Mother Moon

by Bob Goddard

  “Of course,” said Ben, dropping his hand to Mammed’s shoulder and feeling the heavy coils of rope there. “I will lift this rope from you and make a sling, Mammed.”

  In less than a minute the navigator had pulled the coils of rope, a handful at a time, through the bars and over his head to rest on his own shoulder. A lifetime at sea had taught him to avoid tangles. With the last two coils he tied a large loop in the end of the rope and passed it back through the bars and over Mammed’s head.

  “Let this loop of rope slip down your back, Mammed, and tell me when it reaches your backside,” he said.

  “Okay, it is there,” hissed the boy.

  “Keep still now,” said Ben, as he tied the rope to one of the window bars. “Okay, reach through the sling, one arm at a time... that’s right... and then lift your bottom into the loop so you can sit in it. How’s that?”

  “It’s good, Ben, thanks.” The relief in his whisper was clear.

  “You said you had a saw?”

  “I have three! Winson broke one long blade into three pieces and set them in wooden handles for us.”

  “He is a good man,” said Ben. “Let me pass one to Yonny, so he can start working on his chain.”

  Yonaton had already decided that the hinge pin in his wrist manacle was the best place to cut himself free. He set to work with grim determination and soon heard a steady rasping from above as Benyamin and Mammed began cutting through a window bar.

  An age passed in silence, broken only by the sounds of sawing, the occasional curse when Yonaton’s blade slipped and cut his wrist, and his frequent spasms of coughing. His back ached and his shoulders burned where Benyamin’s bare feet pressed into them, but he could bear the pain now there was hope of escape.

  A satisfying clatter from the stone floor announced that the hinge pin was severed. Yonaton drew a deep breath and was rewarded with a fit of coughing which made Benyamin stop sawing and grab on to the bars for support.

  When the spasm passed, Yonny pulled out the other half of the hinge pin and tossed it across the cell. He prised the manacle apart and eased his sore and bloodied wrist from its hateful embrace.

  “I’m free, Ben,” he gasped. “Come down now and let us drink the water that Gorbel denied us.”

  Never had water tasted sweeter. They sipped and slurped and smiled at each other in the dark, despite being unable to see each other’s faces as they passed the wooden bowl back and forth.

  “I hope that sadistic bastard, Gorbel, is the first to discover this empty bowl in the morning,” said Ben, as he drained the last drops. “I’d love to see his face.”

  “Me too. But let’s make sure we are not still here, eh,” said Yonaton.

  “Your turn on top, Yonny, my friend.” Benyamin shuffled his back to the wall and cupped his hands ready for his captain’s foot.

  Yonaton found that the bottom end of the window bar was half way sawn through when he drew level with Mammed. So he set the lad, who was now standing in the rope loop that Ben had made for him, to sawing at the top of the bar.

  After another agonisingly long period of sawing, Ben’s manacle fell from his wrist and soon afterwards the bottom end of the window bar was cut through.

  “Stop sawing for a moment, Mammed,” said Yonaton with a cough. “Let’s see if you’ve done enough for us to bend the bar out of the way.”

  With his knees braced against the wall, the tired old mariner gathered up his strength and heaved on the bar. It moved. He pulled again. Hinged by the cut at the top, it swung in and upwards.

  “I think we can get through, now Ben,” he whispered down at the dark shape between his feet.

  “Good! Here’s the rope. You go first, Yonny, but be careful. You are not so strong now, my friend.”

  * * * * *

  Moon, 2087

  There was light.

  It seemed to be getting brighter.

  A shape.

  A hazy, blurry face.

  A face wearing glasses.

  “Ah. You’re awake, Will.” The voice seemed to be coming from another world.

  “Will?” he croaked.

  “Yes,” she laughed. “You are Will Cooper. And you are lucky to be alive.”

  Didn’t make any sense. Just a terrible pain in his head.

  “I’m Doctor Rozek, remember?”

  He tried to move, but she placed her hands on his chest. He felt as weak as a newborn kitten.

  “You must keep still. I gave you a sedative injection...” she looked at her comm, “... three hours ago. That’s why you are feeling confused and groggy. And you are still suffering from hypoxia, so you must rest and try to sleep.”

  No. He needed to be awake. He needed to remember something.

  And he needed to get this cup-thing off his face. He tried to raise his left hand, but there was something around his wrist and it hurt like hell. He lifted his right arm instead and saw a tube attached to it.

  “No! Now keep still, Will. There is an oxygen mask over your nose and mouth, helping you to breathe. And you are on a drip. You must keep still now, please.”

  Will… Cooper. Will Cooper. Yes, it was coming back to him slowly. He was Will Cooper and he was somewhere very strange.

  “I’ve let Governor Sokolova know you are awake. If you are feeling up to it, she would like to have a few words... Ah, here she is.”

  The face with the glasses moved away and another one, vaguely familiar, with spiky hair, came into focus.

  “How are you, Will?”

  He didn’t know how to answer. He couldn’t remember how he was supposed to feel. Or where the hell he was...

  The Moon. He was on the Moon!

  And something had happened.

  Something bad.

  He remembered who this new face was: The Ice Maiden, The Bossy Bitch, Governor Nadia Sokolova.

  “What happened?” he croaked.

  “You did a very brave thing, Will. And you almost paid with your life.”

  Something clicked. Black hair plastered inside a spacesuit visor.

  Lian!

  “Oh, God!” he sobbed. “I’m so sorry. I was too late to save her.”

  “Too late, you say?” The face smiled as a hand grasped his chin and gently turned his head sideways. “Look over here.”

  On the other side of the tiny room, no more than a metre away, was a clear plastic cocoon. As his eyes focussed, Cooper could make out a figure lying on its back within. With shiny black hair.

  “Lian!” he gasped. “She’s alive?”

  “Yes, Will. Thanks to you, Lian Song is very much alive. But we don’t know yet how the pressure loss has affected her. As you can see, she is in a pressure tent which is helping to purge the bubbles from her bloodstream and vital organs. With luck she may have little paralysis. We will have to wait and see.”

  “Oh, God.” He turned his head away and screwed his eyes shut. Lightning bolts of memory were flashing into his mind: a space-suited figure in a bowl-shaped crater; a plume of vapour escaping; frightened eyes peering back at him; then the black hair stuck to the inside of the visor. That was the worst. That was when he felt sure she had died.

  “If you can, Will, I’d like you to tell me exactly what happened.”

  It took a while to tell the whole story. Cooper kept remembering odd details and had to go back to put them in sequence. But eventually he reckoned he had explained events as fully as he could.

  And he had learned a thing or two in return. The drip in his right arm was replacing fluids – he’d lost two litres in his struggle to get Lian to the airlock in time. His surface suit’s cooling system had failed and would require a complicated repair. His heavy left arm was in a cast because he’d broken his wrist. It must have been when he collided with Song, because she had some bruised ribs too, apparently.

  He also discovered that the Lunar Positioning System tracking his comm had clocked him at over 50 kph as he careered down the side of the Soupbowl Crater, and over 30 kph with Song on
his shoulder on his final dash to safety. Sokolova thought that must be some kind of record.

  She had listened intently as he described the difficulty he’d had negotiating the airlock with an unconscious colleague.

  “When you are recovered,” she said, “you can redesign the airlock doors and the initiation procedure, Will. They need to be quick and easy to use in an emergency, not an obstacle that could kill somebody.”

  And she tut-tutted when he told of taking out a half-charged buggy, just to save a couple of minutes swapping over a battery.

  “That was a mistake that nearly cost you your life.” Then her fierce look softened. “But if you had taken those extra couple of minutes, Will, you would have missed her going down into the Soupbowl Crater. We would not have found her until it was much too late.” She let out a long sigh.

  “Ah well. Some important lessons to be learned,” she said as she got up to leave. “But, thanks to God, you are okay. And thanks to a very brave man, Lian Song may be okay too, in time. She will need a lot of help to get over this.”

  Sokolova bent over him and said softly, “Thank you, Will Cooper, for saving these precious lives today.” Then she bent further and kissed him on the forehead.

  He stopped breathing and his eyes widened in shock.

  “Yes,” she laughed at his surprise, “the Ice Maiden has a heart.”

  Then she grimaced. “She also has a nose. You need a shower, Will Cooper. We will talk again when you feel better and smell a little sweeter. In the meantime, get some sleep.” She turned and walked out of the tiny sick bay as Cooper felt himself slipping back into unconsciousness.

  * * * * *

  Earth, 1504

  Once a week Lucy sent fresh supplies to keep Sam going while he was tending his flock up in the hills. They came in the form of cooked meats, cheese, freshly-baked bread and oaten biscuits, all wrapped in a parcel and carried on the shoulders of Peter, their 11-year-old son.

  Sam supplemented his diet with milk from his sheep and goats and the occasional rabbit he trapped, but he always looked forward to this weekly ritual. It was partly the fresh food, of course, but most of all Sam rejoiced in the company of his fast-growing son and the news he brought from home.

  When they sat around the fire beside the livestock enclosure, they would discuss family and friends, their animals and the wonders of nature as the sun slipped into the Crabbing Sea and stars began to twinkle overhead.

  Following a night spent snoring contentedly on a sheepskin rug, Peter would eat a hearty breakfast, hug his father and set off back down the hills for home. After he’d gone, Sam counted the days to his next visit, which was why he was puzzled now as he watched his boy making his way up towards him – a day early.

  “Have I miscounted,” muttered Sam to himself. He studied his hand as he folded down his thumb and each finger in turn and ticked off the days.

  “No! He left last Sunday morning. It is Friday today. Peter is not due until tomorrow.” Sam watched his son’s blond hair lifting in the late afternoon breeze and hoped there was nothing wrong at home.

  The sheep and goats parted as Peter made his way uphill through the flock. Sam stood up and called down to him: “Hello Peter. I am pleased to see you… but I think you are a day early!”

  The boy looked up and nodded but didn’t answer as he plodded wearily up the last few steps to join his father.

  “Sit down here son and rest,” Sam indicated the rock, “and tell me what brings you up here so soon.”

  Still panting from the climb, the boy looked up with wide and troubled eyes. “It is Grandfather Yon, Papa. They have captured him and Benyamin and put them in the tower, in chains!”

  “Who has, Peter? Who has done this thing?”

  “The Cardinal and his horrible men, Papa.” He sobbed and choked on the next words. “And in the morning they are going… they are going to hang them both!”

  “What! That’s impossible!”

  “It is true, Papa, I swear,” sobbed the boy. “They have been locked up in the tower for a week.” He buried his face in his hands and shook.

  “For a week? Is the Pelican back in the harbour, then?”

  “Yes, Papa. It was there when I returned from visiting you last time. Mother said we would go down to the dock to welcome Grandfather Yon back home, but when we got there we couldn’t get near the ship. Those horrible Convertors said he and Benyamin were being locked up in the tower.”

  “But why? What have they done wrong?”

  “I don’t know. Something called hairy sea and something else. Necro-something. I don’t understand it, Papa.”

  “Nor me, son. I don’t understand this at all. But we will soon find out what is going on and put a stop to this nonsense. That damned Cardinal has gone crazy. As soon as you have your breath back, we will set off for home.”

  “NO! No, Papa. Mother says you must not go home tonight. Mammed is going to try something. Something very dangerous, she says. And there are men watching our house. We must not go home tonight or we will make it all go wrong. We are to go home early in the morning.”

  “You are sure? She said that?” Sam’s brow was knotted with puzzlement.

  “Yes, Papa. She said we are not, repeat NOT, to come home tonight, only in the morning, as early as possible.”

  “Well, that’s odd. What is Mammed up to, then?”

  “I don’t know. Mother wouldn’t tell me. But Uncle Jack and Uncle Ifan have been doing something over the past few days, too. They have a plan, I think.”

  “Are your uncles not fishing?”

  “The Convertors have taken their boat, Papa. And the harbour is closed. Plus the bishops from Portkaron, Alberton and Dominges are in town too.”

  “They really have gone crazy.” Sam shook his head. “Here, have some milk,” he passed his flask to Peter, “and then we will start moving the flock to the enclosure and have something to eat. We’ll need to get an early night and get moving before dawn.”

  The boy drank thirstily. It had been a long, hard climb carrying the heavy load of bad news to his father. Sam kicked at stones impatiently. He wanted to be on his way down, to find out what was really going on back in Loming. He wasn’t going to let anything happen to Lucy’s father or Benyamin, if he could help it.

  * * * * *

  Moon, 2087

  GINNY!

  Cooper awoke with a start and threw off the sheet. He was struggling to get up, hampered by the cast on his left arm and the drip in his right arm, when Doctor Rozek entered the tiny sick bay.

  “You must lie still,” she said, as she attempted to restrain him.

  “No!” he growled as he snatched the oxygen mask off his face. “I’ve gotta call Ginny. My girlfriend. Back home. Gotta call her right now.”

  He swung his legs off the bed and realised he was naked, except for his underpants. He looked up woozily into the doctor’s face.

  “Need some clothes, Doc. Gotta go make a call. How long was I asleep?”

  “It’s only 40 minutes since the Governor was here,” she looked at her comm. “It’s not midnight yet, Will.”

  “Comet impacts at 1.30 in the morning, right?”

  “That’s right. But there’s nothing more you can do, Will.”

  “Damn right there is. Gotta speak to Ginny while I still can. Make sure she got herself to the shelter today.”

  “Of course. Stay right there, Will. I will fetch my screen from my office. You can use that to call her, okay?”

  “Okay, thanks.” He slumped forward, elbows propped on knees, head in his hands. His left wrist throbbed inside the cast. Through his fingers he could see a plastic bubble. There appeared to be a body inside it.

  Lian!

  “How is she doing, Doc?” he asked, as Doctor Rozek returned with her screen.

  “Lian is doing okay, as far as we can tell.” She pointed at the vital signs wriggling and blinking on the wall screen. “Oxygen level almost back to normal. Carbon monoxide still high,
like yours, Will. Nitrogen coming down. But she had twice as much sedation, so she will be unconscious for a while longer. Then we will know, for sure.

  “Here’s the screen, Will. I will give you some privacy and hope you can get to speak with your girlfriend.”

  He thanked her and started punching in the numbers to make a vidcall.

  “Who is this?” Ginny’s face was swathed in a dark balaclava and topped off with a red helmet.

  “It’s me, Will!” Cooper’s words set off across the void.

  “I don’t know any Doctor Rozek. How did you get my number?” She sounded angry.

  “Ginny, it’s me…Will!” He shouted. Damn this delay.

  “State your business or I’m ending this call.”

  “Hang on, please, Ginny! It’s me, Will. And I really need to talk to you…”

  “Oh! It’s you, Will.” Her face softened as his image and words finally made it across the 384,000 kilometres to Earth. “What happened to you? You look awful! And who is this Doctor Rozek? Why aren’t you using your own screen?”

  “I’m in the sick bay, Ginny. Doc Rozek loaned me hers so I could call you. Had a problem with my air supply while I was out on the surface. Gonna be okay, though. How about you? Did you get to my mom and dad’s last night, like we agreed?”

  “Your air supply? That sounds serious, Will! What happened?” She was squinting at him now, trying to make out the details from a tiny image.

  “Long story, babe. Had to help out a colleague in trouble and used up the last of my air just as I got into the airlock. Doc gave me a shot to make me sleep, so I’m a little flaky. Gonna be fine though. Just wanted to make sure you got to my parents and are tucked up safe inside the facility. Looks kinda cold where you are. Is that inside the Barstow shelter?”

  “I’m fine, Will. Really. I’m perfectly safe up here and I’m exactly where I want to be.” Ginny looked away. She must be on her comm. This wasn’t right.

  “Where the hell are you, Ginny?” His question floated off into the silence of space.

  She looked back at him with a worried frown. “I’m up in the top of The Genesis Tree, in the Sequoia National Park. No tsunami will get to me up here. Please don’t be mad at me Will. I just couldn’t face getting stuck inside that bunker with your folks.”