Genesis

262 Pages·2007·1.43 MB·English

by  Paul Chafe

Genesis
HUMANITY'S ONLY HOPE OF SURVIVAL
The human race is running out of time on overcrowded Earth, and only one man has the courage
to do what is necessary to save it. Colony ship Ark is the greatest project the human race will ever
attempt, a self-contained world one hundred years in the building, launched on a ten thousand
year voyage to carry the seeds of civilization to the stars. It is humanity's final gamble for escape
from a desperate world, but the price of hope is measured in lives.
Joshua Crewe, Ark's designer. Obsessed with his vision, he's devoted his life to winning the
power to turn it into reality. No burden is too great to bear in pursuit of his dream—especially
when other people are the ones to bear it.
Aurora Brady, first of the space-born, with one foot in the future and one in the past. She must
give power to her enemies to see Ark launched, but giving too much will mean its destruction.
Jedidiah Fourgere, a simple farm boy. He finds himself caught up in a revolution that will
forever change the balance of power in Ark's hermetically sealed world. Torn between love and
faith, humanity's future lies in his hands.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Paul Chafe was born in Toronto, Ontario in 1965. He is an infantry officer in the Canadian
Forces Reserve, has served with four regiments, and has one son, Christian, who is 12. He has
been a frequent contributor to the Man-Kzin Wars series, including his recent novel for Baen,
Destiny's Forge. His website is available at http://paulchafe.com.
Cover Art by David Mattingly
ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-5509-4
ISBN-10: 1-4165-5509-9
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and
events portrayed in this book are fictional, and Copyright© 2007 by Paul Chafe
any resemblance to real people or incidents is
purely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to
reproduce this book or portions thereof in any
First printing, November 2007 form.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication A Baen Books Original
Data Baen publishing Enterprises
Chafe, Paul, 1965– P.O. Box 1403
Genesis / Paul Chafe. Riverdale, NY 10471
p. cm. http://www.baen.com
ISBN 1-4165-5509-9 (hc)
1. Interplanetary voyages—Fiction. 2. Space
Electronic version by WebWrights
ships—Fiction. I. Title.
http://www.webscription.net
PR9199.4.C44G46 2007
813'.6—dc22
2007030471
Distributed by Simon & Schuster
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
Pages by Joy Freeman (www.pagesbyjoy.com)
Printed in the United States of America
For Christian
For more on the Ark project visit
http://projectark.net
Baen Books by Paul Chafe
Destiny's Forge
Genesis
Prelude
Let there be lights in the firmament of the heaven.
—Genesis 1:14

L–135
Crockery smashed downstairs and angry voices came down the corridor. Josh Crewe woke, eyes staring
at the darkened ceiling, afraid. He swallowed hard and listened, carefully gauging the swell of the fight
as his parents savaged each other with accusation and recrimination. He didn't understand the words but
he didn't need to. What was important was their intensity. If the fight grew bad enough there would be
footsteps on the stairs and the lights in his room would snap on so Mother could drag him out of bed to
use as a living example of his father's failures before God and man. It would mean no sleep, perhaps
getting smacked in the face by his father when the hurt and humiliation finally overcame the man and he
lashed out himself. That was minor. Father's anger came and went with a single blow, predictable and so
not dangerous, however painful. It was Mother who really scared him. Once she had nearly drowned
him in a scalding-hot bath because he'd tracked mud into the hallway, another time she'd made him
kneel in the gravel driveway all night, praying for forgiveness for bringing a toy to church. Mother was
unpredictable, and therefore dangerous.
The voices rose higher and more crashing came from downstairs. He slipped out of bed and dressed
himself, quickly and quietly, then went to the hot-air register beneath the window and removed the
grille. He snaked an arm down the vent; the fit was almost too tight now that he was twelve. An adult
wouldn't have been able to do it, which is why he used it as his secret hiding place.
He'd grown, and his biceps caught painfully on the sharp-edged metal before his fingers found what he
was looking for. He stretched, feeling the metal dig in and ignoring the hurt until he touched something
—the end cap of a prescription medicine bottle. He teased it closer with his fingertips until he could grab
the bottle and drew his arm out. The bottle was transparent plastic, one of many kicking around the
house that bore the white sticky label reading Crewe, Evylin, Primodone, 50mg 3x daily. It was stuffed
full of money, coins and bills. He had hoarded it carefully, some saved from his allowance, when his
parents remembered to give it to him, more stolen a bit at a time from his mother's cigarette money. His
emergency fund.
And the emergency was now. He took a pair of packed book bags from beneath a pile of clothes in the
mess that was his closet, picked up his shoes and padded across the hall to his sister's room. She was
sound asleep. "Susie." He shook her. "Susie, wake up."
She stirred and her eyes opened. He saw in her face the immediate recognition of the situation. "Are we
going outside again?"
Josh nodded. "Yes." He didn't tell her the whole plan.
She nodded and dressed without words, tension in her face as the shouting downstairs grew louder. They
went back to his room, slid the window open and climbed out onto the veranda. The jump from there to
the maple tree was a frightening one for a twelve-year-old, even more so for a ten-year-old. For a
moment Josh was afraid that Susie would freeze there, as she had one night before, tears running down
her face as he tried to coax her across.
That night had been bad. They'd been caught, and for the first time Father's anger hadn't vanished with
the first hit. Something had snapped in him, and he'd beaten Josh, knelt on his arms so he couldn't
protect himself and smashed his fist down over and over, until his nose was broken, his face bruised and
bloody. It had been terrifying, more terrifying even than anything his mother had done, because his
prediction had been wrong. Something had changed in his father, and there was no telling what that
would bring. It would have been better if they hadn't been caught, if they'd snuck back in at daybreak,
after the fight had burned itself out. Even if they'd been found missing in the middle of the night,
nothing would have been said. Nothing was ever said afterward, it was as if the fights were a secret the
Crewe family kept from itself.
He dropped the book bags over the veranda. The tree was there, dark in the chill breeze of an autumn
night, and he put a practiced foot on the railing and swung a leg across and felt for the broken branch
stub that was the only foothold on this side of the tree. He braced himself against the veranda rail and
pushed off, balanced for a brief second only on the foot on the branch stub, and then he caught the tree
trunk. At least it hadn't been Susie beaten that night. Josh had been angry at his sister for getting them
caught. It wasn't fair that he was the only one punished, and the injustice of it burned deep in him. It was
always that way, he was the scapegoat and she the favorite. It was his own fault, he took the blame,
protected her, diverted their parents' attention away from her transgressions, because he was older,
stronger, tougher than she was. It was what he had to do, he didn't know why, and the knowledge of
what he was doing didn't make it hurt less.
He scrambled down the tree trunk, balanced on the fence for a second and hopped to the ground, then
turned back to look to see if Susie was following him. She edged out around the veranda railing and
stopped. For a moment he thought she had frozen again, but she had learned her lesson and reached her
foot out, feeling for the branch stub. She was shorter than he was, and it was a harder stretch for her. Her
foot found the branch and then she was straddling the gap, fifteen feet up. She moved to shift her weight
to grab the tree trunk, swayed dangerously and clutched at the veranda railing to steady herself.
"I can't, Josh." He could hear the fear in her voice.
"You've done it before."
"I'm stuck." She was on the verge of tears.
"I'll come and get you." He couldn't do anything for her, he knew, but he had to show her he was trying.
He climbed up the fence and shinnied up the tree, reached out for her.
"Here, just grab my hand."
She looked at him, her eyes large and frightened. Angry voices came from inside the house, muffled by
the walls, and she moved all at once, suddenly motivated. He grabbed her wrist and pulled, and then she
was safe in the tree and they were climbing down, the rough bark tearing at their hands until they were
on the ground.
"Are we going to the park?" She was calmer now as they walked down the driveway, leaving the scene
behind them. The park was where they usually waited out the fights.
"Somewhere else." He picked up the book bags and handed hers to her, then slid a hand into his pocket
to verify that the medicine bottle was still there.
"We'll get in trouble when we get back."
"Not this time." He helped her slip the straps over her shoulders.
They walked down the familiar street in silence, past the old, towering trees and the lit windows of the
neighboring houses, feeling a sudden nervousness. Getting out when he had to was something he had
been ready for, just a variation on the familiar theme of getting out of the way, but as bad and
frightening as things were at home, they were also known quantities, and the world opening up before
him was vast and unknown and full of threats he could only imagine. He resisted the urge to turn around
and look back at his house, knowing he would never see it again. Something tugged at him, the desire
for warmth, for comfort, for safety. The house was all those things, when his parents weren't fighting.
When they weren't it was even a nice place to live, bright and spacious. Everything he owned was there,
his friends lived in the neighborhood. He fingered his cheek, it had been months, maybe longer, though
the memory of the flaring pain of his father's fist never seemed to leave it. He blinked back tears that
came too easily at the memory. It was dangerous for him to stay now, because next time would be
worse. He had to leave, and he couldn't leave Susie behind to face their parents alone.
"Where are we going?" Susie's question was plaintive.
"Far away."
"How far?"
To tell her or not to tell her? They were out of the house now, it was too late for her to go back. "We're
going to Aunt Krista's."
"On a plane?"
"On a bus." They turned left to head toward downtown.
He had expected her to balk at that. Her answer surprised him. "Is that far enough?"
"It's far enough," he said, but his confidence that it was far enough was rattled just by her uncertainty.
What if it wasn't? What if Aunt Krista made them go back?
"I don't like it when they're mean to you, Joshie." She slipped a small hand into his, holding it tightly.
"They won't ever be again." Overhead, the streetlights flickered and went dark, evening blackout. Most
people avoided going out after blackout, but Josh was used to it; the darkness was a friend that helped
him hide from danger.
"Can we go further? If we had to, I mean?" Susie was looking over her shoulder, worry written on her
small features.
"If we have to, we can."
"How far could we go?" The question took him aback and he stopped to look at her. Her face was open
and worried and he saw her real question written there. Can they ever take us back?
And he didn't know the answer to that, and he didn't want her to see his own fear and uncertainty. He
pointed up to the sky, frosted bright with stars and a brilliant half-moon now that the competing city
lights were gone. "See that star?"
"Which one?"
"The bright one." He picked one at random and pointed more specifically. "That's Alpha Centauri. It's
got a planet just like ours. We could go there. They could never get us back from there."
"Can we really?"
"They could send a ship. I read about it."
"I want to go there now."
"We can't yet. Maybe later."
"If we can't stay at Aunt Krista's, can we go there?"
"Yes." Josh squeezed her hand reassuringly, not mentioning that the book on space in the school library
had said it was unlikely people could live on any of the distant worlds discovered so far, or that the ship
that could carry them there existed only in a speculative chapter at the book's end. They trudged on in
the chill night air, and mentally he rehearsed what he would say at the bus station. I'd like two tickets for
Sacramento please. That's in California. The bus company wouldn't let children travel unaccompanied,
so he'd tell the driver his mom would be along shortly and with luck that would get them on the bus. It
was a three-day journey to California. He had enough money for their tickets, enough for food for that
time, barely. They had enough clothing in the book bags and they would sleep on the bus or in the bus
stations. Three days of fending for themselves, and then they'd be safe. Reflexively he patted the back
pocket of the backpack, felt the reassuring crinkle of paper. He'd looked it all up and written it down, the
schedules and fares and timetables, maps of the area around each bus terminal, and most important Aunt
Krista's full name and address. If they got stopped anywhere, the police would get involved, eventually,
and he would tell them that Aunt Krista was their mother. With luck that would get them to Sacramento
just as well, two runaways returned to their family, but it would be better, far better to arrive in
Sacramento on their own and plead their case to Aunt Krista on her doorstep.
He glanced overhead, at the star he had named Alpha Centauri. Aunt Krista would look after them, he
was sure, and if she couldn't, well, they would just keep running, as far as they had to. He squeezed
Susie's hand again, was rewarded with her brave, trusting smile and felt a sense of pride overtake the
fear and uncertainty. She was his baby sister, and he would look after her, no matter where they went,
always.
Genesis I
The Almighty has his own purposes.
—Abraham Lincoln

"Go right in, Dr. Crewe." The secretary was blond, with a stylish reserve. "The chairman is waiting for
you." She smiled a less reserved smile than she had been trained to give, enough to hint that perhaps she
could make herself available after work, if Josh Crewe cared to ask. He was handsome, with a hint of
distinguishing grey at his temples and the casual authority of a man accustomed to being in charge. She
watched as he went through the heavy oak doors, still lean in his lower fifties, old enough to be her
father but still attractive. The doors closed behind him and she looked out the panoramic windows, far
away for a long moment. The lights were bright in the Aerospace Consortium's lobby, and a miniature
waterfall splashed down one wall. The power-wasting luxuries were tangible displays of the
Consortium's wealth in a world where too many people competed for too little. The luxuries made her
own cramped flat with its two puny lightpanels seem even more dingy and rundown. She looked to the
doors, imagining what life would be like with a man rich enough and powerful enough that she would
never have to worry about material needs again. She smiled, daydreaming. Never being hungry, hot
showers whenever she wanted them, the freedom to stay up late reading without worrying about what it
was costing her; that was the way things were meant to be.
"Assemblyist Crewe. How can I help the United Nations today?" Harmon Michaud's office was
immaculate and expensively appointed, as befitted the chairman of the Aerospace Consortium. His desk
held a notepad, a screen and a few models of famous air and spacecraft, nothing else. Michaud dressed
in expensive and restrained taste, and his keen eyes assessed his visitor dispassionately.
Crewe took one of the plush leather seats. "You may have heard I'm planning to run for secretary-
general."
"There have been rumors."
Crewe spread his hands. "The rumors are true. I need your support."
"Hmmm." Michaud steepled his fingers. "What support can we give you?"
"Money and influence. What else is there?"
"And to ask the obvious question, what is in it for the aerospace industry?"
Crewe picked up a small silver cylinder from Michaud's desk. It had a shiny Mylar parabola attached, a
model of one of a sensor-swarm probe. The model was full-sized, except for the solar sail, which would
have been miles across. "How would you like to see another deep-space exploration program launched?"
"I wouldn't be uninterested, but frankly, Dr. Crewe, there isn't a lot of money to be made in pure
research."
"That could change."
"It could." Michaud stroked his chin, thinking. "It will be difficult for you to convince me that you're the
person to change it, given you're the one most responsible for legislating profit limits on government-
funded research."
"That puts a negative spin on what I've done."
"And how would you spin it?"
"I would say that I've acted to maximize the amount of research we've been able to do on a strictly
limited budget. I've also fought hardest to increase that budget for you."
"My companies are interested in profits, not volume."
"Volume brings profits to efficient competitors. Your industry is a lot leaner and more aggressive now.
I'd like to think I've helped set the conditions to make that true."
"And did you do that for us? Or for your own purposes?"
"Does it matter, so long as my purpose overlaps with your business model?"
"It matters."
Crewe nodded. "I'll make you a promise, my first campaign promise. More money for space industry,
deep-space exploration revived."
Michaud waved a hand. "Space represents a few percent of the aerospace market, at most, research is a
fraction of that. I'd rather see energy credits for commercial air carriers."
"You won't see that." Crewe's voice was flatter than he meant it to be. "That's a mature market."
Michaud arched his eyebrows. "Perhaps I'll see subsidies if I support Assemblyist Plant instead of you."
"Plant is running with the support of the Believers. Even if he were inclined to give you subsidies, his
constituency wouldn't allow it."
Michaud laughed mirthlessly. "Politics is the process of getting money from the rich and votes from the
poor by exploiting their fear of each other. I have no doubt Markham Plant will do what he has to do to
gain the office he seeks. He may have to be more circumspect about how he presents an aerospace
subsidy to the public than you would, but I have no doubt he'll repay loyalty in good measure. What will
you do for me if I give you my support?"
"You'll see me encourage your industry to align its efforts with the long-term best interests of the world."
Michaud laughed again, with more humor this time. "You have a certain naïve charm, Dr. Crewe. Still, I
don't see how I'll benefit from supporting you."
Crewe paused, studying the other man. "I have something else to offer. You'll have to keep it in strictest
confidence."
Michaud leaned forward. "What is it?"
"Iota Horologii."
"What?"
"A class-G0 star. Its second planet has a nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere. There's life there. It may be
inhabitable for people."
Michaud nodded. "I remember this now. Proof of life beyond the solar system. Exciting news, five years
ago. You won't gain any support with this."
"What about launching a colony ship?"
Michaud raised his eyebrows. "Dr. Crewe, I'm not unfamiliar with your work on interstellar ship design,
but this is not possible. We don't have the technology."
"What do you care, so long as your industry gets paid to try?"
Michaud picked up the model probe that Crewe had put down. "These get up to ten percent of lightspeed
by the time they leave the system. Interstellar gas comes in like hard cosmic rays. Your seedship will fly
slower, I could imagine as much as one percent percent of lightspeed with a speed-optimized design, but
even so I can't imagine an embryo surviving that environment, to say nothing of gestating them at the far
end."
"I'm not talking about embryos, I'm talking about people. Not a seedship but a colony ship."
Michaud snorted. "You can't be serious."
"I'm quite serious; I've looked at the problem from every angle. You're right about radiation flux, and
there are other problems, like braking at the far end, like somehow raising a bunch of embryos into a
competent colonization team. Seedships are an impossible dream."
"And somehow sending a person isn't? Say your ship weighs a thousand metric tonnes, which is
ridiculously conservative." Michaud looked away for a second while he ran the numbers in his head.
"There wouldn't be enough energy in the world to launch that even to Alpha Centauri within a human
lifetime."
"Think larger. The ship will weigh one billion tonnes."
Michaud's jaw didn't quite drop. "Impossible."
"Trip time is on the order of ten thousand years, assuming we still want to go to Iota Horologii by the
time it's ready to launch." Josh Crewe smiled, appearing to enjoy Michaud's incredulity. "We may
decide to change the destination. We're sure to learn a lot more by then. There may be closer worlds, and
better."
"It would take a hundred years to build such a thing."
"Again, does that matter to you? The Aerospace Consortium will be a thriving concern for your great-
grandchildren."
Michaud considered. "No, perhaps it doesn't matter." He paused, contemplating his steepled fingers. "I
have a question for you."
"What is it?"
"Why?"
Crewe paused, choosing his words carefully. "Because humanity's destiny is in the stars."
"No doubt. But what I want to know is why you in particular are committed to that destiny." Michaud
leaned forward, his eyes locked on Crewe's. "I know your history, Dr. Crewe." He slid a piece of paper
out of a folder on his desk and read from it. "Parents divorced, raised by your aunt. Your sister died at
age nineteen . . ." If Michaud caught the momentary tightening of Crewe's expression at those words he
gave no notice. ". . . no other close relatives. Top honors at Caltech in aerospace engineering, seven
years at Boeing, five at Aerospatiale, left there for academia and taught at Oxford for four years, then
Samara State Aerospace University in Russia for another four, fluent in English, French and Russian,
with a passable knowledge of Arabic and Chinese. Five years ago you abandoned the ivory tower for
politics, first regional and now global. As UN secretary of transportation you have been, if I may be
frank, a persistent thorn in the side of the aerospace industry. You remain unmarried, despite occasional