CHAPTER ONE
Against the perpetually black backdrop of space, the view was astounding. To the untrained eye, the last light of the sun as it disappeared behind the Earth was at best dazzling, at worst lethally blinding. There were legends of men going mad when they first laid eyes on such a sight. That was the purpose of the rigorous training programmes back home, not just for crewmembers, but for citizens, or civs. It was hard work passing through these tests, but nobody complained. Why would they? Earth was dying. That had been apparent for some time now. The Sphere was the last hope for humanity. Nobody was willing to forfeit their chance at survival for a few minutes more of sleep!
Joe Ballard was struck by the sheer abnormality of it all. Who cares that the sun emitted a lethal glare? He was on a sleek, polished-metal spacecraft, never used before, never used again. It was a quick trip to the Sphere, a quick trip back. Then the craft would be decommissioned permanently, just as the previous forty-five had been. This was Carrier 46. The scheme had called for exactly 50 carriers, each containing exactly 100 people. 5000 people would be travelling to the far reaches of space, never to return, never even to see their destination. Of course, there were always the few wealthy elite who were prepared to pay for cryogenic bays installed, just so they could witness their new life, but for the majority this was a vast pilgrimage into the blackness, meandering through a maze of steel corridors until the end of their being. Joe could never understand people like that.
With a gentle sigh, he turned to the viewscreen and began to stare out at his home, slowly gyrating, almost imperceptibly, into perpetuity. He began to stare out at the inky blackness all around, almost as if it were fighting to get in. He began to stare at the countless stars, tiny pinpricks of white light holding their own in an impossible battle against the darkness. His grandmother had once said that each star was a person, who had once lived but who was now gone. In his subconscious, Joe circled one star in particular, one that was brighter than all of the others. This was his grandmother, he decided, and he would never take his eyes off it. He kept his mental promise to nobody for all of three seconds before his trance was interrupted by the pilot’s voice – “Attention all passengers. Attention all passengers. We are preparing for the final approach. I repeat, we are preparing for the final approach. Please gather all of your possessions for a swift debarkation.” Joe tightened his grip on the small black satchel he carried and looked back out at the stars beyond.
In the cockpit, pilot Thaumis flicked a switch forward and leaned back on his seat, his expression neutral. His co-pilot, Lightoller, walked up to the front and stared out of the viewscreen. “So this is it – our last entry to the Sphere. It’s just a quick removal of the passengers and back to Earth to die.” Thaumis grunted an indecisive acknowledgement. Lightoller always had been the type to say it like it is. In truth, Thaumis had been hoping he’d be assigned to the Sphere. The scientists on Earth were saying that the temperature would rise to such an extent that those left behind would literally be boiled alive, and you’d have to be some kind of sadist to await that in any eager form of anticipation. But apparently he was needed for service at Spaceport Nevada. Lightoller punched in a four-digit frequency code and began to comm the Sphere Control. “Sphere Control, this is Carrier 46” came Lightoller’s casual drawl. The man who responded sounded as though his nose was blocked up. “Carrier 46, what is your status?” Lightoller turned to Thaumis to check he was doing the right thing before saying, “Carrier 46 approaching Sphere. We’ll be with you in five.” The Controller thanked Lightoller bluntly and ended the communication. This was it - the final approach to the BioSphere.
Joe was vaguely aware of the dull thud that had been ever-present since the trip began beginning to fade. It was replaced with the squealing of motors on motors, slowly pushing the craft onwards. He looked away from the window and down at the floor. Not long to go now. He desperately wanted to take one last look at his grandmother’s star, but he knew it was hopeless, that he would never find it again. The craft seemed to be drifting aimlessly, so still and quiet it was from within, but in reality Thaumis had guided her on a perfect course for the hangar bay. Without so much as a shudder, Carrier 46 passed through the pinkish hue of the ion shields and came to a rest. Thaumis announced the ship’s arrival over the internal transmission system with a leisurely drawl then eased down the lever which opened the ship’s vacuum-resistant doors. And then, as if he had been watching for the doors to open, a man in an all-black military uniform, the only emblem being a smart silver badge on his left breast to designate rank, stepped aboard and pushed his way into the cockpit. Thaumis turned.
“And you are?”
“I’m Thaumis, sir – I’m the pilot – and this here is my co-pilot, Lightoller.” If Thaumis was unnerved by this man, he wasn’t about to show it. The stranger gave Lightoller a cold sidelong glance before returning his gaze to the pilot. “Welcome to the BioSphere. I’m Lieutenant Prendergast, and the captain ordered me to tell you that, due to a change in circumstance, you are to be stationed aboard the Sphere.” This was as good as music to Lightoller’s ears. Eager to ensure he wasn’t imagining things, he queried the statement. “What do you mean, change in circumstance?”
“The captain has decided we need more manpower, so he’s requisitioned all pilots. You’re never going back to Earth. You live on the Sphere now.” The tone suggested this was not up for debate; in any case, Prendergast left no time for argument. Without so much as a moment’s pause upon completing his sentence, he turned on his heel and marched back out of the ship again, stepping loudly onto the pristine hangar bay. The freshly polished floors still emitted reflections at this early stage, and this first hangar was given particular attention. After all, this was the first place the new inhabitants saw when they arrived. But within a few weeks, once the amount of arrivals had first subsided and then died off completely, the hangar would see less frequent attention, and the floor would not have quite the same reflectivity it currently possessed. Such was the natural life of any hangar bay in any space-bound object ever conceived. That said, one had to respect the cleaning staff for doing such an excellent job even only once ever, so vast and military was the chamber. It was easily a hundred metres each way, and it was cleaned twice every week-cycle. No wonder it looked so welcoming to the arrivals.
Aboard Carrier 46, Lightoller and Thaumis were supervising the debarkation of the arrivals. It wasn’t a necessary part of the process, and usually only occurred while the bulk of the crowd vied for the exit. This instance was no exception. Instead of waiting for every last person to leave, the two pilots slipped out unnoticed while the stragglers remained aboard. If they had to make a new life here, why not get started?
The answer awaited within minutes. Prendergast had stopped dead about ten paces from the ship, and his lip twisted into a crooked grin as he saw them.
"Get back," he sneered. "The passengers aren't all off the Carrier." As they doubled back on themselves, Lightoller leaned in and whispered to Thaumis: "I get the feeling he doesn't like us." But Thaumis had a sneaking suspicion that his cohort had just made an incalculably large understatement.
