The Lunar Station Executions

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say.

Was it merely grim imagination, then? Before the klaxons rang out, before the somber announcement, the crew aboard the Butterfly, hovering near the moon, heard something like a terrified shrieking. It drove them to the starboard window, where they massed around the glass and stared open-mouthed at the Lunar Station explosion. They watched parts of their coworkers, their friends, their family drifting through the abyss. Disembodied limbs and houseware floated slowly by, already crystallizing in the cold. Silverware, piping, and boots, mingled with arms and legs, thumping into the ship, a cavalcade of dull thuds. What faces the crew saw were tortuously contorted and rapidly collecting ice, making them nearly impossible to identify. That didn’t prevent the howls of grief, the crew who were suddenly sure they were alone in the world, their entire lives stripped of meaning. When the shock subsided, a shuddering realization passed through the remaining watchers. It could be their loved ones that were dead. It could be their spouse, their child, their lover who would now meander through the infinite – unburied and unrecognized. Panic welled in stomachs across the Butterfly. Then the speaker buzzed and the emergency broadcast began.

The announcement confirmed what they already guessed. There was an explosion in Housing Unit 12. Emergency crews were battling fires in two hallways, the rest of the unit was sealed and then vented. No one yet knew how many were killed or who was missing. No one knew, or at least no one was saying, what prompted the detonation. Investigation was ongoing, but everyone should remain calm until more details were available, the announcement said.

Predictably, the broadcast sent more of the crew into hysteria. Several staff, with family in HU12, lobbied to commandeer one of the life rafts and run it back to the moon. They overpowered the two peacekeepers in the lower decks and seized the ship. A mild sedative was dispersed through the air vents to calm the remaining crew.

Before the explosion, Commander Harada was enjoying one of his few illicit pleasures: a cigarette. The greenhouse administrator was a friend and kept a few tobacco plants under lock and key in his private growhouse. He flue-cured the plants in a converted sauna, treated them, and sent the commander a box of tidily rolled cigarettes. In exchange, Harada ignored the other contraband he grew and allowed a few prime vegetable crops to “under harvest.”

A haze of smoke thickened the air as he studied the latest Nevogen communiques. Their production demands were predictably unreasonable, he thought. People would die trying to mine asteroids at that pace. He tapped his cigarette into a coffee cup and considered how he could gently push back without incurring retributive retorts. The last time he complained of their work quotas, they’d cut meal rations and lengthened work shifts. Delicacy would be of the utmost importance, he thought before closing his eyes. He felt only the warmth in his throat, the curiously addictive taste of bitter smoke.

Then, the explosion.

An invisible wave threw everything to the side. The moon itself seemed to lurch suddenly to the left. Harada coughed violently and clutched the arms of his chair. The coffee mug slid from the desk and shattered on the ground, spilling ashes and bits of porcelain across the rug. A watercolor of Mount Fuji slipped off its hook, hit a recliner and clattered to the floor. An uncomfortable silence followed. Harada’s mind struggled to process what was happening, but his body was tense. He was unconsciously waiting for…something.

Alarms. A burst of static from the speakers before a voice said, “Level 4 emergency. All emergency staff are ordered to Housing Unit 12. All emergency staff report to Housing Unit 12. All other workers proceed to your designated shelter.”

Harada tapped his communicator, “Someone give me a status report.”

Silence.

“Status report. Now.”

Another beat before someone responded, “There’s been an explosion in HU12. Unknown number of casualties. We’ve sealed adjacent units and fire crews are containing lingering flames, sir.”

“Origin of the explosion?”

“Unclear, sir.”

“Initial assessment? Is this mechanical? Accidental?”

“Unclear, but unlikely.”

Harada stared at his now-blank wall. That meant only one thing. “We suspect a bomb?”

“Yes, sir.”

The security footage would confirm the theory, but that would be in Nevogen hands first. He’d need to beg for the official feed, but one of his people might be able to secure it now. He toggled to a private channel and asked the tech team to discreetly download whatever they could from the cameras. Grainy footage was better than edited footage.

“Commander Harada,” a voice said.

“Yes?”

“One of the life rafts on Butterfly has been commandeered. It appears to be headed towards our landing pad.”

Was this part of a coordinated attack?

“Have we contacted the raft?”

“Attempted to, sir. No response, but Cpt. Lusida believes the crew seized the ship after the explosion. She thinks it might be panicked parents.”

Lusida was probably right, but if this was a coordinated insurgency, the price would be too high. “Continue to ping the raft. Warn them that if they do not answer our hails, they’ll be shot down immediately.”

“Should we actually attack the raft, sir?”

Harada tried to do the calculation in his mind, but too many thoughts competed for his attention. “If we launch missiles, what’s the nearest an explosion could be without damaging any of the housing units?”

“35,000 feet would be pushing it, sir.”

“Blow it out of the sky if they’re within 40,000 feet of the landing pad.”

“Yes, sir.”

Butterfly Life Raft No. 2 - 175,000 feet Lunar Station

Seven members of the Butterfly were aboard Life Raft 2. Three crammed into the cockpit and four in the main hold. None of the seven were trained pilots, only Science Officer Lisa Harbstrom had flown a craft through space before, though she’d only logged 200 hours in her father’s glorified cruising yacht. She had no experience in a Life Raft and barely managed to activate the autopilot. Truthfully, she had no idea how to fly the vessel or how to take control of the navigation. She didn’t know how quickly the Raft was moving, or what its travel path was. All she knew was the ship was inching toward Lunar Station Landing Pad 12. That was good enough for the seven.

When the Landing Pad crew first hailed the Raft, the seven debated answering. The conversation quickly turned moot when Harbstrom admitted she had no idea how to work the communications array. Most of the seven were agricultural scientists, two were mining experts, and Harbstrom was a biologist. The blind grief that compelled them into the raft was rapidly morphing into panicked confusion.

“Butterfly Life Raft, this is Lunar Landing Pad 12. You are ordered to cease your current course and return to the Butterfly. Failure to comply will necessitate lethal action. Repeat: lethal action.”

“They’re bluffing,” Harbstrom said, though sweat was already forming along her forehead. “They wouldn’t attack grieving parents.”

The other six were inclined to agree, but debris continued to break away from HU12 and drift into space, pieces of people and homes clattering against the Raft. They knew the situation was grim, that Station leadership might consider drastic actions. But these seven needed to return to the Station, to hold their children or mourn their loss. They needed to know. Alive or dead. They could not live in the nebulous ether between suspicion and actuality. And answers lived on that base.

“We could ask them if our families are there?” said Dr. Gregg Lister. “They may already know who’s survived.”

“Harada would never allow that to be broadcast. And the blast happened less than 90 minutes ago. You remember last month. We didn’t know who was hurt, let alone dead, for two weeks. Do you want to wait two weeks to know if Ilse is in a hospital ward? Or out there?” she tapped on one of the viewing portals and Lister fell silent.

“We’re not answering,” Harbstrom said. “They’re bluffing.”

Butterfly Life Raft No. 2 - 98,000 feet from Lunar Station

Harada smelled like smoke. His fingernails were yellowed. The taste in his mouth was wretchedly unctuous. He wanted to shower, change into a uniform, rehang the fucking painting in his room. Instead, he was sealing salvageable halls, evacuating Housing Units 11 and 13, tallying the missing and accounted, and working his third shift well-past their quit time. All other units were herding evacuees or investigating the explosion. His people were on their last legs. They were going to get sloppy soon.

And this damned Life Raft.

They’d hailed it twice, now. No response. Lusida provided the names of the likely crew aboard. None of them were Nevogen-approved pilots. Hell, none of them appeared to even have flight training. One of his officers suggested the hijackers might not know how to work the communications devices. Horrifyingly, Harada was inclined to agree. These people were in over their heads and hurtling towards disaster.

“Hail them again. Instead of warning them, walk them through how to use the communications array. And give these idiots an abbreviated flight lesson. Teach them how to use the autopilot.”

“Don’t they already know that, sir? The Raft is moving towards us.”

“It’s programmed to do that when activated. They probably triggered it by accident. They’ll need a lesson on how to reactivate the system and then reverse the course…and then warn them that if they get to 40,000 feet, we’re going to destroy that Raft.”

“Yes, sir.”

Butterfly Life Raft No. 2 - 68,000 feet from Lunar Station

The Lunar Station’s hails were becoming frantic. The officer’s voice was creaky, breaking at points. He sounded desperate, appeared to even be pleading with the seven. Harbstrom held strong.

“Listen to me. Harada knows how this will play. The people aboard the Butterfly know us. They know we’re scared parents. We just want answers. We deserve answers, don’t we? Aren’t we entitled to know if our families are safe? They can’t stop us from coming back to our homes and searching for our children, our spouses.”

Lister was fidgety. He paced the main hold and his gaze lingered on the cockpit.

“It cannot hurt to ask them if our families are OK,” he said. “If they refuse to tell us, we can keep going, but they might know already. They might know.”

Harbstrom softened. She held Lister’s face in her hands and looked into his eyes. “They don’t know if our families are safe. And if they did, they would never, never tell us. You get that, right?”

“I just think we should ask.”

The other five seemed to side with Lister. Harbstrom balled her fists, but relented. “Then go. Ask. See for yourself.”

After each harried warning from the Station, they broadcast instructions for how to work both the communications panel and the autopilot feature. Lister listened impatiently for a moment and then began following along with the instructions.

His sweaty fingers slipped on the keys and he plugged in the wrong unlocking code. He had to wait for the instructions to cycle back. His feet tapped against the steel floor and he could hear the breath flowing into and out of his nose. The eyes of the other six were hot on his back.

The communications instructions came around again and this time he put the code in correctly. He found Landing Pad No. 12’s channel and radioed in.

“Uh, this is the ship coming toward the Station. We want to know if our families are alive.”

“Butterfly Life Raft No. 2, you must halt your progress. We have been ordered to destroy your ship if you cross the 40,000 feet threshold. You are currently at 61,000 feet and closing. You must halt progre…”

Lister buzzed in, cutting off the Station officer. “We know where we are. Please, please just tell us if our families are alive.”

“Life Raft we…” there was talking in the background and Lister couldn’t make out what was being said. “We do not have a list of the missing or dead.”

“You must know some of the names. You have to. You know some of the names. Tell us the names.”

When the Station responded, a new voice was speaking, “Life Raft, if you keep this shit up, we’ll know the names of seven dead for sure.”

Butterfly Life Raft No. 2 - 59,000 feet from Lunar Station

Harada instantly regretted what he said. These people were already frightened. You could hear it in their communications. Voice analysis said it was Lister who was talking on the crew’s behalf. He was little-more than a widowed farmer. The man’s entire world was his two daughters, 6 and 11. They both lived in HU12. At least one of them was dead, according to the preliminary investigation. The other was missing. Likely dead, Harada thought.

Nearly everyone aboard the Butterfly’s family was either dead or missing. Harbstrom’s husband was dead. Her son, 15, was missing. Parfit’s wife was dead, Coakley’s three children were missing, Berry’s husband was missing, O’Brian’s daughter, 17, was dead, and his son, 22, was missing, and Bryson’s wife, daughter, 4, and three sons, 4, 6, and 10, were all confirmed dead.

Tell the Life Raft that, Harada reasoned, and they might drive the ship into the Station or pilot it past Nevogen-approved space lanes.

“Sir? There’s someone else speaking on behalf of the Raft.”

Harada checked the voice analysis. Harbstrom.

“Commander Harada? First, fuck you. Second, we’ll see you in a little bit. You can tell us if our families are alive in person.”

“Goddamit. We will destroy your ship, Harbstrom.”

“We will not respond to any further communications until we know if our families are alright,” she said. The line went dead.

Butterfly Life Raft No. 2 - 44,000 feet from Lunar Station

Anxiety and confidence swirled in Harbstrom’s stomach. She knew in her core that Harada wouldn’t destroy the Raft. Nevogen would crucify him, publicly. He’d buckle. He would have to buckle.

A tiny voice in her head wondered, “What if he doesn’t?”

Butterfly Life Raft No. 2 - 42,000 feet from Lunar Station

Harada was trying not to scream.

“You must not progress further. We will launch missiles in three minutes. Break from your current course or we will take lethal action. Harbstrom, Lister, I do not want this blood on my hands but I will kill you.”

Still, the Raft floated forward.

Butterfly Life Raft No. 2 - 40,001 feet from Lunar Station

“Harbstrom, Lister, O’Brian, Coakley and Parfit, your children are alive,” Harada said.

The Raft stopped at 37,000 feet.

Harada’s officers taught Harbstrom how to reverse the autopilot, guiding the Raft back to Butterfly. A platoon of security officers awaited them. All seven Life Raft hijackers were imprisoned aboard the Butterfly. None of them were told the truth about their families, partly because that information was not yet publicly available, and partly because Harada didn’t want to put them on suicide watch.

So, he would let them live in their comfortable fantasy for another week. Harbstrom was sure she’d bested him, called his bluff. Her chest was puffed as they stowed her away. She all but spit in Lusida’s face, his crew told him.

Let her have the tiny victories, Harada said. Her world was over. She was living on borrowed time. Time gifted to her by Harada.

Time was not a gift Harada enjoyed in abundance. Nevogen was sending a representative to meet with him in the afternoon. They wished to discuss HU12, obviously, but the “incident” aboard the Butterfly as well. Disasters come in three, Harada’s mother used to say, and her trite adage was proving painfully accurate.

The negotiation team prepared several conciliatory gestures: extended work hours, reduced rations, an increased Nevogen security presence on the Station. In an emergency, they could offer the Butterfly hijackers as prisoners. Their lives were already over, Harada thought. The good of the Station comes first.

Nevogen’s representative was tall, she towered over Harada. She wore her hair in a tight ponytail and her skin seemed to glow under the Station’s LEDs. Her face was mathematically perfect, Harada could think to describe it in no other way. Her cheek bones were high and sharp. The nose was Greek, the eyes a shallow blue. Harada was simultaneously repulsed by her and desperately attracted to her. But such was the case with all Modifieds.

When they gathered in the Nevogen office, she gracefully folded herself into the wing chair. Without speaking, she opened a file and flipped through the pages. Her eyes glowed as she absorbed the pages, pupils flying over lines of text. She reached the end, flipped the folder over, and then stared at Harada.

“This is disappointing,” she said. “Last month’s incident and now…this.”

Harada held her stare, but his innards were a tangled mess. “I understand Nevogen’s feelings on this, but the incidents were unrelated and out of our control.”

“You’re commander of this station, yes?”

“I am, but…”

“Then, what are you in control of? My impression was nothing could happen here without you knowing.”

“That is technically true.”

“Please, continue. I luxuriate in technicalities.”

“I am aware of all official activity on this Station and the vast majority of the unofficial activity as well. It is unreasonable to expect any person to track and control 82,000 people.”

“Fewer than that now, I’d think. If we’re being technical.”

Harada grimaced. “We acknowledge that mistakes were made. We are prepared to offer recompensation.”

The Nevogen representative smiled. Her teeth were Oxford white and perfectly apportioned. The smirk created two miniscule dimples in her cheeks. She looked feline, Harada thought.

“Yes, let’s talk recompensation. We’ve lost quite a bit of valuable property and production time.”

Harada laid out the plan and then summarized, “That’s a 15 percent productivity increase, a 20-percent reduction in off-clock work and an 18-percent reduction in rations.”

The Nevogen rep tapped her fingers on the arms of her chair and leaned back. She regarded Harada from above, like a child examining an insect through a magnifying glass.

“We will require the increase in productivity, but will not reduce rations. Off-work hours are variable based on performance to the productivity plan.”

This was unexpected. Nevogen never declined an opening salvo by countering lower. Harada should’ve been relieved but all he felt was a bubbling anxiety. A trap lurked in the distance and he could not see it.

“We agree to those measures, of course.”

She nodded. “You have no choice.”

“Yes, it’s just an expression.”

The Nevogen representative did not respond. She turned to the wall and Harada took this as his cue to leave. He rose from the chair, trying not to make eye contact with her. He made it to the door before she spoke again.

“Harada. Sit down. I have not dismissed you.”

The commander returned to his chair. He tried to control his breathing, he tried to focus on inhaling and exhaling, but his heart rate was escalating.

“We are imposing one other term.”

This was about the Life Raft, he was sure of it. They would want the crew. Maybe he could spare most of them. Serve up Lister and Harbstrom as ringleaders marching wailing farmers and miners to their death. It might spare the five. It might save a few lives.

Failing that, maybe he could talk them into prison sentences. Short-term stints on one of the distant asteroids. The Life Rafters were middle-aged, at best, and none of them were likely to survive those conditions, not for long, but it might buy them some time. One or two of them might persevere. It was unlikely, but it was something.

“This Station has suffered two incidents in two months. You claim they are unrelated. We are less certain. We believe there is an…insurgency…forming here.”

“That’s absurd. One bomb doesn't make an insurgency. It's one lunatic. It could have been a suicide bomber. There's no insurgency. That's irrational.”

“It is not. Statistical analysis suggests the likelihood of an organized rebellion on this Station is 63 percent. That is far too high. We must quell this now.”

“There is no insurgency. There is no organized rebellion. It's one man. The rest of these people just want to live. They just want to do their work and go home and survive another day. They know they can’t fight Nevogen,” Harada’s voice was shaky.

“They cannot fight Nevogen. We agree. They must know that. Yet, you must know, hope deludes. We suspect a few instigators are stirring discontent among the populace. If we can neutralize the source of the infection, we might stop the spread,” the Nevogen rep was not talking to Harada any more than she was lecturing the air. She spoke for the benefit of hearing herself talk, Harada thought.

“There is no spread. There’s nothing spreading. You’re not listening to me.”

“If we do not stop the spread, we will terminate the entire station and start again.”

Harada fell silent. Nevogen had destroyed spacecraft, even abandoned a still-populated asteroid mine, but the Lunar Station was the second largest colony of humans remaining in the Milky Way. Moving against the entire Station was unfathomable.

“Are you threatening to kill 82,000 people? To destroy the base?”

“We wouldn’t destroy the base, Harada. The base is valuable. We've invested heavily in the technology at work here. We would merely exterminate the residents. It would be unpleasant, of course. Your people have been laboring here for generations.”

“That’s insane. That’s fucking insane. You can’t wipe these people out. This is their home. There’s not even enough humans left in the universe to…”

“Re-seeding the Station has never been attempted, but we believe it is possible. We are developing several promising technologies.”

“What do you want from me? What do I have to do?”

Another smile. “Three people. You will name three instigators. If you truly don’t know who they are, find out. If you do, reveal them to us.”

“You want me to give you three people to send to the mines? You want me to condemn three people to death on one of your asteroids?”

She giggled. The noise horrified Harada. “You’ve misunderstood. You will name three people. Then, you will execute them in the Courtyard. Their executions will be broadcast. You will carry out the executions yourself.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Then we will move forward with our plans to re-seed this Station.”

Harada pictured his watercolor, the frame chipped, the canvas frayed around the mountain peak.

“How long do I have?”

“Two weeks. I will return in two weeks to observe the executions.”

Harada remained motionless in the chair.

“Now, you are dismissed.”