by H. A. Swain
“Quasar, no!” I shout, half in and half out of the window.
He lands on Mundie, knocking him into the ground, and latches onto his arm, teeth sunk into skin. Mundie yelps and flaps, but Quasar won’t let go. His nails skitter across the floor as Mundie tries to get free, but Quasar is unsteady on his hurt leg. One more fierce shake from Mundie flings Quasar backward, toppling over and howling. I scramble into the room and run for Mundie while Quasar cowers in a corner, whining in pain. Aurelia rushes to him.
“Goddamn you, Mundie!” I roar. “I will kill you.” I jump on top of him and pummel him. I hear the impact of my fists on his face, but I don’t feel anything in my rage. “This is for every time you followed us and every time you creeped my sister out and every time you…”
“Aurelia, subdue Castor,” D’Cart commands.
She leaves Quasar and zips up behind me.
“No, Aurelia, don’t!” I yell, but her strong hands attach to my shoulders, and she lifts me off of Mundie as if I were a bug being plucked from a branch. She pins my arms to my sides and wheels backward, away from Mundie, who lies on the floor moaning.
“Damn it, Aurelia, let me go! What are you doing?” I kick and squirm, but I’m no match for her quiet strength.
“Now, now, boys…” D’Cart tsks at us as Mundie picks himself up. His upper arm is mangled, and blood seeps from one nostril over a fat blue lip, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “I can’t have you two fighting all the way to the Moon.”
“I’m not going to the Moon with you!” I growl.
“Yes, you are, Castor Neva,” D’Cart says. “And it’ll be the best thing that’s ever happened to you. Believe me! Mundie. Aurelia. Let’s go. The Res Extensa waits.”
Without a word, Aurelia lifts me so my feet can’t touch the ground and wheels off behind Mundie, who follows D’Cart out of the café.
“Quasar!” I call out. “Aurelia, come on.” I wrench my head around so I can see into her blue-lit eyes. “We can’t leave him here!”
Aurelia glances at Quasar, who limps toward us, tongue hanging out, ears and tail drooping.
“Always keep Quasar safe,” I beg her.
She blinks, as if calculating through a set of algorithms to see which one will override the other. Then she spins, wheels toward the dog, and scoops him up in one arm while holding me tight with the other. She carries us both, side by side, out of the café through the darkness of old space exhibits. Talitha and I used to run beneath the hanging planets here and jump, trying to touch Saturn’s rings. We pass by old chunks of meteorites and defunct displays explaining a universe to people who would never get off this planet. Aurelia turns and bumps down the Wormhole Stairway, one of our favorite places to play. At the bottom, in the small cylindrical room beneath a sculpted ceiling, standing waves of sound amplify every movement. I hear the whirl of Aurelia’s internal gears. The wheeze of Quasar’s painful pants. The fabric of my pants swishing against my skin.
“Aurelia,” I whisper. My voice bounces and echoes back. “Please stop. Don’t do this. Let us go.”
“Zaniah Nashira has asked me to take you to the Res Extensa,” she says.
“And Quasar?” I ask, bewildered.
“No,” she says. “My orders to keep Quasar safe come from you.”
The floor drops and I cling to Aurelia as the small cylindrical room descends, like an elevator, through a shaft in the interior of the hillside. When we stop, the wall in front of us slides open and light spills in. I see D’Cart strapped into a reclining seat bolted to the base of the small, round cockpit and tilted back, with a cradle for her helmeted head. Mundie is strapped into an identical seat to the left and behind her. With one arm, Aurelia drops me in a rear seat across from Mundie and harnesses me down, then plunks a helmet on my head, too. She gently lays Quasar in the chair between us and finds a way to strap him in. He licks her hand and whimpers.
D’Cart jerks her head toward us. “The dog, Aurelia?” I hear her say through the speaker in my helmet. “Really? You brought the dog?”
“Yes,” says Aurelia. “My instructions are to keep Quasar safe.”
“Your instructions?” D’Cart says. She scowls at me, but I keep my mouth shut.
“Well…” D’Cart sighs as Aurelia wheels forward and locks herself into place next to D’Cart’s seat. D’Cart commands a screen to lower from the ceiling. “It’s too late to take him back now. I guess we’ll have the first pet in space!” She chuckles to herself, but no one else reacts.
I watch their reflection in a large window that takes up most of the front of the cockpit. Six circular windows evenly spaced around the perimeter of the capsule look out into the darkness of this underground silo.
I look to Mundie, but he stares straight ahead with that same dead look in his eyes. The blood has crusted beneath his nose, and his lip is so swollen that I doubt he’ll be able to talk. The wound on his arm from Quasar is still raw and leaking. I have the urge to punch him, but I can’t reach.
“Isn’t it amazing?” D’Cart says as she runs through diagnostics on the screen. “All these years, Aurelia was down below the surface, building this rocket to the Moon. I uploaded the plans into her CPU years ago, and she patiently, methodically carried them out. Piece by piece. Moment by moment, while the world revolved around her. And no one knew. Not even you, Castor Neva.” She wrenches her head around to look at me again. “Your ticket off this planet was right under your feet, and you didn’t even know it!”
“I don’t want to go with you,” I bark at her.
“Listen,” she says. “You should be honored that I chose you.”
“I’m not,” I insist.
“MUSC will be a refuge, you’ll see!” she says. “They have the best facilities. We’ll do research. Come up with great new products and—”
“What about all the people who already live there?” I ask.
“Most of them will have to go, but we’ll keep a few around to serve us. They will be the ExploroBots of our station, and it serves them right, too. Together we can—”
“There’s no together. I’m not helping you!”
“Castor Neva!” she says. “I’d think you of all people would see that what I’m doing is for the good of people like you! When everything really goes to hell on Earth, when the resources are truly gone and the fighting worsens or a massive pandemic breaks, I’ll have created a safe haven on the Moon. Coming there will be the ultimate reward for my most loyal and elite followers. You should be grateful that I invited you first.”
“You don’t give a shit about the ExploroBots, do you?” I say. “It’s all about better vacations for your followers. You’re going to turn the one place in the universe with any scientific purpose into a resort for the most vapid people—”
“You petulant, ungrateful teen! I don’t have to listen to this! I’m turning off your mic.” She clicks me off.
“You’re the worst of humanity!” I yell, but she doesn’t hear me.
Deep below us, I hear the muffled rumble of engines boosting. I feel their power vibrate through my body. Suddenly, the capsule lurches upward. I reach for Quasar. I’m close enough to bury my fingers in his fur when he looks at me with worried eyes.
“Hold on to your seats, because here we go!” says D’Cart, as giddy as a kid on a roller coaster ride.
“Look! Look!” She switches one of the screens in front of her to her own Stream. “I launched drones so we could watch the event live with all my followers!”
The screen shows the Observatory glowing white against layers of pink and gray clouds streaked across the early morning pale blue sky. The drone sweeps around behind this fortress sprouting like a black-capped white mushroom from the side of the hill, then it lifts up and retreats to show a wide shot of the front of the building. The three domes glimmer in the rising sun. The smaller two on either side dwarfed by the giant one in the center. How many nights did I spend up there, peering through the Zeiss with Aurelia by my side, waiting pati
ently for me to get tired of looking up at the Moon, searching for my dad? How many times did I dream that I could build a rocket to rescue him? And now here I am, strapped on board as lonely and helpless as he once was.
The drone hovers over the top of the central dome. A small, dark circle opens in the middle of the roof, which spirals open like a lotus flower blooming, folding back on itself as the shingles retract into the sides of the building while up through the center the tip of the rocket noses out like a sprout emerging from the ground.
“There we are!” says D’Cart. “Wave to the camera! All of my followers the world over are witnessing this historic moment!”
I turn to look out the circular window nearest me as we slowly emerge. I see the fallen obelisk and the parched grass in front of the Observatory. Then I see someone run out from a trail in the Wildlands of ’Fith.
The drone captures the image of the person, too. “Who’s that?” D’Cart says. “Zoom in!”
On-screen, we see a bird’s-eye view as the drone swoops down toward the ground. The person skids to a stop, throwing an armload of plants in the air and ducking.
“Mom!” I yell, but my voice goes nowhere. I try to blink onto my iEye so I can reach her, but there’s no reception. No doubt, it’s been blocked by this behemoth that I’m strapped inside. “Mom!” I shout again. I lean over as far as the harness will allow and bang against the window as I yell.
“She can’t hear you,” D’Cart clicks into my helmet and says as if annoyed. “You know that, right?”
“Stop this! Stop!” I demand, but D’Cart has muted me again.
Then the countdown begins. “Ten…”
A long, slender scaffold lifts the rocket higher and higher in the air.
“Nine…”
From the window, my mother appears punier on the ground.
“Eight…”
Does she know that I’m on board? She claims to have a cosmic connection to Talitha and me. She says it’s just how mothers are. They know when their children are in trouble.
“Seven…”
On-screen, I watch her drop to her knees, her face twists with anguish, and she beats her fists into the ground.
“Six…”
My mother knows. She understands that she’s going to lose yet another person she loves to the Moon. Why couldn’t I save my father? Why couldn’t I save Talitha? Why can’t I save myself?
“Five…”
The rockets rev and rumble. I feel their power deep in my cells.
“Four…”
My mother jumps to her feet and runs for the woods as the doors and windows of the Observatory are blown off.
“Three…”
Smoke and debris billow out in gray and white clouds that obscure the fallen obelisk, the trees, and the hills surrounding the Observatory.
“Two … one, liftoff.”
Inertia presses me hard against the seat as we launch into the sky, trailing a bright fire tail—a daytime shooting star. On-screen, I watch the beautiful old Griffith Observatory crumble to the ground as the Wildlands of ’Fith erupt in flames, and we disappear behind the blanket of sunlight hiding the rest of the solar system from the world’s view.
TALITHA NEVA
MOON UTILITARIAN SURVIVAL COLONY
THREE ARMED GUARDS rush through the Shuttle door the moment we lock in place on the MUSC loading bay. They have the same small-nosed, big-eyed look of all Moonlings and are dressed in the regulation blue and silver tunics, but unlike the other Moonlings I’ve seen, these people are armed with PEP guns raised to their shoulders.
“Intruder. Intruder,” the SecuriBot continues to announce, flashing a red light beam onto our foreheads.
I reach across the aisle for Uma’s hand and yell, “Don’t shoot!”
The guards stop, in formation. One in the lead, two in the rear. The woman in the front points her weapon at me, then at Uma, then back at me. “It’s just a couple of Earth girls. Stand down,” she says. The SecuriBot powers off, and the other two guards lower their guns.
Uma opens her mouth to say something at the same moment I sneeze so loud I’m afraid the guards will shoot us. Instead they back away.
“Medevac,” the lead one commands. All three unfurl hoods from their tunics, roll them over their heads, and attach them to the necklines of their shirts. The lead guard looks beyond us to the other passengers.
“What’s wrong with everyone?” she asks through her communication vent. I can hear the panic rising in her voice as she lifts her gun to her shoulder again. “Are they dead?”
“No!” says Uma, hands still in the air. “Everyone lost consciousness, but—”
“What?” I ask, and try to wrench around to see what’s behind us.
“Bring backup,” the lead guard barks, and the other two quickly exit the Shuttle. “Get up.” She motions to us with her gun. “I’m taking you to quarantine. You can make your statement there.”
We unlock our harnesses and stand, clinging to each other. I don’t know if it’s the lingering effects of the anesthesia or if I’m just scared, but I can barely walk.
“My legs are so wobbly,” I whisper.
“It’s the induced gravity of rotation,” says Uma, propping me up, but I notice that she is shaking, too.
The guard steps to the side, gun trained on us as we pass, but then she stumbles. “Oh, my!” She braces herself with an outstretched arm against the Shuttle wall. “I’m’a’li’l…” she slurs, then her knees buckle and she starts to fall. “Dizzy…”
Uma darts forward to catch her before she hits the floor, then gently lays the slumping body in the aisle, making sure to keep the gun pointed away from us.
“Should we take it?” I bump the gun with my toe, but I don’t wait for Uma’s answer. The guttersnipe in me already knows what to do. I grab it and sling it across my shoulder.
“No!” says Uma. “People will think we’re guilty of something if we have a weapon. We should just explain—”
“Explain what? Why we’re the only two people awake on a Shuttle from Earth. Can you explain that? Because I can’t.”
“Well, no, but—”
“They’ll shoot first and ask for explanations later. If we want a chance to talk, we might have to buy ourselves a little time. With this.” I pat the gunstock.
“Do you even know how to use it?” Uma asks, her eyes wide.
“No,” I admit, looking it over. It’s nothing like the old-fashioned bullet gun my father taught us to shoot in the Wastelands when we were small. My mother threw it out when we moved to Calliope. Violence breeds violence, she always said. “But I’ll figure it out if I need to.”
Uma grabs my hand. “Let’s just go before more guards show up.”
I look at the small stuffed dog on my Shuttle seat, but I don’t go back for it because I understand things just got serious.
I cough and sneeze and wipe my nose as we step into the space beyond the Shuttle. Windows line one wall where bright lights zoom by in the dark sky. A huge blue-and-white blur passes overhead.
“Is that…” I reach out and press my hand against a window as I stare into space.
“Earth,” says Uma. “But don’t look too long. It’ll make you sick.”
“No,” I say, still gazing out, waiting for the Earth to pass by again. “It’s beautiful!”
“Come on,” she insists. “We have to go.”
Slowly, carefully, we creep into a brightly lit corridor, where we find the body of another guard passed out on the floor.
“Uh-oh,” says Uma.
“There’s the other one!” I point to the body of the third guard being carried away on an automated sidewalk in the center of the hall.
A siren wails, and flashing lights bounce toward us as a squat red armored truck zooms around the corner and screeches to a stop. Uma and I retreat, arms up in the air, hands linked, the gun between my back and the wall.
“I’m a MUSC citizen!” Uma cries when four guards spill out
of the truck with PEP guns pointed at us.
“Identify!” the guy in front yells.
“Uma Jemison G0C54D1235!”
He blinks on her and says, “Checks out.” Then he turns to me. “Identify!”
“I … I … I … Choooo!” I sneeze. We’re close enough that the droplets from my nose and mouth spray across on his face.
“Uck!” He wipes himself clean with his sleeve.
“Sorry!” I say. “I was put on the Shuttle against my will. I don’t want trouble.”
He reaches for his hood, calling, “Medevac!” but before he can get it over his head, he wavers and swoons backward, crashing into the guards behind him. The other three look on, confused, then one by one, they fall in a heap on the ground around him.
“What the—” I yell. “Is that because of me?” I ask, but my voice is lost beneath the blare of another siren.
“We have to get out of here.” Uma yanks me away. We hop over a low wall onto a moving sidewalk, then hop the next wall onto the walkway going in the opposite direction. One more hop, and we’re across the hall from the loading bays. Uma ducks into a narrow alcove, saying, “Darshan, open HabiTrail.”
I follow and see a square of gray tile in the center of the floor retract to reveal a trapdoor.
“How did you—”
“Get in!”
“What is this?”
“Just go,” she says, looking over her shoulder as the siren wails louder and the lights flash brighter in the hall beyond us.
I scurry down the ladder, the gun bouncing across my back, with Uma stepping on my fingers as she hurries after me.
“Four guards down!” someone yells.
“Close hatch!” Uma commands. I hear it lock in place above us.
We drop into a dimly lit hall and run. My legs feel better, less wobbly, but I don’t make it very far before I’m doubled over, coughing and wheezing. “Wait. Stop,” I pant, and drop to all fours. The gun lies on the floor beside me.
“It’s okay.” Uma stands over me, rubbing circles on my back. “We’re safe for now. No one will think to look for us in here.” She glances up. We hear footsteps overhead. Boots on the ground. Heavy thumps. I imagine more bodies falling. “At least for a while.”