by Bob Goddard
It was at moments like this that he felt close to Esther. He could almost touch her hair, smell her warm skin, see her smiling eyes. She was not really gone, as long as he held her safe forever in his heart and in his dreams.
He knew that wherever she had gone on that terrible day, when their fourth child refused to be born, it would be somewhere like this. She would be sitting by the shore, cradling their baby, waiting for him to sail home to her one last time.
“Soon, my love,” he whispered into the breeze.
It had been 16 years since Esther passed away and now Yonaton felt old and weary. He hadn’t died that same day, as he felt sure he would. He hadn’t died in the weeks and months of desperate emptiness that followed. Somehow his tortured heart had kept beating.
He’d had to look after their three children, for Esther’s sake. Keep them clothed and fed and safe. Until one day his adolescent daughter, who looked more like her mother each day, had told him to go back to sea.
“I can manage here, Father,” Lucy had said, as she ladled porridge into his breakfast bowl one morning. “The boys are doing well at school and I can keep house for us all.
“But you...” she stopped and looked him squarely in the eye, just like Esther would have done. “You need to sail your ship again. Make trade and have a purpose again. Live again, Father. Go back to the sea.”
She had been right, of course. And now that she was married to Sam the shepherd with children of her own, and Yonaton’s two grown-up sons were successful fishermen, he hardly worried about them at all. But he missed them, almost as much as he missed his beloved Esther. Sailing the seas, at the whim of the wind and the tide, he was often away for months at a time. He felt like a stranger when he returned to Dominion, to his home port of Loming, and saw them again.
When this voyage is over, he thought, I’ll sell the ship. There’s no pleasure in sailing these religious fanatics to impose their ideas on the innocent folk of the forest.
He would make the most of this last voyage, though. He would visit again with the Dasony people to see what it was they said the ice had left behind. He might uncover a truth, perhaps, before he became land-bound by advancing old age.
Yonaton looked up at the wooden side of the Pelican, towering above him, with its ropes, spars and rigging. And above that the half Moon, glowing in the pale blue sky of this cold afternoon in the far north.
He marvelled again at the endless rhythm of the Moon, played out in the seas and the estuaries, on the beaches and in the rivers. Twice each day the lungs of the planet breathed in and out. Every day the tides a little later, following the waxing and waning Moon as she soared across the sky. Her face had been his constant companion all these years at sea. She lit up the heavens at night and beamed a faint smile during the day.
He remembered his grandmother telling him about the Man in the Moon when he was a child, but he preferred to think of that ghostly face as Mother Moon, watching over him as he sailed the Crabbing Sea. Silly really, but no more crazy, he supposed, than these purple-robed idiots who insisted mankind had crawled out of the sea like crabs. He chuckled and shook his head.
* * * * *
Moon, 2087
Tamala Ngomi took a break from the scientists’ career records to check on the latest news broadcasts. She had a professional interest in the media’s impact on the colony’s collective psyche. But if she was honest, her overriding reason for scanning a dozen different news channels was personal. She needed to know how her family in Malawi might be affected if there was a chance the comet might hit the Earth. And she was desperate to find out when she might be able to board a flight and return home.
She began with the hourly news review from ISCOM. Their Darmstadt ops centre produced it for the colonists, ground staff and the European Space Agency. It was usually a cheery mixture of space topics and snippets from world news headlines. Today’s mid-afternoon broadcast was different with a sombre tone to the comet crisis news. There were live pictures from the Jiuquan Launch Centre in the Gobi Desert, where the massive Chang Zheng 33 stood with its Shenlong Spaceplace riding piggyback.
The major world powers were collaborating to deflect the comet so that it skimmed Earth’s upper atmosphere. The urgent interception mission would mean a delay of four weeks to the scheduled resupply of the Moon colony. That was a week later than they’d said at noon, she noted.
ISCOM planners were confident the colonists could manage until the next supply ship reached them. There was no mention of what might happen if the comet did not miss the Earth.
The broadcast cut to speeches by a succession of world leaders. Each reassured their people that the comet crisis was under control and there was no need to panic. It sounded as though they were all reading from the same script.
Tamala switched to Afrique Aujourd’hui, the African Union news channel, and was shocked by the change of mood. They were showing animations of dinosaurs being wiped out by an asteroid and comparing that to the possible impact of Comet Santos.
There was a simulation of the comet entering Earth’s atmosphere in a blaze of blinding light and splashing into the eastern Pacific near the coast of California. Next came images of tsunamis and their aftermath. It did not make comfortable viewing.
Finally they cut to the towering Chinese rocket ship followed by a crude animation. It showed an explosion pushing the comet off course. A dotted line suggested it would miss the Earth by the smallest margin.
“Thank goodness we are not relying on Africa to save us,” Tamala muttered to herself. She switched to the BBC for their quirky, anglo-centric take on current affairs. Their news coverage avoided any doomsday scenarios, but did include an interview with the British Astronomer Royal.
He gave a concise and coherent review of the interception mission, without commenting on its chances of success. What he did do, was raise two important questions: Why was the comet only six days away before anyone noticed it was on a collision course with Earth? And why had its orbit changed?
Nobody had mentioned the Chinese comet mining operation, which Lian had said was responsible in some way. Could it be that they don’t know, thought Tamala. Or was this such a political hot potato that it was being deliberately suppressed?
Next Tamala took a look at CNN, one of the oldest American stations. She found their breathless, adrenalin-charged commentary irksome, but stayed with it for a few minutes in case they found any angles the others had missed.
They pulled no punches in blaming NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory for failing to give early warning of the impending disaster. The lab’s spokesman seemed baffled by the comet’s change of course. Some unknown force had nudged the comet from a close-but-safe orbit onto a deadly path, he said. It was only a small change of velocity, as he called the direction shift, but it would have needed a large force to achieve it, and they could not account for it so far. They were still working on it and crunching all the numbers to see what might be responsible.
“They don’t know,” Tamala muttered to herself. “CNN can’t know or they would have jumped all over the Chinese comet mining story.”
She checked her comm: 15.30 hours. She had spent a little over half an hour reviewing the news and needed to get back to the scientists’ CVs. Just one more. She had saved the best until last. Aljazeera gave the broadest world view in its balanced reports, with the least political interference, in her opinion. It had been her benchmark bulletin, ever since she studied the media’s effects on public perceptions for her first psychology degree.
True to form, they covered all the issues in a clear and thoughtful way, without bias or undue emphasis. But there was still no mention of Chinese mining, which was all the proof she needed. They would not have spiked the story due to political pressure. It meant they didn’t know about it either.
* * * * *
Moon, 2087
Lian Song sat in her tiny, cell-like room puzzling over how quickly everything had changed. Why had her orderly, predictable life turned to chaos and
uncertainty over these past few months? Why did she feel as though she didn’t fit into the world she knew any more?
Had her parents been too protective? Yes, they had cocooned their only child in a world of security and comfort, but there had been strict discipline too. Study hard and don’t waste time on silly games like other children, they said, and you will make a real difference to this great nation of ours.
Her mother’s construction company seemed to win all the big contracts in Sichuan province. Her father was a rising figure in the Chinese Communist Party, working his way to the top of regional politics. They expected Lian to work as hard as they did, but they never doubted that she was destined for greatness and told her so every day.
At her first school she discovered how China had regained its proper place as the number one superpower. They were leaders of world trade through hard work and technology. A political and military powerhouse since the previous world leader, America, had succumbed to greed and debt. She was proud of her country’s achievements. As other nations stumbled into economic decline, China was vibrant and buzzing with possibility.
By the time she became a teenager Lian had decided to dedicate her life to being the best she could be for her great country. While other girls at her college discovered alcohol, drugs and boyfriends, Lian kept her focus. Total commitment won her scholarships, awards and honours. No-one wanted to sit with her in the university canteen, but she got used to eating lunch on her own.
Even before she gained her double PhD, she had offers from medical and pharmaceutical companies. She chose the Da An Gene Co Ltd of Sun Yat-sen University. Its reputation was impeccable and they gave her a free hand in their genetic engineering and synthetic biology labs.
A string of ground-breaking discoveries and valuable patents followed. Her grateful employers were already earning billions from her work. They were unhappy when the Government selected her for the Moon colony, fearing a three-year loss of her input. But they released her in the hope that her research in the unique Moon environment would lead to new breakthroughs.
When she first arrived at Armstrong Base, 20 months ago, Lian had been full of fiery zeal for the Moon colony project. She was delighted to be Head of Biosphere, the most important position on the Moon according to her mother.
It seemed as if all China was proud of her too. Her photo splashed across every newspaper and TV screen. Magazines queued up to feature her. She even became the pin-up girl for social networking sites, both gay and straight. Although an embarrassment for a shy geneticist, it was hard not to be swayed by all the attention.
Lian had felt giddy with excitement. Her time on the Moon would be a great opportunity to advance the cause of science and her country’s standing in the world. So why was she now plagued with guilt? Why couldn’t she focus on the vital task of making the colony self-sufficient? Why did her genetic research experiments suddenly seem meaningless?
It had taken a year of living alongside people from all the nations of the world before Lian started to lower her guard and make friends. She had become especially partial to the company of the African woman, Tamala Ngomi, which surprised her. Tamala was a psychologist, not a scientist, and she was emotional and irrational – the exact opposite of Lian. But she seemed open, honest and warm-hearted. It was as if she knew that Lian had never had a true friend and was desperately lonely.
Tamala talked with deep affection about her home in Malawi – which sounded pitifully poor – and spoke often of her love for her family. It seemed alien at first, but over time Lian began to long for a life full of the hugs, kisses and laughter that she’d never known.
This new and unfamiliar yearning made her question the certainties of her own experience for the first time. She began to reconsider several uncomfortable aspects of the Great Chinese Dream. Things she had always pushed to the back of her mind.
Like those poor kids who were killed in Hong Kong last year while rehearsing for the upcoming 100th anniversary demonstration to mark the crushing of democracy in Tiananmen Square. Like the jailing and conviction of poets and writers who dared to challenge the state with their words. And now this: a secret mining mission and an out-of-control comet. Her country’s greed and paranoid secrecy was threatening to bring doom crashing down upon the heads of all mankind.
She had told China’s ISCOM rep that her fellow colonists now knew about the comet mining and she had been instantly ex-communicated by her government. The country she’d spent her life working for had shunned her for telling the truth. Now it seemed as though everything she believed in had been a lie.
* * * * *
Earth, 1504
Early mornings were bitingly cold, this far north. Yonaton pulled his fur collar up around his ears and blew into his hands. Benyamin had wrapped a long scarf around his head to ward off the chill. But Mammed, who had finally joined them on deck after being evicted from his hammock, was wearing only a thin shirt.
“Do you want to die from the cold, Mammed?” Yonaton asked, exasperated.
The gangly youth shrugged his shoulders and hugged his sides.
“Look. I acknowledge your protest at getting up this early. But you can’t go with us like that. You will freeze. Go and put on your thick woollen smock and hat, and your storm coat with the hood.” Yonaton turned the boy’s shoulders and gave him a push towards the hatch. “And be quick, now, Mammed. The tide has already reached the rowing boat. We need to be gone. Hurry, please!”
The youngster shuffled off in the pale light of dawn, trying to look as disgruntled as he could. The captain turned to find Benyamin laughing at him.
“What?”
“I’ll bet you were just as difficult in the mornings when you were his age, Yonny my friend.” The navigator’s lop-sided grin always made him look mischievous.
“Never. I was a wonderful child.” Yonaton couldn’t help smiling, despite his annoyance.
“Haha. Of course. But he is not a child any longer, Yonny. He is almost a man now. At that age they don’t feel the cold like we do. Or at least, they want to look tough and pretend they don’t feel it.”
Nearly a man? It was hard to believe. Only five years ago Yonaton had stepped out of Ma Fatima’s warehouse on the dockside at Portkaron in time to spot a skinny kid climbing towards the top of the Pelican’s main mast. He was about to shout when an ear-splitting bellow erupted at his left shoulder…
“MAMMED! You stupid boy! Get down from there at once!”
It was Ma Fatima, sucking another lungful of air into her considerable chest.
“This ship is leaving,” she hollered. “Do you want Captain Yonaton to toss you overboard in the middle of the Crabbing Sea? Come down, right now, Mammed.”
The boy appeared impervious to her threats and continued to shin up the mast.
“Oh, I’m so sorry Yonaton,” the large lady wheezed after the effort of shouting. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with that boy. Since his father died last year he has been getting more disobedient every day. He won’t listen to a word I say.” She paused and panted for a few seconds.
She raised a chubby hand in the boy’s direction. “He is always climbing, climbing like a monkey. Last week it was the church tower. Now it is your ship. I swear he will fall to his death… if he doesn’t give me a heart attack first.”
“Perhaps he is missing his father…?” ventured the captain.
“It is my fault. He was so upset after Youssef died, I told him his father had gone up to heaven. Now every day he is climbing. I think he feels closer to him up there in the sky, the crazy fool.”
“Hmm. It’s not so crazy,” Yonaton muttered. He remembered how he felt after his father died in a freak accident at sea. And he had been a full grown man of nineteen, not a young lad like this. He knew what the boy must be going through.
“How old is Mammed?” he asked Ma Fatima.
“He is ten,” she said. “Or maybe eleven. I forget exactly. I have three other young ones as well as a business
to run. And I’m all on my own now. It is not easy.”
Yonaton was silent as he watched the boy’s confident moves to reach the top of the mast.
“And he is a little bit different, that one.” The dark-skinned merchant had her head and body swathed in bright yellow and green material. “Mammed is a good boy at heart, but he doesn’t make friends like other kids. He won’t communicate with his teachers at school. I don’t know what to do with him.”
“Would you let him come with me?” Yonaton was surprised to hear himself ask the question.
“What, on board your ship?”
“Yes. If he wants to come with us, he will be welcome.” The captain paused to think it over. “I will look after him as if he was my own son. I will teach him the safe way to climb, so he does not fall. He can learn the life of a sailor, and when we are in our home port my daughter Lucy can give him some schooling.”
Ma Fatima stood looking up at the curly-haired boy, now sitting astride the yard at the top of the mast. “He is my oldest child. I only want what is best for him.”
“Of course,” said Yonaton. “Let us ask Mammed, see what he says? And if he wants to come, we will start with a short journey. I have to return this way in three weeks and if he doesn’t like the life at sea, he can stay here and climb your church tower instead. What do you say?”
“You will be kind to him? Even when he is awkward and difficult… which is most of the time?” Her eyes held a plea from the heart. She was a good mother, Yonaton thought.
“He is missing his father,” said Yonaton. “I am missing my sons. They are fishermen with boats of their own now. I will treat Mammed as if he was one of my own.”
“Very well,” she said, looking up to the mast-top again. “If you can persuade him to come down, we will ask him.”
Yonaton cupped his hands to his mouth and called out: “Mammed! Are you enjoying yourself up there?” The boy looked down.
“Would you like to climb up there every day? Come down and I will tell you how…”
They’d had to wait for him to descend to the deck, just as Yonaton and Benyamin had to wait now, in the dawn chill, for Mammed to reappear dressed for the elements. When he did, he was still sullen, as only juveniles can be early in the morning. The lad soon warmed up when Yonaton set him and Benyamin to rowing while he steered them northwards, heading further up the estuary.