EXILE

In the centre of the platform cluster was the twin-unit section that housed the platform control deck and administrative offices. The offices, such as they were called, were the rooms or spaces in which the various scientists and section officers could log results and schedule future work. The biggest space in the two head units was used as the control space, where all operational data from the entire platform was collected, reviewed, stored and acted upon. It was the centre of the platform’s information and control system, and was where Dan Rickerby, the Platform Commander, spent most of his time. He had no counterpart with whom he could rotate shifts, unlike the crew that worked with him, monitoring the various systems on board.

Dan was closing his sixth hour on watch, and the regular shuttle flight to the male colony was about to depart. It had arrived a day or so earlier with another cargo of processed ore, spherical pig ingots of precious and rare metals that had been pulled out of the raw basalt formations of the lunar seas. The hard-won ore was worth astronomical sums of the global currency, and would be worth more when it had been processed into zero-gravity alloys on the smaller, tropical platform that could be seen as a bright, elongated star in the distance, above the horizon curve of Earth. It was the material value of the ore that supported and promoted the development of the lunar colonies, themselves no cheap folly. Now, docked to the far unit with its return cargo of convicts and compressed oxygen, the shuttle’s paycom had called in to establish an open line. The platform’s com-spec had handled the call, which could be heard openly on the deck intercom. As a matter of course, Dan listened silently until the line was passed over to the shuttle pilot. After the cursory greetings, Dan took over.

“Shuttle Eagle Twelve, Commander Rickerby here. Do you copy?”

“Roger, Dan. Major Jacobs speaking. Over.”

“Good to hear you, Zac. Have you established telemetry with Houston and LMC? Over.”

There was no reply for a few seconds. Then, Jacobs.

“Jacobs here. Yes, paycom just confirmed. Summary of our status - refuelling complete, all cargo and passengers secure. Shuttle integrity confirmed. I have completed pre-ignition. Am awaiting separation. Over.”

“Copy, Zac.” Dan turned off the microphone, and spoke across to one of his officers. “Andy, how’s separation looking?”

Andy Harris was the platform’s local telemetry and docking technician. Normally, he would track the positions and movements of all platforms, shuttle craft and known space junk. Today, he was in his other role, that of making sure that incoming craft docked accurately and were secured safely, and the reverse. As he studied the rotation of the docking unit, he plotted the trajectory that the shuttle would take on separation, and calculated the point in the unit’s arc that would give the safest launch possible. In effect, the unit was to act as a giant sling to propel the shuttle towards the moon.

“Good, Sir. All fuel and com lines have been disconnected and withdrawn. Final linkages have been unlocked.”

“Plotted release point?”

“Yes, Sir. We’re two cycles away. I’ve activated the timer.”

Dan looked over to the moon display unit, a two-by-four metre video screen that displayed an image of the Earth, over which had been laid the orbital path of the unit, with other units and craft indicated by less prominent lights. As he watched, the image changed, bringing a full-screen image of the platform in yellow, with the docked image of the rectangularly modular shuttle in red, in its position as an appendage to the revolving arms of the end unit. In the bottom corner of the screen was the timer, and to the side of the platform was a dotted corkscrew to trace the orbital path of the unit, with a lit spot to indicate the release point.

“Eagle, this is Commander Rickerby. Do you copy? Over.”

“Eagle here, Dan. What’s the score?”

“We’re in countdown. We’ll voice it over to you - you have ten minutes, and counting.”

“Roger. Our engines are warm, only need the word. Over.”

The next several minutes passed relatively slowly - no-one talked. The only sounds in the shuttle were the hiss of the air system, and the voiced countdown. In the platform, the crew performed their checks in silence, as Dan watched both the display, with the unit image moving slowly towards the bright dot, and the personal display at his seat, showing a summary of all incoming platform data.

Slowly, the unit’s image rotated, and the countdown entered the last few seconds. With five seconds left, Andy Harris flicked on a row of switches, leaving the last untouched. The image reached the dot as he called out “zero”, flicking the last switch as he spoke. In the platform they could hear and see nothing that was happening at the end of the last unit, but the screen told the story. The shuttle image was no longer docked, but heading away in an arrow-straight tangent away from the unit’s cycle. The silence on the deck was broken by the intercom.

“Platform Commander Rickerby, this is Shuttle Eagle Twelve. We have separation, engine firing in five seconds. Do you copy?”

“Eagle, Rickerby here, we copy. Have a pleasant flight.”

“Will do. Over.”

*

In the third unit along, a group of technicians were processing the protein gel that was cultivated in hydroponic racks along the radial arms. A basic algal cell, it had been modified by the inclusion of soy bean genes to enhance the flavour and protein content, and then cloned. With a good nutrient supply and the periodic exposure to pure sunlight, it multiplied itself rapidly to form bulky masses of protein-rich vegetation. The team in the galley unit were processing the gel, adding specific amounts of other vegetables and food additives, all produced on the platform. When finished, the dietitians would have their meal orders filled. To visitors to the platform, food appeared to be regular animal and vegetable matter but processed into a mush. In reality, it was the reverse that applied.

Supervising the crew was the deputy to the Senior Dietitian. Lieutenant Gail Morris gazed out of the window. Seeing her, one of the technicians came over and stood next to her.

“What’s so interesting, Gail?”

Gail turned, startled. ”Oh, uh, not much, Linda. There’s a shuttle about to go, that’s all.”

“Oh? Where is it?”

“Just wait - it’s on the end unit, far end. We should cross paths soon ... look, here it comes. See it? We’re revolving in opposite directions. I’m hoping that we’ll cross when it releases. Watch ... there, it’s gone.’

“Do you really like those things? I thought you couldn’t care less.”

“Well, I didn’t. Not then, anyway.”

“Let me guess - Roger.” Gail blushed as Linda said that. “Oh, don’t worry. We all know. It wouldn’t be the first platform couple, and certainly not the last.”

Gail looked back out of the window. “Thanks, Lin. Look, let’s just see the shuttle go, and then back to work, okay?”

Together, they watched the slow turn of the platform arms. From their position, the arms seemed to be weaving a slow dance around each other. To maintain equilibrium, half of the units rotated in the reverse direction to the others. Half way around, they began to pass the shuttle docking unit. As it swung into view, they could see the separation happen, as the last hatch locks were retracted into the unit, freeing the shuttle. No longer attached, it floated away from the unit at a tangent to the unit’s cycle. The two watchers peered through the window as they swung out of range. A brief instant before they lost sight, the shuttle’s engines flared into life, the flame raising from orange, through yellow to the white hat of the hydrogen-fusion thrusters, elemental helium rushing out from the rear. The energy released by the controlled atomic fusion was channelled to the rear, forcing the shuttle onwards on its journey, away from the platform.

Inside, two women turned away, their work waiting for them.

Thousands of kilometres away, a work crew waited.