by Bob Goddard
4. Nadia’s Big Idea
Moon, 2087
Nadia Sokolova closed the link to her parents after an all-too-brief vidcall to their apartment in St Petersburg. She was limited to the same five minutes a day as everyone else for personal calls. There was so much more she wanted to say, and she still had that uneasy feeling she had forgotten something important. With no internet connection between Earth and Moon, call time restrictions infuriated everyone.
Data transfer between the big corporations and their scientists took up most of the transmission capacity. The five telescopes on top of Mt Malapert swallowed the rest. SeleneSat hovered, almost motionless, at the L1 Lagrange Point, where the gravity of the Moon balanced that of Earth. It had been there, channelling their transmissions to and from the planet since day one of the colony. Back then, of course, nobody had envisaged this volume of traffic. No-one could have guessed there would be so many scientists and such demand for their data streaming back to Earth.
Wait a minute, thought Nadia. Her mind was racing. That was it! Data! That was what they needed. Data and lots of it. But how was she going to achieve it?
This was a radical idea. She needed to talk it over with her father before she proposed it to the ISCOM management team, but she’d just used up her call minutes. She would have to route this one via the ISCOM switchboard, which meant it would be monitored. Never mind. She could get around that problem.
“Printsessa! Did you forget something?” Her father’s grin and raised eyebrows showed he was both pleased and puzzled to see her on his screen again so soon.
“Yes, Papa. It is something I need to discuss with you in private.” She waited for her words to bounce all the way to St Petersburg and for their meaning to sink in.
“Ah, I see. Okay Nadusha.” He switched to the Slavic slang dialect they had used for fun since she was a child. Her mother was in the bathroom, he said, singing in the shower. And he was all ears. Then he remained silent while she laid out her thoughts, her fears and the big idea she had come up with. Just in case the worst came to pass.
* * * * *
Moon, 2087
Tamala Ngomi was exhausted. Since her breakfast meeting with Nadia she had spent the morning talking to people working in the Biosphere. The Lunies down on the farm, she thought to herself, which made her smile. Now she was sitting in Dr Rozek’s diminutive waiting room. The Egyptian medic was running a routine health check on one of the colonists in her equally tiny consulting room next door.
When she arrived at Armstrong Base, Tamala had thought it a cramped rabbit warren. It had grown a little since then, but with twice the number of scientists needing sleeping quarters and labs to work in, it now seemed more crowded than ever. The base’s main block was currently made up of forty six plass tubes laid side-by-side on the gently sloping foot of Mt Malapert.
A billion years of meteoroid impacts had coated the lower slopes of the mountain with a thick layer of dust and rubble. This regolith provided a soft bed for the tubes and also made a convenient protective covering. Piled up two metres deep on top, it insulated the colony from micro-meteoroids, cosmic rays, solar radiation and the cold of the lunar night.
At the top of the slope was the gymnasium, with showers and toilets, plus a meditation and prayer room. This uppermost tube also contained the sleeping quarters of the Head of Biosphere and Head of Engineering, plus five larger rooms with en-suite facilities for the fee-paying tourists.
In the second tube the colony’s admin office sat next to the Governor’s office, the Doctor’s consulting and waiting rooms, plus a fully-equipped operating theatre and two tiny sick bays. How they had squeezed it all into one tube still amazed Tamala, even now, three years later.
Her own tiny office and cell-like bedroom were in the next tube alongside the canteen, kitchen, toilets and stores. The Lunar Lunchbox was the largest single space on the base, other than the central cavern inside the mountain. But even it couldn’t seat more than a third of the current population at any one time.
Below the canteen level the main pumps and controls for the base’s water and air supply were housed, together with storage tanks, cylinders and the fuel cell room. It was full of the buzz of electronics, hum of pumps and fans, the slosh of fluids and the clicks and clunks of relays and switches. Whenever she visited the pump house technicians Tamala struggled to make herself heard. They would lift their ear-defenders and pull faces to let her know she needed to speak up. They were used to shouting to each other over the din but her soft voice didn’t cut through the hubbub.
The next six tubes contained the majority of the colonists’ rooms. These miniature sleeping cells were just two by three metres and contained a bed, fold-down table, wardrobe and cupboard. With these compartments stacked in two tiers, each tube accommodated 48 people. Everyone referred to them as ‘The Ghetto’. At peak times there were queues for the communal toilets and showers located in the middle of each tube and sleeping so close together was never a peaceful experience. It was not surprising that the dorm tubes were a constant source of grumbles and friction.
The next three tubes were the laboratories of the company-sponsored scientists. Here countless chemical and biological experiments were trialled in the low gravity and partial or total vacuum. So many new compounds and strains had been developed in the user-friendly Moon environment that there was a constant clamour for lab time from big business. Tamala knew this paid for much of the operation of Armstrong Base, but it still felt wrong that the colony had been compromised and had become such a commercial enterprise instead of a purely human living experiment.
Last but not least were the 33 tubes which made up the Biosphere or ‘farm’ that kept them all alive. Although it fell short of providing all their food, the plants and algae cultivated in the farm converted the colonists’ carbon dioxide into breathable oxygen and recycled their bodily wastes into useful nutrients.
Armstrong’s accommodation was connected by corridor tubes running down either side for the full length of the base. Accessed via automatic doors each section of the colony could be isolated in the event of a loss of pressure. Thankfully there had only been three minor pressure events in the colony’s nine-year life. Each had been due to joint leakage when the tubes settled into the soft regolith and was easily resealed.
Once a month Tamala walked a zigzag path through the farm, spending a few minutes with everyone she met to gauge their emotional and mental health. It was always demanding, but this time they all wanted to stop and chat with her about the comet. Most were convinced it would be deflected and worried only about the delay in supplies. But a significant minority were gripped by a doomsday vision and she’d had to work hard to calm them, as the Governor had requested.
Several had agreed to join her yoga class to help ease their worries and stress. A few would benefit from some mild medication and that was why she was waiting to see Doctor Rozek. Before this crisis was over, thought Tamala, she would need a bigger venue for her yoga classes. And Doc Rozek would soon run out of pills. Meditation and medication. They would be needing a lot more of both.
“Now, Tamala,” said the Egyptian doctor, appearing in the doorway with a smile and jolting her out of her reverie. “I have five minutes before the next appointment. What can I do for you, my dear? Are you feeling unwell?”
“Oh, no. I’m fine, thank you, Yasmine. Just a little tired from visiting the farm workers this morning. It is them that I am worried about. Well, a few of them anyway. I wondered if you had anything to calm their nerves and help them sleep?”
Before she could reply, the doctor’s comm beeped and she stepped back into her office to answer it. Tamala heard one side of the conversation:
“Yes, Lian. What is—?”
“When did this happen?”
“Keep him sitting down and support the limb. I will be there in five minutes.”
Moments later Doctor Rozek reappeared shouldering the strap of her emergency medical bag. “Sorry, Tamala. One
of the scientists seconded to the farm this morning has had an accident. You can come with me if you like. He is down in unit 37.”
* * * * *
Moon, 2087
“Fellow colonists, this is Governor Nadia Sokolova with an update on our new situation.” She didn’t want to call it ‘the comet crisis’, although that’s what everyone was saying. It was best not to remind people of the approaching menace, or the seriousness of their predicament: marooned on the Moon with vital supplies delayed by at least a month.
“I also have to remind everyone to take extra care and heed all the safety advice you’ve been given. Within the past hour one of our scientists reassigned to duties on the farm has suffered a broken arm. It was due to miscalculating the mass of objects because of their light weight in our weak gravity here.
“This is an easy mistake to make. Over the nine years of this colony it has caused many accidents, including one fatality.” Nadia paused to let the significance of her words sink in.
“Fortunately we have an excellent doctor and medical unit at Armstrong Base today. But we have limited facilities here and repatriation is not an option for now, so all accidents must be avoided.
She moved closer to emphasize her point. “When handling equipment or moving objects, always carry far less than you can lift. Take your time and manoeuvre with great care. Remember that once an object has gained momentum, it will take six times as much effort to stop it, compared with the same weight on Earth.
“We all wish Giovanni Magrini a speedy recovery.” She didn’t tell them the young Italian was revelling in being fussed over by Lian Song, Tamala Ngomi and Doctor Rozek.
“Now I have some good news for you. Following international cooperation with the Chinese authorities, the mission to deflect Comet Santos has been brought forward. The launch is now scheduled for 22 hours UTC – that’s 10pm – tonight. Every minute gained means a more distant interception point. This reduces the angle of deflection needed to avoid an impact with Earth.
“The launch will be screened live in the Lunar Lunchbox for those who wish to gather there to watch it. Although the canteen is normally closed at this time, the staff will provide some refreshments – hot and cold drinks – for this special occasion and I thank them for this.” A brief smile crossed her frosty features.
“Meanwhile, we have made a good start in our efforts towards self-sufficiency. I am very pleased with the way everyone has responded. By our hard work and self-discipline we will make our resources last until the next supply ship arrives. There will be some restrictions on certain food items and portion sizes in the meantime, but nobody should go hungry.
“With your continued help we will all get through this new situation and be able to deal with whatever the future holds. But please… take extra care. We don’t want any more accidents. I look forward to seeing most of you at 22 hours in the Lunchbox and I will bring you another update tomorrow. Thank you.”
* * * * *
Moon, 2087
“Mama, you would be proud of me,” Tamala muttered to herself as she woke from her afternoon nap. Her mother always said an hour’s sleep after lunch was worth two at night-time. She had urged her daughters to take a siesta during the hottest part of the Malawian day, but Tamala and Elina were always too full of gossip and laughter to sleep in the daytime. They talked and giggled as they lay on their beds while their parents snored in the next room. The memory filled her with a wistful longing for home.
Tamala had never felt the need for sleep during the day before, but today was different. Already tired after a long morning talking to the farm workers, she had hurried with Doctor Rozek to see the injured Italian. Once she discovered the cause of the accident and saw he wasn’t traumatised, she had excused herself and gone to lie down in her room. Sleep had rolled over her like a soft ocean wave and now she felt surprisingly refreshed.
Perhaps her mother had been right after all. Or maybe the new life growing inside her was the reason she needed extra sleep. Either way, the day was getting on and she had her report to write. Plus she wanted to check the news channels again to see how the world’s media was handling the comet crisis. Just a few more minutes sleep…
A beep in her right ear interrupted her rest. Sokolova’s high-cheek-boned features sprang to life on Tamala’s sleeve-mounted comm. “Could you come to my office at 18 hours please. We need to review progress and make plans for tomorrow. Thank you.” It had been sent to Will and Lian too. Tamala tapped the end button and squinted at the time: 16.54.
“Good heavens!” she yelped, as she swung her legs off the bed and sat up, her head spinning madly. Moon gravity played havoc with the inner ear’s balance mechanism. Even after three years it still caused her a few moments of vertiginous dizziness when she first got up.
“I’ll have to do the report after the meeting,” she muttered to herself as her head began to clear. She stepped across to her desk and tapped her screen to choose the first news channel.
* * * * *
Moon, 2087
“Hiya Ginny. It’s your long-lost lover from Lunyville!” Will had decided a jokey approach would be best after yesterday’s gloom-laden vidcall. He fixed his broadest ‘idiot’ grin and waited for her response to come bouncing back across the void.
He checked the time: 17.15. It would be just after nine on a Saturday morning in California. It had been a big mistake to wake her with bad news at an un-godly hour yesterday – and on a weekday too! What had he been thinking? He hoped that this time she would be sipping her first coffee of the day on the deck of their Monterey home. He pictured her catching the early rays and chilling after a hectic week tutoring at Humboldt University. He longed to see her heart-melting smile again.
“Hi Will!” Ginny’s green eyes and white teeth sparkled in the morning sunshine. “How’s it going up there? Just been talking about you…telling this guy you would be okay ’cos you can fix anything with a wrench. Hope it’s good news today, babe?”
“Yeah. It’s going okay, honey. Busy turning this li’l ole Moon into Self-Sufficiency Central. But everyone’s upbeat about it and getting stuck in, helping out with the chores. All except one Italian guy who tripped over with a load of farm equipment and broke his arm this morning. He’ll be okay though. So, who was this you were talking to?”
It seemed an age as he watched her sip her coffee and waited for the agonisingly slow speed of light to deliver his message. Then she was speaking again:
“Oh! Sorry to hear that, Will. It’s so dangerous up there. You take real good care, honey. I got a call early this morning from this TV reporter at Caltel, wanting to know how you were all coping with the supply delay problem. He pretty much knew the same as I did. Seemed real surprised to hear about the Chinese mining the comet, though…”
Will stiffened. “Shoot! I wasn’t supposed to tell you about that! What’d you tell him, sweetheart?”
He watched as her relaxed and happy face turned into a frown. “I only told him what you told me, Will…that the Chinese were mining this comet and that’s why it changed track. You didn’t say it was any kinda secret.” Now she looked upset again.
“Hell, I didn’t know either. Not until after I spoke to you. Don’t stress about it, Ginny. If the Chinese are responsible then the rest of the world ought to know about it. Anyhow, it’s done, so forget it. How was your day at Humboldt after some dork woke you in the middle of the night with a call from the Moon?” Change the subject, lighten the mood, he thought. The call timer in the corner of his screen said he had two minutes left.
She smiled again. That was good. “Oh, I got through it. Busy day, Friday. Setting assignments. I was dead beat by the end and fell asleep on the shuttle. Then crashed when I got in last night and slept like a log until eight this morning. It’s a lovely sunny day here Will. Wish you could be here to share it with me.”
“Yeah, me too. I’ve got all my fingers and toes crossed for this deflection mission. Then first chance I get, I’m getting
myself shipped back home, honey.”
VIDCALL – 1 MINUTE REMAINING
“Hell! We’ve only got a minute left for this call. That ain’t enough to tell you how much I love you, Ginny, or how bad I’m missing you right now.”
“Love you too, Will. So do your Mom and Dad. I spoke to your Dad last night to let him know you were okay. He’s worried about you Will. I’m sure your Mom is too, but she didn’t want to speak to me, of course. We’re all rootin’ for you down here, Will, so stay safe and come on home, soon as you can.” She loomed large in the screen and was about to blow him a kiss when the image froze.
A small window opened in the middle of her face
VIDCALL TIME ELAPSED
Cooper stared at her motionless image for a minute, then whispered: “I will, Ginny. I promise I will.”
* * * * *
Earth, 1504
By the time Chief Masceola had finished his third cup of coffee the pot was empty and Yonaton had brought him up to date with events in Dominion and the other islands around the Crabbing Sea. In return the chief had told of the retreating ice, the changes to the wildlife of the forest and how his people were faring. The winters were not so long nor as hard as when he was a boy, he said, but now the cold seemed to get into his bones. He spent more time by the fire and let the young men do the hunting.
It was then that Yonaton gave the old man the empty pot, together with the bag of coffee beans and the bag of sugar. The chief was delighted and listened intently as Yonaton explained how to make the kind of brew he had just tasted.
“Good. Very good, Captain,” said the chief, his eyes sparkling. “You will take my coat in trade.” He started to pull his thick bearskin coat off his shoulders.
“No! No, please keep your coat on, Chief. You need it and I can’t return to the ship with furs anyway. The Cardinal will know I have been talking to you.”
Yonaton smiled and said: “But there is something you can do for me… a trade for the coffee. You can take me to the burial site with the strange stones you were telling me about last time. I would like to see it for myself.”