Sci fi / Fantasy novel in progress - Draft Chapter 1

Man had been to the moon. Been and come back, been again and had come back bored, convinced that there were more exciting sandpits to play in and more challenging amusements to spend its money on. At least, that was what the media and politicians had suggested. Looking at the shuttles – their paint peeling, rust growing around their hatches, the embodiment of abandonment and weary – Andy has to remind himself that two hundred years ago when Neil Armstrong had first landed on the dusty, dry satellite orbiting Earth, human beings had never before reached that far. He tries to imagine that drive into the unknown, the certainty that the answers were there, in the black void, in the astronomical theories, in the hunks of metal that look so frighteningly fragile. He wants to be that eager, that sure, that adventurous. He’d even settle for watching someone else, anyone else, step up and follow such dreams.

Glancing around him, Andy steps over the thin red rope that stops observers getting too close to the old space-faring engines. There is no-one else around but still his heart is beating faster than he’s ever known, the thrill of doing something against the rules a heady rush to the head. It’s the largest risk he has ever taken in his life and it almost makes him laugh to think what Neil, Buzz and the others would have said if they knew that’s what their giant leap would lead to.

“One small step for Andrew McDonald, one giant leap for historians everywhere”, he mutters to himself, clamping his hand over his mouth to stop the sudden ripple of giggles threatening to burst out of him. He’s drawn to the shuttles as if by magnet and reaches out a shaking hand to run fingertips along cool, solid metal. There is a thin layer of dust on his fingers when he lifts them away. Andy just breathes it all in, trying to consign the moment to memory; let it sink into his mind and body that he has finally achieved his dream. This is real history – technology and development, dreams and adventures and the human race living to its full potential. For just a few seconds wishes he had lived in those times instead of just studying them. But as much as he is fascinated by the golden age of space travel he knows he would never have survived then, let alone made it anywhere near NASA. Although a student of the twentieth century, he is very much a man of his own. So dependent on the crutches and protection that his own time gives him that he takes them for granted, but not enough to know he would not cope without them.

The media call the mid twenty-second century humankind’s greatest hour, the realization of all it could ever want. No war, no hunger, no poverty, entertainment for all, knowledge for all and a fair and democratic system of leadership across the seven multi-nations of Europe, America, Africa, New Australia, the Chinese-Japan Empire, the Middle-East People’s Republic and New Zion. Andy knows he should be grateful to live in such a wonderful age but he can’t help but wonder what will come next, where else there is for the human race to go if this is the best they can do.

His sister, Marie, thinks he’s crazy, and takes every opportunity to proclaim how thankful she is that their parents didn’t live to see their only son waste his life dreaming up at the empty stars. Andy’s parents both worked for the government. His father, a tall man with a shock of thick, white hair, wrote traffic regulations, approving more and more highways so that the risk of accidents lessened as the time it took people to travel anywhere grew and grew. His mother, according to Marie, used to be a records clerk. Before she stopped work and concentrated on her family. Marie says that’s where Andy gets his love of documents from, and only wishes he used it for something useful like Mama did. Like many couples, Andy’s parents had a career first and a family later, when they could both afford to keep them clothed, fed and safe and still have many years left. They had died quite young of one of the few remaining genetic disorders still not treatable, at the age of eighty-five and eighty-eight respectively, but satisfied that they had done their best by their children who were by that time in their thirties and building their own careers.

Even the other historians at the university where he lectures think he’s lost his mind. They want to focus on recent history – the beginning of the golden era. Their eyes glaze over when Andy attempts to explain over cups of uncaffeinated, unsweetened coffee-flavoured water drink in the staffroom that there could be more than one golden age. They just tell him to get a hair-cut and some clothes that didn’t go out of fashion in the 2140s. Andy thinks his hair is reminiscent of Albert Einstein’s, and his wardrobe of a classic style that will never go out of fashion. Martin, Paul and George just laugh before asking who Einstein is and then giving up on conversing and going to get another coffee-flavoured drink and a non-fat, non-sugar, non-dairy, organic cocoa bar. Andy hates the stuff and instead spends his lunch-hours reading files of old history books and journals. He longs for someone to share his interests. He longs for excitement, although he’s getting worried that he wouldn’t know what to do with it if he suddenly encountered some.

He remembers reading in an old science journal that belonged to his grandfather that this place was once an air-hanger in what was once NASA command. Andy is surrounded by walls in faded white paint, huge windows and a high ceiling. It’s one of the highest ceilings Andy’s ever seen, what with the trend for high-rise towers and sky-scrappers tailing off a few decades ago in order to curtail possible suicide attempts. Although the historic Empire State building still exists the public are only allowed inside after making an appointment with the Branson-Maxwell Corporation – who own half of America, Europe and New Australia. Andy has heard that only the richest and most influential people are given the chance of obtaining an appointment to be shown around the tallest building in the world. Amazing to hear on a documentary that it used to be open to all, people using it as a meeting place and, occasionally a last resting place. The current Presidents of BMC followed the film up with a self-congratulatory announcement on how such events would never again be able to happen. Instead, low-rise, compact and cozy apartments took their place, each room designed to give occupants just enough space without too much – more effective heat and power consumption within a well-maintained safety zone. Andy was sick of hearing about safety zones. Had humans always had this desire for safety, he wonders. He can’t remember a time when that wasn’t the governments’ catch-word. All the governments, finally united over what they maintained was best for their citizens.

Marie often asks him, eyes narrowed and lips pursued, if he would prefer to live in a dangerous society such their grandparents and great-grandparents had to endure, and would he really wish that for his niece and nephew. How insensitive is he? Matthew and Simone sneer at him as they wander past into Maries’ optimum-sized living room, sitting down to plug themselves into Sony’s latest virtual reality console. He knows that his niece and nephew despise him even more than their mother does, so why should he care about them? Feeling particularly bitter, he remarks, “shouldn’t they be doing their homework?” Marie gazes adoringly at her off-spring and spouts the jingle from Sony’s latest advertisement that the Sony VR 247360 enables children to safely and happily play and learn at the same time. They don’t even have to leave the house now, with lessons uploaded into each day’s transmissions. Marie believes it’s incredible and wishes the technology existed when she was a child, rather than them having to go and sit in a hall everyday and watch a teacher download the information onto their heavy, bulky portable electronic learning hubs. So great are the functions of the VR 247360 that Marie firmly believes that no other entertainment or learning tool will ever be needed. Andy nods wearily, having heard this argument many, many times. His own university supports the move to using the VR 247360 within higher education, the majority of the staff not even minding that it will put them out of a job. Several have told Andy of their plans to give up standing in front of a room of students, pushing buttons as the pre-scheduled downloads are zapped into tinier and tinier portable learning hubs. Once again, Andy can’t help but ask what will happen when there is no need for further development, further experimentation and learning. Will the human race just grow fatter and fatter plugged safely into Sony VR 27360s all day everyday? His colleagues shrug and say they’d be perfectly happy with that, it would keep the little buggers quiet.

Now, out in the open, under blue sky and a piercing hot, yellow sun, Andy feels some sense of escape. He doesn’t know what to do with it yet but knows this is so much better for him than sitting in the university all day. He fishes a small, white tube out of his trouser pockets and applies another layer of sunblock, aware that the UV rays can reach him even through the building’s windows. At the entrance of the museum there is a rusty barrier and a scribbled sign in red ink saying a guard is available to take your 100 credits between 10:00 and 12:00; outside of those times visitors are requested to leave the money in a tin. Today only a couple of flies sit in that square, plastic box, and the barrier looks as if it was mangled years ago. Andy squeezed in, not leaving any money but is now beginning to feel guilty that he didn’t pay. He also has to acknowledge that he would pay much, much more if he knew it would actually be spent on maintaining the museum. But it would take more than his whole savings, he fears, to get the once magnificent engines back to the gleaming, perfectly engineered missiles they once were.

He quickly steps back over the red rope, onto the law-abiding side of the barrier, quietly marvelling that he even risked that. No-one is around. The museum, if you could call it that – more like an empty hall that no-body had any real use for anymore so it became a place to dump unwanted junk and broken objects – is absolutely deserted. But the rockets and shuttles aren’t junk, and may be broken but in his mind’s eye, reflected through a lifetime of spending money on obscure writings and photos, Andy can picture how shiny and new and powerful they once were. The force of all that history, all that adventure and exploration is right in front of him, relegated to a practically abandoned building outside a town with a population of less than five hundred, in the middle of the North American Region on a road that sees maybe ten cars a day. Andy thinks back to his journey here, so much longer than the ten hour drive from New New York. He vaguely remembers threatening to quit his job when his manager refused him the time off to make the trip. Professor Morris just shook his head, calmly informed Andy that he would never do that and that if he made the trip he shouldn’t bother coming back. His job feels a million miles away and he can’t even remember what he would usually be teaching at this time on a Monday afternoon. This is much more important, meaningful, and Andy plans to stand staring at the shuttles in the Museum of Space Flight History until he knows exactly why and what is to come next.

It is late afternoon when Andy finally leaves the Space Flight History Museum. Unable to face the four-hour journey back through artificially-lit tunnels and superhighways he instead decides to take one of the old interstate roads. He gazes warily up at the gradually dimming sun, knowing how strong its rays still are. Maybe he’s mad to stay out he thinks, but it seems to suit the day and he needs more time before he returns to his everyday life. His car – a blue metallic four-door M-B Carrier 2 – was a birthday present from Marie on one of the few years they were close and is old and responds sluggishly even when Andy pushes buttons as firmly as he can. But it has lasted so far, gliding along the highways better than usual this morning to get him to his much-anticipated destination. Two hours into the trip back, through half-abandoned towns and past old-fashioned shopping malls, he decides to give both himself and the car a break. Up ahead is a tiny B-M-I, its familiar giant red B and M bringing a smile to Andy’s face despite his dislike of the corporation. It’s just about the smallest Murdoch-Branson Inn he’s ever seen but like all BM products, inside it’s the same as any other.

Behind the counter a woman a few years younger than Andy is idly scanning through a fashion disc. At Andy’s tentative “excuse me” she looks up, staring at him as if shocked to see anyone standing here and Andy smiles sheepishly at her, somehow needing to reassure her that just because he’s stuck in the middle of nowhere he’s still a decent person. Her name-badge says Maggie and as her BM training kicks in she flashes him an insincere sunny smile and asks him to enter his name in a practically empty registration book. Andy desperately tries to think of something to say but all he can manage is “it’s quiet around here, isn’t it?” to which Maggie blinks and drawls “uh-huh” before telling him to have a great stay and focusing her attention back on her disc. “You too” he replies before scuttering away to avoid seeing her shake her head at his idiocy.

The tiny window in Andy’s room looks out onto the car-park and the highway beyond. It’s starting to get dark and the faint image of the moon can be seen against an orange sky, growing more vivid as the sun gets lower in the sky. It’s a clear night and Andy has a clear view, thanks he knows, to being away from the lights and pollution that still plague the cities despite the new laws against toxic emissions. The moon hangs there, large, white and almost full. Otherworldly is the word that comes to Andy’s mind and he laughs at how that is both an entirely accurate and inaccurate description. It is indeed another world, he acknowledges to himself, but that information is useless unless they actually go there once more, discover more about what otherworldly really means. He knows that there are discs growing dusty in library storage systems with images from the space flights. Real images of the moon, the planets, stars – everything that was still out there waiting to be studied further. All just lying abandoned and forgotten. Somewhere up there, he recalls, there may still be an old American flag, just waiting for them to go and find it.

Andy stands there by the window, losing all track of time, as he wonders whether the shuttle launches could have once been seen from here. Now there is only dust and gravel, dirty roads signs that almost scream ‘why aren’t you taking the Superhighways’. Sighing and asking himself what he’s doing here he turns to study the room. He has no answer and even begins to worry that the day’s sun has got to him. The carpet is red and brown with faint imprints of the angular BM logo. The bed is smaller than Andy’s own but looks comfortable enough, and there stands a small plastic cabinet next to it. The bathroom is just large enough for toilet, sink and shower but it’s clean. Kicking off his shoes, Andy lies on the bed, placing his bag next to him and reaching inside for his journal. He begins to write his impressions of the shuttles and rockets, desperate not too lose them before committing them to disc. As the light from outside fades completely all Andy can hear is the rhythmic tapping of his own keystrokes.