Moonscape, p.1
Moonscape, page 1
Moonscape
Tony Harmsworth
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Details can be found at the end of MOONSCAPE.
1 Routine
[Note for non-British readers – Tony writes using UK English spelling, punctuation and grammar.]
The dust returned to the surface as if in slow motion. I'd kicked a cloud into the air as I turned towards the Earth which hung in the sky like a Christmas bauble.
The blue and white marbling was extraordinary. I lifted my gloved hand and covered the entire disk with my padded thumb.
With a single digit, I'd hidden all but twenty human beings in existence. Assuming my thumb was hiding the location of the ISS, perhaps I'd hidden those eight people too, leaving just the twelve of us on the surface of the moon, including the four in the Chinese habitat.
'Can you straighten it, Mark?' a voice called, intruding into my isolation.
'Two seconds, Roy,' I replied. I straightened the theodolite target pole, lining up the marks on the two gauges. 'Okay.'
I held the pole still and looked across at Roy. Between us was a one-kilometre crater named Timocharis Delta, one of the craters on the fringe of Mare Imbrium. We'd discovered it was relatively new, only a few thousand years old. A previous visit had indicated a magnetic core. Whatever had created Timocharis Delta must have been composed of iron. That wasn’t unusual but warranted this closer examination.
In the distance I could see the wall of the main Timocharis crater, over thirty kilometres wide.
Behind Roy, a kilometre away from me, stood the six-wheel moon-buggy, our home during this six-day expedition. Ten kilometres to the west, Moonbase One awaited our return the day after tomorrow. We’d been carrying out surveys of craters east of Moonbase and were now on the homeward arm of the loop.
Back on Earth, our work on the moon's surface had initially been on the news almost every day but was now rarely mentioned. Real science wasn't as exciting as political scandals or soap stars’ affairs. Very few of the general public would even know our names.
'Got that, Mark. Give me a few minutes to pack up and I'll drive around and collect you.'
‘Roger that.’
That gave me at least thirty minutes to absorb the amazing location. Me, Mark Noble, standing on the surface of the moon, following in the footsteps of Neil Armstrong, metaphorically if not actually. The Apollo 11 landing site was, of course, an internationally protected area. No one was allowed to come within two hundred metres of it, owing to its historical significance.
I walked ten metres down the slight slope of the outer ring of the crater and turned to watch Roy. I could just make him out, walking towards the buggy. I leaned on the target device. It took little effort to stand on the moon, but there was a tendency to lean forward due to the mass of the backpack. Leaning on the target tripod helped my balance.
'Moonbase, I'm opening the access hatch.' Roy stood on the ladder and swung open the one-metre circular hatch towards the rear of the buggy. His tiny white figure filled the black hole in the buggy for a moment, then he pulled the hatch back into position.
I continued eastwards so that he could collect me en route to our planned overnight camping location.
'I'm in the buggy. Stowing the equipment and sealing the hatch, Moonbase.'
'Copy that, Roy,' came the tinny female response.
I plodded eastwards, kicking up dust with each step. 'Moonbase, Mark here. Surprisingly deep dust to the east of Timocharis Delta. At least ten centimetres here. Can't walk without kicking it up.'
'Acknowledge that, Mark,' said Crystal from Moonbase.
'On my way,' said Roy.
'Copy that,' said Crystal.
The buggy was on the move, heading eastwards to clear the crater rim. As I walked I looked down at the deepening dust. I'd not seen dust so thick during my three months at Moonbase.
'Odd. The dust is now at least twenty centimetres. It's halfway to my knees.'
'Normal here, just the usual couple of centimetres,' said Roy.
'Hi Mark, Blake here. Looking behind you, is there any change in the surface colouration as it gets deeper?' asked Blake Fichefeux, Moonbase commander. I pictured Crystal sitting at the communication centre in the comdome with Blake leaning over her to speak.
I turned. It was becoming more difficult to move my feet. Not seriously, but I felt the resistance. 'No, Blake. Surface looks absolutely normal – the usual darker disturbed dust. You can see my footprints,' I said, sending him a digital image.
'Yes. Odd. Take care. Roy, you listening to this? Any change where you are?'
'I'm kicking up dust with the wheels, but nothing out of the ordinary,' replied Roy.
'Proceed with care,' said Blake.
I walked a few paces further and stopped. 'Roy, Blake. Dust up to my knees. Copy please.'
Blake cut in. 'Hold your position, Mark. Any deeper with you, Roy?'
'Copy that, Mark. I've eased off to 4 k. Can't really see any change here,' replied Roy.
'Proceed with care, Roy. Mark, can you backtrack? I don't want you entering anything deeper.'
'Copy that. Backtracking.'
Soon I was back on the normal surface.
'Would it be better for you to follow my original tracks around the west side of Timocharis Delta, Roy?'
'Well, I'm halfway around now and no change in the surface.'
'Skirt well out into the plain to avoid whatever I’ve encountered.'
'Watch the speed, Roy. Slow to a crawl,' said Blake.
There was no doubt this was an unusual phenomenon. Before the Apollo missions, there’d been fears that there might be deep dust, so deep that the Apollo crafts might actually disappear into it and be lost forever. None of those fears had materialised.
'Have we encountered anything as deep as this?' I asked.
'No. Twelve centimetres in an area found by Apollo 14 at Fra Mauro,' said Blake. ‘I’ll mark the spot for a future investigation.’
The buggy continued its journey eastwards and gradually began to turn south, but well beyond the original planned path. I could see very little dust being thrown up, but Roy was travelling extremely slowly. I looked at my O2 gauge. Plenty.
'Halfway to Mark,' said Roy. 'Dust still normal.'
'Copy that,' I said. Crystal acknowledged him too.
'I'm walking southwards so as to save Roy having to approach anywhere near that pool of dust,' I said, trudging slowly away from Timocharis Delta, trying to avoid adopting the bunny-hop gait when moving quickly on the surface.
'Copy that, Mark. Roy, skirt further south to be safe,' said Blake.
I walked a good forty metres southwards. The ground was absolutely solid, with just the usual one or two centimetres of fine, loose dust. I stopped and turned to watch the buggy's progress.
Roy was now some hundred metres east of Timocharis Delta and almost level with its southernmost tip. 'I'm turning westwards. Should be well south of Mark's dust pit,' he said.
'Roger that, Roy. Proceed with care.'
The buggy was now approaching me head-on. It comprised a single lozenge-shaped cabin about four metres long and three metres wide. Inside there was plenty of headroom. It contained three bunks, cooking facilities, a chemical toilet and half a dozen seats. The structure sat on a raised chassis with prominent axles and six wheels with chunky tyres. Electric motors powered each axle independently and the hubs of the front two wheels contained additional motors to provide more traction if required. It was now pointing towards me, maybe fifty metres to the east of me.
'Do you think I'm far enough south of the pit, Mark?'
'Can't be sure, but probably,' I replied.
'Any change in depth?' asked Blake.
'Not so far.'
'Okay. Just stay cautious,' said Blake.
'Copy that.'
The buggy slowed to a crawl.
'Dust’s thicker here,' said Roy.
'Okay. Stop,' said Blake.
'Stopped. Left front tyre at least twenty centimetres deep. Right front about ten centimetres. I can see wheels three and four are on normal ground. Think I should turn south again. Blake?' said Roy.
'Right. Turn south,' said Blake.
'Roger that.'
The front wheels turned to the right. The buggy started to move forward to starboard, beginning a turn southwards. I watched in horror as the entire cabin began to list to port.
'Oh, fuck!' said Roy.
The buggy slid forward and lurched sideways. I saw wheels spinning and dust flying as Roy slammed the drive into reverse.
'I've hit full reverse on all wheels!' shouted Roy.
All that happened was that the starboard wheels started to grip, but that swung the vehicle further to the south. In dreadful slow motion, the whole vehicle rolled onto its side, half the cabin and all of the port side wheels buried in the dust.
'Report!' said Blake.
'Buggy two's on its side. Here's some pics,' I said as I sent a series of images to Moonbase.
'On its port side. I'm half buried in dust,' said Roy.
'Stop all drives,' said Blake.
'Drives powered down,' said Roy.
'Seems to be just lying there. Not slipping deeper,' I said. What was most worrying was that the hatch was under the dust. A removable panel on the starboard side would give access, but releasing it involved all sorts of precautions, and even then it was cumbersome and was supposed to fall downwards. If I opened it, how could I lift it onto solid ground?
'No further movement,' said Roy.
I looked at my O2 gauge. What had seemed plenty before now seemed far less adequate. We were in trouble.
2 Breathing
I did a quick conversion of my O2 supply into minutes. A hundred. Not good, given the change of circumstances.
‘Just looking at my O2, Blake. Nominally a hundred minutes.’
‘Right, Mark. We’re having a look at your options. Will you head south for another fifty metres, then try to move east and see if that gets you around the dust pit? Great care now, and keep the walking to minimum energy. We’re checking buggy one right now to give you an ETA,’ said Blake.
‘Roger. Heading south now,’ I replied.
The ground remained perfectly solid, so I decided to change my heading to slightly east of south. Still no sign of deep dust.
The radio sprang back into life. ‘Moonbase here. Can you tell us how you see your options, Mark?’ asked Crystal.
‘Well, if I can’t get around whatever this dust pit is, then I guess my only option is to go to minimum activity and await your arrival. If I can get to buggy two then I’ll assess the situation and discuss with Roy whether to remove the access hatch. An immediate problem comes to mind – the hatch is awkward to manoeuvre, and we wouldn’t want it to slide off into the dust.’
‘Okay, Mark. I’m relaying that to a Moonbase-Earth conference discussing what’s happened. Back to you soon,’ said Crystal.
‘Good job we weren't both inside this thing. That hatch can't be opened from inside,' said Roy.
'Right. We could still get through the back window, but I'd never be able to open that from outside in time on my own,' I said.
I reckoned I was fifty metres further south now so turned due east, one step at a time.
‘Heading due east now. Ground still firm,’ I said.
‘Roger that,’ said Crystal.
Once I was as far east as the buggy, I turned to face it. On its eastern side the three wheels were clear of the dust, as the buggy was resting at about 95º to the horizontal. The inner surface of the centre port-side wheel was just visible.
‘Roy. You noticed any further movement since it slipped?’
‘No. Nothing.’
‘Mark, Roy – Blake here.’
‘Go ahead, Blake.’
‘Buggy one en route to you now. ETA eighty-two minutes if no obstructions encountered. That’s really tight for time for you, Mark. What’s your O2 reading now?’
‘Roughly eighty-eight.’
‘NASA recommend dropping the psi to 3.8 shortly, but what we need to know first is whether or not you can reach your buggy. Head north towards it but keep east of its position to avoid the pit.’
I took a moment to use the Valsalva device to relieve an infuriating nose itch, then set off. ‘Walking north now.’
‘Good. If you can reach buggy two it opens up other options, but if you can’t, buggy one will have to come south of Timocharis Delta to reach you, to be sure we don’t run into the pit. If you can reach it then we can head straight around the north of the crater.’
‘Copy that. Ground still firm. Only twenty metres from buggy,’ I said.
I walked as economically as I could, keeping a close eye on the depth of dust.
‘Still on firm ground. Buggy wheels directly in front of me, about two metres. I’ve poked the tripod into the dust in front of me and it’s still firm. Wondering if there’s a sharp ledge.’
‘Baby steps, and keep poking,’ said Blake.
‘Careful, Mark,’ said Roy from the buggy.
‘Just over half a metre and the tripod is going down into the dust. Pushing. Yes, it’s deep very quickly.’
‘Great care,’ said Blake.
‘Can feel the edge with my boot now. There’s a drop off, unlike my side of the pit where it deepened gradually. Explains why the buggy tipped so suddenly.’
‘Nah. I was careless. Should’ve reversed away. Turning was crazy,’ said Roy.
‘O2, Mark?’ asked Blake.
‘Seventy-one minutes.’
‘We’ve had Jenny trying to take the panel off buggy three. Took her twelve minutes. So we need to think about the options.’
‘Don’t really want to open her up unnecessarily,’ said Roy.
‘No, but if buggy one hits a problem, Mark could soon see his O2 diving.’
‘Why don’t I sit quietly for thirty minutes, conserve O2 and see how buggy one’s ETA has changed?’ I said. ‘If I’m going to open that panel, I’ve other problems than just the fixings.’
‘Explain,’ said Blake.
‘Well… firstly, I have to step almost half a metre onto the tyre of port wheel one. What if that causes the buggy to roll further? Also, what if the tyre moves? There’s nothing to support me unless I lean forward against the underside.’
‘I see,’ said Blake. ‘Roy can lock the wheel so it doesn’t move. What’s your next move once you’re on it?’
‘Locked it,’ said Roy.
‘Thanks, Roy. I’ll then have to jump up to grab the starboard side of the chassis. I don’t think that will be too difficult given one sixth G, but if I did miss there’s no certainty I won’t drop into the dust. If I do get up to the chassis, I’ll have to climb along it and lie on the side of the buggy to undo the fixings. I don’t want to be attempting that on low psi or if I’m running low on O2. It’s now or never, really.’
‘I’ll go back to NASA on this. Sit quietly, Mark,’ said Blake.
Moon suits are not particularly flexible, but I managed to get into a sitting position, facing the Earth. An almost cloudless Australia stared back at me. The gauge read sixty-seven minutes.
3 Patience
For a thousand, a million, perhaps even a billion years, it had been lying dormant in the dust of a rocky moon. It had no consciousness because there was no consciousness nearby. It was in deep hibernation. It sensed nothing, felt nothing, saw nothing and knew nothing.
But now it could sense a consciousness, just above its resting place. It sent out a tendril and encountered aluminium sheeting. The object was a vessel, lying still and silent in the dust. It became aware of thoughts nearby. It sensed some anxiety, not worry for itself, but for another entity elsewhere.
How could it get closer to the consciousness? It couldn’t enter the creature without physical contact. Surrounding it was tightly packed dust. There was no atmosphere. The rocky moon was devoid of gases, but there was atmosphere inside the vessel.
It moved and twisted in the dust, trying to make better contact with the aluminium sheeting of its hollow prey.
Ah, contact. There was warmth. Well, warmer than the dust. There was something inside the vessel which was most certainly a living creature.
Now it was more fully awake, it sensed a second organism nearby, inactive, breathing shallowly. A long way off, vibrations were approaching.
Self-preservation took over. It needed to ensure it wasn’t harmed by these things nor left behind when they passed by. Its primitive, existential need for contact with something live became all-encompassing.
Tendrils extended, sensing the skin of the vessel, it found a different material. A manufactured metal shaft. Solid. This wasn’t hollow like the aluminium. It followed the length of the shaft and reached a much more complex object. The steel entered the centre of an alloy hub which was surrounded by a more pliable substance. It could move the surface of the substance and there was a minute gap between it and the other metallic alloy.
This was somewhere it could conceal itself. Compressing its tendril, it forced itself into the gap, squeezing itself to a thickness of only a micron or two, then straining and thrusting itself through the crevice and into a space between the alloy and the compound of the softer object.
Satisfied it was concealed safely, it waited. The vibrations it had sensed were still a long way off, but rapidly approaching. The two organisms were unmoving. The more distant one was still breathing, but shallowly. The other was behind the aluminium sheeting.
4 The Unforgiving Moon
‘How’s the oxygen now, Mark?’ asked Blake.
‘Eleven minutes – and I see buggy one on the horizon trailing a cloud of dust,’ I said.
