Sunshine

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.