Steph Bennion: Hollow Moon

The author would like to thank Karen for friendship, wine and invaluable help in proof-reading Hollow Moon ; Victor for the front cover artwork; and of course Sarah, who despite all evidence to the contrary, has kept me sane in this big, bad city.

BARNARD’S STAR has another name, for some call it the Runaway Star. In the skies of Earth this faint red sun lurks in the constellation of Ophiuchus the serpent bearer; hidden to all but the astronomers, yet close enough to tantalise the scientists, dreamers, crooks and believers who saw in the heavens the age-old lust for adventure. This is a story of the future, a time when human ingenuity has bridged the vast cosmos and many millions have staked their claims where distant suns burn fierce in the sky.

Drifting around Barnard’s Star was a monument to both the imagination and the folly of humanity. Like the first tools of prehistoric ancestors, the lonely crater-pocked asteroid had been shaped by human hands, an inventiveness betrayed by the caldera-like cones of silenced engines, the concrete carbuncles and single vast airlock shutting out the unforgiving vacuum of space. Beyond this door was carved yet another niche for survival, an incredible land of homes, farms, families and friends where there should be none. This was the forgotten ark of a planet few cared about, circling a sun too dim to see.

Yet for all humankind’s wondrous endeavours, the old squabbles and struggles remained. For every traveller who came to explore, another came to exploit. The strange hollow moon had become a place to hide, a refuge for the runaways fleeing the rank and file of someone else’s great game. Unbeknown to them all, their tiny world now turned upon the fate of a girl barely sixteen, one whose quiet exile was about to be shattered by a story driven by those who saw destiny as just another human invention, a tool harder than stone.

Barnard’s Star offered the only light in the black. It was after all the Runaway Star.

RAVANA REACHED for the next hand-hold and pulled herself higher, annoyed beyond belief at how easily she had once again let her wayward electric cat lure her into such an idiotic predicament. The cliff was scarily high; below her was a ten-storey drop to the rocky shelf left by a previous collapse, which itself formed the top of a nasty slope of rubble that tumbled a further three hundred metres to the ground. Her right leg was doubled up with her knee against her chest, held there by bare toes wedged in a crevice just centimetres wide. Her other foot was at full stretch and precariously poised upon the narrow ledge that seemed to be the last decent foothold to the shallow cave above.

“Daddy wouldn’t buy me a bow-wow,” she muttered tunelessly, inadvertently adding her father’s Australian twang to the Indian tones inherited from her mother. It was an odd combination at the best of times, which this definitely was not. “Why didn’t he buy me a bow-wow? I’ve got a stupid cat, that’s acting like a…”

She cursed as her foot slipped and sent a cascade of rock fragments rattling down the cliff. Trying not to panic, she forced herself higher, then gave a brief grimace of triumph as her head finally appeared above the floor of the cave.

Something small and furry slunk from the rocky shadows and greeted her with a pathetic meow. Ravana blew out of the corner of her mouth to dislodge an annoying strand of hair and glared at the cat with ill-concealed contempt.

“Electric pets are not supposed to lure their humans into risking life and limb!” she scolded, feeling a headache coming on. “What do you say to that, cat?”

The black bundle of fur looked at her and meowed again. With one last determined effort, Ravana heaved herself into the shallow cave and sat back against the cliff wall, breathing heavily. She was no athlete and her slim body was not used to this sort of strenuous exercise. Her sweat felt clammy upon the scar on the side of her face and her weak right arm ached badly. Trembling, the cat jumped onto her lap, its pitiful whining subsiding as she stroked its fake fur. It was impossible to stay mad at it for long, even if Ravana did often wish the cat had an ‘off’ switch. Yet even electric pets had rights these days.

She had first discovered the shallow cave just weeks before; or rather, her cat had found it after a previous solo wander cross-country. This was the second time it had homed in on this almost inaccessible cliff-side perch. Whatever it was that lured her cat to this place was also making it act very oddly. She had never seen her pet so agitated.

The cave was roughly a third of the way up the huge, partially-collapsed cliff face at the end of the inside-out world that was the colony ship Dandridge Cole . From this high vantage point the whole interior of the hollow moon was laid before her. It was a world hewn deep inside a spinning asteroid: a vast cylindrical cavern five kilometres long and a kilometre wide, where the fields and the trees and the stone buildings clung limpet-like to the rocky cavern wall. The position of the sun was the strangest thing of all, for at this height she was almost level with the tiny yet immensely-bright golden globe that sat suspended between three radial pylons at the centre of the long cavern. The air was clear and looking down she could see the tops of the trees dotting nearby grazing land, a view that became increasingly dizzy as she followed the foot of the cliff with her gaze until finally she was staring straight up. Directly above her, nestled against the cliff face on the far side, was the Maharani’s palace, a place strictly off-limits to people like herself.

Ravana’s gaze lingered upon the distant palace. Her perspective shifted and now she was looking down upon the house and gardens, to where a movement in the grounds had caught her eye. Two figures made their way towards the main building; even from this distance, she was struck by the odd way in which they moved. With a start, she realised they were wearing what looked like lightweight spacesuits, albeit without helmets. This was unusual enough within the hollow moon but more so here. It was said that the Maharani had exiled herself from the modern world for good and looked down upon the space-age trappings of the twenty-third century as she would something nasty on the sole of her shoe.

Ravana frowned, wondering how her own life had ended up like this, where watching two distant strangers had become the height of excitement and adventure.

“Two spacemen,” she told her purring cat. “I wonder what they’re doing? And why am I asking you? You only care about leading me astray!”

Unaware they were being watched, the two spacesuit-clad figures continued their furtive progress through the palace grounds. Their faces were pale and haggard, betraying a world-weariness echoed by their patched grey survival suits.

Inari, the shorter and fatter of the two, moved with a clumsy and hesitant air of bemusement. He was aware his slow progress annoyed his colleague, who had crept ahead through the secluded undergrowth with a sly, cat-like confidence, only to double back again upon finding Inari had fallen behind. The palace ahead was an impressive building of carved stone, wooden verandas and domed turrets, but as Inari stopped to stare it was something else entirely that captivated his attention.

“Hey, Namtar!” he called. He gave a noisy sniff, wiped his nose with a hand and used his sticky digits to tap the taller man on the shoulder. “Funny, huh?”

With a sigh, Namtar turned to look at what his accomplice had found so amusing. One of the Maharani’s gardeners, unhappy with his lot, had planted the flower beds so that a rude word was spelt out in scarlet blooms.