William Forstchen - Into the Sea of Stars

INTO THE

SEA OF

STARS

William R. Forstchen

A Del Rey Book

BALLANTINE BOOKS • NEW YORK

For:

Greg in thanks for your friendship and a cer-tain introduction...

Frank and the advice that was so often needed,

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And Rus, the finest historian of them all!

PROLOGUE

It was a time of high adventure; an age when men andwomen could seize destiny and shape it to their

will. Canour generation again breed such heroes? I think not, for a golden age of exploration comes but

rarely to a race,and ours is now lost forever. They were of the same moldas Alexander at the Asian Gate

and Caesar at the Rubicon.

Look to the choices that lay before them, a thousandyears ago in the darkness of the twenty-first

century. The world beneath them was poised for the madness of ther-monuclear night; a madness that

threatened to reach outto the Earth's thousand colonies. And with that madnesscame the calling—the

calling from Old America, and Eu-rope, and the vast reaches of the Asian giants. A calling for the

children to return, to arm themselves, and to joinin the war of the parent states. A war that would engulf

mankind and create another dark age, from which we have so recently emerged.

But the colonies were no longer of Earth. They werethe new children, those who beheld a new horizon

and could look beyond the parochial squabblings below.

And one day they were gone. Pointing their colonies into the unknown, they abandoned Earth forever.

Usingplasma drives, ion thrusters, matter/antimatter engines,thermonuclear pulse propulsion, and even

solar sails, thecolonies broke the bonds and headed off into the un-known—looking for freedom and an

escape. Led by suchlegendary men as Ikawa Kurosawa, Vasiliy Renikoff, andFranklin Smith, the

colonies abandoned the parent worldto its madness. And then the War came.

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Where are they now? What great wonders have thesevisionaries of the past created, unhindered by the

Holo-caust War of the twenty-first century and the chaos that followed? Will we ever know the fate of

the coloniesmissing for a thousand years?

From a rejected manuscript by Dr. Ian Lacklin,Missing Coloniesand the Heroic Figure in History.

CHAPTER 1

"Mr. Hansin, are you with us, or are you again pondering the earthly delights awaiting you in the

women'sdormitory?" In disgust Ian Lacklin collapsed into his chairand awaited the response.

"Ah, oh yes, I fully agree with you, Dr. Lacklin. Ofcourse, you're absolutely right."

An undercurrent of snickers ran through the stuffy,overcrowded room. Ian stared them down and was

greetedwith forced looks of attentiveness.

Idiots. Graduate students, indeed. Every semester hewas lectured by the dean that this year's was the

bestcrop yet, survivors of a lengthy winnowing process. Thedean made Kutzburg sound like Nouveau

Harvard insteadof the Provincial University's worst campus, one that ca-tered to ozone-head athletes and

near-morons who had failed entry in every other system and, therefore, would become educators.

"Then, Mr. Hansin, perhaps you could enlighten us allas to the ramifications of the Geosync Positions

Com-munications Treaty of 2031 and how it was later cited byBeaulieu as the underlying cause of the

Second SouthAmerican Crisis of 2038."

"Say, Dr. Lacklin, was that in our readings?"

"By God, man, yes!" In exasperation Ian rose up tohis full five-and-a-half-foot height and pointed a

stubbyfinger at Hansin.

"Can't you see how important this was? With thecrowding of the geosync points in the early part of the

twenty-first century came the increasing agitation bythe equatorial countries for control not only of the

atmos-phere above them but of the geosync positions, as well.Out of that came the abortive attempt to

take Powersat23 from the Sino-Japanese Energy Consortium, which in turn placed in jeopardy the

Skyhook construction project in Malaysia. Can't you see how important that is to your life today?"

Blank stares greeted him. An ocean of blank stares.

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"This room is a vacuum!" Ian shouted, waving hisshort, pudgy arms. "I know this course is required, I

knowyou were all dragged in here kicking and screaming, but,by God, it's required for a reason.

"But, of course, you cretins already know that whenyou are history teachers yourselves, instructions in

throwing a ball through a hoop will be far more importantthan this." Ian realized that his sarcasm was lost

on thatcrowd, but with a note of pleading in his voice he valiantlytried to push ahead. "Don't you realize

that you shouldalso be able to teach your students about history, as well?Can't you see that?"

"Sure, Doc. We see that, but it's Friday, and the shuttletram's leaving for Bostem in half an hour."

"Ah, a visit to the fleshpots of Bostem is more impor-tant to you than this, is that it, Mr. Hansin? And

you,too, Mr. Roy?"

Silence.

"Well, Mr. Roy, don't sit there slack-jawed and drool-ing, answer me."

"Doc, that's an interesting point, and most difficult to answer."

lan's cherubic face turned crimson. "Idiots, get out, just get out of here." His voice cracked on a high

note, as it always did when he got excited. "Just get out!"

The mindless herd of thirty-odd students exploded intoaction and stampeded past him for the doorway.

"Wait, wait a minute, your reading assignment for nextweek..." But they were already gone, the corridor

ech-oing with the sounds of their cattlelike trampling and mutedcomments about Lacklin's heritage and

physiologicalshortcomings.

Another brilliant lecture wasted. Mumbling obscureOld American obscenities, he returned to his desk

and started to shuffle a pile of notes into his briefcase. Eigh-teen years! Eighteen years of trying to give to

an uncaringmob a brief glimpse of the joys to be found in history.There was an occasional pearl to be

found, but for most of them, he was "Lackless Lacklin," master of "Enrich-ment Requirement Number 3:

Sputnik to Armageddon—a History of the First Space Era."

"Excuse me, Dr. Lacklin."

"Yes, yes, what is it?" He looked up from his desk."What is it, Shelley, why weren't you sucked into the

vortex of that mob?"

"You were about to give an assignment?"

He looked at her appraisingly, the pearl of the semester,a gangly six-foot, twenty-one-year old; suffering

from a bad case of acne and allegedly responsible to him as aresearch assistant—assigned by the dean,

no doubt, as a practical joke. As a graduate student she was adequate, but she constantly hung around

his office looking forsophomoric debates on the real meaning of Lock's the-ories of space sociology or

other such foolishness.

"Do we have an assignment in Beaulieu's book?" she asked eagerly.

"No doubt, you've already finished it?"

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"Of course, but I wanted to be ready for Monday'sclass. I can review it over the weekend."

"Don't worry about it now, why don't you just go alongwith the others."

"Here, let me help you back to the office with that."Before he could object, Shelley picked up the model

ofthe Schuder space colony and started for the door.

"Damn it, look out!"

But it was too late. She brushed against the doorway,knocking the antennae structure off.

"Oh, Dr. Lacklin, I'm sorry, I—"

"Never mind, Miss Walker, just take it down to theoffice."

With a sigh of despair he picked up the broken plasticand followed after her. It had taken him the better

partof a weekend to construct the three-foot-long model of acolony that had once been home to fifty

thousand people.

As they made their way down the dimly lit corridorsto lan's subterranean office, Shelley chattered on

abouta paper she was writing for The Journal of Space Antiq-uities, and Dr. Lacklin occasionally grunted

noncommittally, but his thoughts were already light-years away.

A new copy of the journal had just come that morning, with a lengthy article by Beaulieu concerning the

recentlydiscovered ruins of the colony on Mars. The site was oneof the biggest finds of the decade and

was revealing awealth of artifacts on early twenty-first-century technol ogy. The article would provide an

excellent weekend'sentertainment away from students, the school, the world— in fact, an escape from all

reality.

Ian was so wrapped in happy thoughts of escape thathe didn't notice Shelley had stopped, and Ian

crashed right into her. The Schuder model tumbled to the floorand fractured into fragments that went

spinning out in every direction.

"Uh-oh," Shelley whispered.

"Damn it, Shelley, why can't you... ?" Ian looked pasther and saw the towering figure standing by the

doorwayto his office.

"It's Chancellor Cushman," Shelley whispered fear-fully.

The figure started to move toward them. "Dr. Lacklin,my good man," the Chancellor's voice boomed

like a can-non report, "just the person I was looking for."

Striding forward, hand outstretched, he stepped onbroken fragments of the model, grinding them to

powder.Grabbing Ian's shoulder, the Chancellor smiled his sin-ister toothy grin, which more often than

not was the open-ing signal for a budget cut or an increase in one's teachingload.

He turned to Shelley with that same grin, but therewas a barely concealed disdain about him as he was

forcedto address a student. "My charming young miss, wouldyou be so kind as to excuse the good

doctor and me."

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Before the Chancellor had finished speaking, Shelleywas backing away, mumbling something about

having towash her hair; she was gone, leaving Ian to his fate.

Ian followed the Chancellor down the corridor into thedusty, cluttered closet that was lan's office. There

theChancellor released his numbing grip on lan's shoulder. He ran his finger along a bookcase and

snorted with dis-dain when the digit came up black with two decades'worth of dust. Walking around to

lan's desk, the Chan-cellor first carefully examined the chair as if expecting it to be booby-trapped, and

then, barely satisfied, he low-ered his towering form while pointing Ian to the visitor'schair on the other

side of the desk.

"You know, Ian," his voice boomed, filling the tinyroom, "I never could see the purpose of keeping your

history program alive. Such things are a waste, in my mind." He smiled.

It's termination! Ian thought. My God, what will I do?

"But the Provincial Government of New America," theChancellor continued, "decreed in the educational

charterto this institution that we are to, quote, 'train functioning citizens who shall fit into the framework of

our society and appreciate the traditions of our new Federated Republic,' unquote. In other words, my

man, we are to traineffective cogs for the wheels of the administration. And one of the teeth in that cog

must be an understanding of history. Do you agree?"

Maybe it's not termination! "Of course, your Excel-lency, of course." His voice cracked.

"I knew you would agree, my good man. Of course, I've always felt that such courses as File

Management orInteroffice Communications were far more valuable thanyour digging up the ancient past,

but this is an instituteof higher learning so we must be tolerant of minor ec-centricities, mustn't we?"

"Of course."

"Tell me, Ian, how many people staff your department now?"

"I'm the only one. Don't you remember you cut the budget last year, eliminating Mr. Lelezi?"

"Ah, yes. Mr. Lelezi. He taught the history of the Holocaust War and the Second Dark Age?"

"Yes, your Excellency."

"The taped lectures we've made of him are an adequatereplacement, are they not? Save us a significant

sum,don't they?"

It would be termination!

"Tell me, Ian, do we have tapes of your lectures onfile?"

Ian could only nod. The Chancellor had instituted thatlittle trick five years back. The Board of Regents

lovedit, and the Chancellor was now hailed as a bold new in-novator in education.

"Good, Dr. Lacklin, very good indeed. Would you beso kind as to write up a study guide for your

course, intriplicate, and be sure to use the proper forms. I want itin my office first thing Monday

morning."

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The room started to spin. Ian felt as if he were looking -up from the bottom of a deep, deep well, and

the onlything he could see at the end of the shaft was the Chan-cellor's wolfish grin.

"Does this mean," Ian asked weakly, trying to concealthe wheedling tone in his voice, "that my position is

tobe automated?"

"Well, my good man"—the Chancellor laughed, ob-viously delighting in this little diversion—"don't be so

pale and glum. You don't want to spend the rest of yourlife in a classroom, now do you?"

"But history is my life, it's everything."

The Chancellor's grin suddenly became more sinister.

"We've other plans for you."

"Other plans?"

"Come now, Ian, you now as well as I do that thisnoble institution supports its staff and encourages it to

broaden the field of knowledge through publication. I've been checking on you, my man—in eighteen

years ofteaching, you've never been published."

"There is my book, you know!Missing Colonies andthe Heroic Figure in History."

"How many rejections have you had on that?"

Ian was silent.

"But that's not what I'm talking about. There are otherforms of writing, take grants, for instance."

He wants me as a grant writer! Endless forms to fillout. I'll go mad, Ian thought. Digging the sands of

Marswould be better. Perhaps Beaulieu would take me on as an assistant. But his stomach turned

somersaults at themere thought of space travel and weightlessness.

"You have some rather good experience with grants,my man. In fact, that's the reason for this friendly

chat of ours. It's your grant, Ian. I just got a call from theMinister of Education, who has a brother in the

Deep Space Exploration and Surveying Department. I'm talk-ing about your grant proposal."

"My grant proposal?" I've never written a grant pro-posal. Ian was about to say that he had no idea

what theChancellor was talking about, but then thought it mightbe better not to admit such ignorance.

"You do remember your grant proposal?" the Chan-cellor asked suspiciously.

Ian forced a smile and nodded noncommittally.

"Right, then. I just wanted to be the first to congrat-ulate you. Your grant has come through. You know

whatthis means for our school? Isn't this wonderful?"

"It's come through," Ian replied, trying to keep hisconfusion out of his voice. "Why, that's wonderful."

Whatthe hell is he talking about?

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"Well, aren't you excited, my good man? Think of theprestige it will bring to this institution."

And to your plans for being the next Minister of Ed-ucation, Ian thought.

"Don't you have anything to say?"

Ian could only smile weakly.

"Ah, I understand, of course you're in shock over thiswhole thing. But you'd better get cracking, my

good man.You're to be out of here Tuesday morning. By the way, are your passport and

twenty-three-forty-four medicalform up to date?"

"My twenty-three-forty-four?"

A glint of suspicion appeared in the Chancellor's eyes.He examined Ian as if he were an insect under a

magni-fying glass.

"Wake up, man, wake up. Your twenty-three-forty-four!"

"Sir, what is a twenty-three-forty-four?" Ian bleated.

"Good God, man, don't you understand what I'm talk-ing about?" Exasperated, the Chancellor opened

his at-tache case and pulled out a heavy document, bound in ared jacket. There was a quick flurry of

pages and theChancellor started to read.

" 'All members of the party must qualify for translighttravel by successfully undergoing a full

twenty-three-forty-four medical review.' Dr. Lacklin, you wrote thatin the grant proposal, or don't you

remember? It's stan-dard medical policy for anyone traveling aboard the newtranslight vessels."

"I'm traveling translight!" Ian shouted in terror.

The Chancellor stood up to his full six-and-a-half-footheight and advanced around the desk. He loomed

overIan as if he were closing in for the kill, and Ian slippedlower into his seat.

"Dr. Lacklin, do you understand anything at all con-cerning what we've been talking about?"

Ian tried to sound self-assured, but only a mousy "no"squeaked out of him.

A forefinger was suddenly pointed into lan's chest andwith each word spoken the Chancellor stabbed at

Ian withsuch force that Ian feared a rib might be broken.

"Dr. Lacklin, at the beginning of this semester a grantproposal left the history department under your

signature.Your department, and your signature, Dr. Lacklin. And this document was addressed to the

Department of DeepSpace Survey and Exploration. Last year the DSSE an nounced that an Alpha 3

translight survey ship would be released from active service and placed at the disposal of the Ministry of

Education, and grant proposals would beaccepted as to its implementation and use. Do you followme so

far, Dr. Lacklin?"

"Yes."

"You are aware, of course, Dr. Lacklin, that we haveonly returned to space within the last hundred years

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and that translight was only discovered within the last fifteenyears. I am sure, Dr. Lacklin, that you realize

that there are only eleven translight ships available, and the Alpha3 is the first such model."

"Yes, I am a professor of space history," Ian replied,trying to sound insulted over such a simple question.

"Good. I wasn't sure on that point." The Chancellorcut him an icy gaze.

"The Alpha 3 was to be retired," Ian interjected. "Thedamn thing is unsafe; all the other ships of the same

designhave never returned."

"Not to worry." And the Chancellor laughed. "I'vebeen assured that little problem has been cleared up.

But as I was telling you, Dr. Lacklin, the grant proposalunder your signature requested use of that vehicle

and,I quote, 'to attempt reestablishment of contact with theseven hundred colonies that abandoned

near-Earth spaceon the eve of the Holocaust War. This will be accomplished by consulting those

surviving records, recentlyuncovered, which indicate the courses of the colonies.Using translight

propulsion it will be a simple matter offollowing the original courses and thus overtaking theunits,'

unquote."

The Chancellor fixed Ian with a deadly, penetratinggaze. "Dr. Lacklin, did you write this grant

proposal?"

Ian looked up and started to answer.

"The truth, Dr. Lacklin, or you'll regret it!"

"No." His answer came out as a timid squeak.

In exasperation the Chancellor slammed the proposalonto lan's desk. A flurry of dust swirled around the

twomen. The Chancellor suddenly reached across the table,grabbed hold of the proposal, and threw it

into lan'slap.

"Then look at this, damn it!"

Ian picked it up and, adjusting his glasses, he peeredowllike at the cover.

" 'A proposal for the implementation of the Alpha 3unit for the reestablishment of contact with colonial

unitsof the twenty-first century, submitted by Dr. Ian Lacklin,Provincial University System.' "

Ian suddenly felt very sick.

He pulled open the proposal and started to scan it.

"Turn to the last page, damn you!"

Ian obeyed the shouted command.

Proposed Crewing of the Alpha 3 Discovery

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Understanding the extreme limitation on crew spaceand taking into consideration the isolation fromany

higher authority, it should be realized that the crew must deal with all contingencies related toestablishing

contact with human colonies whileout of contact with Earth. Crew proposal is asfollows:

1. Pilot of the Alpha 3 unit with previous experience in deep space flight and isolation.

2. Medical/biological technician with an understanding of medical situations unique to the twenty-first

century, since all units contacted will have beenisolated with their particular varieties of microbesfor the

last 1107 years.

3. Sociological/psychological personnel capableof dealing with the ramifications of cross-cultural

exposure and shock.

4. Assistant to the program director, capable of logging all reports, administering to all reporting,filing,

and data management.

5. Program director, versed in twenty-first-century history, in particular relating to all aspectsof the

establishment of the self-contained coloniesstarting in 2019 until the decision to flee near-Earthspace in

the year 2078. The program director must be familiar with each of the colonial units in question, their

engineering, sociological backgrounds,cultural makeup, and administrative organizations.

Sweat broke out on lan's forehead. He stopped for amoment to look up at the Chancellor and was met

witha glacial stare. He returned to his reading.

The program director should have a full under-standing of the process leading to the decision bythe

seven hundred colonial units to abandon Earth on the eve of the Holocaust War. The program di-rector

should be familiar with the trajectories se-lected by the units when evacuating near-Earth spaceand have

reasonable estimates of distance traveled by each unit since departure. All such data is cur-rently on file

with the author and is available uponrequest.

Ian groaned softly and looked up imploringly at theChancellor.

"Look at that signature," the Chancellor hissed.

Ian did as ordered and stared numbly at the signature and personal seal placed upon the last page of the

pro-posal. They were his, all right.

"Can you explain this?!" the Chancellor demanded.

Ian could only shake his head.

"Are those your signature and personal seal?"

"Yes," he replied weakly.

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William Forstchen - Into the Sea of Stars

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