Perilous Adventures
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Pandora

 
 

Moondancers

by Barbara Simpson
 

Remedios Varo 'Creation of the Birds' 1957. His fellow explorers were all resting in preparation for lift off in twelve hours. Jeb couldn’t sleep. He worried they had missed something. He returned to the flight deck one last time to check the instruments and caught light seeping into the night sky, transforming from black to grey. In a world without sun or moon, illumination should be impossible.

A couple of stars appeared, then others, until the whole sky sparkled and the observation deck was flooded with light. Jeb turned on the cameras, filming through the wide observation screen. The landscape, or moonscape, was transformed into a magical world, the gleaming white hollows and textures accentuated in relief, tripping memories of a full moon over desert dunes in Colorado and moonlight skiing on pristine snowfields in the Rockies.

He zoomed one of the cameras into the nearest crater. Something moved inside. Lights hovered within swirling dust.

Disregarding protocol, Jeb donned his space rig and stepped outside, alone, leaving the cameras running. As he suspected, the security system had not been re-activated. With no perceived threat the rules had been relaxed. Just a few steps for a clearer picture; it’s probably just a trick of the light.

*

Moonscape was the last and most distant of five planets the Lunex had visited, with seven days to explore each one. Examination of each site had been meticulous; atmospheric readings and images beamed back to Earth, rock samples, core cylinders, and dust from selected locations, dated, labelled, sealed and filed.

Probes had indicated the existence of life, possibly abundant life, but the astronauts had found a dead planet in a defunct solar system whose star had run its course. Astronomers had dubbed the solar system Moondust because of the multiplicity of moons and dust halos surrounding some of its planets. In some ways, Moondust resembled Earth’s solar system, with a single sun at the centre and seven orbiting planets. One planet within that solar system was similar to Earth in size and distance from its sun.

By studying images of this planet, trillions of light years away, scientists had hypothesised an ability to support life. Hope had intensified when satellite systems recorded strange signals emanating from the planet.

The Lunex explorers landed on the lone survivor of that solar system: a waterless, drifting planet with a pockmarked surface bearing an uncanny resemblance to the Earth’s moon:  Moonscape. A solar system didn’t just disappear – it would take ten thousand years to burn up, at least. And how had Moonscape remained here, in limbo?

There were no hills or valleys but numerous craters embedded in a rocky surface, measuring from a couple of metres to a kilometre in diameter and between a metre and one hundred metres in depth. The surface surrounding the craters was relatively flat and covered with fine dust. The rock was almost black and as dense as basalt but with slate-like strata, upended to present a surface of narrow, longitudinal ridges and fine cracks, worn smooth enough for walking on.

The Lunex team had used oxygen boosters in the thin, dry air of Moonscape. The outer atmosphere was loaded with dust particles and debris forming a heavy, high cloud through which little light from the outer galaxy could penetrate. It was a cold planet, though not freezing, and too dry for snow. In the absence of wind, maintaining body heat was not a major problem. If some form of life once existed here there should be traces below the surface. We had neither the time nor the brief for that kind of study.

*

A breeze ruffled the filmy cover of Jeb’s facemask. Above him, the orbiting dust cloud surrounding the planet parted to reveal a dark, fathomless sphere adorned with thousands upon thousands of glittering diamonds. He experienced a sense of wonder as he made his way across the transformed moonscape. Each footfall dislodged puffs of powder around his white boots, which settled behind him, leaving blurred footprints. He looked down from the crater edge into a swirling mass illuminated by the stars from above and shafts of soft light from below. Specks of moving dust glittered where touched by light beams and larger, glowing lights swayed and circled in pairs that became eyes.

Moths or fireflies danced in couples with clasped hands; others danced alone. Dancers filled the crater. Jeb heard the sounds of violins and flutes and of strange, sweet voices singing.

The creatures reminded him of the large moths that sometimes emerged at night to flutter on darkened windowpanes when the air is heavy with moisture before rain. These moths were tall and slender and wore pale, floating gossamer garments. Some glided closer, their opalescent eyes peering from delicate, skull-like faces. Jeb switched on the communication module in the front of his yellow helmet.

One of the moths paused, hovering above him. A second moth joined in the appraisal. Jeb made a bowing motion, trying to appear friendly and non-threatening. Then one set of wings was raised and the first moth landed beside Jeb at the edge of the crater. The second moth did the same. The creatures were around four metres tall. Their wings came from the shoulder and when closed like a cloak, almost reached the ground.

The closest moth bowed while gazing directly into his eyes. Jeb sensed gentleness and an offer of friendship. A delicate hand motion beckoned him, then bowed and motioned again.

Jeb looked down, uncertain. He could not fly. The moths led him along the rim a little way and stopped. One of them pointed down and Jeb saw a path of irregular steps inside the wall. He thought of his team, resting inside the ship, and imagined them conducting a search in the morning. Lift off delayed. Worse, they could be forced to leave without him.

He stepped down and was surrounded. Some moths came closer and nodded politely. He couldn’t discern any gender difference between them. Jeb nodded in return before each resumed its place in the communal dance. The delicate welcome he received, the elegant movements of the dancers and their sweet, haunting music, convinced Jeb that this was community of fine sensibilities.

He leaned on a section of vertical crater wall with the dancers floating before him. The space was filled with bodies, their wide, transparent wings rising and falling, turning and swaying with the music, without osculation.

Jeb had little sense of the passing of time until he felt moisture on his ungloved hands and the surface of his suit and became aware of diminishing light. Overhead, the stars retreated into the haze of reforming cloud. The music ceased and some creatures left the crater floor through doorways now visible as patches of light at the base of the wall. Others remained to unroll a large sheet that fitted the upper rim of the crater, securing it around the edge with loops fitted over small pegs placed there at intervals, obscuring all remaining light.

The crater was almost empty as Jeb felt his way around the wall, hoping to crawl out from under the cover, if there was a gap wide enough, then make his way back to the ship. The darkness was intense. His foot struck a jutting stone; he had reached the steps. At the same moment he felt a feather touch on the back of his hand and turned to see two opal eyes beside him moving back and forth. The creature was shaking his head. The moth touched the back of Jeb’s hand again and gestured toward one of the lighted doorways. Jeb hesitated, undecided.

What time would it be right now in Boulder? What would Mirian and the boys be doing? He imagined them all in the garden, Leon and Jake following Mirian around, carrying out the small tasks she gave them.

As they neared one of the doorways the moth stopped to pick up a hose fixed to the crater-coversheet and attach it to a small tank. Each of the items seemed to have been manufactured from similar fibres, but the tank container was rigid while the hose and sheet were flexible. Jeb heard liquid trickling through the hose into the container. The sheet was collecting dew. Precious water.

Two knowing eyes looked deep into Jeb’s. “Ohee,” he whispered.

“Ohee,” Jeb said.

His friend clapped his tiny hands and nodded several times.

“Water,” Jeb said.

“Waater,” came the whispered response.

Jeb was led inside to a corridor cut through solid rock. He wondered how it had been constructed. The moth stopped at an open doorway and waved Jeb into a large room where a number of other moths were perched on stone benches around a long, stone table. Chunks of the same stone had been hollowed out to form food bowls or platters. Jeb sat in the space indicated and drank from the tiny cup offered. The liquid was cool and refreshing, like nectar.

The container – a smallish beaker – was made of the same fabric as the water collection equipment. There were platters of a white, bread-like substance, which appeared not to have been baked in an oven but harvested, like mushrooms. There were also tiny berries or fruits, bright green and purple, large enough for a mouse. He found the bread satisfying.

The room began to clear. Jeb’s friend was conferring with a moth of slightly smaller stature with large green eyes and even more delicate features and gestures. A female?

He was being reckless and disregarding procedures. Yet seeking life and alternative energy sources is the main purpose of our mission. He moved his head around, trying to focus the camera on items of interest; to capture evidence.

Soft sand covered the stone floors. The rock slabs that made up the table and bench seats appeared heavy. The dimensions allowed Jeb to sit comfortably but he noticed that his hosts perched rather than sat on the benches, squatting on large taloned feet, more congruent with raptors than these delicate creatures. Jeb wondered at the factors that had influenced their development. Feathery antennae sprouted from the top of each head and curved back to just above the nape of the neck. A fluffy, hairlike tuft rose at the front, between the feelers. The gossamer gowns seemed integral to each slender body.

Jeb’s friend returned and beckoned for him to follow. In the passage, the moth turned to face Jeb and tapped himself in the chest with one hand.

“Bodee. Bodee”

Jeb nodded, repeating, “Bohdee,” then again, more softly, “Bodee.”

Jeb indicated his own chest in a similar manner and said, “Jeb.”

“Gheb,” whispered Bodee, then stronger, “Jeb.” His eyes flashed and Jeb stifled his own grin. His teeth were not considered unusually large at home but his mouth would look enormous among these dainty beings. Watching them eat was like watching a praying mantis nibble a leaf.

They entered a store-like chamber with stacks of string-tied bundles on stone shelves. Bodee selected one of the bundles, placed it on a bench, untied the string and turned over sheets of paper, discoloured brown and blotchy and closely handwritten written in a fine, elegant script. Jeb slipped out of his suit and detached the camera from the communicator in the hood. Bodee stood by, offering no objection as he fingered each brittle page and honed in to illuminate and record.

When he had photographed every page of the tome Jeb looked up and found that he was alone in the chamber. His camera clip was full but he had a spare or two in his suit. Bodee returned as he was replacing the clip and beckoned him though another doorway into a narrow, dim room. It looked like another corridor until Bodee inserted a slim rock crystal into a slot inside the entrance. Rows of tiny lamps lit up along each wall and Jeb saw that they had entered a gallery.

He drew in his breath. Artworks covered each long wall from floor to ceiling like the walls in the tombs of ancient Pharaohs. Fine coloured outlines of moths and a variety of other creatures, plants and objects had been incised into the rock, then embellished with gold and silver. The walls contained the history of a civilization. Jeb lifted his camera and worked his way around the room.

Bodee walked alongside, pointing and explaining the components and meaning of each frieze. Jeb collected the communicator from his suit so that he could interpret and record the whispered dialogue. At first communication was stilted. Jeb had to wait for the translations to play back and use gestures to ask questions. After a while, he began to pick up words and expressions. By looking at the graphics and conversing, they developed a level of understanding.

“Once our planet was very different,” Bodee said. “These creatures all lived here and many plants grew on the surface. We call our planet Mondee meaning homeland, or Moni, land of moths, and we are the Monis.

Jeb studied the illustrated animals, large and small, tall trees, grasses and unfamiliar flowering plants. There were birds he’d never imagined, reptiles, water creatures and hoards of insects with a sun and several moons overhead.

“Our sun burnt out, taking the surface layer of our planet and leaving us with little light or precipitation. Our plants and animals were all destroyed though most Monis had time to shelter underground. Planets and their moons closer to the sun were burnt up, exploded, or spun out of orbit taking others in their path. We were bombarded for a long time, many Earth years. You saw the craters disfiguring the surface.”

The destruction of the solar system was recorded on the short, end wall. Jeb studied the fireworks. “It looks like a war zone, a nuclear war. Rockets were fired from Moni?”

“Anti missile weapons were developed while we waited for re-settlement. They probably saved our planet from being blown apart.” On Earth such weapons are trained on our own kind.

“Many of these tunnels once contained underground streams. There was sufficient underground water to supply Monis for five generations, while the irrigating small food plots and support a few animals. As the streams dried up, wells were sunk but they, too, have since ceased to operate. On clear nights we collect dew, which is channelled into storage tanks, like the one you have seen. From the stars we are also able to re-charge mineral elements for lighting.”

“How do you feed yourselves?”

“Lichens and mosses and a few fungi can still be grown in tunnels where filtered light enters from the surface. Some require water. The bread you tried is our most nutritious product and requires little moisture.”

Bodee removed the rock crystal from the slot in the wall. The light faded but was not extinguished. He placed his hand on the wall and indicated for Jeb to do the same. The stone was warmer than blood heat. Jeb noticed tiny specks of glitter in the rock face, minuscule crystals, no larger than the pointy end of a pin.

Bodee replaced the power crystal and continued the guided tour of Moni history. “We evolved from vegetarian moths, which increased in size, robustness and intelligence. We continued to reproduce in a way similar to the extensive genus Lepidoptera of your Earthbut without the extended pupa phase. Our young hatch from eggs, growing to adulthood like apemen. Once Monis lived up to twenty rings.”

“How long is a ring?”
Bodee consulted a Moni calendar. Units of time were shorter than those employed on Earth and a ring appeared to represent between four and five Earth years. In their healthier state, the Monis enjoyed a lifespan of somewhere between eighty and eighty five years in Earth time.

“We don’t live that long now. The average life span is around ten rings and falling.”

Jeb wanted to keep talking and asking questions but Bodee said they should sleep. He removed the crystal and they returned to the main tunnel.

They had taken only a few steps when Bodee cried out and hastened forward to kneel beside what looked like a bundle of dry leaves.

“Lodee, Lodee,” he said.

He eased the bundle over and held the tiny face tiny face between his hands, moaning and calling to him. The eyes were dull in their sockets and Jeb could detect no breath or movement. Bodee lifted the frail body, indicating for Jeb to carry the light crystal, which Jeb found heavy for an object no larger than his index finger. They entered a doorway and two Monis hurried forward to carry the limp form into another room where three further Monis were pouring warmed water into a bath. They added a jug of fragrant nectar and Lodee was lowered until all but his face was submerged.

The Monis attended their ailing friend, sponging his face, calling his name, pleading with him to come back to them. Lodee’s eyelids eventually fluttered and opened, greeted by cries of encouragement and joy. When he was sufficiently recovered, Lodee was lifted to a sitting position and given a small cup of fluid to sip. He was lifted from the bath, wrapped in several layers of gossamer fabric and placed on a soft bed. Two friends elected to stand vigil through the night.

“This happens when someone does not take enough water. We have trained ourselves to be sparing but some deprive themselves or are forgetful. The atmosphere is very dry and our bodies need regular immersion in order to absorb water through the skin. The wing membrane is particularly vulnerable to moisture loss.”

“Do you always recover?”

“We can be re-hydrated up to nine times, theoretically, but this depends on a number of factors, including the degree of dehydration, age and general health. If Lodee had not been found till morning, I do not think we could have revived him. If I had not been showing you our library, Lodee may well have expired.”

“What was he given to drink?”

“Water with a little honey added. The same drink you were given earlier. We find it refreshing. We are fortunate to have a few bees to providing honey in this community,” Bodee said.

Jeb was shown to a small cell where a soft bed had been made ready for him. The excitement of meeting the moth people recalled an earlier time, when not quite twenty, he had dropped out of university for over a year and travelled alone to remote and exotic parts of the globe. He had saved enough for a one-way fare to China and worked his way through Asia from there, learning to fit in with strangers and pick up enough words of the local languages to get by. The best adventures had always emerged, unbidden, from the spaces created within generous families and villages.

*

Grey light entered the room and Jeb sensed movement around him. Monis were rising from their beds in preparation for a new day. There was no need for special clothing or breathing apparatus underground. He was comfortable in cotton trousers and shirt and left his space suit in the cubicle, beside his bed.

Across the corridor he entered a Moni bathroom. Jeb was sparing with water, although he would have welcomed a hot shower. He rinsed his hands and face and smoothed his hair, drying off with the soft cloth placed beside the faucet and bowl for his use.

Toilet complete, Jeb stepped back into the corridor.

Bodee was waiting. He led Jeb to breakfast in the communal dining room. A large portion of each of the foods he had sampled the evening before were placed before him.                                               

“I’ll eat the same as the others,” he said. “There’s too much here.” He began putting food back on the central serving platter.

Bodee shook his head. “You bigger,” he whispered. “Need more.” Bodee did not eat.

Others at the table began speaking to Jeb. These Monis, like Bodee, were able communicators. Jeb doubted if phonetics had much to do with it. Observation, intuition and a high level of empathy seemed to play a more important part. He explained his mission and his origins as well as he could, aware of each pair of eyes focused on his own.

“My team is probably waiting for me so we can return to Earth. I am long overdue.”

“Your friends still sleeping.” Bodee smiled. “Your one day, our two days.”

Now he had time to study the moth people more closely, he registered subtle variations in their colouring. Bodee was tawny like a lion, with pale amber eyes. The female Bodee had spoken to was almost white with cream tufts above her small face. Others were shades of grey and russet. Eyes also varied in intensity and colouration. Pearly blue or mauve-grey was most common, with an occasional amber tone.

Bodee indicated he had some things he wished to show him in another section of the underground maze. “When there was more water, more of everything, we Monis liked to have lots of babies. Couplings between partners would have followed the communal dance you observed last night. We pair for life,” he said, “but now the environment is hostile and we are tired and weak.”

Bodee opened a door. “Our nursery,” he said. Inside, two small children played under the supervision of two adults, on a rug scattered with brightly-coloured toys. Bodee spoke to the adults and knelt to play and speak to the children for a few minutes before taking Jeb further into the nursery where a tiny Moni, smaller than the length of Jeb’s hand and wrapped in white, gossamer cloth, was being fed from a tiny bottle by a third attendant.

Bodee took him to observe a controlled atmosphere bubble containing an even smaller baby, barely as long as his middle finger. When Bodee enquired as to the mite’s condition the attendant shook her head. “This little one is very weak and has gained almost no weight since birth.”

Jeb looked down at the fragile scrap whose solemn eyes gazed back into his.

*

Bodee led him toward the surface, to a kind of vegetable garden. Partially underground, it received light through wide slits in the overhead rock. Crevasses had been filled with the ever-present dust, enriched with waste materials and kept moist with an irrigation system of fine tubing and sprinklers. Jeb recognized a leafy green plant he had already tasted. He saw tiny orange fruits, about the size of his thumbnail in diameter. Bodee picked one for him. The fruit was sweet, not unlike a persimmon in taste and texture.

“This fruit provides complex sugars for energy,” Bodee said. “It also contains valuable minerals, very good for the babies.”

Jeb recognized the white lumps of bread he had enjoyed. Bodee told him that tree branches had been collected long ago and still formed the base for this product. “Rotting wood feeds the fungi and provides the stimulus for developing spores and new growth.”

“Here were have our…” Bodee searched for a word Jeb would understand.

“Bees?”

“We must grow crops for them as well as for ourselves,” Bodee said. “The sweet fruit you tasted earlier is also enjoyed by our bees.” He pointed to plots of low grasses planted in a small crater in the open. “They go out to gather pollen on starlit, dewy nights, when it is not too drying.”

Cereals. “You harvest the seeds?”

“The grain, once mature and dry, can be stored for long periods. The plant is cut and used for compost, also for weaving containers or matting,” Bodee said. “We don’t water this crop. The dew is sufficient.”

Jeb experienced a sensation of light-headedness after a few minutes above ground without his suit. He leaned on a rock wall.

Bodi gestured toward a doorway. “We should go inside. Even Monis cannot survive more than a few minutes out here.”

“How is humidity maintained underground?”

“There is moisture in the rocks themselves. We no longer have the energy or the means to dig for water yet the water in the rocks continues to sustain us.”

They moved through to an open area. In wide, shallow trays set on stone benches, large grubs fed on pieces of fleshy plant and, further along, similar trays contained the cocoons of hibernating grubs, cocoons of around a hundred millimetres long and twenty millimetres wide. Silkworms. Everything from gowns to water tanks was made from silk. They climbed a set of stone steps into a gallery where light entered through a series of fine cracks in the stone ceiling. Scores of moths clustered on tall, fleshy plants, which would have looked at home in the Arizona Desert.

“Tree roots once made these cracks while searching for water,” Bodee said. “Dew seeping through the cracks is the only water these plants receive.”

Bodee led the way to a deeper chamber, where silk was being unwound from the cocoons. He explained how the cocoons were left outside and saturated by dew, which softened and diluted the gum coating the fine fibres. Stone rollers were then used to squeeze the residual gum and moisture from each cocoon, freeing the fibres for unwinding. For silk intended for clothing or bedding, the wetting and rolling process was repeated several times.

The gum was saved for used in the construction of water tanks and rigid utensils. A combination of gum and beeswax produced an effective form of waterproofing. Gum and water solutions were also used as liquid fertilizer.

Jeb saw ancient wooden spinning wheels and looms deftly hand and foot operated. Most of the yarn and cloth produced was in naturally occurring colours, variations of cream, off-white, yellows and pale greens. Scarce mineral or vegetable-based dyes were reserved for children’s items.

*

The schoolroom was large with windows just below the ceiling. The children sat on low, firm cushions of green, red, yellow, lime and orange: a different colour for each level. An angled block of stone formed a desk in front of each child with an attached bag of colourful fabric hung from one side for materials. Less than half the desks were occupied.

The older students worked with quill pens on heavy paper not unlike parchment. They dipped their pens into tiny fibre bottles of black ink. Bodee explained that the pens were made from reeds cut and stored for the purpose by previous generations. There would be no fresh supplies. The ink was made from ground charcoal and a little gum solution.

Jeb’s eyes were drawn to the classroom walls and the rich display of fine drawings, maps and diagrams that had accumulated over successive generations. Red and green inks and a kind of amber were still used. Many of the older works were illuminated with gold and silver.

“We have lost the technology for working precious and other metals,” Bodee said. “But that is the least of all we have lost.”

Jeb recognised the sweet-faced female and her startling green eyes at the front of the room. “Muna,” Bodee whispered.

Jeb smiled and moved to the front of the class, as if visiting a class on earth after returning from a mission. “Good morning.”

Muna introduced Jeb to her class. “We have just been discussing your home planet,” she said.

“And what have you learned?” Jeb said.

One student had drawn Earth’s sphere, adding the continents and oceans, poles, latitude and longitude, with remarkable accuracy. Another had focused on major mountain ranges, lakes and rivers for which Jeb was able to supply names. Jeb walked around the classroom, looking at each drawing. Some of the moth children stared and giggled but most were friendly and polite.

Jeb smiled. “Hey, that’s my ship!”

Two students had made accurate diagrams of the Lunex, including the finely tuned, mirrored sails. They understood the adaptation of maritime sailing principles for solar sailing; the craft gaining speed from sun through the pressure of photons on its sails. Unlike maritime sailors, solar sailors run into the wind, not before it.

“Perhaps someone in the class would like to tell our guest how we learned of other planetary systems. Sona?”

A female student stood and pointed to a diagram outlining major space journeys. “We Monis were once space travellers. When wind and sail was first being used to explore Earth’s oceans, a party of Monis was exploring your solar system. We were searching for a planet to settle.”

“And did you find one?” Jeb said.

Several students rose to their feet.

“Donee,” Muna said.

“We found a suitable planet near the edge of your solar system and sent almost half of our people to settle there. Soon afterwards our sun began burning up and we lost contact.”

Another student raised his hand. “Have your people found other beings like us?”

“No. But that doesn’t mean they don’t exist. We almost left Moni without finding you.”

Are there other communities like this one on Moni?”

“There were many once.” It was Tula who answered. “While we were close together, each had a duty to make regular contact with near neighbours. That way, contact could be maintained. Now, because we can only travel during starlight and there are empty spaces where communities once lived; it is increasingly difficult to stay in contact.”

Bodee nodded and smiled at Tula. Their daughter? Jeb recognised that quiet pride.

Two students presented Jeb with very fine illustrations of Moni before the climactic disaster. The first showed forests: tall trees with massive trunks and colourful birds in the branches. In the trees and cliff dwellings were sturdy, cheerful Monis and their children. The second ink drawing was of extensive grasslands stocked with grazing animals as well as orchards and fields of vegetable and cereal crops.

“I have nothing to match your handsome gifts,” Jeb said. In an inner pocket he found a coloured photo of himself with Mirian and their sons, Leon and Jake, taken in the Rocky Mountains. He wrote their names and the date on the back. “Perhaps you will pin it on your notice board,” he said. “An Earthling family.”

Bodee accompanied Jeb to collect his space suit. He rolled up his gifts from Tula and Jonee and placed them inside his empty, stainless steel water cylinder. Bodee did not take him out through the crater but through the garden, past the beehives and cereal crops at the edge of their settlement until they stood beside a small fissure in the rock cavern.

Jeb placed the spherical helmet under his arm and held a tiny hand in his. He looked into Bodee’s sad eyes but could think of no real words of encouragement. “My good friend.”

“Friend,” Bodee said.

 “How will I recognise Moni Two?”

“There may be little visible on the surface. It is warmed from within. There are vast underground caves,” Bodee said.

Jeb nodded. “It is far from the sun then.

“If you could get a message…”

I will try,” Jeb said. “When I am gone, look for a package in the crater where I first found you. There may be some things you could use.”

He set out to cover the kilometre or so to his ship. Once he looked back and could make out Bodee, still watching him, his eyes pinpoints in the deep shade. He tried to walk faster but his legs were heavy and his movements sluggish. He clutched their gifts tighter to him.

*

The Lunex gleamed white and silver in the grey landscape. He’d not had enough sleep. The observation deck was still deserted but Jeb knew that Captain Marc Phillips would be up well before the appointed hour. Before facing his superior, there were things he had to do.

Half a roll of sealed microfibre sheeting, some plastic containers and tubing would not be missed. Jeb also found a complete set of acrylic artist’s paints, including an extra tube of blue. He added writing materials. There was no food to spare, really, except chocolate and some tubes of honey. From their store of spare parts Jeb selected the components the Monis would need, then downloaded an instruction sheet for assembling a transmitter. Bodee will work this out. Muna’s class could do it for sure.

The short journey to and from the crater took Jeb a little longer than he had hoped. He was slowing down. Marc blocked his way as he stepped back inside the Lunex.

“Where have you been, Masters? Preparations for lift-off have begun. Are you rested?”

“Not fully, sir. But I have made some amazing discoveries–”

“We work as a team on this ship, Masters. We have a schedule to meet. Charles and I will cover for you until you are fully restored. Now get some rest. That’s an order.”

Jeb retired to his cell, a space wide enough to sling a sleeping cocoon, enclosed by transparent, wrap-around doors. He could hear the voices of his crew and watched them carry out their tasks: Marc, Charles, Nette, Frank and Ed. He’d  never seen Marc like this before. Cold. But he’d never bunked off before either, if that’s what he’d done.

Frank tapped on the transparent cover of Jeb’s sleep-cell. He held out a beaker of water and a capsule. “Captain’s orders.” His face was serious. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Frank,” Jeb said. “I’ll need this to calm down.”

Frank blinked at the pile of used recording clips. “Did you find something? Tell him. We could delay a few hours–”

Jeb heard the booster rocket fire up, imagined dust rising around the ship. Would an overcrowded, over-utilised world share his concern for a gentle race of moths in the throes of extinction? There would be an initial media frenzy but probably not enough sustained interest to attract a return visit. If there were resources or technology they could use for their own survival it might have been different. Yet there was much to be learned from the gentle beings whose peaceful outlook and love of knowledge had helped them survive the destruction of a solar system for generations.

The intercom crackled, and Marc called for all hands on deck.

“See you when I’m up,” Jeb said and curled up in his cocoon, water cylinder tucked under his arm and lids already drooping. The first thing he would do when he got home would be show Jake and Leon the Moni children’s illustrations of Earth.

 

***

About the Author

Barbara Simpson is a NSW writer, living on a property not far from where Henry Lawson was born. Moondancers is an extract from a work in progress – and her first publication. Barbara was surprised to find herself writing ‘science fiction’ but had such a clear picture of her moth people, she couldn’t leave them out there alone.

 

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