Mother Moon

by Bob Goddard

  Finally the pale blue waters and silver sands of the Turks and Caicos were rising up to meet them and Christakis was sweating despite the chill inside his suit. He wished he could take his bulky helmet off, but there was no time for that now. He blinked away the salty drips from his eyes and stared as his screens, willing his ship to reach the safety of the sands.

  Altitude was down to six kilometres now and they were gliding steadily at 900 kph. The controls had become easier and Christakis was delighted to see the destination shortfall was now down to only one kilometre. He heaved a deep a sigh of relief. They were going to make it!

  * * * * *

  Earth, 1504

  Yonaton opened his eyes and found himself surrounded by blue.

  He knew where he was. He’d sailed on it and swum in it since he was a young boy. But somehow this was different. His lungs felt heavy and sluggish.

  He looked down into the deep blue below, then up towards the brightness above. He should swim up there, to the light, to the air, to life. But his arms and legs wouldn’t work. All he could do was hang there, suspended in the blue water, and wait.

  So this was what it was like to drown, he thought. This was how his father must have felt, tangled in his lobster pot rope, being pulled to the sea bed as his fishing boat sailed on without him.

  Strangely, Yonaton didn’t feel sad, only sorry that he had not been able to save Mammed and Ben. Sorry that he wouldn’t get to see Lucy and Sam, Jack and Ifan and his lovely young grandchildren one more time.

  He’d always known this day would come. He didn’t want to lose his life, but he looked forward to being reunited with his beloved Esther. She would be waiting to greet him on the other side. He hoped she would come soon. It was getting darker, the blue turning to grey…

  And there she was! A white shape coming towards him. Reaching out, grasping his hand, pulling him along with her. Off to a new life. A different kind of existence.

  The grey faded to black but he had a strong sense of movement, of travelling to another place, going with her to her world.

  Then she was kissing him. At last! After all these years…a sweet kiss! Again she pressed her lips to his. And he was coughing, retching, spluttering. She kissed him again and he opened his eyes. He was shocked…

  This was not Esther! It was some hideous monster… a sort of man with watery eyes, a thick neck and whiskers sticking out sideways like a cat!

  Yonaton coughed and drew in a long rasping breath. “Where is she?” he croaked, then coughed up more sea water. “Where is Esther?”

  The creature cocked his head slightly to one side… and spoke!

  “Ggllgg. Norreefeeree.” It was a strange, gargling wheeze that made no sense at all.

  “What? Where is Esther? My wife… where is she?” Yonaton got his elbows underneath him and raised his head. He was in a dark, gloomy place with a bright shaft of heavenly light, high overhead. Was that her… up there?

  “Glggllg.”

  Yonaton looked back at the monster. Was it a messenger from the other world. If so, what was the message?

  “Glgglglg. Norree feeree. Nowwee sayfee,” it gargled in a sing-song sort of way.

  “Nowwee sayfee…? Now safe-y? You can speak! Where am I?”

  “Glgglglg. Norree feeree. Nowwee sayfee,” the creature smiled, showing two perfect rows of white teeth.

  “Ugh!” Yonaton recoiled from the fishy breath. “Where am I? Where is this place?” He lifted his hand to indicate the darkness around him. He’d imagined heaven would be lighter than this.

  “Gllgg. Meemaaan.”

  Yonaton looked back at the creature to find it propped up on an elbow, tapping its chest with the claws of its webbed paw.

  “What?”

  “Meemaaan,” it said again and then reached out and tapped its claws on Yonaton’s chest. “Yuumaaan.”

  It tapped its own chest again, “Meemaaan,” then reached towards Yonaton, “Yuumaaan.”

  “Oh! You man and me man?” Yonaton was puzzled. This was like no man he had ever seen.

  “Ess, esss! Yuumaaan – laansmaaan. Meemaaan – seemaaan” it smiled and nodded enthusiastically.

  Landsman? Seaman? It didn’t make sense. “But where are we? Where am I?” asked Yonaton again.

  This didn’t feel like heaven. Or hell. In fact his elbows hurt. Yonaton looked down to find he was lying in shallow water on a rocky ledge. He was cold and uncomfortable. It was not what he expected of the afterlife at all.

  “Caaveee. Switeewatrrr,” it gurgled.

  Yonaton looked back at its face. “What?”

  “Switee watrrr.” It reached a paw into the water, brought a few drops to its lips and slurped noisily. “Switee watrrr,” it purred and smiled again.

  Yonaton lifted his dripping hand to his lips. It was fresh water… sweet water. And now he thought about it, he could hear a faint tinkle of water trickling over rocks. It was a stream, running through a cave!

  “We’re in a cave!” he said in astonishment.

  “Ess, esss. Caavee. Switee watrrr.”

  “And I’m not dead… I’m alive!” his head was reeling.

  “Ess, esss. Sayfee.”

  “So what’s that?” He pointed at the heavenly beam above. Even as he said it he could see what it was: a shaft of sunlight coming through a small hole in the cavern’s roof.

  Yonaton sat up and looked around. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see another face just above the water, peering out of the gloom. It looked like a child. This was madness. Then a third face rose out of the water and blinked at him. A female creature? It spoke: “Glggllg.”

  The ‘Meemaaan – seemaaan’ turned and answered. They exchanged a volley of gargling words he could not understand, then it turned back to him with a big white-toothed smile. “Tuwee laansmaaans, sayfee,” and he pointed a webbed paw into the darkness.

  “Two landsmen, sayfee?” He was beginning to catch the creature’s language. Could it be that Ben and Mammed had survived?

  “Ess, esss.” The creature tapped Yonaton’s chest again and said: “Onnee,” then pointing into the dark, “tuwee, treee. Treee laansmaaans... all sayfee.” He beamed and nodded.

  This was fantastic news but this cave, these sea-people, were altogether too weird.

  “Can you take me to them? How do we get out of here?”

  “Ess, esss. Takeee.” The creature made a motion with his hand, going down and up again, then pointed towards the gloom. The entrance to the cave, it seemed, was underwater. Yonaton wasn’t keen to go back into the water. He felt like he’d swallowed half the ocean and his chest still hurt from coughing it up. He looked around. There didn’t appear to be any other way out.

  “Seee sheepee fursss.”

  “What?”

  “Seee sheepee fursss.” It beckoned with a paw.

  “Sheepy furs? You mean wool? In here?!” He laughed and shook his head. This was absurd and getting crazier by the minute.

  * * * * *

  Moon, 2156: Thursday, 11th November

  In the Flight Control Centre at Armstrong Base there was panic and despair. The optical and radio telescopes on top of Mt Malapert had tracked the bright glow of the Ark as it plunged through Earth’s upper atmosphere. For long, anxious minutes the eight flight technicians had hardly dared to breathe as the craft burned an arrow-straight line towards its designated landing point.

  Then there had been gasps as glowing pieces were seen to detach from the fireball and fall away in its wake. It could mean only one thing – the Ark was breaking up! Almost immediately they saw the glowing streak start to turn away from its planned course. It carved a gleaming crescent to the north, heading up the eastern Caribbean then finally dimmed and disappeared as it headed towards the Atlantic Ocean.

  For the past ten minutes Davis Jansen, the Mission Controller, had been calling the Ark, pleading with Captain Christakis to respond. In reply there was nothing but fizzing static from the ship’s frequency. Even w
orse, the transponder that had allowed them to follow the Ark ever since it was catapulted from the Moon three days ago had fallen ominously silent.

  Once the hot plasma plume had cooled as the craft slowed, the transponder should have pinged a signal back to the geo-stationary satellite above, revealing the craft’s location. But there was nothing. No sign that the Ark had ever existed. It was hard not to draw the inevitable conclusion.

  Ngaio felt physically sick and dizzy at the prospect that so many precious lives could have been lost in such a brief, fiery catastrophe. But she wasn’t about to give up on them just yet.

  “Can we get the images enhanced to see what might have happened?” she asked.

  “What’s the point!” sobbed Naresh Kapoor, the Communication and Tracking Officer. “They’re all dead, aren’t they?” He sank his head back into his hands.

  “We don’t know that, Naresh.” Ngaio turned to frown and shake her head at the girl who was filming the live footage that everyone across the Moon was watching on their screens. She took the hint and stopped recording.

  “We don’t know what happened. We might get a better idea if we study the entry footage in a higher resolution.” Ngaio was shaking, but trying hard to keep her voice steady. As the oldest member of the flight control team she felt she had to calm their nerves and get the team thinking rationally.

  A few minutes later they were watching footage from the optical and radio telescopes on a split screen, zoomed in for maximum detail. For ten minutes the Ark was seen scorching a straight and brightening trail of glowing vapour. Then a spark appeared to detach from the right hand side, followed by another and another.

  “There!” cried Davis Jansen. “Can we go back and see that again… slowly?”

  They scrutinised the footage and concluded that something must have broken away from the starboard wing, although the craft itself could not be seen, only the bright plume of incandescent plasma that surrounded it. It appeared that several small pieces had detached from the Ark followed by a couple of larger pieces that glowed in its wake for some time.

  Then the glowing streak started to rise up towards the top of their screens as the ship made a left turn. The controller running the video zoomed out to try to keep the craft on screen but it soon disappeared from the optical footage.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “the optical telescope was on a fixed track because we expected the Ark to continue going straight. When the ship slipped out of view the ’scope was unable to pick it up again. So we only have the radio telescope footage from shortly after the turn was initiated.”

  They saw the curving track of fire then saw a series of small sparks glowing in its wake. “It appears some more pieces came adrift at this point,” she said.

  Soon the bright streak diminished, dimmed and disappeared and no sign of the Ark could be seen. It appeared obvious that it had burned up completely, but Ngaio had another idea.

  “Is this the point where the Ark should have slowed enough for the plasma to cool and disappear from view?” she asked.

  “No,” answered another flight controller. “It should have been visible for at least three more minutes.”

  “Okay.” She thought for a minute. “And could it have completed its aero-braking early, if its flight attitude altered, for example?”

  “I don’t see how. The Ark’s entry attitude was pre-programmed and computer controlled. To end early would require a serious increase in heating and deceleration rate. The extra gee might have killed them, even if it didn’t tear the craft apart.”

  “Hmm. Even so, we don’t see evidence that the craft disintegrated, do we?”

  “So, what are you saying, Ngaio?” It was Davis, the Mission Controller. “You think they could have survived?”

  “Yes, it’s possible. Christakis Niarchos is the most gifted pilot I’ve ever trained. If the Ark remained flyable I think he would have found a way to put it down in one piece. We must assume he did unless we have evidence to the contrary, surely?”

  “So the fact that we saw pieces, some of them large, breaking away from the ship, followed by a radical change of course heading towards the open Atlantic Ocean, then more smaller pieces coming away, and finally no radio contact and no transponder response…?”

  “All of them survivable. Possibly.” She was being stubborn and she knew it. But somebody had to speak up for the colonists. She wasn’t ready to write them off and accept the awful consequences that would follow, not only for their families, but for the future of mankind.

  “They had four portable transmitters with them,” said Naresh Kapoor. “If they landed safely somewhere they must be able to communicate using one of those.”

  “Very well,” said Davis. “We will hold out the hope they have survived and will get a signal to us within the next few hours. Now, I must brief the Governor who is waiting to make a statement to the whole community.”

  * * * * *

  Earth, 2156: Thursday, 11th November

  Christakis’ euphoria was short lived. He had just finished a reassuring message to the colonists lying in their capsules behind him, when he spotted a red warning icon on his screen. He switched audible prompts back on.

  “Altitude 5 kilometres. Speed 820 kph. Destination overshoot two point five kilometres.”

  Overshoot! After nursing the ship’s glide path so they might reach the sands of Turks and Caicos, he was now in danger of flying right past! How did that happen?

  Christakis pushed the control forward and felt the Earth’s heavy grip slacken as his body lifted from his seat. It was then he remembered reading about an atmospheric condition called a Trade Wind in these parts. Would it still blow with Earth’s changed weather systems? Might it be even stronger? If so it shouldn’t affect them at this height but would blow them further west as they neared the surface. They would have been flying into it when landing at Paramaribo, but now they were heading west it would be blowing up their tailpipes. Not the recommended way to land, but he couldn’t risk trying to turn the heavy and damaged Ark at this stage.

  The next minute saw the ship diving ever faster towards the western end of the bright patch of sands and turquoise waters of the Turks and Caicos. The air brakes had failed to operate so Christakis couldn’t slow the Ark down. He realised he would never be able to land at this speed without overshooting and ending up in the blue water beyond. He needed yet another landing place.

  The next island was a further 30 km and surrounded by reefs and rocks, according to his chart. It was far from ideal but he had run out of choices. Christakis raised the Ark’s nose once more and prayed the Trade Wind might carry them across the yawning chasm of blue sea and rocky islets in between.

  On an impulse, he tried firing the rocket motor one more time. He was rewarded with a roar and a kick in the pants that lasted perhaps three seconds. The Ark had burned the last fumes in her tanks.

  A minute later and the island was looming up ahead, mountainous and green with forest. But the Ark was too low, too slow and dropping way too fast. They were falling towards the jagged teeth of a row of rocky outcrops. He had already risked a stall twice while trying to tease a few more metres out of the damaged ship. There was no way to avoid them. He eased back on the controls again and the ship shuddered as the tail dropped. He braced himself for impact.

  A huge tearing crash threw Christakis against his straps and then there was an eerie whistling sound. For a few long seconds the ship seemed to float in the air. He had time to see white-flecked ocean rushing towards them on his screen before a second crash and a roaring tumult as the remains of the Ark ploughed across the waves.

  And. Finally. Came to a halt.

  It seemed quiet for a second or two. Then Christakis realised it wasn’t quiet at all. There was a splashing sound plus an insistent hiss. He tried to check the exterior view on his screens, but they were blank. His comm was dead too. The ship’s main electrics had not survived but emergency lighting had already blinked on.

&nbs
p; It took a minute of struggling to get his straps undone, his helmet off and to lever himself up out of his tilting chair. The gravity was crushingly powerful. It seemed stronger than the one gee they had trained for in Mt Malapert’s centrifuge. His head was spinning from lack of blood once he got upright and he hung on to his seat for support. It took another minute for his breathing and heart rate to calm then he staggered between the stacks of tubular pods where the colonists lay waiting for instructions. By the time he got there, water was sloshing around his feet.

  “Can you all hear me?” he shouted. There were nods from the nearest frightened faces and a muffled ‘YES!’ from someone.

  “The ship’s electrics are out so our comms are not working. We are afloat near an island and the wind should push us to the shore. But we are taking on water, so please stay inside your pods.”

  “I’m already out, Chris.” It was his co-pilot Nicole Durand, struggling to climb from her capsule near the flight deck. “You’ll need another pair of hands, I think.”

  “Hang on, I’ll help you.” He sloshed over to where she was hanging half out of her pod and helped her slither on to her hands and knees in the ankle deep water. She stayed there, gasping for breath for a while, then raised her head. “This water’s rising fast, Chris. Help me up, will you?”

  He hooked his hands under her arms and helped her to her feet. She groaned at the effort of fighting the Earth’s ferocious gravity.

  “Here, lean against the stack of pods until your head stops spinning,” he said.

  Then he turned and shouted: “Everyone else stay exactly where you are. You’ve got an hour’s air in there and you’ll float on the surface. We’re going to get you all out of the ship so you can drift to the shore inside your pods.”

  “I’m going to open the hatch, Nicole,” he said as he sloshed past her. The water was now nearly up to his knees. It took all his strength to unlock the hatch and push it outwards. The sight that met his eyes took his breath away.

  Outside the ship was a shock of deep blue sea, fading to turquoise before it reached the shore 300 metres away. Beyond the bright white sands were picture-book palm trees waving green fronds in the breeze. A verdant hillside rose up to a distant peak in the dazzling blue sky. Chris had never seen anything so beautiful. A wave of new smells assaulted his senses and made him giddy again.