I pick every ripe strawberry I can find, peeling apart frilly-edged leaves to find the juiciest ones hidden underneath the vines, and pinching away dead leaves to make sure all the plants have enough room to grow. My fingers are stained pink by the time I’m done.
I have to resist the urge to eat them all there and then. Instead I eat handfuls of sugar snap peas and radishes and runner beans. The tomatoes are almost turning red, so it shouldn’t be long before I can make fresh tomato soup.
I think I’ll change the light cycle of some containers from summer to autumn. I can harvest the broccoli. Maybe the Brussels sprouts. I’m trying to grow some bonsai trees, so they’ll shed their leaves in the autumn cycle. I’ve always wanted to see crispy red leaves fall to the ground and try crunching them under my shoes.
Neither of my parents were really interested in gardening, so I took responsibility for the sun room as soon as I was old enough to understand how not to drown the plants. I loved the strange, waxy texture of the leaves, and how plants could be so fragile and strong all at once. It’s difficult to imagine the precious organisms spreading across an entire planet without anyone to take care of them. Somehow they survive on mountains and in deserts and underwater without any defences.
I take my harvest back to the kitchen and microwave the strawberries until they’re soft and hot, then pour in a whole bag of sugar. I can only find a dessert spoon to stir the mixture with, so I have to keep dropping it when my fingers get too close to the jam and start to burn. The smell of the molten fruit gives me hiccups.
I microwave the mixture again, bending over to look through the window at the rolling red liquid. My mouth starts watering, just imagining the taste. I try to ignore the hiccups, which won’t go away.
It’s only when the jam is ready that I realize I don’t have any jars. I pour the hot liquid into my mugs, lining them up on the worktop, and cut circles out of old food cartons to press down into the surface of each. I’ll probably eat it pretty quickly, anyway. I can drink from a bowl until then.
I lie upside down on the sofa and gulp down water, pinching my nose, but the hiccups persevere.
Unable to resist, I eat four spoonfuls of jam straight from the mug. It’s so hot that I scald my tongue, in a way that means I won’t be able to taste anything for days. It gets rid of the hiccups, though.
And finally, finally, I feel a little better. I can do this. I can survive alone until Molly finds a way to speak to me again. I believe in her. It won’t be long. She won’t give up until she’s fought everyone who tries to stand between us. She’s going to come back to me.
DAYS UNTIL THE ETERNITY ARRIVES:
354
When I check my inbox for messages, it’s still empty.
Determined to ignore it, I force myself to do some studying. When Dad was alive, we used to spend hours training while he taught me everything that an astronaut could possibly need to know. I was getting quite good, for an eleven year old.
Back then it didn’t matter that I didn’t know everything, because if there had been an emergency, Dad would have dealt with it. If it was a good day, my mother might have helped too.
Now that it really does matter, I find it harder to focus. I pull up some astrophysics problems and read the first question.
A twin leaves Earth on a spaceship of mass 3 x 10² kg, which is travelling at a speed that an Earth-based observer measures to be +0.600c. After the spaceship has been travelling for 8 light years, the second twin departs Earth in a faster spaceship travelling at a speed of +0.750c, as measured by an Earth-based observer.
According to the theory of special relativity, what is the difference between their ages when they arrive at a planet 27 light years away from Earth?
Immediately I know what I’m supposed to do. I can barely write fast enough to keep up with my brain, scribbling down time dilation equations and drawing diagrams of the forces, masses and accelerations involved.
I get swept up in the joy of stretching myself, of being able to feel just how clever my brain can be sometimes. When I look at a problem and immediately know what to do, it feels like I’m flying. Sometimes I have dreams about doing maths, just because that feeling is so wonderful.
But then, as always, I start criticizing myself. A voice in my head tells me that I don’t know what I’m doing, that nothing I’ve written is right. I start panicking that really I’m not clever at all. I know, deep down, that if there was ever an actual emergency where I needed to use this stuff, my mind would go blank. I wouldn’t be able to do it. My brain would jam, clogged up with that imaginary pressure and fear.
It’s been like this ever since Dad died. I just … stopped studying. I couldn’t – and wouldn’t – learn this stuff without him. When NASA found out, Molly was put on my case to restart my training.
It’s amazing how quickly the advanced astrophysics dropped out of my mind. I’m learning things now that I used to know – things that Dad made sound so easy to eleven-year-old Romy. But now, I’m always finding fault with myself. I usually just look up the answer at the end of the textbook. It’s frustrating.
I’m erasing my failed calculations when a notification in the corner of the screen catches my eye. My heart skips a beat. A message is coming in.
I open the program for the detector, unable to resist watching the data packet arrive at the transponder. I need to know. Is it from The Eternity or Earth? Please, please, please let it be Earth. Let it be Molly.
The message trickles in, fragments at a time.
From: NASA Earth Sent: 02/07/2065
To: The Infinity Received: 08/03/2067
TRANS [Message incomplete]
I jiggle my knee, wishing I could hurry it up.
TRANSMISSIONS [Message incomplete]
I should go and do something while I wait, instead of sitting here watching it, but the scared feeling won’t go away. Something important is happening, and I can’t make myself look away from the screen.
TRANSMISSIONS POSTPONED. WA [Message incomplete]
Transmissions postponed? Again?
R ON EARTH. [Message incomplete]
War on Earth. There’s a war happening on Earth? I wait for more, but that’s it. That’s the whole message.
From: NASA Earth Sent: 02/07/2065
To: The Infinity Received: 08/03/2067
TRANSMISSIONS POSTPONED. WAR ON EARTH.
MOLLY
How could a war stop her from communicating with me? I wrap my arms around my chest, gnawing at a sore spot on the inside of my cheek where I’ve torn the skin from chewing at it. It would heal up if I left it alone, but I know I won’t. I’ll prod and rub at it until it’s sore and inflamed.
Molly said that international disputes meant that NASA weren’t allowed to use the DSN antennas to communicate with me. If a full-scale war has broken out, it must be stopping NASA from accessing the antennas at all.
I’m itching for more information, desperate to know just what is happening on Earth. What kind of war is it? Will there be actual fighting, or is this just a political stalemate?
I sit at the helm for hours, staring at the detector and hoping to see even a single letter more. But there’s nothing. War has started on Earth, and I’ve been cut off.
What do I do next?