by Bob Goddard
The past five years had been delightful and frustrating in equal measure, but the captain never regretted offering Mammed a place on his ship and in his family. On their third trip back to Portkaron, later that first year, Ma Fatima had asked Yonaton if he would consider adopting the boy, so that he would have a father again. He was happy to agree.
* * * * *
Earth, 2077
Will Cooper’s first glimpse of Virginia Antoine had been as unexpected as it was delightful. And it had turned his life around.
Will had been taking a break from the intense world of applied physics and materials science during his last year at Caltech. He’d spent a restless couple of days at his parents’ home in the rich enclave of Hope Ranch, Santa Barbara.
His father, Norman Cooper, had made his billions from developing leisure resorts. Norm had seen the money that walked through the door while coaching at the exclusive Santa Barbara golf links in the fifties. Within a year he had convinced a group of investors of the need for a new holiday village in Sacramento, northern California. It would offer golf and horse riding in the summer and skiing and a health spa in the winter.
The links-side and lake-side apartments had all sold before the first ball was struck on the new 18-hole course. His company, Cal-Pac Leisure, had started work on their second development and had options on three more sites before the first was completed.
William had grown up awed and bewildered by his jet-setting, deal-making father. His mother Chloe’s non-stop social life didn’t leave time for an awkward son. He retreated into the garage where he stripped down and rebuilt a collection of old motorcycles. By the time he was 14, Will had half-filled the garage with ancient bikes. The Hondas and Harley-Davidsons, Ducatis and Yamahas were friends he could understand.
He had been only three years old when California left the union. It came in the wake of The Great Collapse, when America’s debt finally caught up with it. A year later The Republic of California banned the import and sale of all new petrol and diesel engined vehicles. Then they taxed fossil fuels until gas-burning cars and motorcycles disappeared from California’s roads.
Now only die-hard petrol heads brought their classic machines out for a run in the sun, or to gather at Old Smokers rallies. The thunder of exhausts gladdened the hearts of enthusiasts unmoved by modern vehicles. It was hard to get excited by the muted burble of hydrogen engines or the whisper of electric motors. Driverless vehicles filled the highways but dulled the senses.
Will was pleased to be on a short break from the Engineering & Applied Science Division of Caltech. He tinkered with the half-dozen bikes he still kept in his parents’ garage, but he yearned for wilderness and fresh air. He needed space to think. So at dawn next morning he strapped a tent to the back of his favourite machine, a gleaming 2053 Harley-Davidson VS-Rod. The bike thundered out of Santa Barbara heading north up the coast.
He rode all that day, past Monterey where he would later buy a cute clapboard house overlooking the ocean. Past San Francisco, over the Golden Gate Bridge and on into the land of giants. His destination was the Humboldt Redwoods State Park where the tallest trees on Earth reached up into the clouds.
He’d hiked and camped up here when he was studying at Humboldt State University. He knew a secret trail into the wilderness of the Rockefeller Forest. Will weaved his motorcycle between the trunks of small trees and saplings. He ducked under fallen boughs and wriggled through gaps in the matted jungle of the forest floor.
Where the trail ended, he hid his bike in the tangled underbrush. He shouldered his tent for the last mile to a little glade well off the tourist trail. Here redwood titans soared upward to disappear in the sky-high canopy of the roof of the forest. The silence and grandeur of these majestic giants would help his mind unravel.
These coast redwood trees – Sequoia Sempervirens – had been thriving here since the Jurassic. Some of them were two thousand years old and their trunks were huge. They took a couple of minutes just to walk around, his fingers trailing against the deep-fissured, rich red bark. Being in their presence had a humbling effect on Cooper. This was just where he needed to be to ease the physics out of his brain for a while.
It was late afternoon when he dumped his pack and stood soaking up the calm of the place before pitching his tent. Yes, it was just as he remembered: the rich pine tang in his nostrils, the cathedral silence and perfect stillness.
Then something caught his eye – a movement at the edge of his vision. He turned to look and there it was again – a flicker beside the trunk of one of the mightiest redwoods. He strode across the glade to investigate and found a rope snaking up into the top of the tree.
Tilting his head back he saw a pair of slim bare legs high above, descending rapidly. As they got closer he could see they emerged from a shapely pair of khaki shorts and ended in chunky boots. The owner – a young woman by the looks – was not aware of his presence and he didn’t want to startle her. When she was about 50 feet away he called out: “Hello up there!”
The rope jerked as she halted her descent and twisted to look down at him.
“Oh. Hi down there,” came a sweetly curious voice. “You startled me. I thought I was all alone in this forest.”
“Yeah, me too. I figured I was the only person who knew about this little piece of paradise. Looks like you beat me to it.”
There was a long silence while she stared down at him. She made no sign of continuing toward the ground.
“It’s okay to come down,” he said. “I’m not an axe-murderer. Just a stressed-out physics student looking to clear his mind.”
“You at Humboldt?” she queried, but still didn’t move, just twirled in a slow pirouette as she dangled on her rope.
“I was… till a coupla years ago,” he said. “Now I’m at Caltech, finishing a Ph.D. Used to hike out here while I was at Humboldt, though. Always loved these awesome trees. Remind me what an insignificant little human I am.”
She weighed up his words for a moment, then resumed her rapid descent to the ground in silence. Only the zip of the rope through her harness gear getting louder as she neared the ground.
And then, there she was. Almost a foot shorter than his six foot four. Bright green eyes peering up at him inquisitively. Curly black hair bursting out from under a bright red climber’s helmet. She looked worried.
He gave her his biggest smile and thrust his hand towards her. “Will Cooper. Sorry to disturb your solitude, tree lady.”
She laughed and shook his hand. “Virginia Antoine. Yeah, I guess ‘tree lady’ pretty much covers it.”
He loved the way she laughed. He loved the way her green eyes sparkled. He loved the way she spoke. It scared the hell out of him. It was like that time he reached the top of Sears Tower and felt an irresistible urge to throw himself off.
He felt giddy and had to fight down an impulse to reach out and kiss her. Any rash move would be just as deadly as stepping off that tower – she might never speak to him again. And for some crazy reason, that mattered a lot. It made him nervous. Say something, you fool, or she’ll think you’re a real dork.
“Sorry to disturb your solitude.” He cringed. “Oh God. I already said that, didn’t I? I’m losing my mind.” He looked away and ran his hand over his short-cropped hair.
“Hey, that’s okay,” she said, soothingly. “I do it all the time. Spend way too much time talking to trees, forget how to talk to people.”
He looked back to find her smiling at him. He hoped she’d keep doing that.
“Tell you the truth, Virginia, I didn’t expect to find anybody way out here in the wilderness. I was planning to pitch a tent over there…” He turned and pointed to where his pack lay on the other side of the glade. “I was kinda hoping no ranger would catch me and kick me out of the park.”
“Well, I’m not a park ranger,” she said. “And it’s okay with me, just so long as you don’t snore.” She flashed that smile again. “Cos I’m gonna be sleeping up there…” she rai
sed a finger to point back up the tree.
Cooper tilted his head back to stare up the colossal trunk at the distant tangle of branches where her rope disappeared.
“Wow! That’s gotta be almost two hundred feet up,” he whispered in awe.
“Just over three hundred, where my hammock is slung.”
He brought his gaze back down to find her eyes laughing at him.
“You’re kidding me?”
“Nope. Doing a week-long study of life in the canopy for my botany degree. I’m living up there, only coming down for water…” she shook her canteen, “and for, umm, calls of nature.”
“Holy shmoly!”
“And you can call me Ginny,” she said as she unbuckled her harness and let it slip to the floor, followed by her helmet. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” she waggled her water canteen at him again. Her wild black hair cascaded over her shoulders and he stood, mesmerised, for a moment until her meaning sank in.
“Oh, sure. I’ll go pitch my tent.” He turned to go, then had another thought. “And I’ve got food… if you’re getting tired of eating pine needles up there?”
“Okay. Thanks. I’ll come see what you’ve got when I get back from the creek.”
Cooper still got a tingling sensation when he recalled that first meeting with Ginny and the magical moments they spent together over the following three days. Each time she descended from her lofty vigil, they talked and laughed. But neither dared take it any further in case they broke the spell.
He arrived back at Caltech a day late but with a strange lightness in his step and a peculiar, floating sensation in his head. They had parted with a formal hand shake, followed by the softest, most delicate kiss he could imagine. Their lips barely touched but electricity had crackled between them. Cooper sensed that an emotional charge had somehow reprogrammed his brain and re-written his future. After all the meaningless dates and shallow romances, he was finally in love.
3. Ngomi’s Secret
Moon, 2087
As usual, Sokolova was standing behind her desk when Song, Ngomi and Cooper arrived for their 17 hours meeting. Cooper, predictably, was the last to arrive, four minutes behind schedule.
“Sorry I’m late,” he was breathless after his sprint from the plass plant.
Sokolova did not look impressed with his apologetic smile.
“I’m only just back from Haworth Crater,” he explained. “Even with Hassan Khouri’s driving it’s tough to get there and back in under three hours. I thought you’d want a report on the water retrieval situation...?”
“Very well,” she conceded. “While Will is getting his breath back, Lian can tell us what staff she needs to expand our food production.”
The Chinese woman explained that, until the farm expanded in size, a dozen extra workers would be enough for the Biosphere department. But as each new tube was added to their growing space she would need an extra four people to cover the two eight-hour shifts.
She had worked out a plan for the crops needed to make up a balanced diet as their stocks of imported foodstuffs dwindled. She even had a schedule for the materials required to avoid bottlenecks in production. Cooper was impressed, even though it meant he would have to raise his game to keep pace.
Sokolova told them she had reviewed the current food stocks. She had instructed the head of the canteen to reduce portion sizes for meats, fruit juices and other limited supplies, with immediate effect. So, thought Cooper, the rationing has started already. His tummy rumbled as he remembered he’d left half his beef teriyaki wrap uneaten at lunchtime.
He then gave his assessment of the engineering side of the colony. He could use another thirty two people right off, if he could switch to a three-shift, round-the-clock rota inside the mountain and out on the surface. When he got extra production lines up and running he’d need more. And as soon as he had an old broken-down tractor back in service for transport to the crater, he’d need maybe double that number.
Ngomi had reviewed the curricula vitae of the 78 scientists sponsored by pharmaceutical and chemical companies to undertake research on the Moon for them. They, along with the five ‘tourists’, brought in much-needed cash to help fund the colony’s massive operational cost.
She’d identified several with particular skills which might be useful in the biosphere and engineering departments. The rest would have to be allocated new work rotas as the Governor and the Chief Science Officer saw fit.
Responding to Cooper’s suggestion of a 24-hour, three-shift pattern, she reminded them that this had been rejected by the ISCOM management committee. Medical consultants had argued that the extra physical and mental stresses of living and working in the Moon environment called for the least possible disruption to normal human biorhythms. Hence the adoption of a 24-hour day and an Earth-like, eight-hour ‘night’ period when lights were dimmed and the whole colony slept. There might be health issues if they changed it.
“Hmm,” said Sokolova, nodding as she weighed up all this information. “Let’s see what we can achieve with the existing two-shift rota for now. If we need to, we can switch to a three-shift system later on.
“I am seeing Doctor Robinson again at 18 hours, so we should have some extra workers available from tomorrow morning. I’ll let you know who they are once I have the details. Is there anything else?”
“Yes, Nadia,” said Ngomi. “I did a quick review of news channels and there seems to be a policy – among the more responsible stations, at least – of avoiding the usual media hype regarding the comet problem. I’m sure they are being told not to panic people unnecessarily, which is a good thing.
“And there is no mention of the Chinese mission to mine the comet that Lian told us about. I think we are the only ones to know about that, so far.” She looked across at Song, who was nodding in agreement.
“Very well,” said Sokolova. “Let’s keep it that way. Thank you, all of you.
“Now, I need to tell you something that I can’t tell everyone else.” She powered down her screen so there was no risk of inadvertent transmission.
“Check there is nobody outside my door, please Will.”
Cooper glanced outside the door, shut it and shook his head.
She looked at the Chinese woman and asked, “Have you heard any more from your people, Lian?”
Song shook her head and said in a small voice, “I want no more secret. I tell them I share all information with you. So… now they tell me nothing.”
“Okay. Darmstadt has sent me another update. Our Shenlong shuttle is being loaded with thermonuclear weapons. It is now scheduled to launch at 22 hours GMT tomorrow, almost a day earlier than the estimate at midday today.
“Speed is of the utmost importance. The greater the distance, the greater the chance of a successful deflection. Two very brave Chinese taikonauts – Zhihuan Kwok and Chao Yeung – will pilot it to intercept the comet.”
She looked at Song and said, “I’m sorry Lian, but they won’t be coming back. The plan is to detonate at five kilometres distance from the comet to heat up one side of it. The heat will cause the comet to out-gas profusely, producing a thrust vector to move it off its current collision course.
“However the closing speed between the comet and the shuttle will be so high that the timing will be critical. Our ops centre have told me, in confidence, that they estimate this has only a fifty per cent chance of success. I am trusting you with this information so that you fully understand the need to upgrade our self-sufficiency status here.
“We are not the only ones taking precautions. All governments are secretly moving resources underground already, but it won’t take long for the public to catch on. Even if the media are gagged, that news will spread like wildfire on social networks. Then there will be real panic and public disorder.”
Ngomi gasped. Song shook her head and looked at her feet. Cooper’s jaw muscles twitched.
Sokolova leaned forward over her desk. “We cannot afford any panic up here – is that
clear? Our survival depends on absolute clear heads and keeping everyone’s spirits up. As Tamala has told us, fear and loss of hope could prove fatal.
“So, for now the Chinese mission to deflect the comet stands every chance of success. We are merely taking sensible measures to cope with a delay in resupply. You understand?” They all nodded agreement.
“If there is a god,” the Governor continued, “those brave men won’t die for nothing and this cursed comet will miss the Earth. We will know the answer in six days. By then we need to be much closer to making this colony self-sufficient.
“So, please, keep this information to yourselves and try not to raise anyone’s concerns if you can help it. Thank you. Please see yourselves out.” Then she sat and turned to her screen, preoccupied with the next item on her agenda.
“Nadia…?” It was Tamala Ngomi. She hadn’t left with the other two.
“Yes?” The Governor looked up, frowning.
“What will happen if… if someone due to return to Earth is… is... ” Ngomi’s face was contorted with distress.
“Spit it out Tamala, I don’t have all day,” snapped Sokolova.
“I’m pregnant!” she wailed. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Nadia. You have so much to think about. But I have to tell you now that I know I can’t go home on time.”
Sokolova leaned back in her chair, folded her arms and asked: “When?”
“I’m five months, I think. I planned to be with my family in Lilongwe for the birth in June. But what will I do now?” she pleaded.
“Who is father?” demanded Sokolova.
“I… I… I don’t know if I can tell you,” stammered the African woman.
“Oh, for God’s sake Tamala! What was it, immaculate conception? The father of this baby – is he still here or gone back to Earth?”