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Khalsa One

A New Hope

By Charmaine KirschPublished 2 years ago Updated 2 years ago 7 min read
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Khalsa One
Photo by Arnaud Mariat on Unsplash

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, they say. But my father's scream still sounded in my ears even now, 13 years after the day the comms went dead on the Etienne Bleu. All the other recruits at the Academy looked to the night sky with hope, kindling their dreams by starlight as they streamed through the courtyard, back to the bunks each night. I looked into the vastness and heard my father's anguished cry echoing through it. I felt no particular hope, only a cold, distant pain, and determination.

That determination had set me on a course the day the Etienne was lost, had carried me through an accelerated physics/engineering curriculum and advanced crew training, and had landed me in the position of Flight Engineer by the unheard-of age of 24. I had, in fact, built on my father’s research and designed the tech that would make possible a mission even more ambitious than the one undertaken by the Etienne Bleu.

Named after my father, the Khalsa One would lay the Krasnikov tube infrastructure that allowed mass migration to the habitable planet at the center of the Etienne Bleu’s mission. Probes sent from the Etienne before contact was lost had continued to send data confirming Procyon A/4 (8.75 Earth gravity, 2.12 AU from Procyon A) as a viable settlement planet for billions. The problem then became transport. The fate of the Etienne, on the cusp of mission success, raised obstacles that the scientific community could not surmount.

Without hope of exodus, even for some, Earth’s innovation was increasingly focused on carbon capture to be sequestered or turned into fuel sources or food, redesign of coastal cities and relocation of populations, massive wind and solar farms, electric rail transport- all the things that might have saved us 100 years before. Corporate lock on green tech patents, it turned out, was immensely profitable, paving the way at last for nearly unfettered progress.

But it was too little too late. The Terran Temple, a religious movement based on Buddhism and Bendell’s Deep Adaptation, gained many converts, becoming the faith of billions. My own Aunt Rose, who raised me after my mother’s death, was herself a Temple Keeper. Since my earliest memories she had lived quietly in sight of my parents’ monolithic glass and steel home. A trust established by mother kept the house open and well-maintained after her death. I enjoyed access to it, and inherited it officially at the age of 18, but often found it lonely. I began spending the few hours unoccupied by study or training in my Aunt Rose’s rustic cottage, or in the groves or gardens. We lived at the edge of our family settlement, among some of the rare remaining forests, nearly 100 feral cats, and the ever-present songs of lament that were offered by Terran acolytes in the Temple.

As I sat one evening in my one place of repose, a tall swing in a massive red oak, the sunset touched me and the landscape with its golden fingers, seeming to light everything from within. I suddenly shivered, listening to the mournful tones echo in the sculptural cob chamber, and surrendered the very last traces of hope. From that day I inhabited each moment as if it were my last, and found a strange peace.

Despair, however, never occurred to me. As I made my way through the Academy by day, I spent my nights back in my father’s study and lab, single-minded in my search for a solution. My work was rewarded at last, and I received special dispensation to conclude my studies early and assemble a team to develop the ship that would very likely save humanity. While other recruits vied for selection on this historic mission, my place was already assured. My father’s guidance had prepared me, but his loss had been the catalyst that made my path inevitable.

One of the world’s preeminent physicist/engineers, my father, Irya Khalsa, was responsible for the first successful ship design based on the Lentz Soliton drive concept. He had left a comfortable teaching position in Mumbai as a young man to follow his dream of working for NASA, one of the surviving institutions from the old American Republic. In 4 years his team developed the prototype that led to the Etienne. When I was born, my mother’s fragile health had persuaded him to renounce his dream of flying, at least for a time. Instead, he consulted, he returned to teaching, he was home evenings.

From my earliest years, I had listened, rapt, to his daily talks, sitting in his study as he mentored young scientists. The talks might range in topic from theoretical physics to practical points of warp drive engineering; in either case his eyes sparkled and the hours flew. Later, as I began interrupting to ask questions of my own, we would return to his study after dinner each night, just the two of us, and he would happily answer my questions, delighting in my love for the field he had given himself over to entirely. As true experts can, he found ways of distilling ideas into simple forms for my young mind. He also encouraged me to read anything and everything in his specialized library.

One morning I heard mother crying softly as he left for the Academy. She stroked my hair as I stood at the front window, “Your father is going to go on a trip, Anand.” When he left on this mission, he had given me the keys to his study, “Take good care of my treasures, my son. I will answer all your questions when I come home. You will have so many.”

I was at mission headquarters with my mother the day the Etienne reached the outer planets in the Procyon system, five years later. The crew had just recorded its message to be broadcast around the world, and the crew’s families were led to small private rooms to speak to their loved ones before gathering for an event downstairs. There would be dinner, so I was allowed only one cookie. A large screen in the corner was showing silent images of the crew members as we waited for our turn and I solemnly ate my cookie.

As the recorded broadcast went out, news stations around the world began running images of crowds flooding into the streets in spontaneous celebration. I was old enough to have at least an abstract understanding of the hope a habitable planet represented for the people of Earth. We had blown right past all the tipping points, and the most optimistic scenarios gave us another 50 years, even now that public outcry had swept away all political posturing and changed policy worldwide.

Mostly that day I just knew that my mother smiled her first real smile since my father chose this assignment, that as we heard his voice come on the comms she grabbed my hand and gave it a happy squeeze. Tears welled up in my own eyes, and I felt the fist around my young heart finally loosen. My mother’s great relief, and the joy in the room and on the screens buoyed me up. I turned my attention to the one soda I was allowed in lieu of champagne on this special occasion. My parents chatted for a few moments, as if they were merely across town rather than light years apart.

My father addressed me, pulling me out of the pleasant reverie all this celebration had induced, “Anand, are you keeping up with your studies? You are going to carry on my work, you know.” His tone was jocular, but I knew his hopes for me were earnest, and well-placed.

His voice lit me up. I opened my mouth, so many questions ready to rush out all at once. I had fallen into silence since he’d gone, but now my excitement was almost unbearable. Suddenly, an alarm went off in another room. My mother’s face fell, “Irya, are you there?” That was when I heard the sound that changed me forever. My wise, gentle father, all-powerful in my eyes, the very order of my young universe, screamed long and loud, and was gone. The comms went dead.

Someone in uniform stepped inside and beckoned to my mother. I sat in deafening silence for a long moment, a moment as vast as the distance that separated me from my father. My mind was painfully still. The moment kept stretching awfully, as my mother was escorted back into the room, red-eyed, sobbing. I did not hear anything anyone was saying. My mind began to creep closer to the moment, to catch up. I wanted to say so many things. I opened my mouth. “Papa?” I heard my small, forlorn voice say, “Papa?”

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Sci Fi
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About the Creator

Charmaine Kirsch

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Outstanding

Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!

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  1. Compelling and original writing

    Creative use of language & vocab

  2. Excellent storytelling

    Original narrative & well developed characters

  3. Heartfelt and relatable

    The story invoked strong personal emotions

  1. Easy to read and follow

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    Zero grammar & spelling mistakes

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Comments (4)

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  • Satori Kirschabout a year ago

    I'm ready for the next chapter. Beautiful imagery, compelling, believable... tactical almost.

  • Sharin Llewis2 years ago

    I’m hooked! The writing is evocative and compelling. What happens next? Is it possible that Anand’s father is still alive? How can determination take the place of hope? Is it really too late to save humanity? Please give me more…

  • Heather Strider2 years ago

    Instantly gripping and touching. I want more, and haven't been a reader of most sci-fi in the past. This is relatable, and I'm rooting for Anand.

  • Charone Pagett2 years ago

    Incredible writing. I am completely in.

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