Mark Haddon - The Pier Falls - And Other Stories

Taylor asks Geneva to override protocol. This will be their first EVA. Bear Jonson and Mina Lawler volunteer. It takes nine hours to prepare. Before the EVA begins Bear and Mina sleep for two hours. Vijay prepares his own suit in case there is an emergency. They have three hours of daylight left.

The terrain is smooth. It takes them only thirty minutes to reach the old base. To the right they can see the rocky barrow under which Dr. Jon Forrester is buried, to the left the raking sun glinting off the titanium poles of the uncompleted Long Array. They circle the chunky double spider of units. In a recess at the rear lies a body so fiercely abraded by the sandstorm that it is now a skeleton. Taylor, Giulia, Vijay and Mary watch all of this on the headcam feeds.

Most of the windows in the base are dark and a temperature reading indicates that these units have been sealed off and depressurised. Only one unit seems to be in use. There is a low light in the window to which the now-dead glow-sticks remain attached but the sand which scoured the corpse has scoured the glass, too, and they can see very little through it. There is something which might be a body on the infrared. Afterwards both Bear and Mina will confess to an irrational conviction that whoever — or whatever — is inside is not one of the six original crew, perhaps not even human.

They return to an adjacent unit. As on all the doors there is a central crank for last-resort use. They try to turn it with the steel rod they have brought for the purpose, first Bear then Mina, but they are wary of slipping and falling or, worse, ripping one of the EVA suits. After twenty fruitless minutes Taylor says, “Just hit the thing with a damn rock.” Bear does this and they hear the dull chime of the whole structure ringing. He bangs it again. The crank gives a little. He bangs it a third time, puts the rock down and they are now able to turn it with their gloved hands alone. Finally the door swings open and they step inside.

There is a body on the floor, gaunt, leathery, mummified. It is tiny with thick black hair and must therefore be Suki Camino. They close the door behind them and seal it. They power up and the overhead lights come on, so the generators are working. They check the internal pressure. They start to pump the CO 2out and let the air in from the rest of the station. There has been no response whatsoever to their grandstand entrance. If there is anyone still alive on the far side of the second door they must be either unconscious or remaining deliberately silent. Might this be a trap of some kind?

A soft pop and the door opens.

Clare Hogg and the baby are lying on a soiled mattress. The baby is not moving, Clare is barely conscious. There was no simulation which included this scenario.

Over the intercom Taylor says, “Oh, Jesus.”

Giulia says, “People, do something, OK?”

Mina ignores Taylor’s instructions and removes her helmet. The air smells of urine and sweat and something dense and sugary she doesn’t recognise. She takes her gloves off and picks the baby up. It is limp but warm. It is covered in its own shit and has sores and rashes all over its body. It is a boy. Bear keeps his helmet and gloves on. He rolls the woman into the recovery position. Her hair is knotty and rat-tailed. She appears unable to see clearly or understand what is being said to her. She cannot talk. She claws the air vaguely in search of her baby. There is an unopened blister pack of two Moxin on the floor, a couple of arm’s lengths away from the mattress. Mina wraps the baby in a clean blanket and holds it close.

Bear finds some powdered banana. They decant their own water supplies to create a paste. The woman eats it but Mina has to remove the needle from a syringe and squirt the paste into the baby’s mouth. It chokes then swallows then coughs it all up. She repeats the process.

It is too complex and dangerous to bring Clare and the baby back to the lander. Bear runs checks. The base is functioning normally despite the lack of external communications. Vijay walks twelve hundred metres carrying a bag of medical supplies. Night is falling. For the last ten minutes of the journey he is not visible from the lander. Bear finds two more corpses in one of the adjacent units. Mikal Galkin and Arvind Sangha. Judging by its appearance Mikal must be the baby’s father. Vijay puts the woman and the baby on glucose and saline drips.

She calls them “Mikal” and “Suki” and “Per.” She says that someone has taken her baby away. They say, “Here is your baby.” They ask her what the baby’s name is. She doesn’t know. Vijay washes the baby and covers it in Epaderm. She says she wants to go and stand in the garden. They explain that there is no garden.

They say, “You are very lucky to be alive.” They say, “Clare, can you tell us what happened?”

She says, “We were walking by the sawmill. There were bluebells.”

She breastfeeds her baby. She refuses to let go of him. They give her beef noodles and rye bread and apple juice. She says, “I want to talk to Mikal.” They say that they will explain everything once she is feeling better. Her baby cries. They say, “This is a good sign.”

She walks to the lander. It is the hardest exercise she has ever done. The baby is strapped to her torso inside an EVA suit five sizes too large. Jon and Bear walk on either side of her, holding her upright.

She remembers that Mikal is dead. She remembers that she watched Arvind die lying on the floor in front of her. She remembers that Per and Jon and Suki are dead. She remembers the fire on the Halcyon . She listens to bluegrass. She listens to Kylie. She listens to Mozart. She has her photograph taken with the baby. Taylor says, “You’re famous.”

After three months they are well enough to travel home. The craft is tiny and fully automated. There is nothing she will have to do. She and the baby will be alone for nineteen months. It does not matter. Other people do not seem real to her.

The ascent to orbit is terrifying but short. The baby screams. They circle for a week until the heavens are aligned then three short bursts of flame set them off on their great sleigh ride through the dark.

She must exercise. She puts on her belt, straps herself down and walks on the track. Two hundred metres, five hundred, a kilometre, two. She and the baby sleep in the bulkhead where the shields are thickest to minimise the effect of radiation on the baby’s tiny body. He floats in the air. He laughs. She wonders if his legs will ever develop the strength to walk. There are voices on the radio. She worries about her mind. She ate so little for so long. Has she suffered some kind of irreparable brain damage? He stares at her face, smiles in response to her smile, laughs in response to her laugh. He follows objects as they float past. She does not count time. They have the universe to themselves. The constellations are their toys. She tells him their names. Eridanus, Cepheus, Draco. He sleeps less now, eats solid food, explores constantly. She must watch him all the time to prevent him breaking or stealing things. He says, “Mamma, Mamma…” They eat dried pear and stollen and fish fingers. Nineteen months. It seems too short. She wishes the two of them could stay here forever on this endless silent sea.