Eva

by Simon Winstanley

EPILOGUE

  1st April 2015

  Marcus remembered the day distinctly; a point of no return, when his world had been swept aside and a new phase of his life had begun.

  He’d ridden inside a coffin-sized capsule that had taken him from the basement of Samphire Cottage to the Arrivals Lounge of the Warren. The unexpected twists and turns on the way down had caused him to lose control of his stomach contents.

  He remembered telling Kate Walker that, when all this was over, he was going to sit in the sun and let the waves wash over his feet. By reply, she’d told him that he might want to wash his vomit covered shirt first.

  Smiling at his clean shirt he looked down at the waves that were now washing over his feet. For a moment he closed his eyes and let the warm sun soak in. By no means was it all over but he knew that in a few minutes, life would change yet again.

  “There,” he told his memory of Kate, “I did it.”

  He opened his eyes and looked around the beach.

  In the fading light, the silhouette of the lunar debris ring was partially visible; a collection of fragmented rock was all that stood between Earth and Siva. The light show was due to begin at any moment but, like the lunar shards, the consequences would take a few days to reach the atmosphere.

  When he looked around at the rest of Pico Island, it was difficult to imagine that most of the landscape would soon be scrubbed clean of vegetation; when the forecast tsunamis again rippled north along the Atlantic Ridge, the surface Colony would be washed away. Though as he knew very well, the majority of the ARC was safely underwater and would avoid the damaging flood. As people here were fond of telling him, ‘Only build an ARC where the rain can’t fall’.

  In the last of the dusk light, some people were standing in silence looking at the horizon, some were simply lost in each other’s kisses. Seeing their companionships only highlighted his own sense of loss.

  One night, several days after he and Sabine Dubois had witnessed the horrific execution in the USV village square, a wordless urgency had driven them into each other’s arms. Perhaps brought about by their desperate situation, perhaps simply a matter of human comfort, they had shared their mutual warmth. His last memory of Sabine was of watching her depart in the Pod that was bound for the Sea-Bass; her face a portrait of anguish.

  When he’d reached the ARC with Izzy and Tristan, it had quickly become apparent that the Sea-Bass and those from the Warren had never arrived.

  Countless times, Tristan had reassured him that the Sea-Bass had departed from Dover in one piece. Pinpointing their location would, however, be impossible; with no satellite communication to rely on, Sabine and the other genetically-different individuals could be anywhere.

  His wristwatch bleeped, something duplicated by the other watches of the people nearby; a communication was being pushed to all ARC personnel.

  “This is Broxbourne,” the old man’s voice sounded from the tiny speaker at his wrist, “Impact, thirty seconds.”

  Marcus gathered his thoughts, then stood and wiped the sand from his hands. As ever; he’d face the future standing on two feet.

  “Blackbox,” Izzy called from behind him.

  When he turned around, he saw that she and Tristan were walking across the sand towards him.

  “Tristan and Iseult,” he greeted the two constants in his life, “Here for the lights?”

  “Yep,” she hugged him, “Afraid so.”

  The three of them turned to face the sky; its orange glow fading into deep blue. A silence seemed to descend on the beach and even the distant waves seemed reduced to a whisper.

  Behind the silhouette of the broken Moon, a piercing white light quietly appeared. He found himself drawing in a shaking breath. Simultaneously terrifying and beautiful, the light grew stronger.

  The lunar pieces that were already in orbit cast dark, hundred-mile shadows through the dusty debris. Continent-sized portions of rock were suddenly back-lit by searing-white lances of flickering light. Gathering in intensity, the stabs of light merged to envelop the tumbling grey masses.

  For a fraction of a second, a raven-black box twisted through one of the light beams; no doubt an optical illusion, he thought, created by the layering of thousands of rocks.

  Then the impact reached the larger portions of the old Moon. As if shot through by a thousand shafts of light, the rest of the Moon gave way, splintering into a million chaotic shards of debris. As the closest pieces disintegrated, the patches of light merged and there was a final burst of light. Like a peculiar, inverted lunar eclipse, the beach around him briefly appeared as bright as day. Then the Moon’s final light faded; its tumbling, chaotic after-collisions becoming absorbed by the dark night sky.

  For a long while he just stared.

  Earth had no Moon.

  All that remained of Earth’s oldest companion was a band of fractured rock. The long-predicted event had unfolded before him, but he couldn’t seem to accept it; the notion seemed an impossibility, despite the crystal-clear evidence.

  He became aware that he must have sat down at some point; the sand of the beach seemed somehow colder than before. Although the effects hadn’t yet reached Earth, the world was already changing. He knew he’d never find Sabine or the others now. He just hoped that, somewhere, she was finally safe. He felt a slight tremor, but wasn’t sure if it was his own physical reaction to the thought, or the sand underneath him.

  “Gravitational shift,” Tristan’s voice seemed to arrive from the distance, despite being right next to him, “Minor tectonics.”

  Despite the coming storm, he felt a sense of calm ripple through him. He knew it had nothing to do with the fact that the safety of the ARC facility was directly beneath them. The calm ran deeper; a steadying breath that was preparing him for anything that would follow.

  He looked away from the desolation in the sky and saw that Tristan was idly drawing circles in the sand. Izzy noticed that Marcus was now watching them and nudged him. Tristan nodded and sat up straight.

  “Marcus,” he began awkwardly, then glanced seaward, “We’re heading back out there.”

  In the coming days, Marcus knew that the number of goodbyes would only increase, he just hadn’t expected the personal impact to happen so soon. He saw Izzy’s expression shift; as though he was an open book, she’d read his reaction before he’d uttered a word.

  “We want you to come too,” she said.

  Staying here at the ARC would mean an underwater life of privilege; he would be safe, but the price was confinement. The idea of spending months inside a small USV kit-built submarine didn’t fill him with enthusiasm either.

  “No disrespect to the name, Izzy,” he found himself pre-apologising, “But the Iseult’s a cramped, tin-can piece of crap.”

  Tristan dangled a security key fob in front of him, “We’re not using the Iseult.”

  Marcus read the vessel’s name on the fob and looked at Izzy. She was smiling, but her eyes were bright with tears.

  “Izzy,” he checked, “back at the USV, you heard Nathan?”

  “Of course I did,” she wiped her eyes, “He had his back to me, but it didn’t stop me hearing him!”

  “Rule Britannia,” Marcus spoke his friend’s last words aloud and pointed at the key fob, “You’re taking the Britannia?”

  Both Tristan and Izzy nodded.

  “It’s going to get harder out there,” said Tristan, looking at the damaged sky, “But with the kit we’ll have aboard, I think I can keep us out of trouble.”

  Marcus turned to face the horizon and smiled.

  “Now, why the hell would I wanna stay out of trouble?”

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