Mother Moon

by Bob Goddard

  * * * * *

  Earth, 1504

  All afternoon the wind and waves had been building. Yonaton, Benyamin and Mammed, having done all they could to keep their log-canoe catamaran ahead of the Cardinal and his men, were now trying desperately to keep it upright.

  Each time they were lifted to the top of a wave, the full force of the near-gale wind slammed into their sail. It made the mast creak and the crossbeams groan and threatened to tip them over.

  Soaking wet and shivering from the wind chill despite the sun blazing in the western sky, the three clung together on the edge of the windward hull. As the captain wrestled with the steering paddle, Ben let out the rope to spill wind from their sail in the strongest gusts.

  Tapu Island, the forbidden place, was now close on their left side. Its steep, tree-covered slopes soared into the sky. All that lay between it and their fragile craft was an impenetrable ring of reefs upon which the surf boomed and crashed in anger. They were so close now they could feel the explosions of the water and see the bursts of white spray just beyond their sail.

  Dark shapes sped past below them, marking the coral heads that reached up towards the surface, but their greatest peril was close astern. The Pelican, the ship they had trusted with their lives for years, was pounding through the waves. It was now no more than a ship’s length behind them. And it was trying to sink them, crush them or drive them on to the reef.

  Above its plunging bow stood the glowering Cardinal, his face florid from shouting into the wind. In his upstretched hands he held the conch shell and twisted staff, the symbols of his religion. Yonaton saw he was using the staff to guide the helmsman who could no longer see them as they were so close under the ship’s bow.

  The dropping of the Pelican’s mainsail had bought them some precious time. It had allowed them to get in among the corals and shallows to the east of Tapu Island before the Cardinal caught up with them again. But Yonaton knew there would be no more reprieves. In the next few minutes the Pelican would be upon them and their bid for freedom would be over. They had escaped from a morning hanging only to suffer an afternoon drowning. And Mammed, his brave adopted son, would end up going down with them. That wasn’t right. Yonaton’s stomach knotted at the thought of it. But there was nothing more he could do.

  Nobody but a madman would drive a ship through these reef-infested waters. If he had ever doubted the Cardinal’s sanity, here was proof of his lunacy. He caught snatches of the priest’s ranting before the wind whipped his words away: “… the Lord Kris will protect the righteous… and cast these sinners to the dee—”

  A terrific splintering crash ended his tirade abruptly. The three fugitives turned in time to see a purple shape plummeting into the sea as the Pelican heeled, its hull impaled on the coral. For an instant the cleric’s head bobbed to the surface, his eyes wide in shock and fear, then his heavy hobnailed boots dragged him inexorably beneath the waves. The Cardinal would rant no more, but that was not Yonaton’s immediate concern.

  “Oh, my poor ship!” he groaned as the Pelican listed giddily amid shouts and screams. Another body pitched over its tilting side into the boiling water.

  “That idiot has wrecked her. We must turn around and try to save some of them… save our crew, at least”

  He twisted the steering paddle and their little vessel turned towards the wind. But as they crested the next wave it stopped, sail flapping, and fell back.

  “It’s no good. I can’t turn it into the wind. We’ll have to turn the other way, with the wind behind us. Be ready with the sail Ben. And Mammed, move across to the other side to keep us balanced.”

  As Yonaton paddled and the wind filled the sail again, their craft picked up speed and started to turn down wind. But already they were much closer to the reef.

  “We’ll never make it, Yonny,” yelled Ben, as he tugged on the rope to pull the sail across. “We’re almost on the reef now!”

  The stern started to lift as a towering wave reared up behind them. The catamaran began to surf down its face as they were carried, faster and faster, towards the reef.

  Yonaton gripped the paddle tighter and tried to turn them across the wave. “Hold on!” he shouted as they were lifted up the face of the oncoming mountain of water. Above them the crest of the wave had broken and white spume roared down its front to overtake them.

  He dropped the paddle and grasped the crossbeam as their flimsy craft was lifted higher and higher. Then the wave burst onto the reef and they were flung from its crest, clearing the top of the coral. Yonaton felt his grip on the wet timber slipping and then he was flying. He saw the mast coming up to meet him.

  Then, with a crack, everything turned black.

  20. Return To Earth

  Moon, 2156: Monday, 8th November

  Ngaio left the dining hall in the south east quadrant of Sokolova City and set off to visit her mother. At 102 Tamala Griffiths was the grand old dame of Luna, still holding court in the elderly care ward of the Yasmine Rozek Hospital where she was treated like royalty. Ngaio had promised to spend the morning with her.

  There were now just four survivors from the original 297 who had once strolled upon the fertile soil of Earth. Despite their varying stages of frailty and dementia, all of them were treated with the greatest care and respect in this homely geriatric unit. And today was their special day. A day they had fought for so long to witness. Today they would see their descendants returning to planet Earth.

  It was a day that Ngaio had begun to wonder if she would ever see herself, let alone her aged mother. At 69 she was still active in the administration of the Luna colony, serving as Head of Personnel just as her mother had for so many years. After four terms as Governor, an exhilarating and exhausting 20 years of steering the growing community towards maturity, she had declined a fifth term.

  Time to let a younger person take the reins, she had told her partner Gunther. Like most of the first generation of Moonborns she and Gunther had decided not to marry, much to the chagrin of her mother. But they had produced a fine family of six girls and five boys and – so far – 55 grandchildren and 29 great grandchildren.

  It was a struggle to keep count, let alone remember all their names. Fortunately her comm remembered their birthdays and reminded her in time to arrange a treat. It was usually, depending on their age, a trip with granny to Mt Jansen, the highest peak on the lip of the Amundsen Crater. The views were spectacular and the flight in a hopper was always a thrill.

  Sometimes, if she had business at Armstrong, she would fly them there instead. It meant crossing Faustini, Shoemaker and Haworth craters on the way so they could see the lights of the mining works in the inky depths. For their sixteenth birthday, as they passed into adulthood, they would get a flight on the LTV to one of the distant mining camps in the Maria or even to Cooper City, the settlement at the North Pole. As Luna’s senior pilot/cosmonaut, trained by the legendary Nadia Sokolova, Ngaio was able to pull a few strings for her family.

  With so many children and so few adults in Moon society the priority after feeding the growing horde had been to educate them. Throughout her life Ngaio had devoted more time to learning and teaching than anything else. It was the only way to equip future generations with the skills needed for the enormous undertaking that awaited them – the return to Earth.

  Nadia used to remind them that 400,000 Americans had worked on the Apollo programme to enable the first human to set foot on the Moon. Returning a colony to Earth would require tens of thousands of highly trained people. Most would be working behind the scenes on the craft, the launch system, the electronics, software and communications. Another team had the herculean task of preparing the lucky 100 candidates for the crushing gravity of Earth.

  For years would-be Earth colonists had gone through a gruelling regime of physical and psychological testing to select the fittest. Most feared was the centrifuge which had been built inside a new chamber excavated underneath Mt Malapert. The second and third generation Moonborns w
ho were shortlisted had to demonstrate they could work in Earth’s gravity. The serious ones had been putting in hours of their spare time on the centrifuge to build up their endurance. Even so only a handful had been able to stand in a full one g, let alone walk or perform tasks, when the launch date had finally been announced six months ago.

  Since then the chosen one hundred, plus the twenty reserves, had been jogging around the corridors of Sokolova city wearing weight suits, pumping iron in the gyms and queuing up for the centrifuge. Seven had already dropped out through injury, mostly stress fractures and torn ligaments. Three more had withdrawn for psychological reasons. It meant half the reserves were now on the team and the enormity of what the colonists were facing had finally sunk in.

  In addition, all were required to put in an hour a day at the city’s main swimming pool to ensure they could swim. The plan was to enter the Earth’s atmosphere over Central America and glide down over the coast of Venezuela. They would skim over the sea just off Guyana and touch down in the shallow waters off Suriname coming ashore near the site of Paramaribo.

  Of course, all these coastal settlements had been destroyed by tsunamis back in ’87 and the sea had receded miles from the old coastlines. That was due to the amount of water locked up in the ice covering much of the northern and southern hemispheres. After sending unmanned probes and considering all the options it was decided that this was the best spot to sustain a new colony.

  Ngaio peeped through the window of the geriatric unit’s day room and spotted her mother propped up with cushions in her high-backed chair.

  “Hello Mother!” she called out as she crossed the soft-carpeted room. “Are you all ready for the big day?”

  The two young nurses attending to the old man in the corner looked up and smiled, though clearly the aged male patient hadn’t heard her. Andrei Lanimovskiy was the youngest of the four surviving Earthborns, but at 95 he was deaf and suffering from Alzheimers. He probably wouldn’t appreciate the significance of today’s historic event as much as the three elderly ladies. Apart from him and the youngest children, Ngaio knew the entire 21,379 population would be watching today’s momentous broadcast.

  Ngaio greeted the others then sat down next to Tamala. “I’ve brought you some chocolate from the canteen, Mum,” she said loudly, unwrapping a package containing a few small dark cubes, “Would you like a piece now?”

  “Oh, yes please, dear. You are kind to me, Ngaio.” She looked up into her daughter’s eyes and her wrinkled brown face broke into a huge smile. “They never give me chocolate in here, you know. Mmmm.” She was silenced by the delicious cube Ngaio placed on her tongue.

  “Well that’s not surprising, Mum. The farm grows a very small amount. I can only get a hundred grams once a month. The grandchildren usually have a tiny taste each.”

  “Mmmm, that’s lovely darling. We used to grow it in Malawi, you know. My mother sold cocoa beans at the Malangalanga Road Market.”

  “Yes, you told me.”

  “It was so hot and dusty. Terrible work really. And your grandfather bought and sold charcoal. His storeroom was full of hessian sacks of charcoal, stacked from the floor to the ceiling.”

  “Yes, Mum.”

  “And your Aunt Elina, she was a famous lawyer, flying to Nairobi all the time.”

  “Yes, I know Mum.”

  Visits were usually like this. A stream of ancient memories that her mother delighted in recounting while her old brown eyes stared off into the distance. She loved reliving scenes that Ngaio couldn’t picture without the aid of a vid from the history files.

  “Are you going to watch the launch this morning, Mum?” Ngaio pointed towards the window screen on the opposite wall where the Ark sat floodlit on its launching ramp. “I’ll switch your sound on if you want to listen to the commentary.”

  “What launch, dear?”

  “Oh, Mum! It’s the launch of the Ark today! You know… the hundred colonists setting off for Earth? You’ve been waiting for this for almost seventy years. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten!”

  “Oh! Is it today? Where are my glasses, dear? I can’t see a thing.”

  Ngaio had been involved with the planning for this mission all her adult life and had been inspired by it throughout her childhood too. She remembered those early meetings of the Return To Earth Committee. She was sixteen and a Junior Cosmonaut with three more years of training under the eagle eye of Governor Nadia before she could fly an LTV as Chief Pilot. She had been determined to be on the ship that returned mankind to planet Earth. Who could have guessed it might take another 53 years and she would be too old to make the trip?

  Her teen years had been such simple, carefree days when anything seemed possible and success was a foregone conclusion. Then an LTV had crashed on its return trip from the fledgling Hermite Base – since renamed Cooper City – at the Moon’s North Pole. Everything changed overnight. The loss of all three crew forty years ago was a tragedy that cast such a shadow over the colony it had threatened to ground all flights permanently.

  Nadia took it very badly. She had always been the champion of safety and her ‘all life is precious’ mantra pervaded policy on the Moon. She blamed herself for not being on the flight but there was nothing she could have done. When the wreckage was dug out of the regolith it soon became clear that the LTV’s main engine had shut down due to a fuel blockage.

  The cascade of events that led to the failure were picked over in minute detail. Several people, including Ngaio’s Uncle Will, who was still Head of Engineering at that time, had blamed themselves. In truth nobody was at fault. It was a breakdown of the fuel tank lining which had never happened before and probably never would again. Inspections and safety checks, maintenance and servicing had been faultless; it was just tragic bad luck.

  For Ngaio and her family it had been a close shave. She had been the regular LTV pilot until the week before the crash. Her co-pilot had taken over because she was six months pregnant, the limit for flights or surface excursions. She thanked the angels while she wept for her dead co-pilot and his family.

  After an emotional memorial service, when the crew’s remains were released for recycling, there was a time when nobody wanted to face the risks involved with sending a ship full of colonists to planet Earth. It was Ngaio’s mother Tamala who had made them face up to the facts and the future.

  “Did you know,” she announced at a gloomy committee meeting a month later, “that sixteen men died during the race to put the first man on the Moon. And almost 200 more died in rocket explosions on the ground. If our forefathers had given up when those disasters occurred none of us would be alive today. Every human being would have perished with Comet Santos.

  “We must press on with our Return To Earth programme. Otherwise the primary goal of our society will be gone and those three precious lives will have been lost for nothing.”

  “Tamala is right,” said Nadia. “We’ve been flying LTVs here for forty years and this is the first major accident. We need to learn from it, find ways to reduce the risks still further, but we must continue to push ahead with our return to Earth. It is our duty and our destiny to do so.”

  And now all those years of hard work were about to pay off. Ngaio thought about the rail-gun launch system her Uncle Will had developed. It was a shame he wasn’t here to see it send the Ark off on its epic journey. Or the results of all the engineering he and his team had done on the craft’s rocket motors. Despite working with only one eye in his later years, Will had achieved miracles before he died from a heart attack, wrench in hand, at the age of 83.

  Aunt Lian had struggled after he’d gone, but she continued to develop her forest parks, zoological gardens and delightful green spaces long after she had retired as Head of Biosphere. Right up to her last days here in the elderly care ward of the Yasmine Rozek Hospital she had been the Moon’s venerable sage on all matters biological. She always insisted that a minimum of one hundred colonists would be needed to provide genetic diversit
y when they returned to Earth. She was right, of course, but the logistics were to prove a nightmare.

  They had all assumed this would be achieved with a succession of flights carrying perhaps twenty people each time. But after their unmanned missions showed how tricky it was to hit any particular spot on the Earth’s surface with accuracy, it was realised this would never work. They could end up with five small groups of colonists separated by hundreds of miles of jungle, unable to find each other.

  It was decided they would all have to travel together, carry everything they needed to survive and not rely on any help from the Moon other than words of advice. They would be able to communicate using the geo-stationary satellite now parked over the selected landing site. That source of information and reassurance was all they should expect. Once the Ark left the Moon, the new colonists would be on their own.

  “Is there any more of that chocolate dear?” Her mother’s voice jogged Ngaio out of her reverie. She fed her another piece, popped a cube into her own mouth and then focussed on talking her mum through the launch. Only five minutes to go.

  Ngaio knew the Ark was as good as they could make it, the colonists were ready, and she had confidence in Christakis Niarchos, the Ark’s Chief Pilot. She had helped with his training these past twelve years and had never seen a more gifted pilot. Even so, she slipped her hands in her pockets so that nobody could see her tightly crossed fingers.

  * * * * *

  Earth Orbit, 2156: Thursday, 11th November

  As the Ark burst into dazzling sunlight on its third and final orbit of Earth, Christakis Niarchos asked co-pilot Nicole Durand to check the other 98 occupants were secured inside their plass capsule ‘pods’ before she slid into her own and clamped its hatch shut. He would be the only person on the flight deck for this, the most critical part of their three-day flight. The others would complete the journey in their airtight survival pods.