Do You Dream of Terra-Two?

‘Even if the communications come back online and we request rescue,’ Igor said, ‘our nearest port of call would have been Orlando, but obviously it’s no longer possible for them to fly here and repair the damage. The next closest manned human outpost is currently the Russian expedition on Phobos. Even if they agreed to send any technicians they could spare it would take around eight to fourteen weeks. And we’re looking at a matter of hours.’

‘Because of the oxygen supply,’ Astrid said, biting her lip.

‘What if we take apart the service module in the escape shuttle?’ Eliot suggested. ‘We could fix the lithium dioxide to our filters and scrub out the excess CO₂. And then…’ he was breathless with excitement, ‘if we take apart the fuel cells and use them as an auxiliary power supply we would have enough power and oxygen to last us six months.’

‘Three months,’ Igor said. ‘There are enough consumables on the escape shuttle to last a crew of five for twenty-four weeks. With a crew twice the size it would last half that time, or possibly a lot less; if you consider the volume of this ship compared to the shuttle, the pressure of oxygen would be lower.’

‘Three months,’ Astrid said, hope filling her like wind in sails. ‘That’s still enough time for a service shuttle from Mars – I mean, Phobos – to reach us.’

‘Just enough… assuming the comms are fixed and that Roscocosmos have the resources to spare. And the inclination.’

‘Ig— Commander Bovarin,’ Astrid said, ‘it’s a chance, at least… it’s a chance.’

‘We’ve had our chance,’ Igor said. ‘I’m not gambling anymore with the lives of young people now in my care.’

‘But—’

‘Taking apart the one working escape vessel would be like burning a life raft.’

‘It would be like using a life raft,’ Astrid implored.

‘There is no guarantee. I would rather be sure you can get back to your family alive than gamble on a chance only for us all to die here.’

‘Or for us all to live,’ Astrid said. ‘For us all to live and make it to Terra-Two.’

‘Astrid.’ His voice was harsh. ‘You just saw the damage in the service module. It’s irreparable. Short of a full replacement there is no way we’re going anywhere anytime soon. Commander Sheppard is badly injured. Dr Golinsky seems to think that he might be dying, and so am I.’ He looked away from her for a moment as if he could see it, the space station like a bright satellite above the milky surface of Europa. ‘I know what it feels like to lose a whole crew. You think you’re safe, but things change like this—’ He snapped his fingers. ‘One moment they were talking to us, smiling at us, and then… at least I get some time.’

Astrid shuddered at the thought of the way death had snatched the crew on Orlando, the suddenness.

‘It could have been like that for us too,’ Eliot said, his blue eyes drifting to the hatch.

‘That’s right. I’m not a religious man but thanks to some act of fate or the universe or I don’t know… I had a chance to save my crew. This ship didn’t turn into a coffin. Astrid, I’m not throwing that away.’

By then, her throat was thick with tears; she pleaded, pushing her hands together. ‘Just think about it?’

Igor opened and shut his mouth. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said finally. ‘In the meantime, you have work to do.’

Astrid nodded and got on with it. But all the while she was thinking about how it could happen, the machinery, the tools she would require. She thought about the different ports she would need adaptors for and then cast her mind to rescue.

She often considered all the chance events that had led her to this point; that she had come into the world screaming in a decade when interstellar travel had become possible. She had been chosen from millions, plucked from oblivion to be the glory of the people. There were other miracles too; the fact of life, of the sun rising above an ancient habitable planet, somewhere close by, waiting for her. So why give up hope today?

Chapter 43 JESSE

^{1 P.M.}

JESSE SLEPT IN THE greenhouse until noon. Sunk low in the dreamless oblivion of the sleep-deprived. For the first time in months, he was plagued by no visions of the buzzing simulator or the prickling static of the controls or the cockpit splayed before him.

When he awoke, the flight simulating game was like a sickness he’d been cured of. His body was so stiff with cold that he couldn’t feel his own legs. His fingers were numb, his nail-beds blue, icy needles of pain prickling up his arms all the way to his elbows. He was alone.

He sat up with some difficulty and looked around, expecting to find Juno’s shadow flitting like a sylph through the trees. But she was gone, and overnight the algae spills had frozen into green floes, and water dripping from the automated sprinklers had hardened like stalactites. Everywhere, new buds were strangled by ice. Near the bridge, the blast had ripped sturdy roots right out of the ground.