Steph Bennion - Hollow Moon

“Look!” she exclaimed. “A terraformer!”

Endymion and Philyra glanced through the window to where she pointed. Out in the desert sat a monstrous mechanical pyramid of steel, crawling slowly upon huge tracks as it spewed a cocktail of greenhouse gases into the air. Large-scale terraforming had been abandoned on Ascension more than twenty years ago but there were still a few projects ongoing that were trying to make the atmosphere a little less deadly to humans.

“Fascinating,” murmured Philyra, her gaze already back at her wristpad.

“There’s not enough of them,” Endymion opined glumly. “At this rate, it’ll take a million years before we can live outside the dome.”

“That’s what I like about you,” said Miss Clymene. “Always looking to the future.”

“A friend of mine once hacked into a supply depot and reprogrammed their systems so that a delivery meant for the fish market went instead to a terraformer,” Endymion told her. “The next time it snowed, the ski slopes at Kirchel ended up knee-deep in prawns.”

“You do talk rubbish,” retorted Bellona. “You know you don’t have any friends.”

Ahead, the main dome of the city of Newbrum, an immense blister of glass and steel squatting defiantly upon the shores of the Tatrill Sea, had finally appeared upon the horizon. Outside the skybus the grey desert was giving way to scrubland, where tougher versions of the alien shrubs seen in the Eden Ravines mingled with hardy specimens introduced from the tundra regions of Earth. The introduced flora was adding a little oxygen to the air, but apart from at the bottom of the Ravines the atmosphere of Ascension was still prone to turning blue the face of anyone foolish enough to venture outside not dressed for the occasion. A few obstinate alpine animals brought to Ascension by Australian genetic engineers nevertheless had managed to adapt to the thin atmosphere to scratch out a meagre existence on the coastal plains. It remained however that anyone wishing to see anything larger than a wombat would not find it beyond the huge, radiation-proof conservatories, where the descendants of Earth-born livestock grazed the artificial meadows of the coastal covered farms.

The domed city grew nearer and now they could see individual dots of light from the windows of the various buildings within. The main dome was essentially a giant greenhouse, built to trap the weak heat of the sun and sealed to maintain a breathable atmosphere for its residents. The skybus approached Newbrum from the west; a smaller dome to the south, made of reinforced concrete rather than glass, housed the city’s life-support plant, while a similar dome to the north served as the spaceport terminal. Beyond the city to the east lay the choppy grey waters of the Tatrill Sea.

“We are now approaching New Birmingham,” announced the automatic pilot. Its use of the old name of the city confirmed Miss Clymene’s earlier voiced suspicion that obsolete skybuses were being put back into service. “Change here for interplanetary and interstellar spaceport services, national skybus services and for flying boat services from Aston Pier.”

The skybus was slowing and dropping to the monorail track below. Newbrum station was in the north dome and the track passed close enough to the main city dome for them to see the unruly collection of concrete and steel buildings within. On the far side of the spaceport was the salvage yard where old space vehicles were dismantled for recycling; like all planets orbiting ancient red dwarf stars, Ascension was seriously short of metal-bearing rocks. The skybus gave a jolt as it settled upon its rail, the turbines now working to kill its speed as it approached the giant airlock doors sliding open ahead. Moments later they were inside, speeding through a long concrete tunnel into the heart of the concrete dome. A second set of airlock doors closed behind them and with a final screech of brakes the skybus finally rolled to a halt next to a long platform. They were home.

“We have arrived at New Birmingham, where this service terminates,” the automatic pilot proclaimed cheerfully. “All change, please.”

“Are you absolutely sure there’s nothing available?” asked Miss Clymene. She was talking to the ticket office clerk at the spaceport departure lounge, a stern-faced woman who clearly thought she had better places to be. Behind Miss Clymene, Endymion, Bellona and Philyra stood idly by, looking bored. “It doesn’t have to be direct to Daode. I’m sure we could get a connecting shuttle from Taotie.”

“The Fenghuang III has been booked by private charter,” the clerk told her, sounding weary. “Once that leaves orbit, the next ship to Epsilon Eridani is in three weeks time.”

“Wonderful,” muttered Miss Clymene. Bradbury Heights originally had offered her class some seats on the flight, but then just two days ago had changed their minds on the grounds they now needed to make room for a hamper of speciality cheeses. Miss Clymene decided to try a different tack. “How about the Solar System?” she suggested. “If we can get to Earth or Mars we can pick up a flight to Epsilon Eridani from there.”

The clerk consulted her screen once more. “I have a flight to Hellas,” she offered.

“Oh good!”

“Although it hasn’t actually left the Solar System to get here as yet,” she added. “It should be at Ascension by the end of the week. Is that any use to you?”

“None whatsoever.” Miss Clymene sighed. They were due in the city of Hemakuta on Daode in just four days time. “Is that all you have?”

The clerk nodded and for a moment almost looked as if she cared. It had been barely six months since the last of the big corporations pulled out of the Barnard’s Star system, but the exodus had started years ago when Tau Ceti became the new frontier and now very few flights routinely called at Ascension. Miss Clymene decided she too would look glum if her job had gone from dealing with endless hoards of unhappy passengers to the mind-numbing tedium of sitting behind a desk all day telling people they were not going anywhere.

“Can we go?” asked Philyra, interrupting them.

Miss Clymene glanced over her shoulder to where Philyra and Bellona slouched miserably against a wall. Across the hall, Endymion was examining the contents of a snack food vending machine. There seemed no reason to keep them here.

“Yes, you can go,” she confirmed. “Class dismissed. Don’t forget the band rehearsal tomorrow morning!”

“Goodbye, miss!” called Bellona.

“Creep,” muttered Philyra, pulling her away.

Miss Clymene gave them a half-hearted wave, then turned back to the clerk.

“Now, where were we?” she asked.

“Stuck on Ascension without a flight,” the clerk replied.

“You can’t help me at all?” Miss Clymene asked. “Here I am, honoured with an invitation to represent the good people of Newbrum at the Epsilon Eridani peace conference, and there’s nothing you can do to get myself and my class to Daode?”

“How about I give you a jet pack each and a map of the Milky Way,” snapped the clerk, finally losing her patience. “Or maybe you could bribe some dodgy freighter pilot to take you and your class as rare breeds livestock.”

“How rude!” Miss Clymene exclaimed, a blush of indignation colouring her cheeks. She paused, then thought about what the clerk had said. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea.”

“What? Using jet packs?” retorted the clerk. “I was joking.”

“No,” replied Miss Clymene. “Finding a mercenary with a freighter for hire.”

Endymion gave up trying to get anything from the vending machine. He had no credit left in his account and the anti-hack software of the machine had been upgraded to a new protocol he had not seen before. A second vending machine was broken, burbling quietly to itself and muttering ‘Reboot me!’ over and over again in a muted electronic wail. Endymion decided to head further into the spaceport, away from the entrance to the main city dome. It was a while before he noticed Bellona and Philyra had followed.