Aurora
The Sleeping Beauty in a Setting in Time and Space
‘Thank you for coming. Won’t you please sit down?’ Professor Fenton indicated one of the two armchairs separated by a low, glass topped table. I accepted his invitation with a word of thanks.
I noticed at once the object resting centrally on the glass surface, fashioned of metal and crystal, and strangely beautiful. The professor saw that my attention had been caught by it.
‘Yes, it is a fine model, isn’t it? And do you know what it is?’
‘Of course.’ I answered softly. ‘It is a ship. I should say the ship. The Europa.’
‘You are right. And it is on the matter of the Europa than I asked you to see me here today.’
I looked towards him, noticing his studied gaze. I was convinced he could sense the lump forming in my throat, and the wave of emotion rising in me.
‘I believe that you … you knew one of the members of her crew?’
‘Yes. We were … close, at one time. She was lost, with all the others, of course.’
The professor nodded slowly. Something in his eyes told me that he knew more about the tragedy than I realised. And that he had more than an inkling of just how close the two of us had been.
‘I am referring, of course, to Doctor Merriman.’ He paused as my gaze dropped to the table and the model that rested upon it. I nodded in acknowledgement.
‘What I am about to tell you,’ he continued, ‘is in confidence. Can I trust you to tell no-one — no-one else?’
For a moment I was confused. ‘Why, I guess so. Is there something that the general public wasn’t told?’
‘No. The press release at the time was that Europa had been lost in the Callistan Archipelago … that she had in all probability struck a rock. Communication ceased abruptly, and it could only be concluded that, whatever had happened it was catastrophic and without warning.’
‘Yes. That’s what everyone understood.’
‘What I have to tell you is that there had been a … development.’ The professor paused for a moment. ‘The Europa has been found. She was damaged, but not destroyed.’
I stared at the scientist, wide eyed. ‘But why … why is it that you should involve me? I had nothing to do with the expedition. Because of all the security I knew very little about it.’
‘Firstly then, I need to tell you that Doctor Merriman is still alive.’
‘Alive? How can that possibly be? I mean, it’s …’
He interrupted me. ‘You must accept what I say. I will explain the detail later. But she is alive, and she will very shortly be returned to the biomedical facility here, at Imperial College. For now I need to know a little more about you and your relationship with her. In time you will realise how important this is. I know this will be hard for you but we … we need your help.’
* * *
I was an undergraduate at the Royal College of Music when first met her at one of our more modest concerts. She had walked up from Imperial College and I learned that she was doing post-doctorate research. She was also a keen — and quite accomplished — amateur musician. And since I was no scientist, it was music that was the subject of much of our conversation. When I did express an interest in her work she wasn’t forthcoming.
As the weeks went by and we became more absorbed with each other the subject just didn’t arise any more. That was, until she told me that her work was going to take her away — a long way — from London, and for a long time. That was when she told me that she had accepted an offer to become a crew member on the Europa. I learned later that there wasn’t actually anyone else who was remotely qualified for the particular role that she would undertake. She had been appointed chief life support officer to the expedition.
‘So. I’ll wait. I’m really not interested in anyone else. You know how I feel about you. I’ll finish my degree and then get on with studying composition as a postgraduate.’
It was then that I proposed to her. And, very gently, she refused me.
‘Davey — you don’t know what it is I’m about to embark upon. It’s a research expedition, of course, and I’ve not told you much about it because I’m not allowed to. We will be away for a very long time. And then there is the matter of my age.’
She was twelve years older than I. Since I was only twenty-one it was not something easily dismissed. Yet I thought that it would have made little difference to me, or to the way I felt about her, now or in the future. She had misgivings, though. ‘Honestly’, she continued, ‘if you meet someone else while I’m away, I’ll understand. And I’ll be happy for you.’
It was only after we parted, some two months later, that I learned the truth about where she had gone, and for just how long she would be away.
* * *
‘I understand,’ there was a slight hesitation in the professor’s voice, ‘that you — you made a gift to her just a few days before she embarked.’ We were walking along the bank of the Serpentine in the late afternoon sunshine.
I nodded. ‘Yes, that’s true. It was a piece of music I’d written for solo flute.’
‘Did it have … a particular significance?’
‘Uh-huh. I believe that it was the best piece I ever composed. I’ve written some passable stuff since. But nothing came near to that. I wrote it for her, and gave it her name.’
‘I believe you never published it?’
‘No. I made the recording myself. Apart from me, she is the only person who had ever heard it.’
‘David — I want you to play it for her again. Will you do that?’
‘Professor — I don’t understand. What is all this about?’
He turned to me and stared directly into my eyes. ‘David — Doctor Merriman has been asleep for … for fifteen years. Since we retrieved the Europa and found her and the three other surviving crew members we have been unable to rouse her. We believe that your music was the last thing she heard before she — before she suspended. And we think that hearing it again might just be the trigger to … to bring her back.’
* * *
She was as lovely in my eyes as she had always been. The dusting of hoar frost had finally evapourated from her alabaster skin. My eyes misted over, but I needed no music score. I raised the Muramatsu to my lips. And I played … Aurora.
* * *
The planet Jupiter has an average distance from the Earth of about 700 million kilometres. Transit time in a modern space craft, such as the Europa, is some three years. It was the science of suspended animation, pioneered by Doctor Aurora Merriman and her team that had made it possible for the stupendous journey to be embarked upon, since for its duration they would effectively hibernate, hovering between life and death, their bodies at just a degree or so above freezing point. The deadly collision with one the colossal rocks in orbit around Callisto — the outermost of the four great moons of Jupiter — occurred before the sleeping crew had been revived. And those that did not perish slept on.
* * *
Shock and grief as the full realisation of what had happened came close to overwhelming her. Trained counsellors broke slowly to her the sequence of events. When they had gone I held her close to me as she wept for her lost companions. From time to time I took the flute from the table at her side and played for her. In that she seemed to find peace and healing.
‘Remind me, Davey, how old are you now?’ she asked one morning. It was a topic we’d avoided until now. But she was making progress and seemed to be adapting to her situation.
‘I’m thirty-seven.’
‘Well, it’s time I knew something about your life — what you’ve been doing over the past fifteen years. I know that your reputation as a composer is an international one — and that’s really no surprise. But you never told me if you found the love of your life, like I told you to …’
I did not answer her directly. Instead I walked over to the window and gazed down at the streets of South Kensington. And then I asked her in turn: ‘Tell me, Aurora, how old are you — now?’
For a moment she seemed uncertain. ‘Why — I … I’m … I must be nearly fifty.’
She looked away from me.
‘No — not nearly fifty.’
‘Don’t be silly. Of course I am.’
‘Aurora — come over here to the mirror, and look at yourself.’ And she did. And I guess she must have known anyway, but I told her, told her what Professor Fenton had said to me when I first gazed down upon her in the incubator, and wondered at what I saw:
‘You must understand, David, that in suspended animation metabolism virtually ceases. And that includes the aging process. Aurora is the same age now as she was when the Europa was launched.’
She nodded, and then whispered, ‘Of course. You’re right.’
‘So I am thirty seven. And you are — still — only thirty three.’
As she turned to me the tears filled her eyes. ‘Oh, Davey — what have I lost, what have I missed?’
I held her to me. ‘Not me, at any rate. To answer your question, I did find the love of my life. I found her here, all those years ago. There’s never been anyone else.’
And then, for the second time in fifteen years, I asked Aurora to marry me.
