TACOMA

The studio behind Gone Home heads to outer space

IT’S A BEAUTIFULLY DETAILED SPACE, WITH THINGS TO INTERACT WITH EVERYWHERE

Please sign in to confirm your identity,” a deep, strangely reassuring computerized voice says from an unknown source. I raise a hand in the air and ‘type’ using sign language, and letters appear on the transparent interface floating in front of me, spelling out a name: Amy Ferrier. “Thank you,” the voice says. “Welcome aboard.”

I hitch a ride on a moving platform as it speeds down a circular corridor. Through the big windows wrapped around it I catch glimpses of the blackness of space and the enormous, spinning centrifuges of the Tacoma lunar transfer station. “While aboard Tacoma station, please remember that all activity is recorded by AR recording,” says the voice. “All activity records are the sole property of the Venturis Corporation.” The platform comes to a sudden stop and I find myself floating into the main hub of the station. A procession of doors open in front of me one by one, creating a long corridor that rotates slowly as classical music drifts through the air. I can see signs leading me to different parts of the station: Engineering, biomedical, personnel. But I can’t access any of them yet. The only door I can go through is at the end of the tunnel.

The door slides open and I float into a large windowed chamber a sign says is the observation dome. Through the glass I can see the Earth, tiny and silent, and I realize I’m sharing the room with two semi-transparent, human-shaped figures. This is one of the AR recordings the voice was talking about: a moment from the past that I can relive. I trigger the recording and the figures—station administrator EV St James and medic Sareh Hasmadi — come to life.

They talk about living on Tacoma for a year, and whether they’ll miss the station when they go back to Earth. Hasmadi’s blue-colored hologram spins weightlessly in a graceful circle, and she says she’ll miss being able to do that. Then she drifts over to a door leading to the personnel section of the station, and the door opens. These recordings, it seems, aren’t just for learning about the history of the station; they’re used to navigate the place as well.

I float deeper into the station. As you might expect from the team behind Gone Home, it’s a beautifully detailed space. There are things to pick up, read, inspect, and interact with everywhere, painting a vivid picture of life aboard the station and the personalities of the people who worked there. There are more AR recordings too, giving me glimpses of everyday life, helping me get to know the characters of these people. Other crew members include operations specialist Clive Siddiqi and computer engineer Natali Kuroshenko.

red alert

But the peaceful mood is shattered when, in one of the recordings, I hear a loud crashing sound. The crew panics and the holograms begin to glitch and fracture, making them difficult to hear. Through the fuzz I hear botanist Andrew Dagyab say “We should have about 48 hours of breathable air.” Someone else suggests contacting Earth for help, but an error message flashes up on an AR screen: The communications mast has been critically damaged. All communications channels to and from Tacoma have been lost.

Something has gone horribly wrong on the station, but my demo ends before I find out what it is. It’s an intriguing taster, and I’m very eager to find out what happens next. It’s great to see Fullbright bringing its knack for atmospheric environment design to a sci-fi setting, and I’m sure the story and writing will be just as strong as it was in GoneHome. Andy Kelly