EXILE

Natural sunlight spilled through the double-thickness plexiglass window, the harmful ultraviolet rays filtered out by pigments added to the screen. The harsh white shone into the cell area, a direct contrast to the pale blue fluorescent lighting that never ceased. The gravity at the rim unit was only half that of Earth, but it was enough to add some comfort to the convicts, and useful conditioning for when they ultimately arrived at the moon, with its still-lower force of attraction.

Stein’s cell was one of a row of six, other rows of different number to either side of him, lining the inside of a cylinder. The entire unit was at the far end of the axial arm that was anchored by the same hub as the arm whose unit housed the military guards. Should their unit be jettisoned, they would be without transport, but not without armed guard. Not much incentive, really, for a mass outbreak. After all, where could they go? Head for the hills?

Unlike the cells on Earth, these were all open, a mere lattice of cages that could be screened by draw-curtains, should an inmate want to sleep. Stein hadn’t bothered drawing his curtains. Having been only twenty-four hours out of a fortnight of solitary confinement, he wanted the company, just to be able to hear and see other people around him. He slid off his bunk, landing lightly on his feet and crossed to the front of his cell. Looking across the wide space, he could see up and down the row of cells that faced his own. Most of them were empty, their occupants having been taken to the colonies a few days before he arrived.

The platform quartermaster had a policy of not concentrating inmates in adjoining cells. As a result, Stein was alone, the nearest inmate being a few cells away. Looking down the row, he could see Morecamb in the cell nearest to the hatch that led to the axial arm. Behind him and to the right, he could hear Newman talking to Hulce, who was a few cells further down the row, at the other end from Morecamb. Stein stretched, and took the measure of his surroundings. His floor and ceiling were solid, as was the rear wall that had the view window. His cell had two pieces of furniture, a toilet and his cot. This was a simple padded board that had, instead of a loose blanket, a thick insulated sheet that was anchored to the wall side, and which when pulled over the sleeper, would velcro the other edge to the other side of the cot. This effectively secured the person to the bed, a precaution against the lower gravity being lost, should the unit arms atop rotating.

As he studied the remand unit, it occurred to Stein that once again, he was physically isolated from other people, unless he were to shout, as there were no other inmates close enough for him to talk to casually. Hell, he often preferred it that way. The air was warm, the food was better that the CSA had given him on Earth, and there was company, of sorts. Lying on his bed, he gazed out of the window that was in the wall of his cell. His was one of only four cells that had a window, which were to provide some natural sunlight, not for the amusement of the inmates. Stein felt somehow privileged to have the window. Because of the rotation of the unit, the view was constantly changing in the slow, majestic sweep across the heavens that marked the unit’s path. When he first looked, there was just a vast expanse of stars.

The first thing that struck Stein was how flat and lifeless the starfield looked. He had grown up knowing, as generations had, the effects of the stratosphere on light, and had seen footage from the shuttles and stations. But nothing, he realised now, could have adequately prepared him for the stark reality of the sight. Having grown up on Earth, he was conditioned to always seeing the dynamic, ever-changing pattern of twinkling stars that always seemed to gain in number and intensity the longer that he stared at them. But here, on the very border of space, there was no twinkle, no diffuse pints of light that would flicker with the seconds. Instead, Stein found himself confronted with the static display of stars that were as lifeless as a photograph. There was no joy, no mystery of wonder with this view, which was only challenged by the recently-retired Hubble telescope for the naked sterility of its vision.

Thankfully, though, the view changed as Earth swept into view. The platform was at the midpoint of its orbit, and Stein did not immediately recognise the planet, as it was the dark side that first came within view. A few seconds had passed before he realised that what he was looking at were not stars, but the lights of the cities below him. Constellations of street lights and city blocks merged together to form pale tapestries of light against the dark of the shadowed surface, cities of stars that were too organised, too diffuse to be mistaken for the natural backdrop of the galaxy.

The night below faded fast as the edge of the day swung into view, a hazy yet well-defined edge running down the side of the globe that marked where shadow ended and the full exposure to the sun began. Below Stein was a wide-ranging, swirling pattern of white, set into a variously blue and brown patchwork backing. No longer were cities visible, their structures engulfed by the natural surroundings that they had for so long been imposed upon. The sheer magnificence of the Earth from space, a blue-white jewel suspended in a studded sea of night, had for so long captured the imagination and attention of those few individuals who had looked upon the sight from up high, and Stein was no exception. Presently, the spell was broken, as the Earth edged its way out of his field of view, and despite himself, he found himself to be impatient for it to come around again. Surely, he told himself, he must at some time tire of the sight. But if he was to do that, that time was too distant to consider.

Once more, Stein found himself confronted with the endless array of bright dots, the stars and galaxies of the universe spread in a constantly random scatter across the sky. He searched his memory, and after a few moments of study he was able to recognise some stars, certain that he knew them from the familiar patterns that they formed with each other and with other, minor stars. Which ones were the planets? He wasn’t sure. He picked out the triple-star belt of Orion, and followed the stars to Sirius, and down to Betelgeuse. What a berserk name. It had always seemed comical, a joke name made up during a drunken party.

Suddenly, without any warning other than forethought, the silver edge of the moon cut into the picture, jolting Stein out of his starward thoughts. The moon was a couple of days away from full, and was staggering in its harsh magnificence. Seeing it from orbit added an unidentifiable dimension to it, and to Stein it seemed huge, looming large like a pitted silver plate. He was not significantly closer to it in distance than he had been, but like an allegorical giant it filled Stein’s vision, capturing his total attention to the detraction of the rim of visible space that bordered it in the window’s frame. The moon, like so much silent silver, was Stein’s future. His past and present were nothing. Stein was given body and soul to the moon. All that he had been was of no consequence, was only so much vapour to be swept aside by the sight before him.

Almost too soon after the first appearance of the moon, the edge of the window began to cover the centre of Stein’s thoughts, shutting off his first sight of his future home as effectively as the shutter of a camera. As the moon slid from his sight, he realised that he had come full circle, the unit having been swung around one complete circuit about the platform’s axial hub. Should he choose, he could watch the same cycle over again, and repeatedly until he should lose interest, or be taken from the cell. The latter, he knew, would only happen when he was transferred to the moon itself, and he had no idea when that would be. The remand unit was distinctly underpopulated. The new project in the colony was well publicised; after so many years as a solely convict-populated base that provided industrial Earth with raw minerals, a new complex was being developed, one that would be palatial in comparison. Marketed to the civil public, the new quadrant would house the first lifestyle immigrants to the moon, and would share only life-support systems with the parent prison colony. The normal mortality in the colony was high enough under normal circumstances, but the political pressure on the new quadrant’s construction had increased the demands on the work force. Had Stein arrived but a few days earlier, he could well have been moved from the shuttle directly to the lunar excursion vehicle, a direct passage to the moon. Instead, he found himself in a near-empty prison unit with an indefinitely short stay ahead.

Stein settled in for a long wait, knowing that the longest that he would be here would be six weeks, but at least five days. Two days had elapsed since the last lunar shuttle had left. Its sister ship would be passed at mid-point in its journey, which varied in duration from two days up to four, depending upon whereabouts in its orbit the moon was at the time. The colonies were serviced by a fleet of twelve shuttles, with only three operating at any one time, two for the male quadrants and one for the smaller, female quadrant. Because of its greater size, the male colony had two shuttles working in tandem. Should any colony require evacuation or assistance from the other, then the other shuttles were available, as well as providing necessary maintenance time for other craft. As plentiful as the fleet seemed, it was scheduled to be further increased with the addition of several new models, tied in with the expansion of the colony into the civil and purely scientific marketplaces.

Thinking about the view that passed before his window, Stein realised that the phase of the moon and the rotation of the Earth below were not all that changed with each pass. With at least one, normally two shuttles in transit at any one time, the view of the starfield would give well-observed, calculated changes, but the shuttles would be visible to the trained eye as tiny, bright white points that would either increase or decrease in intensity with each pass. With nothing much else to occupy his time, Stein found himself passing the time gazing out at the world outside, a view that people were never meant to have - only by their own ingenuity, industry and fatal curiosity was it possible for Stein and the hundreds before him to have witnessed the spectacle of space from within its void, away from the haven of the Earth’s surface.