Eradani, Dr. Richter, Denise Gayle and Captain G. Smith made their way out of the patio doors of Tompkins’ house. Eradani saw the crowds of people come to witness this extraordinary day and stopped in her tracks. Dr. Richter bumped into the back of her. Denise bumped into him, and the Captain bumped into Denise.
The crowd cheered as four space-suited astronauts bumped into one another on the patio. They cheered again as the crew began to make their way across the newly concreted back garden.
About a fortnight earlier, Tompkins had astounded everybody by suddenly dropping the cloak of secrecy that had smothered the project and embarking upon a worldwide campaign of publicity and promotion. A famous P.R. company was hired, the crew found themselves being interviewed awkwardly on daytime television shows and suddenly the Garden Wall staff were A-list celebrities and the absolute centre of attention of a frenzied media circus.
None of them liked it one bit. But Tompkins presumably had his reasons.
Ahead of them, the Garden Wall stood at the end of the grounds like some kind of vast extraterrestrial gnome. It stood on a hugely expensive, reinforced carbon fibre launching pad that was raised some six feet above the rest of the garden. Nobody was allowed within one hundred metres of the ship, but even so, Tompkins’ garden was of such a size that several thousand had gathered to watch the launch.
The crew bundled their way awkwardly down a spectator-lined avenue. People cheered them as they passed. They threw bits of confetti, clapped their hands and waved patriotic flags as the astronauts plodded cloddishly by. Eradani began to realise how royalty felt when undertaking public functions and silently thanked her lucky stars that her mother wasn’t the Queen.
Wellwishers leant over the rope cordoning to try and shake hands with the pioneering space travellers, but the crew were far too preoccupied to oblige. Somebody did manage to grab hold of the already over-balancing breathing apparatus on the back of Denise’s suit and set her swinging round wildly. The Captain managed to catch her before she fell, and subsequently gave the perpetrator a major ear-bending which, fortunately for those standing nearby, was rendered inaudible by his big shiny helmet.
Tompkins watched all this from the prime viewing spot, which was the barbecue area. Somebody was hovering about behind him at the back of the brick enclosure, obviously keen to remain out of sight of the astronauts.
‘How much longer?’ asked the stranger.
‘Patience, my friend,’ said Tompkins. ‘We have achieved so much already. To rush now, at such a crucial juncture, would be nothing short of foolhardy.’
‘Of course. Your caution is commendable. However this project has taken such an unbearable length of time. So much waiting.’
‘I have done more than my best,’ said Tompkins. ‘And your crew have worked wonders. Quite frankly, I am amazed how much we have achieved in so short a time. Your luck has certainly held out over the past two years.’
‘No less than I would expect,’ said the shadowy figure presumptuously.
Tompkins nodded to himself. ‘How true,’ he agreed.
The crew had by now made their way to the launch pad and had begun to climb the steps up to its surface. The crowd were cheering and waving boisterously at them as they turned to take one final look at the world they’d be leaving behind.
Eradani surveyed the scene in front of her. Somewhere, within the crowd, were her parents. She had decided that it was best to tell them she was going to be spending the next decade or so exploring an alien star system, and was mildly surprised when they had reacted to this bombshell with gentle pleasure. She’d expected them to disapprove vigorously and demand she returned to university, but instead they just wished her all the best. Strange that. Could it be they were happy to be getting rid of her? They hadn’t exactly been tremendously visible during her university life, but surely they hadn’t reached the point where they were ready to disown her? No, of course not, they were just happy for her, that was all. Happy and proud and willing to support their beloved daughter in her, admittedly bonkers, new career. That’s what it was. She turned round slowly on the platform, trying to pick them out of the thousands of bobbing faces, but it was a futile task. They were well and truly hidden from view. She saw Tompkins sitting in the barbecue enclosure though. He didn’t seem to be watching the launch. Was he talking to somebody? Who was that behind him? The shape and posture seemed familiar to her.
‘Please enter the ship,’ came an announcement through her helmet’s intercom. She forgot all about Tompkins’ friend as she turned and started the final walk to the Garden Wall.
The Captain was first to enter. He stepped through the ground-level hatchway and through into the main corridor. A temporary lift had been installed, small enough to be wheeled in and out of the hatch but capable of extending high enough to get to the bridge. He stepped onto the lift platform and grabbed hold of a handrail around its edge. It slowly and uncertainly lifted him upwards, wobbling about on its extending telescopic arm. During this trip, he began to feel the first pangs of the isolation and separation that were part of the beast that is space travel. Sealed inside his suit, his breathing sounding artificial, his movement restricted, the very stylish but still moody and futuristic surroundings of the ship’s interior, it all contributed to the familiar jumble of feelings he was experiencing. Second by second, as the faint corridor lights rolled gently by, he felt himself edging further and further away from familiarity, from the Earth. Fortunately, he’d experienced all this before - the others, well, they hadn’t. How would they hold up under these circumstances? The lift shuddered to a halt at the bridge door. Leaving his thoughts behind, he pulled himself upwards and through into the nerve centre of the Garden Wall. Behind him, the lift retracted, ready to accept its next payload.
The Captain edged across the wall of the bridge. He had to grab hold of one of the seats in front of him and haul himself into it, a manoeuvre that wasn’t easy seeing as the chair was currently bolted to the wall and was facing directly upwards - a consequence of the ship’s vertical take-off stance. Fortunately, they’d talked Tompkins into a few practice runs, so they had at least gained some experience of performing this procedure. Even so, this was the first time he had done it whilst wearing a full spacesuit, and he had no little difficulty getting up there.
Denise arrived on the bridge to find the Captain lying face down in his chair with his feet sticking out from its back. He was wriggling around comically trying to orientate himself. Denise moved across and gave him a shove. He pulled his legs round and collapsed into the seat, gripping the sides tightly, fearful that he would fall out backwards. One-armed, he grabbed the safety belt and secured himself in.
You would think they could have come up with a better design than this, he thought.
Below him, Denise was standing on the raised section that housed the door from the corridor. Right way up, this would be the back wall of the bridge, but for now it was the floor. She dropped to her hands and knees and crawled across, being careful not to bang her head on the chairs above. She had to get to the farthest seat, which unfortunately meant dropping back down off the raised section to the recessed wall on the other side. Once achieved, she then embarked on heaving herself into the chair. Behind her, she could hear Dr. Richter stepping through the bridge door. She grabbed hold of the back of the seat and pulled. It creaked ominously. She got her right elbow onto the back of the seat and swung her left leg up. She got her knee firmly onto the back and pushed. With a bit of effort, she flopped sideways onto the chair. Now all she had to do was turn herself the right way round. It all seemed a bit of a palaver.
By this time, Dr. Richter was already underneath his seat. Being one of the middle two, it was located directly above the corridor projection, meaning he had less distance to pull himself up, and he strapped safely in at much the same time Denise did.
Eradani strolled onto the bridge and looked up. She could see the Captain and most of Dr. Richter already belted tightly in place. Hurriedly, she clambered along on all fours and swung herself easily into her seat between Richter and Denise. She buckled up and turned her computer terminal on. For the time being, it was not adjustable, due to safety concerns about the monitors swinging round on their mounts and smashing into the heads of the crew.
She jabbed in her password and acknowledged that she was ready. A countdown timer appeared on the display. It read fifteen minutes, but wasn’t counting yet.
All they could do now was wait.
<=> <=> <=>
A technician pulled the lift clear of the hatchway. A second technician entered to ensure the internal door was locked firmly shut. Satisfied, he backed out and slammed the outer door. He tugged it twice to make sure, then helped the first technician wheel the lift away from the platform.
Tompkins indicated to his friend that it was now safe to emerge from the shadows. The stranger cautiously made his way forwards and gingerly sat beside his co-conspirator.
‘Looking good so far,’ said Tompkins.
‘Yes,’ said his companion. ‘Very good indeed. As soon as the ship is launched, we can be sure that the project has been a success.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Tompkins. ‘Something could go wrong during the flight.’
‘No, it won’t,’ said the companion. ‘My men have seen to that. I’m quite a reliable chap, you know.’
‘But of course,’ said Tompkins. ‘I read about it in that book about you.’
The companion let slip a brief laugh. ‘Well, you shouldn’t believe everything you read, you know. Journalists exaggerate everything so much.’
‘Journalists? Is that what you call them?’
‘That’s what they were,’ said the companion matter-of-factly. ‘It may have been two thousand years ago, but they were still journalists.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Tompkins. A crackle emerged from the speakers dotted about the launch site. ‘Oh, wonderful, I do believe the countdown is about to commence.’
‘Ladies and gentleman,’ said the tannoy voice, ‘we are all go for lift-off. Repeat, we are all go. Launch is in T minus fifteen minutes and counting.’
On board the ship, the computer displays flared into life and started counting down in large digital figures.
Around the garden, the crowds looked at a giant digital clock that had been temporarily installed and watched the seconds tick by.
Worldwide audiences stared in rapture at their televisions/computer screens/mobile phones/preferred media devices as the live broadcast commenced.
For fourteen minutes, people waited. Some chatted idly, others listened to radios, phoned relatives up or ate picnic lunches. But all were waiting for one historic, momentous, era-defining moment.
Then, at the count of one minute, silence fell. Everybody diverted their attention to the clock.
58 seconds.
Eradani checked her seatbelt was fastened.
55 seconds.
Tompkins grabbed a sandwich and started munching.
50 seconds.
Somebody in the crowd sneezed and was subjected to cold stares by several people around him.
45 seconds.
Somebody parped a horn, but was sharply elbowed in the ribs.
40 seconds.
Tompkins’ companion began to grow agitated and started tapping his feet.
35 seconds.
Dr. Richter panicked, thinking he’d forgotten to put his helmet on, but then realised that he could hear the countdown being relayed through it and relaxed.
30 seconds.
Jo arrived at the scene, having run all the way from the nearest train station, and began pushing her way through the crowd, heading for Tompkins’ barbecue area.
25 seconds.
Denise remembered she hadn’t cancelled the milk.
20 seconds.
Jo finally squeezed her way through to the barbecue enclosure.
18 seconds.
She explained carefully to Tompkins that he should stop the launch.
17 seconds.
She spotted Professor Hughes sitting next to Tompkins and said hello to him.
16 seconds.
He said hello back.
15 seconds.
Jo carefully explained the situation to Tompkins and Hughes. Tompkins stood up in alarm. Professor Hughes sighed and leaned back in his chair resignedly.
10 seconds.
The tannoy indicated ten seconds. The crowd cheered. The ignition on the Garden Wall flared into life.
9 seconds.
8 seconds.
7 seconds.
6 seconds.
5 seconds.
Main engines start.
4 seconds.
3 seconds.
2 seconds.
1 second.
Zero seconds.
A blast of scorching hot air raced across the garden, suffocating the crowd. The Garden Wall lifted gracefully off the platform, spiralling as it did so in accordance with Dr. Richter’s flamboyant design specifications. The plumes of gas, smoke and dust billowed underneath and diffused out across the garden, obscuring the view of the spectators and treating them to blackened faces and coughing fits.
The Garden Wall accelerated quickly atop a column of flame and screamed upwards, becoming very shortly nothing more than a distant speck in the sky.
Afterwards, the crowd dispersed speedily, moaning that they hadn’t seen anything, that their clothes were filthy and that they’d half choked to death on the fumes.
Jo, Tompkins and Hughes watched ashen-faced as the Garden Wall raced towards a suddenly cloudy and uncertain future.