Centauri's Shadow - Chapter 1

Major update! Centauri's Shadow is now available for pre-order on Kindle.

Thanks to everyone who has subscribed to this Substack so far! You’re all heroes, in my book.

So far, I’ve been sharing flash fiction from the Centauri’s Shadow universe. Each weekend we’ve met a key player or explored a key event, often years before the novel is set.

This weekend, I wanted to do something different — and for a big reason! Centauri’s Shadow is now available for pre-order on Kindle at Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk.

To give you more of a taste of what’s in store, I’m publishing the first chapter here. I hope you enjoy it and, if you do, please do consider a cheeky pre-order!

If you prefer a physical copy, the paperback edition will be available on April 8.

Until then, let the curtain rise on Centauri’s Shadow…

Chapter 1 — The test flight

43 years before the attack.

The boy was woken by a flash of light and the sensation of falling. His eyes were open, but he was in darkness. He felt strange, empty, and afraid. His legs were floating, and across his chest he could feel the pressure of two straps holding him down. He was trapped.

Around him were voices: familiar and reassuring.

‘Mum?’ he shouted, fighting the restraints.

Silence, then a male voice. The voice of his father: ‘Brandon, help your brother.’

Fingers touched his arms and neck, then a searing light blinded him as the mask covering his eyes was pulled back from his face.

‘Sorry,’ said his brother, his blurry face coming into focus. ‘Close your eyes and give them a minute. Now, try opening them again. Slowly this time.’

The boy did as instructed, seeing the familiar form of his brother, smooth faced and cheerful, with a mop of dark hair to rival his own. Then, the sparkling metallic grey of the Daedalus, the spaceship his mother had built. And at the far end of the cabin, his parents: visible only as silhouettes, floating in front of a great floor-to-ceiling window that revealed the colour and light beyond.

The Sun.

It was impossible to tell how close they were, for he couldn’t see the edges of the burning sphere. On its surface, black spots tracked left to right; red lakes of fire swelled and broke apart; great arcs of flame shot towards them and faded into nothingness. This was the Sun as he had never seen it. No longer static and eternal, but dynamic and chaotic. Not a source of light and warmth, but of danger and death.

‘Do you remember where we are?’ his mother called to him.

‘I saw a flash,’ said the boy. ‘Without opening my eyes.’

‘It’s radiation zapping through your skull,’ said his brother, laughing. ‘It’ll get worse as we get closer.’

His mother floated toward them, past the pilot’s rig that dominated the centre of the cabin. ‘Don’t frighten him, Brandon,’ she said, pushing his brother gently aside as she drew up next to the boy. ‘We won’t be here long enough for it to cause you any damage.’ She began to loosen his straps. ‘You’ve been asleep for hours. I was afraid you were going to miss the show.’

The boy relaxed as he was released from his bunk and began to float away from it.

‘I feel sick,’ he said.

‘Just relax,’ said his mother, her voice kind. ‘You always get used to it.’

She looked at Brandon again, told him to stay with his brother, and pushed against the wall to return to her husband.

‘Are we going into the Sun?’ asked the boy.

‘Don’t be an idiot,’ said Brandon, rolling his eyes.

The boy tried to swipe at his brother but missed and ended up flailing in the air.

His father came to them then, carefully pointing his feet so that the Velcro soles of his shoes made contact with the floor. Safely secured, he pulled the boy towards him and pushed him down so that his own feet stuck to the floor. ‘We’re going to fly around the Sun, remember? Closer than anyone else who’s ever lived.’

With great care, the boy’s father began to walk back towards the window, lifting one foot at a time so that the other was always connected to the floor.

‘It’s so bright,’ said the boy.

‘That’s less than one percent of its overall brightness,’ said their father. ‘The glass is protecting our eyes.’ He looked back at them. ‘Never stare at the Sun, remember?’ He gave the boy a wink.

‘It’s beautiful,’ said the boy, transfixed.

‘Lame,’ said Brandon, slapping the back of his head.

A burst of static filled the flight deck and a familiar female voice, distorted over the radio, said: ‘Capcom to Daedalus, we are two minutes from drop zone.’

‘Is that Amanda?’ asked the boy,

‘Yes,’ whispered Brandon. ‘Keep quiet.’

‘Daedalus to Capcom,’ replied their mother. ‘Two minutes from drop zone, confirmed. I’m strapping in.’ She pulled herself to the rig at the centre of the flight deck: a vaguely human-shaped contraption with slots for each limb and a central harness designed to envelop the occupant and move with them. She pulled herself into the rig and said: ‘Pilot in position, ready to take control.’

‘Please remind Harry that all of this is being recorded, so don’t mess it up!’ called the boy’s father, laughing.

‘Capcom to Daedalus,’ said the voice on the radio. ‘I can report that our pilot has replied with a gesture of disapproval, but let’s keep the communications to the professionals.’

His father chuckled. ‘Understood, Amanda, I mean… Capcom.’

‘You’re such a nerd,’ the boy’s mother said to her husband. She sounded upbeat, but there was an edge to her voice, and her eyes never left the window.

‘Capcom to Daedalus, one minute from drop zone.’

‘Daedalus to Capcom, one minute confirmed,’ said his mother.

His father pushed off from the floor and came to join them at the back of the flight deck. He put an arm around each boy. ‘Here we go!’ he said.

‘Dad,’ said the boy. ‘What happens if something goes wrong?’

‘Don’t be a wimp,’ said his brother.

‘Capcom to Daedalus,’ Amanda again, ‘ten seconds. Good luck, Andersons, to all of you!’

The boy watched his mother squirm in the rig, trying to make herself comfortable. ‘Quiet now, boys,’ she called back. ‘Hold on.’

Another burst of static, then: ‘Five, four, three, two…’

‘Clamps released,’ said their mother.

The boy clutched his father’s arm as tight as he could, his face screwed up with the effort to keep himself in place but, except for a slight grating sound, there was no other indication that anything had happened. The boy looked around, searching for answers in the faces of his family.

‘Capcom to Daedalus, drop complete,’ said Amanda.

‘Daedalus to Capcom, drop confirmed,’ said their mother. ‘Extending sails in five minutes.’

‘Roger Daedalus,’ said the radio voice. ‘Harry’s taking us about and we’ll see you on the other side.’

The boy’s mother looked back at her huddled family. ‘So far, so good. You might want to strap in for this next bit.’

The boy looked up at his father. He seemed relaxed, but his face was pale.

‘See,’ he said, looking down at his children. ‘Your mother’s a pro. Come on.’ He pulled the boy to his chest, a move that required almost no effort in the gravity-free environment of the flight deck, and moved towards the back of the ship. To the boy’s brother, he said: ‘Brandon, come with us.’

‘I want to see the other ship,’ said Brandon.

‘You won’t be able to see it,’ said their mother. ‘It’s turning back, remember?’

Both the boy and his brother strained to see out the window, not quite believing what they had been told.

‘What’s happening?’ asked the boy.

‘The ship that took us here, the support ship with Amanda and Harry on board, has let us go,’ said his father. ‘It’s going to stay here and wait for us, while we head toward the Sun.’

‘But we’re not going into the Sun,’ said his mother. ‘We’re going to fall towards it, picking up speed as we go, then fly round it and go shooting out the other side, back towards Earth.’

‘Like spinning round and throwing a ball,’ said his father, smiling as he took the boy by the shoulders. ‘You’re not afraid, are you?’

The boy shook his head, his face pale and his eyes wide.

His father strapped him back into the bunk, then turned to Brandon. ‘We need to strap you in, too.’

Brandon grumbled but let his father secure him in place.

‘Are you going to strap in?’ he asked.

Their father chuckled. ‘No, I’ll be at the co-pilot controls in case something goes wrong. But don’t worry, your mother’s got this covered. I’m just along for the ride.’

If their mother heard him, she didn’t respond. As the five-minute mark approached, her focus had turned entirely to the task at hand.

‘Capcom to Daedalus,’ the radio crackled, ‘five seconds.’

‘Confirmed Capcom,’ said their mother. ‘Three… two… opening sails.’

Another mechanical sound filled the flight deck. This time, it was paired with a violent shaking sensation. The Sun, filling the front window, began to bounce around as if they were being buffeted by a strong wind, and then gradually it panned down until its curved edge rose into view to reveal the darkness of space beyond.

‘Just like flying a kite,’ said the boy’s mother, more to herself than to her family.

‘What’s she doing?’ asked Brandon. From where the children were strapped in, it barely looked like their mother was moving at all, except that her hands and feet occasionally twitched in the rig.

‘You can’t see it,’ said their father, ‘but there are four sails attached to the outside of our ship, each a kilometre long and stretching in all directions. She’s using those controls to fly the solar winds, taking us toward the Sun’s surface at just the right angle to pick up enough speed without leaving orbit entirely.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said the boy.

His father studied him. ‘Someday you will.’

Out the window, the Sun dipped lower, almost out of view now as a long shadow crept across the flight deck’s floor and covered the boy’s feet, knees and waist. The boy felt cold.

‘Tom, can you check the overhead sail?’ asked their mother.

‘What’s wrong?’ said Brandon.

‘Nothing,’ said their father, kicking away from them and floating across the flight deck to an elaborate computer panel. He began tapping on the display. ‘We just need to check some measurements.’

The boy shifted against his restraints. He wanted to see what was happening. He hated that his brother knew all the right questions to ask while he just watched in silence. He wanted to sit with his father, typing on the display panel and doing something useful. Or, if he couldn’t do that, he at least wanted more time to look at the Sun; to explore its changing features. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and when it started to fill the window once more he felt a thrill and stretched his head forward, as far as he could, to make sure he didn’t miss any of the detail.

‘Should we be pointing toward the Sun again?’ asked Brandon.

Over the radio, Amanda seemed to be asking the same question: ‘Capcom to Daedalus, your trajectory is off. Check the angle of the overhead sail.’

‘Roger, Capcom,’ said their mother. ‘Tom, what’s happening?’

The Sun was brighter now, the curve of its edge growing flatter as they crept closer.

When their father didn’t answer, their mother asked again: ‘Tom?’

‘It’s unresponsive,’ he said, his voice flat. ‘I can use the thrusters to spin the ship to compensate?’

‘Do it,’ said their mother.

The flight deck began shaking and the boy felt a slight drift to one side as the view out the window began to rotate.

‘Capcom to Daedalus, course correction is incomplete.’

‘Amanda,’ said their mother. ‘Are you still broadcasting to the news networks?’

‘Yes,’ said the radio voice.

‘Cut the feed, please.’

There was a brief pause. ‘Capcom to Daedalus, are you sure? The sponsors…’’

‘Cut it, Amanda.’ Then she looked at her husband over her shoulder. ‘Tom, can you try again with the overhead sail?’

‘I’m trying,’ said their father, his voice tense. ‘It’s jammed or something. Maybe snagged? Can you compensate for it?’

Their mother didn’t reply. The boy looked from one parent to another. Both were absorbed in what they were doing.

‘What’s happening?’ he asked.

His brother shushed him.

‘Tom,’ said his mother. ‘It’s not working.’

‘Dammit,’ cursed their father.

‘Could you put the boys in a lifeboat, please?’

Their father stopped typing on his console and looked at his wife. He glanced back at the boys, then at his wife again.

‘Now, please, Tom,’ said their mother. Her voice was calm, relaxed.

‘Okay,’ said their father, kicking away from the control panel and floating towards his children. He reached the back of the flight deck and began loosening Brandon’s straps.

‘What’s happening?’ asked the boy.

‘You’re going in the lifeboat,’ explained his father, ‘in case we need to abandon the test.’

The boy looked at his older brother, expecting a smart remark, but Brandon didn’t say anything. Instead, he let himself be pulled by his father to the corner of the flight deck, to a small metal hatch.

The radio voice returned: ‘Capcom to Daedalus. What’s happening? Your course correction is incomplete.’

‘Roger Capcom. We’ve had a mechanical failure in the overhead sail,’ said their mother. ‘I’m using the three remaining sails to compensate but we’re gaining speed.’ She waited a moment, then added: ‘Are you ready to pick up a package?’

Their father stopped opening the hatch and looked over his shoulder.

‘Dad,’ whispered Brandon.

‘Don’t worry,’ he replied with a wink. ‘Your mum’s a pro, remember? Help me with this hatch.’

‘Daedalus to Capcom,’ said their mother, her tone sharp. ‘Amanda, are you ready to pick up a package?’

‘Yes,’ came the reply over the radio. A long pause followed, then: ‘Nicola, are you sure?’

‘Just get ready,’ said their mother.

The Sun filled the window again, its edge out of view. The light had become so intense that all of them had to squint, even with the protection of the window.

The boy’s father returned to him, undid his straps, then carried him to the hatch where his brother was waiting. ‘Climb in,’ he said.

The boy looked doubtful. There was almost no room in the hatch. It was like a torpedo tube, or a coffin. ‘There’s no toilet,’ he said.

‘You climb in first,’ his father said to Brandon, grabbing hold of his wrist as he passed and making sure their eyes were locked onto each other’s. ‘Keep your eyes closed,’ he hissed.

‘Where are you going to go?’ asked the boy.

‘Come on,’ said Brandon, looking at his brother from inside the tiny tube. ‘They’ll be alright. Mum knows what she’s doing.’

The boy looked back at his mother, saw her silhouette against the window, her neck craned to look back at them.

‘Quickly now,’ said his father. ‘We’ll be in the other lifeboat.’

The boy reached into the hatch and found the rungs of a ladder leading up into darkness. He closed his fingers around the first rung, squeezing tightly as the cramped tube began to shake all around him.

‘Get in!’ shouted his father.

The boy hesitated, confused by the sudden anger. ‘What about—’

‘Get in the lifeboat!’ shouted his father. His eyes wet, he grabbed the boy by the legs and forced him into the lifeboat with his brother.

‘It’s hot in here,’ said the boy.

‘Keep your eyes closed,’ their father said again, hesitating only slightly before slamming the hatch shut.

Inside the narrow tube, lights flickered on. There was writing on the wall opposite the boy, but the ship was shaking so violently that it was impossible to read them. He could feel his brother’s body behind him, tight against his, sweat seeping through their shirts.

‘I don’t understand,’ said the boy.

Their mother’s voice came over a radio, built into the walls around them: ‘Daedalus to Capcom, we’re launching the first lifeboat. Tom’s getting into the second.’

Their father’s voice then, strained and intense: ‘Nicola, come on!’

‘Close your eyes, Cole,’ whispered Brandon, wrapping his fingers over his brother’s eyes. ‘No matter what happens, keep them closed.’

Cole wanted to pull Brandon’s fingers away. He wanted to see. Then his arms were forced back as the lifeboat shot away from the Daedalus and out into space.

For a second it was dark, almost calm, and Cole heard Amanda’s voice over the radio for the last time, screaming his father’s name: ‘Tom!’

Then the tube exploded with light, shining pink through his brother’s fingers, as his lungs fought to find the air to scream and the heat of the Sun melted his flesh.

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