by Bob Goddard
“Okay. Keep hold of the bar.” Nadia tapped the screen on the basket’s control panel. With a lurch they were lifted off the ground and out of the shed-like base station.
“You will need to lower your sun visor now,” said Nadia as she reached up to the side of her helmet and her face vanished behind a reflective gold shield. “The sun will be dazzling in a few seconds, but the view is worth it. Not the pyramids, of course, but I think you will be impressed when we get to the top.”
Yasmine never ceased to be impressed by this talented and capable woman who had become her soul mate. Now that she was accompanying Nadia on her surface inspection trips she was seeing another dimension to her. Where Yasmine floundered in her suit like a deep sea diver on the ocean bed, Nadia was in her element: confident, decisive and nimble. She guided Yasmine’s feet and held her hand, reassured her when she was fearful and showed her the lunar landscape in all its stark and rugged glory. She wanted to hug Nadia there and then, and melt into one of her long, smouldering kisses, but it would have to wait until they were out of their stifling suits.
“If you turn to your right now you can see Armstrong Base below us.”
Yasmine turned her head and saw only the inside of her helmet. “I can’t see!”
“No, my love. Take your right hand off the bar. Now, turn your shoulders, twist from the hips. That’s it. You have to turn the whole top of the suit, not just your head. Can you see now?”
“Oh! Yes! It’s wonderful, Nadia. I can see the shape of the new sports hall on this side. It’s big, isn’t it? And the sunlight and shadows show up the ridges where the farm tubes lie underneath the regolith. Gosh, they go on forever, don’t they?”
“Yes. Armstrong Base is almost half a kilometre long now. We’ve added 45 new farm tubes over the past year, doubled its size. That’s in addition to our extended facility inside the mountain.”
“It’s a fantastic achievement, Nadia. You should be very proud of yourself.”
“Me? I did nothing. The plass plant technicians made the tubes. The installation crews put them all together. The engineers made all the pumps and lighting. The ice miners provided the water. The Biosphere teams sowed the seeds and tended the crops. I didn’t lift a finger.”
“That’s nonsense, Nadia!” Yasmine laughed. “You conceived and planned it. You coaxed and encouraged everyone to do their bit. Without you none of this would have happened and we would all be starving or dead by now. As it is, everyone is fit and healthy. We all have enough to eat. In fact we have a more nutritious diet than we ever did back on Earth.” She was deep in thought for a few seconds. “I wonder what those poor souls are finding to eat these days?”
Nadia knew. She felt the bile rise in her throat as she recalled her father’s grisly revelation. A medical mission from his military base to help Sochi’s survivors had discovered a hellish kitchen. Some were reduced to the most desperate measures to stay alive. She kept that knowledge to herself and shared a half-truth instead.
“They have biospheres of their own, Yasmine. Every underground space, every building or structure with a roof is crammed full of crops. As long as they have power they can grow food. Not enough, but some, at least.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to spoil our day out with sad thoughts of home… Oh, wow! What is that?” Yasmine’s gloved hand waved towards a shimmering sea of reflected light that had appeared below them.
“Those are our photovoltaics. The PV panels stretch right around the mountain.”
“Oh... my... word... ! Yes, I can see they do.” Yasmine bent her knees so she could look upwards. “And they go all the way to the top of the mountain, by the looks of it?”
“Yes, we are over half way up now. The top of Mt Malapert is one huge solar farm. We had to triple our power output to cater for the extended Biosphere and the new industrial processes inside the mountain. There is now spare capacity that we store chemically. We have about a month’s worth of power saved for emergencies, but hopefully it won’t be needed this time around.”
“You mean the expected meteoroid storm?”
“I’m hoping it won’t be the blizzard that hit us last year. But yes, the remnants of the comet tail are due to arrive at the weekend. That’s why we are on our way to inspect the new shielding for the observatory.”
They would be better prepared this time around, thought Nadia, both physically and emotionally. The comet impact had shocked them with its brutality and threatened to destabilise the colony, but the months of silence that followed were worse. Fearing for their families and hearing nothing for month after month had been unbearable for some. Seeing a ball of dust where their beautiful blue planet used to be had tipped two colonists over the edge. Nadia remembered the blood-spattered bedroom with a shudder. Only luck and Yasmine’s speedy intervention had averted their suicide attempts.
The calls from her father had been their saviour. Even bad news was better than no news at all. The knowledge that there were survivors, the renewed hope that one day they would return to their homes and families, had eased the tension. Tamala’s ceaseless efforts to create distractions and entertainment had been a big factor too. She had even persuaded Nadia to bring her relationship with Yasmine out into the open. Tamala said it would put a stop to the speculation and gossip. Ending the secrecy had brought many benefits, not least these trips out onto the Moon surface.
Last month they had gone to the landing zone, which had been fun but not such a novelty for Yasmine. She’d seen the transfer waiting room when she arrived on the Moon and the fuel store bunker didn’t interest her particularly. Next month it would be a long drive down to the new ice-face in Shoemaker Crater. Although the mining was now largely automated, the robotic arms that laser-sliced blocks from the frozen regolith were something to see.
They would also be inspecting the new pipeline that was being laid. It was already two thirds of the way to the ice-face. It would replace the laborious towing of water bowsers to and from Armstrong Base. Will had devised a micropore system that imitated the living tissue of trees to suck the water up from crater to base using little more than surface tension. Nadia was very impressed with this ingenious, pump-less solution. She would be naming it, at Will’s request, the Virginia Antoine Pipeline when it was officially commissioned next month.
Nadia doubted that anything would beat this trip, though. The views from the ski-lift were spectacular as the basket carried them over the shoulder of the mountain.
“That is one of the radio telescopes,” she said, as they floated past a large dish. “There are three others spread around the mountain top. And that,” she twisted to point to a dome-shaped building still some way off, “is the main observatory. It houses the optical telescope. It got hit by a meteoroid the size of a grape last year. Despite a shield of plass the rock went straight through and out the other side. Luckily there was minimal damage but we can’t risk it happening again. So we have a more substantial shield this year.”
“But before we look at that I want to show you the view over the South Pole. I think it is quite something and with the sun from this direction it should be at its best – lots of sunlit peaks and deeply shadowed craters. Hold on tight now,” she said as the upper station rose to meet their ski-lift basket. “There will be a bump when we land.”
Nadia was unclipping the safety straps when her comm lit up with an incoming call. She stopped and tapped the screen twice. Yasmine heard her say: “Hello Thijs. I’ve brought Yasmine with me to inspect your new shield and take in the views.”
“Well,” he said with a deep sigh, “I don’t want to spoil your sight-seeing trip, but we’ve found something that you ought to come and see first. It’s not good, Nadia.”
* * * * *
Moon, 2088
Tamala hoisted Ngaio on to her back and set off from the new sports hall-cum-meeting room in search of Darren. She had excused herself from the last-minute rehearsals for the theatre group’s latest production, an anarchic mix of sketches
, stand-up and silly songs. Saturday night’s ‘Comet Dust Party’ would fight fear and depression with music and laughter. She considered this the best way to deal with the anniversary of Comet Santos. Calling it ‘Comet Dust’ referred to the remnants of the wispy tail they would be passing through at the weekend, casting Santos as a distant and nebulous memory.
Of all the performing groups, MADACT had proved the most popular. There would be three bands and an orchestra also contributing to the evening’s festivities. Their music-making was much improved these past few months. But the Moon’s Amateur Dramatic And Comedy Troupe always got the loudest applause.
Tamala used Ngaio as an excuse not to take part but she supported and encouraged all the activity clubs whenever she wasn’t busy with her yoga, meditation and hug-therapy classes. It was one of these, due to start in an hour, that had her seeking Darren. Although Ngaio was very entertaining she could also be a major distraction during meditation. She had discovered that her squeals and giggles could set the whole group off laughing.
With luck Darren would have finished his morning’s sports and would meet her in the Lunchbox where they could catch up over a bite to eat. It was Tamala’s favourite, Bouillabaisse, today, a reminder of home and her mum’s spicy fish soup. Then she could hand over Ngaio to his care for a couple of hours. He loved having their daughter with him when he wasn’t engaged in physical work. Today he was monitoring the farm’s hydroponics systems and would enjoy all the fuss and attention Ngaio would receive as he did his rounds.
“Oh, hi Tamala. Hello, Ngaio!” Rachel Lim greeted them at the entrance to the Lunchbox. She reached behind Tamala and stroked the baby’s cheek with one of her brightly-nailed fingers.
“Hello, Rachel. How are you feeling today?”
“Still feeling a bit nauseous.” She grimaced. “Struggled to eat my breakfast, but since the rationing I can’t leave anything.”
“I know. I can’t bear to waste anything either. How far on are you now?”
“Thirteen weeks, according to Doc Rozek. I’m hoping this sickly feeling will be over soon.”
“Well I don’t want to worry you, but I felt sick for the first six months. It was worth it though...” Tamala smiled and swung Ngaio around to join in the conversation. “Wasn’t it, Ngaio?” The little girl gurgled and waved her arms and legs. Tamala pushed open the canteen door and followed Rachel inside.
“The other two mums had no nausea after 14 weeks, so it should pass soon. As long as you are still managing to eat regularly and drink plenty of fluids you will be fine, I’m sure, Rachel.”
“I hope so. Danny’s almost as fed up with it as I am. I seem to feel sick whenever he’s feeling passionate. He usually manages to make a joke of it and says all I need is ‘a point o’ Guinness and oy’ll be grand’.”
“Hah! He’s a laugh. You two are good for each other.” Tamala raised her eyebrows and asked, “No regrets now, Rachel?”
“No. Not at all. Will was right. He wasn’t the guy for me, but Danny is lovely and so funny. He makes me laugh all the time. I’m sure he will be a good father too.”
“I’m sure he will. Why don’t you invite him to next week’s Babies and Bumps Club? We’re doing prenatal exercise and massage. He could learn how to soothe your aches and pains.”
“Okay, I’ll ask him. Oh, here’s Darren...”
Tamala turned from the canteen counter to see Darren bounding towards them. He had a satisfied grin on his face.
“Hello sweetheart,” she said. “You’re looking pleased with yourself. Had a good morning?”
“Yep. Hi, Rachel.” He bent and gave them each a peck on the cheek. “Hi there nipper,” he ruffled Ngaio’s hair, making her squeal and wave her arms madly.
“Volleyball was great today. The new sponge balls are heaps better, just the right weight and drag. That sports hall is perfect. Soccer and badminton were chocka too. Real good workout. I’m starving!”
“Mmm, me too,” said Tamala, “and it’s Bouillabaisse, today. We like that, don’t we Ngaio?” The infant jiggled up and down in reply.
“Eww,” said Rachel. “Can’t face that fishy smell.”
“Rachel’s still feeling a bit nauseous, Darren. I told her… Oh!” Tamala stopped in mid-sentence, looked down at her comm, then tapped it with her finger. “It’s Nadia,” she said, holding her hand over her right ear to listen to the message.
“Oh! That’s a pain,” she said with a frown, as she tapped her comm to end the brief transmission. “I’ve got to go to the Governor’s office at two… just when I should be starting my yoga class.”
“What’s that all about? Thought you had a meeting at six?” said Darren.
“She didn’t say. Something urgent must have come up. Nadia was in her surface suit with her helmet off. Oh, I remember now, she was taking Yasmine up the mountain to see the sights and inspect the new shield for the observatory. Must be something to do with the meteoroid storm coming at the weekend.”
“That’s not ’til Friday. And we’re all prepped, aren’t we? Why can’t it wait four hours?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. But Nadia doesn’t usually call us in at short notice unless it’s important. I’ll have to ask Neelam, see if she can swap her 4pm class with mine.” Tamala turned away to make the call. Over her shoulder she said, “Can you order my lunch and a juice, please Darren. And a pureed portion for Ngaio. Thanks.”
* * * * *
Moon, 2088
Will stopped by the Ghetto to drop off a couple of boxes of freshly-printed plumbing parts for the new dormitory tubes. Ever since the farm had expanded enough to feed the colony, the Ghetto had been getting a makeover. For too long the tiny, box-like bedsits had been a major cause of complaint. Now each was doubling in size with a sitting room, bedroom and en-suite shower-toilet.
It had taken an age but they were on the last stretch. As soon as these remaining taps and showerheads were fitted the job would be done and the Ghetto residents would have a little more space and comfort, with no more queuing for the bathroom. Then the Governor and Heads of Departments could have their rooms upgraded too. Nadia had insisted that the other colonists got theirs first, which was good politics, thought Will.
He was amazed how far they’d come over the past year. The Biosphere, the Ghetto, the industrial complex inside the mountain – all had changed beyond recognition. The new sports hall and meeting centre had been a huge boost for morale too, but it was the little things they all missed that gnawed at them the most.
Once, after a basketball session, Will had told the guys how he missed his Harley Davidson throbbing beneath him as he rode in the sun along the Californian coast. Darren said he longed for the rich lanolin smell of his dad’s flock of Merino sheep and the New Zealand tussock grass. The Frenchman said he missed the smells of Paris, collecting fresh-baked baguettes in the early morning swirl of autumn leaves. Then the Portuguese scientist told them about Fado, and began to sing one of the traditional melancholic songs of his home. But his voice faltered as he remembered the wasteland that Portugal had become, and he began to sob uncontrollably. After that the guys tried to keep their reminiscing to themselves and Will focussed his thoughts on the future.
Having left the boxes of parts with Danny Gallagher who was overseeing the work, Will was heading down to the bottom of the farm to meet Lian, see her trees and jog back up for lunch. Their wedding last month had been a riotous occasion with all the colonists cheering them loudly before dancing the night away. It had been a joyful day and a great party, recorded by Tamala ready for the day he could send a video to his parents.
It had all happened so quickly. From Nadia’s father Sergei playing that recording of Will’s dad, to Lian standing next to him in a garland of flowers, seemed like the blink of an eye. But looking back he realised he must have been in love with her many months earlier. He had been in denial about Ginny’s death and his true feelings for Lian.
Hearing his dad’s voice telling how he’d
organised a mission to the forest and what he’d found there, had clinched it. Norm had used his wealth and influence to persuade a park ranger to pick him up from the Mojave and drive him through the dust and desolation to the Sequoia National Park. So many trees had fallen they’d had to hike from the main road to the Mountain Home State Forest.
The ranger knew The Genesis Tree intimately and fell to his knees in tears when he saw it reduced to a gigantic pile of lumber. After an hour of climbing over the debris in the gloom they had found Ginny’s red helmet and then, nearby, her crushed body. It was the one thing Will didn’t want to hear, but it had released him, finally, from his torment.
Lian had massaged his feet in silence while he lay on his bunk searching inside his head for answers. Eventually he realised he had been grieving for Ginny ever since the comet struck. Seven months on, he was all cried out. He’d sat up and asked Lian if she would go for a run with him. She had thrown her arms around his neck and sobbed in joy. He would never understand women.
Now, as he jogged down the western corridor tube to see the trees that Lian wanted to show him, that memory seemed like an episode in someone else’s life. His desperate longing to be off the Moon and back in California had gone. Will now felt at home at Armstrong Base and privileged to be a part of it.
Projects like the new sports hall and function room had been challenging but the Moonbike he was building was the best fun of all. A sort of electric snowmobile, it would suit the dusty surface and low gravity better than any wheeled machine.
As strange as this lunar life was, he now felt his destiny was right here, with Lian. Little by little they were changing Armstrong Base from a scientific outpost into a proper community. From a makeshift camp into a well engineered habitat, cheered and softened by the vibrant greenery that was now sprouting everywhere.
The gigantic leaves of the banana trees that lined this lower part of the corridor promised a bumper crop to come. Between them, colourful orchids brightened the long plass tube. It was becoming more of a tropical paradise with each passing week as Lian’s vision for the Biosphere flourished.