Author: Alastair Millar

“Are you sure you’re okay doing this?”. That the older man’s question was more than rhetorical was clear. “I wasn’t planning to have you on rotation for months yet, but Simon’s first walk didn’t work out: agoraphobia. He was lucky to make it back. Rough on the kid, but understandable; it’s rough for anyone out there, surrounded by emptiness…”. He shuddered. “I wouldn’t want to do it again, even if I was young enough. Anyway, Marcia can’t go out alone, far too dangerous.”

They sat at a table on the balcony overlooking Aeroponics One, a vital component of the Habitat’s food production system. Far, far below, in the carefully calculated light, someone was tending the plants. The woman couldn’t tell who it was from this distance.

“It’s fine, sir,” she said. “It’s been years since I took a turn, it’s time I stopped shirking my duty.”

“I know about duties, Andrea. But one of mine is the duty of care. Suiting up, going through the airlocks, that’s all routine, and you know we all practice it for emergencies. But I understand if you’re not up to exposing yourself to the whole rigmarole unnecessarily.”

“I know, sir, and I appreciate your concern. But I’m over the miscarriage now.” She meant mentally, of course. Like all the others, staying physically fit was mandatory, and she’s kept up her regimen. “I’ve done it before, I can do it now.”

“Good. Thank you. Tomorrow then; let’s get it over with.”

***

They were from the Habitat’s third generation, and like everyone else knew both that their task would last centuries, and that they were fortunate their ancestors had been accepted for it before the Disaster struck. And they were all lucky, too, that genetic engineering good enough to keep their stock healthy had been perfected shortly before the mission began. While their completely isolated, self-sufficient home was still up to the challenge, though, there was no point being cavalier about it; regular checks of the outer membrane for wear and damage that the sensors might not have picked up were essential, for all that that meant two people had to leave the safety that had coddled and enclosed them all their lives. The Galactic Spirit that drove and nurtured their self-sufficiency helped those who helped themselves, after all.

She spent the rest of the day wandering the grass-lined corridors, humbled as always by how something so simple could be so critical to maintaining their air quality. If the worst happened, it would be a good last memory. On the way, she chatted quietly to the people she met, some of whom knew what she’d be doing in the morning, and some of whom remained blissfully unaware. On the whole, the latter were easier to deal with; the whole ‘maybe she won’t be alive much longer’ vibe was blessedly missing.

She took a leisurely dinner, treating herself to a sweeter-than-usual selection from the Habitat’s dispensers, on the basis that any extra calories would be lost to stress anyway. And if she didn’t make it back, they wouldn’t matter anyway.

***

When the time came, she met Marcia in the preparation room; they said little, tense and knowing their roles. A couple of techs fussed around them as they suited up, checking seals, and vitals, and air supply. Casual lookers-on, an unwanted and unhelpful distraction, were kept far away. All to soon, the pair stepped into the airlock, and the cycle began; in moments, they would step out into that most dangerous and unforgiving environment – the unwelcoming and parched surface of the Earth!