel from her body and watched it drop to the deck like jelly.

She shivered.

Can I at least get cleaned up before I do this?

There was a pause while Kona deliberated.

I suppose so. Your cabin is Compartment S1. Walk through the passage on your left and it’s the first compartment on your right. I strongly suggest you complete the recovery procedures as soon as possible.

Kona could suggest all she wanted Renshaw thought to herself, but right now she wanted to get cleaned up and satisfy a caffeine craving.

Renshaw cautiously made her way to her cabin, followed by Larry who cleaned up the occasional drops of gel that fell onto the deck. Her cabin was a spartan ceremal compartment furnished with a couch that doubled as a bed, a computer desk, a floor-to-ceiling locker and a shower cubicle. There were no photos or personal items. It wasn’t even possible to identify the gender of the cabin’s occupant. The locker held a couple of crew T-shirts and a flight suit. Lying on the couch was a Norwegian Forest cat that must have weighed at least 20 pounds. Renshaw reached over to touch the cat when it woke up! After eyeing Renshaw thoughtfully for a moment, the cat brushed against her leg in a friendly gesture and started purring. Renshaw checked the tag on the cat’s collar. The cats name was Streif. She had no recollection of the animal. She stepped into the shower. Cold water hissed from the overhead faucet. Renshaw cursed.

Hot water please, Kona.

I’m afraid the cooling system has been a little twitchy lately so there isn’t any hot water.

Renshaw cursed again. She stood in the frosted glass cubicle, eyes closed, letting the icy water wash away 27 years of hypersleep. She toweled off and stood in front of the mirror, brushing her hands through a matted and tangled brunette mane accented by a single streak of white hair.

Renshaw studied her reflection contemplatively.

She had a firm athletes’ body; a flat shapely stomach, muscular arms and powerful thighs. She guessed she was about five feet six inches tall and weighed around 115 pounds. She ran her hands slowly across her hips, running her fingers across the scars and broken faux skin, then brushed away the last few drops of water and slowly peeled away the last of the biometric hypersleep sensors. She looked like a ghost. Her skin was pale and her face was puffy from the effects of the hypersleep medication. Her kidneys ached and she felt nauseous.

Flashes of distant memory pulsed through her head.

Of Saberhagen. Her creator. Of her time in Saberhagen’s bioware lab. Of being fed pharmaceutical cocktails to ensure her synthetic bones and muscles would grow super-strong. Of the biogenesis lab where other bioware products had been grown. Of nanomachines laying down polymers and carbon composite scaffolding for the assembly of bones, muscles, nerves and tissues. Of organ-management techs testing her nerve interfaces. Of cells being controlled by artificial chromosomes designed to produce proteins and enzymes needed by the resulting organism.

Her.

Bioware.

In the recesses of her returning memory she remembered she hated the term.

She felt the stinging sensation of bile rising in her throat and gagged, spitting out a bolus of phlegm onto the deck. Then she pulled on a flight-suit and made her way to the hypersleep compartment, accompanied by Streif who seemed to be happy with his new companion. Kona asked her to take a seat at the console and the AI started its interrogation.

A holographic apple and bottle appeared before her, a foot apart.

Name the object on your left. Kona commanded.

Apple. Renshaw replied. The apple reminded her that she hadn’t eaten for the last 27 years. She hoped this revival interrogation wouldn’t take too long.

The holo-apple and holo-bottle reversed positions.

Look at the apple.

Renshaw complied.

Kona generated more objects and performed the same switch. After four trials they moved on to the localization of sound test. A horn blared behind Renshaw for five seconds.

Identify the sound.

Horn. Renshaw replied.

The tests continued for more than an hour until they came to the final scale; the communication assessment protocol that comprised a visual and aurally-based situational orientation.

An androgenic holo-figure appeared before Renshaw and put its hand to its ear.

Am I touching my ear right now? Kona asked.

Renshaw answered in the affirmative. The holo-figure put its hands in its pockets.

Am I touching my nose right now?

Renshaw answered in the negative. Kona administered seven more trials before closing the session.

All stimuli utilized and all responses observed. No supplementary items required. Commander Renshaw, you are fully functional although it will probably take another 30 minutes before you have full mission recall.

Renshaw nodded, although she didn’t feel great. She peered out of the viewport at the bulk of the Halo Genera. A 30-foot long consumables module filled much of the viewport, but Renshaw could see the saddle truss that connected the consumables module to the Winnebago-sized amat propulsion unit. Next to the habitation module was an orbit-to-surface skiff. Renshaw squinted and could just make out the name: SkyCat. The habitation module