Dark Moon Rising

by Michael E. Gonzales

  "Yeah." Mary thrust her hands into her pockets where she discovered the flowers left to her by the Sergeant.

  "Mary, have your spider senses ever told you good things about any man?"

  "Only married men from India."

  Balaji peered at her as they exited the tunnel into the grand lobby. "And what do they tell you about the Sergeant?"

  "You know, that's funny. I don't get a sense from him at all. I can't figure him out. Based on what I've heard, he's dependable, reliable, brave, and honest. A real Eagle Scout. But his attentions scare me a little."

  "How so?"

  "Well, he knows where I live, knew where my seat was in the classroom. He keeps sending me flowers—"

  "Like those in your hand?"

  "Yes, they're made from paper. I wonder where he gets them?"

  "He has sent you others?"

  "Yeah." Mary twirled the paper flowers between her fingers. "He left one at the door to my quarters."

  "What kind was it?"

  "Paper."

  "No, what kind of flower?"

  "A sunflower."

  "Oh, I see," Balaji said, looking up at a lunar replica of the Venus De Milo.

  "What?" Mary knew he was leading her on.

  "Do you not know the language of flowers?"

  "Never heard of it."

  "I'm not surprised, avoiding romance as you do. However, it seems the Sergeant speaks six languages."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Mary, he is sending you messages." Balaji indicated the flowers.

  "Yes, he is, look at his note. A message a botanist would write."

  Balaji laughed again. "No, no. I mean, he's telling you—"

  At that moment, Mary's COMde activated. The ring tone was a fellow singing "Fly Me to the Moon." The IIEA issued a next generation Communications Device to all its employees imaginatively called a “COMde”, probably because there was no commercial version it didn’t receive a catchy product name. The device itself was a small box carried on the belt or in a pocket of the user. It was activated by means of a small tech chip implanted just below the skin at the temple of the user’s choice. A contact lens provided all the visuals, and it was all controlled by means of the tech chip which served as a BCI or Brain Computer Interface.

  Mary tapped her right temple and said, "Hello? Oh, hello doctor, ah, Stan. Really? Where? Okay. Half an hour? See you there. No really, I'll just meet you there." She tapped out and turned toward Balaji. "I'm sorry, but that was Dr. Whitmore. He wants to talk to me. I'm sure it's about my e-mail to Mr. Peacock. He wants to meet me at a restaurant. I didn't know there were restaurants here."

  "Oh, yes, JILL is very metropolitan," Balaji said with a half-smile.

  "I guess I should—I hate to just leave you here."

  "Do not concern yourself with me. Dr. Whitmore, however, is an impatient man." Across the thoroughfare, a jeep stood waiting at a stop, so Balaji called it over for Mary.

  "Say," she said, "this was fun. Let's do this again some time."

  "Sure, anytime," Balaji replied with a smile.

  "Balaji," she placed her hand on his upper arm, "I'm grateful to have someone to talk to. Thank you."

  "Child, there is perhaps no man here that would deny you his company."

  Mary smiled and departed with a wave.

  ****

  Balaji turned to seek out a transport for himself to return him to his quarters. He struck out for the now-empty jeep stop across the way, unaware he was jay walking. Within a few steps a horn sounded, startling him. He looked up to see an LCDD jeep come to rest less than a meter from him.

  "Hey Doc-tor, ya gotta be more careful!" It was Sergeant Pacherd.

  "I am so sorry," Balaji responded.

  "Can I give you a lift?"

  "Please, I am headed back to my quarters," he sat beside Hugh in the vehicle.

  "You're Dr. Sharma, aren't you?"

  "And just how would you know that?" Balaji asked.

  "Very enlightening, what you can read on the computer," Hugh said, accelerating. "I retrieved your name from base personnel records, and then found you on the websites of both Cambridge and MIT. I also read a few of your papers on the websites of several scientific journals. That whole regolith-oxygen thing was genius."

  Balaji smiled declaring, "I must speak to security about the lack of privacy on the computers here."

  "Ah, Doctor, I am security."

  "It was meant to be a joke, Sergeant; however, I, too, am as guilty as are you. I looked you up."

  "Oh? Learn anything saucy?"

  "I learned you are quite accomplished for your age. You are a linguist with two degrees in advanced mathematics. All the while being a career soldier. I don't know how long it takes to attain the rank of Staff Sergeant, but I do know how long it takes a full time student to obtain baccalaureate and master's degrees. I know the difficulty of learning new languages, too. What I don't understand is how you managed it all."

  "Night school. Nights are thirty days long up here, ya know. Why would you look me up, Doctor?"

  "Because of Dr. Mary Eddington."

  "Oh. Are you two—"

  "No, Sergeant. She is, however, my friend."

  The two remained quiet as the Sergeant negotiated a long sweeping turn, and then plunged into a tunnel. He did not speak again until they emerged.

  "Dr. Sharma—"

  "Please, call me Balaji."

  "We soldiers are required to refer to you scientists by title and last name. I am in violation of my directives just calling you 'Doctor'."

  "I am not offended. What was your question?"

  "Dr. Sharma, can you keep a secret?"

  "I am often asked that. Yes."

  "I've never seen a more beautiful woman in my entire life. I want to get to know her, and I want her to like me. This may surprise you, but I have little to no experience with women, and I think I'm botching my chances…ah, to get to know her I mean."

  "Sergeant, your inexperience was evident on day one."

  "Really?"

  "Indeed. You charged at her like a bull. Your paper flowers were a good thought, but your delivery methods scared her."

  "Oh, brother."

  "If I may offer a bit of advice?"

  "Please."

  "You have set your sights on the most difficult of targets. She is dedicated to her work and allows no distractions. You have made yourself an unwelcome distraction. I suggest you give her time and space. You have planted a seed in her mind; now give it time to germinate."

  Chapter 4

  Mary arrived at Cafe Sur la Lune well within the half hour she had allowed. Stan was already there. He waved her over, rose as she reached the table, and pulled her chair out for her. Once seated, he asked, "Have you eaten, my dear?"

  There was that 'dear' again. "No, not yet."

  "Neither have I. Please, let me treat you to dinner."

  The thought of eating again in the cafeteria was not a pleasant one, so she consented.

  Stan motioned the waiter over, "Garçon, une bouteille de Domaine de la Janasse, Châteauneuf-du-Pape, Vieilles Vignes 2020, s'ilvous plait."

  "An excellent choice, monsieur," the waiter declared and hurried off.

  Mary had glimpsed the wine list. "Stan, that's an exceedingly expensive bottle of wine."

  "Oh, but it is an excellent vintage, my dear."

  "How is it they have such an old, rare wine up here?"

  "No quality establishment should ever neglect its more discriminating customers."

  The waiter, a young attractive fellow, came to take their order. Mary wondered what would induce a guy this young to risk his life as a waiter on the Moon.

  Stanley reached across the small table and plucked the menu from Mary's hands and ordered for them both. "We'll start with the fried green tomatoes with mozzarella and country ham as an appetizer. We will both have the seafood and chorizo paella, thank you."

  Mary understood this game and was not
about to play it. "Pardon me young man," she stopped the waiter. "I think I'd rather have the brie stuffed Chicken Cecelia, the melting greens, and the crème fraîche potatoes."

  "Oui, madam," he responded, and left.

  "Mary," Stanley leaned across the table, "I really think you would have preferred the seafood, the chef here excels—"

  "I don't mean to offend, Stanley," Mary's voice was firm, "but I've been ordering my own food for some time now, and tonight I'm not in a mood for seafood."

  "You've not eaten here before, my dear. You're denying yourself one of life's more pleasant delights."

  She wondered if he was still talking about the food.

  "I didn't come over three-hundred-eighty-thousand kilometers to be delighted by food. I'm here to work Stanley, and nothing else."

  Stanley rubbed the side of his index finger over his lips for a moment then said, "I will wager, my dear, that before our tour here is ended you will find more to delight in than you think."

  The food arrived, and Mary had to admit to herself that it looked and smelled delicious. The waiter refilled her wine glass and she and Stanley redirected their attention to the magnificent repast.

  As they ate, Mary kept expecting the hammer to fall about her e-mail to Peacock, so she thought she would head Stanley off at the pass.

  "Stan, I suppose you want to talk about my e-mail to the administrator. I was—"

  "Not at all, Mary. Mr. Peacock contacted me and told me of your message. He seemed satisfied and I explained that with the calendar, and change of gravity, you were out of sorts. I further explained how I know you intimately, and that what he experienced was definitely not you."

  Mary smiled and took another sip of wine, hoping to suppress her anger. 'Calendar', no hiding the implication there, or his use of the word 'intimate'.

  "All is forgiven," he went on, "and I want to thank you for doing that. It must have been painful for you."

  "Stan, it was a simple apology."

  "Nonetheless, it needed to be done. The administrator and I both appreciate that it takes a big person to admit when she is wrong."

  Mary did not recall admitting any such thing in her e-mail.

  "Mary, we two are going to be working very closely. I want to put this incident behind us and move on. I think you should know that, other than myself, I believe you to be the most competent member of the team. I will be relying on you, Mary. Remember, my success is also your success. My friends are always handsomely rewarded: promotions, grants, another trip up here, you'd like that wouldn't you? Your loyalty and your friendship, at all levels, is a guarantee of personal success and advancement."

  She considered his words, “at all levels.” This guy has all the subtlety of a meteorite.

  At that moment, the waiter came to the table. "May I?" he asked, as he reached for Stanley's empty plate. In so doing, he upset Stan's water glass and Stan jumped to his feet.

  "I'm so sorry, sir!" the waiter exclaimed.

  "You dammed robot!" Stanley shouted.

  Mary's gaze leapt to the waiter, and she quickly observed his every detail.

  "When were you last calibrated?" Stanley continued. "I demand to see the manager!"

  "Oh my, would you look at the time!" Mary said, rising. "We have to be ready for the trip over to dome forty-five at 06:00."

  Dr. Whitmore turned his focus back to Mary as the waiter walked away. "Of course, but I have a proposition for you—"

  "I'm sure you do, but really Stan, if I don't get some sleep I'll be useless to you in the morning. Thank you so much for a wonderful dinner. Good night."

  Outside, she hailed a jeep, but stole a quick glance back at the restaurant. Was that young fellow really a robot? she wondered. He looked and sounded like a real person. Of course, it was not beyond Stanley to use the term 'robot' as an insult. Still…

  ****

  Arriving at her quarters, Mary opened her computer and entered a search for the language of flowers. She selected the first option presented, The Ancient Language of Flowers, where she read:

  Every flower lover is aware that flowers have a language all their own. This was so as far back as the Egyptian Empire and personified during the Victorian era. Every sentiment of human emotion is expressed in these delicate blooms. A leading 20th century psychologist once stated, "Flowers are the perfect replica of human life."

  From here, she sought out the meaning of the sunflower:

  Adoration and pure thoughts.

  Within this site, she also looked up the Acacia. Hers were yellow:

  Secret love.

  Balaji was surely mistaken. This was just a coincidence. That GI Joe could not possibly be aware of this. Soldiers were not sensitive emotional creatures. She remembered Hugh's reaction when she confronted him this morning at the jeep. She had watched his eyes—he was no doubt, embarrassed.

  "Great," she muttered, "between General what’s his name and Stan, I certainly have my share of troubles with men, for a woman trying to avoid them."

  ****

  By the third week, the team was well into its various research projects and things were running smoothly, which made Stan very happy.

  But not everyone was happy.

  "Bob," Stan called out, "I need a case of size four sample containers and a dozen Petri dishes." Raising his voice, Stan continued, "I believe everyone here will recall that I asked you to fetch me those items an hour ago, yet I am still without them!"

  "I'm sorry, Dr. Whitmore," Bob mumbled, as everyone looked up from their work.

  "Well, move your butt, Bob, I need them now!"

  "Yes, sir."

  The Petri dishes were stored near Balaji's work station. As Bob gathered the little plastic cylinders, he looked over at Balaji and said, "I hate this no titles policy! I worked very hard for my degrees and I earned the title, Doctor!"

  Bob gathered his burden and headed off with his head bowed.

  ****

  Mary watched as Bob slithered away, and then shot Balaji a glance. She was seething. Stan's harsh, even cruel, treatment of Bob had been growing the last couple of weeks, and she had frankly had enough.

  One afternoon, Stanley had sent Bob to fetch him a fresh thermos of coffee. Bob scurried away like a trained dog fetching his master's slippers. After he had departed, Mary took Stanley aside. "Why do you treat Bob like that?"

  "Like what?"

  "Like he's your slave, dirt under your feet. I don't think I've ever witnessed more reprehensible treatment by one human being toward another. As mean as you were to him in training, you're worse here. I guess it's because there are no IIEA officials watching over us here."

  "Dear, sweet little Mary. You've no idea of the history Bob and I share. I assure you, Bob understands completely. However, I can see that you are upset, so I will modify my behavior toward Bob. Just for you, my dear." With that, he gently touched her on the cheek with the back of his hand.

  She took a step back. "Thanks, Stan," she replied dryly, and returned to her work.

  Later that evening, during their walk, she told Balaji of her conversation with Stan and his touching her. "He's becoming bolder and bolder. But he's smart about it. So far, I don't have enough to file a sexual harassment charge against him."

  "Think twice before you do, Mary. Anything requiring adjudication sees all parties returned to Earth for the action. The odds of your returning here, even with an outcome in your favor, are astronomical; particularly given your standing with Mr. Peacock."

  "Perfect. Stan's no doubt aware of that little tidbit."

  "I'm sure of it. Both his previous trips here resulted in strained relationships with all his team mates, and the females in particular."

  "Why is he continuously chosen to return?"

  "Politically, he is well-connected."

  Mary's gaze was drawn to a man standing in the shadows beside one of the buildings. Her brows knitted together. "Bob?"

  "What?" Balaji turned to follow her stare.

  "
Over there. I saw Bob looking at us from around that corner."

  "Perhaps he wishes to catch you alone and thank you for your intervening with Stan on his behalf? I don't see him now."

  Together, they turned and continued their walk, returning to the apartment complex.

  "Oh, Balaji, what am I going to do about Stan?"

  "I will have a word with him, if you like."

  "No, no. This is my problem, and I certainly don't want to cause you any trouble."

  "You are a strong, capable woman, Mary. I don't think you need a white knight in shining armor to ride to your rescue."

  "Speaking of knights, I wonder what ever happened to that soldier boy." Mary said.

  "Soldier?"

  "You remember—the guy who speaks flower."

  "Oh, yes, Sergeant Pacherd," Balaji said. "I've not seen him in some time."

  "Three weeks."

  "You've been counting?"

  "No, of course not. I just know how long we've been here, is all."

  "What was the last thing you said to him?"

  "I told him to stop."

  "So, he has stopped."

  "It was that same afternoon that he put the yellow Acacias on my desk in class. I figured he hadn't stopped completely."

  "You know, Mary, a man likes to know that his attempts at friendship are appreciated. You rebuffed him. I think you have one less suitor to contend with now."

  She looked down, then back into his eyes. "Good. I'll see you tomorrow, Balaji. Good night."

  "Sweet dreams, Mary," Balaji then called to her as she ascended the steps, "One down, one to go, eh?"

  ****

  Hugh was in the middle of his interior patrol, it was 03:40, and he was entering the third of the domes on his patrol route, number forty-five. He paused outside lab 38A7, "This is her lab," he said to himself.

  He went in and walked about with his flashlight in his hand, but it was not switched on. He knew exactly which desk was hers and went straight to it. On it he saw a coffee cup with her name printed on it in French script letters surrounded by roses. He picked up the cup and gently rolled it in his hands. Setting it carefully back down, he moved to a supply closet and from the stacks of blank forms and documents, he picked two. A red document titled Negative Results, and a green one titled Positive Results.