No Place Like Home

Don West stared at the new planet for several minutes. It was still millions of kilometers away but the one feature he could already make out made his heart race. To be discernible at all from that distance it had to be big, something like Neptune big, which meant it was probably a gas giant... just like Neptune, although this planet had a reddish-golden hue to it.

"No, we couldn't have come all this way for this!"

A gas giant was useless for colonization, West knew. Even if it was a large, rocky world, the planet's gravity and the weight of the atmosphere would squish everything on the surface flat. With an exaggerated wave of his arm to get the computer's attention, the Major pointed his index finger toward the planet's location the screen, causing a rectangular frame to appear around it. By clenching and flexing his fingers slowly in midair he gradually expanded the box from several feet away until it took up a third of the viewport screen. Even at that magnification the J2 was still too far away to make out much detail.

It also dawned on West that he was the first human in history to see an extra-solar planet with his own eyes, a feat that left Neil Armstrong's "giant step" literally in the moon dust. Or was he?

It didn't take 32 years to fly the Jupiter 2 to Alpha Centauri; that was the whole point of the exercise. Alpha Control's long-range plan was to launch five more Jupiter-class exploration ships to Alpha Prime over a three-year span, each investigating a different region of the planet in search of promising colonization sites. AC would then follow up with huge Omega-class bulk transports, crammed with frozen people and spare parts, as quickly as they could be built. While the Omegas were still on the drawing board in 2047, Jupiter 3, 4 and 5 were in various stages of completion. West had done a walk-through of the J3 hull just before entering his own pre-flight quarantine, not a little envious of the improvements that were already being built in before his own flying saucer had left the solar system.

Thirty-two years meant that there could already be a whole lot of people living and working on Alpha Prime. The pioneer ship might be the last Jupiter to arrive at the party.

"Robot, confirm that planet is Alpha Prime."

"Negative."

The unexpected answer sent a jolt through West. "You can't confirm it, or you won't?" West still hadn't figured out what the Robot had been up to while he was in suspended animation and didn't know how far he could trust the machine, or whether he should trust it at all.

"The planet in question is the fourth from the star Beta Canum Venaticorum, in the constellation Canes Venatici, commonly known as 'The Hunting Dogs.' The planet has been assigned the temporary designation of Delta BCV."

"Canes Venatici? That's nowhere near Centaurus! It's northern constellation! It's practically inside the Big Dipper! And who the hell has been handing out designations?"

Major West was livid as he spun to face the Robot, though the swift movement nearly knocked him off his still shaky legs. "I want answers, Robot, and I want them now. Where the hell are we and how the hell did we get here?"

"At Mission Elapsed Time 34,822 hours from launch...," droned the Robot, "...initiate in-flight corrections. Sub-routine JX12, authorized by West, Donald E., Earth date 8/10/52.

"I never gave any such command! How could I? I've been in suspended animation since the launch. Even if I had wanted to, there's no way I could override the security system, and even if I could, you can't just throw a starship into a 180-degree turn and head off in the opposite direction! This is the same garbage you tried to feed me about powering off the transponders. Who are you working for?"

"Per Flight Directive 5217, authorized by West, Donald E., Earth date 8/10/52..." The Robot opened a new data window on the lower view screen, by wireless command, which flickered for a moment and then filled with text. West waved toward the screen, spreading the fingers of his hand to expand the window to a size where he could make out the words. His mouth moved slightly as he silently read along.

"Command Line 19: Cycle off all transponders and external radio beacons until further notice. Maintain passive radio signal monitoring regimen. Per West, Donald E., Override clearance T5192.

"Command Line 23: Initiate update Jupiter 2 astrogator flight coordinates to Beta Canum Venaticorum system per order of West, Donald E., Override clearance T5196." A string of astro-coordinate numbers and delta velocity vectors followed. West had the presence of mind to capture the data, using a series of hand gestures, and save them to his personal account for later review.

Don West skimmed over the other command lines briefly, but they were basically routine housekeeping chores for the Robot. He had no memory of any sub-routine JX12 or Flight Directive 5217. And West had never had access to a T5 security clearance in his entire career with Alpha Control. T5 clearance was reserved for the handful of people at the very top of the organization. Nothing made sense.

West could feel a rhythmic pounding at his temples and across his eyes. All of the physical and mental exertions of the day were catching up with him. He turned back to the view screen, to the inset with the golden red blob in the center of it. He thought he could make out bands of clouds, like those on Jupiter and Saturn. Even if those were water vapor clouds hanging in an oxygen-rich sky, the pilot knew they could never land on the planet. A feeling of great loneliness descended upon him.

"Robot. Initiate a full survey of that planet, this star and the entire system. Gather all the information you can from this distance, and have a report ready for me at 07:00."

"Affirmative."

That left the Major with just over a twelve hour break to peel out of his cryo suit, step into a hot shower and crawl into his own bunk in the cramped Pilot's Quarters suite at the rear of the flight deck. Sleep seemed to be the only thing he could count on. He might even try his luck with a little chicken soup, though he knew that he had already been pushing the re-animation process harder than he should. It took time for the body's bits and pieces to get back up to speed again. Time was not on his side, however, and he didn't have the luxury of a leisurely recovery.

Besides, he mused, there was just too much going on, too many mysteries for him to solve on his own. He was going to need some expert advice and after a good night's sleep he was going to get it.

"Robot. While you're at it, I want you to initiate the reanimation preparation sequence for Dr. Robinson. We'll plan on popping the lid at 09:00."

"Affirmative. Readings indicate nominal conditions in all cryo-tubes. Reanimation preparation sequence to initiate in 42 seconds. Mark!"

"Good," thought West. Maybe a full re-an cycle would give Robinson a better recovery phase than he had experienced. Either way, the wake-up call was coming at 9 a.m. whether anyone liked it or not.

"After all," West said out loud to nobody in particular, "It's her mission and she ought to have some say in what happens next."

As the Major turned stiffly to shuffle back to his quarters, a greenish-blue dot emerged slowly from behind the limb of the gas giant in the inset window. It was much smaller than the golden world, but much larger than an average moon. A new data box appeared next to the inset and the words "Satellite signal re-acquisition confirmed. Resume tracking." The text vanished and was replaced by a series of graphs, charts and real-time images of the surface below.

The data stream originated from the blue-green planet.