Mother Moon

by Bob Goddard

  He could see her now, kneeling at the side of the walkway. She looked up and smiled as he called out to her and leaned back to skid to a halt. “Hiya, babe! Who are these little guys?”

  “Hello darling.” She pointed a trowel towards the sapling she was planting. “This one is a walnut. I’ve planted five of them.” She indicated four more sticks protruding from the dark regolith-humus at regular intervals. Then she put her trowel down and brushed the soil from her hands as she got to her feet.

  “There are almonds, pomegranates, apples, pears, oranges and lemons also. Come,” she held out a grubby hand, “I will show you.”

  Will let himself be led along the rows of juvenile trees while Lian called out their names and varieties. They stretched alongside the walkway, the citrus trees had glossy dark green leaves while the rest were almost bare. It was best to transplant them in their dormant period, she told him, so she had reduced their length of daylight to simulate winter.

  “This is just the start!” Her eyes were shining with excitement. “These were the first seeds I planted nearly a year ago and see how well they have grown. Some of them will bear their first fruits later this year. Already I have hundreds more seeds in the nursery where we can control germination conditions perfectly. We will have every type of fruit, Will. It will be wonderful!”

  Will wrapped his arms around Lian, lifted her off her feet and twirled her around.

  “You are wonderful,” he said, planting a kiss on her forehead as he lowered her feet back to the ground. “You’re creating a Garden of Eden for all us lucky Lunies, aren’t you?”

  “I hope so, Will. I want to… mmph!” He silenced her with a kiss on the lips and she melted into the moment of bliss, her arms snaking around his neck.

  It was short lived. They both moaned in disappointment as the beep of an emergency call rang in their ears. They separated reluctantly to find Nadia asking them to meet her in her office at 14 hours.

  “Why do you think she wants to see us early, Will?”

  “Don’t know, sweetheart. Looks like she’s still on the mountain. She went to inspect the new shield, but if there was a problem with that she wouldn’t bother you with it. Guess we’ll find out in forty minutes.”

  “Well, we still have time for lunch, don’t we?”

  “Sure we do.” He looked down at Lian’s soil-coloured hand as he grasped it in his own. “We can wash up when we get there. Race you to the Lunchbox!”

  Lian giggled as they turned, leaned forward and began the sprint to the canteen.

  * * * * *

  Moon, 2088

  Nadia sat at her desk with her head in her hands. She had sent Yasmine back to her doctor’s duties carrying a dark secret instead of the joys of a morning of discovery. They had barely given the observatory’s new shield – a double plass wall sandwiching two metres of regolith – a cursory glance. And they hadn’t gone to gaze in wonder at the view over the Moon’s South Pole after all. What they had learned at the top of Mt Malapert had spoiled everything.

  Why was it, she thought, that the worst things in life always crept up on you unannounced, just when you felt you had everything worked out? And there was Ludmila, waiting quietly in her mind, as she always was at times like this. Her sad and lovely face a reminder that, for all her ice-cold logic and strategic planning, Nadia was no more able to control the things that really mattered than anyone else.

  Ludmila Komarova had been Nadia’s delicious secret, her one vulnerability, the love of her life. They met when both were posted to the same air base: Nadia as a Sukhoi Su-47 fighter pilot, Ludmila as a medical officer.

  Nadia had reported to the sick bay with a throat infection and something clicked between them. A few days later they were sharing a two-seat trainer on a jolly over the Caspian Sea. Then Nadia’s single bed in the officer’s quarters. Their love was overwhelming and distracting. Nadia flunked a tactical test and Ludmila was promptly posted. It felt as if the sun had fallen out of the sky.

  The military couldn’t keep them apart. Every opportunity, Nadia flew to be with her lover and within a year Ludmila had quit the air force so they could be together. Nadia retrained as a cosmonaut and Ludmila practiced medicine nearby.

  Then the Moon came along. Ludmila insisted Nadia take the job. How many people got to be commander of a Moon colony? If she turned it down she would regret it forever. It was only three years. Then they would have the rest of their lives together.

  So, in 2078, Nadia went to the Moon. It was when she got back that the problems started. Their love was as strong as ever and the joy of being back in each other’s arms was exquisite. Nadia was in rehab, forcing her body to recover with a punishing regimen of exercise. Ludmila monitored Nadia’s return to fitness and joined her in the pool, on the track and in the gym.

  Then Ludmila started to complain of backache. After weeks of being fobbed off with painkillers she was diagnosed with myeloma, a rare and aggressive form of bone cancer. While Nadia had been rebuilding her bones, Ludmila’s were being eaten away.

  Weeks of treatment were followed by 18 months in remission. Then the cancer came back with a vengeance. One beautiful spring day in 2083, with the sun shining out of a blue sky and small birds chirruping in the trees outside her hospital window, Ludmila had slipped away. Something inside Nadia died with her.

  Nadia heard footsteps outside her door and snapped out of her self-pity. She stood up as Will, Lian and Tamala filed into her office with the remnants of laughter, like they had just been sharing a joke. When they saw her face their humour fled like a scalded cat.

  “Whatever has happened?” asked Tamala with dread.

  “It is Comet Santos. The second part will hit the Earth on Saturday.”

  * * * * *

  Earth, 1504

  Captain Yonaton stood forlorn on the pitching deck of the log-canoe catamaran, staring at the tell-tale tip of the Pelican’s sail as it rose and fell on the horizon behind them. Their midnight escape from the harbour tower and flight to sea on this flimsy craft had all been in vain. The Cardinal was in pursuit and would be sure to catch them before the day was over.

  “There is a place where they cannot follow us, Yonny,” said Ben.

  “Where?”

  “To the north, in the reefs and shallows around Tapu Island.”

  “Tapu? The forbidden island? But we have no keel to let us sail to the north,” said Yonaton. “If we turn across the wind we will drift sideways and slow down. They will catch us in half the time.”

  “We have three keels!” said Ben with his lopsided smile, as he lifted up one of the broad paddles. “Or rather, two keels and a rudder. Why don’t we fix two of these paddles alongside the downwind canoe to make a keel?”

  Yonaton rubbed his bearded chin. “It is worth a try, perhaps. Do we have any cord to lash them in place?”

  Mammed, who was steering, chipped in: “Ifan and Jack put a net and two lobster pots in the canoes for us. There will be rope with those.”

  “Then let Ben steer while you go find it, Mammed. We need to change course as soon as possible. And I will adjust the sail.”

  It took a while to re-rig the sail’s leading edge to a nearly vertical position to present a more efficient shape for sailing across the fresh breeze. And it took even longer to lash the two biggest paddles alongside the left hand canoe so that their blades protruded beneath the hull.

  Finally, the three of them moved to the right side of their strange vessel and the captain turned the boat ninety degrees to the right, heading north across the wind and the waves. They all held their breath as the sail was hauled in and the lashed paddles took up the strain of preventing leeway.

  “It’s working!” grinned Yonaton, as he glanced behind to see their wake trailing straight and true to the south.

  “It’s a struggle to keep her pointing north across the waves with only a paddle for a rudder.” His arms were already aching from the effort. “But see – this crazy craft has picked up speed. If o
nly it can hold together, maybe we can make it!”

  The two canoes were now twisting alarmingly and waves were breaking over the bow of the left hand hull.

  “Go and bring everything out of that canoe, Mammed,” he said. “We need all the weight this side. And see if there is much water to bail out also.”

  The lad quickly wormed his way into the leeward hull and retrieved nets and ropes, three hammocks and two large waxed canvas sheets intended for use as shelters. They were soon tied down over the windward hull to help balance the boat against the pressure of the wind in the sail.

  “There is a lot of water in there, Papa Yon,” he was breathing heavily from the effort of dragging the supplies across the boat. “But most of it is towards the bow and hard to reach.”

  “Hmm, the sail is pushing the bow down. We must rig another rope from the left bow up to the masthead and then back to here,” he indicated the stern of the right canoe. “It will help to lift the bow.”

  They continued to make adjustments to their log-canoe catamaran as the day progressed and the sun reached its midday peak. They also kept a constant check on the pursuing Pelican, which had changed course soon after they did.

  “They haven’t adjusted their sails yet, Yonny,” said Ben, after studying the following ship. “If they have our crew on board, they are not helping the Cardinal to catch us.”

  The captain took a long look, squinting in the harsh noon sunlight, at the Pelican rising and falling on the eastern horizon. Her two great lateen sails were still set for downwind sailing, their long spars almost horizontal. However, the ship was not now aiming at them, but at an interception point far ahead.

  “He may be no sailor,” said Yonaton, “but he has figured out where we are headed and how to cut the corner to catch us. We will be lucky to reach the shallows before them.”

  * * * * *

  Moon, 2088

  “Why the hell didn’t we know about this before now?” Will asked angrily.

  Thijs Jansen had joined the tense and emotional meeting in the Governor’s office. He’d hurried down the mountain as soon as his astronomy team had the trajectory of the comet computed accurately.

  “We weren’t looking for it, Will.” He spread his hands in apology. “This time last year all eyes were on the main body of the comet and then on the aftermath of the impact. If you recall we were struggling to get our telescope back into service to see what was happening on the planet. Nobody thought to track down the piece that was deflected. And then we couldn’t see it. Our view is restricted to the southern hemisphere of the sky by the Moon itself. This second part of Santos only came up over our horizon yesterday.”

  “Oh, okay. And you’re sure it’s going to hit the Earth this time around?”

  “Yes. We have a precise impact destination and time now.” He hesitated.

  “You’d better tell us, Thijs,” said Nadia.

  “It will land in the desert of western Persia at 11.37 UTC Saturday.”

  “Umm, where’s that?” Tamala looked puzzled.

  “Here, I can show you.” Thijs tapped his comm and a map of the Middle East appeared on Nadia’s window screen.

  “Since the Koranic War, Iran, Iraq, parts of Syria and Jordan, plus the north of Saudi Arabia have become one country – Persia – almost as it was over a thousand years ago. The one piece of good news is that most of this land is uninhabited, especially now that the desert is frozen. Most survivors have moved south.”

  “So, what will be the effect of this second impact, Thijs?” asked Nadia.

  “Hard to say for sure. Santos 2, as we’re calling it, has lost some of its size and mass on its trip around the sun. It’s now just under two kilometres long and we estimate its mass at 500 megatonnes. That’s about a tenth of the first impactor.”

  “Does that mean it won’t do much harm?” Tamala looked hopeful.

  “No, it’ll still do a lot of damage, but not as much as the first part of Santos.”

  Thijs gave a brief outline of the impact’s consequences, illustrated with a sequence of coloured rings centred on a bright red dot on the map. There would be little risk from tsunamis this time, but earthquakes would again be an issue for the Middle East. Volcanic activity, which had died down somewhat since the first hit, could be stirred up again. Worst of all, atmospheric dust, which was down to 72 percent of its peak level and dropping steadily, would be increased once more. It would delay the recovery of plant life but they couldn’t guess how much.

  “Thank you, Thijs, for this information at short notice,” said Nadia. “If you get more detail, please let me know. I will be speaking to my father at 16.30. I hope he can inform the communities that might be affected.

  “Apart from warning them, and saying some prayers, there is little more that we can do for them. We must turn our attention to the people here on the Moon. What can we do to reduce the shock and despair this news will bring?”

  “What about our Comet Dust Party on Saturday, Nadia? Should we cancel it?” asked Tamala.

  “I don’t know. What do you all think?”

  “Jeez, we can’t party while all this crap is going down. Can we?” Will brushed his hand over his scalp.

  “I’m not so sure that cancelling is a good idea,” said Tamala. “Everyone is looking forward to it. The music and theatre groups have been rehearsing for weeks. There will be a lot of disappointed people.”

  “What will we see of this impact from here?” asked Lian.

  “Not much,” said Thijs. “Our position at midday Saturday will place the impact site right on the eastern limb as we view the Earth. We may see a brief glow – possibly a plume – but the rotation of the planet will move the impact site out of our view until after midnight. We won’t see Persia again until the early hours of Sunday morning and with the dust already there we might not see much difference.”

  “Are you going to make an announcement about this soon, Nadia?” asked Tamala.

  “Yes, as soon as we’ve finished this meeting.”

  “Then I think we should go ahead with the party. Everyone will be dismayed to hear another comet is going to hit the Earth and, of course, they will be afraid for their families all over again. But we are not going to see much or hear any news of the impact this time, Nadia.

  “All we can do is wait until your father calls with whatever he has heard. I think we need the party on Saturday night to lift our spirits. Otherwise we will all be sitting around with long faces, worrying about our families and wondering when we are ever going to go home. We need a distraction, something to cheer us up, now more than ever.”

  “I agree,” said Nadia. “I will address Will’s concern that holding a party at this time may seem inappropriate when I make my vidcast. Yasmine is checking on our pharmacy stocks in case there’s a new spike in demand, but hopefully the narc patches on Saturday night will help.”

  “And remind them that the yoga, meditation and hug classes are open for anyone,” said Tamala.

  “And there’s room for more in the sports sessions,” added Will.

  “Very well. Thank you all. Let us pray to God that this is the last bad news from Comet Santos. We will put off our 18 hours meeting until tomorrow. Please let yourselves out.”

  17. Ten Days After Santos 2

  Moon, 2088: Tuesday, 24th February

  Lian brushed the crumbs of dark brown compost from her fingers and carried the newly-sown seed pots to the germination shelf that ran along one side of Unit 72, one of the farm’s four plant nursery tubes.

  She didn’t normally get involved in sowing seeds, but these genetically-altered capsules of life were her special babies. They would grow into the next batch of Moon-adapted trees and shrubs that would help to feed and nourish colonists at Armstrong Base for years to come.

  In addition to the fruiting species she had included seeds from some of the most colourful and fragrant flowering trees and shrubs. Now they had growing space to spare she wanted to delight the senses and
soothe the souls of future Lunies. If her experiments with modified meat propagators worked, they might even one day have a zoo. Developing an artificial womb was problematic but would be worth it if they could bring to life some of the thousands of fertilised eggs in their cryostores.

  They would also help finalize her theory of genetic evolution. It had long been known that Darwin’s ‘survival of the fittest’ was too simplistic and that DNA could alter in response to environmental changes. The Moon was the perfect laboratory to show that a radical shift, such as one-sixth gravity, produced rapid modifications to better fit life to its environment. The Moon-born creatures, like the humans, would be unlike their Earthly forebears within a few generations, she felt sure of it.

  Since the Earth had turned into a brown ball of dust the Moon was the only place she could now imagine living. Fortunately Will was of the same mind. There was nothing to tempt him back to California, he said. Like Lian, he now regarded the Moon as his home.

  He was especially happy today as he was giving his Moonbike its first run out on the surface. That morning at breakfast she’d told him he was just like a child with a new toy, which had made them both giggle.

  The thought of a child made Lian stop and close her eyes. At no point in her life had motherhood had any relevance for her, but these past few months had changed everything. Her brush with death, her love for Will and their shared belief in the future of the colony had all been factors. The birth of three babies, especially her gorgeous little goddaughter Ngaio, had made her distinctly broody.

  But there was something else. The mind-numbing loss of life on Earth had created a new imperative. It was now her duty to keep her family alive through her genes. She wanted babies. Lots of babies!

  Ah well, she thought, as she carried more pots of freshly-sown seeds over to the warmth of the germination racks, it could happen at any time. According to Doc Rozek, she was now perfectly fit and fertile. Lian had asked the question – and been given a pack of pregnancy test strips – at her last check up, ten days ago, on the ominous morning of Santos 2.