Luke Marusiak: Lifeboat Moon

They first mixed curing agent in sealing putty. Jim and Gitty applied the curing putty to the seam and Jerry covered the new seal with three layers of the ever present duct tape.

While waiting to confirm that the rate of fall had stopped — that the leak was fixed — Sally pondered that they were using putty and duct tape at an alarming rate. “What’s it look like?” Sally asked.

“That’ll do it,” Jim said, staring at the digital gauge. “We’re back in business.”

Sally sighed. “Good work.”

Rescuing Mark and patching the leak in the Manufacturing Pod proved to be the most urgent tasks of Sally’s shift. The continuous drumbeat of requests, adjusted plans, and electronic documentation occupied the rest. The electronic documentation for the next shift manager, Douglas Graham, was most important.

Each pod of the base was responsible for creating a pass-down for the next twelve hour shift and it was the Shift Manager’s job to make sure all was detailed; that nothing slipped through the cracks. As she completed this work and yearned for respite, Sally received a summons to meet the director of Moon Base Armstrong. Now what? She finished the pass-down to Doug and, as she gathered her equipment, thought it likely she was about to get a reprimand for breaking protocol when getting Mark. Sally was in for one hell of a surprise.

Director Constance Collier, head of Moon Base Armstrong, stared with a frown at her workstation screen. Sally, seated directly across from the director, cleared her throat. Director Collier didn’t lift her eyes. “You’re one of forty-one women here,” Director Collier said in a deadpan tone.

“I guess that’s right,” Sally responded. “There’s eighteen on my shift of sixty-two.”

“That’s the problem.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The earth’s gone. Not just Houston, not just the US, all of it.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s been two months. We’ll keep trying to contact them but even Japan Station hasn’t heard anything.”

“What about the China moon base?”

The Director shook her head. “No contact. It’s likely gone.”

“But we never had contact with the China base.” Sally licked her lips and stared at the wall. “And the Mars Base?”

“No one knows. We never talked to it. Before we launched, the Mars Base was only in contact with Houston. Doctor Zeke Ben-Ami isn’t sure if it got hit with the gamma ray burst or not.”

“So it might have survived.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ve spoken at length about this with Doctor Zeke. We have to act as if we’re humanity’s last stand.” Director Collier lifted her head and locked eyes with Sally. “Of the forty-one women here, thirty-four are fertile and you’re one of them. We’re going to need you to birth four children over the next six years.”

“What?” Sally shrieked.

“That’s the only way. If we don’t think of saving humanity now, it’ll be too late.”

“I don’t… I’m not even with somebody.” She slapped her palms on the director’s desk. “And to think I was happy NASA appointed a woman in charge of the first group.”

“The first group’s all there’s ever going to be. Nobody else’s coming. We’re it. I’ll give you one year to get your Shift Manager replacement ready. I can’t pull you off that duty without risking our ability to be self-sustaining. Maybe Chuck can step up.”

“Chuck’s convinced we’re doomed.” Sally couldn’t believe it. “Self-sustaining? We’re barely keeping the moon base together now. We’re all liable to die for lack of something as simple as duct tape.”

“Figure it out. I need you barefoot and pregnant in a year.”

“That’s a patriarchal trope.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe this.”

The director laughed. “This isn’t a patriarchy.” She leaned forward and glared at Sally. “I never said all four children would be from the same father. We need to use Moon Base Armstrong’s ethnic mix to maximum effect so we have a robust species. You need to have four children from four different fathers. We can fertilize with artificial insemination or the old fashioned way. I don’t care but you and the other thirty-three fertile women up here need to bear four to six children. Doctor McCarthy is mapping the needed ethnic and health pairing.”

“Paring? Eugenics? That’s fascist bullshit.”

“No, this is humanity’s last chance.” The director looked back at her screen. “We’re telling you first as Shift Manager is the toughest job to replace. This is top secret. The other women won’t be told for six months. We’ll work on educating everyone on the stakes involved in the meantime.”

Captain Mark Martelli sat on the edge of his bunk and wondered what Sally thought of him . I’m supposed to be the head of our QRF — quick reaction force — a roving all around jack. I’m the go-to guy when tough jobs need done. And Sally had to save my sorry ass. He stared at the ungainly walls adorned with cables, insulation, and flickering LEDs. This place is ugly. He wanted companionship, he wanted beauty, and he wanted something to ground him . Sally’s tied up for couple more hours. He looked at his contactor which also doubled as an e-book reader and video player. Mark flicked through a few book and movie collections but found nothing to grab his interest.

Purpose was the be all and end all and Mark, usually the inspiring optimist, struggled to find Moon Base Armstrong’s raison d’être. There was nothing but hardscrabble odiferous survival. There were temperature swings and smells that differed section to section. There were warm and cold sections — and offending odors everywhere. It stank in this moon base. He remembered gagging when getting a whiff of the Agriculture Pod.

Yeah, let’s use our daily human excrement and mix it with lunar soil and our precious water. Then let’s seal the pod, increase the heat and humidity, and pump in CO 2. Then we keep the pod at 720 Torr so it’s contained, damp, and fertile. He shook his head and remembered fixing the Agriculture Pod mulcher. Nothing ever smelled so bad. His eyes watered for days.

He looked again at the ugly interior. It was a stark reality. There were no animals, grass, trees, or blue sky on the moon. If all that’s gone, what’s our purpose? He sighed. Is it only us? The only animals here are humans. No dogs, cats, hamsters… nothing. It’s only people that make this moon base worth anything. We preserve our culture and history… for what? He’d fought, like the others, for weeks believing the earth survived. Now he felt gloom descend and realized more would be like Chuck; they’d give up and become destructive.

Mark stood up with such speed he had to stop himself from bouncing off the ceiling. I need to see my friend. He moved to the hub — the Nexus — and bounded to the University Pod. The University Pod was another renamed part of Moon Base Armstrong. It wasn’t a pod at all, but a small computer server room also used for archival storage.

After the catastrophe came the realization that, whatever was in archival storage, was their only source of knowledge, history, and culture. A week ago, Director Collier renamed the small room the University Pod the same time she renamed the Prototype Pod the Manufacturing Pod. Mark knew what Director Collier was doing. The director was nudging the base’s inhabitants to view themselves as a self-sustaining community. Mark knew as well as anyone they were a long way from self-sustaining.

Mark arrived at the University Pod’s single hatch door and peered in the Plexiglas window. He smiled. Good, Zeke’s here. He pushed the visitor button and was rewarded by his friend’s glance and smile. The hatch door popped open, Mark entered, and closed the door behind him. He grinned. Doctor Ezekiel Ben-Ami — Doctor Zeke — gave Mark a warm, two-handed handshake. “It’s good to see you,” Doctor Zeke said and Mark believed he really meant it.