November 18, 1970, the headlines read, “INCREDIBLE DISCOVERY! URANIUM FOUND ON THE MOON!”

The world went mad.

 

Uranium mines meant nuclear power. Nuclear power was cheap to produce, easy to sell, marketable above coal and kerosene. And nuclear power meant profits. As was the rule of unexplored space, landing meant colonization. It meant claim. As was the rule of aeronautic agencies, a mass refusal arose. Scientists refused to mine, refused to build the ships that would bring equipment to the sites. Governments claimed control of the powers and agencies in the name of national advancement. Labs locked their doors, and military gathered outside. Russia. America. Britain. South Africa. Denmark. China.

 

Aerospace engineer Mal Wilson wrote:

We have not left the engineering lab in six days now. We are communicating with the others, in the organic and chemical biology laboratories, in the mechanical building centers, in the physics conference rooms and the grand observatory. We have all made a silent agreement that we will remain, and we will not work. We, as scientists, are aware of the implications of mass mining on the lunar surface. We will take our stand here. We will burn our notebooks and melt our models. The observatory is being hit the hardest. We hear the pounding and the shouting from beyond the walls. The physicists are torn. They’ve told us that they were forced to confine Dr. Scheff to the storeroom. The president has claimed the right to our discoveries, but we will not allow the destruction of our Moon in the name of nuclear power. Pray for us, and tell our families that we have given the last full measure of our devotion to our faith; our loyalty to the fields of science and the sanctity of space travel. This may be my last entry. Goodbye.

Dr. M. Wilson.

 

Dr. Wilson was correct to be concerned, as the American military entered the building two days later, on December 25th, 1970. In the altercations between scientists and military organizations, the scale of casualty falls heavily to the scientists. Occasionally, in the name of survival, a worker would turn to cooperate with his attackers, and would be sequestered in a political stronghold.

Along with these surrendered scientists were corporations, craving government contracts and realizing that, if they rose alone, they would possess more power than any leader of the free or developing world. With the fears of corporate sabotage and espionage, trade agreements began to crash and burn. Borders were closed. Nationalism reached peaks not seen since before the Great War. Poverty, starvation, social dissent spiked amid actively enriched patriotism.

 

The most common message played on the radio in Britain, 1971, read as followed:

We were not the first nation to stumble into space, but we will be the greatest nation to ever put her boots on the moon. Throughout history, the British Empire has been at the forefront of discovery and exploration. With the cooperation of the British people, we will again find our place at the head of colonial industry. Maintain your strength, and long live the Queen.

The message, recorded once and audibly robotic by the third month of 1971, was unable to be heard where it played in the streets, amid glass shattering and children shouting. The Queen herself, and the powers around her, remained enclosed and encouraged British travel. Indeed, a coalition of British manufacturers was the first to attempt to send a mining ship, on March 7th, 1971. The launch site was in Australia, initially planned to be a satellite launch location.  Due to the weight of equipment, it hit the ground in the Scottish countryside, at a casualty count of one hundred ninety-two civilians and seventeen crew members, presumed to have  been killed before impact.

This did not halt the mad rush for ownership of the Lunar Uranium. The first successful mission launched from the Belgian space programme, January 1972. The success came from the implementation of solar sail technology, reducing the volume of necessary fuel, as well as the division of one ship to five, to adjust the surface area to volume ratio. This concept was proposed by molecular biologist Dr. Marieva Berken, who was approached by the Canadian government in February 1972, and killed in an officially unrelated car crash two months later.

 

In the years between 1972 and 1975, twenty-four nations managed to stake mining claims on the moon, tearing apart craters and seas for access to the nuclear substances below. Between 1974 and 1981, the world again opened, and glowed with previously unmatched power and progress. On June 14, 1982, the first Lunar Debris Island was formed, a union of pieces of discarded moon rock that had been released into space to avoid storage within lunar colonies. The Island orbited the moon in tight rings, and had no visible adverse effects. By 1994, there were thirty Lunar Debris Islands, and the moon itself was little more than a series of catacombs.

Back on Earth, cities were underwater. This did not bring any pause to industrialists until 1995. July 16th of that year saw one of many nuclear power processing plants made inaccessible by water. Despite efforts to reach it, it turned the surrounding area to a wasteland by 1999. It would be the first of many.

 

But, power was a necessity, and the mining continued, with workers and families settling onto Lunar Debris Islands. From what I have been able to piece together, the mines went too deep, and the moon exploded nine days ago.

 

This has been Lieutenant Sam Trennel, spaceman first class. I am the lone inhabitant of Lunar Debris Island T6RRE7-9QA. I am currently moving through space on a path towards Earth’s sun. I hope that this record makes its way to Earth, and that there are people there to receive it.

Lt. Trennel, signing off.