Unlight

by Chandra Shekhar

  “Most of it?” Nicole said. “That means we have some food here?”

  “Yes, but not much. About five hundred kilos of tinned stuff that we couldn’t find room for in Air.”

  “Well, that’s something.”

  “Yes, but with the loss of the pantry, we’ve lost all our sugar, salt, and condiments.”

  “Hell.”

  “Yes. And as for water, our only source now is the condensate from the burning diesel.”

  “Yikes, that doesn’t sound like much.”

  “It isn’t. Each liter of fuel will give a liter of water at best.”

  “Any more bad news?”

  “We’ve also lost our computer database, radio equipment, and virtually all tools and spare parts.”

  A long, gloomy silence followed.

  “On the positive side, we’re all still alive,” Elizabeth said at last. “That’s something to be grateful for.”

  “Right, said Anna. “If the fracture had taken out Entry—”

  “—we’d be icicles now,” Jessica finished for her.

  “Bloody hell,” said Nicole. “More brandy, please.”

  Larry doled out another measure and the family sipped in silence for a while. “Talking of positive things …” he said eventually.

  “Fuel?” Jessica said.

  “Yes. Before the Fracture, we had enough for a year. Now, since we don’t have a Central dome to heat, our diesel supply will last longer.”

  “How much longer?”

  “About a third. Something like 16 months.”

  Nicole voiced the collective sentiment: “Then we must make sure that our food and water—and we—last that long.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Journals

  Larry’s journal

  Today is Dec. 31 of Year Ten. It’s been exactly five years since I last took up my pen to write an entry in this journal. When we all agreed to write one at the end of the first day, first year, fifth year, and every fifth year after that, I honestly didn’t expect to reach the third milestone, let alone the fourth. But here we are, still alive, still moving, breathing, talking, and thinking.

  I referred to our first five years here as the Steady State period. Everything seemed to work well then. Our well ran hot, our air blew fresh, our plants grew strong, and our food tasted great. All our domes were operational—it’s hard to believe that now, squeezed as we are into a single outer dome.

  I was prepared to have things fall apart slowly, a gradual attrition, a steady increase of entropy. That’s the universal law. And that’s what happened during Years Six to Nine, as our systems failed one by one. Each of these was painful, but we adjusted. The Air dome failure and the plant deaths caught us rather unprepared, but we managed to cope. One could call this period the Decline.

  Then, on Sept 1 of Year Nine, came the Fracture. To say we were unprepared would be the understatement of the century. Hardened though we were to single-system failures, to have our habitat split open like an eggshell was something else. In that instant, we lost so much—food, water, supplies, information, living space—that I can think of only one word to describe the event: collapse!

  So we have spent the past sixteen months, the post-Fracture period, huddled uncomfortably in the Entry dome. We keep the temperature below freezing to drag out our precious fuel reserves as long as possible. The heating isn’t uniform, as it was during our Geo days. The space next to the walls remains bitterly cold. There’s one spot that’s tolerably warm—or not too unpleasantly cold—near the middle, about two by three meters, right among the diesel engines, which is now our living and sleeping area. The noise of the engines was bothersome at first, but we no longer notice it. The girls and I have rigged up a species of tent there and layered it with our salvaged carpet fragments to shield us from the icy floor. We almost never leave this cocoon except for hurried trips to fetch food and water.

  As for calls of nature, we initially used the loo just outside the door to Central, but as that grew too cold and painful to reach we set one up in a corner of Entry itself using empty containers with lids. It’s so cold there that our wastes freeze and don’t reek.

  We live in semi-darkness during the “day,” with all our available light keeping the ever-important chlorella alive.

  Being unable to move around much is probably not a bad thing, as we have to be less active now to avoid getting too hungry or thirsty. Water is scarce—we’ve been able to condense and collect only a fraction of the water vapor from the diesel exhaust—and food even more so. So no more exercise or dancing, leave alone intimate moments! The only physical activity we do, apart from essential chores, is a bit of tai chi in the mornings and yoga in the evenings. The lessons we’ve taken from Lizzie on how to relax our breathing and slow down our metabolism are now paying off. We stay wrapped in as many layers of clothing as we can comfortably wear. We sleep a lot. There isn’t much else to do. I would use the dreaded H-word to describe the situation, except that the bear—unlike us—has the good sense to stuff itself with salmon and build a thick layer of fat before it goes off to its cave to sleep out the winter.

  Talking of food, we’re now subsisting solely on canned beans, tuna, and spinach, because that’s all we have. It’s unappetizing and monotonous. The girls use the heat from the diesel engines in ingenious ways to heat our food, and even boil water. But it’s still tedious. And there’s no coffee or tea to go with the hot water.

  All in all, not a pleasant existence. But no one ever complains. Could there ever be a more wonderful family than the Millers? Each of them is more admirable, more adorable, than the other. I could write volumes about them and only scratch the surface of their virtues.

  But sometimes I wish they were less wonderful. Then it would be easier for me to face the grim prospect that looms ever closer.

  Nicole’s journal

  At Larry’s urging, I’m taking up my pen—literally, because we’ve only one laptop, and Jessica’s using it—to put my thoughts down on this tenth anniversary of our Shell life. I’m sure the others will talk about our living conditions here and our diminishing future prospects. Let me write about what’s been going on inside me.

  I never understood until I came to the Shell why some people spend all their lives searching for meaning—giving up their jobs, abandoning their families, tormenting themselves. Now I realize it’s the only goal that matters, work and family being nothing but pleasant distractions on my spiritual journey. This realization has come as a great shock, completely overturning everything I believed in. It must have been an even greater shock to my loved ones, but they’ve accepted it, as they’ve always accepted everything, without complaint or reproach. Indeed, they’ve positively embraced my spiritual quest, seeing how vital it was to my wellbeing. I bless them all, as I embark on a journey where they can’t follow.

  Questions, questions, questions. They were driving me crazy. It was only when I stopped looking outwards—to Larry, to Elizabeth, to philosophy, to religion, to spiritual traditions—and started looking inward that I found answers. Or rather, I didn’t find answers per se, but learned what questions to ask, and why the actual answers didn’t matter. I learned to tap into that quiet magical oasis of tranquility deep within me, where the quest for meaning becomes irrelevant. Everything goes still there. Once I reach that spot, it’s a struggle to tear myself away and return to what people call reality. I now understand why Mum used to spend nearly all her free time enjoying that special inner sanctum.

  I guess our physical lives are going to end in a few weeks once we run out of diesel. Death. And what comes after we die? That used to be one of my big questions. Now it doesn’t seem to matter. We all seem to carry that mysterious, deathless place deep inside us. The loss of the physical body is immaterial.

  Anna’s journal

  Ten years! It feels like we’ve been here for an eternity, yet time has flown by incredibly fast. Yes, that’s a contradiction, but so’s our existence here. We’re all a
live—barely—while the rest of the planet is probably dead. We’ve survived for ten long years but are now down to our last few weeks here. Should I curse the fate that’s in store, or should I celebrate the miracle of being alive against such odds?

  Perhaps celebration would be more apt. Don’t we celebrate a triple century, even when the batsman goes out a few balls later? Don’t we cheer him as he walks back to the pavilion? Our current situation may be a shambles, and our future without hope, but what an innings it’s been!

  Our survival has been miraculous. But there’s so much more to celebrate. Could anyone be blessed with more fabulous company than I’ve enjoyed these past years? Mum, always kind and cheerful, now such a serene presence. Grandma, warm and nurturing, now with that look of sweet mischief. Jessica, now my bestie—how did I ever manage without her friendship? No matter how dire the situation, she manages to find something amusing, some silver lining. I used to be the chipper one in the family. Now, I can count on her to cheer me up whenever I need it. And last but not the least, Larry. Can I finally say what I’ve always wanted to—that I have a terrible crush on him? (And so does Jessica, I suspect, though she might deny it. Mum, with all her spiritual yearnings, still has a special place for him in her heart. And as for Grandma … !!!!) And how can I not? How could anyone not be madly in love with him?

  I guess my biggest reason for celebrating would be my good fortune in having such wonderful people in my life. And that’s my best consolation for what’s to come. I may soon be dead, but I will have spent the last ten years of my live with the most wonderful people ever.

  Jessica’s journal

  It looks like our time is finally running out. Had to, sometime. I guess the end, or the beginning of the end, happened far more quickly than expected. Im supposed to be the pessimist in the family, but even I didnt expect something quite so brutal as the Fracture. Thats exactly the kind of unknown Id feared when we 1st came here. Unfortunately, its exactly the kind of unknown that we cant prepare for. We can only react, recover, & adapt.

  I must say its been a fun ride. Crazy, weird, surreal. Sounds incredible, but Ive had far more fun inside the Shell than I ever did outside. Indeed, if the Shroud had never come into our lives, I would be much less happy than now. If, in some parallel Shroudless universe, my doppelganger is leading a “normal” life, I bet its far less enjoyable or satisfying than mine. It will be interesting to meet her & compare notes. Perhaps we will meet in some spatio-temporo-spiritual setting—who knows what comes after death?

  As this will most probably be my last journal entry, a word or two about my fellow Shellmates. Ive never been one to pay compliments, assuming that the others are as embarrassed by them as me. Besides, what words could do justice to my family? Even Anna, w/ her flair for words, would find it challenging. But Ill try. Mum—nicer than ever, now so tranquil too. Anna—the best sister & the best friend, period. Grandma Lizzie—dearer & sweeter w/ every passing day. Larry … I remember a time when I found him annoying. Now, when hes holding me in his arms, I forget everything else. Ill leave it at that.

  Life is short, but if you have the right company its good. Not much else to say.

  Elizabeth’s journal

  The end of life’s journey is approaching. In the past, I’ve often wondered about what I’d feel at this point. Would I be sad to leave the earthly plane behind? Would I be excited about what’s to come? Would I be afraid?

  What I feel now is a mix of emotions. Gratitude for these ten merciful years of “society, friendship, and love, divinely bestowed upon man,” as the poet put it. Regret for having to say goodbye to my beloved companions. Curiosity, even some eagerness, to see what comes next. Some nervousness about how exactly the dying will happen. Will it be prolonged and painful? Or could we do something to make it swift and relatively painless? I should ask Larry. I’m sure he’s thought about it, and maybe planned for it, but for obvious reasons that’s not a topic he’ll want to raise himself.

  Our survival this long on a dead planet has far exceeded Larry’s expectations, he confessed to me a few days ago. What’s exceeded my expectations is the way this family has come together. From being loving but disparate individuals with divergent interests, we’ve grown closer and closer over these years in the Shell, until now we’re very close to being just one body, mind, and soul—a superhuman, with Larry’s strength, Nicole’s skill, my serenity, Anna’s vitality, and Jessica’s intelligence. Is this a foretaste of what the union with the Infinite feels like? If so, I can’t wait.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Celebration

  On their tenth anniversary evening, the family held a celebration. They usually kept the Entry dome cold and dim to conserve energy, but today they turned all lights on and cranked the heat up to a toasty 15 degrees. Larry produced yet another miraculous bottle of champagne and served everyone in makeshift flutes shaped from diesel can lids.

  “Larry, you missed your true vocation,” said Jessica.

  “She’s right,” said Anna. “You should’ve been a sommelier in a Parisian restaurant.”

  The other women chuckled, and Larry smiled. He had been unsure about the mood of the family. It was a relief to see everyone in lively spirits. They would need all their cheerfulness to receive the status update that it was his unpleasant duty to make. But he was in no hurry, letting everyone savor the moment. It was great to shed most of their cumbersome layers of clothing. The broad-spectrum solar lamps they had salvaged from Central, normally used just on the chlorella, now bathed them with a bright, warm glow. The champagne, though long past its expiry date, fizzed deliciously in their mouths. It was a golden moment.

  After about half an hour of pleasant conversation, snuggled up together, with the champagne all gone, it was time to turn to more serious matters. They couldn’t afford to keep the heat blasting and the lights blazing for much longer. The women looked at Larry expectantly, but as always he hesitated until Elizabeth came to his aid.

  “Larry, this is lovely, but it falls upon me to ask you—what’s our situation?”

  Though Larry had long renounced his leadership role and left the decision making to family consensus, for old times’ sake the others still looked to him to take the lead on discussions. He wondered how he should deliver the news. Better state it plainly, he thought.

  “We have six more weeks of food. The fuel situation is worse, I’m afraid.”

  “How much time?”

  “Another two weeks at the most.”

  There was a long silence. No one could think of a suitable comment. They could stretch their food and water out longer, but not their fuel—they had already cut their consumption to the point that Anna and Nicole were showing early signs of frostbite.

  In two weeks, we’ll start freezing to death. Larry’s thought transmitted itself to the others as if by telepathy.

  “Last two weeks of warmth,” Jessica said.

  “What about the spacesuits?” asked Anna.

  “The suits won’t be much use, I’m afraid,” Larry said.

  “Why not? Didn’t you tell us we could wear them if the heating failed?”

  “The suits will reduce heat loss from our bodies. At some point, though, the air will get too cold to breathe.”

  “So we’ll freeze anyway,” Jessica said. “Just more slowly and painfully.”

  During another long silence, Nicole remembered the oxygen cylinders transferred to Entry during the closure of Health in Year Seven. Scanning the dome with eager eyes, she found the corner where the cylinders lay and pointed toward them. “What about using those?”

  Larry’s eyes lit up for a second and then grew somber again. “No, that won’t work either. The oxygen will also attain the ambient temperature.”

  “So we’ll breathe cold oxygen instead of cold air,” Jessica said.

  Nicole thought for a moment and nodded. “I see. We’ve got two more weeks to live.”

  Nobody spoke for a few minutes, each deep in reflection.


  “Larry,” said Elizabeth, finally. “I don’t know how to put this … but freezing to death seems like a slow and terrible way to go. Is there some way to … make it less unpleasant?”

  Larry looked at her for several seconds, a gentle smile playing on his careworn face. “Lizzie, my love, I don’t know how you do it, but you always manage to voice the thought I lack the courage to express. But yes, we can make it fast and painless.”

  “Cyanide pill?” said Jessica.

  Nicole and Elizabeth grimaced, but Anna nodded. “Astronauts used to get one, didn’t they? In case they got stranded in space.”

  “It’s not so different from our situation.”

  Larry followed the exchange between the sisters with a tender smile and shook his head. “I don’t think astronauts got suicide pills. Spies did, maybe. Anyway, we can do better. Bundle up and follow me downstairs. There’s something I need to show you.”

  Dark, cold, and forlorn, the Entry hex seemed to foreshadow what lay in store for them. Their footsteps echoed in the near-empty chamber.

  Anna shivered. “Geez, this place could be a horror movie set.”

  “Like 30 Days of Night,” Jessica said. “Cue a horde of thirsty vampires springing out of the dark.”

  “Not a jolly place, this,” Larry admitted. “But here’s what I wanted to show you.”

  His flashlight revealed a door innocuously marked Cleaning Supplies, which he slid open, revealing a closet with two shelves. The top one was empty except for two bottles of champagne. The lower one was covered with a dark glass screen.

  “Larry, you sneak!” said Anna. “So this where you hid your bubbly all these years.”

  “True,” admitted Larry. He explained that he’d had the champagne specially bottled in containers of his own design, made from space-grade glass guaranteed to withstand ultra-low temperatures. He told them how he had to carefully thaw out each bottle before he could pour out the liquid it contained. “But what I want to show you is in the lower shelf. Excuse me while I break open the screen.”