Prime: Voyage to Proxima Centauri

By D. Victor Vellard

Alistair, an android, begs a ride with Dr. Peter Reid aboard the UNS Centaurus on humanity's very first voyage across the yawning abyss between Earth and Proxima Centauri. Everything goes well until Centaurus strikes ice debris in the Oort cloud, crippling both the ship and Dr. Reid. Will Alistair be able to save Centaurus and its passenger, or will they become just another ship lost at sea?

 

Earned Silver Honorable Mention in Writers of the Future 2021 Q4 science fiction competition.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D. Victor Vellard
• Release date: Sep 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223604273

D. Victor Vellard

D. Victor Vellard was born in Cordoba, Argentina, and grew up in such varied places as Paraguay, Canada, and Upstate New York. Now a resident of San Diego, California, he’s a lover of the natural world, the outdoors, aviation, space exploration, and all things science. He also loves fiction—science fiction most of all—and has been honing his writing craft for as long as he can remember. Voyage to Proxima, a 14,000-word novella, was finally completed in 2021 and submitted to the Writer’s of the Future writing contest under the title Prime, where it was awarded a Silver Honorable Mention. He’s currently making revisions for submissions to known science fiction magazines. His other project Falling Spaceman was drafted as a complete short story, but then he decided to re-work it with a great deal of new material as a novella. A third novella project, The Waters of Artemis, is still in germinal stage but has driven D. Victor to conduct a great deal of research with the history of NASA’s Apollo missions, geology and lunar geology, biology (fungi in particular), and orbital mechanics. When he’s not writing or researching, D. Victor loves to spend time with his wife and children or working on a myriad of other projects.

Book preview

A klaxon shrieked. Smoke stung my nostrils. Every synthetic synapse throbbed as I opened my eyes to see strange light flickering on the ceiling. I lay crumpled on the floor of the galley among scattered kitchen utensils. Last I knew, I’d been chopping garlic.

As my sluggish limbs began to respond, I struggled to my feet and sent a pan clattering across the deck.

The cooking console was on fire. I stared at it stupidly, then realized what it was. Fumbling in the semi-dark, I yanked an extinguisher hose from the wall and smothered the flames with retardant. A sickly smell mingled with the smoke.

I reached for the bulkhead to steady myself. The gravity felt wrong.

Pyxis, locate Dr. Reid, I commanded.

The ship’s intelligence didn’t respond. I snatched up an emergency lantern from a supply cupboard and stumbled into the main passageway.

It was a disaster. Whole sections of paneling had collapsed into the corridor, and in one location a jet of flame poured from a broken oxygen tube, feeding a rapidly growing fire.

Grabbing another extinguisher, I blasted the flames, but the fire was burning too intensely to put out. I needed to find Peter.

Dr. Reid! I shouted.

My only answer was the throbbing shriek of the klaxon. I stepped over a fallen section of paneling and hurried through the upward-curving corridor. My lantern showed the way in the lurid twilight. I tore aside a dangling panel and broke down the door into Peter’s quarters.

I held up the lantern. The bed had broken free of its floor anchors and stood on its side, leaning against a bulkhead. A mirror lay smashed on the floor.

Peter! I shouted again, but he wasn’t there. I turned to leave. Then I heard a weak cry from the adjoining bathroom, barely audible over the screaming alarm. I forced the door.

Peter lay naked on the shower floor, hot water running over his burned flesh. It mingled with blood that flowed from a gash in the side of his head.

I punched off the stream of water. Dr. Reid!

He groaned, raising a hand. Alistair . . .

Hang on, I’m getting you to medical. I began to wrap him in towels as gently as I could.

"Centaurus, he gasped. What—?

Let me worry about the ship, Dr. Reid, I interrupted as I hoisted the wounded man in my arms. You worry about breathing.

I carried him carefully through the doors and out into the smoky corridor, covering his face with a towel. More fires had broken out, but I ignored them. Peter lay limp in his towel wraps. I could already see the skin of his neck peeling from the radiation burns.

Oxygen levels in the habitat were dropping, and Peter’s breathing grew even more labored. I quickened my pace, stepping over debris until I found the hatch to medical and stepped inside.

To my relief, the equipment looked mostly intact, save for a few items strewn about the dark room.

Capacitors . . . behind you . . . whispered Peter, pointing weakly.

I laid him on the examination table and found a power array on the far bulkhead. I then located the med station capacitor and reseated it. The overhead lightscreens suddenly burst into white light.

Ship’s designer knew what he was doing, I said, forcing a smile.

Peter was too weak to reply, but he made a thumbs-up as I filled a large vat with thick, green liquid, teeming with billions of medical nanites.

You’re going in the soup, I said as I lowered the naked scientist into the liquid bath. I placed a respirator over his face and pushed him under the murky surface.

Sleep well, Dr. Reid, I said as I locked the lid. I’ll save the ship.

***

Georgetown, D.C.

Six years earlier

A classical guitarist strummed an Andalusian theme in a far corner while scientists and politicians garbed in tuxes and gowns milled about. A platoon of android waiters wearing bow ties like me circulated the room ferrying finger foods and wine.

A tall black man with sprays of gray at his temples stood a few feet in front of me next to a cocktail table. I was standing, trying to balance the serving