Luke Marusiak - Lifeboat Moon

“Now I’m the only one left.”

“Not just you Jim. We’re all that’s left.”

Mark needed time alone. He’d permanently locked the three living quarters to ensure base integrity. He sent those still in the Nexus back to Habitation Tube Two and he arranged for the three who lost their quarters to move in with others.

Sally, Doug, Zeke, Chuck and Art scoured all status indicators and the base appeared stable. There was no explanation on how the double hulled living quarters lost its seal integrity. There was no explanation for what caused the devastating pod crash.

Mark directed Sally and Zeke to keep looking for answers and detailed Thad to be the Quick Response Force leader on standby. Mark hoped for a couple precious private hours to look at Moon Base Armstrong’s post gamma ray burst plan.

He turned a knob and his living quarters windows became opaque. Mark went to his quarter’s workstation and connected the ArmCon’s storage device. He then stared at a screen asking for a password. He slumped forward and held his head in his hands. This was too much.

The incessant body blows of failure, the ever increasing terror, and his own doubts overwhelmed. He tried to force himself to think, to come up with a plan, to come up with the idea of a plan but the burden of humanity’s last stand and fear of suffocation blotted everything. He opened his eyes, his vision was blurred. He rested his forehead on his desk and concentrated on breathing.

Mark had never been the ultimate one in charge of anything. He’d led teams sure, but always with a boss; someone who guided, prompted, and commented on his decisions. If it wasn’t his boss, it was his dad who was never shy in providing snap judgements and near instantaneous decisions. It was the fighter pilot mindset. You never delayed. You assessed, moved, and engaged the enemy. One pilot, one plane, one task: destroy the enemy. That mindset even worked when Mark piloted drones to do their deadly tasks from his comfortable command chair in Nevada.

He’d volunteered for the moon base assignment for recognition and a grasp for acclaimed achievement. The real experience was different in all ways. And the one task, destroy the enemy, didn’t work here. Who or what was the enemy? If some malign force of the universe planned to wipe them out, why hadn’t it done so already?

He lifted his head and stared at the accusing screen still waiting for a password. Mark needed to see that post gamma ray burst plan. He got up and paced. There was no way the ArmCon would’ve left the password written somewhere in his quarters. He wouldn’t have told Jim Staid but… Brexton? Would he have told his son? It was worth a try. Mark called Brexton on his contactor. “Brex, I know you’re hurting but can you come to my quarters?”

Brexton Little had both the linebacker physique and PhD-worthy scientific mind of his father. Brex excelled at everything he attempted and was detailed for an early crew launch more for his skills than his father’s desire. But he was his father’s son. He was his father’s cheerleader, confidant, and partner in a way few sons ever were. Brex entered Mark’s living quarters and saw the reason he was summoned. He walked to the workstation. “You’re hoping I know that password.”

“I am.” Mark wondered if confidence was passed down from father to son because Brexton Little exuded it. Mark wondered why his dad, General Michael Martelli, Commander of the U.S. Air Force Space Command, didn’t pass down his overbearing confidence. Maybe he did, but not to me. He thought his brothers — wiped out along with the rest of earthbound humanity — wouldn’t have been so uncertain, so unnerved by this situation.

Brexton pursed his lips pondering. He sat at the workstation and punched ‘GuionBluford1983’. The screen flicked to the list of files. He chuckled. “Dad never talked about his pride. That’s why his passwords were so effective.”

“What’s that mean?” Mark asked.

“Guion Bluford was the first African American astronaut and 1983 was when he flew on the Space Shuttle.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed that in a million years.”

“No one would.” Brexton turned to Mark. “Dad kept a lot of things to himself. Did you know Dad and the director were together?”

“Yes. I found out just a few days before the ceremony.”

“They spent so much time together and then after the gamma ray burst — with the end of the world and all.”

“Yeah, it makes sense they’d get together.” Mark searched for words. “I know you’re grieving. I am too. But if we’re to have any legacy at all…”

“We have to survive.” Brexton finished the sentence. “Man, I don’t know what you’re going through but know this. I’m here to do my part.”

“Thanks Brexton. I appreciate it.” Mark pointed to the screen. “Do you know what’s in the post gamma ray burst plan?”

“I have some idea. There’s a lot you’re not going to like.”

Mark didn’t know what to make of Brexton’s comment. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll read these then I’ll include you in the plan review.”

“I’d keep that plan review down to a very small group.”

Mark frowned. “Why?”

“You decide. I’ll leave you to it.” Brexton departed Mark’s quarters.

Mark wondered at the secrecy. Director Collier’s candor and transparency with the crew were well-known. That she and the ArmCon would show them pictures of the incinerated earth but hide this plan made no sense. What could be so upsetting? After the pod crash, they had a meager 129 people left in Moon Base Armstrong and Mark thought that was a small group.

NASA and ESA worked for years detailing a daily structure of tasks for all roles. Every crewmember practiced their role and two alternate roles as back up. Every crewmember was schooled on always knowing the overall mission, the main goals. They trained on earth for eighteen months as a crew so all knew each other, what to do, and how to do it. The crew were given reasons for actions, no matter how difficult, every step of the way.

There was no secrecy when this handpicked talented crew launched. So why now? Why would a strategy for survival need secrecy? For that matter, why hadn’t he been taken in confidence? Mark started reading the post gamma ray burst plans. And then he understood.

Sally and Zeke sat side by side in the control room. They reviewed the video of the pod crash over and over. They watched it until the terror subsided. They watched it until nothing but a puzzle remained. Why? Why did the pod yaw? Why did the thrusters kick on? Why? Why? Why?

There was one thing. Zeke noticed upon the tenth viewing a faint reflection from a corner of the inside of Thad’s helmet during the pod descent. The video camera centered on the pod but there was a little glimmer in the corner of the frame. It was a reflection from the beacons.

The beacons flashed green, as expected, when Thad was looking at them. Green meant they locked onto the descending pod and it was using their placement as a guide for the landing. What Zeke discovered when he isolated the helmet reflection and increased the contrast was that the beacons flashing color switched from green to purple at the precise time the pod went haywire. It was another puzzle. Purple was odd. Purple meant that another beacon had superseded the lock and was now guiding the pod.

Flashing purple was a protocol developed to enable the base to bring a dozen supply pods down at a time. It was meant as an automated notification of what was envisioned as lunar air traffic control when the Shackleton Crater and Moon Base Armstrong became a burgeoning metropolis. But that never happened. They never had to bring twelve pods down at once. Zeke couldn’t find an example of when another beacon needed to supersede a lock on. And if the pod locked onto another signal, the telemetry logs would show the switch. Instead, the logs abruptly stopped at the precise time the beacons’ flashing changed from green to purple. It was a mystery, perhaps a red herring.