by Karen Bao
My thumb gives me access to every department, from Shelter to Law. On my handscreen, I peruse the operating manuals for all military equipment and view the blueprints for almost every structure on the six bases scattered across the surface of the Moon. They’re similar in setup, though Base I has the most complex floor plan.
I don’t look up statutes on disruptive print or check the status of Mira Theta’s trial.
Despite the new information crowding my head, I also don’t forget my password. A week later, Yinha unhappily transfers ten Sputniks to my family account.
I’m more comfortable alone with her than in public. In Defense, lower-ranking soldiers, including my former fellow trainees, salute me wherever I go—but that’s not the worst of the unwanted attention. People goggle at me when I’m on patrol; a week after I became captain, Journalism aired a news report filled with video clips from training, and the reporter commented on my “selective muteness.” I had the misfortune of seeing the report in the Atrium but the fortune of wearing my helmet, whose visor I slid down before anyone could identify me.
Young girls braid silver string into their hair to mimic my gray stripes, and despite my uninviting glower, mothers approach me to ask for advice, hoping to give their daughters an edge in Primary and Militia. If I’m walking with Yinha, she apologizes about our next meeting or training session—appointments that she fabricates on the spot—and punts me in the shin, indicating that we can escape.
Worse, my training friends are slipping away. I manage to wave to Nash only once, in a corridor. As for Wes—Eri has been assigned to his platoon, so she can talk to him all she likes. Her fiery head bobs alongside his coppery one as they traverse Defense. To avoid encountering them—together—I bury myself in my handscreen and hurry away. Every instance leaves me with a frigid soreness buried so deep inside that no amount of heat therapy could wring it out.
The monotony of Atrium patrol breaks down after a week and a half.
From my perch on the third-floor terrace, I notice a knot of people dressed in green and white exiting Market. They’ve stopped moving, forming a “roadblock” with respect to the surrounding crowd. Shiny black helmets zigzag toward them—privates trying to prevent a traffic jam. I descend one floor to get a closer look.
It’s my family.
Mom has fallen. Although she can hardly stand, she probably insisted on walking without help. Atlas hoists her to her feet, his hands under her arms. Umbriel and Cygnus look like they want to help, but they’re holding piles of vegetables—bought with my income, I imagine.
I turn away, gloom already gathering atop my shoulders to weigh me down. In another life, I might have walked with them, carrying those groceries or looking out for Beetles. Now I’m the enemy, hiding from my family while they bolt away.
They pushed me up here. I can’t flip up this visor and reveal myself as long as they turn their backs on my existence.
29
THE NIGHT THAT GEOLOGY’S SEISMOLOGISTS say a big moonquake is coming, I huddle under the table in my empty apartment, trembling. Quakes shouldn’t worry us, because the metal that composes the bases’ exteriors is mixed with a flexible polymer that bends without breaking. Besides, most quakes are so tiny we can’t feel them. But they remind me of Dad, and they scare me more than everything except death.
Before Dad set out on his last Geology expedition, Mom saw the forecast about the Far Side’s upcoming moonquake and pressed her face against his shoulder, begging him to stay. I’d never seen her so scared—but I had seen them arguing over the previous few weeks. Although they tried to hide it from Cygnus, Anka, and me, I heard feverish whispers late at night. About something that happened long ago, and whether they should ever tell us about it. I still don’t know how any of it fits together. Maybe it doesn’t.
That last night, Mom left the bok choy and tofu in the pressure cooker, and the dish turned to mush. We didn’t have dinner, but I don’t remember feeling hungry.
“What’ll they think of me if I don’t go?” Dad said over and over. Maybe he meant his coworkers and his lab’s principal investigator, or the Committee itself.
“Where are you going?” I asked. I babbled quite a lot as a child. “Can we come?”
Dad picked me up in his strong arms, even though I was a big girl, already six. “You, my dove, help Mommy while I’m gone.” He kissed my forehead twice. “Okay?”
“I promise, Daddy.”
He never came back, but I kept my word.
The door light flashes blue, pulling me into the present. I slide out from under the table, which is trembling even more than I am, and let Yinha in. Her unbound hair hugs her face, emphasizing the sharpness of every feature.
“Stripes, you okay? I, uh, saw your stats, and figured you might want company. This quake’s going to be magnitude 4.3—definitely a doozy.”
The first tremor rocks the residence tower back and forth like an upside-down pendulum. Through my window, I see clouds of dust obscure the mountain in the distance.
I clasp Yinha’s hand and drag her farther into my apartment. We huddle under the oversized table, and she snakes a scrawny—but strong—arm around my ribs. I can’t fully inflate my lungs, but it’s a cozy feeling. “Thanks for coming.”
“Thanks for letting me in,” she says. “I hate quakes. The only thing worse than sitting through a quake is sitting through a quake alone.”
I cuddle closer to her as the tower rocks again. “Aren’t you a recon officer? You could go to Earth to get away from them—be gone months at a time.”
“I could, yeah. But that wouldn’t be cool for my big brother.”
“Hmm?”
The tower bounces up and down as if we’re resting on a giant’s jiggling kneecap. Yinha cringes. “Yeah. Bai was a special private, lost his leg on a recon mission. A year ago. Right around the time I got promoted. I stick around to make sure he’s doing okay. Why didn’t you know about him? Didn’t you check my stats?”
“I don’t like to make premature judgments.”
Even in the dark, Yinha’s face looks green. “You don’t check stats? So you don’t know about my cruddy Primary scores either. I used to pretend stats don’t exist, just like you. But when you’re a captain, you see suspicious stuff everywhere. And sometimes, knowing someone’s stats is enough to save your behind and whip theirs. Since I was your instructor and am your neighbor, I thought you’d at least run a background check. Or, you know, sneak extra surveillance pods into my apartment.”
She doesn’t laugh—Yinha never laughs at her own punch lines—but I do. When my body is shaking with mirth, the tower’s quivering doesn’t feel so bad anymore.
“Recon is full of combat situations. And I’m an awful soldier.” Yinha waves her hand in front of her nose as if she smells something foul. “Disgustingly bad.”
I pull an incredulous face. She can shoot three arrows into three dummies at once and pilot a Pygmette through the smallest crannies in the Defense compound.
“Really. When I was a special private, the corporal in charge always told me not to look into people’s eyes if I had to shoot them. I kept looking, anyway. Looking and missing. It’s easier teaching the mechanics of killing people than actually doing it.”
I know for sure that she approved of my refusal to attack the fake Batterer cruiser. I feel even safer, and so glad that she has taken me under her wing.
The tremors stop. Lights on my ceiling blink green, signaling the all clear. We emerge from under the table. My robe rack has been knocked over and the fruits from my countertop have toppled onto the floor, but nothing is irreparably damaged.
“Cool?” Yinha asks, dusting off her black uniform.
“Mm-hmm.”
My handscreen lights up with a message delivered during the quake—it’s from Defense headquarters.
CLASSIFIED MEETING, TOMORROW 07:00. CAPTAIN PHAET THETA, PRESENCE DEMANDED.
“Huh,” says Yinha. “About time they gave you something to do.”
>
“How’ve you liked Atrium duty?” Skat drawls, his feet perched on the table in the top-floor command center. “Well, that’ll be over soon. Things are about to get more . . . more . . .”
“Labor intensive,” finishes the General. He jabs a button on his handscreen, and the satellite-tracking icons disappear from the ceiling. Now, the Committee’s silhouettes loom around us in a ring as if we are ten-centimeter-tall midgets trapped in the center of the conference table. The six members stare down with eyes that nobody can see.
They’re making one of their rare appearances—for me.
When Umbriel and I were in first-year Primary, we made up nicknames for the Committee members, whose real names we had to memorize and match with silhouettes for class. The featureless black masses petrified us, hardened our tongues into stone until we imbued them with absurdity. The Base IV representative Andromeda Chi, the only female, became Lady A. The others—Hydrus Iota, Cassini Omicron, Janus Lambda, Nebulus Nu, and Wolf Omega—became Stouty, Spider Hands, Frowning Mustache, Handsome Profile, and Eyebrow Man.
The Committee members rise when they see me. Like a string of robots, the others in the room follow. Skat yawns.
Though flustered, I salute. Is this the proper way to greet the most powerful people on the Moon?
“No need for formalities.” Cassini’s voice rustles like desiccated leaves. As he speaks, his creeping fingers tug at individual strands of his beard.
“We took time out of our busy schedules to meet you.” Hydrus’s voice oozes like maple sap, as saccharine as the unhealthy food he must have eaten to make his neck disappear.
“The youngest captain in our military history,” drawls handsome Nebulus, whose silhouette is like that of an Earthbound marble statue. The youngest Committee member, he was only in his twenties when he ascended to the post. He begins scrolling through his handscreen—maybe he’s checking my stats.
“And a girl, no less,” Andromeda adds. Her hair, as curly as Callisto’s, is almost as short as a man’s, but her body is rounded enough to peg her as a woman. She gives Nebulus a look of disapproval—he shouldn’t be on his handscreen during a meeting—and he puts both hands down by his sides. Even Committee members have to watch their manners, I think. But only with each other.
“What we’re asking of you, Captain Phaet, is indispensably important,” says Hydrus. “A recent Earth recon mission has informed us that Pacifia may be planning another strike on lunar territory.”
Searching for emotion in eyes I cannot see is unnerving, to say the least.
“We need someone competent, not necessarily needed here on the Moon, and above all, inconspicuous.”
Wolf Omega turns left, then right for approval before he speaks; his bristly brows protrude from his face in silhouette. He raises his trembling hands.
“It was serendipity when we heard about a new captain from Base IV. You are among the greatest specimens of our great nation’s youth. Be honored to do our great work, to be ambassador of our great philosophy, to rid the Earth of uneducated filth—”
“That’s enough,” whispers Andromeda, patting Wolf’s shoulder.
Shivering, I process what I’m hearing. I’m going to Earth within weeks of finishing training. Although I’ve internalized operating manuals and my new authority, I doubt I can apply them outside of an evaluation or sim. I certainly won’t be ready to touch down upon that shifting blue marble on the horizon, which will surely be much more intimidating in person.
Yinha’s earlier warning comes to mind. As a captain, I must take charge of and assume liability for entire recon missions. Is the Committee trying to hurt me? Or are they giving me a chance to prove myself?
“I can take over from here,” the General says. “I know you are all busy today.”
“Thank you, General. Yes. We must resolve the energy dispute on Base II,” says Hydrus. I scrunch my eyes shut and shake my head, hoping to clear the fog of agitation. Base II was built near Base I eighty-five years ago as an emergency shelter in case of attack or infrastructure problems. No evacuation ever occurred on Base I, but Base II still has a purpose. On rare occasions, Base I uses more solar power, water, or food than it produces on its own; Base II often makes up the difference.
“Pay attention, Captain,” the General orders.
My eyes snap open. The Committee has disappeared from the walls, replaced by the rows and columns of figures, the images of Earth and its satellites. “Yes, sir.”
“Don’t let me catch you daydreaming again. Am I understood?”
Do all officers ask their underlings some variant of that question, as if we don’t comprehend English? Will I do so myself in a few years, or worse, a few days?
“Yes, sir!”
“You will lead this recon mission. You will not reveal your assignment to anyone. Your team includes capable subordinates who have already demonstrated loyalty to you.”
My handscreen flashes. Nash, Io, Orion, and Wes will accompany me to Earth. Within me, the stubborn loneliness begins to thaw, and the corners of my mouth jerk upward. I don’t care if the Committee sees.
Then I see our departure date: August 24—the same day as Mom’s trial. I teeter on unsteady legs before my hand reaches back and finds the plane of the door.
I mumble like the fearful daughter I am, “Thank you, General.”
The General swivels his chair, giving me the back of his broad head.
Skat flicks his hand at me. “That means you’re dismissed. Shoo.”
I salute the two officers and inch backward out of the room.
Yinha paces in circles around my apartment, forehead wrinkled.
“That’s an intense assignment. They could have asked me or someone with more experience—especially when they know I’d like to take a break from teaching incompetent teenagers.”
But you’re a horrible soldier. You said so.
She lowers her voice, surveying our surroundings for one of the security pods. “And Pacifia? It might be the second-biggest city on Earth, but its technology is gritty compared to ours. They couldn’t hurt us decades ago, and they definitely can’t now.”
Yinha widens her eyes at me before slowly blinking twice. Oh. I wonder if she knows that Mom will be on trial while I’m spying on Earth.
“Strange, the timing. Usually, they give teams a month to prepare for an Earth mission. This is your first assignment, and they’re giving you two weeks.”
Oh, yes. She knows everything.
Maybe they gave me the position of captain so that they could send me to Earth on Mom’s big day—and have me assume responsibility for anything that goes wrong. Did they think it would help them win?
My absence will make no difference to the Committee, but without me, August 24 will be a hard day for Cygnus and Anka.
I can’t abandon them on trial day, leaving them huddled at home. But I also can’t abandon my team’s Earth recon assignment and disobey direct orders.
“I’ve got to go to training now; it’s almost 08:00.” Yinha passes me on her way out of my apartment. For an instant, she’s close enough to whisper in my ear. “Be careful, Stripes.”
30
I POUND ON THE DOOR TO MY BROTHER’S room.
“Cygnus! Hurry!”
“Go away! Didn’t Mom want you to stay in Defense with your new friends?”
I hesitate, remembering that awful falling-out, and decide to convince him using the facts. “The Committee assigned me to Earth recon on the same day as Mom’s trial.”
My brother lurches toward the door, footsteps uneven. When it opens, I behold a boy whose eyes are so glazed I can almost see the reflection of a handscreen in them. We hurry to his cot and plant our rears over our left hands.
“So you’re back. Why? You were going to throw us your money and make us deal with the trial alone.”
“I got mad last time. Came here to say sorry.” I also have something to ask, but I’m not sure how.
“So what can I do for you?” C
ygnus demands. “I’m busy already, data mining Law.”
“Help me.”
Cygnus tilts his big head to the side. “You’ll be gone.”
Nod.
“Going to Earth is dangerous. Those pieces of grit majors! Why don’t they go instead?”
I grimace. “It’s the Committee that’s sending me. . . .”
He waves me off with a flip of his hand. Like his head on his scrawny neck, it’s oversized compared to his skinny forearm. “Anka’s going to go ballistic. Well, not literally, but you know what I mean.”
He’s already doing too much—babysitting Anka, administering Mom’s medication and food, and reconfiguring parts of the digital world. It’s like we’re characters in a malfunctioning sim-game, assigned task after grueling task before we’ve accomplished the preceding one. Guilt can’t describe how I feel about asking him for more, but I have to be here on August 24. What if Cygnus or Anka needs me?
My voice cracks. “Is there a way to skip it?”
His jaw drops, and he meets my eyes for the first time. “Skip . . . skip your mission?”
“Break into Defense intranet? Enter a fake ship launch?”
“Hack Defense? That’s . . . hard! Hardest on the base!”
If anyone could do it, Cygnus could. “I could launch the ship,” I say, “then ride the escape pod back to the base. Record my voice now and play the files to my superiors later.”
“What about your team? I can’t get their voice samples. And trust me, there’ll be people listening in on your ship. Even if I could get clips, there’s no way the conversation would sound natural! You’re just asking for more problems. Mom’s already in trouble, and if you get caught, you’ll be kicked out of Militia. Or . . . worse. Then you’ll both be in jail—and—and if the Committee goes gritty and decides not to show mercy . . .”
. . . we will all go to jail.
“I’m sorry, but . . .”
As I watch his reddened eyes and swollen fingers, I can’t suppress the shame. I swallow it down, but it merely sits undigested in my stomach.