"Anything else, Jim?" Something about Sarah's British accent always cheered Jim up.

"Well, I guess I could go on, but you are right. This is worth it." Sarah lifted one corner of her mouth in her characteristic wry half smile, half frown as she looked across the cafeteria table at Jim Baker, Ph.D., doctor of botany, microbiology, and a musician. All of them had made the choice, without hesitation, and if they had it to do all over again, they would make the same one. But there were still things that they missed about home, about Earth. Sarah's long and close friendship with Jim attuned her to how he was feeling - homesick and a little worn out from the work schedule.

"Actually, I think I'm just feeling a bit on the depressed side today," he said somewhat apologetically.

"That's out of the ordinary," she said sincerely, looking concerned. Jim was always a cheerful person - always. "Come on. Let's get our morning's exercise. Have to prevent the calcium loss, you know."

"Yeah, I have a lot to do today." He was feeling better already, she could tell. "In fact, I am really happy about our progress. Colby is turning out much better than I ever hoped." Colby was their nickname for the first lunar base - a reference to old legends about the composition of the Moon. Someone had said it once, and it got a few chuckles, but the name stuck. As Jim always said, a hell of a lot better than Lunar One -- that bureaucratic unimaginative label. It always reminded him of the funding that was rerouted from the military, for which many defense contractors were eternally not quite so grateful.

After their workout with the "day" crew, Sarah went on to supervise the construction of the solar power and communications array, while Jim suited up, and hopped over to the hydroponics lab.

"Hal, Mark. How are you today? I see you guys are working early."

"Hey, Jim," they chorused through the suit radios. The bright blue arcs of their welding paused as they looked up. Hal continued, "We were really excited about finishing up today, and being able to pressurize it."

"Yeah," said Mark. "I'm really looking forward to some fresh food. These starter rations are really beginning to get a little passé. Pull up a torch."

"OK." Each of them had degrees in some form of botany or plant biology, and their common interests threw them together as constant companions. The small numbers of initial colony personnel also meant that each had to be both scientist and laborer, plus a few more odd jobs. Most found the variety refreshing. It took the three of them four hours to complete the last section of the dome and the connecting tunnel to the colony seeder, welding and then testing the seal along each centimeter of seam. When finished, they looked up at each other, eyes wide in anticipation, grinning like happy children.

"Best two out of three?" said Jim. The others nodded. Jim and Hal faced off, bringing one fist into the other palm. "Paper, scissors, rock!" said Jim. At the word rock, his right had was formed in a fist, with two fingers extended. Hal's right hand was flat in his left palm. Scissors cuts paper, so Jim won the first round. His second choice was paper, and Hal's was a rock. Paper covers rock. One down, one to go.

Mark was more of a challenge. He won one, lost the next, and they tied the next three. Finally, Mark won. He let out a whoop, flipped his suit radio to station-wide address, and said, "Attention, attention! All personnel, please report to the airlock at Botany Lab One. We have a special announcement. And do not suit up, repeat, do not suit up." He returned the radio to Team 1 position, and said, "Sorry, them's the breaks."

"That's all right," said Jim, laughing, and gave Mark a tap on the shoulder. "Let's get ready."

After a few minutes, fifteen people were assembled inside the airlock, another two had arrived from their experiments from Outside. Everyone was excited. A few video cameras were aimed at the airlock, and beyond in the tunnel which Jim, Mark and Hal had already entered.

"Mission Control, are you with us?" Mark queried into the transmitter in his helmet. They waited uncomfortably until Houston had a chance to respond. They still found the delay in communications disconcerting.

Finally, the radio crackled, and the voice of Tom McNay, Mission Commander said elatedly, "We're with you! This is a great day in history! Well, what are you waiting for? Do it!"

Mark cleared his throat. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have the pleasure to announce the opening of the new botanical wing, hereby christened Shelby Gardens, the eighth wonder of humanity, and the first of this world!" Everyone clapped, and a few groaned at Mark's theatrics. All of them chuckled with nervous excitement, grinning in anticipation.

Reaching behind himself, Mark pulled out a bottle of champagne, and swung it against the metal girder that ran up, around and down to define the airlock. Millions of glass fragments and instantly-frozen bits of champagne floated through the light lunar gravity, floating unrealistically to the ground. More cheering. He reached into the conduit panel, and completed the circuit. Lights came on all over the access tube, and inside the large dome. "Lights are on, Houston." More cheering. He closed the panel, opened another marked "Atmosphere," and turned the valve. A hissing sound filled the space around them, as mist from the condensed moisture of the released air spouted into the vacuum that filled the newly completed structure. Droplets of water condensed on the inside of the transparent polymer that enclosed Shelby Gardens, as he closed the access panel.

Finally, the gauge indicated full atmospheric pressure, and the hum of ventilation kicked in. "Dome is pressurized." The silence following that statement was almost uncomfortable as they waited for the next. About a minute later, "Yeehaw! No pressure loss!" With more grins, and glances at each other, Mark, Hal and Jim reached up, and took off their helmets. Wild cheering ensued, and the colonists embraced each other, rushing to open the airlock and be the first in the new section. Their breaths plumed in the cold air, but that was slowly warming.

After the celebration had died down, they hurried back to their tasks. Mark, Jim and Hal were like three children in a new playground, taking fertilizers, soils, plants and seeds out of storage. They arranged everything according to the layout. The layout was brilliant - practicality mixed with aesthetics and a bit of artistry. When the plants grew and bloomed, it truly would be a beautiful garden, full of fruits, vegetables and various plants. Not only would it provide food, but it would aid in the processing of atmosphere.

* * *

A few weeks later, Jim, Sarah, Fadia Shagatta, Mimbe N'guta, and Jan Beckermann were sitting at the cafeteria table eating breakfast and discussing their latest findings. As they talked, a television screen in the background spouted the latest news from CNN. Of the twenty people living in Colby, these five were the closest friends. Jan, a German physicist, was gesturing excitedly as he talked. Spittle kept forming at the corner of his mouth, which he wiped away with his sleeve at points that punctuated his conversation.

"I have found some amazing properties with the rocks and soil here, that will have many implications throughout industries." Wipe. "In fact, Jim, I think you will find it quite helpful for growing your plants."

"Really? I would like to take up this discussion with you in the Gardens. Perhaps we could have a meeting at oh nine hundred?"

"Ist gut. I will see you there."

Fadia was about to speak, when something about the tone of the news announcer caused her to turn her head. As director of the lunar base, she prided herself in keeping her awareness of many things at once. Sometimes this drove Jim crazy, because she would seem distracted, and he would trail off, only to have her return her attention and ask why he had stopped. But now, they all turned to the TV screen, and Fadia said, "Computer, volume normal."

"...in this development. President Nesbitt agreed to have the US troops join in a multinational UN peacekeeping force to force Saddam Hussein into complying with the UN resolution and UNSCOM. Like his forebear of the same name, Hussein says he is determined to demonstrate that Iraq is not afraid to use its nuclear arsenal to prove that, quote, the forces of Islam can stand up to the imperial superpowers who are hungry for dictatorial control of the supposedly weak Arab nations, unquote. Iraqi spokesman Hamas Al-Fazi said that his country will no longer tolerate intervention in its sovereign affairs, and threatened to take drastic action if their demands are not met. Saudi Arabia has indicated that it wishes to stay out of this conflict, and ITN correspondent Frances Lebourgeuois has this report."

"President Gamada Alli of Saudi Arabia, known for his anti-American sentiments, is yet mindful of the close relationship his country has had in the past with the United States. Although pro-American sentiments have waned in the past decade, there is still a strong faction protesting the government's policies. However, their protests have been savagely suppressed, as the fundamentalist government continues to claim that the protesters are the vast minority. President Alli has declined an interview with CNN, but has issued this statement:

"Although I have no ill will toward President Nesbitt and the United States, still the Islamic countries must stick together as brothers. According to the treaty the previous American administrations assisted in creating, we must protect our neighbors against any threat, no matter where it might come from. These neighbors, as you know, include Syria, Jordan, Iran and, of course, Iraq. We prefer to stay neutral, but we will live up to our word.

"President Nesbitt countered, stating:

"This is not a US - Iraq issue. This is an issue of world security, and concerns everyone. We are not to be held hostage to one leader's wishes, giving in to demands for fear of nuclear, chemical and terrorist reprisal. That is why the entire UN, as well as the European Alliance, Pacific Rim Pact, and the newly formed South American Treaties Organization are committing forces to the UN-led actions. Make no mistake, we will act, and act quickly, to prevent the world being held hostage. We have no quarrel with Saudi Arabia, and still consider them a friend and ally.

"Frances Lebourgeuois from ITN reporting for CNN, Riyadh, Saudi Arabia."

"Thank you, Frances. In other news, ..."

"Computer, volume low." Fadia took in a breath, and let out a deep sigh.

"You still have your family in the Middle East, don't you?" asked Mimbe, the mathematician and computer specialist from Ghana. Fadia nodded, a worried look on her face.

"Fadia, dear, the future of Mankind rests in our hands," said Jim. "It is through this joint effort that we are altering the relationship between our nations. All this posturing has been going on since the twentieth century, and after all these years it is still getting everyone nowhere. I don't think anything will come of it. Why don't you give your parents a call? Let them know how you are doing, and see how they are?" The look she shot him spoke volumes.

"Look," said Sarah, "I know you haven't spoken to them since you decided to leave Syria and work on this project, but they are human, and still parents. They miss you terribly. I know, because I miss my children. Maybe Jim has something."

Fadia cleared her throat, looked down, then back up at Jim and Sarah. "All right. I give up. You have picked on me enough. I'll go call them." Her face grew stern, and they knew she was only semi-serious. "But this doesn't mean that you can lag behind on the results of your experiments."

"All right. We won't if you won't!" Jim stood up, drawing Fadia with him, and gave her a hug. Her face reddened, but she returned it. Feeling slightly embarrassed, she turned to leave.

"Oh, before you go."

"Yes, Dr. N'guta?"

The African winced. "Sorry to bother you again, but I wondered if..."

"Yes, I did check the schedule of the next delivery. Your computers should be here by next Tuesday."

"Oh, very good! Thank you! I can't wait to make those modifications to the personal climate control modules. Those computers will be a great help. Please, go." They all smiled, knowing his addiction to technology. In fact, they all had their own addictions to their fields -- that is what brought them together, here on the moon.

Fadia smiled. "That's OK, Mimbe. I'm sorry, just feeling a bit, how you say, touchy." She turned and left.

"Good," said Jim. "That means I'll have those shipments of new seeds. I hope the weather doesn't interfere with the launch window."

* * *

That next Tuesday, Jim awoke with a start. The remnants of the nightmare he had been having escaped to the far reaches of consciousness, and all he was left with was a vague sense of horror, revulsion, and a slight exhaustion. His bedsheets were soaked, and the room seemed uncommonly warm.

The clock said 5:12 AM, and even though it was early, he knew that he could not get back to sleep. So he rolled out of his cot, exercised, and took a quick shower. A rapid glance out the portal in his chamber showed the blackness of space above, punctuated by the myriad of stars. The light grey of the lunar surface played a contrast that still took his breath away. He had a sense of awe that here he was, finally after all that dreaming, all that work, all that sacrifice, in the one place he had always wanted to be. And it was more wonderful than he had ever dreamed.

He checked the clock again. 6:32. Well, his experiments Outside should be reaching a critical point towards noon, but he thought he could at least check the monitoring equipment, and perhaps even take a stroll. He always enjoyed exploring the wondrous terrain, and getting away from the feeling that he was cooped up in a small, man-made world.

He checked in with Hal, the communications specialist and electronics engineer, mumbled something about checking his experiments, and suited up. The suit battery had a full charge, the air recycler fully refilled, and he brought a lunch just in case he got hungry. The supply rocket wasn't expected until around 11:00, so he had plenty of time.

As Jim hopped out to the first site, he had to climb out of the crater in which the colony was constructed. When he had reached the top, he paused. The Earth was rising over the craters off to his right, and it was an awesome sight. It was always an awesome sight. The sheer imposing presence of the planet hanging off the horizon really brought home his insignificance, and the pure blueness spattered with white, brown and green took his breath away. Tears came to his eyes, and he was lost in wonder.

A few minutes later, he shook himself as if awaking from a daydream (which he indeed was), and continued his trek. The first site was a small dome, in which bacteria, fungi and some green plants were contained in a transparent container about the size of a bathtub. The transparency ranged from perfectly clear at one end to half translucent at the other. The effects of solar radiation on the plants, and of timed radiation modulation, were being determined as a means of controlling growth. Liquid crystal suspended in the glass was activated by electricity to control the transparency over sections of the container.

Atmosphere levels were being maintained, and the calibration was complete. Actually, this experiment was finished a little ahead of schedule. Making some notes on his notepad, he double-checked the control module, verified the position in the schedule, and moved on to the next site.

He spent all morning like this. The next time he looked at his watch, it was 11:05. Air canister was still usable for another 6 hours, and the scrubber had enough chemicals to remove another day's worth of carbon dioxide. He had one more site to check, and then he could start his way back. Back! The rocket should be landing soon.

As he thought this, a star twinkled. It was getting larger faster and faster, and it soon resolved itself into a rocket, exhaust facing toward the moon, decelerating for a landing in majestic silence. His heart beat faster. Letters from home, new materials to continue building the colony, and hopefully some bottles of the chardonnay he had been saving at home. The rocket sank out of sight past the horizon. He marveled at the cleverness of those who designed the cargo rockets - no space wasted, and even the body of the rocket was modular parts to be used for colony construction. Nothing wasted. Any extra fuel was to be stored in tanks for refueling shuttlecraft to take them back to Earth.

He had at least an hour's walk back to the colony. Might as well gather the last bit of data. Turning his back to the colony and the newly landed supplies, he took a leap over what on Earth would have been an impossibly high jumble of rocks for a jump, and landed on the other side. An itch on his neck started, and he groaned, wishing he could just reach inside his helmet and scratch it. However, he steeled himself, and moved his mind to other things. After a few minutes, the itch was gone anyway.

The last site was an attempt at "terraforming" the moon's soil. A controlled section had what they had determined were the key transformers, bacteria and other microscopic life forms genetically altered from those found at the Earth's polar caps. Supposedly, these could survive in harsh conditions, and be able to produce oxygen and nitrogen, to enrich the soil and provide the nutrients necessary for plants to grow. The big question was: Is the moon's surface sufficient to foster the growth of these microorganisms, and thus facilitate the growth of various flora? Jan's information a few weeks ago had helped a lot.

Although this was progressing much slower than he had hoped, there were still some promising signs. Even in the cold of space (sector one was not heated), progression occurred. But in the heated sectors (two, three and four were progressively warmer), transformation occurred more quickly with increasing temperature. He was seeking an optimum temperature at which the fastest growth rate occurs with the least amount of energy expended in providing heat.

As he was engrossed in his last test site, he felt a tremor through the ground at the same time he saw light reflected from behind him on the rock. He looked up, and started scanning the area. He had never felt anything like it before, and had never heard of anyone reporting the like. He rotated all around, and when he was facing the colony, he saw some movement. Something was moving through the space, in fact lots of things. Little things, and big things. They looked like...

His heart skipped a beat. He stood frozen in place, and suddenly realized that he had to duck in order to avoid being hit by a piece of twisted metal. It careened noiselessly off the rock behind him, and finally stuck in the loose soil a few meters further. Smaller pieces flew through the air in all directions, and his suit was pelted by miscellaneous debris.

With a terrible sinking in his gut, he jumped up from his crouched position, forgetting the low gravity. When he landed, he had twisted himself to face the piece of metal that had just missed him, and ran clumsily toward it. He seized it with both hands, and tugged it out of the soil. It was a piece of a girder, like the kind that was used to hold together a rocket, or provide the framework for the colony construction. It was burnt and charred, and had snapped off at either end.

With a cry of horror that he was sure reached Earth, he turned and began running madly back toward the colony, stumbling in his haste over craters, rocks and other debris that had landed. After a few seconds of his initial panic, he realized that the increased activity meant increased metabolic rates, and that meant using up his already low oxygen reserves that much faster. So he forced himself to slow down, and forced his breathing to slow down, and forced his brain into a numbness he knew would last as long as his walk.

It occurred to him to try the suit radio. With a desperate flip of his finger, he turned the switch to station-wide address, and said, "Hello, Colby. This is Jim. Does anybody read me?" The slight hiss of the waiting speaker answered him. "Anyone, do you read me?" More silence.

Perhaps he was too far? Perhaps the long-range com dish was damaged or destroyed in the explosion, and he was too far for person-to-person communications.

Time: 11:36. Not even noon yet. He was still a few kilometers from the colony. As he plodded onward, his imagination began to take over. He could see the rocket, as it was being unloaded. Suddenly, something went wrong. The fuel exploded. The colony was damaged, lost some air, perhaps even some debris taking out the com dish. People rushing frantically to seal off the holes in the acrylic domes, save as much air as possible, and retreat to the undamaged sections. The Gardens were on the opposite side of the colony, so they should be untouched. Also, the new solar power arrays were positioned on top of huge rocks, and should be far enough away that they wouldn't be damaged. They should still have electricity.

Food and water! The storage tanks were underground, but they still were close to the landing area. Decompression wouldn't ruin the food because it was all stored in containers, in the event of accidental pressure loss. The suspense drove him crazy, and he urgently wished to be there already.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, but was really only an hour and ten minutes, he reached the last rise before the crater in which the colony was built. As he climbed the rock, his heart raced in anticipation. He pulled himself up and over the edge, and stopped. His blood froze, and his face went grey.

He reached up to wipe his eyes, as if that would dispel an illusion, and his gloved hand was stopped by the faceplate. Below him was utter destruction. The signs of a blast at the main dome was the center of streaks of blackened and melted debris, which reached outward in all directions. Two, no three charred and suited bodies lay on the crater floor, partially buried in dust and various pieces of plastic and metal, their stark white suits contrasting with the dull grey and black. The entire colony was a wreck.

In fact, as he looked around, he suddenly noticed that the rocket had fallen outward toward him. That meant that it had not been the center of the explosion. He swooned, and felt lightheaded. His mouth soundlessly formed the word "No!" Blackness engulfed him, and he didn't notice as he fell somewhat gently, bouncing off some rocks on the way to the crater bottom.

* * *

Jim awoke to the buzzer on the alarm clock. It beeped incessantly. He groaned and rolled over into the wall, reaching for the clock to press the snooze button. He had to check his experiments today, but he could sleep another ten minutes. His arm felt strange, as if the sheets of the bed were wrapped loosely around it. He forced his eyes to flutter open, and realized that he was not in bed. The clock was a flashing red light in the heads-up display in the faceplate of his helmet, and the alarm was still buzzing. With full realization, he came instantly awake with a gasp. The air indicator was dangerously low, and the alarm was sounding.

He was lying on his back, facing the stars, with his feet above him against some rocks. Rolling back over, he pushed himself into a standing position and continued the rest of the way to the colony.

He stopped at the first body. Taking a deep breath in the already thinning air, he closed his eyes, reached down, and turned it over. The faceplate was covered in blood, and he couldn't make out who it was, but the name on the suit said Phillips. With a sob, he realized that Mark was dead. He hung his head against the cold, clear window of his helmet, and tears flowed. After what seemed like an eternity, he gasped, vocalizing his sob, and the sound was horrifying in the enclosed helmet. Through bleary eyes, he felt more than saw his hand close over the air container as he twisted it, and it came free from Mark's suit. He unfastened his own, and replaced it. The new tank was half full, and would last another six hours or so.

Numbly, the doctor stood up, and walked to the next white form. Fadia, dead. Her air tank was ruptured. The third person was ripped to shreds, with pieces of debris embedded in the still form. Blood icicles stood out from the rips, frozen in time. A sort of shock set in, and Jim mindlessly turned away without disturbing the person's final rest. Stumbling, he plodded on. The rocket was ripped apart, its contents mostly destroyed in the explosion. The command center was torn up to its foundation, and the storage facilities underneath were either gone or beyond his capabilities to get to, as the metal was fused.

Suddenly, he remembered the food he had brought with him, just in case he got hungry. It was all that was left. Unless some of the living compartments were in tact.

Rescue! What about rescue? The thought hit him, and he wondered that he hadn't already considered it. He looked at his watch. 23:49. He had to find some more air, and see if he could repair the com dish. Accident occurred sometime around 11:30, so Mission Control must be preparing a rescue mission. Assuming they realized that something went wrong. They had to - the colony transponder was no longer sending a signal, and Internet communications were down. Warning signals would have gone up immediately.

He had no way to get off the moon, but if he could get the com link up, he could let them know there was still someone alive. With a purpose now, he staggered through the wreckage, and headed toward the living compartments. Shuffling through the strewn colony fragments, he found a locker that had burst open. A tube of food paste, and a burst container of ice that used to be water were all that were usable. For now, he would have to rely on his suit's waste reclamation for recovered water.

Realizing he was starving, he squeezed the food paste into the repository from the outside, and sucked at it on the tube by his mouth. Greedily, he swallowed every bite, and sucked at some of the brackish, chilly water. He searched through every compartment that he could find, and came up with two more tubes of paste, saving them for later.

He had worked his way to the Gardens now, and looked with a feeling of a parent whose child was forcefully and violently taken away from it and murdered. Huge pieces of acrylic lay in the broken, frozen remnants of plant life just beginning to sprout. Steeling himself, he turned away, and climbed up the ridge on which the com dish was set. Its smooth contour had been broken, and it lay on its side. He tipped it back up, reached down, and flipped the power source to the emergency battery. His heart leaped in his chest as the indicator light came on. The power light was green, but the link indicator was red. If only the dish were in good enough shape, it could still transmit and receive. The keyboard and screen still operated, and he could send and receive messages as long as the link were up.

He examined the dish. A large chunk had been ripped out of the concave back, and the transmitter/receiver was bent, but it still looked like it might be functional. If he could bend it back into alignment, and aim it correctly at the satellite, he might be able to establish a link. Grabbing the bent metal in both hands, he pulled, pushed, struggled and grunted, but could not budge it. His attention was caught by a glint of metal out of the corner of his eye. A rod lay in the dust. Picking it up, he leveraged it against another support for the transmitter/receiver, and gently but firmly pushed. The brace straightened, and he let out a hoot of joy.

Eagerly, he angled the dish as close as he could remember to its original position, and keyed in the command to auto locate the satellite, and pressed the Enter key. The cursor blinked on the screen for three long seconds, and the message "HARDWARE FAILURE - ERROR 003h" was displayed, returning to a prompt. He let out the pent up breath he hadn't realized he held, and cursed.

Calm! Think! Think! The positioning mechanism must be damaged. He looked at the gears which turned and angled the dish. They had been knocked out of place. Jim pressed them as best he could with the clumsy gloved fingers, and felt one snap back. He issued the command again, but got another failure. He called up the manual locate program. It indicated he was a few degrees off in both horizontal and azimuth. He adjusted the hand cranks, until the display indicated it was aligned. Then, he chose Link from the menu.

"Host unavailable - link not established." He stared mutely at the message, and pressed F1. The help indicated that the dish was probably not aligned. Perhaps the chunk taken out of it and the bent transmitter/receiver threw the program's estimation off. He made a guess, and tried to compensate for the lopsidedness. He knew it was purely chance, as he was totally out of his field of expertise, but nothing else came to mind.

There! The link light flashed green, then back to red. He brought the dish back ever so slightly, slowly, and the link light went green again. Battery was at three-quarters charge. He choose OK to get rid of the error message, and tried the link again.

Expecting an error message, his heart hammered in his chest. After what seemed an eternity, he got a message: "ComSat link established - searching for host, please wait..." A quick glance at his air gauge showed it getting low. He put the dish in power saver mode, and jumped down excitedly to look for another air capsule.

The storage facility had been contained in the main dome, and was a total loss. But a couple of suits were waiting at the entrance to the Gardens. His stomach sank as he saw the empty canister connectors. Then he remembered, you were supposed to recharge the canisters when you got out of your suit. Opening a panel, he found two of them, the gauges showing them each at just under half a charge. Disheartened, he still grabbed them. About 10 hours of air, plus the two left in the one he was using. At least it would give him time to search for more.

He headed back to the com dish. The link had been established, and it had gone into IRC Chat mode. There was a message! It said:

"Colby, are you OK? Who am I talking to? Report status. - McNay"

Eagerly, he typed a response. "Jim Baker. Colony destroyed, no one else alive. Explosion in main dome. Com dish on battery. Have to get solar array on line. 10 hours air remaining. ETA on help?"

While he waited for the message to be transmitted and the reply sent, he looked over to the solar array nearby. Several panels had been cracked by debris, but a few still looked good. Hopefully it would be enough to power the dish. He would have to go there in a few minutes.

When he looked back, the last few character's of Tom's message were coming across. "Are you sure? How do you know? How did you survive? Do you know what happened?"

He opened up a compartment in the base, and looked at the gauges. Yes! Just enough to operate it. He opened another compartment, and pulled out a direct-access power cord. Also, he pulled a knife out of his leg holster, and cut the cord going down to the colony. He needed as much juice as he could get.

Jim started typing his reply. "Was out checking on experiments. Everyone else was waiting for supply rocket. Not absolutely sure, but don't think anyone else was Outside. Am going..."

Another message from Tom typed itself out. He must not have been able to wait for Jim's reply. "Terrorists in Middle East are claiming responsibility. Also, Central American factions. Any attempt at a rescue has been threatened. Arrangements have been made for an anti-missile escort, launch expected in T minus 2:40:00." Jim sat back in shock as the rest of the message typed itself out. Terrorists?!? What terrorist would sabotage this? The hope of all mankind, cooperation between nations, no single nation, no government had control of this project. He leaned forward and continued reading. "However, we are in the middle of pushing up the launch window to T minus 1:00:00 due to low air supply. Sleep, conserve air, it will be close. Time now: 00:25:00."

Jim continued his message. "...Got second part. OK, will hang tight. Buzz me when you get in range." Hungry, he consumed the second tube of paste.

The suit battery was getting low, and the air supply on his first commandeered canister was about empty. He let it go until it was hard to breathe, then attached the second to last of his spares. Then, Jim pulled the battery belts from the fallen bodies, fighting down feelings of revulsion, shame and horror. He unplugged the dead cells from his belt, and plugged in the fresh ones. He dared not recharge them off the solar array for fear of not supplying enough power to maintain the tenuous link. Finally, he lay down to sleep, as the exhaustion of the past day caught up to him.

When he awoke, it was about four hours later. The rest had dome him good, and his air consumption was at a good rate. He felt like there was hope. There were several messages waiting for him when he attended the console, and he frowned at seeing the message "Link aborted - circuit lost" at the bottom of the screen. It took half an hour of fiddling with the positioning gears to reestablish the link. Luckily, their software logged all chat conversations so that he could review them when he logged back on.

Dr. Baker went into the chat reviewer, and scrolled through to the last communication before he fell asleep. Apparently the rescue shuttle had launched ahead of the initial time, but not until 02:52. It was now after 6:00, and the Earth was rising again. If there's any place to die, I'd rather it were here, thought Jim. Then he felt bad for thinking such morbid thoughts. Also, no further word from any terrorist group, but Saudi Arabia and most of the rest of the world denounced the action. Iraq, Iran, Syria, Libya and Jordan all had no comment. A moment of rage shook him, and he wished he could just get back to earth to take revenge for his good friends and fellow scientists who had died at the hands of unfeeling, uncaring murderers. Intuitively, he knew that would make him just as bad as them, but that didn't help one bit.

Suddenly, he noticed he was breathing heavily, and his face felt hot and flushed. He forced himself to calm down, and it was then that he also noticed a slight whining hum. Although he had no idea how long it had been there, it had been there at least since he woke up. It sounded like it was coming from behind him, in the atmospheric processing unit on his back. That regulated the suit temperature and recirculated the air through the carbon dioxide remover. Unfortunately, it was located on his back, and he could not get to it without taking his suit off, or having someone else help.

He checked the gauges. Efficiency of the APU was down to 72% from 88%. Perhaps something was clogged, or maybe a filter needed changing, it was hard to tell. But that meant that it was less able to keep up with his oxygen consumption rate, and his air would fill slowly with carbon dioxide. He was in serious trouble, and immediately keyed a message to that effect. About fifteen minutes later, he got a response back from Jason Fuller, the mission co-commander. They were making all speed, and had been running on full burn acceleration, but they still would be cutting it close, very close. In fact, based upon Jim's estimates, Jason computed that the rescue mission would be about half an hour to forty-five minutes too late. Everything was rough guesses anyway, so there was good margin for error, but that margin went both ways and didn't leave either of them feeling comfortable.

The air already seemed a bit musty and warm. Small droplets of moisture were condensing at the very edges of his faceplate. If he weren't worried about being awake to change the canister when it ran out, he would take a sleeping pill and reduce his metabolism. A feeling of claustrophobia was creeping up, but he quelled it. The hum, once noticed, wore away on him as time went on, until he thought it was coming from everywhere. Just to keep his mind on other things, he decided to start another Internet session and join his favorite newsgroup discussions. A few of his classmates from his graduate work also logged onto the sci.botany newsgroups, and he hadn't chatted with them in about a month. He browsed through some of the new posts, but the significance of the work, and the enjoyment he used to glean from perusing the infobase were gone. In fact, he was painfully aware that he was forcing himself to ignore the death and destruction below him, and the hum in his suit, and the slowly growing effort it took to draw a breath...

He thought he would go mad with impatience. Desperately, he searched the sky for any sign of the rescue mission, but he couldn't make out anything. He could see a swirl of clouds that probably were the beginnings of a hurricane in the Atlantic, and the shadow of the dark side of the planet as it stretched across Greenland and down to Antarctica. Finally, he gave up, logged out of the newsgroups (the message about 837,386 unread bulletins in 4,043 topics always annoyed him - he could never read them all, why tell him?), and lay down, trying to force himself to sleep.

After half an hour of fitful rolling about, he looked at his watch, and checked the atmosphere indicator. Just as he did, the warning buzzer went off. He silenced it, but the red light kept flashing insistently. Was there more condensation on his faceplate now?

Aaagh! Nothing to do now but wait! What if they don't come in time? That damn whine! Finally, when it was very hard to breathe, he uncoupled the empty canister, and put the last one into the receptacle. The rush of fresh air felt good, but he was afraid to take any deep breaths.

He glanced at the com dish battery indicator. It was slowly going down - the solar array was not quite enough to keep the battery from discharging. But at least it would outlast his air supply. He let out a small laugh at the idea, more of a bark than anything else.

Finally, he drifted off into a fitful half sleep, filled with nightmarish images, sudden loud conversation that caused him to jerk awake, and strange smells.

* * *

Jim awoke, and looked at his watch: 10:12. His faceplate had pretty much frosted over, and the air inside was heavy and stale. He could still see the control console for the com link, and it again indicated that the link had been lost. The last message on the screen stated that the rocket had been attacked, but its fighter escort was successful in destroying the attackers. He sighed, but could not draw enough oxygen to feel gratified by it. In fact, he had to draw deep breaths in order to move. He felt sleepy and warm.

Flipping the switch on his suit radio, he said, "Hello. This is Dr. Baker. Anyone read me?" Not expecting any response, he was not surprised when none came. With a growing feeling of helplessness and resignation, he stood up and adjusted the com dish again. Because his field of vision was obscured by the condensation on the faceplate except in the center, he had to constantly turn his whole body from the dish to the console to see if it had reestablished the satellite linkup. His oxygen gauge indicated he had about half an hour left, but his lungs already ached from the high-carbon-dioxide content.

Finally, he gave up, and sat down. Probably better to conserve my strength and air anyway.

If only he could brush away the moisture from his faceplate, and see! A moment of frustration swept over him; frustration at the faceplate, at the lack of air, at the breakdown of his suit, at the bombing of the station - at the fact that all his life, all his work, had apparently amounted to this - nothing.

Blood pounded in his ears, and the light of the stars, and of the sun, filtered through the droplets of water on his window. He got a dim view of the earth hanging above him, and reached up futilely with his gloved hand to wipe at the obstruction to his view. His labored breath rang hollowly throughout the helmet, sounding rasped and desperate.

Finally, fatigue and dizziness overcame him, and he went to sleep.

Epilogue

"Sir, here! Over here!"

Commander Stillman hopped over to where Major O'Brian had disappeared behind the remains of the geodome that had housed the gardens. He looked around. "Where are you, Julie?"

"Up here." He looked up, and saw her beckoning at the top of a pile of rocks. The com dish was there, with a chunk removed from it, and the solar array loomed behind it. As he climbed, he tried to shut out the horror of the scene below.

"Malke, Burke, join us up here. How is he?"

"Can't tell. The suit is still operating, but the batteries are very low. I plugged in a new oxygen capsule. His faceplate is covered with condensation, and he doesn't respond to any physical stimuli."

"What about the life signs indicator on the suit controls?"

"Not functioning. Don't know what the problem is."

He reached the top, and saw Julie bending over the prone form. "Let's get him into the ship." They picked him up between the two of them, and leaped off the edge, landing with a jolt in the 0.17 gravity. The other two rescuers were coming, and helped carry Jim Baker into the shuttle.

As soon as the airlock pressurized, they wrested the helmet off. Stillman reached his hand to Jim's neck, and felt for a pulse. The skin was cold and clammy, and he couldn't find one. "Hurry, get him inside and take his suit off. And take the medical equipment out of the case."

They connected up the probes, but found no heartbeat, no brainwaves.

"It's no use, sir," said Dr. Carlucci. "He's been dead at least thirty minutes."