At 16:00, Mr. Rollow concluded the briefing with a few additional comments. "You'll each be driven to your quarters, where you'll have time to freshen up. Vehicles will come to collect you at 19:30 and bring you to dinner, where you will all meet Mr. Peacock. Thank you all for your kind attention. See you at dinner." Mr. Rollow was just beaming.
"My God, they sure don't waste any time here. I thought we'd have the opportunity to rest after that trip," Mary said to Dr. Whitmore as they headed for the door.
"And we have a full day of classes to look forward to tomorrow. I'll see you at dinner, dear." Whitmore bowed and took his leave.
Since when does he call me dear? Mary asked herself.
Outside the classroom, several little electric jeeps awaited them. Mr. Rollow had assigned each scientist a jeep and driver. All the jeeps departed the Admin dome, which was number one of many, and traveled to dome number seven, which was a billeting dome for the scientists.
Mary's jeep halted in front of complex four. She took the elevator to the seventh floor and located room 4-7-162. Entering, she found her bags had been safely delivered. She looked at her watch, she would have three hours to catch a shower, select something to wear and do her hair and face. "Better get with it," she declared aloud to herself and the empty room.
As she reached for her suitcase, someone knocked on her door. "Who is it?" she asked. There came no response. She turned, annoyed, and opened the door. There was no one there. She looked left and right, but no one was visible. She was about to close the door when she looked down and saw a flower in a cup, with a note attached.
She bent down to retrieve it. As she walked back into her room with the little gift—something odd about the flower caught her eye. She had to look hard and even touch it to confirm what her eyes were telling her. It was entirely made of paper. It was very artfully done with extreme detail. She read the note:
Dr. Eddington:
We don't have any flowers up here and I thought this 'Sun Flower' might brighten your room. It is a Leucanthemum Vulgare of the order Asterales of the family Asteraceae the subfamily Asteroideae.
I do hope you like it,
Staff Sergeant Pacherd - Hugh
She took a deep breath. "Oh, brother. A stalker."
****
At 19:55, in her silver backless evening gown, Mary was standing in an ante-room off the main dining room in the Admin section of dome one. The room was quite elegant, and decorated entirely in white.
There were several dozen people in attendance: all the members of the new teams, those of the outgoing teams, as well as several principal players who were cadre on JILL. Dr. Whitmore brought Mary a Chardonnay, so she felt a bit obligated to chat with him for a moment.
"My dear, you are a vision of loveliness, far sweeter than this rather mundane wine. Do let me drink you in," he requested, handing her the glass. "We are asked to drop our titles, so I hope you won't mind if I call you Mary. As you know, my name is Stanley, but I hope you'll call me Stan. I hear you're single. What a waste, beautiful woman like you. I'm divorced myself, long story, one I'm sure—"
"Dr. Whitmore, uhm, I'm sorry, Stan. Please excuse me." Mary had spotted Dr. Lisa Cavanaugh, a member of the team that would be leaving after showing the new people the ropes. She approached her and extended her hand. "Dr. Cavanaugh?"
"Lisa, please. You must be Dr. Mary Eddington. I'm so pleased to meet you, Mary."
"And I, you. I read your paper on—"
"Please. No shoptalk tonight. This is the first truly social evening we've had in months."
"Lisa, may I ask you a question that may seem a tad off the wall?"
"Ask away."
"Do you know Sergeant Pacherd?"
"Hugh? Of course. Why?"
"What manner of man is he?"
"Well, that's difficult. He's always been very pleasant. He is very much a soldier and dedicated to his work, but always ready to assist, lend a hand. Once, we needed a volunteer to descend into the fissure Rima Milichius and he stepped right up. It was a rather dangerous mission, too. And, you see Dr. Ditter Hammerschmidt over there? He's our team leader. We'd been here about two months when Sergeant Pacherd saved his life. An airlock malfunctioned; the light was green so Ditter removed his helmet. Just then, a seal failed and the air was being sucked out of the chamber with Ditter trapped inside. Hugh entered the chamber, without a suit; somehow he pulled Ditter out just in time.
"Hugh suffered some sort of injury. He never talks about it, but we didn't see him for a week afterward. His Platoon Leader only told us that Sergeant Pacherd would be back on duty soon.
"Don't tell me you've got your eye on Hugh, my dear? Forget it; he's all Army all the time."
"Is that a fact?" Mary replied drolly.
"Afraid so, honey."
"So, you don't think I have anything to fear from him?"
"Fear? What, on the Moon do you mean?"
"Well, the instant we arrived he ran up to me and introduced himself, offered to carry my books. Then somehow, he learned where my room is located and he delivered a flower."
"A flower?"
"Made of paper."
"That conduct is certainly out of character for Hugh," Lisa remarked. "But, in his defense, I'll point out that he is part of the security force here and most likely has access to information that includes your quarters, and workstation, as well as your place, and date of birth. As for the flower, well honey, you're young and attractive. Has a man never given you flowers?"
Mary smiled and nodded, "Well, thank you Lisa. That makes me feel better. If you’ll excuse me, my date’s waiting." Actually, she did not feel better at all. Mr. All Army, the dedicated soldier, sounds like a guy who has not been around any women his own age in quite some time, she thought to herself as she turned away. I'll bet I'm the first younger woman he's seen in—just how long has he been isolated up here anyway?
"Dinner is served." The voice came from somewhere above, and everyone started moving into the dining room.
As the door opened, all beheld a long, formal dinner table, and at its head, like Napoleon on his throne, sat Mr. Peacock.
Dr. Hammerschmidt sat to Mr. Peacock's left and Dr. Whitmore to his right. Mary found her place card about half way down the table and took her seat.
Mary studied Mr. Peacock, no doubt the most powerful man on the Moon. In his mid-fifties, he was a corpulent fellow with a ruddy face. He wore large, thick glasses and carried a pocket watch.
Mary could not remember a more delicious dinner. It consisted of selections of beef, chicken, lamb, and various vegetarian dishes. There was water, tea, coffee, and wine. Lastly, there arrived a tray of desserts to rival the best restaurants she'd ever visited in Denver, Houston, or Washington, DC.
After dinner, the conversation turned to the research projects going on in and around JILL. Mr. Peacock explained the various timetables that existed and the many levels of bureaucracy that all scientists must negotiate, without exception. JILL was his well-oiled machine, and he made it clear that nothing would be allowed to upset the apple cart.
Mary noted that one title did still seem to exist here. Everyone always addressed the chief administrator as Mister Peacock.
After a while, Mr. Peacock began to respond to questions. Mary observed that all were benign in nature. Nothing pointed, despite Mr. Peacock's blunt enunciation of his policies and less-than-subtle reminders that he ruled here.
There was so much Mary objected to, but when selected by 'his majesty' to ask a question, she asked one that even surprised her as she uttered the words. "Mr. Peacock, why is there a military presence here?"
"Dr. Mary Eddington, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir."
"University of Colorado, recommended by the director of NASA personally. I see your reputation for curiosity is well earned."
"Thank you. Is there a threat to the base?"
"You are persistent as well, I see. No, Ms. Eddington, there is no threat to the base, other than that po
sed by the hostile environment beyond these walls. These soldiers are trained to respond to disasters. They are expert in crowd control. However unlikely it may be, should some catastrophic event occur, these soldiers can be counted on to keep a cool head and respond in a calculated manner."
"Have any of these soldiers ever become disciplinary problems?"
"Never. And I say that without equivocation. These are the best of the best. Many of these soldiers have been here for years and have remained professional at all times. What, pray tell, has prompted you to ask these questions?"
"It struck me as odd to see the military here on what is widely touted as a purely civilian effort. They look out of place."
"I see. So, you are anti-military?"
"Not at all. There is a time and place for them."
"I'm sure you'll agree, Ms. Eddington, that should that place ever be the Moon, the nearly thirty hours it takes to travel here is too great a period of time to wait for help to arrive. So, like the hospital that sits awaiting an injury, our little army awaits a need we hope will never develop. In the meantime, you'll find them of considerable and willing assistance."
"Thank you, Mr. Peacock. I'm sure I'll sleep better tonight."
"It is my fondest desire, I assure you."
Chapter 3
After dinner, Stan caught up with Mary. "Are you out of your mind? To become adversarial with the chief administrator on our first day is lunacy!"
"Is that a joke, Stan?"
"This is no joke. That man controls every aspect of this place and is widely known to be petty. He can make our lives miserable and greatly retard our ability to complete our research. Additionally, he can prevent any of us from ever returning to JILL!"
"Alright, Stanley, I'll apologize to him, explain that I was cranky after my long trip."
"I don't care what you tell him. Just make this better."
****
The next morning as Mary exited her quarters, she was greatly surprised to see that her jeep driver was Sergeant Pacherd. She stopped and her eyes burned a hole through him. "Not you."
"Dr. Eddington, I understand that I am somehow responsible for getting you into trouble. I'm sorry, and stand prepared to do whatever is necessary to correct the problem."
"Listen, General—"
"Sergeant, ma'am."
"Yeah, ah, listen; I don't need your help. I don't need a porter or a body guard, so just stop already."
"Stop, ma'am?"
"Yes, stop whatever it is you're doing and just return to being a soldier boy. Okay?"
He lowered his eyes and gestured toward the jeep then they both climbed in. Hugh started off slowly. "I'm very sorry. It was not my intent to—"
"What exactly is your intent, Major?" Mary couldn't help but notice that his hair was almost the same shade of brown as his eyes, which were just a little darker. She'd always liked dark eyes, for some reason.
"Sergeant, ma'am."
"Whatever. Answer the question."
"I just wanted to...to help you."
"Fine. Next time I'm trapped in a leaking airlock I'll expect you to come running to my rescue. Until then, don't help. Okay?"
"Yes, ma'am."
They sat in silence the rest of the trip to the classroom. During the ride, Mary considered her treatment of the soldier. Perhaps she had been a tad too harsh. She just didn't need a lost puppy following her about. Moreover, there was just no room in her life for a man. And particularly not this man with his uniform, big black boots, and all those little badges. Regardless, she was married to her work, and her life was full.
Hugh brought the jeep to a gentle stop in front of the classroom. Mary climbed out, but before she walked away she surprised herself by saying to Hugh, "Uh, thanks for the flower." Then, she turned quickly and headed off.
"You're very welcome, ma'am!" Hugh almost shouted the words. He was smiling as he drove off.
"Ma'am," Mary declared to herself. "I hate being called that."
Dr. Sharma happened to be standing near enough to overhear her. "What is it that you hate, Mary?" he asked.
"That soldier keeps calling me ma'am. He makes me feel like I'm a hundred years old."
"May I offer a solution?"
"Sure, Balaji, what is it?"
"Introduce yourself. Ask him to call you Mary."
"Yeah, right. I don't want to encourage him."
"No, ma'am, you certainly would not want to do that, ma'am."
"You're so funny."
"Besides, look at him, how ugly he is. He's only one point seven meters tall. All those muscles make him look lumpy. You have probably not noticed the dark wavy hair and brown eyes. It is little wonder you are repulsed."
"I couldn't care less what he looks like. And he's got to be at least one point eight five meters tall."
"Did you know he speaks five languages?"
"Really? Five?"
"Yes, and has a master's degree in mathematics."
"You're kidding."
"Not at all."
"Well, have you noticed how pale he is?" Mary said, grasping at straws.
"Probably misses his required trips to the sun rooms."
"See, he can't even follow his orders. How come you know so much about this guy?" Mary demanded.
"Through the computer, you can access the base personnel records. That which is not restricted is very enlightening."
"What made you look this guy up?"
"His obvious attraction to you."
"What?"
"Yesterday, it was not I to whom he ran. The weight of my briefcase was of no concern to him, nor that of anyone else in the lobby."
"You are a very observant fellow."
"No," Balaji said with a grin, "I am just a busy-body."
****
Mary's morning started with an early working breakfast, which didn't break for lunch until 11:30. Lunch was served in a cafeteria-like dining facility. It was a far cry from the private dining room of the previous night with Mr. Peacock, and the food was nothing to e-mail home about. There were hundreds of people eating here. Mary noticed general maintenance workers, clerks, and scientists. She turned to Balaji and said, "I don't see any soldiers in here."
"Perhaps they have their own mess hall."
"Yeah, that must be it."
"Are you looking for any soldier in particular?"
"No, I...no!"
Balaji gave her a faint smile. They sat down to eat together, with no further mention of soldiers.
Upon returning to class, Mary found at her desk a bundle of small yellow flowers, neatly tied with a yellow ribbon, and of course, made from paper.
The note attached read:
Dr. Eddington:
These are Acacia; they are from a genus of shrubs and trees belonging to the subfamily Milosoideae of the family Fabaceae, first described in Africa by the Swedish botanist Carl Linnaeus in 1773.
There was no signature, but she knew the source.
She caught Balaji's attention and waved the flowers at him with an expression of bemused frustration on her face.
The classes ended at 18:00, and Mary and Balaji exited the building. Approximately every twelve hours as "night" descended in JILL, the illumination in the domes was lowered to provide a semblance of Earth-like normalcy. Together, Mary and Balaji went to find the line of jeeps waiting to take everyone to their rooms.
"I see you have been successful," Balaji said to her.
"How's that?"
"The Sergeant is not at the wheel of your transport."
"Really? I hadn't noticed."
"Mary, let's forego these vehicles and do a little sightseeing, shall we?"
"Sure, Balaji, where shall we go?"
"Let us just walk and talk."
In the months they had all trained together, there was little time for socializing, for which Mary had been grateful, but it meant the trainees never got to know one another.
Mary and Balaji walked through the grand lobby and ventured i
nto dome two. Most everyone had gone home for the evening, though some projects were functioning on a twenty-four-hour schedule, so the night shifts were in place and hard at work.
"I hope we don't end up like that, working an around-the-clock cycle, I mean," Mary said.
"One never knows. We could fall behind as our allotted time starts running out."
"What happens if we complete our work ahead of schedule?"
Balaji laughed. "Not at all likely. But, I suppose there are projects we could assist with all about us. Did you never find yourself working all night at the university?"
"Not really, no. But when I was with NASA, I sure did." She took off her glasses and accidentally dropped them. In the low lunar gravity they fell much slower than they would have on Earth, so Mary made a grab at them. She missed, but managed to hit them with a fingertip, which sent them sliding across the floor and under the wheels of a passing jeep. They were smashed. Balaji retrieved the pieces and returned them to Mary. "I am so sorry. Have you another pair?"
"Oh, Balaji, it's not your fault, but my own. Besides," she held up a lens so that both could see through it, "I really don't need them."
"Faux glasses? Why?"
"Can you keep a secret? I wear them to put men off."
"To put—so this is why your hair is always in a bun and you dress in unflattering gray suits all the time?"
"I have mauve and black suits as well, thank you. But, yes. Balaji, I just don't want the distraction of a man in my life. Not right now." They continued down the tunnel that would return them to dome one from which they could catch a jeep back to seven.
"I'm not sure, Mary," Balaji stated, "but I think I should be offended."
"Oh, Balaji, please. I know you're not a threat."
"Offended yet again. Am I not a man vying for some attention from you?"
"Balaji, are you not a married man?"
He smiled to himself and said, "So you think this makes you safe in my presence? Perhaps I am a fiend. How would you know?"
"I've always had a sixth sense about men."
"A sixth sense about men? The very men you adorn yourself to dissuade?"
Dark Moon Rising Page 2
