‘Are all the passengers asleep?’ Mason said.
Gary nodded, but pulled up the holographic display screen on his control bracelet to crosscheck. ‘They’re asleep.’
Mason pressed a button on his seat and linked his com pack—an ear piece and a microchip sized microphone on the suit’s collar—with the ship’s communication system.
‘Ship is ready for take-off,’ he told the people in the control room at the International Space Agency headquarters.
After receiving official clearance to launch, he instructed a plain, plump Chinese woman to initiate the launch sequence. Leaning back in his chair he whispered a short prayer.
We’re going to the moon, Princess, he thought, as a strong wish that he had the power of telepathy washed over him.
#
Time passed slowly and without incident on the voyage to the far side of the moon. Now, the ship hovered over the crystalline-cast, regolith dome around the crater where the colony was situated.
‘Vessel ISA909, you are cleared to land,’ a voice came through the ship’s com system from the moon station and the airlock opened in the dome below them. The ship began its descent and was soon inside the dome. Once there, the ISA moon station took control of the ship. As the ship approached the inner door of the airlock, Mason attempted to get out of his chair. He tugged hard on the safety belt and heard Gary sigh beside him. The sigh triggered his muddled memory: he had to stay put until the moon station unstrapped him. Nevertheless, he felt incapable of staying put when every bone in his body was telling him to take action.
‘Relax,’ Gary said.
Mason turned his head away from Gary, hand pulling on the safety belt despite Gary’s statement. He heard Gary start to say something more but before he could articulate, there came a loud thump, accompanied by short-lived tremors in the bridge as the ship docked. The rest of the crew recovered and relaxed in their seats as they waited, but Mason was getting more frantic by the second.
‘We’re almost there. The only way Melody gets off this ship safely is if you keep your head,’ Gary told Mason, his voice full of sincerity and concern. Mason knew his behaviour could sabotage his daughter’s safety, but he couldn’t rein in his emotions.
‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t help it.’
‘You must try harder... be a father,’ Gary said. Mason ignored Gary’s good intentions and let himself be irritated by Gary’s assumption of knowledge of what being a father meant in the situation he was facing; he drowned the voice in his head that claimed that Gary was right and instead convinced himself that Gary had not an inkling of what he was going through.
‘I am being a father!’ Mason said. The other three crew members’ heads snapped in his direction and Gary cocked his head sideways. Ashamed at his outburst, Mason thought he should at least try to explain his behaviour to them. It wouldn’t be with the absolute truth, but it would be something, he thought.
‘You don’t understand. I need...’ Mason was cut short by the bridge door sliding open. A tall man clad in a white nylon and kevlar space suit walked in and five titanium humanoid robots followed behind him. The robots lined up behind him, and for a moment the now cramped room was silent.
‘Welcome to the Far Side,’ the tall man announced. ‘My name is Dr Andrew Song and I’m the officer in charge of all the new settlers.’ Dr Song gestured towards the robots and they stepped forward. Dr Song drew up the holographic display from his control bracelet, pressed a button and the safety belts unlocked with concurrent clicks. Mason sprang out of his chair and his abdomen almost hit the control panel.
‘A moonbot will escort each of you to our waiting area where you will be examined by our doctor and await further instructions,’ Dr Song said, and rested his arms in front of him.
‘...Moonbot?’ Gary chuckled. Dr Song’s head turned slowly in his direction, but the comment everyone in the room held their breath to hear didn’t come.
Mason started towards the bridge entrance. Dr Song placed his hand firmly on his chest and stopped him in his tracks. Mason couldn’t tell if the doctor was reacting to the venom he could feel emanating from his pores or if the doctor just hated being interrupted.
‘I wasn’t finished,’ Dr Song said.
Mason mustered a respectful but authoritative tone, ‘My name is Mason Avery, this ship’s captain. I wish to go to my quarters and get my luggage in order before I leave this ship. That is regulation after all.’
‘I am honoured to meet you Captain Avery,’ Dr Song said, ‘and with all due respect, we have our own regulations here at the Far Side; your luggage stays with us for now.’ Mason refused to take a step back. ‘Your heart is pounding, Captain,’ he said, narrowing his eyes at Mason.
A beam of light scanned Mason and disappeared, catching him off-guard because he’d been holding Dr Song’s gaze too intently. The doctor’s control bracelet displayed Mason’s vitals: heart rate: 90 beats per minutes; temperature: 37.05°c; respiration rate: 19 breaths per minute; blood pressure: 130/89.
‘Your luggage must be very important to you,’ he noted, ‘I will personally see to your luggage,’ Dr Song added. However, his consolation didn’t persuade Mason in the least. On the contrary, it threw his mind into a panic. He didn’t want this man anywhere near his luggage. Although he was sure the doctor wouldn’t find anything of consequence, he didn’t want him sniffing around. Gary cleared his throat audibly to break the silence that ensued.
Mason’s heart raced, sweat beaded and dried on his forehead. His head pounded along with his racing heart and he felt himself start to shiver. He fidgeted in his seat and looked through the clear glass of the pod as it sped along its plastic tube to his new house. The dome and the plastic tube distorted the colours of the sky so that the yellow, orange, and crimson of the lunar sky sprinted past his eyes in distressing blotches.
He’d expected to be arrested while in the waiting room, but all they’d done there was inject into their wrists microchips with numbers that matched the citizen numbers lasered onto their napes back at the ISA headquarters on Earth. Then came a brief physical exam. Afterwards, they’d guided the whole group of a hundred people through a simulation meant to equip them with the necessary tools to live comfortably within their new home.
Mason used some of the knowledge he’d acquired to gain access to his igloo-esque shelter. Once it was inside, the pod stopped, and the door dropped to the ground. Mason lay there in his pod, stared at the ceiling and sighed heavily.
Grey moon bricks formed the ceiling of his garage—as grey as his and Melody’s futures were at the moment. He was tired of worrying but he couldn’t stop. He’d lingered on the verge of a panic attack the whole pod ride and expended half of the will he had left pulling back from it. He was exhausted and nauseated, and his remaining will barred tears for his daughter’s plight from flowing. Though his heart still pounded hard in his chest, it no longer drummed in his ear. The drumming had been replaced by a sinister hum that fed the atmosphere of foreboding surrounding him.
He opened the pod, clambered out and used his control bracelet to open the door that led him out of the garage. Stairs ushered him into a bright room with a high, aluminium ceiling. The house was larger on the inside than it appeared on the outside. A single room partitioned into dining, living, bedroom, and bathroom areas. Emerging from the pod had worsened his nausea and his body felt like a crushed can. His first destination was the steel toilet where he retched and vomited the remnants in his gut.
He dragged his feet across the floor and wrenched open the fridge for water to neutralise the acid in his mouth and throat but just as he reached for the bottle, a robot voice stopped him cold.
‘I am 909A and I am here to serve,’ a moonbot said.
He jerked around and stood up straight. The moonbot he now faced was identical to the ones he’d seen on the ship, except for the bold characters ‘909A’ emblazoned on its chest. ‘Nice to meet you, 909A,’ Mason responded in a shaky voice,
‘I am-’
The moonbot interrupted, ‘Citizen 909A: Captain Mason Avery; captain of ship ISA909, grandson of the deceased Captain Jack Avery, captain of ship ISA908 and founder of the Small Senate of the Far Side; son of Paul and Meredith Avery, born-’
‘That’s enough,’ Mason said. ‘We were instructed not to carry clothes. Do you know where I can find something to change into? I want to get out of this suit.’
‘What would you like to wear?’
‘A pair of pants...a shirt...’
909A turned to go in the opposite direction—Mason assumed it was to get him a change of clothes—but then it stopped and started to vibrate. The vibrations were fleeting and soon, 909A recovered. However, it didn’t continue in the direction it had started. It turned around, strode towards Mason and placed its heavy hand on his right arm. ‘Mason Avery, you are under arrest. I am charged with escorting you to the commons,’ it proclaimed.
Mason pulled his arm free of the moonbot’s grip and ran before he could think. He vaulted up the stairs and fidgeted with his control bracelet to get the garage door open. Behind him he thought he heard the 909A call out to him not to resist, but he paid it no heed. He tried to open his pod but it jammed. He turned to see 909A standing close to him.
‘Mason Avery, you are under arrest.’
Melody would die if he was arrested and detained, and if that was his fate, he decided he would rather die with her. He found a concealed recess in the garage wall and there, as the simulation had indicated, he found the pickaxe reserved for emergencies. He swung the pickaxe at 909A, hoping he could buy time for the pod to open so he could lock himself inside. He missed the moonbot and struck the glass of the pod instead. He pulled the pickaxe back and attacked again.
‘Do not resist!’ The moonbot grabbed his forearm midair, twisted it behind his back and slammed him against the pod with concussive force. Darkness flooded into Mason’s blurred field of vision until it engulfed it completely.
#
Mason awoke with a start. His skin burned, and he felt something weighing him down. Feebly, his eyelids parted to allow him to investigate. His left eyelid remained low over his bionic eye and a sharp pain seared through his left temple. The images in his left field of vision were in infrared and inexplicably glitched. Though less confident about how well his sight would serve him, he looked down to detect the source of his discomfort. His arms were covered with a heavy, black rubbery material; his hazy sight prevented him from discerning how far up his arms the substance went. His legs seemed to be glued to the chair by the same black substance. He tried to lift his feet but couldn’t. He pushed his shins hard against the substance and it stretched. It stretched like old gum but snapped back with the speed of a rubber band just as Mason began to entertain hopes of escape. Defeated, he controlled his breathing and squinted as he searched the room. His gaze landed on someone sitting beside him. Tied down as he was, even with screwed-up vision, Mason recognised Gary.
‘Gary?’ his friend’s name laboured past his heavy tongue.
‘Are you with us, Captain Avery?’ a familiar voice came, startling Mason. Mason hadn’t noticed anyone else in the room.
‘My eye...’ Mason murmured when he saw split outlines of Dr Song and 909A standing across from him. His tangled vision stopped him from seeing the apologetic look on Dr Song’s face.
‘I am sorry about your eye, Captain Avery. Your moonbot was too rough with you and I’m afraid your eye might need some repairs,’ Dr Song said.
‘Why are we here? Why are you treating us like this?’ Gary said. Mason could tell from his tone that Gary wasn’t himself.
‘I have a few questions for you. You are free to leave once you give me satisfactory answers,’ said Dr Song.
‘Do you usually tie up people you just want to ask a few questions?’ said Mason.
Dr Song ignored his comment. ‘Show it to them,’ he said.
909A held up a thin glass tablet and brought it closer to the two men. On it was a live stream of the slumber tube enclosed in thick bulletproof glass. He was positive that they had no idea what it was, but he didn’t know how long he’d be able to keep it that way. Also, he needed to find a way to get Melody out of their custody soon.
Mason told himself not to panic. He strived to keep his expression straight and unreadable—Gary was already doing a great job of the same.
‘What’s that?’ he said, although he already knew the answer.
‘I was hoping one of you could tell me,’ Dr Song said. ‘This object was found inside a case in the captain’s quarters. We don’t know which one of you it belongs to because both the cases we found there lacked the proper ISA labels.’
‘It’s rude to go through peoples’ luggage,’ Gary said. It had been his idea to remove the labels once they got on the ship. Mason had thought it would raise suspicion; Gary had assured him that it would enable them to switch labels at the point of inspection. But then, Gary hadn’t counted on them being absent during inspection of the luggage—he hadn’t expected the locals to have their own rules.
‘Is it yours, Mr. Balagadde?’ Dr Song enquired. ‘Could you tell me what it is?’
‘I don’t know what it is. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you because...’ Gary paused, leaned in the doctor’s direction and added, ‘I don’t like you.’
‘Do you share Captain Balagadde’s stance?’ Dr Song asked Mason.
‘I’m seeing it for the first time,’ Mason said. He kept his tone even and looked Dr Song straight in the eye—he imagined his damaged bionic eye was a horrific sight and he was relying on his gaze to unsettle the doctor.
Dr Song held his gaze for a moment, and then he turned to leave. He paused at the door, pivoted and said, ‘Do you know what the penalty is for breaking Far Side law?’
‘Breaking the law?’ Gary sneered. ‘No one has broken any laws except you... infringing on my human rights like this.’
‘Of course, you don’t know,’ Dr Song laughed, taking no note of Gary’s comment. ‘Let me give you the highlights: after I prove that one or both of you smuggled illegal materials to the Far Side, you’ll both have to face the Small Senate. Now those old guys are very tough on crime of any sort and you’ll most likely be expelled.’ He stopped and faced them, giving his words time to have effect.
The two restrained men gave him blank stares.
Dr Song shook his head, and then smacked his forehead. ‘Forgive me for not thinking: expulsion means nothing to you,’ he chided himself. He took the tablet from 909A and opened a menu. Something about the smug look on his face made Mason nervous. He remained tight-lipped nonetheless. The doctor’s thumb lingered over a button as he smiled at them. ‘I’ll give you a taste.’
The floor opened beneath Mason and he dropped into a snug, pitch black cylindrical cell. He was plunged into darkness once again when the floor closed above him.
Mason gasped. The air in his cylindrical prison became thinner and thinner and the artificial gravity had powered down little by little as time passed. He floated in the darkness, afraid that he was becoming delirious.
He lost track of time and had no idea how long Melody had been in the slumber tube, or how much longer she could survive in there. He imagined her gasping for air, trying to fill her burning lungs. In the beginning, he believed his empathy to be so strong that his body was manifesting her struggles. In time, he realised that the tube was running out of air and that his bulging eyeballs, dry throat, and spongy tongue, were not a figment of his imagination.
He clenched his cold fingers as he felt them go numb. Fortunately, he hadn’t had time to remove his suit and its automatic heating system kept hypothermia from setting in. Now however, the suit was losing its strength and he feared his time was running out. He knew if he died, his daughter would die soon after and he wasn’t about to let that happen.
He pushed against his restraints and winced at the pain in his stiff limbs. He tried to propel himself upwards towards the door but co
uldn’t move. The restraints had become hard and brittle in the atmosphere of the cell and immobilised him. He was going to have to talk to them and hope they had a way of listening in.
‘I confess!’ his voice sounded like a radio with a severe auto-tune malfunction. Quiet followed this attempt to contact his jailers.
‘Please,’ he said, tears crystallising on his eyelashes.
‘My daughter’s in that thing and I don’t know how much time she has left,’ he called. ‘Do what you must to me but...’ His voice caught in his throat. He swallowed and the flames in his throat spread down his gullet to his stomach. ‘Save my daughter.’
He sucked in a mouthful of air to pay the debt that had been created. Then, he waited. He waited for what seemed like an eternity and was about to give up when blinding light shone down into his cell. Metal hands gripped his shoulders and hauled him up the long column into the light.
Four moonbots encircled him, watching him like hawks. They bathed and clothed him and placed a small eye patch over his left eye, pending surgical repair. They left his hands free, so he could swallow the fast-acting nutrient supplements one of them had put in his right palm.
His eyes had sunk into the purplish ditches around them and his skin was almost paper white. He hadn’t eaten for days and his body screamed for nourishment, but still, he played with the two red pills in his hand—it was the last and only form of rebellion he was allowed. When he couldn’t hold on anymore, he tossed the pills into his mouth. The pills dissolved on his tongue and swam forward, leaving pure bliss in their wake. The colour returned to Mason’s cheeks by the time Dr Song arrived. A small, mattress-like hovercraft, carrying the slumber tube enclosed in a bulletproof glass case, glided into the room after him.
He ordered the moonbots off and approached Mason.
‘I need to get my daughter out of that tube,’ Mason said.
Dr Song nodded and withdrew a blade from underneath his sleeve and twisted the hilt. This caused the blade to glow. He twisted the hilt again and the blade dimmed.
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