Foreward
This is the story of an expedition into the unknown. It was an act of desperation undertaken not in optimism or from a place of pride, but because our species, and the civilization it begat, had run out of time. Thus we fled the world we had seemingly destroyed for one that might yet destroy us in turn.
The Story So Far
Planet Earth was dying. For two centuries, war had been our unshakeable addiction. We fought until there was nearly nothing left. Disease, too, had ravaged our world, but government was too feckless, and our outlooks too narrow, to countenance the short-term inconvenience of long-term cures. Proclaiming ourselves heroes in an epic saga of redemption, we refused the entreaties of our neighbors and called it an education, overthrew our own servants and called it liberty, despoiled others and called it strength. The soils that fed us, the sweet waters that cooled us, the oceans that bequeathed us--these, we poisoned, as if only to leave nothing foul undone.
Against this relentless drive toward oblivion, the United Nations (U.N.) put up a commendable rear-guard action. Recognizing that in flight lay our only salvation, they inaugurated
Project Unity, an effort of unprecedented technological and organizational complexity: launch an emergency expedition to Earth's nearest habitable neighbor, the planet Chiron in the Alpha Centauri star system. The year was 2060.
The Ark
The project was, in generous terms, an unmitigated disaster. First conceived as the
American Ares III intra-solar foundry,
Unity's derelict skeleton had been a fixture in the nighttime sky above North America for more than a half-century before it was purchased by the U.N.'s Janovic Commission for conversion. The ship then finished another forty-three years in geosynchronous orbit, followed by six of trials that took it only as far as Pluto. By both length and volume, it was the largest object ever built by man. Knowing that technological progress would outpace them before completion, her shipwrights opted for modular design, hoping to install the engines, reactor, and computer mainframe last.
Project Unity was a case study in design flaws, self-destructive behavior, and the perils of consensus-based project management. Amidst countless arguments, industrial accidents, and incidents of terrorism and sabotage, entire sections were started, gutted, and started again as availability of money, materials, and expertise fluctuated. A revolving door of visionaries, sponsors, and builders produced a "Frankenstein's Ark" of obsolete and incompatible systems. Political imperatives often spoke louder than practical science. When the Western powers temporarily suspended their participation in the Project from 2014, Chinese and Warsaw Pact engineers
dismantled and stole mission modules for closer study Earthside. During a breakdown in contract re-negotiations, Morgan Aerodynamics sealed over dozens of cargo bays previously installed by competitors including Serrol-Merowe, Fairchild-Grumman, and the
American Reclamation Corporation. The matter faded temporarily in light of a terrorist attack and consequent conflagration that severely damaged the ship's water reclamation systems, and in their aftermath, was never revisited. To a U.N. Board of Inquiry completed just hours before his departure for the lunar cradle,
Unity's captain,
Jonathan Garland, observed wryly that there was not a single integrated or accurate schematic--let alone a proper inventory--of the whole ship anywhere in existence.
Preparing for the Unity Mission
Providing a crew for the ship presented a separate brace of problems. Tens of thousands of crew members perished in training, while many more died at the hands of mobs and terrorists incensed at the idea of being left behind. During times of extremity, the U.N. made a habit of accepting donations from corporations, private individuals, and even criminal enterprises. Earth's best and brightest were therefore obligated to share their one-way trip with exiles, outcasts, and stowaways of every conceivable stripe. Pursuant to a charter further amended beyond recognition after most were placed in cold sleep, led by a multi-national crew on the verge of dissolution since the day it had formed, they were destined for a world where contact with a smaller, earlier mission launched in better times, the Pathfinder Probe, had been lost for reasons still unknown.
Selection to the Unity Project was regarded in the popular consciousness as a matter of life and death. Mortal violence was commonplace when individuals and communities felt passed over, as many did. Accidents of geography dictated that
space elevators must be at Earth's Equator where the majority of indigenous peoples languished under colonial rule. In consequence, the U.N. was forced to compromise its previously sterling credentials as the world's foremost champion of self-determination. This satisfied no one. Subject populations correctly accused the U.N. of both hypocrisy and instrumentalism, pointing out that it could have funded construction of a new elevator in Ecuador or at sea. Colonial authorities complained bitterly of having to supplement the ever-beleaguered U.N. presence with detachments from already-anemic local garrisons, which in any case could not be relied upon to suppress their fellow countrymen. The U.N. ultimately maintained
tens of thousands of troops to protect the elevators at Rio de Janeiro, Stanleyville, Batavia, and British Singapore by which
Unity was initially stocked. Nearly two-thirds were security police commissioned by the U.N. itself, while the remainder were national contingents on temporary assignment from donor countries.
In retrospect, use of colonial space elevators meant that it was often difficult for the U.N. to discern the cause of unrest. Were protestors taking aim at some upsetting aspect of the Unity Project itself, or was the space elevator merely the most convenient and vulnerable symbol of their colonial oppressors? Making matters that much worse, the quality of personnel available to the U.N. was poor, and their political reliability low. In 2026, a Morgan Security Consultants, Inc. analysis found that hundreds of U.N. Security Force recruits were politically suspect. Defection was a constant problem, especially to survivalist and national liberation movements that then exploited these recruits for access to U.N. equipment, procedures, and credentials. During the fifteen years between 2012 and 2027 alone, when violence was at a relatively low ebb, an average of nine protestors and one U.N. policeman died each day.
More than 400,000 colonists and crew were entombed in
Unity's seventeen-mile-long hull for the silent crossing to Chiron. The selection process was a monument to bureaucratic rationalism. Each individual was first nominated by a national commission, then processed by a panel operating under the auspices of the U.N. Security Council. Virtually no trade or calling was excluded. Our species's future was to be secured not only by astronauts and botanists, physicists and physicians, but judges and civil servants, poets and preachers, lawyers and musicians. Ninety-two percent of the ship's original crew were single, able-bodied persons of sound mind and body between the ages of 24 and 32. Most had advanced degrees prior to selection, and all--whether "core" expedition members or charter colonists--received a mandatory four years of additional preparation, half of it in classrooms. A standard developmental battery such as that developed and administered by Morgan Adaptive Learning Associates in cooperation with
Tokyo University and the
Indian Institute of Technology, featured intensive evolutions in physics, agronomy, chemistry, computer science, electric and mechanical engineering, wilderness survival, emergency medicine, civics, and self-defense techniques.
Fewer than one in twenty-three recruits completed the Earth-bound leg of training, after which they took the long journey up the equatorial space elevators to orbital gantries for a further year of practical schooling in
zero- and low-gravity maneuvers, firefighting, and heavy rescue. Here, colonists were sorted by division for the first time to practice together the tasks they would eventually be expected to perform after Planetfall. The dropout rate from this point was 84%, and beyond mere attrition, U.N. records tally 42,922 fatalities suffered during the eighteen years of crew selection and induction that preceded mission launch. Survivors could expect to spend a final phase of learning on the Martian surface living and working in environmental domes designed to mimic the Chiron ecosphere.
With the exception of senior command staff, made by direct U.N. appointment, crew were usually seconded from the uniformed services of various donor nations and corporations. As expected, space agency alumni predominated, but many countries used the project as a way to sideline politically unreliable military personnel. The quality of the more than 80,000 charter colonists varied even more widely: while stakeholder
Oscar van de Graaf's people were almost all leaders in their fields, Struan's Pacific Trading Company provided
Roshann Cobb with less salubrious characters. So-called factors were permitted to employ their own
private military service providers to provide settlement defense once they eventually completed their terms of service under the Mission Charter.
As described previously, United Nations selection protocols also relaxed measurably over time. The U.N. made numerous high-level political appointments in exchange for funding and access to required infrastructure such as space elevators, orbital factories, and space construction vehicles. Inclusion of re-socialized prisoners, a Warsaw Pact innovation, represented the most controversial change, and (among other things) prompted the United Nations to furnish Captain Garland and his officers with a complement of marines to ensure their safety.
Robotic servitors were introduced in the 2050s after spectrographic analysis of Chiron indicated that planetary conditions would be considerably more hostile than initially projected.
Because of the very large number of personnel moved through the program, the first "sleepers" were placed in suspended animation in October 2061, and the last immediately before departure in February 2110. Cryogenic stasis was achieved according to the
Wespe-Quinn-Vagner Process, selected for its comparatively high rate of patient survival. The U.N. settled on Wespe-Quinn-Vagner after a thorough investigation of more than two dozen alternatives. On this, the mission's medical personnel achieved a rare full consensus.
Chief Medical Officer Pravin Lal's official memorandum of recommendation to the United Nations Medical College, now housed in the archives of his alma mater,
The Aga Khan University, is counter-signed by Unity's Director of Neurosurgery,
Dr. Aleigha Cohen; its director of Genetic Medicine,
Dr. Tamineh Pahlavi; and
Psych-Chaplain Miriam Godwinson, who attended to the ethical implications associated with artificially extending human life. Himself a recognized expert in geriatric therapies,
Chief Engineer Prokhor Zakharov took the unusual step of appending an amicus note.
The journey to Alpha Centauri required one hundred-and-forty years of travel. Wespe-Quinn-Vagner slowed patient metabolism to a virtual halt during that time. Cumulative practical aging was less than one full year. Sensitive monitoring equipment filtered toxins and introduced supplemental nutrients into the bloodstream as needed. Dynamic suspension gel exercised muscle groups while psycho-pharmacological cocktails managed the risk of vivid dreaming.
All well above median mission age, most of the command staff faced unique medical risks that could not be mitigated to the U.N.'s full satisfaction. For Zakharov, who was seventy-three years old at mission launch and in declining health, the estimated odds of surviving cold sleep fell to 62%. The outlook for
Executive Officer General Francisco d'Almeida and
Political Officer Sheng-ji Yang, both octogenarians, was worse still. All signed waivers acknowledging the potential for untenable complications.
The Journey
The odyssey that brought a fully-powered
Unity from the
Lunar Cradle to the edge of the Alpha Centauri system was no less harrowing. Just hours after launch in March 2110, an explosion destroyed one of the starship's four precious hydroponics bays. Finding that the ship was still space-worthy, Mission Control chose to override automatic crew resuscitation and simply jettison the affected compartments. At the push of a button, ten thousand of the quarter-million crew members were sacrificed on the altar of human survival. The U.N. Intelligence Cell went on to confirm that the cause of the explosion was sabotage. Odds of mission succeeds were revised downwards to >7%.
Seven decades passed, and, against all odds, the
Unity was T-minus three weeks from deployment to Chiron's surface. A Forward Contact Team had been planet-side for a whole month, working to a clear a landing zone. Attempts to contact the Pathfinder Probe were unsuccessful, but the evidence of recent human settlement--and terrible civil violence--was incontrovertible.
Then, at 01:19h Zulu Time, 1 November 2180, a micro-object impacted
Unity just 0.2 Astronomical Units from Chiron. At once, the impact sheared off three cryobays, gutted a fourth, and destroyed two of three remaining hydroponics modules before striking the ship's solar sail. The port side ventral hull suffered hundreds of shrapnel impacts, depressurizing critical compartments and compromising the primary reactor shield. Coolant system failure triggered a SCRAM, but radiation began leaking into the cryobays housing the crew. They emerged into a steel envelope bleeding oxygen and devoid of light, with hope itself fast running out.
Planetfall
The patchwork crew proved unequal to their new task.
Damage control operations began almost at once under the supervision of
Unity's Executive Officer, General Francisco d'Almeida, clearing the way for Chief Engineer Prokhor Zakharov's technicians to assess the reactor spaces. They were disrupted by multiple groups of armed stowaways who proceeded to engage in a shooting war between not only themselves, but the mainline crew. One of the ringleaders,
Colonel Corazón Santiago, read aloud a manifesto over the ship's internal address system, and was able to secure for herself a face-to-face meeting with Captain Garland. Thirty-six hours later, he was dead at the hand of an unknown assailant. Outside Damage Control, United Nations Marine Corps defenders stacked the bodies of their dead and wounded comrades to continue their losing fight.
The surviving leaders fell into rounds of recrimination. Without extraordinary measures to correct drift,
Unity would overshoot Chiron, be forced into a long elliptical orbit, and return only after a transit of eighty-four years. All the crew now-awakened would either need to reenter cold sleep (a deadly-dangerous proposition) or attempt emergency landing on the planet below with whatever diminished quantities of supplies they could reach in the chaos. Zakharov, whose advanced age greatly reduced the likelihood of surviving either contingency, protested that it was still possible for his operators to save the ship and permit an ordinary landing with much of the cargo intact, but other division heads protested that their personnel were too disorganized, or else too few in number, to provide him with the necessary support.
Zakharov bitterly assailed his peers.
Deirdre Skye, the mission's head Xenobiologist, diverted first responders away from engineer tasks to reinforce the structural integrity of the ship's remaining greenhouses and seed banks. Francisco d'Almeida appeared to have awakened 400 more personnel than allotted, none of them with the firefighting or heavy rescue billets relevant to the present danger. Camera footage appeared to show Aleigha Cohen overseeing the nerve-stapling of hundreds of newly-awakened prisoners in the ship's forward detention blocks. Citing her authority under U.N. protocol, Godwinson, whom the computer repeatedly flagged as deceased, refused to force crew members in her care to reenter irradiated compartments to undertake crucial repairs. Finding the situation hopeless, d'Almeida, acting as Garland's successor, gave the order for each leader to gather those crew still ambulatory and abandon ship. In his last official act as a U.N. representative, he declared the Mission Charter dissolved.