Death’s Dimensions a psychotic space opera

“Any life?”

“Am transmitting a Drake message on various wavelengths-”

“I meant any life, not just ones with radio sets.”

“Probe is being readied.”

“Well, go ahead.”

“One moment. Calculating trajectory.”

Baker tapped somebody’s nails against the armrest, then raised the hands to look at them. The fingers, thin and bony, responded to his commands, but seemed to be his for only a while. An injection port glinted on his left wrist, a burn scar ran up his right arm. He stopped examining them when he felt a thump through the metal of the chair. Something flared below the edge of the viewing port. In response, the shielding instantly darkened.

“Probe launched at twelve gravities toward the planet. It will curve around in low orbit, skimming the surface just before loss of signal. It will deploy three drones to land at points on the surface to be determined at separation.”

“Can I turn the ship around to watch?”

“The control is under your right hand. The red input board is pitch, blue is yaw, and yellow is roll.”

Baker input what he thought would be sufficient thrust to pitch the prow downward toward the planet. The craft barely budged.

“Treble the power.”

Baker complied. The planet shot upward, passed the port, and suddenly starlight filled the room. The screen partially darkened. He recorrected until the planet floated directly in front of him, a tiny point of light heading toward its night side.

Baker frowned, but the frown did not feel like one of his. “Punch up an image of me.”

“For what purpose?”

“To look at myself, idiot.”

Someone’s face appeared in space before him. He moved the head, the image turned with it. The gaunt face, topped with blond hair, possessed a sharp, straight nose and green eyes that seemed as though they would glow in the dark. Baker ran a hand over the face.

“Whose body is this?”

The computer paused before answering. “Sequence Baker contains no information about your new body.”

Well, Baker thought, I guess it’s mine now. Looks ’zif I’ve been losing weight recently. This guy could never have been a test pilot.

“Is there an exercise room around here?”

“Ring One, Level Four, Eleven O’Clock.”

Baker kicked off toward the exit. “Thanks. Let me know if I get lost.”

“Certainly.”

Baker meandered through the twisting corridors of the prow ellipsoid. He made use of the handgrips placed every meter along one side of the hallways. Passing a pressure bulkhead, wide open at the moment, he knew he had entered Ring One. The corridors grew wider, curving away from him. Seeing that he was within listening range of one of the computer’s audio pickups, he asked, “Which way now?”

“Down one level and veer to port.”

“Which way is port? I got all turned around.”

“The orange line is port, the blue is starboard.”

Baker looked around. Above him, on what he supposed was the deck, an orange painted line followed the curve of the corridor in one direction, a blue line headed in the other.

He followed the orange line until he encountered the first access to the lower level. A few meters later he glided into the recreation area. He scrutinized the various weights and equipment.

“These are useless in freefall!” he said.

“Yes,” the computer replied. “They were installed when the ship was being built for the constant thrust nuclear engines. The bicycle and the shuttle are just about the only equipment that still works in zero-gee.”

Baker nodded and climbed on, slipping his toes into the rattrap pedals and strapping tightly to the padded seat. As he exercised, he grew impressed with the strength of his deceptively thin body.

“I want some more answers.”

“Perhaps they can be provided,” the machine answered.

“What is the mission?”

“To seek out new life and new civilizations-or to terraform any suitable planets.”

“Why would anyone want to go back to living on planets? We live in space; all we have to do is grind up asteroids to build more habitats. Why live at the bottom of a gravity well?”

“There are countless benefits,” the computer said without hesitation. “Free gravity is the first, which is good both for living on the surface and for holding habitats in orbit. Life is the second: a diverse biology can develop better when unhindered by the functional limits of a habitat. Until humans can build planet-sized structures, natural planets are the only place large animals and deep-rooting plants can evolve in abundance. And there is the psychological factor. Belters love deep space. Terrans, however, prefer living on Earth. They might be the ones to emigrate to another planet. With the Valliardi Transfer, it might be possible to relieve some of the population stress on Earth. Cutting the population back to four hundred billion or so could improve conditions enough that Earth and Mars might make fewer demands on Luna and the Belt. And it may quiet the few who view Belters as a spaceborne mining elite, growing rich off of the vast majority who are planet-bound.”

“So Dante plans to market the transfer as a cure for the Recidivist Movement?”

“The return to statism would be a crushing blow to tovar Brennen,” the computer said, “both ideologically and financially. More important, however, is that the transfer would improve commerce between the Belt and the Triplanetary population, defusing the more volatile Belter Autarchists, who view trade with Triplanetary as both expensive and pointless.”

Baker mused on that for a long moment, then asked, “Is there any other purpose to the mission?”

Again the computer hesitated an instant before answering. “Sequence Baker contains no statement as to other purposes of the mission.”

Baker stopped pedaling. “You mean there is one, but you won’t tell me.”

“Never said that. Said that there was nothing in your sequence to-”

“All right. I know not to argue with a computer.” He detached from the cycle and floated around the gymnasium.

“Probe report coming in,” the computer said a few minutes later.

“What’s the news?”

“No signs of life-as-we-know-it, or can guess it to be.”

Something trembled in the middle of the ship. The air around him seemed to shake. It only lasted a second, three distinct rumbles.

“Launching three cylinders of Nostocacæ Type H into promising cloud masses.”

“What’s that?”

“Type H Nostocacæ is an algae genetically engineered to survive high temperature atmospheres. Seeding upper level clouds will result in carbon dioxide being converted into oxygen and more Nostocacæ through photosynthesis. Most of the algæ will fall through the atmosphere to the surface and be roasted, releasing carbon, carbon compounds, and oxygen. After many thousand years of converting carbon dioxide to carbon and oxygen, the surface temperatures and pressures will be much lower, making colonization easier. There might even be free oxygen around that has not combined with the surface to become rock.”

Baker nodded. “Brennen’s in no hurry, I see.”

“That is only his default plan. If this voyage is a success- that is, if you return-the Brennen Trust will dispatch a more extensive fleet of high-speed terraformation devices.”

“What stars are we hitting?”

“Epsilon Eridani, Epsilon Indi, Tau Ceti, Sigma Draconis, Eighty-Two Eridani, and Beta Hydri. The trip for you