One hour remaining

No point pondering the future, then.

'Lucky' Larson chose instead to reflect upon his past, a past that could perhaps be best summed up by the sobriquet bestowed upon him by his Stanford classmates some thirty years earlier.

He had been lucky to be born into a well off and loving family at a time when the USA was poised on the brink of a great technological surge that would reignite interest in the exploration of space; lucky to have been blessed with the intellect, the physique and the adventurous spirit that made him a natural candidate for advanced astronaut training; lucky to have risen to the top of that elite group quickly enough to be selected as team leader for the mission to establish the first permanent station on the moon.

The nickname had stuck to him like iron filings to a magnet. Ironically, Lucky considered that the very attribute that earned it, was the cause of his greatest misfortune. Drawn to his good looks and the seemingly effortless mastering of everything he turned his hand to, beautiful women swarmed around him. There had been a series of high-profile flings with starlets and heiresses, a couple of more serious relationships that soon fizzled out, and one ill-fated engagement that was called off two months before the scheduled wedding day. Lucky had enjoyed more sex than most men can ever dream of, but he had never found that elusive thing called love.

All of the astronauts attached to Moon Station Alpha were entitled to one video-link call per week. They used their allotted half hour to chat with their partners, laugh and play games with their kids, or whisper endearments to Earth-side sweethearts. Not once in the fifteen months he had been on the Moon, had Lucky used his allocation, choosing to donate it each week to whomever seemed to want it the most. Even if there was anybody still alive down on Earth, there was certainly no one who would miss Lucky Larson.

45 minutes remaining

"Hey, Boss, get over here quick! You've gotta see this!"

Something in the tenor of bio-chemist Sandra Bouvier's voice on that day three months ago, had spurred Lucky to move a little faster than his usual relaxed amble around the station. However, as he walked over to where she was transfixed in front of a video display at the far end of the Comms Room, he kept his voice calm, teasing even.

"What's up, Sandy? Knicks getting their butts kicked again?"

Wordlessly, she indicated the news bulletin on the screen and handed him a set of headphones. Lucky turned his attention to the screen and adjusted the audio volume. There was tension in the news presenter's voice too, as the familar face detailed a rapidly breaking story. A flu-like virus, detected for the first time only two days before, had claimed its first victims in New York and Pennsylvania. Like a wildfire, it was spreading out of control down the eastern seaboard. Unconfirmed reports indicated a few dozen deaths in the USA, but more alarmingly, hospitals confirmed that their isolation wards were rapidly filling with the seriously ill, and their waiting rooms were clogged with more patients waiting for diagnosis.

An infographic filled the screen, revealing the worldwide spread of the disease. In voice-over the presenter listed the salient details, although Lucky's head was already spinning with the bald facts presented: all major land masses had confirmed cases. China admitted to 5000 deaths, perhaps a sign of where the virus had originated. The bulletin flashed to reporters in the field in London, Paris, Berlin, Buenos Aires, Sydney. The familiar landmarks of those great cities did little to dispel the growing sense of fear as frightened people reeled off frightening statistics.

Lucky tore off the headset. "I've seen enough, Sandy." His matter of fact tone hid the alarm raised by what he had just seen. "I need you to get the team together. The LEV's still here, so no one's out on the surface. We'll meet here in fifteen minutes. That'll just give me enough time to call Mission Control and get their take on this."
As Sandra Bouvier outlined the devastating news to the crew, Lucky studied each of their faces. Fifteen men and women, each of whom he considered a personal friend, as well as a valued colleague, sat in stunned silence, but he could read some of the turmoil that must be racing through their minds. 'Home' was how they all referred to the stunning pearl of a planet that they could all see hanging in the vast blackness of space. Now, Home was in trouble, and they were stuck quarter of a million miles away, unable to help.

He rose to his feet. "Thanks, Sandy," he said quietly. "Team, this is looking serious. I've been onto Mission Control and they have confirmed that this is bad, possibly even worse than what we've already heard. The good news is that they've been in touch with each of your families to make sure they're OK, and they've set up a special quarantine facility on the base in case any of them would feel safer there."

Lucky paused as an audible sigh of relief ran around the room. "As you know," he continued, "the next shuttle is due in ten days time. Jim, Solly, you two are scheduled to go back on leave. We'll know more by then, and you can re-assess your options. Anyone else keen to go home, there'll be two additional spaces on the shuttle - we'll conduct a ballot if necessary. Let's keep an eye on this thing for another day or two and then make a few decisions on our best course of action. In the meantime, we've opened up more video-link time so you can stay in touch with folks Earth-side."
 
Over the next few days, the Lunar-Ticks, as the little band of colonists had once joyfully named themselves, watched as the world they knew descended into chaos.

Clustered around video screens on their little lunar haven, they saw both the best and the worst of humankind on display. Increasingly incoherent news bulletins reported on panic in major cities around the globe. Wide-scale rioting and looting broke out almost everywhere, it seemed. Police forces, already stretched to breaking point were overwhelmed by a massive spike in violent crime. Cities emptied as fear-stricken citizens fled to what they perceived as the safety of remote pastoral and wilderness areas. Inevitably, the virus travelled with them, a hungry monster freed from its cage revelling in its ability to inflict death and misery upon the human race.

Meanwhile, the medical profession toiled to find a vaccine that could halt or even slow down the greatest pandemic the world had ever seen. Heroic volunteers allowed themselves to be infected to serve as test subjects for futile cures, hastily concocted in laboratories around the world. Law enforcement officers and armed forces, their own numbers decimated by the unseen enemy, fought the battle of their lives to try to safeguard others. In Rome, the Pope addressed a million of the faithful in St Peter's Square.  Churches, synagogues, mosques and temples held mass prayer meetings outdoors to cope with huge numbers of the desperate flocking to commune with God,whoever they perceived Him to be - a deity who seemed to have abandoned his people.

The US President, his family and entourage of Generals and advisers had been hustled away to an unspecified quarantine facility. Other world leaders seemed split between that 'safety first' approach or seeking some kind of political martyrdom by remaining with the people they served until struck down by the ferocity of the disease that spared neither the lowly or the mighty. 

The helpless watchers on the moon ticked off the inevitable casualties of the SuperVirus, as the media had dubbed it. Almost immediately, most countries had banned international flights and closed their borders. On the second day, world stock markets collapsed. Day Three saw all public transport grind to a halt, while on Day Four, gaps started to appear in the news broadcasts they were glued to, as electricity supplies faltered. Before the final bulletins flickered to a halt on Day Five, the Lunar-Ticks caught glimpses of Tokyo in flames, London and Paris eerily abandoned and bodies littering the streets of Washington, New York and Los Angeles.

Exactly one week after they had first heard news of the virus, Alpha lost all communications with Earth. They knew now that the shuttle was never going to arrive.

The umbilical cord connecting them to their mother planet had been suddenly snapped, and the infant colony lay unattended, squalling in its crib.

30 minutes remaining

Mother Earth still dangled there in the sky, of course, just unattainable.

Seeing her there, in all her blue, green and white finery, etched against the velvety blackness of space, always brought Shakespeare's lines to mind:
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night,
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiops ear.

Lucky, just Noah in those days, had played Romeo, of course. In his senior year he had won the heart and body of Juliet, both on and off the stage. Idly, he wondered where his Juliet was now. Almost certainly dead, of course. Only the hardiest and shrewdest of survivalists, hunkered down in their bomb-proof, radiation-proof shelters were likely to have survived. What would they make of the world when they emerged blinking into the sunlight in six months' or a year's time? Would there be anything left to rebuild? 

From this distance, nothing had changed. Inviting blue oceans still lapped at emerald green shores swathed in crisp white clouds. Earh would go on, Lucky realised, with or without its human population. Most animals seemed to have been immune to the virus. Perhaps some other species would emerge with the intelligence, the adaptability and the determination to become top of the food chain. That had been the general consensus amongst his expert colleagues once they realised that Earth, and with it their own survival, was doomed.

Immediately following the non-arrival of the shuttle, they had held a meeting to discuss options. Those were few, and thus the meeting was brief. They had enough food and water to last three months with some rationing. Electricity was not a problem, easily generated by solar rays during the intense heat of the lunar day. The obvious problem was breathable air. Without the life-giving tanks delivered by regular shuttles, the colony could survive a month, or six weeks at best.

"We are all going to die within that six-week window," Lucky had bluntly told his team. "You have some control over when and how you choose to go. I am going to issue each of you with a suicide pill to take when you are ready. Death will be painless and rapid. As Team Leader, I will remain to the end to ensure any last wishes are carried out to the best of my ability."

Overwhelmed by the sudden loss of loved ones and the inevitability of their own demise, almost half of the Lunar-Ticks had chosen to make use of the suicide pills within twenty-four hours. Although this pushed out the available window to something close to three months, none of the remaining few considered that there was any chance of rescue. Some used their time to write memoirs or final thoughts. Others spent their time in silent meditation. One by one, they all chose their time to die. Just yesterday, Sandy Bouvier had been the last to make that decision. She had sought out Lucky in his cubicle and given him a fierce hug.

"Thanks for everything, big fella," she had whispered. "I still think the Knicks can give it to the Sox any day of the week."

A short time later, carrying her body easily in the minimal gravity, Lucky had laid her to rest on the lunar surface alongside the rest of his team. A simple memorial bearing the names of the entire crew marked the spot.

15 minutes remaining

Lucky knew better than to trust the dial of any oxygen tank; fifteen minutes could mean anything between zero and half an hour. He had had plenty of time to think about how he would do this. He set to work loosening the screws that fastened his helmet to the airtight seal of his suit.

"Looks like you were right all along, Mr Eliot," he said aloud with a wry smile. "Not with a bang, but a whimper."

And he wrenched off his helmet.