"Negative, I insist."
Talbot lifted the rock from Nazari's hands, and returned to the rover to prepare it for the return trip and its eventual exposure to air. Meanwhile, Nazari knelt again. With the palm of his hand, he smoothed the patch of lunar dust where the rock had lain. He then used a finger to trace an X, along with his initials and the date. If left alone, the markings would last as long as the Moon did.
Nazari and Talbot huddled before the glow of a terminal monitor in the Lunar Science lab. Ambient lighting had shifted into night mode hours earlier, prompting the men to balance battery-operated lamps atop the clutter on their workbench. They were alone; the hum of power supplies and the ventilation system filled their ears. This was the only time during which one could pursue matters of personal curiosity without absorbing flak from one's superiors.
Talbot squinted and fiddled with dials, his angular neck craned to its limit. Nazari sat behind him, occasionally remembering to sip from a thermos of tea that had cooled long ago. His gaze never deviated from the monitor, which displayed the fractured crystalline patterns of the sample they analyzed with a scanning electron microscope.
"You sure that's a low-titanium region?" Talbot asked. "The chemists'll be thrilled to hear otherwise."
"No map I've seen shows that high a concentration at that spot," Nazari replied. "Granted, the maps we have are pretty old."
"No erosion, no water... no wind, quakes, microbes, volcanism, or continental drift," Talbot rattled off. "Selenology: geology for the dead lazy."
Nazari shrugged. "Maybe a meteor impact in a titanium-rich mare sent over some ejecta. I'll show this to the boss. What are the odds he'll put us on point for an investigation?"
"About as likely as shedding gofer detail for something dignified," Talbot answered.
Nazari frowned. "Think if we do enough homework ahead of time, it might convince him otherwise?"
In a rare display of restraint, Talbot waited for him to continue the thought.
"When we go back out for slag, we can scout for more ilmenite, try to establish a pattern of distribution," Nazari explained. "Meanwhile, we can hunt through old data for meteor impacts that might have thrown the ilmenite that far."
"Think it would've been that recent—as in, recorded-history recent?" Talbot asked.
"Probably not, but there's a recorded history on the Moon's surface that's a lot older," Nazari said. "We can look for craters that indicate a collision with the requisite force, at least narrow it down to a specific region."
"Big region, I'm guessing."
"Information Science ought to have something to get us started. I'll leave a note." Nazari darted from his chair. The action lifted him off his feet for a moment, but he quickly regained his balance. His terminal rested on the opposite end of the same workbench. He tapped it awake, then flipped to a messaging client. Its readout made him blink in surprise. "The IS main desk is still online. At this hour?"
"You don't think we're the only night owls in the Luna-Bin, do you?" Talbot asked.
Nazari sent a brief message to the main desk. The response appeared in an instant: BY ALL MEANS.
"Might as well head over now." Nazari doubted he would get any sleep otherwise. He logged out of his terminal.
"That's right, leave me to clean up," Talbot grumbled.
"You mind?"
The false annoyance disappeared behind a smirk. "No, but when I finally get to work out why there's so much thorium in Compton-Belkovich, you owe me."
Exiting the lab deposited Nazari into a metallic corridor with a high ceiling and walls lined with labeled doors. This was the Lunar Science pod, in which he spent the majority of his days. At either end of the pod were openings to tunnels branching to other pods. He opted for one of these.
Unlike the pods, the tunnels connecting them were lengthy and transparent on all sides, offering a view of the colony, the mare in which it rested—and, often, a phase of Earth. During colony night, one could bound through these halls without fear of discovery or collision, challenging himself to leap ever higher and farther. Nazari supposed he hadn't grown up yet, and never would. He arrived at the Information Science pod within minutes, but had to pause to catch his breath before proceeding to the door labeled MAIN DESK.
The still of colony night evaporated as soon as the door slid open. Nazari took one step inside before halting with confusion. Before him spread a maze of papers, books stacked ankle-to eye-height, half-packed storage containers, and torn posters left to spill wherever the meager gravity took them. He heard the faint, persistent whirring of a herd of printers, deep in the back of the room.
"Hello?" Nazari called.
A head of thinning ginger hair shot up from behind one of the shorter book piles. It belonged to Dr. Swain, the colony's chief information scientist. "Ah, yes. Dr. Nazari." Swain deposited a thermos atop the stack, and navigated the labyrinth toward his visitor.
The younger man knew everyone in the colony, but hadn't had much chance to acquaint himself with Swain before. "Something keeping you up this evening?"
Even in reduced gravity, Dr. Swain barely reached Nazari's shoulder in height. He offered Nazari a weather-worn hand and a genuine, if harrowed, smile. "Please, pardon the mess. I'm afraid my office is starting to look the way my brain must." He tugged at his collar.
"It's no problem," Nazari dismissed, shaking firmly. He didn't miss the dodge, but didn't press either. "I'm sorry, I know it's late."
"Yes, well, good science rarely adheres to a schedule. Your, uh, your timing's very good, actually. What can I help you find?"
"Information on meteor impacts near Oceanus Procellarum," Nazari explained. "I know that's not very specific, but I'll be able to refine it soon."
"Ah, yes, I'm sure. New project?"
"Side project."
"How interesting. Well, even if I don't have what you're looking for, I can get it." Swain retreated through the maze, reclaiming his thermos en route and running a hand over his scalp. "Want to wait here while I check? Not out there, I mean. Here, let me clear off a chair. Come on back—unless you were planning to be elsewhere, that is. This could be a long wait. Did you want any coffee?"
Nazari quirked an eyebrow. "Are you sure this isn't a bad time?"
"No!" Swain called back. "No, not at all. Make yourself comfortable."
Nazari was anything but comfortable as he inched through the mess. Books, magazines, pictures of family, juggling balls, fictional star-ship models, tin wind-up robots... and the chaos bloomed even more colorfully around Swain's desk. His nerves rivaled his curiosity, but he felt he should mind his own business.
He lowered himself into the chair that had been cleared for him. Swain sat at his desk, squinting at his terminal. A coffee maker with a full carafe waited on a ledge behind him.
"I don't know about you," Swain said, keeping his eyes on the screen, "but I do all my best thinking at night. Here, the sky always looks like night. I can't tell you how grateful I've been for it."
Nazari chuckled. "I admit, I miss sunny days. Real sunny days, with light scattering through an atmosphere."
"Well, give the chemists another few centuries. They might figure out how to keep an atmosphere from running away," Swain replied. "Though, I doubt it. Just easier to keep it caged... like everything too good to share." Emotion crept into Swain's voice, but he dismissed it and plowed on. "I'm finding plenty I can print out for you."
"You can just email—"
"Printing's easier at this point, believe it or not." Swain's eyes finally found Nazari's, while he tilted his head toward the source of constant noise. "It'll be a bit of a wait, though. I'd hate to make you sit here."
"I don't mind," Nazari said.
"You will in another few hours."
Nazari frowned. "That's some print job."
"Don't I know it." Swain smiled, but the expression was as distracted as the rest of his demeanor. "Tell you what: you'll find something to get you started in your mailbox tomo
rrow. I'm sure you'll want to review that much, and we—well, I, or maybe someone else, can meet with you afterward and talk about narrowing your focus. How does that sound?"
"That's great," Nazari said. "I appreciate it."
"Of course. If you need anything else, Dr. Nazari, make sure you let us know."
The men stood and shook hands again. Dr. Swain forgot his visitor almost at once, but the snub seemed less rude and more... necessary. Nazari hesitated before turning to leave.
The alarm buzzed at 0600, two hours after Nazari had drifted into his bunk. He forced himself up, prepared for work, and left his quarters. Talbot was waiting outside the door, leaning against the wall with a bitterness that wasn't directed at his friend. "Just in time, sunshine."
Nazari scowled and rubbed a bloodshot eye. "They haven't sent you home yet?"
"No, but you might soon get your wish. The axe has dropped."
"On us?"
Talbot shook his head. "Scuttlebutt's weak. There's a general assembly in twenty minutes."
Nazari swallowed. "After you."
The assembly room housed row after row of long desks, packed with murmuring scientists and the cloud of nervous static hanging over them. Painfully white writing boards plastered each wall, none bearing a single mark. In his two-year stint at the colony, Nazari had entered this room only a handful of times. While he normally enjoyed socializing, the tension in the air forbade it; besides, it was too early to think past "Hello." He and Talbot claimed chairs, nursed tea and coffee respectively, and waited for their brains to awaken. Nazari also kept an eye out for Samantha the programmer, debating whether to wave her over and force Talbot to introduce himself. However, she remained unseen amid the din.
Out went the call for quiet. Seats filled, conversations halted. The only person left standing was a sour woman at the front of the room, hugging a clipboard against her torso. She was Dr. Hirsch, colony director.
"Good morning." Hirsch's voice was strained. Her perpetual scowl rendered the words more dressing-down than greeting. "Let's begin with the good news. EvoFirma Industries has licensed the enhanced protein crystallization technique patented by our Exobiology team, affording us a much-needed boost in capital and exposure. Congratulations to Dr. Goldman and..."
"Don't forget: your research means squat unless some well-connected jerk can vacuum up dollars with it," Talbot sniped under his breath as Hirsch ran through her acknowledgements. "I wonder how many Congresscritters own EvoFirma stock?"
Nazari communicated his mutual displeasure with a tch of his tongue, not wanting to draw Hirsch's ire with chatter—especially as her demeanor darkened.
"As for our main point of business: I don't intend to repeat the messages you'll find in your inboxes. Rather, I will be supplementing them. I ask that you hold all questions, and refer them to your supervisors after this meeting is adjourned." Hirsch pursed her lips. "The new administration's budget cuts have finally been released. We're some of the hardest hit by this veneer of frugality. Several projects have been canceled, especially those of lengthy or indefinite duration."
Murmurs rose through the gathering.
"Quiet, please. The one loss I wish to elaborate on this morning affects everyone in this room." Hirsch paused. "It's with considerable regret that I announce the end of Project Alexandria, and the closing of the colony's Information Science department. If there's any need for research assistance, seek it now before we're left to fend for ourselves. Dr. Swain and his staff will be returning to Earth in one month, and the Alexandria vault will be sealed off permanently. During this transition phase, Dr. Swain is the only person authorized to enter the vault and make preparations for its closure. Again, please refer all questions to your supervisors. Thank you."
Rows of scientists shot out of their chairs with bitter exclamations as Hirsch marched toward the nearest exit, dispassionate. Neither Talbot nor Nazari moved to join the bobbing tumult. During the latter announcement, Nazari's throat had dried and constricted. His fingernails clawed into the rim of his thermos.
"Dr. Swain was the one manning the IS desk last night," he spoke, almost inaudible. "He was completely off. The news must have shell-shocked him."
Talbot glanced to Nazari, frowned, and sat up straighter. "It'd devastate anyone. After walking on water to earn a berth here?" He shook his head in confusion at the angry crowd plowing out of the room. "I'll hover in uncertainty for a while longer, myself. Not exactly intrepid pioneer behavior, but..."
Nazari nodded, distracted.
The pair waited in reflective silence for the exits to clear before returning to Lunar Science. Their colleagues had already torn into their email, and were shouting out names of personnel and projects of close personal interest.
"What? No!" Talbot exclaimed when one of these fragments grabbed his attention. "I just got approval on the proposal!" His reluctance evaporated at once, and he dove for his own terminal. Nazari stuck with him, unable to bring his eyes toward the screen.
"They killed my Compton-Belkovich survey. Five years of fighting, I finally get a damn wheel to turn, and they blow up the engine!" Talbot clenched a fist and released several more choice words, directing both rant and glower at the screen.
"I'm sorry, Vic," Nazari muttered. "Are they shipping us back?"
"No." Talbot paused to collect himself from this perspective. "But they're sure trying to make Earth appealing by comparison."
Their supervisor made the mistake of appearing at the threshold of the lab, and soon vanished amid chaos. While Nazari should have checked his own email, he found himself drifting toward the physical mailroom instead. Within his inbox rested a thick stack of paper, with a handwritten note clipped to the top: Glad to be of help. Good luck always.
The stack contained maps, lists, tables, and articles. Swain had also compiled a bibliography and suggestions for further study. Nazari sighed, then returned the stack to his mailbox for safekeeping.
Losing so many parts of the team imbued a grim survivor's guilt upon the colony. However, life—whether Earth-or Moon-based—had to go on. For Nazari, this meant long days in Lunar Science devoted to routine core analysis. His supervisor had conceded interest in the ilmenite discovery, but noted the ore wasn't about to get up and walk away. He'd felt it more important to hold his subordinates to their scheduled assignments. However, he'd promised to drop the chemists a note. When the chemists inevitably broke down his door, perhaps he would allow Nazari and Talbot to assist them in whatever followed.
While Nazari wasn't one to complain about his job, especially in light of recent events, the monotony wore on him. It seemed he wasn't alone in this. A week after the announcement, while preparing an umpteenth slide at his workbench, he caught whispers and stifled laughter behind him. A glance over his shoulder confirmed the source: Talbot and a few of their research partners, huddled around a table for an impromptu break.
"Section Eight!" one of them declared.
"It's a protest," another said, "like handcuffing himself to a radiator in a condemned building."
"You think it's funny?" Talbot chided with a scowl, then noticed Nazari glancing his way. With a strained expression, he hurried to his friend's side. "Ali, you hear about this?"
Nazari glanced around. The coast was clear, no supervisor in sight. "What?"
"Dr. Swain. Flipped his lid. After Hirsch's assembly last week, he locked himself into the Alexandria vault and hasn't come back up since."
Nazari gaped, flinching at a twinge of guilt. "Where'd you hear this?"
"From the rest of IS. Hirsch is trying to keep a lid on it, and they're not happy." Talbot's expression darkened. "Neither am I. If word of this gets back to Earth, they'll use it to paint us all as lunatics and shut down the colony."
Nazari blinked. " That's what you're upset about?"
Talbot sighed. "Look, I sympathize with Swain, but whether he means to or not, he's dragging us all down with him. It's out of line.
My pet project got put down
; you don't see me holding a chisel to my throat."
Nazari made a tch with his tongue in rejection of what he considered a poor comparison. "Has anyone tried talking to him?"
"He doesn't answer—just flips his radio off and on," Talbot said.
"What about going down to the vault to check on him?"
"No one's authorized for that."
"They'd let authorization stand in the way on something like this?"
"It's stood in the way of far less."
"Yeah, but this is a man's life we're talking about!" Nazari snapped. "He was not all right when I saw him. He shouldn't be alone—"
Talbot wiped his face of emotion, clapped a hand on Nazari's shoulder, and walked off. Instinctively, Nazari returned to his own work. Sure enough, their boss drifted through moments later, tracing out his supervisory orbit. Nazari pretended to be captivated with his slide, then darted to Talbot's station once it was safe.
"Doing something about this, fast, is the best thing for Swain and the rest of us. I think we can agree on that much," Nazari muttered.
"What can we possibly do?" Talbot asked.
"We can talk to Hirsch."
Talbot looked at him sidelong.
"It can't hurt to try," Nazari pressed.
"That remains to be seen."
The door to Hirsch's office was the only piece of finished mahogany on the Moon. Upon entering the colony's administrative hub, Nazari made a beeline for it.
"Shouldn't we find an assistant first?" Talbot asked, hurrying to keep up.
Undeterred, Nazari rapped on the door with a knuckle. There was no response for several moments. Talbot moved to pull Nazari away, but just then the door opened, revealing Hirsch in all her severity.
Nazari greeted her on behalf of himself and Talbot. "Sorry to interrupt you like this, but we're here about something urgent."
Hirsch arched a thin eyebrow.
"Dr. Swain," Nazari elaborated. "We've heard he's locked himself in the Alexandria vault."
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