Keiron Byrne lay on a reclined seat in the Observation Room of Metzger Base, in the bottom of Henson Crater, near the lunar south pole, gazing out at the star field around him.
He had discovered the room his first day on Luna, after spending much of the day bouncing along the various hallways of Metzger Base, enjoying the low lunar gravity and exploring his new home. As he’d entered, that first day, his mouth had dropped open, for it was as if he were walking out into the lunar night. All around him, stars glowed brightly. More stars then he had ever seen at once. The Milky Way arced over him, filling the room with light.
He had stood there in that light for some time before it occurred to him that his view shouldn’t be this big. Metzger Base was in the bottom of a crater, after all. Henson was an old crater, its rim eroded and low but still there. And the rims of Sverdrup and de Gerlache, newer craters that overlapped Henson, should have blocked much of the view as well. He should only have been able to see a small portion of the sky that was presented to him in that room. He learned later that the lower parts, the ones that were blocked by the crater rims, were actually presented on video screens that circled the room, using live images from cameras on the rims of the craters. He had spent the rest of that day lying in the same seat he lie in now, gazing out at those stars.
That was only two weeks ago, but that was a different lifetime. A different Keiron. That Keiron had been an excited twelve year old at the beginning of the adventure of his life: living on Luna for a year with his family while his dad helped plan a new ice mine. The Keiron lying here now, looking at that sky, was a scared and confused little boy, unsure what the future might hold.
His eyes wandered around the lunar night until they found a red dot near the horizon. Though small, the dot was distinctly round and had a different character than the other points of light--stars and galaxies--around it. Mars. Somewhere on that red dot were his cousins, Cas and Ori. He hoped they were alive. The last he’d heard, they were stuck in a collapsing glacier. He didn’t want to think about that.
He shifted his eyes to the opposing horizon, where there was a faint glow. That was Earth, hovering just out of view. Over the next few days it would rise from that horizon, hang motionless in the sky, then slowly descend into the same spot. Between him and that glow were 300,000 kilometers of mystery and dread. What had happened out there? Why could they not communicate with anyone?
The “I’m sorry” message from Athenai, and the total loss of comms after, had left everyone on Luna guessing. The first few days had been exciting, in that way that humans find any novel situation, good or bad, to be exciting. Knowledge was thin, and everyone was scared. But the people in the base behaved as if they were ready for anything. There was camaraderie and hope, and everyone seemed sure they could handle things until the situation was resolved.
The base commander, following protocols that would protect the inhabitants of Metzger in the event of a temporary loss of transit with Earth, had issued orders for the rationing of food 24 hours after communication was lost. Now, only a week later, Keiron felt like he was starving. He understood that he wasn’t, that what he was feeling was only extreme hunger. But he also wondered how long this might go on. And another thought kept surfacing in his mind, one which he always pushed away but which always came back: what if this right now was as good as it was ever going to be? He could tell from the looks on the faces he passed in the hallways of Metzger that everyone in the base was beginning to wonder this as well.
Keiron shook his head. These were not thoughts he wanted to dwell on. He glanced again at the red dot. Communications with Earth, or anywhere, had been down since the event. Apparently, all the comm satellites had been either destroyed or lost. He thought about his cousin. Rather than dwell on his worries, he pulled out his tablet and began to write to her.
Cas,
I want to tell you about the Milky Way. Can you see the Milky Way from Mars? I’m guessing that it’s too dusty most of the time. I’m sitting in the Observation Room as I write this. Metzger Base is at the South Pole of Luna. Did you know that our solar system is inclined about 63 degrees from the plane of the galaxy? Because of this, the South Pole points toward the galactic center. As I sit back and look up, I am gazing directly into the heart of our galaxy, Cas, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Billions of stars and clouds of cosmic dust.
Home is such a relative term. Sitting on my porch on Earth, the house behind me feels like home. I take a walk around the neighborhood, and my city feels like home. I take a rocket into space and look back at the Earth and that is home. But now I sit here in a room and gaze at the galaxy above me. That’s our galaxy, shouldn’t it feel like home? But it’s all so far away. Like, we might never go out there. How can it be home? If I move my eyes above or below that plane, I see points of light that are very likely other galaxies billions of light years away. If I stare at those a while, then look again at the Milky Way, there is a moment, an instance of awareness, in which it feels like home. Then it’s gone and it all feels so far away again. I think maybe you have to go beyond something and look back at it before it can really feel like home.He paused his writing and looked at Mars.
What feels like home to you?
KeironHe sent the message, though he knew it wouldn’t go anywhere, put his tablet away, and rubbed his eyes. Despite the fact that a day was a month on Luna, the base maintained a 24 hour schedule. And, on that schedule, the hour was quite late. He got up from his seat, careful to center his balance in the light lunar gravity, and walked back to his family’s hab, short for habitation quarters, on legs shaky with hunger.