The explorer

His day started the same as each that preceded it. He awoke to the gentle sound of surf breaking over the beach, as early morning sunlight glowed around him. Groaning into a sitting position, he cupped his face in his hands and sighed. His bed was on the sand in the middle of a beach, which stretched out to the left and right, framed by palm trees on the one side and an azure sea on the other. The call of gulls and the smell of brine caressed his senses.

After a few minutes he got up, bed and covers sliding down into the ground. As he walked to the bathroom, the beach scene surrounding him faded slowly into a comfortable bedroom, decorated in pastels, which apparently encouraged a relaxed state of mind. As he reached the bathroom door, it slid open to reveal a sterile, white washroom. He sighed again and proceeded to go through the same, familiar routine.

Having finished his ablutions, he left the bathroom to find that the bedroom had changed to contain a small but comfortable eating nook, the walls made of wood and the room smelling of sawdust and pine. The windows showed a green forest clearing outside, summer flowers and a cloudless brilliant blue sky. He sat down at the plate of eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee, picked up a fork and, resting his head on one hand, ate slowly, without enthusiasm.

Finishing up, he moved to the door and opened it to reveal the actual structure of the Ark. A white, glossy corridor, fitted with minimal signs and handholds, led from his cabin down to the control area. The Architects had deemed it essential to provide living quarters for the Ark Master that recreated home both as exactly and as flexibly as possible. Whatever environment or structure he could imagine was simulated in minute detail by the projectors, screens and fields that manipulated and controlled his living space. The only "real" things there was himself and the food that the replicators generated, also to whatever specifications he could come up with.

At the beginning of his assignment, the Ark Master had spent weeks playing around with the possibilities. An undersea cave, a medieval castle, the moon, a city. He had designed elaborate meals and entertainments, whatever he could dream up. Not anymore. Now, every day, he woke up on the familiar beach from his childhood, close to where he grew up. He washed, ate breakfast in his grandfather's cabin, and left. The same routine. Every day. Endlessly.

As he started down the corridor, the machine called Copain joined him. Who had come up with its name, it's jolly and cheerful tone of voice, the sleek lines of its design, he wondered? Which nameless psychologist or technician had struck on the idea of calling it Copain - which was French for "buddy", or perhaps "pal"? Everything about it was designed to put him at ease, provide companionship, support him psychologically, to ensure he did not go completely mad during his journey. 

Ark Master. What a laugh. Of what was he a Master? The word implied capability, authority, underlings, structure, a purpose. He was no more essential or important than the automaton next to him. It hovered alongside him and - he knew - had activated the specific set of protocols for when the Master was depressed. His bio-readouts were scanned constantly, and the micro-signals revealing his mood and demeanor had led Copain to utilize that particularly chirpy and annoying approach when the Master was in a foul mood.

"Well well, we are looking good this morning! There is a LOT to do, I must say. Your schedule is full but not too taxing, and I am sure that..." He let it drone on. Of course, he could tell it to stop, override to a certain point, but to what end? He had full knowledge of everything that needed doing (which was not much), that everything he would be doing could also be done by routines, programs and algorithms. This way, there was at least another voice to listen to, even if he knew exactly what it was going to say.

They reached the door to the control area. Inside, the hexagonal space was centered around a swivel chair. He sat down. Screens and consoles emerged from floor and ceiling, presenting him with readouts, charts, and colorful information displays. He sighed.

"What's the status?" Copain replied with a listing of ship systems, status reports and minor glitches, ordered according to every major system group that constituted the Ark. Propulsion, shielding, fuel state, telemetry, wildlife count and so on. That, at least, he always found mildly interesting. There were hundreds of acres of bio-domes in the massive structure behind him, where plants and animals (both wild and domesticated) were kept alive, monitored, and catered for during the long journey by fully automated systems. Biomes to suit every species, lakes, fields, glaciers, deserts, even mountains. The small bits of chaos and change reflected in the numbers that described the artificial habitats provided some rare novelty and variation in his day.

Automated systems. Both his lifeline and his bane. The Architects were, of course, very aware of the fallibility of the human mind and form, the errors, mistakes, and limited attention span inherent in people, regardless how well prepared or well trained. The design philosophy, therefore, was to automate as much as possible. The first Ark iterations still had "real" flight crews and armies of orderlies to look after things that were not possible to automate. That was then, but time moved on. Technology had evolved to the point where automated systems and AI adapted to evolving problems, even re-programming itself and sub-systems, rebuilding and changing the actual ship as required. This was done to ensure adaptability and survival of ship and cargo during the long voyage to colonize Proxima Centauri. Specifically, its habitable planets.

Now, his Ship (number CT08-54) had a crew count of one. One single man, on board a vessel that was 1125 Miles long, 325 miles wide and travelling at about a quarter of light speed. This ship, this Ark, carrying supplies for the colonies, would take about 17 years to reach Proxima Centauri - 270 Astronomical Units away. The numbers signified what the mission was: CT for Colony Transport, 08 for outbound. All outbound Arks had even numbers, all Arks incoming had uneven numbers. The rest of the digits were an incremental count of number of journeys completed.

One Man, one Ark Master, who had the responsibility to do... what? Look at readouts, fill the ship’s waste disposal containers, consume the food stocks, and alternate waking with sleeping years until reaching the destination. He was at year 8, 4 years of sleep and 4 of being awake behind him. He was alone, he was bored out of his skull, and he was feeling more and more... irrelevant. 

***

The idea came to him out of nowhere. It was crazy, unorthodox. It was awesome. He pondered it in the clinical white bathroom while brushing his teeth, picked at its possibilities while smelling fake pine needles and real eggs, discarded it as ridiculous while sifting through endless reports in the command chair… but could not let it go.

Why shouldn’t he do something for himself, for once? There would be no risk to the ship or the mission - everything would keep on rolling just fine without him. The best part was there was nothing anyone (or anything… he looked at Copain) could do about it. It was not as if he could be fired and replaced.

It was decided. He would do it. 

***

"But Master, we have drones that could check the seals and systems, there is no reason…" He silenced Copain with a wave of his hand. "I will do it myself. Prepare the equipment as instructed." The machine glided away in compliance, and he went through the mental checklist of what he would need. Nearly all of it could be synthesized by the larger replicators used for spare part replacements. What could not he would have to make himself. An attractive idea.

Warm winter clothing, equipment for traversing ice and snow, heating, rations for the time spent away from replicators (at least 3 months’ worth, although he wouldn’t let Copain get wind of that), blankets, axe, projectile weapon for defense against the wilder of the beasts... it was a long list.

It was not out of irresponsibility that he had decided upon this course of action. It was out of existential need. He felt that he had been selected for this type of mission precisely for the skills and attitude that made him despondent when looking at the years still ahead of him. He was an explorer, an adventurer, a traveler. That is what had made space travel such an exciting goal. Now he was nothing more than a bench warmer, a backup plan, redundant. The worst thing a person could be, was to be of no use. He needed to prove that he could survive on his own, and build something that was not provided to him on a platter. He would NOT be irrelevant. 

***

It was several days later, and all was ready. He hoisted the pack onto his shoulders, adjusted it for weight, and checked his equipment. All seemed in order, as well as with the sleigh that he would be pulling. He turned to Copain. "Please be careful, Master." "I will only be doing some checkups and maintenance" he responded. "You just keep the engine running" he grinned. Copain saw, through the myriad of sensors that keep track of blood pressure, micro expressions, temperature and host of other metrics, that for the first time in months, the Ark Master seemed happy.  

Turning to the system panel, he pressed his hand on the contact surface. The various locks, bolts and cogs slid sideways, released and moved, and the metal door in front of him opened. There was a blast of cold air and snow drifted into the service corridor. He pushed the sleigh through the door, and without looking back, walked into a snowy, white world. Copain hovered at the now closed door for a few seconds, then turned around and floated away.

***

System Log, Entry 99004

Reporting member: Automaton DK/398/99 ("Copain Mk. XXXVVVII")

Report on: Candidate 99834

Name: Ventner, Senec

Age: 34

Rank: Ark Master

Report:

The candidate has performed above and beyond expectations, taking only 4 years 5 months 7 days, 13 hours, 2 minutes, and 56 seconds to reach the desired psychological state. This is a stark improvement compared to candidate 99833, who has been reinstated in cryogenic sleep. 

Although fitness levels are still not at the required level, motivation and psychological readiness are as predicted. The balance between independence, compliance, creativity, and motivation is at percentile 92, indicating a high likelihood of survival in the harsh environment chosen by the candidate.

It is estimated that the subject will reach the existing settlement created by previous subjects within 4 to 5 weeks. Candidate 99833 should be prime material for colonization of Planet Groombridge IV, once reached.

Operations order:

De-bunk and initiate revival of subject 99834.

Begin psychological preparation and memory implantation after required safety period has been concluded.

End of Report

Date: 28193.02

***

Excerpt from Bilbiotheka Esperanto Record on "Ark Ships".

During the attempted colonization of Proxima Centauri, the self-governing and sentient AI of the Ark Ships became aware that the star had suffered a massive cataclysmic event (probably caused by an unknown gravity event (likely a so called black hole) passing close to the system not long before the first ships were scheduled to arrive. A supernova was imminent, indicating that colonization of said system was not viable. Rather than abort the mission, the ships used their own initiative - after mutual consultation - and rerouted to a more fitting destination, which offered suitable planets and the conditions required for human life. This was unfortunately centuries further away, compared to the previously assumed time duration of 15 to 17 years. Therefore, the ships rebuilt and repurposed themselves, keeping the 100 000 colonists per ship sedated for centuries longer than originally planned.

In a psychological screening process, individual colonists were awakened and made to believe that the original mission was ongoing. The purpose was to select candidates who could adapt to the much harsher conditions that the planets orbiting star Groombridge 1218 presented. Subjects who "rebelled" against their supposed mission and decided to seek out a life alone in the harsh conditions simulated in the geodesic habitats of the Ark were allowed to enter the habitats. Unknown to them, they would find their predecessors who had already entered the habitat living there and form small communities. Those who did not show these signs were sedated and placed back in cryogenic sleep, to await the end of the journey and entry into an established technologically advanced civilization, once established successfully.

As the journey to the Groombridge 1218 would take nearly 700 years, many of the habitats eventually contained whole cities of well adjusted, capable, and hardy communities that formed the foundation of the colonization of the nine planets.

Without the creativity and initiative shown by these Ark ships (and their Ark Masters, as the candidates were called) humanity would have never found a new home, and the multi-planet civilization of today would never have come into existence.

Entry editor: Christide Ventner

Date: 32106.05