Child of the Stars

By R. L. Hennessy

Child Of The Stars is a uniquely visionary, science fiction, adventure novel set in the far future where humanity has become a civilization highly dependent on the miracles of technology. Conflict, adventure, imaginative landscapes, and distinctive societies, along with a surprise ending, will constantly dazzle and delight the reader as he or she travels through the galaxy right along with the main characters in this farsighted and thought-provoking novel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613090527

Book preview

Prelude

The Time is close when you shall forget all things...—Marcus Aurelius

In a time when humanity’s footprints stretched halfway across the galaxy and the miracles made possible by the human mind, the most wondrous miracle of all, were sprouting into existence like roses opening to welcome the morning sun, long forgotten were names, places, and events that brought humanity to this—the very pinnacle of being.

Names like Newton, Einstein, da Vinci, and Jesus Christ were but ghosts, echoes in time and of a time so long past that the weight of history had buried them under the ever-increasing heap of human activities, important discoveries, and new or more relevant philosophies. Even the planet Earth itself was but a remembrance, a mythology like the lost continent of Atlantis or Mount Olympus. Earth had become barely a footnote—a brief entry in the encyclopedia of humanity.

Earth: planet. Location: unknown. Thought to be the planet where humans first evolved from lower forms of life. Condition: unknown. Existence: uncertain.

In the days before FLD (Faster than Light Drive), when humanity first reached out to discover other habitable worlds, the star voyages, even at twenty, fifty, or seventy-five percent of light speed still took hundreds of years. And these colonizing missions were to the nearest earth-like worlds.

If a colony was successful, a world conquered and a planet industrialized, it took many hundreds to many thousands of years after colonization before that world could launch its own colonizing mission—allowing humanity to spread the seed of human experience deeper and deeper into the vast galactic garden. Now whether one perceived the galactic colonization as something akin to Johnny Appleseed or more like some multi-tendriled invading virus was, as with most things in this universe, relative to one’s point of view. And, at this particular junction in space and time, it was only humanity’s point of view that was of importance.

And, like the Galapagos Finch—on which time and evolution (or more appropriately, biological adaptation) worked a slow, persistent miracle, transforming a single species of bird on the island grouping into many different species—as humanity penetrated deeper into the galaxy, it too became profoundly fragmented. Isolated in time, in space, and by unfathomable distance, each new colonized world independently developed its own technology, politics, religions, and history.

The great pinwheel turned, its arms curving outward, its center bulging with energies beyond all comprehension and filled with mysteries that numbered as many as the stars themselves. Now humanity, one of the galaxy’s greatest mysteries, was leaving footprint traces of its own—evidence of its expansion through the galactic garden from where it sprang. And so, humanity continued to push outward—into the galaxy, into space, and into time. But compelled by what force? And guided by what hand? And to what reward at journey’s end?

Thus, on a distant world, did a solitary set of footprints document the travels of another lone treasure hunter and explorer—marching to a song all her own.

Part One

Diana

Science has made us gods even before we are worthy of being human.—Jean Rostand

Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.—Arthur C. Clarke

One

The sound of gently lapping waves filled the landscape. In the distance, a few seabirds squawked and squabbled over a morsel. The sun slipped silently below the waves. Twilight cast a purple hue that hugged the horizon.

A single line of footprints disturbed the pristine shoreline. The footprints were soon to be erased as the sea and time would wipe clean all evidence of the little, lone explorer.

The footstep trail led to a girl. She was carrying a pail full of treasures gathered from her evening expedition. Her shoulder-length blond hair was knotted and unkempt—a result of the sea breeze and her preoccupation with things of more importance.

Her attention was suddenly diverted from the pail’s treasure by a wave that was quickly sliding its way up the beach toward her unprotected toes. She hurriedly scampered away, staying but a few meters ahead of the menacing cold water. It was all part of the game. A game of tag played for thousands of years by inquisitive young children and very old oceans.

After catching her breath, the young girl turned back toward the sea. She was smug and proud that she had outrun and outsmarted her old nemesis, for it was not always she that was victorious in this back-and-forth match of wits and agility.

The little girl gazed upward. The brightest stars were just popping through the deep, plum-colored sky. A bright starry beacon hung low in the west. The little girl knew this was not a star at all, but a planet—a planet unlike her own—a planet she learned was much too hot for human habitation. There were other planets masquerading as stars wandering among the firmament, and like her planet they all orbited around the sun. But unlike her world, these other worlds were not conducive to human habitation. Yet the little girl was comforted by her teacher’s reassurance that there were still other planets orbiting other far distant suns where humans had found worlds with favorable environments and had built thriving societies—spreading the human experience halfway across the galaxy.

In the east, where the sea met the shore, a moon was rising. As moons went, this one was average in most respects save one. It was a double moon. Two bodies that orbited around each other in a celestial union—while both moons orbited the mother planet. The little girl knew this was one of the features that made her world unique.

The little girl looked back to where she had come from—scanning the shoreline searching for her shoes. She knew she would be scolded if she lost yet another pair. She retraced her steps, trying to remember where she had left them. And soon, there they were, sitting on top of an old, weathered piece of driftwood. A smile brightened her face. She sat down on the old gnarled log and started to put on her shoes.

She was tying the last when she noticed the air a few meters in front of her start to congeal. A wavering image of a woman was taking form.

The wavering image spoke. It’s getting late, dear. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. You better come on home.

Okay, Mommy Kim. I’m coming, the little girl replied.

The little girl finished tying her shoes, grabbed her bucket of plunder, and ran down the beach.

On the few dwellings that lined the shore, exterior lights chased the darkness. To the little girl running past, these lights were as familiar and as comforting as the stars above. She turned from the beach and ran up a trail between two large sand dunes. As she rounded the dunes, her home came into view—as she knew it would. She felt good running up the stone path toward the door. It was always good returning to the warmth and familiarity that she knew resided inside, and this was a warm, loving home. Besides, she was hungry, and Mommy Kim always served such wonderful meals.

The door slid open as the little girl approached. A tall, thin woman with short, black hair was busy preparing dinner. When she saw the little girl at the doorway, she smiled a welcoming smile.

Wash your hands and face before you sit down, the woman said.

The little girl left her bucket of treasure outside and hurried to the sink.

As the little girl washed her hands, another tall, rather slim woman with an attractive, smooth, sharp face, tan skin and short, curly, light-brown hair sneaked into the kitchen and walked silently and unnoticed behind her.

The woman with the curly hair grabbed the little girl around the waist and started to tickle her. The little girl screeched, jumped, and wiggled—finally managing to turn around.

Mommy Jane, stop! the little girl cried, as she tossed her arms around the woman and gave her a big hug.

Okay you two. Dinner’s ready, Mommy Kim said as she brought plates filled with food to the table.

And what did you learn in school today? Mommy Jane asked.

We spent most of the day playing sky ball, and then we designed all new holiday dance routines—it was mostly fun stuff. Oh, and we did talk a little about history—ancient history, the little girl added.

For the moment, the little girl was obviously focused on eating rather than conversing, so both women allowed her to satisfy herself before probing a little deeper. When they noticed her slowing, Mommy Kim asked, Was there anything that you thought was particularly interesting in today’s history lesson?

Yes. We learned that a long time ago humans used to come in two sexes—male and us. They were called men or boys.

That’s right, Mommy Kim said.

The teacher said that many thousands of years ago men did certain things and women did other things, but as humans became more... became more...

Industrialized, Mommy Jane added.

Yes. Industrialized. The sexes became more and more equal—there was no need for men to do some things and women to do others. And women were actually better suited both mentally and physically for this new way of life. And that when men were no longer needed for concep...

Conception, Mommy Kim added.

And women no longer had to give birth, because babies were conceived and developed—in ‘nurseatories.’ Then people started selecting more and more girl babies until boys were considered second-class citizens—and no one wanted a second-class baby, so even more females were selected until males were ex... ex...

Extinct, Mommy Kim added.

Yes, the little girl said, as she leaned back in her chair.

Are there no more males—anywhere—in the whole galaxy? the little girl asked.

Not that we know of. I don’t think there’s been a sighting or report of a human male for, well, tens of thousands of years—maybe more, Mommy Jane said.

The little girl didn’t notice Mommy Kim close her eyes for a second—then re-open them. An image appeared at the far end of the dining table. The statue-like image was of a naked human male about a half-meter tall and was rotating as if it were upon a Lazy Susan turntable. The nude male figure appeared to be race neutral with no distinguishing features—as if blended into one composite image of maleness.

The three women at the table stared curiously at the image as if looking at some extinct prehistoric beast. Or, more exactly, as one would study the image of the long-lost Dodo—feeling a little sad for the poor, unfortunate creature that time had treated so unfairly. But the three women who had just finished dinner shed no tears.

Man—molded by evolution to help lift the human race from the primordial swamp—was thus discarded, selected for extinction by the same race he helped propel to the stars.

The little girl pointed to the rotating figure’s genitals. What’s that? she asked.

Ancient history, Mommy Kim said.

The figure dissolved.

Two

D iana, will you please pay attention, the flickering image of Ms. Reeves sternly remarked.

Diana snapped out of her daydream and turned her attention away from the window and toward her teacher. Diana always found it hard to concentrate when the sun was shining and the seashore, with all of its hidden treasures, beckoned.

As the image of Ms. Reeves spoke, three-dimensional illustrations filled the front of the room.

Our planet, Takahashi, is named for Takumi Takahashi, the astronomer that first discovered this world thousands of years before a mission to colonize the planet was launched. Even though Takahashi is located many light years from the last planet that humans successfully settled, when finally colonized, Takahashi became humanity’s farthest galactic outpost—pushing the human experience ever deeper into the galactic arm.

The mannerisms that Ms. Reeves’ image conveyed were those of a very proper woman: a woman who always moved and spoke in an appropriate and deliberate manner, a woman who would never be caught wearing anything but crisp, gray, or beige-colored outfits, and a woman who appeared perfectly comfortable with her hair pulled back tight. For a minute or so, Diana rummaged through her memory, but couldn’t ever recall Ms. Reeves laughing.

The fact that Takahashi would only need minor terraforming; had an established eco-system with plant and primitive animal life; contained water oceans, oxygen, an agreeable atmosphere, and large deposits of minerals and metals made it an excellent candidate for colonization, the image of Ms. Reeves stated.

Although most of the school day was devoted to play and fun and games, whenever Ms. Reeves made an appearance, the children knew it was time to sit quietly and at least pretend to pay attention.

As Ms. Reeves spoke, images of planets now filled the room.

Takahashi is the fourth planet of eight located from its yellow-white, main-sequence sun, and the final rocky world in our solar system. The last four planets in the system are all gas giants with frozen atmospheres and no solid surfaces to speak of. Three of these giant planets contain ring systems that with modest optical enhancement are easily seen from our planet.

It wasn’t that Diana found these presentations challenging. Quite the contrary, it was that she found the lessons as she found the image of Ms. Reeves—uninspired and very bland.

Ms. Reeves continued: A large pear-shaped continent located in Takahashi’s middle-north latitudes was selected as a prime location for colonization. The continent contains one major, snow-capped mountain range that runs up the center of the landmass, creating a naturally occurring backbone that splits the land into western and eastern regions. Two large rivers divide the continent yet again into northern and southern regions. One river flows east, and one river flows west until both rivers finally reach the sea thousands of kilometers distant.

When a picture of the seashore filled the room, Diana found it increasingly difficult to remain still and seated.

Weather systems generally move across the continent from west to east, and when the clouds encounter the central mountain range they release their watery load as they ascend up the mountain slopes. Thus the western region receives almost ten times as much rainfall as the east. The western region with its lush vegetation, tall hardwood forests, and vast plains was, compared to the arid, desert-like eastern region, the obvious choice for initial colonization.

Diana’s stomach began to rumble. Now she was hungry. She was hungry, she was restless, and she had come to the unsettling realization that through magic or spell, Ms. Reeves had somehow managed to turn minutes into hours. When would this presentation end?

An image of the planet Takahashi filled the front of the room.

The rest of the planet is equally divided between land and ocean, with four additional large continents, and an odd-shaped series of islands that forms a grouping near the equator that, as seen from above, resembles a human eye.

The presentation stopped and then faded.

That will be all for today, children, the image of Ms. Reeves said.

Diana could almost taste the after-school snack that she was sure Mommy Jane would have waiting for her. She had remained still long enough.

TAKAHASHI WAS BY ALL accounts a beautiful, virgin world—well, virginal until humans placed their first footprint in the white, coastal sand. And, although animal life had just recently emerged from the watery womb that was the planet’s life-giving ocean, their forms were still primitive and unassuming to most except the biologist and eco-scientists that made up a large part of the initial colony and that devoted their life’s work to such things.

The philosophical debate within society over whether the terraforming of other worlds was an ethical practice had been settled long ago. So long ago in fact that raising any moral questions would be like questioning if humans should reconsider taming and using fire because it might, in some circumstances, cause harm.

If there was one universal law that—even though unspoken and never officially sanctioned in any declaration—was carried along through the galaxy, it was that humanity’s needs came first above all others. Clearly, humanity would decide what was good for humanity and, by default, what was good for the galaxy. It was true that humans had set aside and left lands, animals, plants, and even worlds untouched. But, if there ever became a need, now or in the future, for any of these resources, there was no question, no doubt, as to the outcome. Humanity was not to be denied its sanctified position as farmer, engineer, Governor, and master of the starry garden that it was so adept at pruning to fit its own needs, its own desires, and in many ways into its own image.

Helena, the first colony established on Takahashi and named after the first Governor, eventually became the planet’s capital city. It was mainly an industrial and scientific research center whose many disciplines, so vital in the early days of colonization, developed, grew, and established themselves with a main focus on one task—the success of the colony and the continued human expansion across the planet.

Manufacturing, engineering, fertility, medicine, astronomy, power, materials, agriculture, AI, communications, and other industries and their research support centers were all conveniently located in or near the capital. The new discoveries and all the fruits of the city’s research flowed outward from this wellhead. Like some magical cornucopia, the lifeblood of never-ending goods filled the communication arteries of the continent. And, like life-giving blood cells that nourish a growing body, the transformation of raw materials into the many useful instruments of civilization nourished the colony and its growing civilization.

Since that first colonizing ship landed many thousands of years ago, the southern coast was selected, even by the initial colonists, as one of the most beautiful and desirable places to live on the continent. Only a few kilometers south of the capital, this coastal paradise still remained pristine. The austere but beautifully functional houses blended into and dotted the beachfront. Using smart materials, the structures continuously restored themselves and would look new (even in the face of the relentless coastal salt, sand, and sun) for as long as power and a few raw materials were occasionally supplied.

In one unassuming beachfront home, a bedroom window light dimmed then went out. But the darkness was soon replaced by a muted blue glow that flickered randomly. As seen from outside the house and from the beach below, the flickering blue light might have appeared to be a warning to some distant ocean-going vessel out beyond the waves—a warning that the nearby shore held shallow seas and a rocky coast. But no warning was needed, because no vessel had ever or would ever sail these oceans.

Kim Benton (Mommy Kim) was just finishing a mental visualization when Jane McCarthy (Mommy Jane) entered the room.

Sorry to interrupt, Jane said.

Not at all. I was just finishing. Kim opened her eyes and blinked a few times as she adjusted to the room’s ambient light.

She’s a beautiful child, Jane said.

Smart and beautiful. Is she asleep?

Well, she’s in bed. But I think she has a game square under her pillow so she might not actually be asleep, Jane answered.

It’s a wonderful age, isn’t it? Jane continued.

Yes, it is. The age of youthful innocence that’s embracing a world all shiny and new. And the feeling that it was all put here just for one’s benefit—as if it’s some giant sandbox filled with all manner of wonderful, exotic toys. I only hope future couples have the opportunity—the joyous experience—of raising a child. Or, in the future, that children are even possible.

Jane turned directly toward Kim and, unable to conceal her look of surprise, asked urgently, That’s quite a statement—what brought that on? Have you heard something new?

Well, you know my classification doesn’t allow me access to all that goes on. I’m just a low-grade researcher. But for the last few years there’s been talk, whispers really. And I can’t confirm anything. Besides, genetics and fertility aren’t even part of my responsibilities. But, as I said, there have been whispers.

Wait a minute. This isn’t another one of those conspiracy theories that you’re always downloading. Let’s see, there was the wild theory about huge sea creatures that lurk out in the ocean and that can rise up and pull down a whole hovercraft. Then there was the one about the reengineered bacteria—it supposedly killed everyone on some planet somewhere. Then—my favorite—the one about how humans on some planet reengineered their DNA to the point that they turned themselves into super beings of some sort. Then there was the one about a race of robots or androids that supposedly took over a whole planet and killed all the humans. Then there was the one—

All right. All right. I’ll just say that according to ‘unofficial’ sources there appears to be some problem concerning reproductive stability. The number of computer-generated abortions is rising.

Something with our genetics? I mean human genetics?

Yes. The percentage of conceptions per initiation is supposedly way down, and the number of abortions, because of genetic abnormalities, is rising—at least that’s the rumor. If true or partly true, the graph can’t keep going up or there will come a time when conceptions will either be zero or all pregnancies will be aborted. You don’t have to be a genius to understand that the situation is just not sustainable.

And how long does this ‘rumor’ say we have? Jane asked.

Who knows? There might be a simple explanation or an easy fix. Or, it might all be just a rumor—just another wild conspiracy.

I vote for the latter—besides, there’s no need to worry pointlessly. I’m confident that the Council will throw all of its scientific resources at the problem—if it’s even a problem, Jane stated, quickly and rather nonchalantly.

I wonder, Kim responded.

I think you need to find another hobby, Jane added.

I have no proof, and even though I always questioned how many times you can copy a copy before it no longer has any resemblance to the original, I always took it for granted that ‘they’ had solved that problem long ago or had some other work-around. But maybe that’s just not the case.

As I said, it’s a problem for the Council’s brain-trust. Think I’ll turn in early tonight—if you don’t mind, Jane said. I’m tired, she added, as she rose from her chair and walked toward the stairway leading to the second floor.

I’ll be up shortly, Kim said.

I’ll say goodnight then. I’ll probably be asleep when you come to bed, Jane responded, as she was being gently lifted up the stairs.

Kim shouted a return good night at the now empty staircase and then turned her attention to the open doorway located on the far side of the living space.

The door opened to a veranda that overlooked a captivating view of the distant ocean. Kim walked through the door and across the terrace’s warm stone floor and stopped at the fence that separated the terrace from the sand that continued on for another half kilometer to the cresting waves. She rested both hands on the fence’s top rail and then gripped it firmly.

The moons were high in the night sky; their light flickered and danced over the top of the distant ocean waves like some enormous gathering of self-illuminating, effervescent insects. The intricate yet familiar smell of the sea always filled her with a feeling of home—of belonging. The sound of the distant waves added to the serenity of the night and the peaceful feeling that was enveloping her.

I’m a lucky person, she thought—lucky and happy. Unconsciously, her hands tightened their grip on the rail as if that would somehow secure her feeling of contentment. For she knew such contentment could be as fleeting as the drifting dunes that stretched out before her.

The sand directly in front of her dimmed slightly as the light from the above bedroom window was extinguished. Now only the moonlight and the dim, blue flickering light coming from a second bedroom window illuminated the terrace. Without releasing her grip on the rail she twisted her body around for a quick glance at the lone, illuminated window above and behind her. She thought about strictly enforcing the bedtime curfew that was now being broken by the same skillful little negotiator who had brokered the hard-fought original deal. But, as she slowly released her grip on the fence rail, a broad smile crossed her face—and she walked back inside.

Three

Diana had lived a small , sheltered childhood. Sometimes she felt that the adults who surrounded her were imposing boundaries on her curiosity and had conspired to set limits to her education and her exposure to the world in general. To a child with an inquisitive mind like Diana’s, childhood was as much frustration as fun.

Diana had little familiarity with what lay beyond her shoreline sanctuary and her immediate group of friends and relatives. Her education was as much a social affair