Introduction
This is the story that won 1st place, third quarter, 2003 L Ron Hubbard's Writers of the Future contest. The prize included a $1000 check, flights and hotel for a week in LA, and 5-day workshop with stars of the science fiction field like Anne McCaffrey, Kim Stanley Robinson, Tim Powers, and Kevin Anderson. It was an amazing experience, one any unpublished writer can have, so long as he or she takes the chance and enters the Writers of the Future contest. Did I mention the tuxedo gala award ceremony and hanging out with John Travolta? My advice? Ya gotta be in it to win it.
Chapter 1
“Colonization of an extraterrestrial body began June 6, 2017 as construction crews cast the first foundation bricks of the Joint Venture Lunar Base (JVLB) . . . a temporary staging and support base for construction of the Very Large Permanent Earth Orbit Space Station, supplying structural glass, atmospheric gasses, and other important lunar materials . . . Certainly nobody guessed that almost two decades later JVLB would become so commercially successful or such a pivotal point in modern civil rights . . .”
excerpt: “Manned Space: A Study of Sociological Development, Intro.”
“C’mon Frans, you can’t go by yourself. This is too late to start a run anyway. The dark will catch you!”
“What should I do, Peter?” Frans looked at me through those bushy eyebrows. “Wait here for two weeks until next sunrise while the rent and docking fees add up? Let the company impound my rig, slap a Debtor’s Lien on me, and put me out of business?” Frans shook his head emphatically while continuing to stuff his personal belongings into a duffle. I didn’t have an answer for that, at least not a helpful one. The old fellow was right.
“What about Ray? What’s he gonna do?”
“He and I have discussed it,” Frans said as he finished packing. “The doctors will get his diabetes under control, the company will sue him for the bills, then force him into a work contract. Then, if some things go right, we will pay him out soon.” He sighed. “Ray is, or was, a good partner, but he doesn’t need to be Out There. Not anymore. It would endanger us both.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than me. I didn’t blame him. Frans was about to do something everyone thought was crazy; he was headed out on a solo run across the lunar outback.
Frans had taken me under his wing the day I arrived at Lunar Base. He had wasted his valuable run time to help a lost, tow-headed California college student get his bearings and had happily taken my first survey. Now Frans was in a bind, and I felt like I wasn’t doing enough to help my friend. I bet he was feeling the same way about Ray right now.
“Ray will be fine,” he said, but wouldn’t meet my eye. He strapped the bag securely.
“Yeah, I’m sure he will.” I couldn’t make it sound very positive.
He checked his watch. “I’m late.”
I looked uncomfortably around the bare little Temporary Occupant Quarters as Frans shouldered the scuffed grey duffel bag and slid the door open. Like my own T. O. Q., the rough walls showed the welded-lunar-dust bricks of the original Lunar Base construction. A mattress pad on a low brick shelf was the bed, and courses of offset bricks were storage shelves. Kind of ironic, I thought. I’d never lived in a place as rough as this, even as a poor freshman. Now I was a postgraduate sociology student, a thesis away from earning my Masters, working on an interplanetary research project for my university, and living in a bare-brick, no bathroom single. We were quite a pair, Frans and I. We made our way through the grey Lunar Base corridors in silence.
Frans was a founder of the growing group of independent prospectors. The SunRunners or just Runners, were folks who didn’t want to return to Earth after their contract was up or when retirement time came. They raced lunar sunset with their hand-built, solar-powered rovers, trying to keep ahead of the dark, stopping only to process prime lunar dust into glass, water, and air with their solar furnaces. When the night caught up with them, they packed their equipment and sped west again, leapfrogging their way around the Moon until they were back at Lunar Base a month later with a load to sell.
This isn’t as hard as it sounds, since the sunset terminator advances at just over ten miles an hour on the moon. The catch was that between driving, setting up, processing, and tearing down, there was hardly enough time on a run for two men to rest. Without atmosphere to bounce radio transmission, and no relay satellites, communications were limited to line-of-sight; even a minor accident or breakdown could turn into disaster. I thought it was a miracle only one Runner team had ever been lost. Trying a run alone seemed almost suicidal.
We had to walk through the common central hub of the Residential Structure to reach the docks. I liked the Common, and not just because of the vending machines. Paint, murals, handmade furniture, and other homey touches showed the combined efforts of Lunar Base tenants over the years. The Common was never empty, but there was quite a crowd when we walked in. As we crossed the Common, faces turned and conversations stopped. Most Runners were already gone, but it looked like a lot of the permanent base personnel were interested in what was happening with Frans.
He walked to the central residential kiosk to log out of his T. O. Q., stopping to exchange greetings and shake hands along the way. Judging by all the handshaking, Frans could have been elected mayor of Lunar Base, if the company had dared to allow elections. I scanned for some good snapshots of the party with my PDA, and noticed a gleaming cap of short, red curls. There was Patty, standing back from the press in a base jumpsuit. She always tried to hide her redheaded good looks behind loose work clothes and lots of attitude. She looked beautiful . . . and upset. I headed her way through the crowd..
Shortly after I’d come to the Moon, Frans had asked me to sit with Patty in the hospital. Frans told me he had happened to be in his surfacesuit on the docks when the crash alarms sounded; he’d been the first to the flipped lander. It hadn’t been much of a crash, but cabin integrity had failed and Frans had found her unconscious and suffocating. Patty was returning from some martial arts event on the space station, and had her helmet unsealed while chatting with the lander crew. The disoriented crew had been unaware of her distress and the Emergency Response Team hadn’t reached the crash yet; she might have died except for Frans. She’d been lucky and only had a concussion with some minor vacuum exposure burns in her lungs.
She was watching Frans intently when I stopped beside her. Lucky Frans.
“Uhm . . . hello, Patty.” What a dork I was sometimes.
“G’day, Pete.” She didn’t look at me. “Did ya hear? The bastards Contracted me.”
“What?” I pushed down my sudden anger. “I thought they couldn’t do that ‘til you were recovered and released to duty?”
“Apparently they can. Soon as I filed a claim for lost pay they declared me insolvent and delinquent, then filed a Lien. It was Contract or get shipped back home in irons. I can’t even trek up to the space station for a meet.”
“Ouch. Sorry.” My anger faded into frustration. The Personal Lien clause of the Lunar Base Accord had been intended to protect the company from freeloader and welfare cases, but instead it had allowed a form of slavery to arise. An outstanding debt to the company became a debt to society, which allowed the company to file a lien on future earnings. This resulted in a due-process choice of immediate payment, forced contract work without pay, or being returned Earth-side to prison.
A good quarter of the people in the Common now was under Contract, working for room and board until their debt was settled. Lunar Base had been in political limbo since Lunar Development Corporation took over two decades ago, leaving the Contracted with no higher authority to appeal to. The few who opted for a return to Earth got out of jail soon enough, but were often sued into ruin. I was supposed to be a neutral and objective scholar, but this subject was ruining that.
“Sorry, mate.” She finally looked at me and her glowing smile parted the sea of freckles. “Didn’t mean to be such a gloomer. How are ya, Peter? Ya been hangin’ round the medical center much lately?” We laughed together; I had visited her a lot. I watched her gaze return to Frans.
“Worried about him?” I put my hand on her shoulder.
“Yeah.” She turned toward me and hooked her finger in my shirt pocket. For a while in the hospital she could barely whisper, and this was a signal for me to listen closely. “Somethin’ is goin’on, Pete,” she whispered, “and I’m damn worried.” A tear trembled. “I gotta go.”
I watched the most beautiful woman on the moon hurry away. The space-born were elvishly tall and slender, an effect of very low gravity on hormone patterns. The look was, to risk cliche’, otherworldly. I had never told her how I felt about her, though. No matter how I tried, we’d never really seemed to click. I knew she liked me, but all the clicking seemed to be me.
“Sunset in thirty minutes,” blared the overhead, “all rail-launcher maintenance teams report for rail-launcher shut down.”
Frans threw up his hands as the message repeated.
“There is my cue, everyone,” he said after the announcement. “Time to go, thank you all.” We left amid a storm of farewells and well-wishes.
I wasn’t surprised to see Patty waiting for us at the dock airlock when we got finally got there. I tried to come up with some witty greeting, but as usual, my mind went blank instead. It didn’t matter; her attention was on Frans. Lucky Frans.
“Hello, Frans,” she said. She nodded to me, and took Frans’ arm, “I heard about your mate, tough go. You got more troubles waitin’ for you on the docks.”
“Nothing I didn’t expect, my dear,” he said to her, “but thank you for the confirmation.” He patted her on the arm in a fatherly fashion, then opened the airlock.
“This is loony, Frans.” She put her other hand on his arm, holding him back from entering the airlock. “You can’t go out alone. What about your heart? Let me fetch my kit. I’m goin’ with you.”
“Absolutely not, Patty dear,” he said gently, “you are not ready to go back Out There yet, and you have obligations here besides.”
“I’m better now! And my contract can go straight to hell for all I care! You need a partner, and I’m goin’, and that’s it.”
Damn, she was awesome. Something stirred in me, that feeling of uselessness again. Surely I could do more than watch as Frans drove off to his doom while Patty suffered for it? Frans took Patty’s face in his hands. Looking at his wrinkled hands, I realized just how old Frans must be.
“Patricia, tell me, has your doctor released you back to full duty yet?” Frans was very serious.
“No, he won’t, the bloody company quack, but I feel . . .”
“So,” Frans interrupted her, “you want me to risk your health also? Perhaps even your life? And help you become a contract jumper? Is that what you want?”
She sniffled, but held her head up. “If that’s what it takes, too right,” she said.
“No, I won’t allow it. I am sorry, my dear.”
“It’s my choice, and I want to,” Patty said, and sobbed.
This clash of wills was making Frans even later, and I had no idea what to do about it. I just knew I was sick and tired of being useless.
“I’ll go,” I blurted out, surprising myself more than them. They just looked at me, stunned I guess. Frans was the quicker on the uptake, though.
“Well, then it’s settled. Peter goes with me, and you can do me the favor of making sure Ray is well taken care of, my dear.” He kissed her forehead. “Goodbye, Patty.” Patty still stared at me, streaks of tears on her wonderful freckles. I could see respect growing in her eyes.
“Pete,” she said quietly, “you are a twit,” and stormed off, which I thought was quite a trick in Lunar G.
So maybe it wasn’t respect.
I was still vacantly staring in the direction Patty had disappeared when I heard the airlock close and seal behind me. The polished aluminum of the door reflected my dumb face when I turned. Standing alone in the corridor, I considered the vagaries of life, friendship, and the disadvantages of having an opposite sex. I grabbed a docksuit off the rack and donned it while Frans cycled through to the docks, then jumped into the airlock as soon as Frans got out. It took me a moment to get oriented when I cycled through; I didn’t come out here on the docks much.
The dock was a long loading platform, running east from the center of Lunar Base, roofed and walled with thick concrete for radiation protection, but not sealed against vacuum. The twenty vehicle bays were open to the surface, facing north and south to keep direct sunlight off of the docks. With the crates, stowed parts, and forklifts scattered along the main dock, the place seemed chaotic and disorganized to my unfamiliar eye. I walked around the obstacles and searched for Frans’ long range lunar rover, which he’d whimsically named Luna-bago. With all the Runners out it wasn’t as bad as it could be, but it still took me a minute to find the craft, and the trouble Patty mentioned.
Frans was down in the bay beside the Luna-bago, confronting three men; their surfacesuits had Security Division markings. I saw them gesturing, and realized I hadn’t turned on the docksuit com, a breech of company safety regulations. I fumbled with the wrist controller.
“ . . . try to make this clear,” I heard Frans say, “I’m not a company employee, and am not obligated to the charter or the fascist edicts of company management. Is that clear enough, Alan?” I could see whom he was talking to now, Security Division Coordinator Alan McMahon and two of his Security Division goons. Everything else on the docks had stopped as people listened.
“If you’ll let me finish?” S. D. C. McMahon asked with a tight-lipped smile.
“Certainly, if you can do so in the next five minutes Alan,” Frans calmly returned. I could tell Alan didn’t like that, but he plowed on.
“I’m sure I can, sir. As I was saying, part two of the company charter empowers the company to protect the safety of employees and property, and more specifically, section D allows the company to safeguard itself from spurious and malicious legal action. Pursuant to Part Two, section D of the company charter, I hereby place you into protective custody until a court decides if the company is liable for your willing self-endangerment. Please come quietly.”
“Not yet,” Frans said and held up his hand, “Surely I have the right to know just what self-endangerment you are keeping me from suing you for.”
“Mr. Gould, you have no rights here. I will, out of courtesy, answer your question, and then you will come with us. You failed to file a trip plan, but information my office has acquired leads me to believe you are taking your rover out without a crew, an obviously dangerous act. Now . . .”
“Reporting for duty, Captain Frans,” I yelled, and performed an exaggerated British-style stamping salute. Since I forgot we were in Lunar G, this launched me off the dock, and down into the group of men. With curses and grunts, we finally got untangled.
“Take him into custody, now,” Alan snapped when we all regained our feet. One officer stepped toward Frans. Frans stepped back beside the prow of his rover.
“Hold on Alan, what are you arresting me for now?”
“It doesn’t matter now, Gould, you ARE going in. Cuff him”
Frans reached behind himself while Alan talked, into the open nose storage bay. At the officer’s next step, he whipped out a long metallic object.
A sword?
Frans brandished the jagged-edged, wickedly curved weapon like some B-movie pirate. The security officers scrambled back, one of them actually leaping up from the bay to the main dock.
“Not before I say a few things, Alan. First, remember I have rented this bay from the company, and as a customer I have every right to defend it and my property from illegal seizure. Second, since I’m not violating any of your precious charter clauses, you have absolutely no reason or right to arrest or detain me. Third, if you DO insist on violating my civil rights by detaining me without due process, you make yourself and your company liable for civil and criminal charges. Or maybe Lunar Base Director Moshya would like to invite the United Nations to investigate human rights crimes here?”
I had to choke back a laugh at that. The U. N. had been fighting for years to have Lunar Base and all the rest of the Moon declared United Nations territorial jurisdiction and would love to have more ammunition for that cause. Some clear human rights violations might force many of the member nations to stop ignoring Lunar Base. Alan waved his men back and talked quickly on another com channel, then was quiet as he nodded and grimaced. Frans watched carefully, and I stood there wondering what next. Finally Alan finished his other conversation and looked at me.
“Mr. Laggar, I have been told to inform you that your disruptive activities will be reported to your project manager. Furthermore, if you leave the environs of Lunar Base, we are no longer responsible for your well-being and your Occupancy Contract will be revoked.” He turned to Frans.
Well, how about that? It sounded like I had just got kicked out of town.
“Mr. Gould, you are free to go. You’re lucky I don’t arrest you on weapons charges.”
“Don’t be such an idiot, Alan,” Frans laughed and struck the sword against his rover. The ‘weapon’ shattered into dust. “It was just glass, scrap glass; you people need to clean up around your forges.”
I couldn’t hold the laughter back this time, even though I knew better than to harass the local cops. Frans almost gave me the slip again then, moving into the cabin of the Luna-bago while I was enjoying my mirth. I scrambled quickly to the copilot’s side, showing my lack of Lunar G skills again and giving the watching Security Division officers something to laugh about in return. I had to knock forcefully and repeatedly before Frans would unlock the door. Apparently the duties of a Security Division officer included hysterical laughter at unfortunate grad students.
Finally I got settled into the airless cabin and turned off the com. For a long uncomfortable minute, Frans ignored me as he manipulated the surprisingly simple controls. I had expected dials and readouts, but there were only twin control sticks and a blank touchscreen between them at my station. The pilot station seemed identical, and a shared bank of access connectors and cup-holders on the low console between our seats completed the simple cabin.
I was going over all this for the third time when Frans finally reached over and slid a com access cord out of the console. He handed me the plug and motioned at the wrist controller on my docksuit. With a little effort I located the access port and patched my com into the rover’s com net.
“Thanks Frans.” Lame, but better than blurting out the other things I wanted to gripe about.
“Thank you too, Peter. Your timely escapade helped a lot. Now I’ll let you return to your study.”
Maybe just a little griping.
“Look, I just made a fool of myself more in the last five minutes than I had in the previous whole semester, and probably risked my career, too. You’re not just gonna blow me off Frans. I mean ‘Mr. Gould’. I’m going Out There with you.” I could see amusement in his face.
“I don’t think your attire is appropriate, Mr. Laggar.”
Crap. I was still wearing the docksuit, which belonged to Lunar Base. Designed strictly for temporary use, it lacked the features of a true surfacesuit.
“Like you gave me a choice. Give me ten minutes, I’ll go get my surfacesuit and some other stuff. You have to promise to wait here, though.” He frowned at that.
“Peter. Pete. This is not a game. The lunar surface is one of the harshest environments man has ever faced. It is devoid of all the basic necessities of human life - no air, no water, no food. It will be difficult, boring, and above all, dangerous. You’ve helped me more than you know so far, but your impulsiveness must end now. If you go Out There with me, you will risk your life.”
“And you won’t be? Alone, no backup, and what else, some kind of a heart condition?”
“I’ve been doing this for many years, Pete. My risk is minimal. And medication completely controls my arrhythmia problem.”
“Frans, are you gonna wait for me or not?”
He watched me, still frowning. I knew this look; it was the look of someone trying to say no when they wanted to say yes. All grad students learn to recognize that look. Finally he broke down and grinned.
“Pete,” he said cheerfully, glancing at his watch, “my rent on this bay expires in seventeen minutes, and that’s when I start my run.”
“Cool. Keep the door open,” I said, and unplugged the com. Before I could get out, Frans tapped my arm. He gave me a hand-com, then smiled and waved me along. I was more careful how I maneuvered this time and gave nobody a reason to be amused. Before I had cycled through the dock airlock into Lunar Base, the little hand-com beeped.
“Frans?”
“Of course, Peter. I am moving the rig out of the bay so there is no question about docking fees. Take what time you need, but try to keep it under half an hour please.”
“Thanks, Frans, I will.”
“And Peter?”
“Yeah?”
“If you have any second thoughts, just call me and tell me. There would be no shame.”
“Frans, you’re wasting my packing time.”
He was laughing when he keyed off.
I left the docksuit on the deck of the airlock, and ran back to my quarters. I was glad for the extra time; my surfacesuit skills were almost nonexistent, and the lunar butterflies in my stomach didn’t help. This was what I was supposed to be doing here, studying and learning, but making a rover trip circumnavigating the Moon wasn’t part of the standard curriculum. I was supposed to be here researching the social implications of lunar colonization for my thesis and for the department’s research project. What I was doing now was throwing away my objectivity and risking my graduation.
It was less than thirty minutes before I clumped back through the Common with my duffle over my shoulder and my surfacesuit helmet under my arm. While no crowds waited to see me off, I was beginning to feel very much like the “right stuff”; then I noticed the candy bar vending machine. I realized it would be a month before we’d meet again. I guessed it was just my day to be ridiculous, so the big brave astronaut stopped at the candy machine and dug through his bag for his credit card. I was trying to use my gloved pinkie to punch in my selection when someone came up behind me.
“Need help with that, mate?”
Not just every woman could call me a twit, then make my heart pound minutes later.
“Thanks, Patty, I got it now. I figured I’d be craving a candy bar before I got my first thousand miles out . . . haha . . .” Sure enough, I missed the button I was trying for and selected ‘cancel transaction’ instead. Cursing under my breath, I waited for the machine to spit out my card so I could stick it back in.
“Here, let me,” she said, then put her arm around my neck and leaned into me so she could reach and push my card back in. “What’ll it be, mate?”
I could only point dumbly. Her breath was sweet; I smelled coconuts and flowers from her hair. I imagined I could feel her body through my ‘suit.
“Good choice. I fancy those myself. You think ten will do for you?”
I nodded. Her arm was warm on my neck, warm enough to make me sweat.
“One,” she whispered and held down the button. She gazed deeply into my eyes as the machine whirred and dropped the candy bar into the hopper. Ka-chunk.
“Two,” she murmured. “I wanted to tell you something before you left.” Ka-chunk.
“Three. If you take good care of Frans . . . ” Ka-chunk.
“And make sure you both get back safe from Out There . . .” Ka-chunk.
“Then I’ll be waiting here to make it worthwhile for you . . .” Ka-chunk.
“Six,” she mouthed and kissed me. Ka-chunk. Ka-chunk.
“But if anything happens to Frans . . .” She leaned back and looked at me. Ka-chunk.
“Then I’ll be waiting here for you . . .” Her eyes narrowed. Ka-chunk.
“. . . To make you suffer for it the rest of your life.” I could feel the fire in her gaze.
Ka-chunk.
I have no idea where I got the will to pull myself back from the brink of hormonal meltdown. Patty let go of me and started to leave, but I dropped my duffle and put one arm around her waist. She didn’t protest as I drew her back to me and put my face an inch from hers.
“Patty, if Frans doesn’t come back, I won’t be coming back either, because I’ll be dead before I leave him out there. Will you marry me?” My heart sounded like it was dropping candy bars. Before she had a chance to answer, I lifted her with one arm and kissed her. When I put her down, she seemed paler than usual.
“Don’t answer now,” I said, “I’ll be back in a month, so you got plenty of time to think about it.” I stooped and snatched my duffle back to my shoulder. You have to love Lunar G when you’re trying to act big and strong. I took a couple of long strides toward the docks, stopped and looked back over my shoulder. All those late study nights watching the Classic Movie Channel, I suppose.
“And wear a dress, ‘cause we’re going out as soon as I get back,” I said, and smiled my best pirate smile. I don’t remember reaching the dock airlock, but I do remember my hands were shaking so hard I had trouble putting on my surfacesuit’s helmet.
And I didn’t remember the candy bars I left in the machine until we were an hour Out There.
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