What is going to happen if the DSN antennas don’t come back under NASA control? Is it possible that Molly might never be able to send me a message again – just because of politics?
I sit on my bunk, twisting my fringe between my fingers. I try to tell myself that Molly will be in touch tomorrow, that there’s no need to panic. Whatever political disputes stopped Molly from sending me a message, they happened more than a year and a half ago on Earth! They will definitely be fixed by now.
It doesn’t help.
I curl up in bed and watch Loch & Ness through half-closed eyes, trying to quell the feeling that something terrible is happening. I’ve got the half-real fear that creeps up on you in the middle of the night, making you think that there’s a monster in your room. The kind that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. But, unlike a monster, it doesn’t go away when I pull the duvet over my head.
I’m being ridiculous, I know I am.
It’s just one day. What does it matter if Molly doesn’t talk to me for one day more than she promised? I can look after myself. I don’t need her constant reassurance. I’m not a baby any more; I’m a grown-up now.
DAYS UNTIL THE ETERNITY ARRIVES:
357
Another day without any messages from Earth.
I sit and stare at my inbox, eyes glazing over until the screen turns into a blur of blank white space. I tug on the hairs on my arms, pulling them out of my skin one by one, focusing on the tiny sting as each one tears free. I blow on the hair littering the table, watching it scatter across the floor.
I wish I could punch something without setting off four dozen alarms and an evacuation protocol.
Eventually I decide to open up the flight simulator and practise landing the ship on the new planet to try and get rid of some nervous energy. The program is a 3D orbital gravity model built by NASA and based on the planetary mapping of Earth II. It simulates the ship’s entry into the atmosphere and its descent and landing.
I run the simulation twice, bringing The Infinity down gently on a sandy alien hillock, plumes of orange dust curling up around the hull. A tiny simulated astronaut steps out onto the dusty planet, pushing a flag into the ground and raising both hands in the air triumphantly.
It’s supposed to be me, but I can’t imagine ever acting like that. More likely, I’d land the ship and then sleep for three days while I worked up the courage to even look out of a porthole.
The simulation is easy. Apparently it gets harder and harder, but I haven’t put in enough hours to get to the advanced levels yet, when the flight simulator will expand into a planetary exploration system.
I’m happy to stick with this, for now. I really don’t want to learn all the extra things I should be worrying about just yet – like growing crops in uncultured soil, or building houses or raising farm animals. The thought of landing is more than enough.
Plus, the flying simulation really is fun.
DAYS UNTIL THE ETERNITY ARRIVES:
355
Today I decide I need to do something other than staring at my empty inbox in my pyjamas, hair and stomach in knots. Molly always tells me that keeping busy is the best way to stop worrying. Instead, for the last few days I’ve been sitting around grinding my teeth in blind despair.
I need to push away some of my negative thoughts and just get on with my life.
I think I’m going to make jam.
First, I need to pick some strawberries from the sun room, which is part of the science labs. I don’t really go in the labs much, unless the computer forces me to do some kind of check. But the sun room is my favourite exception.
It’s not really a sun room – that’s just what Dad used to call it, because when I was little I got confused about how photosynthesis and UV radiation worked, and why plants could grow in space.
It’s actually just a lot of plants in a nutrient solution, sitting under an array of lights. The plants are an ongoing source of seeds to add to the seed bank, ready to grow in the newly created soil of Earth II.
Gardening is also officially endorsed by NASA as being good for astronauts’ mental health – which I can confirm. Plants are easy and uncomplicated in a soothing, reassuring way. They just want light and air, and the containers do a lot of the work adjusting the water and nutrient and aeration levels. I get to enjoy the benefits without the pressure of something else relying on me for survival. The fresh produce is also a bonus.
I pick every ripe strawberry I can find, peeling apart frilly-edged leaves to find the juiciest ones hidden underneath the vines, and pinching away dead leaves to make sure all the plants have enough room to grow. My fingers are stained pink by the time I’m done.
I have to resist the urge to eat them all there and then. Instead I eat handfuls of sugar snap peas and radishes and runner beans. The tomatoes are almost turning red, so it shouldn’t be long before I can make fresh tomato soup.
I think I’ll change the light cycle of some containers from summer to autumn. I can harvest the broccoli. Maybe the Brussels sprouts. I’m trying to grow some bonsai trees, so they’ll shed their leaves in the autumn cycle. I’ve always wanted to see crispy red leaves fall to the ground and try crunching them under my shoes.
Neither of my parents were really interested in gardening, so I took responsibility for the sun room as soon as I was old enough to understand how not to drown the plants. I loved the strange, waxy texture of the leaves, and how plants could be so fragile and strong all at once. It’s difficult to imagine the precious organisms spreading across an entire planet without anyone to take care of them. Somehow they survive on mountains and in deserts and underwater without any defences.
I take my harvest back to the kitchen and microwave the strawberries until they’re soft and hot, then pour in a whole bag of sugar. I can only find a dessert spoon to stir the mixture with, so I have to keep dropping it when my fingers get too close to the jam and start to burn. The smell of the molten fruit gives me hiccups.
I microwave the mixture again, bending over to look through the window at the rolling red liquid. My mouth starts watering, just imagining the taste. I try to ignore the hiccups, which won’t go away.
It’s only when the jam is ready that I realize I don’t have any jars. I pour the hot liquid into my mugs, lining them up on the worktop, and cut circles out of old food cartons to press down into the surface of each. I’ll probably eat it pretty quickly, anyway. I can drink from a bowl until then.
I lie upside down on the sofa and gulp down water, pinching my nose, but the hiccups persevere.
Unable to resist, I eat four spoonfuls of jam straight from the mug. It’s so hot that I scald my tongue, in a way that means I won’t be able to taste anything for days. It gets rid of the hiccups, though.
And finally, finally, I feel a little better. I can do this. I can survive alone until Molly finds a way to speak to me again. I believe in her. It won’t be long. She won’t give up until she’s fought everyone who tries to stand between us. She’s going to come back to me.