by Jeff Taylor
“Great,” mumbled Strinnger looking toward the exit at the end of the oblong room, equally as white and blinding as the airlock tube he’d entered from. Stacks of clothing were laid out on a desk attended by a smiling woman, who resembled the attendant Devra almost exactly. Strinnger couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed at walking up to the woman in such a form-fitting garment, but she seemed oblivious to his discomfort, offering to help him select a new set of clothes with the same inane smile Devra had flashed him the entire voyage from Earth.
“I guess I’m supposed to have a uniform,” he hesitantly told her. “Security Officer Daeman Strinnger’s my name.”
“Oh, yes. Mr. Strinnger,” the woman said cheerfully. She reached underneath the counter and presented him a pale blue, two-piece uniform, neatly folded and wrapped in plastic. “Here you are, sir.”
Reluctantly, he accepted the package. “Baby blue? Yeah, that commands respect,” he commented. Chief Treyklor was nearby making his dissent much louder than his subordinate. But as Strinnger robed and approached his erupting superior, he heard that the chief wasn’t concerned so much about his uniform as the confiscation of the small firearm he had snuck aboard the shuttle.
“I am the head of security!” he protested, red-faced. “I have every right to bring a weapon wherever I go!”
“I don’t care who you are,” the station technician replied. “No outside weapons of any kind are allowed on the station. You’ll have to wait until your visit is over to get it back.” His answer was less than pleasing to the chief.
“We’ll see about this,” Treyklor fumed. He grumbled something about the man’s mother and then proceeded toward the exit. He was just about to leave when a broad-chested man stopped him and presented both he and Strinnger a small lapel pin, the same shade of red as the outer hull of the station and in the shape of a diamond.
“Chief Treyklor,” the man said, saluting the security chief. “Good to see you, sir. These are your communication badges.” Over the man’s left breast pocket Strinnger saw the name Dunham with a series of colorful stripes cascading beneath it. He recognized the man from his file. This was Deputy Markin Dunham, the head of Space Division Security for Carsus Corp. Strinnger listened while the square-jawed man informed Treyklor about the device.
“They are set to default broadcast over the security channel so everything you say and hear will be sent out station-wide on a secure line. Dispatch will monitor all frequencies to ensure that. If you want a more secure channel between you and only certain individuals, you simply press the node in the center and say their name.”
Strinnger took the small pin from the officer and examined it. The device was the size of his small fingernail with a spongy disc at its center. He jerked when the pin suddenly pricked him on the finger.
“The comm just took a sample of your DNA,” Dunham commented. “It will now only broadcast at a frequency specific to you, which is why you won’t need an earpiece.” He verified he and Treyklor were receiving a signal and then walked away.
Treyklor was the first to try it out. “Arla. Daeman.” he said pressing his pin. The center nodule on the diamond illuminated in a bright orange. Arla’s voice sounded in Strinnger’s ear. “Yes, sir,” she replied, as clearly as if she were right next to him.
“Are you in place?”
“Affirmative,” she replied. “Once all female passengers have cleared decon I will escort them to the observation deck outside.”
“Very well. I am going to leave Strinnger here with the men and clear the deck for threats with Tom.” Treyklor nodded at Strinnger then ordered the sentries to let him into the station.
Once the entire landing party had cleared the checkpoint, Strinnger and Arla escorted them down another long tube which led from the ring circling the station to the main body of the station itself. The central observation deck was situated just below the equator of the station affording visitors the best view of the orbiter below. When Strinnger left the decon section, he found Chief Treyklor waiting for them several meters away, gazing out at space.
Far in the distance, a radiant blue and white semicircle hung as if suspended by some magical force in the black of space. The billowy clouds and turbulent oceans of the Earth that dictated the condition of man’s environment now seemed but small wisps over insignificant pools in a distant dream. Seeing the Earth so far away made Strinnger, for the first time, feel vulnerable and somewhat nauseous.
“Isn’t it beautiful?”
He turned to see Julia, once again standing beside him. He wanted to tell her to go away but didn’t have the strength. For an instant, he was glad she was there. Almost as beautiful as you, he wanted to say, but caught himself before the words left his mouth, thinking of Loura. Collecting his thoughts, refocusing on his mission, he righted himself and nodded in agreement.
A loud boisterous voice interrupted their Earth-gazing. Behind them they heard “Welcome, friends!” A short, balding man in his mid-fifties in a floor-length cobalt tunic greeted them with a smile as wide as open arms.
Nathaniel Kratin took the first steps toward the man and greeted him with a warm handshake.
“Nathaniel! It’s so good to finally meet you face to face. And this must be your lovely family I’ve heard so much about.” Jilliana took his offered hand and shook it genially.
Each of the Kratins was introduced in turn then Nathaniel presented him to the rest of the group. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is my privilege to introduce you to the administrator of the Selene Project, Jonu Vim.”
Dantral Brahlim and Volkor Con stepped forward and took Vim’s puffy red hand, while the rest of the group merely smiled and nodded. Brill abstained from any greeting.
Mr. Vim noticed the slight.
“Mr. Brill!” he exclaimed. “How wonderful it is to see you! How have you been?”
Brill obviously questioned the administrator’s sincerity. “How much of my money have you spent today, Vim?” he snarled.
“Not nearly enough,” Vim boomed with a wonderfully high-pitched laugh that Strinnger hadn’t heard come from anyone other than a puppet on Saturday morning television. Kratin put his arm on Vim’s shoulder and laughed with him.
“Dear friends,” Vim addressed the group, “it is such an honor to have you here. It has been a long time since we had anyone here to show off our facility too. First of all, let me thank you for your patience with the decontamination process. Even the slightest microbe would ruin a series of delicate experiments or offset the perfect balance we try to maintain in both installations. But one perk is that you all look marvelous in your new suits!”
Julia took the compliment as an invitation to pose in her new scarlet robe, which she did forcing a pouty smile.
Vim guffawed. “Of course, the model! Wonderful,” he clapped.
Her sister Tina was not amused, as Strinnger caught her rolling her eyes.
“Now, let me give you all a tour of the facility,” Vim continued. “And afterward, we will dine in the executive suite down on the surface. Good? Good!” He drew Mrs. Kratin to him and took her by the arm. “Shall we?”
Jilliana nodded her consent and the pair led the way toward the escalators. “Do you need any assistance getting around, Mr. Brill,” Vim called over his shoulder, but not halting his advance.
Strinnger was the only one near Brill as he said, “Yeah, I need someone to assist me shoving this cane up your …”
The size of the station made a comprehensive tour nearly impossible to complete within a reasonable time. Instead, Vim took them to see the major points of interest: several observation decks and lounges, the power and life support stations, and concluding with a series of working laboratories. Most of what they saw Strinnger neither understood nor cared for. What he had found the most fascinating was the number of people working and living on the station. Fifteen thousand people resided there, and Vim said that was not the highest it had ever been. Six years ago, the occupancy of the station had reached t
he maximum capacity twenty-five thousand.
The numbers boggled Strinnger. The possibility of so many people living so far in space at one time seemed like something out of a science fiction novel. Sure, companies like Carsus had been transporting people in and out of space for years, but he never dreamed it would be so many. Yet here he was, walking among them, experiencing their world first hand. Physicists, botanists, chemists; every category of scientist he could think of was represented by one or more residents on the station.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Arla whispered quietly as she came up on his right.
Strinnger nodded, eyes fixed on the activity outside the porthole. A massive wedge-shaped ship with two rows of storage containers stretching out for nearly a mile unhooked from the upper body of the station and now pivoted back toward Earth. Docking lights blinked rapidly below a walnut-shaped passenger ship, similar in shape but nearly twice as long as the one the group had arrived in, that seemed to be preparing to detach and return home. For some odd reason, Strinnger wondered what the two ships would look like attached together.
“It’s fantastic. I never thought anything like this was possible.”
“I heard Vim say that it took twenty years to build this place. He said the process went slowly at first but in the last five years after Con started working with Carsus, production skyrocketed . . . no pun intended.”
“Con’s a smart guy,” he replied.
“Yeah,” Arla agreed, “but he creeps me out. I’ve seen soccer hoodlums who’re friendlier.”
Arla always found a way to make him laugh, but this time he tried not to let it out, afraid of drawing attention to himself while Vim droned on about antimatter power cells or something like that. It proved too difficult to hold in and he drew a deathly stare from Brill once the party moved on.
“Ah,” Vim chimed, “here we are!”
He stopped before a set of large orange double doors that had the word HABITATION posted above them. “Here is where we live, socialize, and hold recreational activities. I am sure you will be most surprised with how little of our earthly comforts were left behind.”
The smug little smile on his round face reminded Strinnger of the expression of a cat about to show off an empty birdcage. Vim spun around to activate the door controls, but was surprised when the double doors sprung apart and a man in a pale blue uniform passed through, just as surprised to see them as they were him.
“Mr. Vim,” the man said politely with the crispness of a soldier after composing himself. He then continued past the group without so much as glancing at them. The security officer was tall and lean, with an angular face and brown skin. There was nothing very distinctive about the way he looked, but Strinnger could not take his eyes off him as he strode down the corridor.
Arla, as perceptive as ever, followed his stare. “What is it?” she asked quietly.
Strinnger shook his head. “I don’t know how, but I know that guy.”
“You do? From where?”
“I’m not sure, but my gut tells me I’ve seen him before and I don’t think that’s a good thing.” The man disappeared around the corner and Vim led the group through the doors into the habitation.
“Another one of your feelings again?” Tom’s deep bass chided him.
Strinnger didn’t appreciate the sarcasm in his friend’s voice. “Yeah, yeah, just get moving, fathead.” He took one quick glance back in the direction of the officer, then stepped forward, nearly colliding with Julia Kratin.
This was the closest he’d been to her since the night before. The soft lighting of the station gave her golden hair an almost ethereal glow and her sweet, florid perfume tormented his senses. Her splendid, clear blue eyes sparkled as she looked up at him. The rest of the group went ahead through the door while she held him behind.
“Daeman, I was hoping we could talk for a minute,” she said, taking his hand in hers. The tone in her voice was as soft as her hair. Her perfect lips parted and her sweet voice called to him like a siren. “Daeman, there has been something I’ve wanted to tell you and I’ve been waiting for a chance to talk to you alone. I keep thinking I need to apologize for last night at the club. You were my friend and protector and I was out of line when I kissed you.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “But everything inside me says it was right.”
Strinnger felt cold. “Don’t,” he interrupted.
“I have to! I’ve come to care a great deal about you, in fact . . .”
“Don’t,” he said again, this time a little more forcefully.
“I think I love you.”
“What?” he said dumbfounded.
“I’m serious, Daeman. My face has been on magazine covers all over the globe. I’ve had movie stars and pop stars and any other kind of star, men of all ages write me letters or send me voice messages, all proclaiming their undying love. But the way I feel about you is so above and beyond what I’ve ever felt for any of them or any other men I’ve dated.” She pulled herself to him, pressing his arms around her waist. “We’ve connected on a very personal level. I love you and I think you love me to. I want us to be together.”
The sincerity and fervor of her words pricked his heart. He was conflicted about her, he couldn’t deny it, but he had never expected to hear her say the same thing with such surety. Her sincerity caught him off guard and his surprise manifested itself in a cloud of anger. Roughly, he took her shoulders in his large hands and bent down so that their eyes met.
“Julia, let me get this out in the open. I know you and I have had some laughs and in any other situation I could’ve seen us being friends, but,” he paused, trying to retain some composure, “you have got to stop! I am engaged to be married to an incredible woman. She is the best thing that ever happened to me. I love Loura and nothing can change that.”
Julia shook her head, and further pressed against him. “You don’t mean that. I feel the way you look at me. Daeman we are meant to be together.”
Strinnger’s anger flared at her insistence. “Julia, nothing is ever going to happen between you and me.”
The words spewed from his lips like molten lava and as he spoke them the glorious countenance of her face faded like the setting sun. Immediately, he regretted the force of his words but not their content. He watched silently as the tender sparkle in her eyes diminished then ignited into a flame that he never thought would be possible.
“Fine,” she said in a bitter tone. “Have it your way! But let me tell you this,” she said, clenching her teeth and putting a finger into his chest, “you’ll regret it. When that cold witch puts her next big story before your marriage, don’t come looking for sympathy from me. I’m the best thing that could’ve ever happened to you. You have no idea the life I could have given you.”
His left cheek suddenly burned as her hand swiftly collided with his face. She glared at him for what seemed like an eternity, hot tears threatening to break free, and then briskly strode through the habitation doors to rejoin the group.
“I don’t need this,” Strinnger proclaimed aloud to no one. Reluctantly, he followed behind her, though he longed to be two hundred thousand miles away.
CHAPTER 21
SELENE CITY
“Extraordinary,” Ahkman muttered. For years he had heard the rumors, read the reports, even viewed live video feeds on his office computer, but the reality of what he now saw overwhelmed him. The view from the apex of the hundred-foot tall dome embedded in the lunar crust paled in comparison to that of the moon itself from space, but Ahkman was nonetheless awed by the sprawling city thriving below him.
“Welcome to Selene City!” Vim beamed proudly. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Buildings, both large and small, stretched for at least ten miles along the well-manicured street grid. From the observation booth at the top of the dome they’re vantage was significantly limited to rooftops and street traffic, but Ahkman knew fully well that each building was a work of art. Every stone had been expertly placed, e
specially in the central Administration District directly below them. Gothic and Renaissance-styled facades with elegantly carved terraces and buttresses adorned the city’s bustling skyline. So skillfully crafted was the opulent city that if Ahkman hadn’t known he was a hundred feet below the lunar surface he would have sworn he was in an ancient European village. “It’s incredible,” he commented further.
Ahkman had expected to see some signs of settlement, but in his mind’s eye he had always expected it to be like the space stations in films; cold, mechanical, consisting mainly of steel and iron. This was completely different. This was life; green, luscious life. On every window sill and on every street corner dozens of varieties of flowering plants and shade trees enlivened the dreary gray stone, their buds igniting the air with the scents of a mountain meadow. Fresh, filtered, warm air breezed over his face. People, hundreds if not thousands of people, strode by as if they were on vacation, happy and free.
Vim gleefully stepped before them and raised his arms as if he alone were responsible for the beauty of the city. “This is what we call, ‘Old Town.’ It was built from the remnants of the first mine Carsus Corp ever dug over fifty years ago.” He turned and faced away from his audience, directing his arms now toward the city. “The Selene Experiment consists of everything you see here. The city was created after the first phases of mining were completed. The cavern itself rises over a hundred feet high and 9.7 miles wide. Roughly fifty thousand scientists, scholars, research assistants, and other miscellaneous staff now reside within its limits.”
“If you’ll look around us,” Vim continued, directing their view to the ceiling of the enormous cavern, “we have installed three-dimensional screening over the rock layer to create the illusion of a sky, complete with holographic migrating birds and a beautiful sunset every night. But even better, to complete the illusion we’ve placed bright lights in the ceiling, street lamps, and other areas and set them to dim or intensify based on the time of day. I guess you could say we control when the sun sets and when it rises.”
