Meanwhile, on-shift-Sarah was his boss.
“Darkness,” she was saying. “How long until it starts?”
In his prior life, he’d have had such things memorized. But the new Drew had a degree in political uselessness that probably meant otherwise. And he was stuck in a bright-colored pressure suit that marked him as too . . . green . . . to have yet gotten beyond it.
“Um—”
There was a click and Sarah’s voice switched channels. To a more private one, reserved for personal conversations . . . or scoldings.
“Listen,” she said. “Last night was last night.” Not that anything more than an almost-kiss had happened. Before she fell asleep on the train. “Here, your life depends on paying attention. Lum doesn’t care what we do off-shift. Hell, he’s probably hoping we’ll marry and have two thousand kids, so long as they’re all sunners. But when you put on the suit, you’ve got to keep your mind on the job. If you don’t, you won’t just get shipped back to Earth. You’ll get yourself killed. Maybe along with someone else. Got it?”
“Yeah.”
“So, Darkout. When is it?”
Drew knew. “Drew” wouldn’t. Which pretty much sucked when he wanted to impress both his boss and an increasingly interesting woman.
He gazed around the horizon, his suit automatically blotting out the Sun’s unviewable glare. Two big peaks to the . . . what do you call it when all directions are north? A smaller one, thirty degrees to the right. The Sun barely above the horizon, as it had been for billions of years and always, ever, would be.
Three hundred sixty degrees in twenty-eight days was a bit less than fifteen degrees per day: that’s how fast the Sun would move. He made a show of holding his hand against the horizon, counting handspans. Ninety degrees was eight, maybe nine. Was he supposed to be able to figure that out? Screw it, he was tired of playing the role he’d been assigned. “Wednesday?”
Sarah’s expression was unreadable through her suit visor. “Care to be more specific?”
He went back through the show again. “Maybe 1100? A bit before noon. Though I might be off.”
Sarah turned so she was facing him, her visor de-opaquing, though her face was still unreadable. “Not bad. Not bad at all. It’s 1122 to be precise. You know, the suit electronics do allow you to look it up.”
“Oh.” Damn the handlers who’d decided to make him blandly useless. Of course he knew it. It was how he’d made his “guess.”
He and Sarah were standing a couple of klicks from the rim, the nearest of the PEL’s solar panels rising just behind, like the Solar System’s largest billboards. Hectares upon hectares of cells atop spindly stilts like old-fashioned fire towers. Towers that were sturdy enough here because there were no windstorms, tornadoes, or earthquakes to knock them down. Tall because “up” meant more light, shorter Darkout, better power for industries that gobbled it like a kid with Halloween candy.
“Keep on the lights” was a joke. The lights would run a long time off batteries. The real industries, the power-hungry ones, couldn’t. Three times a month they took expensive shutdowns. Not that the employees minded. Or the owners of the clubs where they partied. But they weren’t the ones who drove Luna C’s economy. Every new hectare of cells brought in new, power-hungry industries . . . new voices clamoring for the PEL to live ever closer to its name. And the higher it went, the shorter the shutdown became. The PEL was ever expanding and would ever expand so long as Luna C herself did the same.
“What’s Darkout like?” he asked.
“It sneaks up on you. Kind of like a really slow sunset on Earth, from what I’ve heard. Then poof, all of a sudden the light is gone.” She waved a gloved hand at the crater below. “Like suddenly being down there. Kind of disconcerting, even when you’re expecting it.”
Drew stared across the crater floor. Luna II was invisible, tucked out of sight behind the rim of its own crater. But the other domes were clustered below, their lights like swarms of fireflies. Elsewhere, the crater floor was dark as only vacuum shadows can be, except at the volatiles mines, where the rimtop reflectors focused giant beams of sunlight wherever it was required. No electricity needed for the mines; just pure, concentrated light to bake everything from water to mercury and silver out of soils that hadn’t seen heat in four billion years.
“Those shut down too.” Sarah had seen the direction of his gaze. “We’re pretty much the only ones who don’t get to party when the Sun goes away.”
There was just a hint of a smile visible in the backlight seeping through her visor, a trace of off-work twinkle in her eyes. Enough to say that next time they went to Central the kiss would be there if he wanted it.
Suddenly, he felt crushingly tired. If he did kiss her, he wanted it to be without pretense.
“Sarah, there are things I need to tell you.”
She read his mood right but mis-guessed the cause. The twinkle vanished, replaced by Sarah-boss.
“Damn right. Where’s the nearest emergency shelter?”
“Sarah—”
“Uh-uh. Use the suit’s weblink if you have to. If your suit suddenly sprung a leak, where would you go? Hell, if my suit sprang a leak, where would you take me? Now. Hiss-hiss. Time’s wasting. You’d better have grabbed an emergency patch by now, or we’re already in trouble. Quick now!”
Screw being “Drew.” He probably wouldn’t know. Drew did.
“Over there.” He pointed to the base of the nearest pylon “Though the one over that way isn’t much farther.”
IX
The Loonie Toos weren’t the only ones whose workload increased during Darkouts. Razo’s tended to as well, especially during First Darkout, when the biggest of the three mountains blocked sunlight for a full thirty-seven hours. By Second Darkout, most of those inclined to do so had already blown their paychecks, and by Third, only the diehards were left. But First Darkout? “It’s kind of like TGIF on steroids,” he told Caeli the first time she’d joined him on one of his pre-Darkout soirees. “And normal off-shifts can be bad enough.”
Which meant that just before Darkout was a bad time for Raz to blow steam. That would come later. Pre-was for true relaxation. Although this time he might have relaxed the wrong way.
“I’d never have taken you for the ballet type,” Caeli was saying as they found their seats.
“You ever been before?”
“Once. Swan Lake, I think. That’s the one they do at Christmas, right?”
“No, that’s The Nutcracker. Though not here. The classics just don’t work well in low-gee unless you grab-plate the entire floor. Earth ballet is all about defying gravity. Up on the toes, lifts, leaps, and all that. If you try that stuff here it just comes out weird, probably because anyone can do it, so what’s the point? This is a bit more . . . gymnastic.”
“How so?”
This particular ballet was one he’d seen before. It was a tale of loss and longing and things abandoned forever in a chase for a pot of gold that kept receding—like a lot of Loonie art and music, really. Powerful chords in minor keys, with always a hint of major-key resolution just a few bars in the future, but never quite found. The art-crowd answer to the bar tunes that tried to revel in this frontier that drew so strongly but demanded so much. Had frontiers always been like that? Raz wasn’t historian enough to know. There was a day when crossing an ocean was more permanent than going to space. But the Moon wasn’t just a new continent. There was nothing here except what you brought . . . or invented.
Like the ballet.
“You see the checkerboard parquet on the floor?”
“Yeah . . . “
“Well, the dark pieces are grab plates. The light ones are Luna gee. You use the dark for traction, the light for bounce.” In some productions, the grab plates even led up the walls onto the ceiling.
Earth ballet wasn’t merely about defying gravity. It also involved occupying space. Ballerinas with heads held high, shoulders spread, arms swept in grand, passionate gestures. Here
, it was all about occupying space. Pun fully intended. “The good ones spend a lot of time upside down,” Raz said. “Handsprings are a big part of it.”
“And heaven help them if they hit a grab plate?”
He chuckled. “They call that the Lunar dip. Not a good move. But you’re not really all that interested, are you?”
She shrugged. “If you’re interested, I am.”
Suddenly, he felt uncomfortable. “That’s not necessary.”
She stared at him a moment, then changed the subject. “Did you find my gwipp?”
“Maybe. Why?”
“Oh, I’m just worried about him.”
“Him?”
“Ha! It’s a him, isn’t it?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe, hell! But is he safe? Guys like that . . . I’d hate to see him draw the wrong attention.”
She hesitated, stared at him again. “Why are we doing this, Artie?”
“Doing what? Going to the ballet?”
“No. Everything else. You, me, this type of conversation. How long have we been doing it? I won’t hang on the shelf forever.”
“So you don’t like ballet?”
“No, you can’t hide like that!” There was fire in her eyes. “We click. We have fun. Then you arm’s-length me. Just like you did there! Why? What is it you’re so afraid of?”
“Well, you do cut an imposing figure.”
“Don’t give me that. What the hell is going on?”
Raz tried to meet her gaze. Flinched away. Just like the guiltiest of guilty perps. Tried again, gave up. He’d known her for two years, but always through a self-created screen of flirty confidence. A pretense, not the real him.
“I had a daughter.”
“Had?”
“Yeah.”
“She died?”
“No.”
And then the story. The two-decade secret he’d never told anyone—never thought he would—tumbling out until the music started, underscoring the loss, the longing, and the unreachable pot of gold that didn’t really matter because it’s the being here that trumps everything, and which you’d sell your soul to achieve . . . all over again. That was when he leaned close, lowered his voice, and dared the words he feared even to ask himself. “What if I did it all over again? To you?”
Caeli’s breath was warm in his ear. “You couldn’t. Because I’d never ask you to go back to Earth. This place . . . it’s who you are.”
Then the dance began and conversation was impossible.
Sarah was glistening in sweat, fresh off the dance floor, her golden hair limned in blue, red, and green from the Waddup’s synthband diodes. Drew took her hand to lead her back to their table for drinks and a rest.
Darkout was tomorrow. Thirty-seven hours of dusting, looking to bring as many panels as possible back to optimum efficiency before the Sun returned and made the main arrays too hot even for the best skinsuits to handle. The busiest time of the month, because each panel dusted was 1,700 credits in Luna C’s industrial bank, as best Drew could calculate. As if “Drew,” without the MBA, had a chance of figuring such things out.
He was tired. Tired of the pretense. If he couldn’t trust Sarah, who would he ever be able to trust?
She must have read his mood. A moment before, she’d been the one who was going to kiss him. Now she drew back, let herself be escorted to the table.
“You know, you’re a real conundrum,” she said.
“How so?”
“Sharp as a tack one moment, dumb as a post the next. I mean, there you were last week, gazing at the Sun and estimating Darkout within minutes, and then, next thing, not knowing you could have simply answered the question by calling up the weblink on your suit. And you’re one hell of a good dancer. I mean, I’ve been around more than I’d like to admit. Comes with spending too much of your life in places like this. I know the difference between the barroom grope and an actual dance. You were trying to hide it, but you’ve taken some lessons. I know because Lum made me do it.”
“Lum?”
“It figures you wouldn’t know. He’s just like you: wonderful one moment, idiot the next. He’s my father. Which I gather he didn’t tell you. Janes is my mother’s name. Long story. But he’s always trying to set me up. Usually with idiots. Well-meaning idiots, but idiots. So . . . what are you? You try to act dumb, but you aren’t. In case you’re wondering, dumb doesn’t impress women. At least not this one.”
Drew laughed, though it sounded forced, even to him. “I was beginning to figure that.”
His gaze swept the bar. Caught the eye of a pale, hawk-nosed man who suddenly developed an interest in his menu. Probably nothing. Probably just staring at Sarah. But suddenly his Wild Bill reflexes were on full alert.
“Let’s get some air.”
They moved to the courtyard, the stranger not following. False alarm, Drew thought. You’re safe here. Relax. They couldn’t follow you even if they knew where to go. Immigration would get them before they even tried to board the shuttle.
That was too close, Beau thought as the quarry and woman moved outside. It had taken two weeks to find him, and now he’d almost blown it. But who would have thought the guy would stuff his suit transponder beneath an Overway seat cushion? Beau had followed the damn thing to hell and gone before he realized the hare wasn’t on an endless job hunt. Then nobody in Luna II would talk to him, and there wasn’t anything he could do to improve their cooperation because there weren’t any good places for a nice, private talk.
That was also when he realized that making a hit on the Moon was going to be harder than anticipated. The place was simply too crowded. The kill would be easy enough. But getting away—that was the rub. Until he saw the quarry with the woman. LunaNet security was a joke, but she’d done nothing to hide her profile, anyway. The quick holo he’d snapped before they’d seen him was all he needed. Sarah Janes Arbuckle, shift sub-supervisor for SEA Industries, PEL Division. The rabbit had been idiot enough to accept a job that took him outside.
Beau prided himself on being good at his work, but sometimes, when it all came together, it was almost too easy.
He rose, remembering at the last instant to do so slowly lest his Earther legs reveal him as an outsider. Not that he ever expected to be back here again.
If he left now, he had time to climb the rim and hike to the scooter that would take him back to his hidden crawler. Not that it was hard to hide things in this land of eternal shadows.
The crawler had everything he needed. Beau had never been one to head out on an assignment without being as prepared as possible. If he hurried, there was time to make the trip, do the job, and be back in civilization next week. A million credits richer, to boot.
Beau often smiled. It made people like him. But the social smile rarely touched his eyes. He’d practiced but could never quite get it. Now, though, he knew his smile was genuine.
“So what the hell is going on?” Sarah’s eyes were a cool grey, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t spark with anger. “And why couldn’t you tell me about it in there?”
“Too much noise.” Drew paused. “No. I just don’t like crowds.”
All the way out of the Waddup, he’d been looking for words.
“I’m not who you think I am.”
Sarah’s eyes clouded. “Oh-oh. Who is she?”
“No, that’s not it.”
“You’re married.”
“No. It’s nothing like that. It’s me. I’m not Drew.”
Her expression was unreadable. “Who are you then?”
It was amazing how hard it was to make himself say the words. His indoctrination had been thorough. Never, never, never. Never trust. Never bond. Always float on the surface. But they were wrong. Ultimately, there came a time when it was better to risk. What was the point in being not dead if you were never alive?
“I’m Dimitri. Or I was, until last year. Dimitri Katsaros.”
Her eyebrows rose. “That’s a mouthful. I can see
why you might prefer Drew.” But there was no humor in it. The Sarah he knew was on hold.
“Son of Leander Katsaros.”
Her headshake was quick. “If that’s supposed to mean something it doesn’t.” Her lips thinned. “Or maybe that just makes me a dumb Loonie.”
“No. It just means you have better things to do than follow the Greek mob in Baltimore.”
It wasn’t just her eyes that were unreadable now.
“I betrayed my family.”
Darkout was only hours away and Razo should be thinking about sleep. Instead, as he and Caeli left the theater he turned toward Central and the soul-searching infinities of the Skyview.
She was right, this place was part of him. Had been, really, since before he left Earth, since the nameless cop’s compassion had shown him a glimmer of hope. Jenn had given him an impossible choice. No—not Jenn. Loonie laws. They were all about fairness and equal chances. But fairness and hope weren’t always compatible. Maybe that was why Raz wound up in law enforcement. He’d thought it had just kind of happened, but his first job had been driving EDA donkeys for the solar stills, helping Lunar Air & Water capture precious resources as the rimtop mirrors baked them out of the soil. Police work came later, when he’d found there was no way to bring Jenn back. He’d thought he’d just kind of drifted into it, but he’d never forgotten the compassionate cop who’d saved him.
Caeli squeezed his hand. “You’re quiet.”
“Sorry. Just thinking.” He wasn’t sure how long they’d been walking, but her hand had been in his since they’d left the theater.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
More than okay, in fact. What he felt was a sudden lifting of age. For some time, he’d been feeling increasingly run down. Thinking, even, of taking early retirement and doing . . . well, something else. But that might have to wait.
“Talking about it after all these years . . . I feel . . . It’s going to take a while to process I guess.”
The Mammoth Book of Best New SF 26 (Mammoth Books) Page 28