All was peaceful, a silence like none on earth. Somewhere, a pump was running, more felt than heard. Bright lights illuminated a jumble of cables and equipment attached to the walls. After the last crew rotation, the two of them were alone onboard.
“The zero-g shower is again broken,” Margret called to her crewmate.
Alan had patched his old iPod through the PA system. Music rang around the confined structure, fuelling his workout.
“Dinnae look at me, lass,” he said, over the exercise bike’s ticking freewheel, “I’m an astrophysicist, not a plumber.”
“Naja, but it is rather a question of physics than biology.”
She was adding nutrients to the spiky Mizuna lettuce in her experiment. An earthy aroma rose from the dampened soil.
“And I do not need that mief, your sweaty odours, distressing the plantlife.”
He grinned back at her. “OK, Frau Doktor. I’ll check it after this.” Passing the bulk of the Arc de Triomphe, he stood out of the saddle and sprinted for the finish line. Behind him, a single red light blinked twice and stopped.
Through the laminated glass of the window, a blue planet turned beneath them, serene and unchanging.
🛰
One hundred and fifty million kilometres away, a tendril of plasma arcs from the surface of the sun. Within minutes, a radiation burst crosses the vacuum.
Without warning, a loud, jarring scream filled the compartment.
“What is happening?” Margret looked up from her incubator.
Alan paused his towelling. “REM unit alert.”
He launched himself over to the display and cancelled the audible alarm. The music reasserted itself.
“That’s better. What does it mean?”
“Sun spot.” Pushing off the wall, he drifted over to the comms panel. “I’m not getting anything from ground control. Circuit’s dead, there’s something wrong. We should start the lockdown protocol.”
The electromagnetic pulse causes systems to glitch. Radio cuts out.
He called over to her, “What does your dosimeter say?”
She peered down at the digital display. “I read only null comma one Sievert.”
“OK, but it’s going to spike as the filament grows.”
The constant, subtle course corrections that keeps the station on its path are not made.
She floated over to the terminal, gently bumping him in the weightlessness. “Sorry.”
“Ah, that’s alright.” He savoured the contact. “We should rotate the PV arrays to avoid the incoming storm.”
They ran through the checklist, hitting switches, calling out readings. Margret was conscious of his scent as they huddled over the controls. Outside, the eight photovoltaic panels silently re-oriented themselves. They locked into place, sending a shudder through the station.
Poised high above the blue globe, a giant white dragonfly folds its wings.
Alan leant in to the monitor, eyebrows furrowed. “This one is gonna be a stonker.”
She tasted acid in the back of her nose. “CO2 scrubbers seem to be out.”
“Yeah, I noticed. We should get to Zvezda. It has life-support and shielding. We can sit it out in the radiation shelter.
🛰
Three hours after the flares erupted on the sun’s surface, the wave hits the planet’s magnetosphere. Below, the dance of death of a billion charged particles sets a shimmering coronet of jade about the poles.
“Come on through. We should seal off the command module.” Margret sailed in after him.
Zvezda was a separate component of the station. Once through the hatch, they found themselves in a cramped compartment. The music followed them over the PA system, mournful strings punctuated by an obstinate guitar riff swelled, filling the space.
“What have we been listening to, anyway?”
“Runrig.”
“Never heard of them. Who are they?”
“A Scottish band. From my home, my island.”
“Ach so, that is why I understand nothing.” Despite that, the music conjured a peaty flavour, whisky lingering on the tongue.
As the solar wind sweeps in, ions infiltrate the vacuum, dragging on the orbiting station. Its eight kilometres per second dash around the globe attenuates.
She zipped her coverall up to the neck. “Temperature is falling still, but the air is good now.”
Alan pulled the hatch closed, flipping the dogs to secure it.
“We had best get ourselves tucked up before the storm hits.” As he caught her eye, she smiled and held his gaze.
They crawled into the AstroRad protection chamber. Space was tight, but they shouldn’t need to stay for too long.
Before closing the shielded cover, Margret took a last look through the window. They were crossing the terminator, night falling. The darkening planet encircled by the thin azure radiance of the atmosphere.
She thought of her home. “About now, the first daffodils will be blooming, pushing through the snow.” From this height, all looked peaceful below.
Alan listened to the words of the song playing. A world in turmoil. Russia was falling down about its ears. The middle east simmering in a broth of darkness. Nothing changes. He shook away those thoughts, focusing instead on a kiss and a spring evening.
“Come on, we should close up.”
With the reducing velocity, gravity seizes its chance, pulling on the four hundred ton structure, drawing it ever earthwards.
🛰
Margret sealed the padded covering behind her, whispering, “Goodnight stars, goodnight moon.”
As she wriggled herself into the hold, her arm brushed against his. “Aua! What was that?”
“Static. These systems aren’t grounded. Them Russkies like to live dangerously.”
In the cramped shelter, their bodies pressed together. As they tried to get comfortable, the structure shuddered.
“Corrie yerself doun wi’ me, noo.” His accent asserting itself in the moment. “How do you say ‘cosy’?”
“Kuschelig.”
“Isn’t it, though?” He smiled and she pulled close.
Things were getting warmer.
Friction builds outside, heating the vessel. A tail of orange plasma flares behind the hapless station.
“That wasn’t static, that time.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
She drew closer. “Nochmals. Do that again.”
He brushed her cheek. “You looking to join the two hundred mile high club?”
“And if I am?” She snuggled in to him.
The song in the cabin above was ending, the final acapella chorus fading away. Without understanding, the beauty of the words touched her. She felt her spirit lift.
Another vibration ran along the structure. The lights cut out, submerging them in darkness.
“What was that?”
“Probably jus’ the Japanese module falling off. Dinnae fash yerself.”
From this point onward, the station’s fate is sealed. Soon, a new comet will blaze across the sky and vanish.
In the enclosed space, their exhalations mingled. The air in the capsule grew heavy, blending the smell of machinery and perspiration.
“I guess I should have taken that shower—”
“Pssst, ruhig mal.” Her breath quickening, she put an end to further conversation.
Oblivious to anything else, they nestled together in the shelter. While physics raged in the world outside, inside, biology’s design unfolded. In the confined space, she stretched, laughing softly as he held her close.
The vessel tumbles slowly, end over end. The attitude thrusters are offline, unable to compensate. Pressed against each other and with no point of reference, the occupants are unaware of their fate.
The station shook, unheeded. The air inside had grown torrid, but the crew slept. Falling together, head over heels, joined in a moment that would never end.
© 2024 R.O. Phillips
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