Operation Outfect
Operation Outfect
A plausible—and unsettling—space colonisation concept by Alex Canna
A plausible—and unsettling—space colonisation concept by Alex Canna
Embedded Files
‘I’ve started an interstellar space programme and I need some passengers.’
A South African billionaire has a surprisingly viable plan to send humanity to the stars at the speed of light. He enlists an old army friend to help, but what appears to be another giant leap for mankind soon turns out to be something far darker.
To uncover the truth, Neil Grenham has to delve back into his past – and the undead heart of the old apartheid machine. Along the way, he finds himself dealing with dubious multibillionaires, Nigerian scamsters, white supremacists, and the looming threat of global extinction.
The science of Operation Outfect is real. The implications are horrifying.
“It’s like Bernie Gunther stumbled into a Michael Crichton novel.”
“It’s like Bernie Gunther stumbled into a Michael Crichton novel.”
Why did I write Operation Outfect?
Living in apartheid South Africa, I was forced to do two years of national service. I spent most of mine in the Intelligence Corps. My military HQ was down on the 5th floor (underground) in a nuclear bunker next to Pretoria Central prison. My actual day job was at a front company run by Armscor, South Africa’s weaponry manufacturer, where I helped facilitate think tanks attended by rightwing academics and members of the security establishment.
The aim – usually – was to think up ways to increase apartheid’s appeal to the black population. So far, so surreal. Then a new project began, run by a sociopathic general, which was deemed too sensitive for me to know anything about. Hopefully nothing came of it, but I’ve always wondered.
While trying to turn that experience into a plot, I happened to think up a perfectly practical method (in my opinion, at least) to get humanity to the stars at the speed of light. Without any conscious effort, the two strands wove themselves together and I started to write.
I’m still baffled that Elon Musk hasn’t thought of my light-speed travel concept yet.
(If you’d like to explore Armscor’s murky past, this is a good place to start. And for a truly weird update on the AWB, try this.)
From Operation Outfect:
I was staring into the void of my life when my phone chirped at me. I wiped Marmite off my thumb with a paper napkin covered in three days of filth and picked my phone up off the kitchen table. Someone had just looked at my LinkedIn profile. Another drive-by gloating, I thought, thumb poised to swipe the notification into oblivion. Somebody called . . .
Max Londt.
Not the Max Londt, obviously. There had to be more than one of them in the world. And if I could muster the energy to look at this one’s LinkedIn profile, I’d be able to guess what he wanted to sell me. I tried to muster the energy but failed, also failing to surprise myself, in a kind of two-for-one bargain.
My phone chirped again. Max Londt wanted to connect with me. ’Course he did, he was most likely behind on his cold-call target. Bet he hadn’t even included a message.
But wait, he had.
‘Life can be shit sometimes hey? Got a thought I’d like to throw your way though. Max.’
So I checked his profile. ‘Max Londt. Biotech entrepreneur.’ Biotech entrepreneur? Like Jeff Bezos was a shopkeeper. After a while I lifted my lower jaw back into place. And deleted the invitation to connect. Like hell. Heart thudding, I tapped it ever so gently – no, reverently – and held my breath until the ‘Connected’ message appeared.
Then I replied to Max’s message. ‘Lemons. Lemonade. Tell me more.’
The silence I heard was God laughing.
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