Moonful of silver, p.4
Moonful of Silver, page 4
He shouldn’t be surprised. No doubt she realized what she’d done. He wasn’t sure whether to be hurt she didn’t say goodbye or left without taking responsibility for her actions.
He gathered his things and caught a ride to the nearest colony. The view was as miserable as his mood. When he’d first arrived on the Moon, the blandness of his surroundings had depressed him. The gray landscape, buildings, and machinery felt like a tomb, especially during the night phase. Having a tapestry of stars and galaxies overhead hadn’t helped. It’d just left him insignificant and lonely. He’d gotten used to it, though. This was home now, even if the ever-sullen Jo was his only friend. Well. If he could still call her that.
Who were these two guys searching for her? Dust it. If only he’d taken more time with her. Taught her better—none of this would’ve happened. He had to find her—to make things right. To tell her about Andreas. Tell her it wasn’t her fault—that he’d failed her.
Where else would she be but here? She had to be here. She just had to.
Welcome to New Buckingham read the colony’s sign. It might’ve once promised an uptown lifestyle, but the town’s patrons took shortcuts in construction, which meant it still had the amenities of a colony, including the Lunar Cups, a decent sized saloon where workers came when they had time off—but it was falling to pieces. Hardly a place to put down roots.
Gabe stepped inside the Lunar Cups. A cacophony bombarded him, from the buzz of dozens of voices to the pings of a piano straining to be heard above the din. The heat of so many bodies hit him next. A haze drifted through the air from the cigarette and cigar smoke, dimming the already low lighting.
It was always crowded here. Days off rotated. There were no weekends on the Moon. No eight-click shifts or forty-click work weeks either. You worked a full Moonday until you were told, and took your assigned time off without question. It wasn’t like there were many opportunities for a chalán like him.
He took in all the faces. Hard women, harder men. Some laughed, pretending they weren’t moonsiders with nowhere else to go. Some stared into their drinks, long since given up on having a better life. A few had paired up, though Gabe doubted any of them would spend more than one night together. A small group of people hovered at a card table, hope for a lucky break etched on their foreheads. He craned his neck, trying to get a good look at them all. If Jo were here, she’d probably be at the gambling tables. She had the best poker-face on the Moon.
But she wasn’t there. Gabe meandered through the crowd until he found a familiar face. “You seen Jo?”
“Naw, I ain’t seen her.”
Gabe moved on, asking others. No luck. He nudged his way to the bar.
“What’ll you have?” asked the long-bearded barkeep with tattoos running down his neck and arms.
Gabe smiled. Clarence never forgot a face, making him the best one to ask. “You seen Jo?”
The man shook his head. “Not today.”
Gabe sighed and flicked his hand, signifying he didn’t want to order anything. He pushed toward the door. Two men blocked him. “Excuse me.” He inched forward expecting them to step aside, but they didn’t move. “Perdóneme, señors.”
The bald, bulky man with a hard expression made Gabe think of an angry bull. He jutted his goatee’d chin. “You lookin’ for Jo?”
Gabe bobbed his head. “Yeah, you seen her?”
“Whatchu want her for?”
“She’s a friend. I just want to make sure she’s alright.”
“A friend, eh,” the tall skinny man with mean narrow eyes said.
“Si, señor.” Gabe stepped back as foreboding writhed in his gut. “You know where she is?”
“Let’s step outside.” The larger man swept his hand at the door.
Gabe glanced behind him. Something wasn’t right. “Just tell me, amigo.”
The angry-bull-man grabbed Gabe’s arm and yanked. “I said. Let’s. Step. Outside.”
Tall-and-skinny snatched his other arm. Gabe opened his mouth to protest but snapped it shut at the long knife brandished before him. They dragged him out the door, then slammed him against the side of the dome. The thin man pinned him, touching the point of his blade to his throat.
Gabe froze, not even daring to swallow. Sweat beaded his forehead and upper lip. Skinny bared his teeth and pressed harder. Gabe whimpered.
“Back off a little,” the bull said.
Skinny released some pressure.
“I didn’t do nothing,” Gabe squeaked. “You’ve got the wrong guy. I’ve done nothing.”
The bull growled. “Where did Jo go?”
Gabe wagged his head . . . Or tried to. “I—I don’t know. That’s why I’m here, amigos. Looking for her. But she’s gone. Disappeared.”
“What do you mean disappeared?” Skinny replied, his sour breath amplified by Gabe’s heightened senses.
“She left work. Took her things. All of them. No trace of her now.”
The two men exchanged a look, deciding Gabe’s fate.
“Let’s just kill him,” the bull said.
Skinny let go and stepped back, but Gabe couldn’t move—not with that knife still within striking range.
“Not yet.” Skinny pulled out a money scanner and waved it over Gabe’s collar. His credits rapidly decreased.
“Five thousand fifteen,” Skinny spat. “That ain’t even half of what Jo owes.”
Jo owes these matóns money? Gabe swallowed. Of course. The two guys searching for her. He should’ve known. Did Jo disappear because of Andreas or because of these men?
“Please,” he whined. “I need those credits to get back to Earth.”
“Earth, huh?” Skinny grinned, his eyes narrowing into a sly tilt.
“Well, that settles it, then,” the bull said.
Settles what?
Gabe couldn’t bring himself to ask but Skinny replied anyway. “You see now.” He waggled his knife in Gabe’s face. “Jo owes money to our boss. A great deal of money. A lot more than what you got.”
“So here’s what we’re going to do.” The bull crossed his arms. “We’re sending him your ident. He’ll have folks waitin’ for you when you reach Earth. You’ll introduce yourself as Jo’s friend and tell them you’re gonna pay her debt.”
“M-me? But I have no dinero.”
“Pay or die,” Skinny said. “They’ll be expectin’ ya.”
“And they’ll help you find a way to repay.”
Gabe swallowed. He didn’t bother arguing. Matón’s like this didn’t care about fairness. There was no point in begging either. There were three types of people, whether Earth inhabitants or moonsiders. Those who took for success, like Fernandez. Those who just took for greed, like these men. And everyone else—folks who went along with it because they didn’t have the strength or the mentality to do anything about it. Gabe fell into the third category.
“Si,” he said.
“Now, scram! Before my scanning finger gets twitchy!”
Gabe vanished down the alley. He didn’t need a second invitation.
The ride to the shipping dock passed in a daze. He’d left those men behind but others seemed to watch him as he exited the rover. A thick-bearded man with wild hair spat to the side as Gabe bounded past. A large woman who almost had a beard herself narrowed her eyes. Two men hovered near the ticket booth. They probably meant for their slouch to appear casual, but their joints were tense and alert beneath their false show of relaxation, and their eyes never moved away from Gabe.
He tried not to return their stare or look at anyone else as he approached the counter. “When’s the next transport to Earth?”
“We have one leaving in four clicks,” the woman drawled. Her wrinkles made her seem ancient, but he suspected she wasn’t much older than him. She had black blotches on her forehead and cheeks. Skin cancer was common here, even with the energy fields keeping out most of the radiation.
“Gracias, señora.” He smiled.
She didn’t smile back. “You gonna buy a ticket or what?”
Gabe cleared his throat. “Can you do me a favor, señora?”
She rolled her eyes. “Maybe.”
“Act like you’re taking my credits and pretend to give me a ticket.”
She stared at him like he was daft.
“Please,” he implored. “Check my collar. Take a hundred for yourself.”
Her brows rose a few millimeters.
“Okay. How about two hundred?” He put his hands together in prayer. “Please.”
She pursed her lips, then extracted his credits. “If you’re givin’ it. I’m takin’ it.”
Gabe’s shoulders fell. “Thank you, señora.”
She pretended to make a transaction. He grasped his fake ticket, then headed to the docking platform. The first chance he got, he slipped away and hid. Going back to Earth was no longer an option—not when there was only one landing port there.
The Moon had many colonies. Although ultimately answering to Lunar HQ, most were independently run. Surely he’d find a new colony to live in—some place where people didn’t know him and how he’d lost his job. The situation would likely be worse than what he’d just left, but it was all he had—thanks to Jo.
No way off this rock. No work at Lunar HQ. His only chance at the next meal ticket was to disappear to the fringes. To a badland crater where nobody asked questions, so long as the booze kept flowing. Had Jo known all along this was the only path to a living future? Was that why she’d run?
Where did you go, Jo?
Poor señorita.
He used his last credits to purchase a broken hovercycle, fixed a few parts, and then, without so much as a goodbye, took off across the dust.
LUNAR HQ
[Redacted]
Record of meeting #1075-328
Location: Room 951, Lunar Tower
Attendees: Board of LunarCore Directors
Absent board members: N/A
Is this thing recording? Yes? Good. You both know why you’re here.
Do we?
Don’t be facetious, Jimbo. It doesn’t suit you.
Look, if this is about the transmissions stopping, we should just—
Three months.
Excuse me?
It’s been three months since transmissions stopped. Nothing is coming. No relief ship from Earth. No supplies. No reserves. Which means decisions need to be made, and it’s down to us to make them. Is that understood?
. . .
Good. Silt, this isn’t the start I’d hoped for.
What had you hoped for? A miracle?
Of course not. But a little information would be nice.
Information? Like why Earth left us alone to die up here?
We don’t know they left us. We don’t know silt. All we know is when the transmissions stopped.
Come on, Toku. We all know whose fault it is. If your people in Earth East hadn’t insisted on—
That’s enough, Jimbo. If we start like this, we’ll never get out of here. We don’t need a debate. What we need is a survival plan. So let’s keep this constructive, alright?
. . .
Good. Now. As President of LunarCore, I want it understood that none of us are leaving this room until we’ve made a plan, otherwise nobody on this Moon is going to survive. I’ve called you both in here because what we need is ideas, and we need them fast. So . . . which of you wants to go first?
NAMELESS
Present
Captain Esteban Garcia’s dome reeked of damp. On a moon where water was supposed to be rationed, mold smelled even worse than on Earth. It meant, unless they could stomach cheap saloon booze, somebody somewhere was dying of thirst.
But not here.
As the gravity generator fired and her boots hit the floor, Nameless stepped into a sparsely furnished waiting room. Nobody was there to meet her. They’d all be shielded beyond at least one set of reception rooms for security. Fanciest airlock ever.
She held back, biding her time, helmeted and scanning. She picked up six cameras, all pointing her way, hidden behind drapery and faux wood. A quick heat scan showed three bodies moving on the other side of the wall. Three to one. Better odds than she was used to.
A door swooped open and the goons entered the waiting area. They looked like they shared a single brain cell between them. Either that, or there was a private stash of booze inside the dome and they hadn’t been expecting visitors.
“Do you have an appointment with Captain Garcia?” the first asked.
Nameless folded her arms and tapped her foot.
“Well? Do you speak?”
She tapped louder.
The one at the back reached slowly for his scanner.
Don’t do it.
She tracked the movement.
“I think this intruder must be too stupid to talk,” the second goon said to the first. And some people were too stupid to shut up.
The third guy was an inch away from his holster.
Don’t. Do. It.
“Look, if you haven’t got an appointment, we can’t let you—”
The door swooshed again and in waltzed Esteban. “Ahhhh, the silent stranger. Welcome.” He turned to his three lackeys. “At ease, boys. The good lady is here on my invitation. Do come in.” Esteban gestured inside.
Nameless strutted through, allowing them to fall in behind, surrounding her.
If it made them feel safe, she’d play along. For now.
The path wound further into the dome where scanners bleeped, alerting them to the presence of her weapons.
“No need to worry about that racket,” Esteban said. “Just ahead and to the left.”
She did as she was told and entered a lavish study.
“Wait out here, will you?” Esteban commanded his men.
“Sure thing, boss.”
He smiled. “I’ve promised her the guided tour.”
“Guided tour? Since when did we give guided—”
“That’s enough, Sanchez,” he snapped.
Sanchez, the trigger-happy one, shut his mouth faster than a moondog chasing dust. Fear. Useful to control loyalties, but all too easy to break.
The door sealed them inside the study, alone.
Esteban gestured to a chair that rested in front of a polished, oak-scented desk. “Make yourself comfortable. We’ve got plenty of time.”
Yeah. Two Earth-day’s worth. Or did he know that already?
The captain took his place on the other side of the desk and eased into his throne. Master of his lair.
“You gave us quite the fright when you arrived in town. Diego—he’s a good worker—but if you didn’t know him, you’d think he was all bluff. I assure you, he wasn’t. It’s best not to cross him, for everybody’s sake. We don’t want to put the colony at risk now. Do we?”
Nameless unfastened her helmet. It hissed off her head, and she clipped it to her holster, letting it brush against her pistol.
“Want to see mine?” Esteban opened the top drawer and removed a laser-pistol, placing it on the desk. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she? Custom-built. The ward of a captain. Scanners are carried by everyone and their moondog, but pistols like this—they belong to artists. No?”
Nameless glanced down at the silver gun, and met his eyes, unimpressed.
Esteban laughed. He picked up the pistol and twirled it in his fingers. “Here we are, talking about weapons and you could probably take me out with one hand behind your back. Am I right?”
“Probably,” she said, her voice a whisper.
The captain stopped showboating, straightened to attention, and for a moment, some of the fear she’d seen in the eyes of Sanchez registered in Esteban’s. But in a flash, the coldness was gone, and his artificial smile returned. “So you do speak?”
Nameless said nothing.
“Only when it’s important, huh?”
Her stern expression told him the answer without the need for words.
“Okay. Enough conversation. You’re here for the tour. You’re probably wondering what we do all day. How a colony this far out can thrive. Right? Well. Let me show you.” He flicked a silver paperweight on his desktop, and the floor moved. Hinges creaked and gears ratcheted in a cacophony as the rug slipped below the surface of the dome.
Nameless reclined into her chair. If this was an ambush, he’d have sprung it long ago.
Light cascaded up steel walls as they slowed, coming to rest with a thunk. Behind Esteban, the wall opened onto a large balcony coated in glass. He stood, paced over, and peered through.
Nameless rose and joined him.
Through the glass, a massive hole emptied down, down, down into an abyss that stretched into a depthless black void.
“This used to be a LunarCore Mining Site, once upon a time,” Esteban explained. “It was the same old drill. Excuse the pun. Their teams came in, established bases across the crater, mined into the core, ready to pump their denser materials to stabilize the gravity and spin. But then, of course, the hostilities with Earth put a stop to all that, didn’t they?”
What did Nameless need a history lesson for? Still, it didn’t exactly feel like history, peering from the rim of a giant drilling site.
“LunarCore cleared out eventually. Captains were sent in to keep the sites secure. And then we were forgotten about. Overlooked by Lunar HQ. Passed over. Disregarded. Whatever you want to call it, we stopped being important to them long ago. Didn’t we?”
Nameless cast a look at him. Was he staring at the abyss beyond the glass, or the reflection of himself?
“They all expected the colonies to fade. It’s where Lunar HQ sent the underachievers, expecting them to fail. And some did. But others didn’t. And do you know why?” Esteban pointed to the far side of the rim.
Nameless adjusted her eyes. Would’ve been easier with the helmet. Was that . . . a person down there? Not just one. A whole team of people dressed in LunarCore standard gear.
