“Now, little more than 40 years ago, astronauts…allowed their feet to touch the dusty surface of the Earth’s only moon,” Obama says. “And the question for us now is whether that was the beginning of something or the end of something.”
Obama announces that ideally, by the mid-2030s, there will have been a manned orbit of Mars; NASA’s next objective is to put man on its surface.
7. On December 14, 1972, three days after they arrived, Jack Schmitt and Eugene Cernan return to the Challenger module after their last EVA and knock the lunar dust from their suits to reduce their weight for the return flight to the orbiting command module.
Cernan, scheduled to board after Schmitt, has prepared some notes for the occasion, written onto the cuff of his suit. Standing in front of the ladder, he ignores them. “I’m on the surface,” he begins.
“And as I take man’s last steps from the surface, back home, for some time to come, but we believe not too long into the future, I’d like to just list what I believe history will record, that America’s challenge of today has forged man’s destiny of tomorrow.
And, as we leave the Moon at Taurus-Littrow, we leave as we came and, God willing, as we shall return, with peace and hope for all mankind. God speed the crew of Apollo 17.”
He makes one clear, careful footprint in the dusty lunar surface. Then he steps onto the ladder that will take him into the module, the last man to walk on the Moon.
Genevieve Valentine’s first novel, Mechanique: a Tale of the Circus Tresaulti, is forthcoming from Prime Books in 2011. Her short fiction has appeared in Running with the Pack, Federations, The Living Dead II, Clarkesworld, Strange Horizons, Escape Pod, and more. In addition to writing fiction, she is a columnist for Tor.com and Fantasy Magazine.
Cats in Victory
David Barr Kirtley
Lynx awoke before dawn. He got out of bed, brushed his whiskers, and licked his fur clean. He dressed in boots and a tunic, then donned his rucksack and set out into the dusty streets. The sun was just beginning to peek up over the thatched rooftops. Most of the other catmen of the village were still asleep.
Lynx hiked west, out of town, through the foothills and into the wasteland, where he wandered amid the stark beauty of the stony plains, winding arroyos, and towering plateaus.
He loved walking here, and today he’d secretly resolved to explore as far to the west as he could. His parents would disapprove. Like all the adults of the village, they harbored a vague mistrust of the wasteland, maybe due to the strange mechanical artifacts that they said were sometimes discovered beneath the sands. But the more time Lynx spent out here, the more he felt that such misgivings were baseless.
All morning he climbed hills, clambered over fields of boulders, and strode between pillars of stone. Finally, around mid-day, his westward progress was blocked by a narrow canyon that stretched as far as he could see in either direction. The canyon floor was forty feet below, and the walls were too sheer to climb, so Lynx turned north, skirting the cliff edge and searching for a way across.
Finally he came to a place where a giant tree had grown up from the canyon floor beside the near wall. The tree was dead now, but its pale, branchless trunk would provide easy access down into the canyon. Though there was no telling whether —
Wait. What was that?
He thought he saw movement, below.
A few hundred yards away, the canyon wall was broken by a wide, low cavern. A figure detached itself from the darkness and wandered down onto the sand. Lynx ducked, then slowly raised his head again as the figure came to a halt.
As far as Lynx knew, nothing lived out here except lizards and birds. But this figure was the size of a catman, and walked upright.
Then the thought came to him: A dogman.
Here? Impossible. But it had to be. He knew he should flee, get help, but…
The dogmen were almost extinct. This might be the only chance he’d ever get to see one. And he should make sure it was really a dogman, before he alarmed the whole village.
He dropped his rucksack and kicked off his boots. He paced, flexing his hand and foot claws. Then he dashed to the edge of the cliff and leapt onto the tree. His claws dug into the wood, and he hung there a moment, then scrambled down the trunk and dropped lightly to the canyon floor.
He sneaked toward the cave, ducking behind one boulder, then another, then another. A strong breeze blew into his face, and this was good, for the wind would muffle his footsteps and carry his scent off behind him.
He lay down and crawled on elbows and knees until he was just a dozen yards away from the mysterious figure, then peeked around a rock.
Yes. A dogman. It was burlier than any catman, and Lynx could make out its grotesque floppy ears. It wore a grungy tunic and a heavy broadsword. Then the creature turned its head, and Lynx glimpsed its profile—a flat face with saggy jowls and wrinkled folds of flesh around the eyes. A horrible, misshapen creature. An abomination.
Lynx began to crawl backward, then paused, as he spied a second figure emerging from the cave.
This one was…not so terrible. A female, slender, perhaps as young as Lynx. Her snout was white, her large eyes banded with brown, and her long, silky ears hung past her shoulders. She too wore a sword, a rapier.
In Lynx’s imagination, dogmen had always been ugly and fearsome and…male. He wondered about the female. What was she to the hulking beast beside her? His ally? His wife? She had a sweet look to her, or was that deceptive? Had she ever killed a catman?
Suddenly the big male straightened and poked his nose in the air, sniffing loudly—once, twice.
Lynx felt a prickle of terror. While he’d been distracted, the breeze had shifted, and he was now upwind of the dogmen.
The male roared, “Catmen!” and whipped out his sword. He turned and stared straight at Lynx, who leapt up from his hiding spot and sprinted away, dodging around boulders and vaulting over ditches. Behind him came heavy footfalls and throaty growls as the male chased him, gained on him. Lynx spotted the tree, his escape.
The female cried, “No! Stop him!”
Lynx ran to the tree, sprang onto it, and scuttled upward. The male bellowed and leapt after him, and Lynx heard the swoosh of the broadsword, then the thunk of metal on wood. The whole tree shuddered as the sword struck just below his feet.
He climbed out of reach. The female dogman shrieked in despair, and the male let loose a frustrated howl.
Lynx fled the canyon, as the dogmen’s terrible barking rose up from below him and echoed in his ears.
It wasn’t until much later, when he was far from that place, that he noticed any pain. Then he found that he was missing a few inches off the end of his tail. Blood pooled there, and fell in thick droplets to the sand.
Night had fallen by the time Lynx got back to the village. He headed straight to the temple, raced through the main doors, and burst into the antechamber.
A scribe sat at a small wooden desk and scribbled in a ledger with a quill pen. When he saw Lynx’s agitation, the scribe stood. “Can I help you?”
Lynx gasped for breath. “I have to see Father Cougar.”
The scribe stared disapprovingly. “Father Cougar is delivering the evening service.”
Lynx said, “There are dogmen! Living in the wasteland. Hiding in the caves.”
“Dogmen? Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure! They chased me, with swords.” Lynx held up the tip of his tail, which was clotted with blood.
The scribe grew alarmed. “All right. Wait here.” He hurried over to a pair of heavy wooden doors, then slipped through, closing the doors behind him.
Lynx stepped forward and pressed his ear to the wood. Father Cougar’s booming voice filled the other room. Lynx could only make out some of the words, but he grasped the essence of the sermon. Father Cougar was preaching, as ever, about how these were the end times, and about the coming Victory, when Cat would return to Earth, the dogmen would be destroyed forever, and the catmen would
regain their pure feline forms.
Father Cougar’s voice died away. He must be conferring with the scribe.
Finally the scribe reappeared and said, “Follow me.”
He led Lynx down a hallway to a cozy chamber whose walls were hung with tapestries. Father Cougar, wearing his vestments, sat on a sofa in the corner. He said warmly, “Lynx! Come in, come in.”
Lynx picked a chair and sat down.
Father Cougar settled back and stroked his scruffy gray whiskers. “Now, tell me what happened.”
Lynx explained about coming across the dogmen in the wasteland. Father Cougar listened intently, then said, “And they saw you?”
Lynx hesitated, then admitted, “Yes.”
Father Cougar narrowed his eyes. “How?”
Lynx stared at the floor. “I’m sorry, Father. I…was curious.”
Father Cougar sighed deeply. “As I thought.” He leaned forward, his gaze steady. “How many times must I tell you? Curiosity is the gravest of sins. And now you see what your curiosity has cost us. If you had avoided detection, we could have easily located these dogmen and captured them. But now they’ll be expecting us, and will move on. The danger to those who track them is greatly increased. And what if the dogmen should slip away? You may very well have cost us the great Victory we have awaited so long.”
Lynx felt ashamed, despondent. Everything Father Cougar was saying was absolutely true.
Father Cougar shook his head. “Well, there’s no helping it now.” He turned to the scribe and instructed, “Go to the inn. Fetch the templars.” The scribe nodded once, and hurried off.
Lynx felt awe. “Templars?”
“Yes,” Father Cougar said. “They arrived this morning. Two of them. Pursuing these dogmen you saw. They’ll want to question you.”
“Of course,” Lynx agreed at once, his shame quickly giving way to excitement.
Templars! Holy ones, invincible warriors of Cat. In ages past, their order had eradicated the frogmen, the birdmen, and the monkeymen, and now only the dogmen remained.
The scribe returned a short time later, leading the templars. They were the tallest, most muscular catmen that Lynx had ever seen. Both wore long white tabards, and upon their surcoats were embroidered the holy form of Cat.
Father Cougar gestured to them. “Lynx, these are our templar friends, Lion and Tiger.”
The templars nodded politely. Tiger was brawnier, stern and dignified, with gray in his fur and black stripes around his eyes. Lion had a great tawny mane and seemed almost to vibrate with barely restrained energy. And he was younger, perhaps only five or ten years older than Lynx himself.
Lion said quickly, “Tell us about the dogmen.”
So Lynx repeated his story. When he gave a description of the dogmen, the templars glanced at each other. When he got to the part about his escape from the canyon, the scribe interrupted, “Show them your tail!”
Lynx held up his injured tail.
Lion clapped his hands together and said to Tiger, “Well, look at that! Bloodied by dogmen, and he escaped to tell of it.” He turned to Lynx. “That’s more than many templars can boast.”
Lynx felt an almost unbearable rush of pride.
Lion said, “I’ve heard enough.” He turned to Tiger. “Let’s find this cave.”
Father Cougar said, “You mean to leave at once?”
“Yes,” Lion replied. “I see no reason to dally. The dogmen certainly will not.”
“Take me with you!” Lynx exclaimed. “I’ll lead you there.”
Father Cougar looked worried. “That might be dangerous. Your parents—”
Lynx said, “It’s my fault for letting the dogmen see me. You have to let me make up for it. No one knows the wasteland like I do.”
Father Cougar turned to the templars. “I suppose it’s up to you.”
Tiger opened his mouth for the first time. “I don’t think—”
Lion spoke over him. “Yes, let him come. The dogmen cut him with their swords. He deserves a chance to pay them back in kind.” He grinned at Lynx and said, “But we’ll cut more than just their tails, won’t we?”
Tiger said nothing.
“Come on,” Lion said, and gestured for Lynx to follow.
Lynx went with the templars back to the inn, where they gathered supplies. Lion pulled a shortsword out from among his belongings and tossed it to Lynx, who caught it and put it on. Then Lynx led the templars into the wasteland. The sun was rising by the time they reached the cave.
Tiger scouted about, kneeling in places to sniff the earth, then said, “This way.”
The trail led westward, deeper into the wastes. That night the templars made camp beneath the open sky, and in the morning they continued on again. As far as Lynx knew, no catman had ever come this far before. His boldness waned, and he started to wonder what he’d gotten himself into.
On the third day, the templars stopped to rest beside a circular black pit a hundred yards across. Thick yellow grass grew all around the pit, and vines hung over its edge and into the darkness. There was something eerie and intriguing about the formation.
Lynx wondered aloud, “Could the dogmen be hiding in there?”
Tiger said, “The tracks lead on.”
Lion shrugged. “It can’t hurt to check. Call us if you see anything.”
Lynx wandered over to the pit. Its sides were rough and angular, and he scrambled easily down the many shelves of rock until he reached the cavern floor. Stray beams of sunlight lanced down through the opening overhead and caught the dust that floated in the air. Lynx turned in a slow circle, then stopped as he saw something utterly unexpected.
He drew his sword and cried out, “Lion! Lion!”
Half-buried in the side of the cave lay a strange object that was bigger than a cottage and made of a silver metal. From the object’s side protruded a structure that seemed to be a wing. The object was extraordinarily weathered, and its side was ripped open. That dark gash beckoned to Lynx. He took a step forward, then another.
From the cliff wall above, Lion called out, “Wait.”
Lynx glanced back. Lion was climbing down into the cavern. Tiger stood above, at the pit’s edge.
Lion said, “What are you doing?”
“Have you ever seen anything like it?” Lynx said. “I’m going to look inside.” He crept nearer.
“Why?” Lion called sharply.
“I…” Lynx was very close now. “I just…”
“This is curiosity,” Lion warned. “This is wrong.”
“It isn’t,” Lynx insisted, half to himself. Though why it wasn’t, he could not really say. He slipped through the gash.
For a moment everything was dark. Then a hundred spots of light—red, blue, yellow, green—flickered to life all around him. He crouched in alarm. He’d never seen anything like these lights, but his attention was quickly drawn away from them and toward a metal coffin that was built into the far wall. Its lid was made of glass, and inside he could make out the rough outline of a body.
Suddenly a loud voice spoke, seeming to come from all around. The language was unfamiliar. Lynx whirled, but saw no one.
The coffin slowly opened. Lynx backed away, cursing himself. Once again his curiosity had betrayed him, had led him to intrude upon this strange tomb, and now he had awoken something ancient and powerful. His fearful imagination conjured up images of a living corpse with blazing red eyes. But what actually emerged was no less surprising.
A monkeyman. He seemed dazed, and was dressed in some gray uniform, its chest and shoulders decorated with insignia. He glanced at Lynx, then staggered past him. Lynx stared in wonder and horror. The monkeymen were supposed to have been wiped out centuries ago.
A second shape, much smaller, leapt from the coffin, and Lynx gasped as he observed its perfect grace. For all his life he had seen this holy form depicted a thousand times, and now there was no mistaking it. This was the creator of the universe, the giver of all life. Cat, the nine-live
d, had returned to Earth at last. Lynx kneeled and whispered, “My lord.”
Cat did not acknowledge him, and Lynx was unsure what to do. Through the gash came the voices of the templars, who now stood just outside. Tiger was saying, with a mix of fear and awe, “It fell from the sky. See? It broke through into this cavern.”
Lion replied angrily, “The dogmen flee, and we stand here engaged in idle—”
He stopped abruptly as the monkeyman lurched through the gash and out into the cave. Lynx followed after.
The templars stood awestruck. The monkeyman ignored them. He stumbled about, studying the damage to his winged tomb. With one hand he grasped his forehead. He still seemed disoriented.
Lynx felt disoriented himself. He wandered over to the templars, tugged Lion’s sleeve, and made him look toward the tomb, where Cat was just emerging. Lion fell instantly to his knees, and Tiger did the same.
Cat ignored them and strode along after the monkeyman. Then Cat lay down, reached into a gap between the tomb and the cave floor, and batted his paw at something within. The monkeyman grunted at Cat and used the edge of one boot to lightly brush Cat away from the hole.
Lion leapt to his feet and cried, “You dare!” He ran up to the monkeyman and seized him by the shoulder.
The monkeyman shoved him back and yelled at him in a strange language. An amulet on the monkeyman’s belt buzzed, “Get your hands off me, catman scum!” Puzzled, the monkeyman glanced at the amulet. Then he shouted at Lion, and again his magic amulet translated. “Report! What unit are you with? And what the hell are you wearing?”
Lion backed away. He moved to stand beside Tiger and said in a low voice, “A surviving monkeyman. He struck me, you saw. I should have the honor of slaying him.”
The monkeyman’s amulet spoke in a strange tongue, presumably translating Lion’s words.
Tiger said, “I don’t know. He comes to us from the sky, as a companion of Cat. Dare we slay him?”
Lion said, “Cat’s holy word commands it.”
Tiger said, “Cat himself stands before us now. Everything is changed.”
Lightspeed Magazine Issue 1 Page 5
