Mother Moon

by Bob Goddard

  “Even our Japanese friend?” asked Tamala.

  “Yes, even him. Will has arranged for a couple of his engineers to escort Mr Nakashima from the cavern to the Lunchbox and stay with him until they return him to his quarters afterwards. He will be kept well away from you, Lian,” Nadia turned to the Biosphere Manager.

  “I prob’ly…” Lian started.

  “Probably what, Lian?”

  “Oh, nothing. Thank you for thinking about me, anyway.” She resumed studying her feet.

  “Hmm. Okay then. Well, we will need to remove the tables in the Lunchbox to make room for everyone, standing room only. Drinks will be served from 1 to 3 hours, by which time the show should be over and we will need to get back to work.”

  “You haven’t mentioned Andrei Lanimovskiy, Nadia,” said Tamala with a smile. “Do we know how his first experience of work went?”

  “He is eating supper in the Lunchbox as we speak,” said Nadia. “Apparently he worked okay, grumbled a lot, but the section head was well briefed and didn’t take any nonsense. Maybe we have cured his idleness. We shall see.”

  11. A Last Gasp

  Moon, 2087

  This side of the mountain the comet debris shouldn’t be a problem because its tail was approaching from the far side of the Moon. But Cooper didn’t want to take any chances so he was out on the surface, conducting a final safety check. He’d seen the damage caused by particles the size of a grain of sand and there was no telling how big some of this junk might be.

  With no atmosphere to slow it, anything in the path of a meteoroid travelling at 80,000 kph would be wrecked. He needed to make sure the team installing the latest farm tube hadn’t left anything vulnerable outside when they were ordered in thirty minutes ago. The first particles from the tail of Comet Santos were expected to hit the Moon in an hour.

  There was nothing he could do about the photovoltaic panels on the far side of Malapert. Some of them would take a beating, but they had almost 800 new PVs nearing completion. They could soon replace any that were knocked out of commission.

  And there was nothing more he could do to protect the optical telescope on top of the mountain. He’d worked with the astronomers to rig a plass screen, cut from the thickest 40mm accommodation-grade tube. Now they’d just have to wait and see what fate threw their way. Anything bigger than a pea would punch straight through the shield and smack into the dome itself. The result would not be pretty. It had been evacuated, powered down and depressurised as a precaution. But the colony still had eyes and ears. The Sirius dishes were tracking the comet and its debris cloud.

  All surface operations had been suspended from 18.30 hours until after the threat had passed. Cooper had less than an hour to make his final checks around the bottom end of Armstrong Base before the first fragments of comet dust reached the Moon.

  Long before then he’d drive his buggy back to the garage – the cave in the mountainside next to the main entrance – park up and get himself locked back in. He figured this brief inspection trip would take ten minutes, fifteen tops. He’d missed supper, so a trip to the Lunchbox would be top priority once he got out of his smelly old suit. Then he’d call Ginny.

  It all looked good so far. The installation crew normally left plass-welding kit outside while a job was underway, but it looked as though they’d tidied up as instructed. Visibility was excellent as the sun was blazing low in the north west sky, floodlighting this end of the base and setting Cooper’s suit fans whirring. His light-sensitive visor shut out the worst of the searing rays, but his suit’s cooling system was past its best. He’d have to get the heat exchanger serviced, he told himself, as the first beads of sweat broke out on his brow.

  He checked the time: 19.10 hours. It still seemed weird that they followed the Earth’s clock time inside Armstrong Base, dimming the lights and sleeping as western Europe snoozed, while out here the sun shone constantly for two weeks, then hid for a fortnight.

  Cooper climbed back aboard the buggy and drove west, to the far end of the new tube, feeling pleased with himself. Since this comet crisis had kicked off six days ago, he’d made three new farm tubes, the second almost ready to go into service and the third waiting to be towed into place. He’d made two thin plass tubes and cut them up for PV panels, the first batch almost ready for planting up on the mountain.

  He’d nearly finished restoring the worn out old tractor ready for water retrieval duty. That, together with the new crater crews, would almost double the rate they could process ice. And he’d made a start on 3D printing the missing electronics components. It had helped keep his mind off the looming comet and his fears for his parents and Ginny. Especially Ginny.

  Besides being pleased with his own efforts, he was impressed with the way others had knuckled down to some serious work. Most of the scientists who’d been press-ganged into action had proved to be quite handy, which surprised him. In fact, several had told him they were pleased to be doing something different, something to help prepare the colony for the future.

  He swung the buggy around the western corner of the base in a self-satisfied little skid, kicking up a cloud of dust. Pivoting on the seat, he looked down ready to hop off... and spotted a movement out of the corner of his eye.

  “Oh, not again,” he groaned to himself. He’d had a couple more mini-hallucinations over the past few days, usually of Ginny’s face appearing in odd flashes of light. Doc Rozek had put it down to stress and given him some tablets to help him sleep.

  “Try to ignore these visual disturbances,” she’d said. “Your brain will soon stop connecting any unexpected sight with your girlfriend and then the illusions will disappear.” He followed her advice now and concentrated on planting his boots firmly in the dirt. Funny, though, this one had looked different.

  He straightened up and looked over to where the white flash had been.

  “Shoot!” he muttered. “There is something moving out there!”

  It looked like the top of a surface suit helmet, just dipping down below the rim of the Soupbowl Crater. He stared for a second until it dropped completely out of sight, then got on his comm.

  “Surface Control, this is Cooper.”

  “Oh, hi again, Will. How’s it going out there?” Rachel Lim’s cheery schoolgirl voice came right back.

  “I’m good Rachel. But I just spotted something odd. Is there anyone else out on the surface right now? I thought everyone was tucked up safe inside?”

  “Only Lian Song, Will. She locked out of airlock six about twenty minutes ago. She’s checking on the cryostores, right outside the airlock.”

  “Looks to me like she’s taken a stroll over to Soupbowl Crater. Wonder why she’d do that?”

  “No, it can’t be Lian, Will. She is outside airlock six right now. I can see her ID blip on the tracking monitor and she hasn’t moved in the past fifteen minutes.”

  “Call her please, Rachel. See what she’s up to.” Cooper had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach and it wasn’t from the lack of supper.

  He listened to the fizz of static for a minute then: “She’s not answering, Will.”

  “Damned strange,” Cooper said, as he hopped back into the buggy and headed up to airlock six.

  He skidded to a halt. No sign of Song, but there was something shiny lying in the dirt. Cooper jumped down and picked it up. It was Lian Song’s comm.

  Cooper jumped back in the driving seat, hit the accelerator hard and spun the buggy’s wheels.

  “Rachel, I’m on my way to the Soupbowl Crater. I’ve found Lian’s comm in the dirt, just outside the airlock. She’s gone walkabout without it.”

  “Why she do that, Will?”

  “Don’t know, Rachel. Find out soon enough.”

  It was only 700 metres. At full speed the buggy raced across the dusty dry regolith in less than a minute and up the slope of the crater. Cooper pulled up just below the rim, leapt down and took a few big strides to the top from where he could see inside the near-perfect bowl.


  Thirty metres away and below him was a space-suited figure, standing with arms held outstretched to either side.

  “What the...?” Cooper couldn’t figure out what was going on.

  She was facing the waning crescent of Earth, just visible above the far rim and she was illuminated by the searing sunlight against the black shadow in the crater bottom. He had just decided that she must be communing with the home planet, when Song brought her right arm down sharply and struck her side.

  “What...?”

  She raised the arm again and in the instant before she struck her hip for the second time, he saw something flash. She was holding a knife!

  “Jesus Christ, Lian!” he shouted. But of course, she couldn’t hear him. He surged into motion just as she lifted her arm for a third strike.

  “No!”

  He was half way down the slope, going way too fast, when she raised her arm for a fourth time... and he saw the tell-tale puff of vapour escaping from her suit’s side.

  Just before he hit her in a flying tackle, he reached out his left hand to cushion the blow and then they were both tumbling down to the crater bottom.

  “Crazy bitch!” he screamed after they stopped rolling and his eyes met hers. “The hell are you doing?”

  She still couldn’t hear him. He could see her mouth moving, but not a sound passed between them through the vacuum. Cooper pressed his helmet visor against hers and shouted: “Why, Lian? Why?”

  A tinny distant voice pleaded, “Leave me, Will. Leave me alone.” And behind it, the faint shriek of gas escaping from her suit.

  “The hell I will.” He pulled himself up to get a look at the hole in her suit and pressed his hand over the stream of gas jetting out. But it was like trying to hold air in a punctured car tyre. The knife, a small pruning tool from the farm, lay glinting in the dust a few feet away. Her suit was pumping air in fast to make up for the loss of pressure, but it was fighting a losing battle. At this rate, the first of her two tanks would be empty in a couple of minutes. No time to lose.

  He scooped her up in his arms and set off back up the slope of the crater. It was a tough call, with the loose dust slipping away from under his boots and Lian struggling against him. It felt like he was running up a hill made of talcum powder, carrying a wriggling sack of potatoes. He could hear his breath rasping and his suit pumps whirring frantically, trying to keep up with his rising body heat.

  The higher he got, the steeper the slope became and the more slippery the surface. He looked up to gauge the distance to the rim. It still seemed a way off, but he had to be more than half way up. Then his feet slid from under him and he fell forward in slow motion on top of Song.

  “Jeeezus!” he gasped, as sweat dripped off his forehead on to the inside of his visor. He instinctively raised his hand to wipe it away and clear his vision, but his thick glove bounced uselessly off the dusty outside instead.

  “Come on!” he snarled at himself in frustration and struggled back to his feet. As he bent over to lift Song, he saw the bright red warning light on her suit front. It meant her first air tank was empty. Each suit carried two identical tanks which clipped into recesses in the front of its carbon-fibre chest section. Song’s second tank still showed a green light, but it wouldn’t last long.

  Cooper pressed his visor against hers and shouted, “Hang in there, Lian. I’m gonna get you inside.”

  She didn’t reply, but Cooper could hear her suit’s alarm system: “Warning. This suit will cease to sustain life in four minutes. Return to airlock and repressurise immediately.”

  He pulled his head away and lifted Song in her bulky suit, but his feet felt like they were treading water when he tried to move. So he pushed Song’s suited body up the slope as far as he could, then drew up his legs one at a time and planted his boot-toes in the loose surface. He repeated the process, pushing her up the slope in agonisingly small steps.

  After what seemed an age, Song cleared the rim and Cooper flopped exhausted on top of her, only to feel her gloved hand banging on his helmet.

  He pressed his visor against hers again and shouted, “Keep still, Lian, or you’ll kill us both!”

  Then he heard it: “Emergency! This suit will cease to sustain life in one minute. Emergency! This suit will cease to sustain life in one minute. Emergency!...”

  Too late, he thought. I’m too late to save her. What a horrible way to die – suffocating, with blood vessels bursting in deepening vacuum, while her suit screamed warnings in her ear.

  Then he had an idea. He pushed himself up and fumbled open the safety catch on Song’s empty tank. It sprang forward, he grasped it with his thick gloved fingers and pulled it free. Then he unclipped his own spare tank and snapped it into place in her suit... just as her remaining tank light changed from orange to red.

  He pressed his visor against hers and listened: “Warning, this suit will cease to sustain life in five minutes.”

  Great, he’d bought her five more minutes of life. But could he get her into the airlock and up to atmosphere in that time?

  Cooper struggled to his feet, lifted Song and staggered the few metres to the buggy. As he reached it, his own suit chipped in: “Warning. This suit will cease to sustain life in five minutes. Return to airlock and repressurise immediately.”

  “Jesus Christ!” he gasped. “Now we both get to die!”

  He struggled into the driving seat with Song lying across his legs and gunned the little vehicle down the slope. Holding Song in place with his elbows, he reached across to his left sleeve and punched his comm.

  “Rachel. I got a real emergency here. Song’s suit has a leak and I’m almost out of air. We’ve got less than five minutes to get inside.”

  “Oh, my God, Will! What happened?”

  “No time… get Sokolova and Doc Rozek down to airlock six right now. Gonna be a close call.”

  He took his finger off his comm in time to hear: “... will cease to sustain life in four minutes. Return to airlock and repressurise immediately.”

  The airlock was in sight, but the buggy seemed to be taking its time getting there.

  “C’mon!” he screamed and thumped the wheel. The buggy was definitely slowing. He glanced down to see a red glow on the battery condition dial and the needle pointing at E. It was out of juice.

  “No! This can’t be happening!” he whimpered.

  The speed readout was 10kph and dropping. He realised why. Cooper had taken the buggy out without swapping the half-charged battery for a full one. He’d figured that a 30 minute run time would be plenty for a quick check around the new tube installation and back home for supper. It would have been, too, if he hadn’t done a full-speed detour to the Soupbowl Crater. And if he hadn’t left the buggy with lights ablaze while he spent – what? – 15 minutes rescuing Song.

  Now it was down to 8 kph. Now 7 and still 200 metres to go. 6kph – he’d be quicker on his feet, but he’d burn up the last of his oxygen if he had to jog it carrying the now-limp Song.

  5 kph.

  “Emergency. This suit will cease to sustain life in three minutes. Repressurise immediately.”

  He couldn’t just sit here and suffocate. Song must be almost out of air too. He lifted her onto his shoulder and jumped from the still-moving buggy, barely preventing a fall with a stutter-step then breaking into a full-on run for the airlock.

  “Emergency. This suit will cease to sustain life in two minutes...”

  Almost there. Sweat was streaming down his face and neck. His suit’s cooling system couldn’t cope with this frenetic work rate.

  He staggered the last few paces and leant Song against the airlock wall while he punched the door release and spun the wheel. As he pushed the door inwards he was trying to figure how he would get Song through it. A quick glance at her helmet revealed only black hair pressed against the inside of her visor. She was unconscious, or... No! Don’t even think it!

  These tiny airlock doors were a struggle for a single, able person to
get through, let alone a gasping, exhausted, overheated 6 foot 4 inch guy carrying an inert body. He pushed Song’s legs through and tried to stand her up inside, but she crumpled to the floor. He climbed into the tiny cubicle after her and dragged her upright.

  “Emergency. This suit will cease to sustain life in one minute...”

  The air in his suit was already foul and he was panting trying to catch his breath. Cooper elbowed the door shut while holding Song up against the inner door with one hand. He reached around, spun the wheel to set the six bolts in place, then turned to the screen.

  Through the dust on the outside and sweat streaks on the inside of his visor, he could barely make out the on-screen buttons. It took three attempts to get the green light to come on and the pressure readout to start counting upwards from zero.

  10... 15... 20%. It seemed to take an age. His vision was blurring, his pulse pounding in his head as he gasped for air like a landed fish.

  30... 40%. He started fumbling with the release catch on Song’s helmet. A safety feature meant it would only snap open when the pressure inside and outside the suit matched. He had no way of knowing what her suit’s internal pressure would be now, but he had to try to let some air into her suit.

  50... 55... her helmet catch sprang open and he tugged the bulbous dome off her suit. It seemed to weigh a ton. But he couldn’t open his own until the airlock reached 100%, as his suit hadn’t lost pressure, he’d just used up all the oxygen.

  60... The pounding in his ears was getting louder. Then he caught a movement and saw it was Sokolova hammering on the inner door window. But strangely she was turning grey...

  70... He felt his knees buckle as Song slipped from his grasp and he fell headlong into the cold, black arms of oblivion.

  * * * * *

  Earth, 1504

  “Hold on, Mammed,” said Benyamin as his face rose level with the dim shape on the other side of the bars. “You are a very brave boy, to try this crazy thing.” He reached through the bars and ruffled the lad’s curly hair.

  “Yes, but my arms are aching. We must hurry, please,” the youngster gasped.