Percy sat staring at the wall… as he does, day-in, day-out. His father John followed Percy’s sightline, to an almost imperceptible blister on the curved stone regolith wall of the living pod where it met the skylight overhead.
Must have been a printing error in the 3D Additive Manufacturing extrusion process. He added it to the list of things needing attention.
It had not been easy to persuade the Space Agency Executives that a child with disabilities could continue in the Family Colonisation Programme. Mary blamed herself for that momentary lapse of attention, -for not fastening the chin strap of her son’s space helmet. One minute he was in the crèche pod clambering up the slide ladder, the next performing an Olympic-perfect front-roll over the restraining side bar; a rag-doll plummet,- helmet spiralling off on a visible “gun-shot” trajectory,- then a muffled thud as he was forked by the shard-ed lunar surface and a spreading of strawberry jam blood complete with pips… except they weren’t pips but shreds of brain matter. Mary ofttimes replayed the accident’s sequence of events. “Water” he had demanded of the obliging playgroup assistant who promptly topped up the empty reservoir of his space-playsuit. That was his last word these 12 years.
“The scans indicate some brain function… it’s just that Percy is unable to communicate his thoughts … similar to Locked-in Syndrome”
“Yes,- a 10% possibility he could regain some speech and voluntary muscle control, but with a severed spine and his degree of brain injury …” The Rehabilitation Space Neurologist’s voice trailed off as she tried to couch the response to his mother’s question in words of hope.
The intervening years told otherwise.
John’s team of Space Architects, Computer Aided Designers and Printing Technicians had worked wonders programming the 3D printer to extrude a motorised wheelchair complete with intricate neck-brace, headrest, chest and ankle straps. Much to the delight of his employers the moon’s lunar surface had proved such a bountiful supplier of raw materials that nothing additional was needed from Earth so fulfilling the Colonisation Mission Statement of self-sustainability. Box ticked.
Inspection of the living-pod wall was a task unaccomplished. John had been summoned urgently that day to the north lunar pole. Repairing the 3D printed generator banks on which the colony depended would take weeks. It was meteorite shower season; the explosions of their repeated impact had released subterranean moisture into the thin atmosphere and caused repeated shorting.
In his father’s absence, Percy continued his daily wall watch. The blister sac expanded, it’s wrinkled surface swollen and strained. Percy fancied he detected the outline of a monstrous spider pulsating in its chrysalis. He came to regard the aberration as his secret friend.
Then …. eruption. The meteorite storm generated moisture had risen by capillary action up the pod walls gathered at the blister-spot of printing imperfection, burst, and was trickling towards the floor.
First an incoherent croak; then repeated… stronger, more confident… and laughter.
“Water!”
Percy was unlocked.
