I trace my fingers over the edge of the sofa, where the shaky letters of my name are carved. I don’t remember doing it, but it must have been me.
On the underside of my bunk in my bedroom, where it folds into the wall, there are pen marks in permanent marker showing my height, with my age neatly written next to them in Dad’s meticulous handwriting.
The last time he measured me, he shook his head sadly. When I asked him what was wrong, all panicked that I was getting shorter instead of taller, he said he was worried that soon I’d be taller than him; that then I’d be the one in charge of getting things down from the top shelves.
Dad showed me how to plot my height on a graph in my maths lessons, making me work out how tall I would be when I was thirteen or sixteen or twenty, based on the graph’s prediction.
The real measurements stop at age eleven, because after that Dad wasn’t here to measure me any more. I don’t know if our predictions on the graph were right or not.
I wonder if Molly would be the kind of person to track my height, if she were here. I wonder what she’s doing right now.
That night I dream of Molly and Dad and my mother. All three of them hug me, their arms wrapped tightly around me. Their hair touches mine, and I can feel the heat of their skin, warm and comforting. I feel the tension in my muscles drop away. I’m so relieved they’re here that tears well up in the corners of my eyes.
My mother is the first to leave. She strokes my cheek, and then turns and walks away. I call for her, reach out to try and grab her arm, but she ignores me. She tugs Dad, pulling him away from me before he can even say goodbye.
I bury my face in Molly’s chest, heaving sobs that have turned cold and sharp and painful. I cling to her, and at first she holds me tight, humming calmly into my ear. Then the astronauts appear and start to surround us. I hold on tighter, but they tug her away from me.
I spin round, searching for Molly. I’m in a dark room, and there are eyes in the darkness. I can hear breathing. I can feel warmth on my skin as the astronauts slide past me.
I back away, bumping into something soft and sticky and slick. Everywhere I turn they are coming for me, pressing in closer until I’m surrounded by the stench of their rotting corpses.
I duck, trying to escape, but there are too many of them – hundreds and hundreds – burying me under their brittle limbs and— I’m alone in my bed. They’re peering through the portholes at me. They stare like they want to know why I couldn’t save them; why I didn’t help them; why I’m not good enough.
I wake up gasping for breath, shuddering in horror.
I thought I’d stopped dreaming about the astronauts. I thought the nightmares had ended years ago. I thought I was free.
DAYS UNTIL THE ETERNITY ARRIVES:
358
It’s been four days and there still haven’t been any emails from Molly. After dinner I access the detector’s software to see if a message is being processed, but there’s nothing. No laser transmissions have been detected from Earth for over ninety-six hours.
I’ve never seen it so quiet in my entire life.
I chew on the inside of my cheek, worrying at a loose piece of skin.
What is going to happen if the DSN antennas don’t come back under NASA control? Is it possible that Molly might never be able to send me a message again – just because of politics?
I sit on my bunk, twisting my fringe between my fingers. I try to tell myself that Molly will be in touch tomorrow, that there’s no need to panic. Whatever political disputes stopped Molly from sending me a message, they happened more than a year and a half ago on Earth! They will definitely be fixed by now.
It doesn’t help.
I curl up in bed and watch Loch & Ness through half-closed eyes, trying to quell the feeling that something terrible is happening. I’ve got the half-real fear that creeps up on you in the middle of the night, making you think that there’s a monster in your room. The kind that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. But, unlike a monster, it doesn’t go away when I pull the duvet over my head.
I’m being ridiculous, I know I am.
It’s just one day. What does it matter if Molly doesn’t talk to me for one day more than she promised? I can look after myself. I don’t need her constant reassurance. I’m not a baby any more; I’m a grown-up now.
DAYS UNTIL THE ETERNITY ARRIVES:
357
Another day without any messages from Earth.
I sit and stare at my inbox, eyes glazing over until the screen turns into a blur of blank white space. I tug on the hairs on my arms, pulling them out of my skin one by one, focusing on the tiny sting as each one tears free. I blow on the hair littering the table, watching it scatter across the floor.
I wish I could punch something without setting off four dozen alarms and an evacuation protocol.
Eventually I decide to open up the flight simulator and practise landing the ship on the new planet to try and get rid of some nervous energy. The program is a 3D orbital gravity model built by NASA and based on the planetary mapping of Earth II. It simulates the ship’s entry into the atmosphere and its descent and landing.
I run the simulation twice, bringing The Infinity down gently on a sandy alien hillock, plumes of orange dust curling up around the hull. A tiny simulated astronaut steps out onto the dusty planet, pushing a flag into the ground and raising both hands in the air triumphantly.
It’s supposed to be me, but I can’t imagine ever acting like that. More likely, I’d land the ship and then sleep for three days while I worked up the courage to even look out of a porthole.
The simulation is easy. Apparently it gets harder and harder, but I haven’t put in enough hours to get to the advanced levels yet, when the flight simulator will expand into a planetary exploration system.
I’m happy to stick with this, for now. I really don’t want to learn all the extra things I should be worrying about just yet – like growing crops in uncultured soil, or building houses or raising farm animals. The thought of landing is more than enough.
Plus, the flying simulation really is fun.
DAYS UNTIL THE ETERNITY ARRIVES:
355
Today I decide I need to do something other than staring at my empty inbox in my pyjamas, hair and stomach in knots. Molly always tells me that keeping busy is the best way to stop worrying. Instead, for the last few days I’ve been sitting around grinding my teeth in blind despair.
I need to push away some of my negative thoughts and just get on with my life.
I think I’m going to make jam.
First, I need to pick some strawberries from the sun room, which is part of the science labs. I don’t really go in the labs much, unless the computer forces me to do some kind of check. But the sun room is my favourite exception.
It’s not really a sun room – that’s just what Dad used to call it, because when I was little I got confused about how photosynthesis and UV radiation worked, and why plants could grow in space.
It’s actually just a lot of plants in a nutrient solution, sitting under an array of lights. The plants are an ongoing source of seeds to add to the seed bank, ready to grow in the newly created soil of Earth II.
Gardening is also officially endorsed by NASA as being good for astronauts’ mental health – which I can confirm. Plants are easy and uncomplicated in a soothing, reassuring way. They just want light and air, and the containers do a lot of the work adjusting the water and nutrient and aeration levels. I get to enjoy the benefits without the pressure of something else relying on me for survival. The fresh produce is also a bonus.