Mother Moon

by Bob Goddard

  For the sake of the colony she must bear these burdens alone. She sighed, prayed her father would call tomorrow and focussed her attention back on the wobbling images from Will’s Moonbike out on the surface.

  * * * * *

  Moon, 2088

  “Wahey!” Will couldn’t contain his delight any longer. He had started out providing a sedate commentary as he checked the machine’s controls and got used to the unusual balance of a single-tracked vehicle in one sixth gravity. But now, twenty minutes in to the test, all inhibition had gone and he was loving it.

  Once he’d established that the front skid wasn’t going to slip from under him and the broad rubber track had enough grip, he had opened up the power and let the bike speed down the gentle slope towards the Landing Zone. According to the instrument screen he was now doing 60 kilometres per hour.

  “Ye’ll be enjoying yerself then?” Danny Gallagher reminded Will he was not alone. “I can’t keep up with yer at that speed, fella. You’re leaving me for dead in this old cart.”

  “Ah, sorry, Danny. I’ll make a turn and come back to you. Stay on your current heading please.”

  Will leaned the Moonbike to the left and found himself carving a huge circle through the regolith, throwing up a curtain of dust. The bright beam of the headlamp picked out rocks and hollows and the rim of a distant crater, but the machine seemed to be turning very slowly. He rolled off the throttle and leaned the bike over further until the crash bars were trailing in the dust but still it seemed reluctant to turn.

  “Damn,” he muttered. High speed cornering was one of the greatest joys of riding a motorcycle back home. Here, where there was so little gravity, his speeding Moonbike’s momentum and the light, dusty surface made turning frustratingly difficult.

  Then he remembered the secret to dirt bike riding was using power to step out the back wheel. He rotated the Moonbike’s twistgrip and the rear track slid sideways, pointing the machine back the way he’d come. Hoisting it upright delivered the traction he wanted and propelled the machine back in the direction of Danny’s buggy.

  “I hope you are taking care out there, Will?” Nadia’s voice was tinged with concern.

  “Yeah. I’m just learning how to make this thing turn. It’s the old momentum versus gravity thing again, but I think I’ve got it licked now. Need some tweaks to the steering angle and maybe a longer front ski for more bite and precision, but the bike’s great. You’re gonna love it, Nadia.”

  Accelerating back towards Danny, Will saw a brief flash of light over to his left but ignored it. He knew what it was now that Doc Rozek had finally nailed the problem. Trawling through the data bank, she had learned that back in the Apollo days there had been reports of flashes caused by cosmic particles interacting with astronauts’ retinas.

  In Will’s case, a particle had damaged his optic nerve, causing an occasional misfire. It was the reason he’d been seeing things this past year and he was relieved to know the cause. While she was trying to figure out a cure, he could safely ignore it.

  “Goes like a rocket, doesn’t it?” said Danny with a tinge of envy, as Will sped past in the opposite direction.

  “Yeah, it’s nippy enough,” said Will. “I’m turning again now, Danny.”

  He slowed, tipped the machine over and tweaked the twistgrip. The Moonbike obediently spun to face back down the slope and a few seconds later he appeared alongside Danny’s buggy, grinning hugely.

  “I can see we’ll have to prise yer off that thing with a crow bar. You’re having way too much fun, Will. It’s not decent.”

  “Okay, Danny. Back to the serious stuff. I’m going to test the emergency brake now. I’ll go a little way ahead so you can film what happens.”

  Will moved twenty metres ahead and then pulled the Sokolever. A cloud of dust spewed from underneath the Moonbike as spikes drove into the regolith and dragged it to a stop.

  “Damn! I nearly went over the handlebars,” said Will, as he released the brake and caught up with Danny again.

  “I think we can say that works then, Will. Her Ladyship will be proud of yer.”

  “Her ‘Ladyship’ is listening to this conversation, remember?” There was a smile in Nadia’s voice.

  “Ah, of course ye are, Nadia. I was just saying to young Mr Cooper here, that yer famous Sokolever seems to be doin’ its job, alright. Stopped him on a sixpence.”

  “Okay,” said Will, “we’re coming to the landing zone now. We’ll take a turn around the perimeter and then head back home for tea and tiffin. I think that’s what test pilots are supposed to have, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, that sounds right enough. But I’d resist the temptation to do a barrel roll over the airfield, or ye might regret it.”

  * * * * *

  Moon, 2088

  “Come in.” Nadia was pleased to see Tamala outside her door. Will and his Moonbike, with Danny in tow, had just returned to the garage after a successful test run. Tamala, with her sunny disposition and fluorescent smile would stop Nadia’s thoughts returning to her father’s missing call.

  “Thank you, Nadia.” But there was no smile, just a furrowed brow.

  “What can I do for you, Tamala? Ngaio not with you today?”

  “No, she’s feeling grumpy so I’ve left her with Aunt Lian. They get on well together. I think Ngaio is reacting to my emotions because I’m feeling really panicky today, Nadia.”

  “Oh?” This wasn’t the pick-me-up conversation Nadia had hoped for. “Why is that?”

  “Well, I know this will sound strange, but I have a very close connection with my twin sister, Elina. We have always known how the other is feeling, even when we are miles apart. And something is wrong with her. I know it is!” Tears were welling in Tamala’s eyes as she spoke.

  “I woke early this morning from a horrible dream and found I couldn’t speak properly. My mouth seemed numb. I couldn’t eat breakfast. But it wasn’t me, it was Elina who was sick. I’m sure of it.”

  The hairs on the back of Nadia’s neck were prickling. “But you are speaking perfectly well now, Tamala. Perhaps this… this sickness, perhaps Elina has recovered from it?”

  “No.” The tears were flowing in big fat rivers now. “I don’t think so, Nadia. I have been struggling to breathe all morning…,” she sobbed, “but now I can’t feel Elina at all. It feels as though I’ve lost her!” Tamala’s words ended in a wail of anguish.

  Nadia stepped around her desk and held Tamala against her chest while she shook and shuddered. Eventually she turned her shiny face up to Nadia and said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to break down like this.” She fished a tissue from her pocket, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “I came to see if you have heard from your father today? Perhaps you can ask him to try to contact Lilongwe, see if they know what is going on with my family? I feel something bad has happened to Elina. I need to know, Nadia, whether she and my family are okay. Please?”

  Nadia took both of Tamala’s hands in her own. “The next time I speak to my father, I will ask him to contact Lilongwe and find out what he can about your family.”

  18. Thirteen Days After Santos 2

  Moon, 2088: Friday, 27th February

  The Governor’s office was already full when Tamala stepped through the door late on Friday afternoon. Will, Lian, Thijs and Yasmine shuffled to make room for her. Nadia stood behind her desk looking tense. Tamala sensed they were about to receive some bad news. Something, perhaps, to explain what had happened to her twin sister, Elina.

  “I apologise for being evasive this week,” Nadia started. “As most of you know we have lost contact with Earth. The last call from my father was on Monday when he expressed concern about a loss of communication with survivor communities around the world.

  “I have been working with Thijs to see if we can do anything to re-establish contact or at least understand what has happened. As the breakdown began a few days after the impact of Santos 2, we studied the likely progression of geological effects to see if these
matched the rolling nature of the communication loss. We concluded that this could not be the explanation.

  “Then we noticed that the loss of communications my father reported seemed to follow the spread of dust clouds from the impact site. Can you show us, please Thijs?”

  Thijs tapped his comm, sending an image of the dust-covered planet to Nadia’s window screen. An outline of the continents was then superimposed and a black streak appeared where the Middle East would be.

  “This is the morning after Santos 2 struck the Persian desert west of Baghdad,” he said. “The darker ash and dust from the impact can be seen spreading east in the jet stream.”

  The image changed to show the dark streak broadening and spreading over Pakistan, northern India and the Himalayas. “This is impact plus two and… plus three.” The image moved to show the dust had spread to China.

  Nadia spoke. “This was the first day that my father found a communications problem. He couldn’t make contact with Delhi in northern India. Go on please, Thijs.”

  “This is impact plus four.” The dark dust cloud had now reached Japan and was spreading out across the Pacific Ocean.

  “On this day,” said Nadia, “contact with China was lost. The following day it was Tokyo that failed to answer calls. You will notice that communications are breaking down the day after the Santos 2 dust arrives overhead. Continue please.”

  “It takes a couple of days for the dust cloud to cross the Pacific, getting broader all the time.” Thijs moved the image forward. “And then it is crossing North America.”

  “My father’s calls to California were not answered from the 19th,” said Nadia, “and by the 20th it was the East Coast of America that fell silent. He was trying to work out how the quakes from Santos 2 could propagate in this fashion to cause cable failures. It didn’t occur to him that it might be connected to the dust from Santos 2 because he couldn’t see it.”

  Thijs continued: “By impact plus eight the dust is spreading across Western Europe.” A wide band of darker cloud could be seen over Spain, France and England. “Impact plus nine and the dust has passed overhead at Nadia’s father’s location, Sochi on the Black Sea coast.”

  “This was the last day I spoke to my father, Monday 23rd,” said Nadia with a deep sigh. “The following morning his scheduled call never came and none since.”

  “We can all see the pattern here,” said Will, as he brushed his hand over his head. “But how can dust affect underground and undersea cables? I don’t get it.”

  “No. We didn’t get it either,” said Nadia. “Thijs and I have been trying to figure it out without success. So this morning I started digging into our data bank for information on the Persian desert to see if any peculiar property of the sand could explain it.

  “Before I show you the next item I will mention two other clues to this mystery. The first was my father, when I spoke to him the last time, he seemed to be slurring his words a little bit. I assumed he had found a bottle of vodka. I didn’t blame him for wanting to dull the misery of their struggle for survival.

  “The second was the next day, soon after my father’s scheduled call failed to come through. Tamala came to see me feeling very distressed. Perhaps you can tell us what happened, Tamala?”

  Tamala turned to the others, blinked and swallowed. “I have an identical twin sister called Elina. We have always been able to tell what each other is experiencing, ever since we were children, even if we are miles apart. It is hard to explain it, but it is real.

  “Once, when I tripped on some steps at university, I sprained my ankle and couldn’t walk. My sister was in Nairobi and called to say her ankle had swollen and she was limping – she knew I’d had a fall. One time my gum bled when she had a tooth extracted. There have been lots of examples like this. We are like two halves of the same person, able to feel each other’s pain.

  “On Tuesday I woke to find I couldn’t talk properly and could hardly swallow. My eyelids became heavy and I struggled to breathe. I went to see Yasmine who could find nothing wrong with me. I knew it was Elina who was suffering from some terrible illness. Then, after a few hours, all the symptoms stopped and… and I couldn’t feel Elina any more,” tears rolled down Tamala’s cheeks as she spoke in a whisper, “I felt I had lost her.”

  “I’m sorry to upset you again, Tamala,” said Nadia. “Your unique connection with your sister may provide a window on events on Earth.

  “This morning, in an effort to find some answers, I searched the data bank again. I discovered something that might explain Tamala’s experience, my father’s slurred speech and the communication failures. I think it is best you read the information I found and see for yourself.”

  Nadia tapped her comm and a column of text filled her window screen:

  Iraq’s Biological Weapons Program

  Iraq’s biological weapons program ran from 1973 until at least 1991 and produced anthrax, aflatoxin, botulinum toxin, gas gangrene, ricin, and wheat smut, and was working on cholera, mycotoxins, shigellosis, and viruses. Many important details were never revealed to the UN inspectors who were on the ground in Iraq until the end of 1998 and again in 2002-3.

  Iraq declared that it produced 8445 litres of anthrax. Inspectors determined that at least three times this much could have been produced with the equipment and growth media Iraq had at its disposal. One gram of dried anthrax spores has been estimated to contain about 10 million lethal doses.

  Iraq made almost 20,000 litres of botulinum toxin, much of which was placed into munitions and missile warheads. Botulinum toxin is the most poisonous substance known - the average man would only have to inhale about 70 billionths of a gram for it to be fatal. This quantity of botox would be sufficient to kill everyone on Earth a thousand times over.

  Like the weapons-grade anthrax, these strains were human-specific, designed to leave livestock and wildlife unharmed, and were destroyed by UV light. As a tactical battlefield weapon they would have been deployed at night and neutralised by sunlight next day.

  Because Iraq falsely stated that their biological weapons program was obliterated in July 1991, observers believe Iraq never gave a credible account of the program. It remains the least understood part of Iraq’s ‘Weapons of Mass Destruction’ effort in the run up to the second Gulf War.

  Many believe these biological weapons were hidden from inspectors deep beneath the sands of the western desert and all records destroyed. Subsequently the exact locations of these weapons caches have been lost.

  “I fear that Santos 2 may have found those lost weapons,” said Nadia, as the last of them turned from the window screen. “So, I asked Doctor Rozek what would be the symptoms of exposure to anthrax and botulinum toxin. Perhaps you could tell us please Yasmine?”

  In a halting voice she said, “Well, um, a person inhaling anthrax spores would experience flu-like symptoms followed by sudden, severe respiratory distress and death. Botulinum toxin attacks the nervous system. Symptoms include difficulty speaking and swallowing followed by breathing distress. Abrupt respiratory failure is usually the cause of death.”

  A scream from Tamala gave Will just enough warning to catch her before she fell to the floor. It took several minutes to revive her, calm her and get her seated in Nadia’s chair where Yasmine administered a sedative. Sipping a plass of water she nodded when Nadia asked if she could continue.

  “I am sorry to have to present this distressing information to you. But for the sake of the whole colony we need to face up to these facts. We have lost communication with Earth. Ever since Santos 2 impacted the desert of western Persia, in what was formerly Iraq, communications with survivor communities around the planet have been lost in a progressive pattern that follows its dust plume. Earthquakes don’t fit this pattern so there has to be another reason.”

  Nadia reached down and took hold of Tamala’s hand. When she looked up again they saw that the Ice Maiden had fat tears rolling slowly down her cheeks too.

  She cleared her throat
and continued in a shaky voice. “From all the evidence there would seem to be only one logical conclusion. Santos 2 has ejected these deadly toxins high into the atmosphere where they have been carried around the world with no sunlight to disarm them.

  “I hope and pray that I am wrong, but it seems to me the reason communications have broken down is not due to equipment failure. I fear there may be nobody left to communicate with.”

  * * * * *

  Earth, 1504

  “It’s true. We need a miracle,” said Yonaton with a cough after a long look astern. “But we are not dead yet. They have to catch us first.”

  Escape did seem impossible now. He could see the sleek bow of his own beloved ship slicing through the waves menacingly close behind them. And above it, the flapping purple cape and bloated face of the Cardinal. When he closed his eyes, Yonaton could see the wooden prow of his ship crashing down upon them, splintering their feeble little craft and driving them under the water.

  “Not dead yet,” he muttered again as he shook his head and focussed on the turbulent seas in front of them. He tightened his grip on the steering paddle. “Just need a miracle, that’s all.”

  There came a muffled shout from behind. All three turned to look as the Pelican swung her bow to windward.

  “Look! They’ve dropped the mainsail, Yonny,” cried Benyamin with glee. “The stern-sail has forced them around into the wind.”

  The huge triangular mainsail was down and billowing over the side as the ship came to a halt, head to wind and broadside on to them.

  More shouts came across the water, followed by a shriek.

  “Oh, no,” groaned Yonaton. “That’s one of our loyal crewmen being punished for cutting the halyard. Whoever it was has bought us another chance at life. I hope he hasn’t paid for it with his own.”

  The gap between them that had been down to five ship-lengths was now widening steadily as their little catamaran drew ahead. But already they could see a figure beginning to climb up the mast to retrieve the end of the cut halyard.