by Bob Goddard
“So, we’re on our own up here for the time being. While we hope for the best, we must be prepared for the worst. Your initial thoughts please – Lian, you first.”
The Chinese woman cleared her throat and cast a quick, troubled glance at the other three. “We need to increase food production urgently,” she started. “Proteins and vitamins, ’specially. Too long we rely on meat and supplements from Earth. Now almost 300 people here, we are not nearly nutritionally self-sufficient.
“We have the BioBank, so we can take seeds from cryo-storage, but I need hundred per cent more growing space to provide proper balanced diet for everyone. Water and energy need to increase in same way. We need much more rockwool growing medium for hydroponics. We need more nutrient, fertilizer, recycling and reprocessing facilities.” Song spread her hands to indicate the scale of the problem.
“Meat production we need also. We can grow most meat in our lab but need many more propagators. Also space and energy to run them. I need another 40 or 50 people to operate the farm if increase as suggested. And we need—”
“Thanks, Lian,” cut in Sokolova, glancing at her screen clock then at Cooper.
“Will, can you provide what Lian needs?”
“Jesus Christ!” said Cooper, brushing his hand over his short-cropped scalp. “It’s taken nine years to build what we have now. I can’t double it overnight!”
“So, what can you do?” the Governor snapped impatiently.
“Well… we’ll need much more power to step up our plass production, let alone provide energy for a bigger farm. So first priority will be making and erecting thousands more PV panels. We’ll need five or six more arrays of photovoltaics all around the mountain to generate that amount of electricity.
“Then we’ll need to double our fuel-cell capacity and increase water retrieval. I’ll need dozens more workers inside the mountain and many more out on the surface, mining for ice in the crater.
“But the biggest problem will be lack of electrical components. I’m waiting for everything from circuit films to processors, pumps and motors, switches and relays, all due in the next shipment…” His voice trailed away as their true predicament sank in.
“Yes, we’ve been far too complacent here,” said Sokolova. “That will have to change immediately.”
She glanced at her screen then turned to Ngomi. “Tamala, in one minute please?”
“Nadia, if our re-supply is delayed by a month or even two, it won’t be too critical for emotional and mental health,” explained the African personnel officer. “But if there’s a comet impact – and if there’s an extended delay in returning people to Earth – then the psychological issues will be far more serious. Maybe more serious than the issues with food or engineering in terms of threat to life.
“People can survive in a hostile environment, far from home, as long as they know their loved ones are okay and they will go home to them some day,” her face showed the strain as she fought to control her emotions.
“But if they fear for their families, or think they may never see them again,” she choked on her words as the tears spilled down her cheeks, “they will find it hard to function normally. Some may simply give up!”
“Nobody’s giving up on my watch,” barked Sokolova. “Least of all you, Tamala. In six days’ time this comet may go past harmlessly and all this will seem like a bad dream. But we need to be prepared in case it doesn’t.
“And I need to make that vidcast now,” she said, sitting down in front of her desk screen. “Please stay where you are and keep quiet for me.”
The Governor touched her screen to power up her cam and leaned forward so her face filled the image window. A soft glow lit up her high cheekbones and spiky blond hair. She selected all lunar personnel, then deselected Song, Ngomi and Cooper. She chose the emergency call code, and hit the transmit button.
“Fellow colonists, this is Governor Nadia Sokolova with some serious and sobering news. Please ensure that you, your colleagues and any work you are undertaking right now are completely safe before listening to the rest of this very important vidcast.” She paused.
“We have learned this morning that a comet is on collision course with planet Earth. This is not a joke and it is not a drill. Predicted impact is six days from now. The comet is nine kilometres long.
“A mission is underway, scheduled to launch in two days’ time, to deflect the comet so that it misses Earth and slips past harmlessly. That mission will be using the Chang Zheng 33, the ship that was due to resupply us and take some of us home next week.
“As I speak, the sister ship, Chang Zheng 34, is being prepared as our supply vessel, using a second Shenlong Spaceplane, but its launch will be at least three weeks from now, perhaps more. So I’m putting into place contingency plans to make sure we all stay safe and well up here until supplies and transport return to normal. This will result in many of you being reassigned to different duties temporarily. We will be suspending scientific studies to free up personnel for urgent work in the Biosphere and Engineering departments and anywhere else they are required.”
She looked directly into the cam. “We need everyone to put their shoulder to the wheel over the next few weeks to ensure we have enough food, water and oxygen to stay healthy and comfortable until our turn comes to go home.
“I have your department heads here with me, working out how best to deal with the shuttle’s delay. They will brief you on any work reallocation or rota rescheduling that may affect you.
“All personnel who are currently off-shift have my permission to make a five minute vidcall to loved ones at home. Those who are on-shift at the moment will have the same opportunity later.
“I will keep you updated on developments as they happen. With your help, we will all get through this emergency safely. I know I can rely on you to play your part. If you have any questions, speak to your section head. Section heads speak to department heads – but leave it twenty minutes please, so we can finish our meeting here first. Thank you.”
She hit the end button and watched as the list of recipients blinked and ticks started appearing next to names to show who had finished watching. Some would be letting the vidcast repeat to make sure they had heard it right. Sokolova switched her screen to standby to avoid accidental transmission.
Then she stood again and addressed the three department heads: “As Tamala said, we need to keep people’s spirits up. Best way to do that is to keep everybody busy, so I want to reassign duties for the scientists as soon as possible.
“I’d like you to sort out your priorities and work out your staff requirements over the next few hours. I will speak to our Doctor Robinson next and explain why his precious scientists are going to be digging for ice and shovelling manure for the foreseeable future.
“Plus I have to speak to our five guests,” she said with a weary sigh, referring to the wealthy space tourists who were coming to the end of their one-month lunar vacation. They were due to go home and be replaced with five others – each paying a cool 1.2 billion dollars for the privilege – on the next shuttle.
“Please come back here with detailed plans at 17 hours. Close the door on your way out.” She had already turned to her screen and was powering it up to summon the Chief Science Officer.
Cooper puffed out his cheeks, but didn’t say anything. He held the door open for Song and Ngomi and caught up with the latter halfway to the canteen.
“Christ,” he said, with a shake of his head, “that Russian bitch gets bossier by the day!”
Ngomi looked up at him and flashed a brief smile. “Yes, she does. But I think we are going to need a strong person like that to see us through this, don’t you?”
“If you say so,” said Cooper. “Want to grab a coffee and a bite to eat?”
“Okay,” she said. “Although I’m not really hungry. It would be nice to talk for a minute.”
They took their drinks and Cooper’s choice of food – a beef teriyaki wrap – over to a quiet tabl
e in the long, tubular dining hall that the colony residents had christened the Lunar Lunchbox with a hand-written sign over the door.
“You sure you don’t want some of this?” asked the Californian as they sat down. “Might be chowing down on soya gloop soon. Best to get this real food before it’s all gone.”
“No… no thanks,” Ngomi said with a weak smile as she took a sip of orange juice from her spill-proof lidded cup. Moon gravity made liquids unpredictable. “I’m feeling a bit queasy at the moment.”
“It’s the shock of this news, I guess, Tamala. Affects us all in different ways. With your people skills and psychology training, you’d know all about that.”
She looked up at him, shook her head and smiled. Then her smile vanished. “We will need to be very careful how we handle this situation. Fear can make people do crazy things. This comet could fly right past and we could still have casualties.”
“Oh, right!” Cooper raised his eyebrows. That thought hadn’t occurred to him.
“This could not have come at a worse time for me.” She looked down at her reflection in the top of the clear plass table. “I had been planning – hoping – to be at home in two weeks. I so miss my parents and my sister right now.” She sniffed as a fresh teardrop fell and scattered her reflection.
“Heyy!” said Cooper, “you’ll be going home soon. Just a little delay, is all.”
He turned his eyes away and muttered: “We all have folks we are aching to get back to.” And there was Ginny’s face again, but this time her green eyes were filling with tears too.
He shook the image away and turned back to Tamala with a forced smile. “Anyway, you’ll be leaving on the next ship. I gotta wait for September to get my sorry ass off this dumb rock. Can’t believe I worked so hard to get here, now I’m counting the days ’til I leave.”
“I think we all feel trapped, Will,” she said, “some more than others.”
Cooper looked down at the half-eaten meal on his plate and pushed it away. “You know, I think I lost my appetite too.” He started to get up. “Gonna go make a vidcall, see if someone is awake back home.”
“Good luck, Will.” Tamala gave him a brief smile. She didn’t tell him that her parents couldn’t afford even the most basic vidcall screen. Their poor suburb of Lilongwe had no coverage anyway. “See you at five o’clock,” she said as he turned away.
* * * * *
Earth, 1504
“You dare to mock the sacred ceremony of the Lord, Captain.” It was a statement, not a question, that the rotund Cardinal spat at Yonaton in what had been the Captain’s own cabin not so long ago. Without his tall hat the fat man’s greasy hair was plastered in lank strands across his bald scalp.
“I concentrate on steering my ship, Your Eminence,” said Yonaton with a tired sigh, “to keep us out of danger in these strange waters.”
“You think our mission is some kind of joke, don’t you?” demanded the fat cleric angrily, as he glowered up at the mariner from his chair.
My chair! thought Yonaton, but he’d already lost that battle. It had been two years since the Cardinal had told him that he and his ship, the Pelican, had been: ‘chosen to carry the word of the Lord to the farthest reaches of the known world’.
There had been no choice in the matter. He was to cease trading around the islands of the Crabbing Sea and await the pleasure of the great man of God. Increasingly, the Cardinal’s pleasure had been to subjugate the innocent hunter-gatherer peoples of the forests, enforce Emersionism upon them and destroy their ‘signs of Satan’ as he called them.
“Well? What do you have to say for yourself, Captain?”
“We are at risk of running aground, Sir. These waters are treacherous,” Yonaton said. “This is not a good time for me to leave the steering to a less experienced sailor.”
“Nonsense! The Lord will protect this holy mission. And you will not evade my question!” spat the Cardinal, as he struggled to his feet, scraping his heavy hob-nailed boots on the floorboards.
Leaning over the table he thrust his foetid breath in Yonaton’s face. “You have consistently shown disrespect ever since this ship was chosen to carry out the Lord’s work. And now you seek to undermine my authority and the sanctity of the sacred ceremony.”
“I am a simple sailor, Sir,” replied Yonaton quietly, “who sees the hand of God in the winds that fill my sails and the waves that lift my ship. I mean no disrespect Your Eminence, but my true calling is as a trader of the seas, not a conveyor of religious crusades.”
“You will sail where and when I command!” shouted the red-faced cleric.
“I fear we may be sailing into dangerously shallow waters, Sir!” said Yonaton, as he reached up to steady himself against the timber that passed beside his head. He had felt the first faint vibration of the ship’s keel kissing the sand.
“Your behaviour is close to heresy, Captain! Do you wish to spend the remainder of this voyage in chains?”
Before he could answer, the ship lurched to a sudden halt, causing Yonaton to grab the deck beam with both hands and the priest to fly the length of the cabin and crash in a purple heap on the floor.
Resisting a powerful urge to burst out laughing, Yonaton bent over the fallen man and said, “We have run aground, Sir, as I feared we might. Are you alright, Your Eminence?”
“Get out! GET OUT!” he screamed in a fit of humiliation and fury.
Yonaton needed no second invitation.
* * * * *
Moon, 2087
Tamala watched Will’s lanky form disappear, then looked down at his half-eaten meal. She glanced at the other diners to check none were looking her way, then quickly folded the remaining beef teriyaki wrap in a serviette and slipped it in the pocket of her pale blue coverall.
Although she was feeling queasy and despite meals being freely available from the counter of the Lunar Lunchbox, Tamala couldn’t stop herself tucking the food away for later. In Malawi, every scrap of food was precious and a Lilongwe childhood had taught her to waste nothing.
Kids from her district recycled everything. Old tyres became shoes and empty cans were turned into lamps and funnels. Metals, glass and plastics were scavenged for the few Kwachas they brought at back-street scrap yards.
Tamala and her twin sister Elina had been more fortunate than most of the city’s children. Their mother ran a fruit and vegetable stall in the Malangalanga Road market and she made sure the girls were well nourished. Their father was a small-time merchant, trading charcoal brought into the city every day aboard teetering bicycles.
The illiterate peasants who wheeled their impossible loads for miles perched on their wobbly old boneshakers, barely scratched a living in the surrounding countryside. In the dry season, when no crops would grow in their parched soil, making charcoal kept their families alive. Tamala’s father paid them a fair price and took all they could carry, selling the fuel to city folk who relied on it for cooking.
He didn’t earn much, but it was enough to put a fish on their table three times a week, keep them all clothed and a roof over their heads. And, when they were nearing the end of their schooldays, the sixteen-year-old girls discovered just how much their parents loved them.
“In two months from now, when you leave your school, you two girls are going to go to university!” announced their mother proudly as she hugged them in the kitchen one evening after they had cleared up from supper.
They gasped in unison, wide eyes and shining white teeth lighting up their pretty brown faces in the gloom.
“But... how?” asked Elina.
“We have no money for university, Mama,” said Tamala with sigh.
“Yes, we do have money!” said their mother with a delighted grin. “Many years ago, when I agreed to marry your father, I made him promise that we would give our children a better chance in the world than we had. We would have to save all our money and pay for our children to have a university education. Otherwise I would not marry him!” she said, bursting
into a rich belly laugh.
The twins stared at her in disbelief.
“I must have been a fine catch for him, back in those days,” she cackled with laughter again, “because he agreed to my terms!
“And so, every week since you two were babies, I have gone to the Standard Bank and paid in any Kwachas that I could spare. Some weeks there was nothing, but most times I could pay in a little bit,” she said.
“And your father, he is a good man. Most men would have spent all their money on beer. But each week since we married, Papa gave me his spare Kwachas and it all went into the bank too,” she told the amazed girls.
“Now there is enough to pay for your university education. You are going to make your father and me very proud!”
“Is it really true?” asked Elina.
“You think your mama would lie to you about something like that? Of course it is true! You and Tamala are going to be the cleverest girls in all of Malawi. In all of Africa!” beamed their mother.
“You will not have to sit all day in the heat and the dirt of that smelly market like your mother. You will not have to break your back beneath sacks of charcoal like your father.” Her words came back now to Tamala as if she had said them yesterday.
“You will use your brains to live a better life, far away from here.”
Oh, Mama, thought Tamala, as she looked around the unearthly plass tunnel that served as Armstrong’s dining hall. What have I done? I am too far away now. Just when I need you and Elina and Papa the most, I am stuck way up here on the Moon! And now I can’t get home again... Hot, salty rivers started rolling down her face once more.
“OH!” she jerked upright as a face came into focus through her tears. “Darren!”
“Jeez, Tamala!” said the New Zealander. “Whatcha doin’? Why’re yer sittin’ here blubbin’ yer eyes out?”
* * * * *
Moon, 2087