The Island (23 page)

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Chapter 1

Braddox Founding piloted Liberation. Once out of Clandestine’s bay, he engaged thrusters. The bridge was soundproof, only slightly larger than the cockpit of a fighter ship, and prevented him from hearing the rockets flare. He knew well enough what thrusters sounded like having worked on ships back home. There was a burst of flame from back engines and incredible heat. The whoosh alone could pierce eardrums if protective gear wasn’t worn.

The vessel shot forward. G-forces sent small waves of nausea through his stomach. He needed both hands on the controls for the moment; otherwise he might coddle the mild sickness with arms across his gut. Regulators kicked in and balanced the speed with the inside cabin pressure. Soon, it wasn’t like they were hurtling through space at all, but standing still. He closed his mouth, swallowed hard, and after shutting his eyes for a moment, the uneasiness settled.

With his eyes once again open, he concentrated on the view from the captain’s chair. Beyond the glass was a vastness of black nothing. The universe looked empty except for the few planets and moons visible. And their sun. The star was larger than the one at home. Heavily tinted windows prevented Founding from losing his sight. He didn’t stare directly at the fiery ball, but avoiding it took effort. He found his eyes were simply drawn toward it.

Founding never grew tired of missions. Flying through space was an unexplainable high. The Milky Way was four-hundred and ninety light years away from home. He and the crew spent ten years in deep sleep chambers. For a decade, Clandestine flew on autopilot. Scientists charted the course. Mathematicians made the journey possible. He understood only bare basics. The brains behind the program ensured unobstructed flight paths. Somehow they could calculate and take into consideration comets and known asteroid fields, as well as where planets will be during their orbit around their sun. There were still risks. Assignments like this always came with risks.

The excitement of a new mission is what Founding loved. The risks just made everything much more intense. The thought alone made his blood flow faster. It surged through his veins and arteries at breakneck speed. Blood pressure meds could never manage that kind of stimulant.

In a few hours he’d wake the other three crew members. For the moment, the universe was his. Little steering was required, thanks to top notch engineering, but his being awake first was necessary to provide cursory assistance with having Clandestine hold for their return, and preparing Liberation for the short journey. This included moving the three sleep pods from the mother ship to this one.

As much as he valued the time alone, the peace, the quiet, the view, what he missed right now was driving tunes. He switched on the preloaded playlist and bellowed like an animal in heat. Uninhibited because there was not a soul awake to complain.

Captain Founding didn’t have family at home. None of his crew had families. It was a ten year mission. No one left loved ones that long. Some might, depending on circumstances, but most wouldn’t. On a mission that could easily last a quarter of a century, only those with no ties were even considered.

The pool of candidates was picked through with extreme scrutiny. Teams were trained for the exercise and just over ten years ago launched toward planets similar to their own. Overpopulation became an issue. It wasn’t surprising. Medical advances prevented unnecessary deaths from disturbing illnesses that plagued the planet since the beginning of time. Their time, anyway. Climate control took away risk of tsunamis and hurricanes, tornadoes and volcanic eruptions. Forest fires during dry seasons extinguished as fast as they began and long before they spread. Droughts and famine were wiped out long ago. The positive aspect of fixing broken things is wonderful. The warned about negative points were realized after it was too late.

The plan in place seemed impossible, but necessary. Scoping out other planets with similar life support properties might be the only way to cure over population. There were other signs of destruction on the horizon as well. Those in charge were tight-lipped about the impending hazards. Founding didn’t need a degree in science to predict what was coming. For all of the combined intelligence working toward making the planet perfect, they stifled natural growth and change. No. They barred it from existence. The things done to make everything wonderful were cosmetic, topical. The planet’s core was in turmoil. It reminded Founding of when his step-father used to cover his nose and mouth with his big hands. At first it seemed funny. Soon, Founding panicked. His eyes bulged, his lungs burned, and his body reacted to the suffocation. He’d swing his arms and kick and pull away. Eventually, he fought his step-father for survival.

Their home planet was going to self-destruct if it wasn’t allowed to breathe.

You can’t change what something is. It is that simple. You can’t restructure the way something is wired and expect it to work forever. One guarantee that ensured things go from bad to worse was the nearly complete depletion of natural resources. Mining every mineral and fuel source from below every continent and body of water was never a good idea. It became essential to supply the wants and needs, and everyone just figured they’d deal with consequences later. Unfortunately, but expected, it didn’t take later all that long to catch up.

How did politicians remedy the problem they’d campaigned to create?

There was no winning way to tell everyone you were now going to once again allow natural disasters to resume and cured diseases to return. It wasn’t even just about election victories at that point. Turning tables back to the way things once were lacked any compassion. So rather than fix the entire world, they’d let it implode in silence, wearing phony smiles, convincing themselves nothing was wrong.

If nothing was wrong, then Founding wouldn’t be strapped into Liberation rocketing toward a blue planet similar to home with expectations of saving his race. It wasn’t a secret mission as much as shied away truths about why teams were being sent to investigate nearby galaxies.

Observe. Collect samples. Submit data home.

They were not to interfere.

Twenty-five years on a single mission could mean the difference between having a home worth returning to, or complete extinction.

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