Voyage to Alpha Centauri: A Novel Read Free

hoped to take part in the expedition as essential staff or as a token presence. I was a token. It had not been forgotten that my theoretical work was at the foundations of the project, but neither was it overestimated. An army of space technologists, engineers, propulsion experts, astronomers, designers, and so forth had taken the mathematical formulas and turned them into the living dream. I had fulfilled my purpose, and it was only the government’s sociopolitical agenda—that is, public relations and the self-image of the member states cooperating in the venture—that ensured my involvement at this late stage.
    Thus, obeying instructions from the administration, I flew at the appointed time from America to the great northern desert in Africa, and after the rather lengthy three-hour flight, we began our descent to the airstrip of what I presumed was the ship’s base station. We came in from the west, and because the station was nestled in the hollow of hills I was not afforded a view of the Kosmos itself, which I thought must be in the desert beyond. Viewed from the air, the administrative complex looked to be a small city of white, single-story structures spreading horizontally throughout the valley. It was not on any map that I knew of, despite its considerable population, more than ten thousand people, none of whom were visible at the moment, since they would be hiding in the shade to escape the blaze of the sun. The pilot cut the jets as he switched to hover power over the tarmac, and then descended vertically. When we touched down, he taxied the Tesla off the end of the strip and into an underground hangar. This proved to be a cavernous expanse of concrete, the largest man-made structure I had ever seen. It was filled with hundreds of parked jets, much like an autopark in more cosmopolitan settings.
    A disembarkation tube clamped itself onto the door, which opened in an instant, permitting me and my fellow passengers a graceful exit. At the end of the tube, each of us was welcomed by an official escort, one per person. Mine was an efficient young woman with digital identibadge embedded on the breast of her uniform, a smile on her face, and a script that she recited by rote, albeit employing my name, position, and honorifics with admirable ease, as if we were long acquainted. Then she led me along a hallway, the ceiling illuminated by an unknown source, the piped air refreshingly cool. My cowboy boots clomped arrhythmically on the floor of shining white marble, while her stiletto heels clicked rhythmically beside me as she made polite chat.
    Arriving at the main reception area, I was delivered to the initial security screening and passed through without too many problems. Eyebrows were raised over the compact survival kit clipped to my belt, containing my old fold-knife and other small items. I explained that it was a medical device for the pedicare of crippled feet. They hesitated, then waved me through the scanner. I was lucky. And my status helped, as well as the pathetically exaggerated limp I had produced for the occasion.
    My flight was not the only one that would arrive today, and I knew there would be hundreds of specialists on the Kosmos , not counting service personnel. The ship could accommodate a thousand, I guessed, judging by the dimensions outlined in the information package. However, to sustain such a large number of people for nineteen years without the aid of supplementary resources would make for certain restrictions.
    We Americans, along with a contingent of Koreans and Brits who had just arrived, were guided to a platform and into a rapid transit tube. We sat down on the plush seats, gazing out the windows at blank white walls, and when the doors hissed closed, we were propelled through the heart of the hills. Five minutes later, the machine stopped, and we stepped out onto a platform that appeared to be the lobby of a grand hotel. It was indeed a hotel, though one with a very selective guest