by Bob Goddard
“Can you get them running again, Darren?”
“Yeah, I’m doin’ it now.”
“Is Lian there?”
“No. Only me.”
“Good. Don’t tell anyone else about this. I’ll be there in two minutes.”
Nadia arrived just as Darren screwed the faceplate back on to the wall socket. The pumps were running and water was flowing and bubbling once again in the propagation tray.
“Don’t think they were off too long,” he said as the Governor leaned over to peer inside. “Can’t figure out who might have done it, though. Or why they’d want to kill off Lian’s fish eggs.”
“Chyort,” she muttered under her breath. “We need to catch this person before they do something really stupid and endanger the whole colony.”
He turned, a frown wrinkling his tattooed forehead. “Has this happened before, then…?”
“Yes. Somebody turned off an experiment in the science labs on Saturday. It looked like commercial rivalry, but now I’ve got a bad feeling.”
“Why’s that?”
“The experiment was run by two Chinese scientists. These fish eggs are Lian’s pet project. It is what I feared might happen. Someone has a grudge against the Chinese.”
Darren was silent while Nadia pressed her knuckles against the workbench. “Okay. Here’s what we will do,” she said, and laid out her plan for more cams and power-interruption alarms.
“No worries,” he smiled, “I can help you do that.”
“It’s essential that you don’t tell anyone about this, Darren, not Lian and not even Tamala. They have enough concerns already. They don’t need to know we have a saboteur on the loose here at Armstrong Base. We have to catch this… this idiot, before they do some real damage.”
7. In The Can
Moon, 2087
Lian Song moved her face away from the microscope and wiped her eyes again. It was impossible to see when they kept welling up like this. She knew she should leave the farm’s small laboratory unit and head on up to the Lunchbox for breakfast. It was almost 8 hours and the early morning rush would be over, but she couldn’t face anybody this morning.
After waking from her horrible nightmare, Lian had been unable to shake off the feeling that it was trying to tell her something. Something awful. Seeking distraction she had switched on the news to find her country’s premier admitting to the mining of Comet Santos. Instead of feeling relief that the secret was finally out, she felt a new dread: that the whole world would be angry. China would be the culprit, not the saviour, in this ghastly comet crisis.
And her parents still wouldn’t answer her calls. She had tried again twice this morning. She imagined them eating their lunchtime noodles, seeing her calls on their comms, shaking their heads, tut-tutting and cancelling in disgust. It seemed as if all her nightmares were coming true.
Even her work, her usual refuge from loneliness, seemed meaningless this morning. What use was genetics, what was the point of anything, when the whole world hated her?
“There you are!”
“Oh!” She jumped at the voice and turned to see Will’s face peeping round the door.
“Sorry to startle you, Lian. I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Need to know what lighting you want in the new tube.”
“Oh. I… I don’t know,” she stammered, unable to think what tube or lighting he was talking about. But Will took in her red eyes and wet cheeks as he strode across the lab towards her. She saw the look of concern on his face and instinctively lowered her head to hide behind her curtain of black hair.
She felt his hand rest gently on her shoulder. “What is it, Lian? What has happened?”
Will was way outside his comfort zone. Women baffled him and their emotions were deeply unsettling. He had learned how to read Ginny’s moods, at least some of the time, but anyone else was a mystery. He knew he should try to comfort Lian, but he had to fight an overwhelming urge to turn and run.
Lian was unable to speak. She shook her head slowly as fat teardrops splashed on her knees while she remained seated on the tall lab stool.
“Aw, c’mon. You can tell me, Lian. We’re friends, right?”
She slowly raised her face until her wounded eyes met his.
“I… I thought you hated me,” she said in a wavering voice.
“Hated you!?” Will was shocked. “Why ever would you think that?”
“Because I am ‘freakin’ Chinese… you said so,” she croaked.
“Nooo! No, Lian, I was just sounding off about your government over the comet thing. I didn’t mean you! I respect you for standing up to them. You’re a brave woman.”
“I am stupid woman.” She shook her head. “Now my country has cut me off… and my parents have abandoned me.” Her words dissolved into sobs.
Will stepped forward, wrapped his arms around her shoulders and hugged her tight against his chest. He didn’t know what else to do. He held her while she shook and shuddered.
Gradually her wracking sobs diminished and stopped. Lian lifted her head away from Will’s chest.
“Sorry,” she sniffled.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he said. “That’s what friends are for, right?”
“No… I mean sorry: I made you wet.” The front of Will’s light blue coverall was dark where it had soaked up her teardrops.
“Well that’s okay too,” he said as he fished a clean tissue from his pocket and offered it to her.
“Thank you.” She wiped her face and blew her nose.
“Would you mind if I invite Tamala to join us?” Will felt he had used up his entire repertoire of emotional support and was eager to hand over to someone with suitable skills. Besides, he had a week’s work to do today and had barely made a start. He glanced at his comm. It was 08:07 already.
Lian noticed and realised she was taking up his valuable time. She lowered her head again. “It’s okay, Will. You go now. You have many important jobs. Don’t waste your time on me.”
“Heyyy, don’t talk like that, Lian. Sure I’m busy, but I’m not going anywhere until Tamala gets here.” He squeezed her shoulders to make his point.
She looked up at his face to find a fixed grin and raised eyebrows. She sighed deeply. “Okay, Will.”
He released her shoulders, tapped his comm three times and said: “Are you there, Tamala?”
Lian could hear only the faintest squeak of reply from his miniature earphone, then he was speaking again: “Hi, yes I’m fine, thanks. I’m with Lian and wondered if you were free to come join us?”
“I think she could use a little company right now…”
“Thanks. We’re in the farm lab, unit 14.”
“Okay, Tamala. See you in a coupla minutes.” He tapped his comm, turned to Lian and smiled.
“Tamala’s on her way.”
“Thank you.”
“Tell her everything Lian. All your fears, all your problems. She can help, you know?
“Now, before she gets here, do you think you can tell me what colour lighting you need in the new farm tube? What is best for the crops you wanna grow there? Gotta make a start on the LEDs today.”
“Oh. Yes. I have it all worked out. I will zip the diagram and specs to you now, Will.” Lian tapped away at her comm.
Will’s comm blinked and he said, “Okay, got it.”
The lab door opened and Tamala walked in wearing her trademark beaming smile. It vanished as she took in Lian’s puffy face, the dark-wet stains on Will’s coverall and his look of relief.
* * * * *
Moon, 2087
Nadia Sokolova felt a surge of adrenaline as she ducked to manoeuvre her suit’s bulbous helmet and backpack through the airlock door. Most people felt a stab of fear when stepping out into the sterile, airless environment of the Moon’s surface, but ever since her first spacewalk as a shuttle pilot Nadia had been thrilled to enter this hostile realm. It was where humans were never designed to go. The ultimate challenge.
Just negotiating
the airlock doorway was enough of a problem, she thought. Especially while carrying a bulky sanitary pressure vessel. She had decided to take a second waste container down to the Haworth rest shelter on her inspection trip. That should solve the immediate toilet problem. She also had disinfectant and cleaning cloths. If the colony’s Governor set an example and sanitised their washroom, it might shame them into cleaning up after themselves in future. She would suggest a rota system, so everyone took their turn.
Nadia tried again to twist through the doorway with the canister in her arms and realised the aperture wasn’t wide enough. These airlock doors were irritatingly small, she thought. Designed by someone who never envisioned a colonist needing to carry anything.
“Chyort!” She cursed to herself as she clambered back inside the airlock. She passed the airtight cylinder through the doorway and gave it a little shove to make room for her boots to follow. The canister slid a metre in the dusty regolith then stopped, teetered for a second and toppled on its side. She watched as it started to roll away down the gentle slope outside.
“Chyorrttt!” She hissed and hurried through the airlock to give chase. Airlock protocol demanded she reach back in and pull the door shut behind her, then spin the wheel to lock it and punch the code in the keypad. By the time she turned to see where the can had got to it was ten metres away and picking up speed, bouncing as it went.
“So! Are we are playing tenpin bowling today, Miss Nadia?” It was Hassan Khouri’s voice. The tractor, with the Syrian at the wheel, trundled into view and slid to a halt in the path of the errant can. He hopped down and stopped it with his boot.
“Strike one!” he said, gleefully.
“Thank you, Hassan,” she sighed. “I can’t believe I let that canister get away from me. I couldn’t get through the airlock door holding it, then I knocked it over.”
“It needs two people to get these in and out of the airlock, Miss Nadia. I take or fetch one every day.”
“Well from now on we need two a day, Hassan.” She had bounded down to the tractor now. “More people working in Haworth means more waste for recycling.”
“And it means twelve people to take down and twelve to return each shift,” he said. “It is a good job Hassan’s taxi service is reliable and speedy, Miss Nadia.” He was stowing the waste container on the back of the tractor as he spoke.
“Yes, I’ve heard about the speedy part. Your passengers complain of motion-sickness, Hassan. Especially those travelling on the trailer.”
“Oh, that is due to the Moon gravity. The quicker the journey, the less they suffer.”
She could not see his face as their visors had turned reflective gold in the piercing sunlight, but she knew his eyes were laughing.
“Well fortunately I don’t suffer motion sickness, Hassan, so we’d better get going. Do we have to pick up the water trailer?” She climbed aboard.
“Yes, the empty one is waiting at the pumping station,” he said as his bulky suit slid behind the wheel. “Let’s go!” The tracks churned the dust and the chunky vehicle lurched forward silently.
Nadia enjoyed chatting to the sparky, good-humoured Syrian on these trips to the crater. Hassan was a constant source of jokes and only ever became serious when she quizzed him about his family life back home. He had been raised by his grandparents after his mother and father died when he was a toddler, he told her. They had gone to buy a farm and were turning their car around in a long-abandoned field when they drove over a mine, a relic of the bloody civil war that had decimated his country long ago. Decades after the fighting had ended his people were still being maimed and killed by the buried munitions.
Hassan’s grandfather had taught him two important lessons, he said. One was to study and work hard and never give up on his dream of becoming an astronaut. The other was to laugh, tell jokes and enjoy life by making other people happy. There was too much sadness in the world, according to his grandpa. It was every man’s duty to create smiles instead of tears.
It was a wonderful philosophy. It made Nadia reflect on her own, very private tragedy. She had never shared her secret with anyone other than her parents. That wouldn’t change any time soon and jokes were not her style. But she admired Hassan for his cheery outlook and enjoyed his humour, especially in these troubled times.
If only everyone could share his upbeat and light hearted view of life, thought Nadia. But he was practical as well as jovial. When she fidgeted in her seat and commented that their suits were not designed for sitting in, he confided that he had a folded fluffy towel between his backside and his suit’s stiff carcass. Spending six hours a day sitting on the tractor would be unbearable otherwise.
They talked about the complaints over the rest shelter facilities and the overcrowding issue. By the time they had discussed the old tractor that Will was renovating and the implications of two-way traffic between Armstrong Base and Haworth Crater, they had descended into total darkness. Only the tractor’s headlamps pierced the inky blackness and picked out ghostly boulders and ridges as they careered downwards with the empty water bowser bouncing along behind them.
Along with light from the sun, the Earth had disappeared from view as they travelled ever deeper into the broad bowl of Haworth Crater. With their visors now at maximum transparency a million non-twinkling needles of light lit the sky above. Finally they crested another ridge and the lights of the mining works shone out of the pitch black depths below. Fifteen minutes later they were skidding to a halt beside the water extraction plant.
Hassan’s first job was to unhitch the water bowser and hook it up to the tank so it could be filling while they went about their other tasks. They toured the laser-cutting operation that was hacking blocks out of the frozen regolith and chatted with the workers. Then they headed up to the rest shelter where Hassan off-loaded compressed air cylinders for re-charging the small suit tanks.
He helped her manoeuvre the waste canister in through the airlock then they both locked in and talked with the off-duty crew inside. It was cramped, smelly and dirty in there but once Nadia had shown that even she could clean up the bathroom, they all agreed to the rota idea.
In less than an hour they were back on the tractor heading up towards Armstrong towing a full trailer of water. For now, at least, the crater crews were placated and would wait for a second rest shelter, but she knew the safety issue hadn’t been addressed and felt uncomfortable with the compromise.
* * * * *
Earth, 1504
Benyamin sensed the dread in Yonaton’s silence and wished he hadn’t reminded him of the fate awaiting them at the gallows in the morning. The gloom of their damp cell closed in around them and snuffed out the guttering flame of their forced joviality. Ben felt his spirit sinking down into the cold stone floor.
“Pssstt!”
“What?” Ben looked up at the captain.
“I didn’t say anything...”
“Psssssttt! Papa Yon! Benyamin! Up here!” came an urgent whisper from above.
“Mammed?” gasped Yonaton, as he staggered away from the wall and twisted his head to peer up at the window above him. “Is that you?” All he could see was a vague shape silhouetted against the darkening sky. His question ended in another fit of coughing.
“Yes, Papa Yon. I’ve come to get you out,” whispered the boy. “But we must be quiet, there is a guard on the roof just above our heads. I thought he’d seen me, but he was calling to the others to bring him beer.”
“How ever did you get up there, Mammed?” asked Benyamin as he struggled to his feet.
“I climbed. And I’ve brought a rope to help you get down.”
“But there are iron bars at that window,” said Yonaton. “We can’t get through them! And we are chained up to the wall in here.” He shook his arm and rattled the chain to prove his point.
“I know,” hissed the youth, his face pressed to the bars. “That’s why I brought a saw from Winson the blacksmith. It is in three pieces, so we can all saw at the sam
e time, but first I must pass this rope through the bars… if you can help me?”
Benyamin turned to Yonaton and could see his eyes and teeth shining in the darkness. He was grinning. There was hope for them, after all. They hugged each other briefly, then Benyamin climbed onto his captain’s shoulders to help Mammed with the rope.
* * * * *
Moon, 2087
Tamala’s plans for the morning had gone awry, but it had been important to give Lian her time. It had taken an hour and lots of gentle coaxing to get her Chinese friend to open up and tell her everything. The rejected phone calls, the horrible nightmare, her government’s admission, her fears and insecurities. Eventually persuaded that not everyone hated her, Lian let Tamala take her to the Lunchbox for a late breakfast.
With some food and coffee inside her, Lian started to brighten, but Tamala insisted they call on Doc Rozek to get her opinion. The good doctor prescribed a course of mild mood-meds and watched as Lian took the first tablet before leaving her office.
Back in the farm lab Tamala gave Lian a long hug of warmth and affection. Slowly the stiffness started to soften and Lian finally melted into the embrace. Tamala left her with instructions to call the instant she had any negative thoughts. She promised to return with more hug-therapy before lunchtime and Lian even managed a weak smile.
Next Tamala tracked down Carlos Ferreira. The Brazilian trillionnaire was working in the main recycling unit. Tamala asked him to step out into the corridor for a confidential chat about Lian’s state of mind. He was very understanding, promised to keep an eye on the Biosphere manager and alert Tamala if he detected signs of stress.
She would have to wait until Nadia returned from Haworth Crater to update her and ask if she could pull any strings via ISCOM to get Lian’s parents talking to her again. It was a matter of urgency, she felt.
It was late morning before she was able to return to her room to find Darren had gone. A quick call revealed he was just leaving the gym and would be in the Lunchbox at 12 hours. She would visit Lian again and then meet him there before his shift started.