The mess now resembled its namesake. They brought in bedding and extra clothes to pass the night. Jess felt obliged to point out that, according to protocol, they should be sheltering in the bunker. But no one was eager to spend time in what, under different circumstances, would have been a lead-lined coffin.
"I'm exercising my captain's prerogative," Milo said to satisfy her. "We're staying put here."
They had a late dinner between rounds of poker. Tayen may have had the best poker face, but Vivian was the real hustler. Remind me again, does a flush beat a straight? she would ask as she turned over another winning hand. Jess was a lost cause. Milo's meager stack of virtual chips would have been a lot taller if he hadn't thrown a few hands her way.
At hour five they took a break to catch some sleep. The scene was like a surreal slumber party with mattresses on the walls and ceiling. Jess and Bobby fell to sleep right off. Milo lay awake, letting his thoughts settle. The sound of the others breathing, or snoring in Bobby's case, was more comforting than any lullaby. At some point he drifted off too.
The crew started waking up after about six hours. The early risers quietly occupied themselves on their phlexes before moving to the table where they were joined by Jess and finally Bobby, who was still recovering from radiation sickness. The conversation was mostly about ordinary, everyday stuff. Who was their favorite band? Did they ever think they would end up in space? What was their most embarrassing childhood memory?
They had a breakfast of scrambled eggs with sausage circles and hashbrown squares.
"What I wouldn't give for some Fruit Loops," Vivian said, holding up a forkful of what looked like yellow Styrofoam. All the food in space had to be non-crumbly.
Jess, "Frosted strawberry pop tarts. With sprinkles."
Bobby, "Cold pizza."
Milo, "I never thought I'd crave a protein bar."
"It's been almost twelve hours." Tayen said. "How much longer is the CME supposed to last?"
"Four more hours give or take," Bobby reported.
They projected an outside view.
The moon was still a black void, but its rim was thicker and brighter than before. There was a halo effect as dust was levitated off the surface and irradiated. The light pulsed and throbbed first at one point on the rim and then another as the solar current ebbed and flowed around it.
Earth was shrouded top and bottom by red ghost-hands with tenuous fingers clasping over the equator. But that wasn't the most eerie thing. The dark side, which was usually covered in a filigree of light, was completely dark. For the first time in the modern age, power was out around the globe.
"Are you picking up anything on comms?" Milo asked. "Do we have any idea how things are going down there?"
"Nothing. Even the emergency channels are just on loop. But listen to this." Bobby piped sound over the room's speakers. There was a rolling susurration overlaid by hisses, screeches, and sizzles. "That's the sound of the CME interacting with the Earth's magnetosphere. Pretty wild, huh?"
Jess's eyes went wide as if she had just seen Doctor Doom in the flesh.
"Turn it off," Milo said. After an uncomfortable silence, "How about a game? Bobby, you got anything on your phlex that works on a local mesh?"
Bobby smiled, which wasn't a good sign. "I've got just the thing. Carnival assassin."
Carnival assassin was a gruesome, hilarious game. A mutagen in the pink lemonade had turned carnival workers into freaky zombies. The players fought back with mutated weapons like harpoon corndogs, water balloons filled with acid punch, and super-gooey spitballs. They battled each other in player versus player mode.
"Anyone ready for lunch?" Bobby asked when he tired of slaughtering his teammates.
"How can you eat after that?" Vivian said. "That was so gross and disgusting and..."
"Fun?"
Vivian launched a spoon at him.
Bobby plucked it out of the air and gave it a suggestive lick. "If you wanted to spoon me, you could have just said so."
"How about a new game? Pillow assassin." Vivian grabbed a pillow and began chasing him around the mess.
Feeling that Bobby's legs gave him an unfair advantage, Milo caught him on a close pass by and wrapped him up in a blanket.
"Physical violence is against protocol," Jess pointed out as Vivian prepared to whack his face off.
Milo licked his finger and stuck it in Bobby's ear. "Rules don't say anything about wet willies."
Bobby squirmed away, shuddering. "Where's the sanitizer?!"
"How long now?" Milo asked, when they had settled back at the table.
"Going on fifteen hours," Bobby said.
That was when the real wait began. The next hour passed more slowly than all the previous ones combined. They picked at their food and nursed their drink pouches as they stared at the holo of Earth projected onto the center of the table. They hadn't wanted to watch it at first, but now they couldn't take their eyes off it. Even hurricanes and volcanos appeared puny from space, but the CME enveloped the entire planet—and this wasn't even the whole of it! The Earth itself was just a pebble in a turbulent river of solar particles.
Several times, the ghost-hands would start to retreat only to darken and extend their wispy fingers downward again. The CME wasn't a steady thing. There were bursts and lulls, times when it seemed on the verge of tapering out and other times when the entire globe was sheathed in ghostly flames.
By the somber looks on the faces around the table, they were all thinking the same thing: What was happening down there?
Sixteen hours and counting. They made halting small talk, fiddled with their phlexes, or drifted around the room in the equivalent of pacing. Jess recited astronaut facts first out loud and then under her breath after Bobby barked at her. They stared at the play of auroras until they fell into a hypnagogic state.
When it finally ended, it caught them off guard.
"I have a live signal from station command!" Bobby announced.
Milo could barely contain his excitement. "What's it saying?"
"Nothing much yet. A few relay satellites are starting to pop back online. There's still a lot of interference. Wait, I think I've got something..." He switched to external audio.
A steady crackle now ran through the background susurration of solar breath. "Applying noise filters." The wave sound diminished, and the crackling separated into separate units of sound with a familiar cadence. Voices. Choppy, but not a recording or a bot—a real human voice!
"This is—Paranor—status check—you read?" came snatches of an official-sounding voice. There was a crashing wave of sound, then clearer. The speaker repeated the message.
Milo signaled the go-ahead to Bobby.
"We copy," Bobby said. "This is ASF Moonlighter. Status check—all good. Sheltering in moon's shadow. How is your situation?"
"You are—first—New Vegas—no response—Shinguan—status unknown—some sick here—too early to know—"
Around Earth, the ghostly hands were finally pulling back. The auroras faded to green then violet. The moon too was pulling in its edges.
Now the minutes passed in a blur as more voices came flooding onto the bands. New Vegas checked in, but Shinguan was still dark. Down on Earth, the lights were out, and there were reports of secondary catastrophes: fires, failed dams, riots, ships lost at sea. Before long, it was impossible to keep up with the news.
"Wow, this thing really did a number on the civilian sats," Bobby whistled. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but thank God for military space ops. Otherwise, we'd be dead in the water. Speak of the devil, the president is broadcasting a message on all channels..."
The familiar voice came across the speakers, surprisingly clear. "This is Aubrey Cowler, president of the United States. Today, I speak on behalf of all peoples that share our fair planet. The Earth has experienced a global solar event unlike any in modern history. No nation or people has been spared from its effects. While our technology infrastructure has been dealt a serious blow, no one should doubt the strength and resilience of the civilization we have built together. With ingenuity and hard work, we will repair and rebuild even better than before. To those living within our borders, I assure you that help is on the way. I have declared a national state of emergency, and I am mobilizing all government and military forces to aid in the recovery effort. Have no fear, the lights will be back on soon. To our human brethren under different flags, we unconditionally extend our expertise and support. To all I say, stay calm and be patient. Check on your neighbors and take special care of the needy and elderly. May no man, woman, or child be forsaken. We will get through this together as one people."
"Why does that fail to reassure me?" Tayen said.
"It's a good news bad news thing," Bobby chimed in. "On the good side, humans aren't going extinct. On the bad side, twelve billion people will be going through Vorld withdrawals and freaking the fuck out."
"We may need to prepare for an extended mission," Milo said. "By the sound of it, I don't think Paranor Station is going to be ready for re-docking anytime soon."
"Guess we better get used to Styrofoam eggs," Vivian said dolefully.
"We may need to ration supplies," Jess reported. "Shall I calculate rundown projections for an extension of three, five, and seven days—"
"I'm picking up an emergency transmission," Bobby interrupted.
"Patch it through," Milo said.
"Mayday, Mayday," came the crackly voice. Not all of the crackle was interference. The voice sounded unsteady. "Call sign ASFM0008. Request emergency assistance."
"A Mayday signal," Bobby said in awe. "Some ship lost at sea maybe? Aviation and maritime traffic share the same emergency bands."
"It's got an ASF," Jess pointed out. An Allied Space Federation Code; every space asset had one.
"Not a vessel. One of the stations?" Bobby wondered aloud. "No, those have P for port. The refueling platforms are mostly unmanned. Eight is a really low number. M must stand for—"
"—Moonbase!" Jess and Bobby said at once.
The emergency hail sounded out again. "Repeat. Mayday—Mayday. Request emergency assistance. We have six people trapped in a bunker shaft with limited oxygen supply. Emergency power to the lift has failed. Repeat. Mayday—Mayday."
Milo's thoughts were already jumping ahead. He had recognized the call sign instantly. The international moonbase, otherwise known as New Camelot, had been their destination all along. But they were here only to deliver supplies and extract a single person. They were in no way prepared for a rescue operation down to the surface.
"How should we respond, captain?" Bobby said.
Milo looked around at the resolute faces of his crew. There was only one choice. There were no other vessels within two hundred thousand miles. The stations were out of commission for no telling how long. Even if they had a vessel to send, it would never arrive in time.
"Tayen, can you pull up the moonbase's schematics. We need to figure out how we can get power to that lift."
"I'll give it a shot," Tayen said. "But even it can be fixed, I doubt it can be done remotely."
"That's why I'll be going down," Milo replied. "Bobby, I need an approach trajectory stat. Jess, I need a fuel up and all-systems check on the shuttle lander. Vivian, stand by to take over comms. Those people down there must be pretty shaken up. They could use a steady voice. Bobby, can you open a channel to them?"
"Done. Signal when ready."
Milo gave the signal. "Moonbase, this is Milo Watkins, captain of the supply vessel ASF Moonlighter, call sign ASFV0063. We have received your Mayday and are routing to your location. Hold tight. We are on our way."