There’s always the sunshine.
Always.
♯
The temperature outside the huge plexi-glas
tunnel was eighty degrees centigrade; it was slowly rising as the planet left
aphelion and headed inexorably towards perihelion.
Applett looked westwards at the stationary sun
that forever hovered above the horizon. At this time of year it glinted off the
sea that lay in the continental basin—a sea that, in a few months time, would
be an arid desert.
He looked upwards at the cirrostratus clouds
wisping their way to the east over the frozen rocks that lay the other side of
the tunnels.
The tunnels formed six concentric rings that
encircled the planet. The part of the ring that Applett looked towards in the
west would see the sun perpetually low on the eastern horizon; the southern
rings saw the sun always in the north and the reverse held true for the
northern arc.
Facing the sun on the first ring were solar
panels. They stood three metres from the ground and were twenty metres high by
ninety metres wide. The power from the panels supplied all the rings with
electricity and the outer rings that never saw the sun, with light and heat.
More heat came from geo-thermal vents in the
crust at the northern and southern arcs. There was enough energy to grow fruit
trees in the outer rings in spite of sub-zero temperatures the other side of
the plexi-glas.
Under Applett’s feet was a vast chasm that
grew steadily bigger over the eons as rain from the cold side gushed through to
the hot side in thunderous torrents only to turn to instant vapour when it hit
rocks at almost two hundred degrees centigrade at perihelion.
The vapour and steam rose as shimmering mist
to be swirled into vortices created by the coriolus effect and then be torn
away to rip into toroids before condensing out as towering cumulo-nimbus and
then condensing again into sheeting rain.
The ice forming in winter cracked and chipped
the rocks then the rain lashed the rocks into grazing monsters to gouge out the
chasms under the rings on the eastern and western sides. The waste was dumped
clear of the polished sides of the gorges into the central continental crater
that was gradually filling and smoothing out. Smoothing out as the débris
melted into glass each summer.
Each year the sea level rose ever so slightly so
that now, in winter, it was getting perilously close to the foot of the
plexi-glas walls.
The Representatives of the rings’ quadrants
and sub-quadrants had twelve thousand miles to walk to the meeting point from
the furthest sub-quadrant away. The meeting changed every year so that, over
time, everybody would host the meeting and would, equally, not have to walk. The
Representatives from the extreme side took three hundred days to walk to a
meeting and another three hundred to walk back. Each sub-quadrant had two
Representatives who took it in turn to attend the meetings. Each sub-quadrant
was required to host the Representatives as they passed through their territory
making sure they were well fed and rested for their next days travel.
♯
Turning to face the representatives from the
seven other sub-quadrants, Applett took a deep breath and invited comments from
the floor.
Inevitably Ruther, from one of the Western arc
sub-quadrants, rose, coughed politely, and enquired if anyone had any
information on the technology required to build more plexi-glas rings.
“There is, you understand, a need for more
space. Not just for people and we are, even now, increasing in numbers in spite
of our efforts to convince people that more numbers places a heavy burden on our
resources; but also for more horticulture. People have to eat.”
Borda stood up, “I agree. We need more space
and more room for planting. It has to be behind the outer rings because we
cannot block the inner rings’ solar panels. Besides, the heat would be against
any construction work on the sun side.”
“I have been going over the logs from previous
meetings covering the last four hundred years,” Tenneth spoke quietly but with
great authority. He had represented the Northern arc for many years; he was,
very likely, the longest serving Representative at the meeting, “Quite apart
from the improbability, now, of finding out who built the rings and, more
importantly, how they built them there arises a further problem that
may, indeed, solve yours, Ruther and Borda.”
Applett had started to rise but now sat down
and acceded to Tenneth who, in spite of custom, was about to exceed his
traditional two sentence limit.
Tenneth sat down and motioned for Applett to
make his statement.
“I, too, have been looking at the records and
find that the erosion of the chasms under the eastern arc is growing to the
point that, in, maybe, three hundred years, the arc will not be supported at
all. We are uncertain if the rest of the rings will be able to hold up the
eastern arcs.”
Tenneth rose and nodded agreement at Applett,
“In one hundred and fifty years minimum to, maybe, two hundred years maximum,
the plexi-glas will melt. The temperature at perihelion is rising steadily
annually to the point where, at the time span indicated previously, life on
this planet will become untenable.”
He sat down, tucking his robe under him neatly
and waited patiently for someone else to speak.
Nobody stood. A stunned silence fell like a
cold blanket over the room. Applett looked around and stood.
“In like manner to everyone else, I am
appalled by this—are you certain of your facts, Tenneth? Are you sure the
plexi-glas will melt?”
“I have measured the resistance to movement of
the plexi-glas between winter and summer. It is much softer with an external temperature
of close to two hundred degrees. The degree of softness is measurable over the
last several years to indicate that it is approaching melting point,” he looked
around, “I apologise for the extension of speech.”
“There is no need to apologise, my friend,” Bithèra
inclined his head to Tenneth, “It is highly probable that I, too, shall go over
the accepted limit,” he chuckled softly and sat down.
“What is it that you wish to say, Bithèra?” Ruther
asked with the look of one who is close to panic.
Applett stood, “Your problems do, indeed,
appear to have been solved, Ruther and Borda. Speak up, Bithèra, and do not
fear to extend your speech. Now is, maybe, not the time for clipped
explanations.”
There were general nods of agreement. Bithèra
got to his feet, stumbling a little as he became caught up in his robe. He
smiled broadly at the assembly.
“Well, my seven friends. It shall be as you
wish. The Representatives from the western arcs have, repetitively, asked about
the technology for building the rings. There is, I believe, a deeper question
that has never been addressed. We are comfortable with several terms of
measurement but we do not know from whence they came. What is a ‘degree
centigrade’? What is a ‘metre’? Where did these units originate? There is an
old legend that there were, once upon a time, other creatures than humans here—they
were called ‘animals’. Our ancestors ate them, seemingly. But, over time, these
animals grew sick and died because we had no technology for treating their
diseases. Even now our own diseases are untreatable for the large part. We put
our faith in herbal remedies and trust to luck. The point is—where did they
come from and why did they get sick and die. This leads me to the main point. Where
did we come from? Why can we not go
back there? The threat that we live under is not for us nor for our children
but, perhaps their children. It becomes our responsibility, having recognised
the threat, to try to do something about it,” he sat down.
Once more there was a stunned silence.
Borda got to his feet, “That gets us nowhere,
Bithèra. How does that help?” he sat heavily.
Bithèra dragged himself upright again, “We
know nothing of where we live. We know of nothing other than day-to-day
existence. Applett has been outside through the western airlock into the ice
regions. He found nothing, as I recall, but scoured rock and ice. I have also,
recently, been outside the southern rings and found nothing but what Applett
saw. However, on the plexi-glas—outside the ring, is a large sign measuring
three metres high by two metres wide. It says ‘Danger. Jet Blast’. Does anybody
know what it means?”
There was a general shaking of heads.
Dunner was the junior member of the group. He
was from one of the two northern arcs.
“There is an airlock between our north-eastern
sub-quadrant and Jurétar’s north-western arc. Perhaps we should go and look to
see if we have any signs. There is a large red box by the airlock that nobody
has accessed. Should we see if we can force it open and see what is in it?”
Applett spoke up, “Desperate times call for
desperate measures. Open it. See what is there. Perhaps there is a device that
will explode the planet and seal our doom quickly rather than be boiled alive.”
♯
Everyone had gone home. Ruther and Borda had
the farthest to go, to the western arcs. They would not be home for ten months.
Applett considered this. Tenneth had been right. How did we come to measure
months—days even. Every arc had a master clock that ticked off time in minutes,
hours, days, weeks and months; it reset every time the planet reached aphelion.
‘How odd’, he thought ‘that they had no record of years on the clock. Only
their own records that they kept at their own whim.’
He strode back towards the rear rings and
wondered, again, why the lights turned off every twelve hours for twelve hours
and why did they call this ‘night’? An hour later he reached his lodgings,
kissed his wife and slept for an age.
♯
Jurétar made good time. Just under four and a
half months from the centre of the eastern quadrants to the centre of the
northern quadrants. He felt that he was on a mission and strode out with
Dunner, young but not so fit, struggling to keep up. Throughout the journey
Dunner had maintained that, since he was the one to mention it, he should be
the one to try and open the box. Jurétar agreed but said that they should,
being co-Representatives of the northern arcs, do it together so that, if
anything untoward happened, there would be a witness and a back up. Dunner said
that his Dad would come with them if Jurétar had a deputy that would come as
well.
By the time they reached the box they had
formulated a working plan that, essentially, meant that they would play the
whole thing by ear since neither of them had a clue what was going to happen or
what the box was—much less what it did.
Both of them surveyed the box with increasing
misgivings. There was no clue as to how it could be opened apart, perhaps, from
a small hole in one side—too small to insert a finger.
Dunner’s father arrived and looked at the box,
“Aye, I’ve seen the hole. I’ve been here many a time to look at the box and
wonder what it does. Nobody knows. There are no markings anywhere on it that
will give an indication and my friend and I have been over it thoroughly.
Jurétar had been examining the hole, “There is
something inside the hole. I can’t see what it is but it looks like a small
metallic bar. Perhaps if we could get something to push that it might release a
catch somewhere else?”
The other two looked doubtful. They looked at
each other with obvious misgivings but, eventually, Dunner said he would go and
look for something that might fit inside.
The Father and Jurétar sat and waited. They
talked about nothing in particular for half an hour before Dunner re-appeared
with a thin metal spike with a handle at one end and a flattened piece at the
other end.
“What is that?” his Dad asked.
“I don’t know,” Dunner said, scratching his
head, “It has been lying in my room ever since I found it outside the airlock
when I was a small boy. My friends and I used to dare each other about who
would go outside and then who would stay out there the longest.”
He gave it to Jurétar who gave a tentative
poke into the hole, “I can feel the bar. I shall try to.... uh?”
There was quite a loud, metallic, ‘click’
followed by a sigh of some fluid in motion. The whole box moved slowly upwards
to reveal a large panel covered in buttons and switches. Some of them were
fairly obvious. They were isolation switches for the solar panels as indicated
by their position on the graphic display. Others were lighting switches yet
still more seemed to be temperature controllers.
“Does this mean we can control the temperature
inside the rings?” Dunner asked.
“It seems so, Son. I suppose we shouldn’t play
with anything until we get a clearer understanding of what it all does.”
“This block of switches seems to be some sort
of communication system. But to whom I know not,” Jurétar chipped in, “I think
we need someone like Applett here—he has studied reading and writing intensively
for years. We are just fumbling around—we could do damage playing around just
like your Dad says, Dunner.”
“This switch, at the edge, says ‘closed’, I
think,” Dunner said
♯
Almost a year passed.
Applett stood before the box and jumped in
surprise when it slid smoothly upwards to reveal the panel. He looked at the
others and then bent forward to scrutinise the writing on the board.
“It is, as you say, a maintenance panel. These
switches are all there to isolate the various lighting and timing functions as
well as the solar panels in the event that they require servicing,” he made a
motion with his hand to include a section of the panel, “These switches and
dials are all for testing the equipment but these,” he made another, smaller,
sweep with his hand, “Are all communication devices.”
He stepped back to take a more general view
and collect his thoughts. He was quite shaken at this discovery. The box had
been there for countless generations and yet nobody had thought to examine it
or question its existence. It was always just ‘there’.
“With whom are we to communicate?” Applett
thought out loud. This was all too much. There were more questions than
answers. Is it just internal communication between the rings or....” he let the
last question hang while he thought some more and moved back towards the box.
Some of the writing on the knobs and switches
meant very little or, on some of them, nothing to him. ‘Frequencies’, ‘Pulse
Rate’, ‘X/Y Function’ were all mysteries.
“Oh, well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” he
said aloud. He found a switch that said ‘Ext. Comms ON’, moved it downwards and
was greeted with a sibilant hiss from a grill-like object near the top of the
communications panel. Everyone else took a step back in surprise.
Applett breathed deeply and pressed a button
that said ‘Transmit’; he spoke into the grill wondering if that was the right
thing to do.
“Hello? Is anybody there?”
The hissing continued unchanged. They all
looked at each other with some disappointment not knowing what they had been
expecting.
He reached towards the switch, intending to
turn it to ‘OFF’ when a voice came from the grill.
“This is Three-Niner Bravo DX. Pass your
message, over.”
Their eyes all registered shock, they were all
frozen in disbelief. Applett shook himself and spoke again.
“Our planet is doomed. We have little time. Are
you able to help us?”
There was another period of hissing before the
voice spoke again.
“Your frequency, direction and response time
indicates that you are calling from Four-Six Delta CK. Please confirm data and
message content, over.”
“Oh, yes. We are definitely.... um....
Four-Six Delta .... er.... CK. Our planet is about to be destroyed—we are in
need of help. Um.... over?”
Several more minutes of hissing, “Four-Six
Delta CK. Your message content is noted and stored for subsequent retrieval. This
is Automatic Data Concentration Unit Three-Niner Bravo DX confirming your data
is stored awaiting relocation to Two-Seven Kilo FB for analysis and
registration. Stand-by for further instructions. Three-Niner Bravo DX
listening. Out.”
♯
They organised shifts to listen for the
instructions. The box was never left alone—not for an instant was it
unattended.
Sometimes they would call but there was no
further response.
One hundred and forty eight years later the
plexi-glas melted and the sunlight poured in.
There is always the sunshine.
Always.
