To Earth and Back

By William Boardman

Born into American society, then moved to Berlin during the Nazis’ rise to power, a young Jewish girl has no idea what lies ahead. Meanwhile, orbiting high above the earth, a young physician from a civilization light years away, studies and records her every move, hoping to better understand the Hebrew culture. Time goes by, and though they have never met, to him she seems like family. War finds the girl in her teens, and trauma exacts a heavy toll. She embarks on a pilgrimage which takes her from country to country only to leave her in ill health, without family, and an outcast among her own people. Then, when war looms again, the now 19-year-old woman is trapped in a hopeless, life-threatening situation. Painfully aware and thousands of miles out in space, the grief-stricken doctor goes before his ship’s council with an urgent plea. The council’s options are few—break strict protocol for the sake of their beloved physician or allow the young woman to perish. The courses of two civilizations hang in the balance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: William Boardman
• Release date: Aug 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311355850

William Boardman

William Boardman is the author of the To Earth and Back series (The Mission, The Afterlife). He is a retired US Air Force photojournalist whose career spanned 26 years and took him to locations around the world: Far East, Middle East, Europe, Asia, South Pacific, South America, and North America (46 states plus Canada).After completing photojournalism training at Syracuse University, his work entailed mixing words and imagery to tell the Air Force story. Subject matter included military deployment and conflict, aeronautical research, humanitarian relief, aerial imaging, human interest, etc. His work has been published in military publications and national periodicals.

Book preview

To Earth and Back

The Mission

William Boardman

To Earth and Back

The Mission

William Boardman

Published by William Boardman

Smashwords Edition

Copyright© 2016 William Boardman

All rights reserved.

Cover by William Boardman and Christine Leonardi

To Earth and Back is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Conventions

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Acknowledgements

Cited Works

About the Author

For Nora—My Inspiration

Conventions

All languages are presented in English. Weights and measures are based on Earth standards. Alien institutions, scientific concepts, medical treatments, and plant and animal life are described in terms commonly understood on Earth. References to advanced technology and space travel are based on modern theory and ongoing scientific research. Representations of Earth’s geography are reasonably accurate, and historical references are closely aligned with real-world events.

Some narrative contains descriptions of visual display sequences. Each sequence starting point is indicated by (> > >) and its ending point by (# # #).

Prologue

One hundred billion stars populate our galaxy. Of their countless planets and moons, our best minds and most sophisticated technology estimate 25,000 might support life. No doubt, many of these host only the simplest of life forms. Intelligent life is another matter. Then there is the consideration of time. Intelligent life may exist on a planet for 100,000 years without a hint of technological advancement. Indeed, even if such progress were to occur, it may only span a few hundred years, as technology, while exciting in concept, brings with it the potential for self-destruction. Considering the variables and potential threats, the odds of two habitable worlds existing within traveling distance of each other are infinitesimally small. That two such worlds would produce technological civilizations at the same time goes beyond odds or coincidence.

———————

Tau Ceti is a star not unlike our Sun, located near the center of the constellation Cetus. It boasts five planets, one of which revolves around the star at a distance similar to our planet Venus. Because Tau Ceti’s mass is 80 percent that of our Sun, and its radiation and brightness are only 55 percent by comparison, this planet (Portho) is right in the middle of the habitable zone. At five times Earth’s size, it has two moons, Marcova and Delda. Though Portho and its outer moon Delda are completely barren, Marcova, the inner moon, is a lush world of great beauty, teeming with life. Its mass is 20 percent greater than Earth’s, with water covering two-thirds of its surface. Three large and seven lesser continents make up its land masses. The inhabitants are physically, mentally, and emotionally identical to those of Earth, except in stature, averaging six inches taller in their respective genders.

Human life existed on Marcova for tens of thousands of years before the first stirrings of progress. It started with the creation of simple tools. During the 5,000 years that followed, progress was slow but steady. This period gave way to rapid industrialization. Nations became increasingly adept at waging war and soon ushered in the nuclear age. Much like Earth, arsenals grew at a menacing pace. Nations edged perilously close to conflict, at one point narrowly avoiding mutual annihilation. Following this scare, cooler minds pressed for binding treaties, and before long, national conflicts were a thing of the past.

The next 800 years brought remarkable change, with noteworthy advances in transportation, manufacturing, communication, and digital integration. Space travel began.

Medical and social fields also advanced. Genetic research virtually transformed the human condition. With consent of the population, scientists altered genes to remove violent tendencies, extend life expectancy, and eliminate most cancers and disease.

The civilization established a one-world order: one nation, one language. With cultural diversity greater than that of Earth, converting everyone to a common dialect should have been a tall order, however a neurotranslation device in the form of a miniature cranial implant already existed, enabling its host to understand and speak any known language. Adults without the device underwent the simple medical procedure and taught the language to the children. After one generation, the implants were no longer needed.

The language barrier was only a minor hurdle compared to what came later. With an increased life expectancy of 200 years, population growth eventually outpaced food production. The initial consensus of the Marcovan people was to limit the birth rate to one child per family. Later, when the population stabilized, this increased to two.

Soon, industrial byproducts began to degrade the air, land, and oceans. Breakthroughs came in water purification, biology, and power production. However, carbon dioxide continued to build in the atmosphere. Decades passed without a resolution, resulting in temperature extremes, violent weather, and vast devastation. The answer finally came in the form of a genetically engineered tree. The tree stood 12 feet high with a full canopy of bright green leaves. The leaf structure resembled a bellows, contracting at night to exchange carbon dioxide for oxygen at a normal rate (carbon cycle). However, in daylight, the leaves expanded to 10 times their normal surface area with a corresponding increase in the carbon cycle.

Having solved most threats to humanity, the civilization surged forward. Breakthroughs came in every area of human endeavor. The population became fascinated with aeronautics and space travel, investing great energy and resources.

Within a century, they had made multiple visits to Marcova’s sister moon, bringing back a wide variety of geological samples. One rather unremarkable clay-like specimen had passed from lab to lab without a significant finding until an overworked electrical engineer finally unlocked its secret. Half-asleep and leaning against her test bench, she applied a small positive charge to assess the sample’s conductivity. The result was immediate and startling. As she applied the charge, the sample’s mass increased exponentially, causing the heavy metal workbench to buckle and collapse.

Further tests showed the specimen’s mass varied directly with the positive charge. This discovery created great excitement, but nothing compared with the furor that erupted when the charge was reversed. As the negative charge increased, the sample’s mass dropped to zero and quickly headed into the mysterious realm of negative mass, causing the sample to shoot straight up off the bench and lodge itself in the ceiling.

Word of this new element (Gravium) spread like wildfire. Mining expeditions to Delda increased, and within a few decades, large amounts of the substance were in use on Marcova.

Gravium was a world-changer. Wherever employed: manufacturing, warehousing, transportation, or any other endeavor, it was a marvel to behold. When sandwiched between two rigid metal plates, and the appropriate charge applied, gravium easily levitated heavy loads.

The substance offered a two-fold benefit for space travel. Aeronautical engineers employed it as spacecraft underplating, applying a negative charge combined with engine thrust to achieve orbit. Then, once in orbit they reversed the charge to increase mass, thus providing artificial gravity for the crew.

Marcova’s sister moon provided one other element of note: Cyclonium. In early tests employing particle beam radiation, scientists found they could alter the atomic structure of the silvery metal to mimic other elements. Eventually the list of elements grew to include every element on their Periodic Table. Experts across the scientific community worked to exploit cyclonium’s unique capabilities, ultimately resulting in the creation of the Cyclic.

In its simplest form, the cyclic was a multi-stage replication device, capable of converting cyclonium into any known element or combination of elements. Incorporating 3D modeling, researchers first created simple objects: metal tools, machine parts, and construction materials. Over time, cyclic capabilities continued to expand, and eventually anything from a glass of water to sophisticated technical components were replicated. The only limiting factors were the size of the object to be copied, the amount of cyclonium on hand, and the size of the cyclic’s output chamber. However, to the Marcovan’s great disappointment, the cyclic was unable to reproduce even the simplest of life-forms.

Gravium lifting platforms allowed for large-scale mining of both gravium and cyclonium, producing massive supplies of both elements and transforming the entire manufacturing process. Further enhancements included a recycling capability, making cyclonium the perfect renewable resource. Quality of life on Marcova took a marked leap forward as cyclic technology became an essential part of every household.

Six thousand years had passed since the creation of the first rudimentary tools, and although ventures into space were now commonplace and space-based research stations plentiful, conventional propulsion methods confined space travel to Marcova, Delda, and the mother planet, Portho.

One of many extraterrestrial pursuits involved the construction of a mammoth space telescope, built for a single purpose: the discovery of life beyond their solar system. Confining their search to the twenty-five nearest stars, astronomers had worked their way through two-thirds of the candidates when they pointed the massive mirrored array at our Sun, twelve light-years away. Following the initial assessment, all interest focused on one planet, which exhibited spectral characteristics similar to Marcova and orbited well within the habitable zone.

Upon completion of this project, a report was forwarded to the Marcovan Space Council. And while the report generated great excitement among the leadership, its findings also underscored one obvious deficiency—the inability to achieve the enormous speed necessary for interstellar travel.

Challenged but undaunted, the council tasked their propulsion experts to find an answer. The effort began with the reworking of old concepts. One spacecraft after another was assembled and tested above Marcova. Among the first, the solar sail concept consisted of a spacecraft tethered to a giant sail made of ultra-thin mirrors. The hope was that solar radiation pressure from Tau Ceti and other stars would eventually propel the craft forward with sufficient velocity to meet their needs. But, this was not to be. After several tests, mathematicians estimated the trip to Earth would take nine-thousand years.

Theories concerning black holes and other space-time bridges sparked some debate, but were abandoned when an extensive search of the solar system revealed no viable entities.

The most plausible theory called for enclosing the spacecraft in a distortion (energy) envelope. Negative mass combined with antimatter would create the envelope, causing the space in front of the ship to contract and the space behind to expand. The result: a very quick acceleration to light speed and beyond. A source for negative mass already existed in the form of gravium. In addition, scientists had created small quantities of antimatter plasma in the laboratory. The problem involved creating enough plasma to initiate the desired reaction. This led to the construction of a specialized nuclear test facility.

Thirty years and a multitude of failures later, a young prodigy, fresh out of school, proposed a theory—build a fusion reactor to create antimatter, then force the resulting plasma through an intricate tubular network in the ship’s hull, thus producing the field of antimatter needed to create the distortion envelope.

The reactor took four years to construct and three more years of exhaustive tests before the research team was ready for a field trial.

Design and construction of the prototype spacecraft took another 15 years, thus allowing additional time for engineering refinements on the reactor.

The ship was almond-shaped, with the aft wider than the front: 250 feet long, 125 feet wide, and 50 feet from top to bottom. The entire aft portion of the ship was dedicated to large conventional ion thrusters, intended for sub-light speed. A number of smaller radial thrusters, installed in key locations on the hull, provided maneuvering capability.

Sandwiched between the inner and outer hull was a complex matrix of glass-like tubing. Plasma from the fusion reactor flowing through this tubing would produce the antimatter needed for the negative mass/antimatter reaction. The ship’s gravium-lined underplating and outer edges were on separate circuits. The idea was to use the underplating for artificial gravity and the outer edges of the ship for the small amount of negative mass needed to initiate, shape, and control the distortion envelope around the hull.

The plan called for a ship’s complement of 55 crewmembers, which senior staff reduced to 15 for the trial run.

When the big day finally arrived, a shuttle ferried the crew up to the ship. Within an hour, the two reactors were online, and the test crew energized the remainder of the ship’s systems. There was excitement. There was nervousness. There was fear. There was hope of a new reality. With everyone strapped in, the captain gave the order to engage the sub-light thrusters.

A large multi-image display extended across the front of the ship’s bridge, providing a variety of external views for the crew. But for now, all eyes were on instrumentation.

The ship’s initial movement was barely noticeable. One of the engineers began to call out changes in velocity. We’re away...50 knots—100—200—acceleration rate now 1 g and holding...400—700—1,000 knots.

At 15 minutes into the mission and traveling at nearly 10,000 knots, the captain inquired concerning the status of the plasma field.

The nuclear engineer answered, The field is at 100 percent.

Gentlemen, if you can, I want you to watch Marcova on the main display, the captain said as he turned back to the helmsman. Let’s bring the negative mass up to 10 percent and see what she’ll do. Take it slow.

With the first movement of the light-speed throttle, the conventional thrusters disengaged.

Every person on board understood distortion envelope theory—how things were supposed to work. Even so, doubts and concerns remained. The possibility of crushing g-forces occupied most minds. However, to everyone’s amazement, all they noticed was the 1 g acceleration from the conventional thrusters had ceased, and Marcova was becoming noticeably smaller on the main display. The ship was moving at incredible speed, yet they felt no sensation whatsoever.

The propulsion engineer struggled to keep pace with the ship’s velocity. Accelerating! he called out. Point one light speed—point three—point five. The crew was dumbfounded. Point eight—point eight-five...holding steady at point eight-seven.

That’s 10 percent, the helmsman added.

Marcova receded quickly into the distance.

Very well, the captain said. Hold it there.

An exuberant discussion ensued. All systems were functioning properly. With no adverse physiological effects, they were moving at over three quarters the speed of light and only using 10 percent throttle.

Two hours passed as the crew reviewed data and checked their systems. After some dialogue, they decided to push the speed a little further before ending the outbound leg.

So at the captain’s direction, the helmsman eased the throttle forward to 20 percent, propelling the ship right through the light barrier and beyond, finally settling in at 1.7 light-speed. The crew took time to consolidate data.

Okay gentlemen, the captain said. Time to head back. He allowed them a moment, then gave the order to initiate auto-braking.

The helmsman slowly reduced the throttle to zero and fired maneuvering thrusters to point the ship in the opposite direction. Once reoriented, the ship was still traveling at the same speed, but in reverse. The helmsman touched an icon on his console, and the light-speed throttle slowly moved forward to 5 percent. A smooth reduction in speed registered on his display, and the throttle once again began to decrease. Within minutes, their speed had reduced by half. The throttle continued its decrease until the ship slowed enough for conventional thrusters to take over. Fifteen minutes later, the ship came to a stop.

———————

The crew returned home to a hero’s welcome. Space exploration had just taken on an exciting new dimension.

Tests of the prototype starship continued for three years, during which engineers made several improvements and reached a number of performance limits; key among these, a maximum velocity of 10.2 light-speed.

Space travel expanded as test crews made visits to every planet in the solar system. Eventually the testing reached a point of diminishing returns. It was time for planning and dreaming.

A think-tank formed to develop a mission concept. Its goal—to discover life outside their solar system. With very little debate, the group concluded that Earth was the best prospect within a reasonable distance. Therefore, most deliberation involved the new ship’s design, crew configuration, and Earth exploration.

At 10.2 light-speed, the transit to Earth would take a little over a year. Mission planners based the ship’s length of stay on three criteria: Did they discover life? If so, how varied were the life forms? And if intelligent life did exist, how advanced was it? Under the most positive assumption—Earth possessed a civilization similar to Marcova’s—the crew would stay 50 years. With over two years spent in transit, planners felt the extended stay would provide a good return on investment without significant impact on the crew’s lifespan.

Regardless of the outcome, any news of discovery would be slow in coming. Under the best scenario (a 50-year stay), the first message from the ship would take twelve years to reach Marcova. On the other hand, if Earth were barren, the ship would return in three years.

The design phase for the exploration vessel took 10 years. The new ship was dubbed Earth Research Station One (ERS-1) and closely resembled the prototype ship, but much larger: 1,500 feet long, 900 feet wide, and 200 feet from top to bottom, including 11 decks.

Deck 1: Bridge, Conference Rooms, Executive Chambers

Deck 2: Operations (ops)

Deck 3: Key Personnel Quarters

Deck 4: Crew Quarters and Sports Complex

Deck 5: Work Centers

Deck 6: Work Centers, Water Supply and Purification

Deck 7: Agriculture (Oxygen/Nitrogen Production)

Deck 8: Agriculture (Food Production) and Propulsion

Deck 9: Launch Bay Personnel Quarters, Work Center, and Central Cyclic

Deck 10: Maintenance Work Center

Deck 11: Launch Bay and Equipment Storage

The launch bay measured 750 feet across, 220 feet deep, and 55 feet high. It supported three classes of landing craft ranging from 30 to 60 feet in length.

Construction crews assembled ERS-1 in orbit above Marcova. The ship was a modular design with most components made of cyclonium to allow for recycling of failed or damaged parts.

The outer surface of the upper hull consisted of interconnecting panels, one for each workspace and living quarters on the upper decks. These liquid crystal panels, composed of hardened polymer, provided three functions: an excellent overhead light source, a clear view of the heavens, or when set to opaque, a completely dark environment. For the trip to Earth, these panels were covered with a multi-layered encasement. This interlocking shell contained the plasma tube matrix needed to achieve light speed. The plan called for its removal and storage upon reaching Earth.

The lower hull, a flat black alloy, contained the remainder of the plasma tube matrix.

The two largest decks were dedicated to agriculture and required a massive amount of soil to grow the food and trees necessary for life support. To achieve this, space systems engineers constructed gravium barges to lift 100 by 200-foot sealed modules of Marcova’s finest topsoil. Once in space, crews maneuvered the modules into place and secured them within the ship’s superstructure, removing the rigid lids and leaving dust covers to contain the soil until construction was complete and artificial gravity applied.

ERS-1 was over twenty-two years in construction. Systems tests, modifications, and crew selection required another year and a half.

Landing craft construction and testing took place on Marcova, as did the manufacturing of most other components.

Meanwhile, mission personnel turned their attention to Earth exploration. Understandably, no subject received more attention than the possible discovery of intelligent life. The group debated endlessly over mission objectives. Under what circumstances should the crew attempt formal contact? Should they share technology, and if so, how much?

Eventually they reached the consensus that whether intelligent life existed or not, the initial Earth mission would be for observation and research only—no formal contact. Any expeditions to the surface were to be restricted to uninhabited areas.

With the testing and adjustment phase drawing to a close, the crew made preparations to get ERS-1 underway.

The plan called for an initial crew of 400, with 500 rooms set aside as crew quarters. The rooms were spacious, averaging 40 by 40 feet with 12-foot ceilings. Mission planners offered key personnel the option to bring immediate family: If married, spouse and children, or if single, parents and siblings. Planners assumed some crewmembers would marry and their children would eventually fill most of the remaining quarters.

Shortly before launch, the ship’s operations (ops) division dispatched landing craft to pick up the crew. Once back onboard, the landing craft were stowed and the crew assembled in the main hall on Deck 4 where they received quarters assignments and reported for duty.

With everyone in place, power-plant engineers boosted the reactors to 80 percent, and work centers brought their systems online. Soon, the pre-departure checklist was complete. It was Earth-year 803 AD.

———————

One year and 3 months later, the helmsman slipped ERS-1 into a semi-synchronous orbit 12,500 nautical miles above Earth. Expectations were high. On their final approach, just before auto-braking, forward-looking sensors had detected promising signs of life. In addition to deep blue oceans and weather patterns, they had seen green patches on many of the landmasses.

The ship buzzed with activity. Ops pointed low magnification sensors at the surface below. Imagery started coming in, and displays came alive throughout the ship. The crew expected to see some signs of life, but not to this extent. Trees and plant-life were lush, abundant, and in great variety. Water was everywhere: rivers, lakes, and inland seas. Many of the crew felt as if they were looking down on Marcova.

Before long, ops shifted to high magnification equipment, and amazing imagery of animal-life began to come in. Then, the monumental discovery they had all hoped for: shelters, structures, and the presence of human-like life forms. Villages, towns, and cities dotted the continents below. Communications personnel quickly sent a message off to Marcova, including the initial imagery of Earth.

Activity onboard reached fever pitch as data poured in from the sensors. Space imaging and satellite technicians working with launch bay personnel readied over 180 surveillance satellites for deployment. Once operational, the satellites formed a network of sensors around the earth, later known as the Global Imaging System (G.I.S.).

Each satellite housed a sophisticated array of active and passive sensing technologies capable of structural penetration; whether metal, earth, or rock. The system produced high-quality 3D imagery and audio of targeted locations, which was routed to holographic displays throughout the ship.

The ops division was responsible for analyzing the status of Earth’s civilization. It was 804 AD. Barbarism ruled the day. The level of violence and mayhem shocked the crew. The fact that Marcova had also experienced a feudal age made little difference. Nearly everyone struggled with the troubling scenes playing out on the surface below.

Earth observation requirements quickly overwhelmed the ops division. Eventually the entire crew shared the load. Education personnel conducted training in observation and historical documentation, dividing geographic regions among the crew. Nearly a month was needed for the ship’s language translators to learn Earth’s dialects. Once complete, the task of formal observation began.

Soon, medical and biological teams ventured earthward to collect samples. Having witnessed the devastating effects of the plague and other viruses on Earth’s population, the first priority was to protect the crew. Marcovan zoologists collected small animals to study their resistance to disease. The resulting vaccines paved the way for other types of expeditions.

Earth offered a rich assortment of exploration sites far from human populations. Everyone from archaeologist to oceanographer was excited at the prospect of discovery. Landing craft soon ventured out