“Give it a rest, Powell!” someone groaned.
“No, I’m serious!” he raised his voice, “We all wake up, the Ring’s busted, two of the crew are dead, another three have taken our only Shuttle, and we’re sitting on a bloody nuclear arsenal! So, no, I won’t give it a rest! I wanna know who put the Russki Ice Queen in charge!”
She didn’t care for the slur on her mother nation but it wasn’t entirely surprising that her FLC nickname had found its way into circulation. Lana had earned the title Ice Queen because of her coolness under pressure, she simply returned his pathetic stare with a piercing one of her own.
“Fai?” she spoke calmly.
Fai, who had remained silent throughout the briefing, now responded loudly through all the central axis speakers simultaneously.
“Yes, Commander Yakovna?” she used Lana’s formal title.
Lana saw Chris blink, but her own stare did not waver.
“Play it.”
As prearranged with Fai, the lights in the central axis modules dimmed and a video began to play on the screen. Chris looked away first then Lana turned to watch the recording that she’d organised with Mike, Cathy and Anna, before their departure.
“Hello, this is Anna Bergstrom,” she talked directly into a low-resolution webcam, “I’m the Chronomagnetic Field specialist aboard the ISS.”
At this point, Fai had edited the video to insert a shot taken from one of the ISS external cameras: one small corner held an arc of Earth’s grey-white clouds, but the majority of the screen was filled with the surrounding lunar debris.
“By now,” Anna’s tinny-sounding voice echoed out, “Commander Yakovna will have briefed you all on the catastrophic events that occurred during our Solar System trip and the actions of Mike Sanders, Cathy Gant and Miles Benton who saved the ISS from destruction.”
The view changed to show a world map and the location of the Arctic Circle.
“When we arrived back at Earth we decoded a message containing a set of coordinates…”
Before recording the video, Lana and the others had agreed not to mention the actual source of the transmission; Lana knew the words were not a lie, they had simply been chosen to alarm the crew less.
“… No other transmissions were detected from Earth,” Anna continued, “We don’t know what conditions are like down on the surface, but we determined that the original Space Shuttle would not be equipped to make the trip…”
The screen changed to show Cathy and Mike in their spacesuits as they transported various boxes and cylinders aboard the old Shuttle.
“… so, acting under the direction of Commander Yakovna, and using the ISS Chronomagnetic Field, we redesigned the Shuttle…”
Lana heard several gasps as the crew watched the Shuttle’s accelerated fragmentation on the screen.
“… and used fabricator robots to create a new Shuttle suitable for Earth’s unpredictable landing conditions.”
Lana heard the crew’s reaction as a swarm of fabricators constructed the new Discovery in apparent time-lapse. Some greeted the sight with amazed enthusiasm, while a few others swore in disbelief; the fabricator technology was beyond anything they’d seen before. Lana had to remind herself that it had been an incredible sight when she’d first seen it too.
Although the efficient and swift fabricators had automatically duplicated and refined themselves, Lana was now receiving impressed glances from some of the crew. They were assuming the fabricators’ deployment throughout the process had been under her control. For the time being, the crew’s respect suited her needs very well.
The view cut to a shot of the redesigned shuttle, now looking physically different to its former construction as it moved away from the ISS. The screen then changed to show a polar view diagram of the Arctic.
“Our initial destination is the Arctic Circle. If there are any signs of civilisation, our goal will be to establish contact and inform them of Foothold.”
The graphic zoomed out slightly to show a polar view of the planet. Surrounding the Earth was a large circle of orbiting lunar debris, its circumference broken in one place by a small dot labelled ‘Foothold’.
“We’ll keep working on Earth, while Commander Yakovna continues the work she has already begun in orbit.”
The screen changed to show a periodic table; as Anna continued to speak, one element after another was highlighted.
“Preliminary feedback from a returning fabricator looks positive, but the full results will only be known after our shuttle departs. Please understand that the decision to return to Earth was not one we took lightly, but it was not a decision that we could risk putting to a crew vote… the sheer scope of Foothold is too important.”
The heavily shaded periodic table was replaced by a dense looking text file.
“In a set of directives listed under Foothold’s parameters, Fai has agreed to assist me. As it is unlikely that I will be returning to the ISS, I have transferred operational permissions to Commander Yakovna, who will have Fai’s full cooperation…”
Lana heard a few intakes of breath at this point, but she knew this was to be expected.
“… The reason for making this transfer is because of the Commander’s perfect operational record at the former FLC. If we’re right about the data, then her working knowledge of the lunar surface makes her the only one aboard qualified to direct what lies ahead.”
The view returned to Anna addressing the webcam.
“We wish you well,” she smiled, “and hope that, despite our separation, we can work together on this.”
Lana waited for Anna’s recording to end, but she knew that the presentation wasn’t over yet; Fai had appended the preliminary photographic data. Anna and her accompanying tinny background noise was suddenly replaced by a silent image of lunar ring debris. A second later, the view magnified to show a grainy formation.
“What is that?” she heard Ivan ask.
“Foothold,” said Lana.
A second grainy image appeared alongside the first, but the formation was different. The image was slightly blurred by the long-range nature of the low-resolution camera, so edges lacked sharpness.
“Is that a rectangle?” said Loren.
“No, look,” Ivan appeared to study the second image, “It’s circular, isn’t it?”
Lana could hear similar debates beginning to unfold throughout the central axis modules. Clearly the images had done the job of engaging interest in the project she’d already begun, but the time had come to convert that interest into progress. She cleared her throat.
“Seen one way,” said Lana, “It is a rectangle.”
Fai changed the display to show the grainy rectangle.
“Seen another way,” Lana continued, “It is a circle.”
Following Lana’s cue, Fai swapped the images to show the circular formation.
“But… together…” Lana held their attention as Fai changed the display for a third time.
The image was just as grainy as the previous two, but it was clear enough to show that the distant object was in fact three dimensional.
CYLINDER
13th April 2014
Sarah emerged from the darkness into a world that defied immediate recognition. She recalled standing on the shuddering walkway during the flooding of a tunnel but then she was suddenly here.
Somewhere else.
It was as though a small section of her life had been clumsily edited out; the intervening time was not a period of darkness, it was simply missing.
With no continuity to rely on, her senses scrambled to reconstruct the world around her. Fragments of familiar shapes rearranged themselves to become a tilted version of the dim Glaucus offices. She rolled herself up into a sitting position and was greeted with a dull ache in the back of her head; no doubt the cause of her unconsciousness.
The elevator’s repeated bell sound was continuing to relay the fact that an office chair was preventing its doors from closing. From somewhere nearby,
she now became aware of another sound; a quiet sobbing.
Caught in the pool of light from the elevator, a young woman sat huddled next to Mr. Networking, her cheeks slick with tears. He had a comforting arm around her, but his motionless posture, blank stare and dead expression told of a private grief.
“What happened?” she managed.
The focus of his stare appeared to make the long journey back from the distance and he slowly turned to face her.
“Nathan…” he stopped and drew a shallow breath. Offering a resigned shrug, he closed his eyes, “It’s over… the pod’s not coming back.”
His reply didn’t fit her mental picture of the situation at all. She’d been just a few feet from boarding it when the floor had given way. It made no sense that, during her brief blackout, the pod had already departed. The idea that it wasn’t returning seemed an impossibility; she needed it to escape the USV. It couldn’t just be gone.
“But it can’t,” she began, “I mean…”
“The Glaucus shaft breached,” he began talking over her, but not in a forceful way, “Nathan stopped the flood… sealed the airlock from the inside… but the water -”
He suddenly broke off, apparently unable to carry on, but the stammering breaths of the young woman seemed to convey everything she needed to know. Unasked for, Sarah found her mind creating a picture of a man trapped within the Glaucus access shaft as it filled with cold seawater.
When she thought of those who’d been outside the Glaucus airlock, she was struck by a sudden realisation: the man’s name was familiar because she knew him. She’d seen him earlier but, perhaps because of the unusual context, she’d failed to recognise him. The man was Nathan Bishop.
The full significance began to dawn on her.
The grandson of Archive’s founder had been among those trying to leave the USV. Quite how he’d managed to evade detection before today, she wasn’t sure, but in his final moments he’d acted to protect those he was with. His sacrifice had saved her and everyone else in the USV from a catastrophic flood. However, before remorse could fully form, she also realised that those same actions had sealed everyone in.
She suddenly felt physically sick, but she knew this had nothing to do with her headache. Her gambit to escape from the USV had failed.
She felt thick saliva welling up at the back of her mouth.
Even now, her father was sending loyal men to find her. At that point, she would be discovered with strangers outside the ruined Glaucus Dock.
She felt her stomach convulse and, rolling onto her hands and knees, she sprayed vomit over the office floor.
He would probably spare her, but public examples would be made of the others. There would be no end to her father’s stranglehold. She felt her throat constrict; the hot acid tang burning as she struggled to breathe.
There would be more village square executions.
She wanted the vile, bitter torture to end, but she knew it wouldn’t stop; her mouth erupted again and again with torrents of bile and curses at her father.
She had to make it end.
She slowly sat upright and forced herself to take steadying breaths. Although her back ached from the effort, there was a physical relief; as though she’d finally expelled something toxic.
When she looked up, she saw the young woman was holding out a bottle of water for her. After croaking her thanks, she stood and extinguished the fire in her throat.
Footsteps came from the corridor outside and she turned expecting to see one of her father’s men. However it was Tristan Westhouse who arrived at the office doorway. He appeared to nod at the fact that she was now awake, but didn’t break his stride as he entered the room
“I think they’re on the way up,” he reported, “The collapsed walkway will stop them from just walking in here, but we ought to plan for what happens next.”
“What happens next?” Mr. Networking let out a stressed laugh, “Usually what happens is a trip to the village square.”
“Marcus…” the woman quietly admonished him.
“Sorry, Izzy,” he replied.
It was the first time that Sarah had heard their actual names, but it certainly seemed like they knew each other well. They also appeared to be familiar with USV punishments. Clearly, these people had been here for quite some time before she’d met them.
Evidently Tristan was puzzled by Marcus’ comment.
“Village square?”
“It’s where my father likes to kill people,” Sarah explained bluntly, “But that’s not going to happen. Never again.”
From the direction of the corridor she could hear the distant metallic echo of approaching footsteps; it wouldn’t be long before the men reached the top of the wrecked stairs.
Turning away, she saw her shoulder bag still lying by the phone on the office desk. With renewed purpose she crossed the room and pulled from her bag a palm-width, shiny black cylinder.
“You might’ve got me with that,” Marcus was saying, “but these are your dad’s blokes. They ain’t gonna fall for it.”
“I know,” she told him.
She’d had the brand-new lipstick long before the lunar shards had even appeared; a small luxury item that had remained sealed. She’d told herself that, once the immediate crisis was over, she’d open it on a special occasion.
Somehow the crisis had been prolonged indefinitely; the perfect day had never arrived. Over time, the shiny black cylinder had become an item of defence: when brandished with sufficient authority and accompanied by the verbal threat of summoning her father’s might, the simple cylinder had kept everyone at bay. In a sense she’d begun to rely on it.
Those days were now over.
It wasn’t how she’d imagined it, but today was her perfect day.
She broke the seal and ran the lipstick around her lips.
“Wait here,” she told the others, “I’m handling this.”
She tossed the cylinder back into the bag and left the room without it. After walking only a few steps, the narrow corridor outside the offices ended in a dark void. The walkway that had once shaken under her feet was entirely missing.
The flood was now barely a trickle, meandering down the wet rocky walls, but there was still a faint hiss of water sieving through the metal stairs below. The approaching footsteps told her that her father’s loyal man was climbing the final flight.
As he neared the top she could see he was soaked from head to foot. She could easily imagine the waterfall that must have landed on top of him during his climb. The fleeting thought occurred that without that cascade’s intervention, he would probably have reached the summit much sooner.
She pushed the thought aside; there would be time for speculation later. Sarah now faced the future, turning her attention to the man who’d reached the top of the wrecked Glaucus stairwell.
“Miss Pittman?” called the barrel-chested man.
“Hello, Vic,” she replied.
APOLLO 73
28th December 2013
On the simulated grey regolith surrounding the FLC duplicate stood the truncated cone of the Apollo 11 Command Module. Although it was an exact duplicate of the original, this module had never undergone the fires of re-entry through Earth’s atmosphere; its gleaming, mirror-like finish looked brand new.
Next to it was an ever-growing pile of antique electronics and metalwork. In a bid to reduce weight, the inside was being stripped of anything that wasn’t strictly required for the short skyward leap.
Karl turned to look at the collection of world clocks mounted on the nearby wall. One of the them was still displaying the FLC mission time synchronised to Greenwich Mean Time, another showed the local time in Houston. Although the clocks displayed different time zones, it did not change the fact that in less than an hour the final lunar shard ‘Tranquillity’ would breach the Earth’s thin atmosphere and remove Colombia from the map. Shortly after that, the flood would begin.
There was a crash from behind him and Karl tu
rned to see that the last of the original seat mounting plates had joined the pile of metal. A further reason for stripping the interior had been that Apollo 11 was a three-man vehicle; their requirements were to lift four and a half. If all went according to plan then the revised interior space should allow everyone to squeeze aboard, along with supplies to last several days at sea.
“Flotation Collar,” Janine reported, dragging a trolley behind her, “Took me forever to dig it out.”
“Thanks,” he walked over to retrieve the plastic-covered package.
“Looks like they never quite got round to it,” Janine was pointing to a label which read ‘Ship to Smithsonian’.
Knowing Archive, he thought, it was more likely that the Smithsonian had in fact received a facsimile. A fleeting thought made him wonder how many other official pieces of space memorabilia were in fact substitutes.
Unpacking the orange Flotation Collar, they arranged it around the circular base of the Apollo 11 and began the process of securing it in place. Originally, divers had tied this exact collar to the Command Module after it had splashed down in the Pacific. The collar had kept the module upright and provided additional buoyancy at sea. When Karl and the others had their own splashdown event there would be no-one to perform this task. Fortunately, their Apollo would never undergo the heat of re-entry, so the inflatable collar could be put in place before launch.
When Karl and Janine had finished, the currently deflated collar ran neatly around the Apollo’s circumference; a perfect circle, broken in one place by the location of the escape hatch.
Karl connected a flexible hose to the collar’s inflation valve, then climbed the ladder that was propped against the Command Module. From this higher vantage point he could see that Abel was also doing his best to prepare for take-off. Under Janine’s guidance, he was busily painting ‘Apollo 73’ on the side of the craft; the tip of his tongue poking from the corner of his mouth as he concentrated.
He took a moment to frame a mental picture of them both. It was obvious to him that when it came to looking after their son, she was so much better at it than he would ever be. Even here, at the end of the world, she continued to hide her anxiety and do her best to make life calm for Abel. Maybe it was only because Karl had stopped working, but Janine chose that moment to look up at him. She pushed her smile a little wider for him and held his gaze for a moment. Although she could mask her desperation from Abel, Karl could see that her smile couldn’t quite reach her eyes. The moment passed and she resumed her gentle encouragement of the painting activity.
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