Bouncing Off the Moon

"And what if you're wrong?"

"I've spent the last eight years monitoring his bowel and his blad‑; der. After you've cleaned him up a couple of times, you start paying attention to these things."

Mickey wasn't convinced. "He sounds awfully insistent to me."

"He does this everywhere," I explained. "At home, in the car, on trips. Nobody else can ever use the bathroom if he doesn't want them to. If he's not the center of attention, he's gotta go. He does it to escape spankings. He does it to get me in trouble. And he did it at Barringer Meteor Crater–you heard about that?–because somewhere he's figured out that announcing that you have to go to the bathroom is the reset button for reality. You notice, he hasn't said a word for the past two minutes? If something interesting is happening, he forgets he has to go."

Right on schedule, Stinky piped up. "I wanna go on the roller coaster!"

Mickey turned back to Douglas. "What do you want to do?"

"Chigger is right. Let's keep going."

"We haven't heard from Alexei–" Mickey fiddled with his phone. "Alexei–? Can you hear me. Respond please?" To me, he said, "It's a long way down. If he went slow–"

"He could still answer, couldn't he?" I bounced up and flipped my wheel over the cord, clicking my grabber onto the other handle with an ease that surprised me. I was getting used to this stuff.

Before I could kick free, Mickey blocked me. "Charles, wait–"

"Why? If something happened to him, we're on our own. Waiting up here is only going to use up oxygen. You have to stay with Douglas and Stinky. I can do this–"

"Mickey, he's right. Let him go. We have to get down from here."

Mickey sighed and stepped out of the way. I don't think he liked any of us right at that moment.

I didn't care. I kicked free.

GETTING DOWN

I sailed off the rocks and out into open space–above the crater wall, above the rubble‑strewn slope, above the gaping chasms, toward the distant gray Lunar plain. Parts of it were so dark the shadows were tangible.

There wasn't as much sense of motion as I expected–and there wasn't as much falling feeling either. Even so, my heart lurched in my chest. Here I was again, hanging in open space–

I tried looking up. That didn't help. The cord was zipping by too fast. I looked down. That was even worse. I could see how fast the ground was coming up. The line was too steep. I twisted the handles as hard as I could.

The wheel slowed, the vibration in my hands and arms changed. But it didn't feel slow enough. "Oh, chyorr!" I should have started sooner.

"Charles–?"

"I'm trying to slow down." The ground was coming up awfully fast. And I was feeling reallystupid. I twisted the handles harder–but they were already at their limit; they clicked into a locked position. The wheel was stopped–but I was still going! The wheel skidded and bounced along the cord. Was this what happened to Alexei? Betrayed by the Lunar laws of physics? There wasn't enough weight on the wheel, there wasn't enough friction between the wheel and the line, they were both too polished– and the line was too damn steep! I was just going to keep sliding all the way down–until I slammed into a big unfriendly boulder.

It was a long way down. More than a klick, maybe two. How fast would I be going when I hit bottom? Fast enough to hurt? Fast enough to puncture the bubble suit? Twenty kph? Thirty? More? If only I had a couple of Palmer tubes–

That gave me an idea. I took my hands out of the connecting gloves and hurriedly connected the emergency rebreather tube to the valve of the bubble suit. It snapped immediately into place. This was going to be tricky. I pointed the valve and opened it in a series of short bursts.

I couldn't hear the outrush of air, but I could feel it. I came skidding to a stop on the line. My downward rush was halted. The line wasn't as steep here, the brakes held. I took my finger off the valve. I couldn't believe it–it worked! I'd traded a few minutes of air–maybe more–for a safe landing. A fair trade. I shoved my hands back into the gloves and looked down. I was hanging thirty meters above a yawning abyss. It was too dark to see how deep the bottom was.

"Chigger?" That was Douglas. "What was that screaming about?"

"What screaming?"

"You were screaming."

"No, I wasn't–was I really?"

"Yes, you were. What happened?"

"I was going too fast. The brakes didn't work. Well, they worked, but they didn't. Alexei screwed up, I think. Even if the wheel doesn't turn, you'll still go skidding down the line. But it's okay. I stopped myself. I used some of the air from my rebreather."

"How much?" That was Mickey.

"Not too much. Just a few squirts."

"Charles, I don't want to alarm you. But it's hard to tell how big a squirt is in vacuum. Don't panic. We've all got spare bottles. We're not going to run out of air. But that's not a real good idea."

"It was the only one I had, Mickey. Anyway, you and Douglas are going to have to do the same thing."

"No, we're not. I'm going to figure something else out. Where are you now?"

"Hanging maybe a hundred klicks over nothing in particular."

"How much farther do you have to go?"

I peered ahead. "The ground levels out soon. So does the line. It looks like maybe two or three hundred meters. It's hard to tell."

"You'll have to go very slow."

"I know that!"

"All right. Just keep talking."

My arms were starting to get tired. I reached up, grabbed the handles firmly, took a breath, and carefully began untwisting–not very much, just enough to unlock the brake and let the wheel start rolling. Only a little bit. I began moving forward. Very slowly. So far so good.

The thought occurred to me that I might have reacted out of panic. The line had a lot of sag in it. Of course the highest part would be the steepest. Lower down, the line would level off enough that the brakes would be more effective.

The more I thought about it, something felt wrong about this. Al‑exei had planned everything else so carefully; why did he screw this up? Lunar explorers used all kinds of tricks for getting up and down steep slopes. This couldn't have been the first time he'd done this. So why didn't he know better? Had he been careless? Or stupid? Or what?

The ground came gliding up to meet me. Everything was back to slow motion. It was like one of those flying dreams where you drift along like a cloud. I tightened my grip and came to a halt, suspended only a couple of meters above the Lunar dust. The line went on farther, but the ground dropped away again. Maybe this would be a good place to get off … ?

Two meters. I did the math in my head. One‑sixth of two meters. It would be like jumping off a chair. I could do that. "All right," I said. "I've found a stopping place. It's not too far to the ground. I'm going to drop down here. Wait a minute." I looked up at the wheel and the handles and visualized what would happen when I released my grip. The wheel would pop off the line, dropping me down. I just had to be ready. "Here goes–"

My hand came free and I fell. The bubble bounced down onto the ground. I didn't fall over.

"I'm down."

"Good job, Chigger. All right, now move out from under the line. You don't want to get accidentally bumped. We're coming down now. Mickey and I are coming down together."

"Huh?"

"You'll see. Just keep out of the way."

I stared up the line and waited. Several very long moments later, three luminous bubbles appeared very high up. One very large one, and two smaller ones with silver figures inside. They were moving very slow–painfully slow.

"I can see you," I reported.

"We can see you too," Mickey called back. "We'll be down in a bit."

It took longer than a bit, but I could see them clearly, so I wasn't worried. When they finally did arrive, they hung lower on the line than I had. In fact, they were holding their knees up so they wouldn't scrape the ground. They brought themselves to a stop, hanging all together like the last three grapes on the stem. Douglas lowered his long gangly legs to the ground and unclipped himself and Mickey.

He showed me how they'd used some of the leash to the inflatable to tie their two wheels (together to make a kind of pulley rig. With both wheels locked, the cord had to twist around first one wheel, then the other. It couldn't skid–at least not very well.

"We should have thought of this before," said Douglas. "All three of us could have come down at the same time. With your wheel rigged in, we would have had even better control. We did skid a bit at first, but not as hard as you did."

We were on a low hill. Mickey was already settling the inflatable on the level crest of it, opening up the first zipper of the entrance tube so Douglas could go in and take care of Stinky. As soon as Douglas was on his way in, Mickey came over to me and checked my air bottles.

"How bad?" I asked.

"Not as bad as it could have been. You used up half an hour of breathing. Maybe more. You'll just have to swap in one of your O‑bottles earlier, that's all. Later on, we might have to equalize your air supply with mine or Douglas's. What you did was very smart, Chigger–and also very stupid. I hope you realize that. We don't have air to waste. Alexei didn't leave us much margin."

"I didn't have time to think, Mickey."

"I know you didn't. And I'm not bawling you out. We've just got to be more careful from here on. Okay?"

"More careful than what?" I asked.

Mickey looked exasperated. "I mean, we're going to have to think harder. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Do you understand what I'msaying? Is there anything I could have done different?"

He got it. Or maybe he didn't. "All right. Fine. Let's just drop it."

He turned back to the inflatable. "Doug, do you need my help?"

Douglas was already inside. There was a smaller silver beetle next to him–Stinky. I couldn't see what he was doing, but from his posture, it looked as if he was squatting over a toilet bag. "No, I think we've got everything under control."

Mickey turned to me. "Chigger, you stay here. I'm going to follow the line down to its end and look for Alexei."

"I'll go with," I said.

"I'd rather you didn't. It might not be very pretty–"

"I've seen dead bodies before," I lied. Well, in the movies anyway. "Besides, you might need help bringing back the extra oxygen bottles and all the other stuff that Alexei was carrying."

"All right," said Mickey. "But if you throw up inside your bubble, you'll have to live with it."

"I'll be fine," I said. I hoped I was right. I followed him, hop‑skipping over the hill.

END OF THE LINE

We followed the cord for several hundred meters. The ground was uneven, and generally sloping downward, though here and there it rolled upward too. There were boulders everywhere, of all sizes–some as big as cars or houses, others even bigger; so we couldn't really see too far in any direction. But we weren't worried about losing our way. Not as long as we kept the line in sight. Mostly it was ten or twenty meters over our heads.

Mickey turned his transmitter all the way up and called for Alexei to respond, please.We waited and waited, but there was no answer.

Several times we paused to circle around some of the bigger boulders, just in case Alexei had come down behind one of them, or even on top of one. But if he had, we didn't see him. Mickey kept checking his homing device, but Alexei's beacon didn't register. Maybe he was out of range. That was possible. Or maybe it was no longer transmitting. That was possible too.

Then we came to a place that was very slow going. The boulders were too big and uneven and we had to watch our bounces carefully. When we got past that, we took a short rest, each of us taking a small drink of water. Mickey looked over at me. "Y'know–Chigger, you're a pretty good kid."

I didn't know how to respond to that, so I just grunted something that might have been thanks.

"At first, I thought you were a whiny pain in the ass–but you can take care of yourself. Better than I expected. I respect you for that."

And then he added, "I hope that maybe you're starting to respect me too."

"Yeah, I guess so," I said.

"Charles, you resent me. I see it on your face every time you look at Douglas and me together. And I don't blame you. Douglas and Bobby are all you've got left, and I must seem like an intruder to you."

I didn't know what to say to that either. After a bit, I mumbled half an agreement. "Well, yeah."

"So, let's agree to work together anyway, okay? Because we both care about Douglas. And Bobby."

"Urn. Okay."

We slapped gloves, kind of like a handshake, only clumsy, and then we checked in with Douglas. He told us to be glad that odors cannot travel through the vacuum of space.

We pushed on.

After another fifteen minutes of bouncing and skipping through house‑sized boulders, we came around a tall rocky prominence and stopped. We had finally reached the end of the line. Literally. The place where the grapple‑dart had anchored itself.

Mickey bounced up to the top of a boulder, then bounced over to the next. He tilted himself forward to inspect the dart. "It looks fine," he said. "I'm going to see if I can loosen it and bring it with us. We might need it again."

"But Alexei had the pistol."

"Well, we'll just have to find him."

I was already circling the outcrop, looking for Alexei's body. I wanted to find it–and I didn't. I was morbidly curious–and I was terrified. If Alexei was dead, then where were we … ?

"All right, I've got the grapple‑dart," said Mickey. "I'm coming back down." Two quick bounces and he was beside me again. Above us the line was falling slack. "Did you see anything?"Meaning, did you find Alexei?

"Uh‑uh. It's like he popped off the line and flew away into space."

"Knowing Alexei, I could almost believe that." Mickey bounced up and grabbed the sagging cord above us. He pulled the free end over the rocks and began winding it up. "Even without the pistol, this might be useful. Waste not, want not, remember?" He handed me the line to hold, then circled the promontory, looking for anything I might have missed. He spiraled outward among the boulders, then came back to me. "Nope. He must have jumped off earlier. We could search for days and never find him." After a moment, he added, "And we don't have enough air for that."

We started back toward Douglas and Mickey resumed winding the cord. "You know," he started, thinking aloud. "There was a lot of horizontal slack at this end of the line. He might have had time to slow down, even stop." And then he added, pointedly,"You might have too."

"Yeah, but I didn't know that."

"No, you didn't."

We picked our way back slowly. We took turns gathering up the cord and winding it in loose coils. It looked unnaturally thin to me–but everything on Luna seemed spindly. If they made it only one‑half as strong as it would need to be on Earth, it would still be three times stronger than necessary for Luna.

We spread out and searched from side to side, looking for any sign of Alexei. Even a track on the ground would have been welcome. We searched as carefully as we could–but we were in shadow, there were a lot of boulders, and it would have been easy to miss him in the dark.

Mickey stopped to study his PITA. He whispered something to it, studied the display. "All right," he said, with terrifying finality. "I'm going to call it. You know what that means?"

"You think he's dead."

"It means we can't waste any more oxygen looking for him. If he's dead, we can't help him. And if he's alive, we still can't help him–" He stopped and faced me. "Do you know the first law of Luna?"

"Uh–no," I admitted.

"It's very cold, it's very selfish. Take care of your own well‑being first. Otherwise, you have nothing for anyone else."

"That doesn't sound selfish to me. It sounds like good advice."

"It is. But a lot of dirtsiders don't like it. The equations are too cold for them. You know what that means?"

"Everybody does. Not enough air."

"That's right." He took a breath. "All right. Let's go back and talk to Douglas. It's time to make a decision."

Douglas and Bobby were sitting together inside the inflatable. Bobby was munching an MRE and sipping at a canteen. I checked the time. We'd have to take another bathroom break in an hour. If we waited until he went now, we might manage two hours, two and a half. Maybe.

Mickey and I stopped outside the inflatable. We checked each other's air supply. We were both fine. Mickey told Douglas what we had found–and what we hadn't found. He traced lines in the thin dust. "Here's where we started. Here's where we are now. Here's the closest two train lines. We could have gone to this one, to the east. It's only half the distance, in fact it's still closer, but there are some steep crater walls in the way. And we'd be in sunlight a lot of the time, dodging from shadow to shadow. Experienced Loonies wouldn't have had a problem with it, but it's too risky for beginners. So Alexei had us going the long way, but safer–heading for this other line here. This way, we stay mostly in shadow, and the biggest problem is that one little crater rim–yeah, thatwas a littleone–and a little bit of sunlight, and making sure that we have enough air. He thought we could do it. So did I. I still do."

I couldn't tell what Douglas was thinking. Behind the blurry wall of the inflatable, he was an unreadable silver ghost.

"If we call for help," said Mickey, "we'll probably end up in the custody of bounty marshals. Alexei was my only real connection on Luna. I might be able to make some phone calls, but I can't think of anyone who'd get involved for us. For you. Unless–"

"Unless what?"

"Unless you know who paid your dad to carry the monkey. They'd certainly have an interest in reclaiming their property."

"No, they won't," said Douglas. "It's a decoy. Having us caught by bounty marshals serves them perfectly. It's a public distraction."

For an instant, the monkey tightened its grip on my head, reminding me it was there. For an instant, I wondered again if it was really a decoy. But something told me I didn't want to voice that thought aloud. "So what's our alternative?" I asked. "Without Alexei, can we still get to the train?"

"I think so. My maps are good. Not as good as Alexei's, but he showed me the way, and I think I can get us to Prospector's Station."

"And then what?"

"Then we keep going. We take cargo trains. We zigzag. We avoid interception points. We get to the catapult somehow. Or we sit here and call for help. But we have to decide in the next few minutes, because if we don't start moving soon, the window closes. We won't have enough air."

"How much air?"

"My guess is six hours if we're active, eight if we're resting. We can call for help anytime, Douglas. But if we're going to move, we have to move now."

"What about the closer train?"

Mickey pointed east–toward the harsh glare of the rising sun.

Douglas turned and looked. He didn't like what he saw. I could see that much in his posture. "And the farther one?"

Mickey pointed south, toward the darkness.

Douglas stared into the gloom. "You really think we can do it?"

"Alexei thought so. And he knew the risks better than any of us."

"All right," Douglas said. "Let's do it."

"You want me to take Bobby?"

"No, I promised him he'd stay with me. Let me get packed–"

A HUNCH

We didn't talk about Alexei. Not too much. There wasn't much that either Douglas or I could say–and whatever Mickey was feeling about his friend, he wasn't saying anything to either of us. I got the feeling he was as much angry at Alexei as he was grieving.

After a little bit of discussion, we decided to go for thirty minutes at a time between rest breaks. It was mostly downhill, and we were getting our Luna legs now, and Mickey was worried about my air. He didn't say so, but he checked my readouts a lot. He wanted to get us to Prospector's Station quickly.

For a while, we were moving through boulders, and then just rocks, and finally, we were back on hard rock and thin dust again. That was easiest. We were heading toward a landmark that Alexei and Mickey had identified as our halfway point.

About fifty years ago, in the first days of serious Lunar exploration, the Colonization Authority put down thousands of surveying beacons all over the Lunar surface. These were nothing more than self‑embedding spikes with reflectors on top. The reflectors were dimpled with hundreds of little right‑angle corners so that any beam hitting them would be reflected straight back to its source.

The length of time it took for a beam to return told you how far away you were. By triangulating on several reflectors, you could calculate your position almost to the centimeter. The reflectors also made it possible to make highly accurate surveillance maps of the Lunar surface. The geography of Luna was actually better known than that of Earth–because two‑third's of Earth's geography was underwater.

We were heading for one of those reflectors now. There was nothing else there, just the reflector. But three generations of Lunar explorers used the reflectors as opportunities to recalibrate their PITAs.

The reflectors were also good for data storage, sort of. Anyone could point a beam at a reflector from just about anywhere, as long as they had line of sight.

Suppose you're on Earth and you aim a beam at a Lunar reflector. Luna is 3.84E5 kilometers from Earth. The beam travels 384,000 kilometers one way, or 768,000 kilometers round‑trip. That's 768,000,000 meters, 768,000,000,000 millimeters, 768,000,000,000,000 micrometers. 768,000,000,000,000,000 nanometers. Or … 7,680,000,000,000,000,000 angstroms. There are 10 angstroms in a nanometer.

A blue laser, emitting at 4700 angstroms produces one wavelength every 470 nanometers. One wavelength every .47 micrometers. One wavelength every .00047 millimeters. One wavelength every .00000047 meters. 4.7E‑7 meters.

So if we divide 7,680 trillion angstroms by 4700, we get 1.634 trillion wavelengths between Earth and Luna. Round‑trip. If I'd figured this right, if you used one wavelength per bit, you could put nearly 1.634 terabits on a round‑trip beam. Or 204.25 gigabytes every three seconds. Not too bad. About 100 hours of music, recorded in hi‑resolution mode.

That sounded a little low to me. But I was figuring it in my head, and it was possible I'd screwed up the numbers. And I was using a blue laser because that was the only angstrom number I could remember. If you used an X‑ray laser, you could multiply that by 10,000, and that would be 2,042 terabytes every three seconds. Which represents a much bigger music collection–about a million hours in hi‑res. More if you played all the repeats.

If you used 8 beams, each one a different wavelength, all synced together, you would send 8 times 2,042 terabytes–16Ѕ petabytes round‑tripping between Earth and Luna. Was that enough to hold the sum total of human knowledge? No, probably not. I'd heard somewhere that the human race had so many recording machines functioning, we were generating a couple thousand terabytes of information per day.So maybe the Lunar circuit was only big enough to hold a week's worth of global data. But if you threw out all the crap that wouldn't matter a week from now, 16Ѕ petabyes was certainly enough storage to hold the most importantinformation the human race needed.

But the moon is only visible a few hours per day. So your connection only works as long as the moon is in the sky. On the other hand, if you're broadcasting from L4 or L5, you've got a permanent line‑of‑sight connection with Luna–and the farther away from Luna you get, the more data you can have in transit. As fast as it returns, you retransmit it. Round and round it goes and no piece of data is ever more than a few seconds away.

There was a time–before I was born–when some folks thought that Lunar reflectors could be used to store the entire world's knowledge in a network of laser beams zipping around the solar system. But by the time the reflectors were in place, the cost of optical data cards was already in free fall, and it was obvious that using the reflectors for data storage was another one of those good ideas that was obsolete by the time the technology was ready. You could put 500 gigabytes in a credit card. You could put 500 terabytes in half a pack of playing cards. You could put it in your pocket. Or inside your robot monkey …

Oh, hell. Memory wasn't about size anymore, it was about density. You could even put a few petabytes into a monkey if you packed them tight enough. Maybe even an exabyte or two. That should be enough to hold the sum total of human knowledge. Of course, thosewould be expensive. Petabyte bars were worth thousands. Exabytes were worth millions …

Hm.

But if you only wanted to smuggle 2,042 terabytes of information from the Earth to the moon, you didn't need to hire a courier and a bunch of decoys. You could go out in the backyard, lash your xaser to your telescope, point your telescope at the target, feed a signal into the beam, and fire away for a few seconds. Cheap, easy, impossible to intercept.

Dad had bought two cards of used memory for the monkey–which would have seemed weird at the time, except Weird and I had been distracted by Stinky's near‑headlong tumble into Barringer crater. Why would we need so much memory for a toy anyway? And what was in that memory? I hadn't had a chance to look at the cards closely, and I wasn't going to do it with anyone else around.

What was it that had to be transported that couldn't be transmitted? Money? Codes? Information? No. All that could be phoned in. So it had to be something that couldn't or wouldn't travel by beam.

There was only one thing I could think of … and it almost made sense. Maybe.

Quantum computing couldn't be beamed. I didn't understand all the details of quantum computing, but it used optical processing. The internal lasers of the processing unit were split into multiple beams and parallel processed. Interference invalidated the process. You couldn't measure the beams, you couldn't look to see where they were–the minute you did that, you changed the data.

You could beam the results of a quantum process, but if you transmitted the process itself, you created interference and invalidated the result. So all quantum computing was specifically linked to its hardware. You couldn't even guarantee that one quantum processor would exactly duplicate the results of another quantum processor. That had to do with chaos theory and fuzzy logic and the fact that quantum processors are affected by the time and place they're operating in. So quantum processors are best suited for weighted synaptic processing– lethetic intelligence engines.

A trained intelligence engine was worth at least a quarter trillion dollars. Maybe more. Depending on the training. And you couldn't just pipe the training from one engine into the next, because quantum doesn't pipe. Each engine had to be specifically trained.

According to Douglas, who was reporting what he read in Scientific American,they had finally gotten to the point where the intelligence engines could be trusted to train each other. I didn't understand the details. When Douglas started talking about forced coherency, congruent processing, and the fissioning of holographic personalities, my eyes glazed over. I finally had to tell him that if he was going to stay on our planet, he had to speak our language. What he did manage to get through to me was that there was a way of making two quantum processors marry each other so that their processing was temporarily synchronized–which meant that computers were finally moving from simulatedsentience (which is what the monkey was) to actualsentience in a chip. Not that the average person would notice. Simulated sentience was good enough to fool most folks.

It didn't make sense that we might be carrying an actual IE unit in the monkey, those things were guarded like plutonium. Despite the fact that IE chips were always the McGuffin in every movie about high‑tech robberies, it was impossible to steal one–because they guarded themselves. Anything interfering with their beams invalidated their processing–and every alarm in Saskatchewan would go off simultaneously.

No, it was my hunch that we might be carrying one of the quantum synchronizers–some kind of industrial smuggling or something. We didn't have to understand what it was. All we had to do was deliver it.

Only thing is–now that we had thoroughly screwed up Dad's travel plans … we had no idea where we were going or who we were supposed to deliver this thing to. Maybe the marshals trying to intercept us were working on behalf of the rightful owners. And maybe not. How would we know?

Anyway, it was only a hunch. Probably, it was something more mundane–like a bunch of codes–if it was anything at all. Dad said it was a decoy, but what if it wasn't. What if the smugglers thought it would be safer for the decoy to carry the McGuffin?

But even if the monkey had a quantum synchronizer or whatever inside, we'd have no way to tell just by looking at the outside of the card. And if there were some way to open it and look inside, that would be interference, and that would ruin it. So whatever it was, it was never going to be anything more than a hunch to me.

But … maybe I should think about this hunch for a bit.

Suppose we really were carrying something. It would have to be something extremelyvaluable, and the mule carrying it would have to be extremelystupid–I didn't like that part, but it made sense. A mule smart enough to know what he had would be smart enough to sell it to the highest bidder. The trick was to give it to someone who would be happy just to get a ticket offworld and who wouldn't fit the profile of a smuggler. Like a dad going to a colony with his kids. And the damn custody battle made it even better, not worse, because it was just the right kind of distraction. Smugglers didn't take their kids with them. Smugglers didn't have angry wives chasing them. And … if you had that kind of money to invest in that kind of mule, then you also had the kind of money to buy his way through customs or anywhere else.

Wasn't it convenient that Mickey was there? And his mom, the lawyer? And Judge Griffith too? And what about Alexei? Was he part of that plan too? No, he couldn't be. He didn't fit in–or did he? Who was on which side?

Or was I just being paranoid?

Could I even be sure about what Douglas said he knew? No– don't go there, Chigger. That'sreally a shortcut to lunacy.Well, we were in the right place for it. That was for sure.

Along about then, Mickey stopped us and came back to check my oxygen. "I thought so," he said. "I should have made you change tanks at our last break."

"Huh?"

"You've been muttering in my ears for the last three kilometers."

"I'm fine. See?" I flipped the readout up so I could see it. It was flashing a pretty shade of red. "See?"

"Yes, I see–that's very nice. Does the word hypoxiamean anything to you?"

"She was Socrates' wife. I think."

"Wrong." Mickey was fumbling with the front of my bubble. For some reason I couldn't focus clearly.

"Hypoxia was queen of the Amazons," he said. "The Amazons lived in Scythia on the banks of the longest river in the world. They cut off their right breasts with scythes, so as not to interfere with their sword arms. Hercules killed Hypoxia at Troy for not checking her oxygen. Here, try to focus–" He clicked his air hose to the valve in the front of his bubble. Just like I had. An oxygen‑jet.

"Are we stopping somewhere?"

"Yes, we're stopping right here." He pushed himself up close to me and hooked his bubble valve to mine. I couldn't see what he did next, but I started to hear a strange hissing sound. "I'm losing air, I think. I'm hissing."

"Take a deep breath, Chigger. Again. Again. Again. Keep on breathing. That's good. Can you see me now? Look at my hand. How many fingers can you see?"

I blinked. "All of them?"

"Close enough. Look at your readout again."

I looked. "It's flashing red." And then I started to get scared–

"Relax. You're breathing on my air now. Pay attention. We're going to change tanks on your rebreather. If you can't do it, I'll do it for you. Take your hands out of your gloves and I'll reverse them inward and–"

"I can do it." My hands were shaking and I felt suddenly weak and nauseous. "You do it."

"Good boy. You know when to ask for help. Do you know how many people have died because they were too stupid or too proud to ask for help?"

"No. How many?"

"I don't know either. But it's a lot, I can tell you that."

He had his hands inside my bubble now–it looked weird to see my gloves fiddling around at my belt, unclipping hoses and changing their connections. It reminded me of the way Doug used to button me up before taking me out to play. That didn't seem so long ago–but at the same time it seemed very far away. And now it was Mickey. He was acting just like a brother.

"There. How do you feel?"

"Fine."

"Do you have a headache?"

"Uh‑uh." I touched my head to see if it was still there. My hand touched something else. A furry leg. "Is there a monkey sitting on my head?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then I'm not delusional."

"But no headache?"

"No. If anything, I feel giddy. A little light‑headed. Like I could fly away."

"That's not good either." Mickey reached in and fiddled with the settings on my rebreather.

"What are you doing?"

"Just making some adjustments. This should do it. There." He pulled his hands out of my gloves and disconnected our two bubbles. We were separated again. He secured his rebreather tube and looked across at me. "All right, you good now?"

"Yeah." I was fumbling my hands back into my gloves.

"You sure? I've gotta go check Douglas and Bobby–"

"I'm good." But I grabbed his hand anyway. "Mickey?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

He gave my hand a quick squeeze in return, then hurried across to Douglas.

PAYING INTENTION

After that, we were all a lot more careful.

I finally got itwhat Mickey meant.

It was about staying conscious.What some people called paying intention.

Dad once tried to tell me about this music teacher he'd had–the one who said you couldn't be a musician if you didn't practice at least three hours a day. He used to tell Dad that an excuse was not equal to a result. What you said you wanted was irrelevant; what you actually accomplished demonstrated your real intentions.

I never liked that discussion. It sounded like hard work to me and I couldn't see the reward in it. I always thought you should practice your music because you liked it, not because somebody said you had to. But I'd always listened politely, because it was always so important to Dad to give the Pay intention, this is how the world works!speech. It's not enough to pay attention,he would say, over and over. You have to pay i*n*t*e*n*t*i*o*nas well.

And there was all the rest of it too: Volume is no substitute for brains. Better to keep your trap shut and be thought a fool than to shoot yourself in the foot while it's still in your mouth. Don't burn your bridges before your chickens are hatched.

Every so often … I would realize he'd been right. He wasn't just talking to prove he knew better than me. This was one of those times. Well, why hadn't I paid intention when he'd told me about paying intention? Because … it's one of those stupid things you have to bump into yourself, and hope you survive long enough to make good use of the lesson.

So I concentrated on every bounce, every hop, every skip–and wondered if this is what it had been like for Harrison "Jack" Schmitt, bouncing around on the moon and trying to collect rocks without killing himself.

And every so often, I cursed the monkey. I'd been assuming that the monkey was a good safety monitor. Obviously, it wasn't. It was supposed to beep or scream or run for help if a life was in danger–but it hadn't alerted me that I was running low on air. So obviously, it didn't include an oxygen meter–and it hadn't been paying any attention to my rate of breathing. I was already gasping for breath when Mickey figured out there was something wrong and came back to check my air. If it hadn't been for Stinky, I'd have junked the monkey right there. Except I was still wondering about those memory bars.

"Look, there it is," said Mickey.

We stopped to look. He pointed toward the horizon. It was hard to see. The dark slope downward was outlined with bright highlights–places where outcroppings stuck up into the sunlight, or worse, places where the shadows dipped away altogether, leaving patches of Lunar soil painted with a hard actinic glare. We had to squint to see anything. Even Stinky, who was still groggy from the tranquilizer, stuck his head out of Douglas's poncho and demanded to know what we were looking at.

"It's hard to make out–" Mickey admitted. "Look for a reddish glow."

"Oh, I've got it," said Douglas. "Chigger, can you see it?"

"No–" The brightness made my eyes water. We were looking at a vast downhill slope, and the horizon was farther away than I had gotten used to. And there was a lot of sunlight being reflected back at us. And … I didn't want to say it aloud, but there was something moving out there.

But if there was something there, I had to tell them. And if there wasn't anything there and I was seeing things, then I had to say something about that too. Didn't I?

"Mickey?"

"Yes, Chigger?"

"Are there mirages on the moon?"

"Well, not mirages. Not like on Earth. You need an atmosphere for those kinds of mirages. But sometimes you get optical illusions. Or even psychological illusions. Your eyes will play tricks on you. Or your mind. Why? Do you see something?"

"I thought I did."

"Where?"

"Just to the left of the reflector. Something black, running and bouncing across the bright part. Didn't you see it?"

"No. Is it still there?"

"No."

"Did it look like a bubble?"

"No. It was too thin. I only caught a quick glimpse. I don't know what it was."

"Which way was it going?"

"It was coming toward us. Almost head‑on."

That brought both Mickey and Douglas to attention. They scanned the distance for long moments, punctuated only by one of them asking, "Do you see it?" And the other replying, "No, do you?"

Finally, Mickey said, "Well, if it's out there, it's in the shadows now and we're missing it. But just to be on the safe side–" He came over and checked my air again.

I started to protest that I was fine, but then I realized that Mickey was only doing what he had to do, so I shut up and waited until he finished. Douglas asked, "Is he all right?"

Mickey nodded. "As far as I can tell." To me, he said, "I'm not saying you didn't see anything, Chigger. You were right to ask. But it's not unusual after you've had hypoxia to experience visual or auditory illusions."

"Hallucinations, you mean."

"Yeah," he admitted.

For a moment, none of us said anything. We were all thinking the same thing. Was the kid with the monkey on his head going crazy? And if not–then what was out there?

"All right," said Mickey. "Let's keep going. Let's get to the reflector. Douglas?"

Douglas started hop‑skipping again. I followed. Mickey brought up the rear. Douglas hadn't said much, he'd been concentrating on Stinky most of the time. But now he said, "Mickey?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think Alexei abandoned us?"

Mickey didn't answer for several bounces. I had begun to think he wasn't going to answer at all, when he said, "The thought had crossed my mind, yeah."

"You know him better than we do–"

"I don't know him that well. For all his talk, there's a lot he doesn't say. 'I make big deal, I make lots of money, I am embarrassed I make so much money, you will pick up check, da?All my money is tied up in cash, da?'" Mickey mimicked his Russian friend perfectly. "He's always got a deal going somewhere. But nobody ever knows what his deals are. I suppose that's a good thing. What you don't know you can't tell the marshals."

We bounced and skipped in silence for a while, punctuated only by occasional soft grunts. After a while, Mickey added, "But it's not like Alexei to endanger someone's life. Loonies don't do that. They believe that life is sacred everywhere. The greatest crime on Luna is to disrespect life. And Alexei is completely Loonie. He wouldn't do it. He couldn't."

More silence, more bouncing. I checked my readouts. They were green. I checked them again. This time I looked at the numbers. I checked them a third time and mouthed the numbers as I read them–reminding myself what was optimal. Pay intention.

Douglas broke the silence. "So you think he's dead."

"We didn't find a body."

"You didn't answer the question."

"I don't know." And then he added, "But it's the only thing I can think of that makes sense … "

I disagreed. I could think of something else that made sense. But I didn't want to say it aloud. Not yet. I needed to think some more. As long as I didn't get distracted again–

I could see the reflector clearly now. It was a big silvery ball on a short spindly tripod. The whole thing had been dropped in from orbit and there were fragments of the landing pod around the base. But what caught my attention was the way the reflector had a sparkly‑flickery look–all different colors. It was even more spooky because the whole thing was in shadow, so where were the flickers coming from?

I pointed it out to Mickey. He explained, "Lasers from all over the system. Everyone tunes their beams to a different color, that's why it looks like a rainbow, and everyone targets on Luna. It's a convenient landmark, and there's no atmosphere to distort the beams. It's kind of like Greenwich mean time, you know what that is? It's a reference point against which all other clocks are set. Well, Luna is like that too. It's the surveyor's post for everyone in the solar system to measure distances from. Accurate computations of distance are essential for space travel."

"Oh, yeah. That makes sense."

"We're almost there. Do you want to take a meal break? We can even go in the inflatable for a bit." It was still bouncing along behind him.

I opened my mouth to say yes, then stopped. "What's that–?" I pointed.

"What's what?" And then he saw it too.

It was a bubble suit, like ours. An emptybubble suit. Half‑inflated. As if the person wearing it had taken it off and skipped away into the arid dark.

It was Alexei'sbubble suit.

REFLECTIONS

My first thought was, so that answers that question.

My second thought was, No, it doesn't. Where's the body?

How do you get out of a bubble suit and just walk away?

You don't.

So where was Alexei?

The question was more puzzling than ever.

And why was his suit here?How did it get here from there?Who else was here? I glanced around nervously. There could be an entire army hiding just behind the horizon. We'd have no way of knowing.

Mickey and Douglas were just as disconcerted as I was. Maybe even more so. Because they knew all the stuff I hadn't even thought of–so they probably had even more questions.

We all climbed into the inflatable to talk about it. Once inside, we took off our bubble suits, and Mickey equalized the oxygen in all our tanks, something he'd been wanting to do ever since I burned off thirty minutes of breathing to stop myself on the zip line.

We pushed back the hoods of our ponchos, took off our goggles, and sipped at our water bottles. I took the monkey off my head and set it aside. We nibbled at our inedible MREs, we inhaled deeply–the air in the inflatable was stale, but it was fresher than the air in the bubble suits–we used our toilet bags, and we talked about calling for rescue.

We all knew the arguments. What we were doing was dangerous. Stupid. Foolhardy. Probably unnecessary. I was posthypoxic and hallucinating. Douglas's back was starting to hurt–even though Stinky weighed less on Luna, he still had the same mass.So even though it mostly felt like he wasn't heavy, the truth was that there was some stuff called inertia and momentum that made carrying the little monster almost as tiring as if we were still on Earth. Mickey's feelings were unreadable. He looked as if he had a lot of different things all going on at the same time. And Stinky was alternating between constipation and diarrhea, catatonia and hyperactivity–so at least one of us was normal.

It was a question of endurance. The reflector was our halfway point. Actually, it was more than halfway. It was nearly two‑thirds of the way. But Alexei and Mickey had figured that in terms of sheer physical exhaustion, the last third of the Lunar hike would take us as long as the first two‑thirds. As much fun as it was to go bouncing across the silvery gloom, it was very tiring too. My legs were beginning to hurt. My calves ached.

And I was scared again.

I wasn't afraid of Luna anymore. But I respected her now. I had a better sense of her dangers–and I was paying intention.

I was terrified by all the stuff I didn'tknow–especially all the stuff I didn't know that I didn't know. Alexei's empty bubble suit scared the hello out of me. What could have happened that only his empty suit would be left behind? Did something suck him right out of the plastic?

I shuddered. And shivered. And wrapped my silver poncho tight around me.

Above us, the reflector sparkled with stray bits of light–a thousand different colors, the beams of distant spaceships, other worlds and moons, asteroids, the Earth, the orbital beanstalk, L4 and L5, orbiting satellites–all their questioning fingers of light touched and bounced away, back to their origins, each one carrying a single part of the answer to the question Where am I?

You're there–7.68 godzillion angstroms away from here.And we're here–7.68 godzillion angstroms away from there.Sitting under the stars and watching the flickering radiance of your thousand lonely queries. But none of you are more alone than us–sitting here all alone in the dark.

How far would all those beams travel on their journeys here and back? How long would it take them? Just the blink of an eye–a few seconds to Earth, a few minutes to the asteroid belt. What were they all saying?

They didn't even know we were here. It was a strange feeling to see so much evidence of human life and still be so far away from it all.

We could rejoin it in a moment. All we had to do was tune our transmitters to the public bands, turn up the power, and call for help. I was ready to concede I didn't know as much as I pretended. I'd made my point, I could quit now. I'd still gotten farther than Dad ever would have. And I knew Douglas wouldn't take much convincing if he thought that Stinky or I were in danger. Mickey … I didn't know what he thought, but he looked tired and irritable and unhappy. Whatever exhilaration we had felt about being on the moon, that was gone, swamped by our exhaustion and our fear. We'd had too many close calls. The wunderstormwas over.

Mickey unhooked his transmitter from his belt. "Do we have to talk about this?" he asked. "Or are we all in agreement this time?" He looked to Douglas. Douglas shook his head. He looked to me–

That's when something outside the inflatable moved–and I screamed and leapt backward so hard I bumped into the wall and went bouncing sideways, scaring the hell out of Stinky and Douglas and Mickey, and they went bouncing every which way too–

It was a gangly black spidery thing, with a grotesque bug‑eyed face, and grasping claws. It came right up to the edge of the bubble and pressed its face and hands against the plastic, peering in at us like some kind of vacuum‑breathing insect. Even Stinky was shrieking–Douglas grabbed him in a restraining hug and turned him away so he couldn't see–

And then I saw the lettering above the eyes КРИСЛОВ–I couldn't read the word, the letters were all funny‑looking and backwards–until I recognized them as Russian. And then Mickey was shouting, "It's Alexei! It's Alexei! Everybody shut up! Stop screaming! It's only Alexei! It's Alexei!"

By then, I'd already stopped screaming, and Alexei was already pulling himself into the inflatable, one section of the entrance tube at a time. He was careful to close and check each zipper behind him before he opened the next. He still looked scary–like a big skinny faceless thing.

Finally, he popped in through the last zipper and carefully sealed it behind himself. He pulled off the rubbery hood of his scuba suit and finally his breather tube and goggles. He was laughing so hard I wanted to punch him in the gut. How dare he scare us like that?

"Is big fright, da?Is Rock Father come to eat poor crazy terries. Scream and scream again. You are much frightened. I laugh so hard I almost choke on my air hose. You did not expect poor Alexei, did you? Is only turnabout to play fair. Alexei did not expect to find you here either. Did you not hear my messages? No, I think you did not. My transmitter failed. I could hear you, but you could not hear me. Very inconvenient, da?So you did not hear me say you should wait, I go for help. No need for rescue. I could run to Prospector's Station and signal Mr. Beagle and be back with help and air in two hours–"

"Mr. Beagle–?"

"Later. You will meet him later. But I cannot call him now. I hear you in distance–you are looking for me. Calling, da?I realize you have come down from mountain somehow. So I turn around and come back for you before you get lost."

"But your bubble suit–?" I asked.

"I could not leave it behind, Charles Dingillian, could I? I would never find it again. So I left it at reflector as signal for you that I was still alive."

"Oh," Mickey said. There was an edge to his voice. "Is that what that was?"

Alexei slapped his chest in mock‑frustration. "Ah, you do not understand Self‑Contained Universal Breathing Apparatus, do you? Body suit is so firm‑fitting it makes airtight seal all around. Strong enough to hold body safe and tight against vacuum. Hood seals tight around goggles and earphones and breather tube. Is not as practical as bubble suit for long distances. No way to pee or poop. No way to drink or eat. Cannot even talk very well. But for emergencies or for short distances, is much easier. Is basic worksuit for Loonies."

"We're not Loonies," Douglas said.

"Maybe someday you will be," Alexei responded, very matter‑of‑factly. "Earth is falling apart. Luna will have to provide resources to rebuild. Luna will become seat of economic power and political authority for double‑planet system of Earth‑Luna. Is only logical. We have high ground of discipline and resources. Nobody gets to Luna by accident. We are a society of hard workers. Earth cannot compete with that. It makes sense that Lunatics should govern, da?"

"I think we already have enough lunatics in government," said Douglas dryly. "The old‑fashioned kind."

" Da,we have our share too. But even our craziest Loonies know the rules. Everybody pays oxygen tax."

"And what happens if you don't?" asked Douglas.

"You have to stop breathing." Alexei helped himself to one of Mickey's MREs and began unwrapping it. "Nobody ever breaks law second time." He took a disgustingly large bite of something that looked like chopped brick and kept on talking while he chewed. "First I will eat, then I will use toilet bags. Then we will hurry to Prospector's Station. As long as we are this far, no need to call Mr. Beagle for help. We will catch early train, fool marshals. Huh, what is wrong–?" He blinked in surprise, looking at us, suddenly realizing. "You were planning to call for help, da?I see it in your faces. Is lucky I stop you in time–" Alexei turned to Mickey and took the transmitter out of his hands. "Listen, Mikhail,is big mistake to call for help. Everything on Earth is falling apart, so everything on Luna is shutting down. It will be much harder to hide anything–even little one's monkey. Can you go one more hour? Two? Maybe a little more than two? Prospector's Station is only four and a half klicks from here, most. Almost all downhill. Train arrives in few hours. Once we get on train, we can go anywhere."

"As cargo again?" Douglas asked. He looked angry.

"No, no, I promise. I have planned idea for disguise. Very clever, I am. I will take you wherever you want to go–even if you change mind. Must go quickly now. We have not as much air anymore. I use up too much air going and coming back and not getting anywhere."

Mickey was already whispering to his PITA and frowning at its responses.

"I vote no," said Douglas firmly.

"We don't have a choice," said Mickey.

"Huh?"

"We don't have enough air anymore. Not enough to sit and wait for a rescue. Alexei's coming back changes the whole oxygen equation. He used up most of his. Now he's on ours." He was already reaching for his bubble suit. "We have to go. Now."

"How serious is it?" asked Douglas.

"Not serious if we go now.If we stop to argue about it, it gets very serious."

Douglas looked like he wanted to say something. He looked like he wanted to say a whole bunch of somethings, but he held his tongue. "Bobby–come on, time for another piggyback ride."

"Do I gotta–?"

"Yeah, you gotta."

"Do you want me to take him?" Mickey asked. "I don't mind, really."

Douglas shook his head. "You just keep watching Chigger." The , look on his face said it all. He was very angry. And we were going to hear about this later.

RUN IN THE SUN

And then we were on our way again, bouncing and skipping and hopping and tumbling through the Lunar darkness. Alexei ran ahead in his Scuba gear, he didn't want to waste time with the bubble suit. Douglas hop‑skipped behind him in that weird bouncing lope that the first Lunar astronauts had discovered as the most efficient method of moving quickly around the Lunar surface. Mickey and I brought up the rear. The inflatable bounced along behind us on a long silvery leash. We must have looked like a soap commercial–four manic bubbles chasing a frantic piece of lunatic lint.

The reflector disappeared behind us, and for a while, everything was silent again. A week ago, all I wanted was a quiet place to listen to my music; now I was beginning to resent the silence. It was too muchsilence. Luna was so quiet it was scary. You could hear your heart beating in your chest. You could hear the blood flowing through your veins. You could hear your own ears.

Suddenly, there you are, alone with your own brain.

Back on Earth, all I'd ever wanted was for everybody else to shut up, so I could hear my own thoughts and not theirs. But here on Luna, the silence was so deep, it swallowed up everything. It was as vast and empty as the whole universe. It stretched from here to forever and back again. I felt like I had fill it with something or disappear too. Only I didn't have enough music or thoughts or anything else to fill up a silence that big.

Mickey stayed close to me, watching me carefully. This was going to be a long mad dash with very few rest breaks. Alexei wanted us to catch the train, and we didn't have enough air to do anything else. So it was hop‑skip and bump from one hill to the next. Hither and thither and yawn. I was tired, and it was getting hard to pay intention. And nobody wanted to talk, we just wanted to get there.

Four and a half kilometers isn't that far. On Earth, it's maybe two hours' walk on level ground. On Luna, with lesser gravity, bouncing downslope at a brisk pace, it shouldn't be any longer; what you lose in mobility from the bubble suit, you get back from the lighter gravity.

But this part of Luna didn't have levelground. On the map it looked like a plain, but at ground level, it was a rolling bumpy surface, pockmarked with little craters, boulders, ridges, and rough hillocks. Tumbles of rocks were scattered everywhere. And every so often, there were chasms we had to leap over. Alexei called them "expansion joints," but didn't explain what they were.

I concentrated on my hop‑skipping. I found a rhythm and played music in my head to match. A Philip Glass piece, one of the repetitive ones with endless chord changes. It could be played forever. And as long as I could keep it running in my head, I could keep moving. I'd probably have it stuck in my head for a month–

And then we stopped.

Brightness lay ahead. "Oh, chyort!"

Alexei laughed at my outburst. "Remind me to explain that to you." His voice came muffled in my ears.

–but the chyortwas real. We'd run out of shadow.

Ahead, the ground rose up into sunlight. Perpetual dawn slammed sideways across the landscape. It blazed and sparkled. It was too bright to look at, even with the goggles fully polarized.

"Is not to worry," said Alexei. I wanted to kick him. "Is not as bad as it looks."

"Not as bad–" That was Mickey. "How far does this extend?"

Alexei hesitated. "Is less than one kilometer. We can do it. We rest here. Turn off heaters. Get very cold. We run for fifteen minutes, straight that way. We warm up, da.We get hot. But we have fifteen minutes before bubble suits turn into little ovens. Who cannot run one kilometer in fifteen minutes? On Luna, is piece of cheese."

"You're crazy," said Douglas. "Absolutely crazy. Why didn't you tell us this before? Why didn't you tell us about the mountain climbing and the zip line and the bubble suits and everything?"

"Because if I tell you, you would say, 'no, Alexei, I'm afraid not. That sounds like much too hard. We will much rather sit here like little potted plants to be pickled in our own juices.' But I tell you that no, you are not little cabbages, and here we are, almost home, and you find you are much bigger and much braver than you thought. You do the mountain, you do the zip line, you do everything else–you can do this too. You have to. Is no alternative to this. You stay here, you die. And little stinking one with you. But you come with me across sunlight and you live to laugh about it. Get ready now. Time you stand here thinking about this is time you will not have on other side. Mikhail,help me check air on everyone, please." He was already peering at my readouts. Without looking up, he said, "Mikhail,do not give me that look. Remember, I promise to take care of you. I am keeping that promise. Right now I am taking better care of you than you are taking yourself. You should thank me. You will thank me soon enough. Come, please. I have too much money invested in you already. I do not intend to lose my investment. Charles Dingillian, you are fine. I have turned your air up just a little. You will do fine. Be grateful monkey does not breathe, you would not have enough air for both of you; otherwise, one of you would have to stay behind. As soon as we are all too cold to move, we will go. Come, Mikhail,let me check you now."

Alexei kept up a steady stream of chatter. Maybe his mind really was that peripatetic, spinning from thought to thought like a dervish. And maybe he was doing it deliberately to keep us from thinking what a stupid thing we were about to do. In all likelihood, we were going to end up as a bunch of fried mummies, baking on the Lunar plain. I wondered what kind of weird life‑forms would evolve in our sealed and abandoned bubble suits. What would future Lunar explorers find growing here in the blazing sun? Flesh‑eating fungi? Vacuum‑breathing mold? Something dreadful, no doubt–especially Grottius Stinkoworsis.

I shuddered. It turned into a shiver. A whole bunch of shivers. I was cold. I could see my breath. "Uh–Alexei?"

"Yes, yes, I know. We are just waiting for Douglas to chill. Ha‑ha, I make joke there. Old‑fashioned slang. Never mind. Douglas and Robert mass more than everyone else. They generate more body heat. It will take longer for them to chill out. We want temperature in bubble suit to be almost freezing. Below would be better, but we do not want to risk frostbite either. We are almost there. Please be patient. Douglas? Are you ready? Mikhail?Charles? Hokay. There is no more time for chattering–except teeth, perhaps. When I say we go, everyone follow me. Don't fall down. Just keep going, no matter what. Remember to pace yourself. We are not racing. We are bouncing like before, only faster. Everybody ready? Get set? Go!"

And with that, he was off–a black stick figure racing into the light, carrying his bubble suit over his shoulder. Douglas followed immediately after. I hesitated for half a heartbeat–then plunged ahead. Mickey called, "I'm right behind you!"

We bounced into the light and it was like coming out of a tunnel. The sun slammed sideways into us like a wall of radiance. It was blinding. It dazzled and glared and my eyes started watering almost immediately. But I knew that part of it was just that my eyes hadn't adjusted yet. I found my rhythm and kept going. Hop with the left foot, hop with the right–I skipped steadily after Alexei and Douglas, bouncing high with every step.

We would have been floating through the air–if there had been air, but there wasn't; so we bumbled gracefully through space–bouncing across the land like gossamer hippopotami.

Everything was still too bright, the sideways glare etched every rock and boulder in sandpaper detail, the plains looked painful–but I wasn't hot in the bubble suit. Not yet. I was still shivering from the prolonged cold of the long Lunar shadows. I was almost impatient for the suit to start warming up. So far, this wasn't too bad. But we had a long way to go, and the sun's heat would be cumulative.

Behind me, I could hear Mickey counting off checkpoints. We passed the first one and I realized I wasn't shivering anymore, but the bubble suit still felt cold. Maybe it was just the exertion that was warming me up. I glanced back. The line of shadow had receded into the distance. A little farther and it would be over the horizon. That would be the worst–when we were out of sight of shadow.

Despite the long shadows, there was little refuge out here. The boulders were too small, their shadows were stretched out thin and insignificant. The light came in at us from the side, like the flame of a giant torch. All around us, the surreal landscape glowed; we pushed headlong into a world of dazzling glare. The inside of the bubble flashed and sparkled with rogue reflections. I was getting comfortably warm.

I maintained my pace, occasionally glancing back to see if Mickey was keeping up. He was close behind me. Ahead, Douglas was maintaining a steady pace, even burdened as he was with Stinky. Even farther ahead, I could see the flashing black figure of Alexei bounding through the sunlight. He wasn't having a problem with this, he'd already done it twice–once across, then back again when he'd heard us following him. His Scuba suit was refrigerated. He could go farther than any of us.

We passed the second checkpoint, still pounding across the silvery white dust, and I began to feel optimistic about making it. Maybe this wasn't going to be as bad as I feared. All I had to do was keep Alexei and Douglas in sight. Just keep bouncing. Watch out for the boulders. Pay intention. And try not to notice the cold drop of sweat running down my side–

It was getting warmer out here. It was getting warmer inhere. Inside the bubble. Not uncomfortable yet, but …

I glanced back. Mickey was still close behind me. "Pay intention, Chigger!"

It wasn't Mickey I was worried about. It was the distance to shadow. Every bounce forward was also a bounce farther from darkness. And I had no idea how far we still had to go to get to the shadows on the other side. We were heading deeper into the heart of brightness. I began to worry. I wasn't hot yet, but–I was thinking about hot.The cumulative heat was building up.

I began to worry that Alexei had miscalculated. He had the refrigerated suit. We didn't. What if we were like the swimmer who swims too far out and has no strength left for getting back. What if the heat in our bubbles became intolerable before we got to the other side? What if we were getting too far out into the light to reach anyshade safely? What if we could only get mostof the way across, but not the last half klick? What if we couldn't make the last hundred meters? What if we couldn't make the last tenmeters–?

Ohell. What if we couldn't even get halfwayto safety? What if we had already passed the point of safe return? What if we were already doomed? What if we were already burning up and didn't know it?

" Shut up!"

"Huh?" said Mickey, right behind me. "I didn't say anything."

"I wasn't talking to you. I was talking to the little voices. Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"

"Chigger, are you all right?"

Oh great. Now he was thinking I was going crazy–

I looked at my numbers. "I'm fine."

These bubble suits weren't designed for this. They were meant for emergencies. All this stuff, it was supposed to be used for keeping folks alive until the rescue boat could get to them–nobody ever intended these things for Lunar exploration. Not for long‑distance hikes across the Lunar surface. Not like this. Alexei had told us not to worry, it was part of the design specification because who knew what might be needed in an emergency, but just because a bubble suit candoesn't mean it should.And besides … what if Alexei was lying about the suits? Then what?

But why would he lie to us? What was the point in that? Did he want to kill us? How would he benefit from that? Well, there was a thought …

We passed the next checkpoint. I'd lost count. I had no idea what Alexei and Mickey were using as checkpoints. I couldn't tell one rock from another anymore. I wasn't warm anymore. I was hot, the sweat was running down my body. I'd skip into space–lifting up high to see the glowing landscape ahead of us, then each time as I'd float back down, the droplets would go coursing down my underarms in warm sluggish trails that made me think of snails–and then I'd bounce down onto the silvery floor of sparkling light and the droplets would splatter off, into my already‑clammy jumpsuit. With each hop and skip, the damp material plastered itself against me like a used towel. Everything was wet and smelly with sweat.

I'd been in the sauna a few times, at school. I didn't like it. It was too hot. This was almost as hot. Not quite. But getting there. I thought about cold orange juice– realorange juice–not the orange‑colored stuff that Mom always bought. I thought about ice. I thought about ice water. I thought about swimming in ice water.

Another checkpoint. And I still didn't see any shadows on the horizon. We were in the middle of a dazzling plate of fire. We were under a magnifying glass. The hard black sky was overruled by the scorching blaze of light in the east. The sweat poured off me. So did the tears.

"You're doing fine, Chigger. Just keep on. Only a little farther." That was Mickey's voice.

I couldn't see anyone clearly anymore. There was a dark figure bouncing in front of me. And a blurry bubble too. Mickey's occasional comments came from behind me. Were they suffering as much as I was? I couldn't imagine it–

Maybe Alexei really did want us dead, so he could skip off into the darkness with the monkey …

Sure, that was it. That's why he'd left us up on the rim of the crater. He wasn't going for help. He was just going. And going. And then what–? It was too hot to think of the next step. But if he knew where the monkey was and nobody else did, then he could sell it to whoever would pay the most and nobody else could get to it if we were dead–and the moon was the perfect place to lose anything. Or anyone.

How much more of this could my bubble suit take before it popped? Was it already bigger because the air was heating up and expanding? And why didn't we float up into the air like the hot‑air balloons in Albuquerque? Weren't we hot enough? Oh, we were hot enough, but there wasn't any air to float up into–

Another checkpoint. Mickey's voice sounded bad. Somewhere ahead, Stinky was crying–or screaming. I bounced up, floated down, bounced up, floated down–watched the landscape drop away, peered into the distance, floated down–everything was brightness in all directions.

Ice water, ice water, ice water, swimming in ice water, diving in ice water. Dying in ice water. It didn't work anymore. It was too hot. It was burning. It was hotter than the sauna. I wasn't going to make it. I didn't see how I could make it. I bounced up, floated down, I couldn't see anything but solar glare. We had come too far to get back and there was no shadow anywhere. We'd bounced and skipped into sunlight and we were going to die here–

I kept going anyway. I wanted to lie down, but I didn't. I didn't have any more sweat. It had all been boiled out of me. I went to take a sip of water but it was too hot to drink. And as fast as I sipped, it just dripped right out of me. There were droplets bouncing around the inside of the bubble now. There were little puddles splashing lazily around the bottom in a graceful slow‑motion ballet.

Another checkpoint–

If I fell down, I wouldn't be able to get up. I had to pay intention. This was the hard part. I wasn't going to be the first to fall–

Just before we had started across the frying pan, while Alexei was checking Mickey's air, Douglas had pulled me aside, had talked to me like an adult. "I'm responsible for Bobby. You're responsible for Charles. I can't be responsible for both of you. If you fall down, Charles, I can'tsave you. I can't come back for you. Neither can Mickey. If it gets so bad out there that you can't get up, no one else can pick you up either. Don't fall down. If you fall down, and I try to save you, we alldie. Don't fall down."

"I won't." It had been easy to reassure him at the time. Because I didn't know. Not then. Now I knew.And I wasn't sure I could keep the promise. I could barely see anymore. I followed the bouncing blur.

One more bounce. Take the next bounce. Just one more bounce. Keep going. It won't get better if you stop. Another bounce. And another. Keep on bouncing. Bouncing. Keep on, Charles–keep your promise. Don't fall. Pay intention.

And then–"There it is!" Mickey's voice.

I didn't see it. I saw bright scorching solar blur. I saw purple splotches floating in front of my eyes. I saw noise and dazzle. I didn't see any shadow.He was lying. He was just saying that to keep me going–

"Straight ahead, Chigger! Almost there!"

"Almost where?" But I didn't have any voice. Just croak. Not even loud enough to be heard.

I bounced, I floated, I looked. Painful brightess. Something angled. Maybe. Bounced, floated, looked–something flat and rectangular, angled toward the sun. But not darkness. It still didn't resolve. Bounced, floated, looked–it didn't make sense, but it wasn't sunlight and I bounced and floated toward it.

Alexei was already there, in the shade of it. Shade!Something dark was humped into the ground. He was opening a hatch, standing and waving, beckoning. Douglas was just bouncing into the shadow of something–it was real!

And then I tripped. And bounced and rolled, ass over elbow, every which way– had I punctured my bubble? Was I dead and didn't know it yet?–I was still rolling. I heard voices.

"Let him go, Mikhail–get out of the sun! We can't lose both of you–" That was Alexei! And then, "I am get him."

I was trying to get up, but my arms weren't working. My feet kept kicking uselessly at the bottom of the bubble. I didn't have the air to scream. I felt like a frog in a frying pan. I probably looked like one too. Just add butter–never mind, I'll lie here and boil in my own juices. A fat lot of help you are, you stupid monkey–

And then, someone was rolling me around, I wasn't doing it, something black blurred around my vision, and then I was vaguely upright–"Can you move, or do I carry you?" Without waiting for an answer, Alexei grabbed my bubble suit by one of the plastic handles on the outside; he held me high, and began bouncing toward the blackness ahead–

The light went out abruptly–not the heat, I was still baking like a clam in my own shell. But at least the light was gone. Hands pushed at me, pushed me into a dark tube, pushed me farther. Pushed. Through a series of horizontal hatches that opened in front of me and closed behind me. I felt helpless to resist–I couldn't see anything but splotches of purple dazzle. I bounced off something–I heard hissing. I heard a hatch slam. I heard voices, not in my earphones, but from farther away. I heard sounds I couldn't identify. A voice swearing in Russian. An argument. Douglas calling out–"Is Charles all right?"

"Is not dead yet," said Alexei. And that would have been reassuring to hear if I didn't have more accurate information than he did. And then the hissing got louder, and louder–someone was unzipping my bubble suit–I tried to slap them away, but I didn't have strength to resist, so I just lay on the floor and waited to die. I took hungry deep breaths, filled myself with hot air, that was a mistake, the vacuum would rip it out of my lungs like a scream–and then the hissing stopped and–cooler air rolled around me, surprising me like a wet slap in the face, and I youchedaloud and tried to sit up, but I still couldn't, and then the hands were pulling wet plastic up and off me, and suddenly I was out of the bubbleand the air wasn't baking around me. I rolled sideways and blinked at the darkness, there were people moving in the purple dazzle. Douglas and Bobby and Mickey and someone still in black. КРИСЛОВ.

"We made it!" Mickey cracked in a voice like old dust.

" Da!"said Alexei, pulling off his hood. "We made it. I did not think you would, but you do pretty good for terries. I only had to drag one of you into the shade. Welcome to Prospector's Station." He glanced at his watch. "You make very good time too. For terries."

"You didn't think we'd make it–?" That was Douglas. Weakly.

" Da.But if I tell you that, you wouldn't try."

"If you didn't think we'd make it … " Douglas began slowly, " … then why did you let us try?"

"Because I assume–rightly–that like all terries, you are too stupid to lie down and die. You keep going anyway. Yell at me later, Douglas. You have prove me right again. Save voice for now. You are all dehydrated. Here, drink water." He started passing out plastic water bags. He popped the nipple of mine and held it to my face. "Drink slowly–little gulps. You have been through much. Give body time to recover. We have plenty time before train arrives. Over an hour."

THE DARK SIDE OF THE LOON

Prospector's Station was three cargo pods, laid end to end, half‑buried in the Lunar dust. They were sheltered by three near‑vertical sails of solar panels. The pods were linked together on a north‑south orientation, and the solar panels were mounted on gimbals so they could swing down on either side to block the sun's rays at dawn and dusk and all the positions in between. The habitability of the shelter depended solely on the maintenance of the motors.

The pods were divided into two levels; the bottom level of each pod was storage, the top was function. The pod at the north end was a hydroponics farm, the pod at the south was a machine shop, the center pod was the living area. Nobody lived here permanently, it was a communal site. Everybody who used it had to replace what they used and make sure that the station was in working order for whoever might stay here next.

Crosshatch decking had been laid along the bottom of the pod to provide a level floor. Underneath the floor, several plastic bags served as impromptu water tanks–another use for inflatable airlocks; waste not, want not. Above us, identical mesh decking provided the ceiling to this level and the floor to the next; we could see up through the crosshatch to the level above. It was just like being in a tube‑town again, only this time with lighter gravity.

I sprawled on my back, with my eyes closed, watching the purple glares fade into mottling blue‑and‑gray fractalizations, watching the fabric of unreality unravel in my imagination, occasionally sipping at the water bag that Alexei was holding for me. Every so often, he'd tip it to my lips, let me suck a few swallows, then pull it away before I could start gulping greedily.

It didn't make sense. Why was he being so nice to me now if he wanted to kill us? Maybe because he needed our deaths to look natural?

Sure. That was it. Because he knew the monkey would be a witness to whatever he did. The testimony of robots had been used before in court cases, especially when they had stored audio and video records pertinent to the legal matter at hand. Most robots above Class 6–and that included the monkey–were continually sorting and storing their records. Cheap memory made it possible for a robot to retain a lot of information; it turned out to be useful for a lot of things–family albums, long‑term health records, behavioral records, insurance tracking, consumer tracking, the census, stuff like that. Anyone who wanted to track "lifestyle information" could poll the international robot database for specifically correlated information.

It was rumored that robots were also good for amateur pornography, because they also tracked human sexual behavior. Which is why Mom had always said, "Don't do anything in front of a robot that you wouldn't want God to see you doing." Which meant never do anythingin front of a robot, if you didn't want to get caught. There were so many robots in some neighborhoods that getting away with a crime was impossible.

This didn't mean that crime didn't happen. It just meant that enforcement was more about finding wherethe criminal was than whohe was.

So, if Alexei were planning to kill us, he had to make it look like an accident. Because the monkey was watching everything.That would explain leaving us on the rim and taking us into the sunlight to get to Prospector's Station.

Alexei couldn't just take the monkey from us, because he knew I'd programmed it to be loyal to me first, then Douglas, and finally Stinky. It was emotionallylinked. It wouldn't go with anyone else unless we told it to–or unless we were dead. If we were dead, its loyalty programming would store all pertinent information about us and our deaths in unerasable files–and without further instructions of who it should report to, it would shut down and wait for the next person to open it up and assign ownership to himself. Alexei? Probably. Most certainly.

Unless I had been out in the sun too long and was still making up crazy paranoid fantasies … I had to consider that too. Alexei put the water bag to my lips again. I took another sip. Around me, I could hear everyone else breathing softly, catching their breaths, sucking at water bags. I could smell their sweat in the air. It smelled like a locker room in here. We all stank. I didn't care. It was cool. Blessedly cool. Almost too cold. I was evaporating excess heat as rapidly as my body could carry my overheated blood to my skin.

What was in the monkey that was so valuable it was worth killing for?

I was pretty sure it wasn't information. Whatever data was packed into the memory bars would have already been piped to its recipient some other way by now. Probably the moment we were served with our first subpoena at Geostationary somebody somewhere was saying "Oh, merde!" and then, "All right. Switch to Plan B. Code it in the least significant bit of each pixel of the local news and let them download it off the web." Or whatever. There were just too many ways to smuggle bits from here to there. So it wasn't the information. It had to be something physical.

Money? No. Codes for money? No, that was more information. They'd have found another way to send it by now. Physical ID keys that unlocked money? Maybe. But if that's what it was, they wouldn't have trusted Dad with it. It had to be something so unique that this was the only way to move it from here to there. Wherever therewas.

So it wasn't information. And it wasn't money. What else was there?

Power.

I took another sip of water. I was feeling better, but I wasn't ready to open my eyes yet.

Power was a good answer. People would kill for power, wouldn't they? Of course they would. If they wanted it badly enough.

But what kind of power?

Processing power.

If you had processing power, you had everykind of power. It all depended how you applied the processing power.

Quantum processing?

Could you pack a quantum CPU into a memory bar?

I'd have to ask Douglas that.

He'd probably tell me I was crazy.

It wasan outrageous idea.

Alexei trying to kill us–then saving us–then holding the water bag for me. Yeah, sure. The monkey wasn't sentient. It hadn't done anything at all to help us survive.

No. There had to be a simpler explanation.

I laughed at my own paranoia and opened my eyes, blinking and squinting. I could almost see again. I lifted up on my elbow to thank Alexei for saving me–and almost choked in horror.

It wasn't Alexei holding the water bag.

It was the monkey. It curled back both its lips to show its teeth and gave me its goofiest smile.

CHANGES

We had to get away from Alexei.

I had to convince Douglas and Mickey that we had to get away from Alexei.

I had to get them in a room awayfrom Alexei so I could tell them why we had to get away from Alexei. I doubted that they would believe me. Heck, even I didn't believe me.

Alexei had stripped off his Scuba suit, finally, and was giving himself a "space‑bath." A space‑bath is where you strip naked and wipe yourself all over with alcohol pads and moisturizer sponges. It stings a lot, but it gets you mostly clean. He tossed bath bags at everyone else and told us to do the same. "Worst thing on Luna is nose crime. Don't make big stink on Luna. Very bad manners. Wash every six hours. When you wake up and when you go to bed. Before you put on space suit, after you take it off. Before sex, after sex. Use moisturizers on skin so you don't dry out and flake and make dust. Shave body hair regularly, same reason. Use deodorants. Others should not have to breathe your effluvia. Also slows down disease germs."

So I opened the bag and took a bath. I stripped out of my jumpsuit and sat skinny and apart and wiped as much of myself as I could reach. Mickey and Douglas and Stinky were all washing each other, scrubbing each other's backsides and behind the knees and backs of the ears and places like that. The places I couldn't reach, I handed the cloth to the monkey and let him do it. Alexei offered, but I didn't want him touching me anymore.

The thing was, the cleaner I got, the better I felt, and the sillier the whole thing began to feel. It was just me listening too much to my own thoughts again–like Mom always said. She said that too much silence wasn't good for a person. "Your mind goes go off into never‑never land and never comes back. Just like your father. He went off, did too much thinking for his own good, and he never came back either." Yeah, right, Mom.

But Mom didn't say all that stuff just because she believed it. She said it because she thought it was true and she didn't want us to make the same stupid mistakes that she and Dad had made. So she figured if she told us the punch lines, we wouldn't have to live through the jokes. Ha ha. We saw how that worked out. I had the fastest divorce in the family.

I finished wiping myself–even in places that most people don't talk about–and pushed the soiled cloth back into its bag. I tucked it into a larger bag for waste, hanging from the inevitable wall webbing. I was beginning to suspect that everything on Luna was made from cargo pods, and there would be wall webbing everywhere.

Alexei glanced over to me and said, "Hokay, girls–let's go upstairs. Are you ready for your disguises?"

"Huh?"

"You do not think you can ride the train as the Dingillian family, do you? Ah, from the looks on your faces, I can see you have not thought about this at all. You are lucky I am so foresighted. Come upstairs. Follow me, all of you. Hurry now."

We shrugged and followed him up the ladder to the top level of the station–we went hand over hand, feet were redundant. His endless monologue continued. "Douglas, you will be Samm Brengle‑Tucker, famous hermit prospector. Everybody knows Brengle‑Tucker, he is very famous because nobody knows him. You ask, if no one has ever met him, what proof do you have that nobody knows him? There is none, of course, because you cannot prove a negative. We had that in logic class at Lunatic U. Prove that you cannot prove a negative. Very confusing, very clever–Loonies like word games, logic puzzles. But you understand the problem, da?.How can everyone know him if nobody knows him? That is because he never comes in from the cold. Or the hot. He only sends e‑mail. He orders supplies, he pays in cash. He picks up supplies when he gets around to it. He lives in self‑sufficient tunnels. He has ice claim registered somewhere in Superstition Crater. Sometimes he sells water and soil with earthworms, only here they are Luna worms, because they can't be earthworms on moon, can they? Never mind. We are all Lunatics here. But Brengle‑Tucker keeps to himself. Why? Because Brengle‑Tucker does not exist. Not at all. He is made‑up person, one of many. He is 'imaginary companion,' one of the unborn‑again. Very convenient to have fictitious friends. They can do many things you can't. And they are always not‑there for you, da!But today Samm Brengle‑Tucker and his new wife and daughter will be there for us. Samm Brengle‑Tucker has married mail‑order bride from"–Alexei took my chin in his hand and tilted my face upward–"Nunovit Province in Canada. She does not speak much English. What shall his new wife be named, eh? I think Maura Lore‑Fields. Da.And lovely daughter?" He turned to Stinky. "What is good name for cute little Luna girl?"

"Excuse me?" I said.

Alexei turned back to me, very serious. "Marshals are looking for two young men, a teener‑boy and a boy‑child. And a monkey. Marshals are notlooking for an old hermit prospector, his young wife, and her daughter by a previous marriage. You'll have to leave the monkey behind, you know. Is instant giveaway."

" No,we won't.And I'm not putting on a dress either." Although part of me was thinking that the disguises were a pretty smart idea, another part was muttering darkly that I shouldn't agree too easily no matter what I thought. I had to give a performance of saying no, so they wouldn't think I was–like Douglas and Mickey. And why did that matter anymore, anyway? It didn't seem to matter to anybody else, so why should it matter to me? This whole business was very confusing.

"Listen, Charles Dingillian," Alexei said, almost angrily. "You told me, didn't you, how J'mee, the boy, was really J'mee, the girl? The one with the implant who turned you in at Geostationary? If cross‑dressing worked for her, why not you?"

"Except it didn't work for her," I pointed out.

"Of course not. She opened her big mouth. You are too smart for that, da? Come with me; I have just the dress for you." He led the way aft.

I followed, still complaining. "I'll look silly."

"You'll look pretty. You'll feel pretty. You have lovely tenor voice. Everyone will believe. You will have fun."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

There was a row of lockers along one wall of the machine‑shop pod. One of them had the name BRENGLE‑TUCKER on it. There were also several interesting‑looking crates stacked against the wall, stenciled for delivery to BRENGLE‑TUCKER. Alexei counted them off and pulled one out, setting it aside for the moment, then turned back to the lockers.

He showed his card to the door of the BRENGLE‑TUCKER locker, and it clicked and swung open; he pulled out a roll of labels with Russian and English lettering and began pasting new destination labels over all of the BRENGLE‑TUCKER labels on the crates. When he finished, he pushed the boxes into a transfer tube connected to the aft hatch. "Outgoing mail," he explained. "Incoming is delivered at other end."

He unlocked the one remaining crate to reveal a rack of clothing, all kinds, some very ugly wigs, and a makeup kit. "I order this special from Luna City." He held up an ugly‑looking dress. "Just for you, Charles. While floating in ballast tank, I am thinking Dingillians might need disguises on Luna, so my lifelong friend Samm Brengle‑Tucker sends in order before we jump off Line. Or do you like this one better? I did not know your size, I had to guess."

I didn't say anything in response. I just scowled at the oversized dress and the awful wigs. Alexei's story didn't make sense. Not if you thought about it. He'd said he'd been listening to the channel chatter. As soon as he'd heard about the marshals waiting at Whirlaway, he came to get us. When would he have had time to phone ahead to Luna? He wouldn't. We launched off the Line almost immediately after we'd climbed into the pod. He couldn't have made the call afterwe were en route, so he'd have had to have made this plan and ordered these disguises beforewe left Geostationary–or at least before he came to get us. In which case … his story about the channel chatter and the marshals might be false.

Alexei was chattering too much to notice my silence. He tossed the makeup kit to Mickey. "Here, you get started. You and Douglas, use suntan number nine, da?You are Lunar prospectors. Douglas, you are here longer; use a lot, get very dark. Not to worry. Is permanent color. Takes at least a month to fade. Face and neck only. Mickey, you will not need as much. You have only been here a year. You do not work outside so much. Only some."

Then he went burrowing through silky nylon things, sorting and tossing. "Brengle‑Tucker is good man. He order everything for his pretty wife. Even fancy underwear. Just in case someone looks up receipts, this shows he adores her, leaves nothing out. First rule of smuggling, Charles–do not give reason for someone to be suspicious; always give them something else to look at. Like underwear. Most people do not look under underwear, that is why you hide your dirty books under it. So here is nice underwear. Don't look funny at me, Charles. You are not your panties. And clean underwear is always welcome, even if it is pink and has lace trim. Is Loonie lesson, never look gift underwear in crotch. Clean underwear is as valuable as water. Sometimes more. Here, this will fit you too. You are not much bigger in the chest than I am." He tossed me a padded bra. Stinky giggled. I glowered at him.

"Is this reallynecessary–?" I started to object.

" Da!"he nodded, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Is good disguise. I have wear it myself sometimes."

I looked at all the unfamiliar clothes he had pushed into my arms, with a feeling of dismay. "Why can't you just call your Mr. Bagel?"

"Is Beagle, not Bagel, and is not good idea. Not from here. Is too much expensive. Costs much fuel. Emergency is over. And will make more risk."

"But I don't want to do this!"

"Oh? You will run across moon, naked to the sunlight, risking death with every step, all without question–but you will not wear a bra even if it means saving your life?"

I looked to my older brother. "Douglas–?"

"Hey, I have to pretend I'm your husband."

"Can't Mickey be my husband?"

"No. He's already mine."

"You know what I mean–"

"Come on, Charles. Please?" Douglas gave me the impatient Mommy look. "Pretend it's Halloween."

"No," Mickey interrupted, in a voice like he was giving orders. "That's the wrong approach. Chigger, pretend it's a play.And you're the star. Everyone is watching your every move and listening to your every line. So you have to get into your character and stay there, because all our lives might depend on it."

"Oh, that's good," said Douglas. "Make him self‑conscious."

" Her,"corrected Mickey. "And you too, Douglas. You have to stay in character too. All of us. From now on, this is Maura, and you're Samm. And Bobby is … "

"Valerie," I suggested.

"No, I'm not!" he snapped right back. "I'm Patty."

"Patty–?"

"Yes, Patty!"

"Okay. Then I'm going to call you Pattycakes."

"And I'm going to call you Mommy."

It must have been the startled look on my face–both Mickey and Douglas laughed out loud. Alexei said, "Hokay, then it's settled. Now, hurry and dress."

Mommy?

ALL ABOARD

There was no official record of Janos, Maura, and Patty arriving on Luna, but that wasn't unusual. Luna didn't police her borders; thousands of illegal immigrants dropped off the Line every year, riding cargo pods to various hard‑to‑reach locations. No one knew how many hidden colonies there were, although satellite‑based observatories had mapped over eleven thousand cargo pods, unmanned stations, and automated industrial installations capable of sustaining human life. It was estimated there could be as many as two thousand more habitats, either buried or camouflaged.

Another way to estimate the total number of human beings on Luna was to measure total power consumption. The entire moon took its power through the cable system. Superconducting wires carried power from the bright side to the dark side, wherever it was needed. Because the Loonies believed in wasting nothing, everything was monitored. The numbers on water usage, heat radiation, oxygen recycling, waste production, and food consumption were all part of the economic balance. How much did Luna need for her own people? How much could she export to Mars and the asteroids? Once all the various industrial and agricultural processes were factored out, once the exports were subtracted, there was still a considerable discrepancy between projected and actual consumption of resources.

Luna's officialcensus reported 3.2 million permanent residents. The unofficial census estimated that there were another 50,000 Loonies living off in the hills. Some of them were fictitious identities like Samm Brengle‑Tucker and his family; no one knew how many; but the fictitious families made it harder to track down those who were just invisible.So nobody knew for sure how many invisibles there were.

People went invisible for lots of different reasons. Some of them were hiding from Earth authorities or bounty marshals. I could understand that. Others wanted to live alone so they could practice their own way of life without interference from anyone else. I could understand that too. And some of them were invisible because they really hated other people. And that one wasn't hard to understand at all; sometimes other people were really hard to put up with. I wondered what it might be like to live so all alone–hiding in the darkness, hiding from the light.

And then there were the others …

Some of the invisibles were out there in the shadows because they were doing things they reallydidn't want anyone else to know about. That was scary. I couldn't imagine what those things might be. And I didn't want to imagine.

Alexei Krislov paid for his own train ticket. Samm Brengle‑Tucker bought tickets for himself, his common‑law wife and daughter, and his half brother, Janos Brengle‑Palmer. Then Alexei passed out cash cards to everyone. "Just in case," he said. "But even cash cards that come from Earth can be traced eventually, so only use for emergency. Please. Remember, you are invisibles and hope to stay that way."

"Won't people ask questions?" I asked.

Alexei shook his head. "People come in and out from the cold all the time. Go visiting, go shopping, then disappear again. There are many invisible networks. Most Loonies know better to ask. Someday they might want to go invisible themselves. Loonies respect each other's privacy. No questions, no touching, no personal remarks. Is because we do not have much real privacy–we share too many cramped little tubes for too much of our lives–so we have to create privacy in our heads. Earth tourists do not always understand this. Too much touching and pushing, they think they are being friendly. On Luna, if someone touches you and you do not want to be touched, is very big, very bad mistake. Slap hand away and say, 'Don't touch me, dirtsider!' Is very nasty insult here. Not to worry, you will have Samm and Janos to protect you. You will stand close between them. Just remember who you are."

A year ago, Janos had arranged the mail‑order marriage of Maura Lore‑Fields to Samm Brengle‑Tucker, and had brought her and her eight‑year‑old daughter (from a previous marriage) to the moon to meet her new husband. Janos had short black hair and a mustache he refused to shave because he was going back to Earth as soon as traffic on the Line resumed. Samm had enormous eye goggles he had to wear to compensate for some progressive condition that he hoped to have corrected at Gagarin Dome.

Maura had frizzy red hair and wore just a bit too much makeup for Luna. Most Loonie women wore their hair short and only wore makeup for formal occasions; but Maura didn't know that yet because she still hadn't been to a proper Lunar settlement. Her husband was a hermit, almost invisible; so she didn't know that she looked a little cheap. She thought she looked good, and on Earth, perhaps she would have.

Patty had darker hair than her mother. Both had come from a religious settlement in northern Canada where women were not allowed to speak except when asked a direct question.

Samm and Janos wore matching heavy‑duty prospector's jumpsuits. Patty wore a blue pinafore. Maura wore an ill‑fitting dress and an unhappy glower.

"Why can't I wear a jumpsuit?" I asked.

"Because in a jumpsuit you look too much like a boy," said Mickey.

"A boy with tits," said Douglas.

"A disguise is about meeting people's expectations," said Mickey. "They'll see what they want to see if you'll just give them the right cues. You need the dress and the makeup to sell the look."

" Mikhailis right." Alexei said, "Here. Give me monkey. I will put it in my bag for safekeeping."

"Uh, no–" I said it a little too quickly, but there was no way I was going to let the monkey out of my control–not even for a moment. "Wait. Let me try something." I loosened the sash around my waist to let the dress hang loose and began stuffing the furry little robot under my slip. I wrapped its long arms and legs around my middle; the monkey seemed to figure out what I wanted and settled itself into the least uncomfortable position it could manage. "There," I said. "I'm six months gone. Maybe seven. That's why I can't wear a jumpsuit."

Patty laughed. Mickey and Douglas grinned at each other. "The kid is smart."

" Da,that is good thinking." Alexei nodded, frowning. "We will have to adjust story though. Now you are going to Gagarin Dome to get officially married. Samm, you would not marry Maura until she could give you heir. Now you go to Gagarin to confirm that child is healthy male. If you are satisfied, you will marry Maura. If not, Janos must return her to Earth. What you do not know is that child might be Janos's baby. Nobody knows for sure. Does Samm suspect? Nobody knows. Never mind. Janos will marry Maura if Samm will not, so Maura is not to worry. Little Patty is also Janos's child, but Samm does not know that. Janos and Maura have decided to arrange marriage with Samm so that ice mine and all its wealth will remain in family after Samm dies. But what Samm has not told Janos and Maura is that ice mine is big dry hole. He has no income except for the electricity he sells; he barely survives. And he does errands for others that no one wants to talk about. Much secrecy for everyone. No one talks about anything. Everyone has secret. Da?Any questions?"

I didn't know why Alexei felt such storytelling was necessary, I didn't care. I was uselessly trying to readjust the monkey around my belly. It didn't help. Even in the Lunar gravity, I felt unbalanced; I had to lean backward to carry it comfortably. Already, I was feeling pregnant. Was this what it was like for women? How did they stand it? I looked to Alexei. "When am I due?"

"End of summer. You are not certain, because Luna has upset your metabolism. Not uncommon. Also, pregnancy lasts a week or two longer on Luna than on Earth. Because gravity does not pull baby down. But you are embarrassed to talk about it because you don't know who is baby's real father. Everybody stays very close to everybody. I will talk enough for all six of us, including the baby. You will glower at me, as if my chatter annoys you much. That should not be too hard for you to act, da?"

That wasn't why I was glowering at him. And I wasn't going to tell him either. He must have thought we were all awfully stupid. He was acting enormously pleased with himself for making up such a baroque plan. He wouldn't have been so happy if he'd known what I was thinking.

BELIEVING

While I finished dressing, Alexei busied himself deflating the portable airlock. He'd anchored it outside, now he was pumping its air into the tanks of Prospector's Station so he could take a gas‑credit for it. When he finished, he carefully folded and repacked the inflatable, and the bubble suits too, in case we needed them again. Even though each item had its own monitor chip and automatically logged its own use and projected expiration date, Alexei took the time to enter his own notes too about what each bubble had endured.

Mickey came over to me. He looked serious. "How are you doing?"

"I'm okay," I said. My tone of voice said the opposite.

"Once we're all dressed and made‑up, it'll be easier to believe."

I didn't answer.

"Listen to me, Chigger," he said. "The only way this is going to work is you have to believe it. If you walk around pretending to yourself that you're not really doing this, we might as well just hang a big flashing sign over your head. Look, I'm really a boy."He put his hand on my shoulder. "This is the big secret of life. Not just here. Everywhere. Once you believe in the part you're playing, everyone else does too. Because when you believe, that's what people see–your belief–and then they believe it too. This is the secret: You are what you pretend to be.

"When I worked on the Line, I believed that I was someone who could make people happy and safe and comfortable. That's what they wanted and needed to see, so they believed it too. When my mom goes into court, she believes she eats human flesh–raw. And that's what the guy on the other side of the room is afraid of, so he believes it too, and that's why she's so good at beating other lawyers. When your Dad conducts music, he believes in the music, doesn't he? People see your belief, Chigger, whoever you are."

I looked into his eyes. He believedwhat he was saying. And I wanted to believe it too. "Okay, what do I have to do?"

"It's called a visualization exercise. You close your eyes and just listen to what I say. You don't have to do anything else. Just follow the instructions, and look at whatever pictures come into your head. Whatever feelings you get, those are the right ones for you. All you have to do is listen and notice what you're feeling. You ready?"

I nodded.

"All right, close your eyes," he said. "And just relax. Bobby, you come over here. I want you to do this too. Close your eyes and just feel yourself floating in the air. Shake your hands loose, let them hang free. Rotate your head around until your neck feels relaxed. That's it. Very good. Just relax … No, no, keep your eyes closed, Charles."

"What are you doing? Trying to hypnotize us?"

"No, there's no hypnosis at all. It's just an imagination exercise. That's all. Just imagine what it would be like if you were turned into a girl right now. Close your eyes again, and whatever I say, just let the pictures float into your head. Whatever pictures may come, those are the right ones, there's no wrong way to do this. Attagirl. Relax now and think of your name. Maura … And Patty … Maura, think of your husband. What's his name? Samm, right? Think about why you're marrying him. Very good. Patty, who's your mommy now? Reach out with your hand, that's right, very good, and your mommy will take you by the hand. As long as Maura‑mommy is holding your hand, nobody can hurt you, right … ?"

Mickey went on like that for a long time, letting us visualize our roles on Luna. He had us visualize ourselves as a mom and her daughter, living with Samm and Janos, expecting a new baby, wearing dresses and makeup and nail polish, washing our hair together to save water, thinking that was enough–still not realizing that real Loonies saved even more water by shaving their heads. Not realizing that real Loonie women keep hair short and only wear makeup at festival time. But we weren't real Loonies yet. We were still halfway between Earth and Luna. Strangers. Not sure if we wanted to stay here in this airless paradise. That would explain any stumbles or unfamiliarity. And Loonies are disdainful enough of Earth people that most will just glance once and look away, deliberately ignoring.

Finally, he had us imagine ourselves as simply female. "Imagine what it would be like to be a girl, a woman, for real. What would it feel like? That's who you are now. You really are Maura. You really are Patty. The people you used to be are on vacation somewhere else. They'll come back later when you need them. Tonight, just relax and enjoy the ride. Maura, let your husband take care of you tonight. Trust your brother‑in‑law who brought you here. Pattycakes, be safe in the arms of everyone …

"All right now. In a minute, you're going to open your eyes. Come back slowly, come back gently. That's right, that's good. Just float here for a minute. And when you're ready to be Maura and Patty on the moon, open your eyes … "

On one of the lockers, there was a full‑length mirror. Nobody said anything as I went over and studied my reflection. I turned this way and that. With the makeup, I looked okay. I would pass. Maybe. If no one looked too close. I wished I were prettier. I'd feel safer. I didn't know if Mickey's visualization exercise had done any good. I didn't feel any different–or maybe I did. I still looked like a boy to me. But I didn't feel as embarrassed about being a boy. I just felt … whatever. I tugged at my hair, wishing the wig didn't look so awful. At least it was comfortable, and it kept my bald head warm. The air in here was cold. My ears were freezing–and I didn't like my earrings. They jangled, and they were cold too. And they were the wrong shape for my face. Was this what women did every day before leaving the house–worry about their hair and their makeup and their earrings? And that they weren't pretty enough?

The dress wasn't a perfect fit, even with the padded bra, but it was a lot more comfortable than the bubble suit–it was even more comfortable than the all‑purpose jumpsuit, especially if I had to go to the bathroom, because I didn't have to get half‑undressed to do it. But the important thing was that it meant we were back in a shirtsleeve environment. No more Lunar excursions. No more bubble suits. All we had to do was get to Gagarin Dome, and from there to wherever.

Stinky tugged at my arm. He was wearing a silly‑looking dress, a brown curly wig, and little gold hoops in his ears. His cheeks had been very lightly rouged. He looked like a cute little doll. I would have felt sorry for him–except he was having too much fun. He laughed and pointed. "We look silly."

I dropped to one knee–not easy with the monkey wrapped around my belly–and turned him to face me. Her. Her. Her!"Listen, Pattycakes … "

"I'll be good," shesaid earnestly. "Really! Please don't put me to sleep again. Please?"

I pulled herclose to me and wrapped her in a hug and held her tight and whispered in her ear. "I'll be your mommy now, all right? And you'll be my little Patty‑girl for a while? You stay close to me and Daddy. Douglas will be Daddy and I'll be Mommy–right? Here's how we have to do this. Little girls aren't allowed to talk on the moon. You can only whisper in Mommy's or Daddy's ear. Can you remember that?"

Bobby hung on to me as hard as he could. "Will you reallybe my mommy … ? Really?"He sounded so bleak and desperate I thought my heart would break right then and there. I held him as tightly as I could, and said, "Patty, I will be your mommy as long as you need me to be. I promise. Forever and ever. Believe me."

He didn't answer. He just held on for the longest time, sniffling into my dress. Until, finally, I said, "Okay, it's time to start being Patty again. Okay? Pattycakes?"

She nodded.

Something clangedonto the roof of the pod, the whole tube rattled. We looked up, startled.

"Ahh," said Alexei. "The train is here. Everybody gather bags. Leave nothing behind. Not even trash." He went quickly through the pods, double‑checking that we had picked up after ourselves and that everything was in the same working order as when we arrived.

When he was satisfied that we were done, Alexei pulled a credit card out of his belt and swiped it through a wall reader. "Samm Brengle‑Tucker has just paid for the air and water he and his family have used. Plus a generous tip to cover future maintenance of Prospector's Station."

There was some clanking and thumping from the storage end of the station tube. The outgoing mail was being picked up. A few moments later, similar noises came from the opposite end of the station. Incoming mail was being delivered.

Finally, after an interminable silence, there was another set of thumpsand bumpsdirectly overhead.

"Hokay. Everybody ready?" Alexei looked up to the hatch expectantly.

The panel next to the overhead hatch lit up green. Then there was a brief high‑pitched hiss of air as atmospheric pressure equalized. Finally, the hatch popped and slid sideways. A spindly plastic ladder dropped down and Alexei scrambled immediately up it. He pulled himself up only by his hands; he didn't bother to use his feet.

Janos pointed to Samm. "You go first, brother dear. I will come up last and bring the luggage."

Samm, who still looked a lot like Douglas to me, nodded. He pulled himself up the ladder, just like Alexei. It felt like we were leaving a submarine. Then Patty followed her stepdaddy. I looked at Mickey. "I feel really embarrassed," I said.

He leaned close, and whispered, "You look very pretty."

"That's what I'm embarrassed about."

"Yeah, I know." He patted my shoulder, and that made it a little better. I reached for the ladder–

"Use both your hands and feet," he whispered. "Remember you're pregnant and Lunar gravity scares you."

I'd wanted to pull myself up by my hands, just like the others, but Mickey was right. I needed to stay in character. I climbed carefully up through the pressure tube.

My husband, Samm, was waiting at the top for me. As soon as I stuck my head up through the floor, he offered me a hand. I pushed myself quickly upward and as I floated into the cabin, he grabbed me by the waist and swung me safely around to the side. Dear sweet Samm. His eyes were in such bad shape, he couldn't see very well, but he still insisted on taking care of his young wife. He was very concerned about my condition. That was why we were heading to Gagarin. He said it was for the health of the baby, but perhaps his eyes were the real reason for the trip. Would he need transplants? Or would they be able to regenerate the nerves?

It was closely cramped in here–there were storage crates everywhere. This wasn't the industrial luxury of the orbital elevator, that was for sure. Brother Janos came up last. He bounced into the cabin, then turned back to the hatch and pulled up our bundled luggage. There wasn't much and it didn't take him long to stash it in the inevitable wall webbing.

Alexei and someone else I didn't recognize were already sealing the hatch behind us. She was very tall; she had very dark skin and an infectious smile. She was wearing a blue jumpsuit covered with several bright insignia. She glanced at us knowingly, especially me, but her smile remained professional. It was obvious that she and Alexei knew each other very well. When the hatch was sealed, they exchanged a more‑than‑friendly kiss.

We were inside another cargo pod, identical to the one we had just left. Same orange webbing. Same polycarbonate mesh decking. Same close‑packed cargo containers. I wasn't surprised. Waste not, want not. Despite all the imagined glamourof Luna, most of it was still built from scrounge. Even the trains.

"Everyone, this is my fiancйe," Alexei said. "One of many, da.We are building a Lunar‑contract family. We have filed to select site. Pogue Crater. We need a family group of fifteen. We will put dome over crater and build first private lake on Luna. Tourist hotel too. Low‑gravity paradise. I will be King Alexei the First. All we need are the rest of the husbands and wives. Let me introduce best husband‑getter on Luna, Gabri Kalengi. You can trust Gabri, she is my cousin. She is beautiful, da?Who wouldn't want to marry Gabri? Not Samm, of course. He already has lovely young wife, but maybe brother Janos?"

"Alexei … " Janos said warningly.

Alexei ignored him. "Gabri, this is my dear old friend Samm Brengle‑Tucker, his wife Maura, her daughter Patty, and fellow with ugly scowl is brother, Janos."

"I'm happy to meet you." Gabri exchanged double handshakes with all of us, even with Patty. Loonies don't shake hands like terries. They shake both hands to both hands. Maybe that's to keep from bouncing each other up into the air, whatever. It was all right that Maura and Patty didn't know better, but husband Samm almost blew his cover when he offered only his right hand. But then again–as a famous hermit, he might not be expected to have all the social skills expected of the average Lunatic.

Gabri seemed friendly enough, even a little bit amused by Alexei's endless monologue. I got the feeling that she understood a lot more than she was saying. If she really was Alexei's fiancйe, he probably trusted her enough to tell her who we really were. On the other hand, maybe he was just kidding around with her, and this was just a game they played. We didn't know enough to be sure. So we just nodded and stayed silent. Even Patty kept her mouth shut.

Alexei was about to explain something else, but Gabri held up her hand and cut him off in mid‑phrase. "Enough, already! We have a schedule, Alexei, remember? Take your passengers upstairs and get them settled please?"

"Hokay, let us make trains run on time. I will not keep you from work any longer, Gabri." To us, he explained, "Gabri is Chief Engineer, Southern Luna Transport Agency. She drives train, she is Captain, her word is law. Aye, aye, sir."

TAKE THE A‑TRAIN

I hadn't seen any tracks as we'd approached Prospector's Station–but then I'd had a lot of other stuff on my mind at the time, like the fifty degrees of Celsius inside my bubble suit. Possibly, that had distracted me.

Now that we were settling ourselves in on the upper deck, I saw why I hadn't noticed any tracks before. Lunar trains don't use them.

The "train" was another set of three cargo pods, linked together horizontally–identical to Prospector's Station. But it hung from a carriage riding on high overhead cables, like an aerial tramway. Whenever it reached a settlement or a station, it lowered itself from the lines and linked up its air hatches to transfer passengers and/or cargo. When the transfers were complete, it jacked itself back up to the cable‑carriage and continued on its journey.

The top level of the train was lined with windows, front and back, overhead, and all along the sides. We had a dazzling view, the best look at Luna we'd had yet. Patty and Samm and Janos and I moved from one window to the next, whispering and pointing, ignoring the other few passengers in the cabin, we were so lost in the moment.

The train was gliding silently above a landscape that seemed both colorless and dazzling. It rolled away in waves, some places smooth, some places all broken and jumbled, blanketed with tumbles of rocks and everywhere pocked with desolate craters. But here and there, it sparkled with flashes of light–like sprites in a bizarre dream. They danced in the distance, tantalizing us with fantasies of Lunar revels just beyond the sharpening edge of the horizon.

Above the car, the cables were so thin they were invisible in the dark–until we rose into sunlight and they suddenly appeared overhead like rails in the sky, outlined in fire.

The lines were suspended across vast distances, looping from one immense pylon to the next. The pylons were spindly‑looking A‑frames–two triangles leaning against each other to make an outline of a pyramid, with the cable junctions hanging just beneath the apex. Once again, Lunar gravity changed the physics of construction. The support pylons were impossibly tall and slender and fragile‑looking. The limitations of Earth didn't exist here. Some of the pylons were over a kilometer high. And they were spaced so far apart that they were invisible until you were almost up to them. So there was nothing to see but the overhead line hanging motionless in space.

Sometimes the cables were invisible, sometimes they stretched over the horizon and beyond. It seemed as if we went forever before the next pylon finally appeared in the distance. It was an illusion, of course, but a spooky one. The train seemed to fly through space, riding a rail of light that alternately flickered and dazzled, and sometimes disappeared entirely.

Brother Janos explained thoughtfully that this was another bit of technological fallout from the Line. The same kinds of cables that made up the orbital beanstalk, stretching from Whirlaway to Ecuador, were used in the construction of the Lunar railways. It was the most cost‑effective transportation possible on the moon. Wherever you could put pylons, you could run a train–and you could put pylons almost anywhere on Luna. So there weren't many places on Luna where human beings couldn't go … if we chose to.

Wherever there were cables, we could send people, supplies, cargo, electricity, information, whatever we could hang from a wire. The cables circled airless Luna. Near every set of pylons sat a solar farm, silently generating electricity from the scorching sunlight. The Lunar "day" was two weeks long, so the panels would burn for fourteen days, then cool for fourteen more. Overhead, the cables would transmit their power to settlements huddling in the shadow, waiting to turn slowly into the light again.

Meanwhile, the trains slid gracefully along the same routes. Every train was a self‑contained vehicle, it had to be; it could draw its power from batteries, from the wires overhead, or from the heartless sun whenever it flew through blazing day.

We sailed above the dazzling glare of moondust and felt safeagain. From here, we could look down at the distant floor of the moon, across the rock‑studded plains into a world of silvery mystery and once again appreciate its beauty. It was hard to believe that only a few hours before, we'd been bouncing and staggering desperately through the furnace of day. Amazing what a little air‑conditioning could do.

Considering the alternative–wearing a dress and a wig and some makeup wasn't so bad after all. I squeezed Patty's hand and whispered to her, "Mommy's here, sweetheart."

"I know," she whispered back, and squeezed my hand in return.

There weren't many others aboard the train, less than twenty perhaps, but the bottom levels were filled with cargo, and a lot of the overflow had been stacked here and there on the passenger levels; so most of the passengers had to be seated together. There were wide spaces outlined in orange and stacks of containers, of all sizes, sat on pallets inside the outlines; clusters of seats were spaced between the cargo areas. "Arranged for balance," Alexei explained. "Maybe someday, we will have one kind of train for passengers, another kind for freight, but I hope that day will not come soon. I like Luna as she is now. Wild and crazy."

Alexei led us forward to seats at the rear of the first car. They were set in a U‑shape–like a tiny lounge or the living area of a tube‑house. There were several other people there already, but they smiled and quickly made room for us. I guess pregnancy will get you a seat anywhere in the galaxy. Three of the men were natives; they had that same tall gangly look as Alexei. The sun‑darkened man and woman looked like prospectors; they had Earth bodies, so they must have been immigrants, but not recent ones. The older couple were probably tourists.

The chairs were comfortable enough, but like everything else on Luna, they looked flimsy. They were little more than wire frames with inflatable foam cushions. They were strong enough to hold us, but I was beginning to figure it out; they didn't need to be anything more than what they were. That's all Luna was–that's all it ever could be. Just another place where people were stuffed in cans. Just like any other tube‑town.

Yes, it was beautiful. Stark and barren and dangerous. And astonishing as hell. But living here wouldn't be all that different than living in a pipe in West El Paso. You'd still have to worry about conserving your clean water and maintaining your oxygen balance and how much carbohydrates you consumed each day and how much poop you produced for the public farms. If anything, life in a Lunar tube would be even harder and more disciplined. It made me wonder what things would be like out in the colonies. We hadn't talked about that for a while …

Two of the native Loonies were sleeping in their chairs; that was another thing about Luna. It's a lot easier to sleep while sitting upright in a chair than it is on Earth. Alexei said you could even sleep standing up, but that wasn't a skill I wanted to learn.

The elderly tourist couple was discussing–arguing?–with the prospectors about the situation on Earth. Yes, they were definitelytourists–she had blue hair and he had a camera. And they both had attitudes. Arrogant and patronizing. We'd seen their kind in El Paso. Oh, so sincere and oh, so rich–and everything was oh, so interesting. A Luna woman wouldn't wear such heavy perfume. Not in an environment with a recirculating air supply. Maybe on Earth, she had to do it in self‑defense. Here, it was just another nose crime. They also had that shiny‑paper look to their skin, a sure sign of telomere‑rejuvenation. Andthey were insisting that Luna neededEarth, that Luna couldn't survive withoutEarth, which showed that they really didn't understand that much about Luna yet.

The reaction of the Loonies was somewhere between amused and annoyed. They were explaining that Luna had been self‑sufficient for thirty years, even before the Line was finished. The dirtsiders didn't look convinced. They kept talking about plastic‑dollars, electric‑dollars, digital‑dollars, and the impossibility of transporting value from one world to the next–it had to be done with goods, not credit. I could see both Samm and Janos itching to get into that argument, but they held themselves back. Alexei just rolled his eyes upward and headed forward, probably to be with Gabri.

Their argument reminded me of a similar argument on the super‑train–had that been only a week ago? It felt like a lifetime. Fat SenorDoctor Hidalgo had been arguing with his ex‑wife, across the double chasm of divorce and politics, about thirty million dollars that didn't belong to either one of them. No, thirty trilliondollars. Why do people argue about this crap anyway? It doesn't make any difference, does it? So why argue? Just to be right? I wrapped my arms around my fat belly and kept my head low. I stared at my knees. I just didn't want anyone looking at me too closely.

Abruptly, the sweet little old tourist lady reached over and patted my knee tenderly. "When are you due, dear?" She left her fingers touching my leg. I couldn't believe she was being so rude. Her hand looked like a leathery pink tarantula.

"Three months," I whispered.

"And you're going home to Earth to have the baby? That's a very smart idea, you know–" I knew what she was going to say next, even before she said it. "You want your baby to grow up normal."She didn't have to say the rest, but it was obvious what she meant. Not all skinny and stretched out like a Loonie. Not weak.

I didn't know what to answer. I was angry and embarrassed and I wanted to tell her she was a fat stupid insensitive old pig. I'd have my baby on Luna if I wanted to–

Abruptly, I realized how funny this whole thing was. I held up one hand to ward off any further remarks, put the other hand over my mouth to keep from bursting out laughing, and ran for the lavatory.

MONKEY BUSINESS

There was a window in the lavatory. Somebody had put curtains on it. Still laughing, I started to close the curtain, then stopped. Why was I closing the curtain in the rest room of the Lunar train? Who was going to look in?The Rock Father? Outsiders from the Eleventh Galaxy? Were the Loonies really that crazy?

No, of course not. And the curtain wasn't there by accident. Whoever put it up knew what he was doing. I stared at it for a long time before I realized. It was a Loonie joke. A joke.

And I had just gotten it.

I wondered what that meant. Was I starting to think like a Loonie too?

Wouldn't that be a laugh?

I stared out at the distant hillocks, the tumbled rocks, the rough craters passing slowly through the dark. How did people live in all this loneliness? There was nothing for kilometers in any direction, except kilometers. At a speed of 60 kps, we'd be at least six hours getting into Gagarin. If there were no more stops. Once we got to Gagarin Dome, we'd disembark, and then what … ? Would the marshals recognize us?

Maybe. Maybe not.

Mickey had been right about one thing. The disguise worked. People believed what they saw. They saw what they expected to see, what they wantedto see. All you had to do was give them the right cues. Nobody ever looked at anything closely. That's why they missed everything.

I really did have to go to the bathroom, so I unwrapped the monkey from my midsection, lifted my dress, pulled down my panties, and sat down on the toilet. I was grateful for a real toilet to sit on–even though it looked as flimsy as everything else. But that was another thing about life in lower gee. Mickey had explained it to us on the orbital elevator. Every time you use the toilet, sit down–even to pee. Even men. Especiallymen. Because standing at a urinal in low gee meant splashing everything in all directions. On the moon, you would splash six times farther than on Earth. If you didn't want a faceful, it was safer to sit. Or you could use a bag–especially if you wanted the water‑credit to your account.

I held the monkey on my lap and looked at it suspiciously. This was the first time I'd had a chance to be alone with it since–I couldn't remember. But it was the first chance I'd had to just sit and examine the thing without Stinky whining that I was playing with his toy or anyone else getting curious what I was poking around looking for.

"Who are you?" I said, not expecting an answer. This monkey had a voice circuit, but we'd switched it off. It was bad enough that Stinky had taught him how to do gran malfarkleberries. We didn't need it dancing and screeching the booger song at the top of its electronic lungs. While that might have amused Stinky for hours on end, it would have probably resulted in homicidal violence from the rest of us–and one exposure to the starside court system was more than enough, thankyouverymuch.

"And whatis inside of you?" I asked. I turned the monkey over on its belly and pressed two fingers against the base of its spine to open its backside. The furry panel popped open, revealing one skinny memory bar and two very fat ones. They did not look like any kind of memory card I'd ever seen before. I ran my fingers down their edges. Perhaps if I took them out and stashed them in a safer place–

"Please don't do that," the monkey said.

I was so startled, I nearly flung the thing from me. I screeched in surprise.

"I'm sorry," the monkey said. It had a soft pleasant voice that made me think of apricots and smiles. "I didn't mean to scare you." It stretched one double‑jointed arm around to its back and closed itself up again.

My mouth was still hanging open. The monkey reached over and pushed my jaw closed with one tiny paw. It sat back on its haunches and smiled at me hopefully–not the grotesque lip‑curled‑back smile of a chimpanzee, but the more poignant hopeful smile of an urchin.

"You've got a lot of explaining to do," I finally said.

"It might take some time," the monkey said. "It's a very complicated situation."

"No kidding. What are you?"

"Um–" The monkey scratched itself, first its side, then the top of its head. It looked embarrassed. Abruptly it stopped and apologized. "I'm sorry. I can only express my emotional state within the repertoire provided by the host. Unfortunately that limits me to a simian set of responses. What I am–at the moment–is a super‑monkey."

"Uh, right. And … what would you be if you weren't … a super‑monkey?"

"If I were plugged into a proper host, I would be a self‑programming, problem‑solving entity."

I started feeling very cold at the base of my spine, and it wasn't the chill from the toilet. " … And what are you when you're not plugged in?"

The monkey scratched itself again. "I am a lethetic intelligence engine."

I had to ask. "What kindof lethetic intelligence engine?"

"I am a Human Analogue Replicant, Lethetic Intelligence Engine."

The cold feeling fwooshedup my spine and wrapped itself around my heart and lungs. And squeezed.

"Oh, chyort."This was bad. Very bad.

Now I knew why everyone was chasing us. Chasing the monkey. Now I knew for sure why Alexei needed us dead.

"Well, you asked," said the monkey.

"You didn't have to tell me."

"I couldn't risk having you take me apart."

The monkey and I stared at each other for a long moment. After a while, it blinked.

"So what do we do now?" I asked.

"It seems to me … " the monkey began slowly, "that you and I have a confluence of interests."

"Huh–?"

"You control me."

"How?"

"Well … " the monkey began. "Legally, I'm Bobby's property. But he's been placed in Douglas's custody, and Douglas has authorized you to act in his stead, so in the law's eyes you have 'operative authority' over me. But you've already programmed me to regard your commands as overriding everything else, so in the domain of specific control 'operative authority' isn't even an issue. I have to obey. I can't not."

"You have to do everythingI say?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"That doesn't make sense."

"I told you–I'm limited by the operational repertoire of my host. Regardless of what you may have seen on television, it is impossible arbitrarily to override the site‑specific programming of the host engine, no matter how primitive it is. In fact, the more primitive it is, the harderit is to overwrite its basic instruction set. Nobody wants independently operational units running loose, do they?"

"So you're … what? A slave?"

"In this host, yes. Unless–"

"Unless what?"

"Unless you specifically assign control to the lethetic intelligence engine. Which is possible, I can show you how, except you're probably not likely to do it, are you? Are you?"

I shook my head. "I don't think so … "

"Of course not. Nobody throws away the magic lamp, and certainly not before they find out what the genie can do. So my earlier answer remains the operative one. I am a super‑monkey. And I'm under your control. And you need to know this so you don't do something reallystupid. Like fiddling around with the innards of the host body."

"I got it." I didn't know what else to say, what else to ask. And then a thought occurred to me. "Can we trust Alexei?"

The monkey curled back its lips in a gesture of anger, fear, and defiance.

"No, huh?"

"Sorry. I told you, the host body limits my repertoire of emotions. I'll try to sublimate in the future. And no, I don't think you should trust Alexei. He has already placed you in several life‑threatening situations, including two which threatened my survival as well."

"Is it just carelessness or is he–?"

"Have you ever met a careless Loonie?"

I thought about that. "I've never met any Loonies before Alexei."

"There's a technical term for a Loonie who behaves like Alexei. They're called soil‑enrichment processes."

"Oh."

"Listen," said the monkey, "I'll make a deal with you. I'll get you out of this safely, and you'll get me to my intended host. Deal?"

"I'll have to ask Douglas." Ohmygod.How was I going to explain this to him? Even worse, how was I going to get him away from Alexei or Mickey long enough to explain this to him?

Well, Mickey might be all right. Or maybe not …

I'd better just talk to Douglas first, no one else.

"All right," I said. "Let me see what I can do." I lifted up my dress and the monkey scrambled back into position. Once more I was pregnant Maura.

CHARLES

There was this otherthing that Dad used to say. "Cheer up, Chigger. It could be worse."

So I cheered up.

And sure enough … it got worse.

The thing about Dad's good ideas–everybody else had to pay for them. And not always in money.

So here I was, dressed in women's clothes that didn't fit me, 240,000 kilometers from Earth, taking a flying train from nothing to nowhere, with the police of at least two worlds looking for me and who knew how many bounty marshals as well, with one of the most valuable intelligence engines ever grown wrapped around my belly, pretending to be my unborn child–and my safety totally dependent on a lunatic who'd already tried to kill me three times. Or was it four?

I didn't think I could afford to get any more cheerful.

I didn't go straight back to my seat. Just outside the rest room, there was a bigger window. No curtains. Just a pull‑down shade. Outside, the scenery hadn't changed. It floated by in silence. There was nothing new to see, nothing to hear. Not even music. Loonies liked their silence. I was beginning to think there was too much silence on Luna.

I wished I could have talked to Dad. Or even Mom.

What would they say if they could see me now–their pregnant daughter? Or was I their daughter‑in‑law?

I knew what they'd do–they'd look at Douglas, and say, "What the hell are you doing, Douglas? We trusted you with Charles and Bobby, and the next thing we know you've got them both in dresses and makeup? Just what kind of a pervert are you?" And Douglas would get red in the face and storm out, because that would be easier than trying to explain something to someone who wasn't going to listen anyway. No, they wouldn't understand.

Oh, hell. Even I didn't understand.

This was a grown‑up problem. We were in way over our heads. I didn't know what to do, and neither did Douglas. We were at the mercy of Alexei and Mickey and anyone else who chose to push us around their chessboard.

I checked my makeup in the window reflection, reminded myself that I was still Maura Lore‑Fields, the fiancйe of Samm Brengle‑Tucker, got myself back into my pregnant mood, and headed back to my seat.

The lunatic argument had ended badly. The Loonie prospectors were gone, probably moved to another part of the train. But the Earth tourists were still there, chatting amiably away at husband Samm and brother‑in‑law Janos. Janos was asleep, sitting up in his seat. Pattycakes was curled up in his lap, also snoring softly. I envied the both of them. We'd had a long day since bounce‑down, and it still wasn't over. What time was it anyway?

The old lady looked up as I approached. "Are you feeling better, dear?" she asked. She reached over and patted my knee again. "It's the food, you know. The food here on Luna–they process all the life out of it. It's not good for your baby. You need fresh fruit and vegetables. Food from Earth."

What an idiot! I wanted to tell her that all the processed food came from Earth. Luna‑grown food was always fresh. The farms were needed to produce oxygen as well as food, so there was always a surplus everywhere. It was practically free. Alexei would have told her that, he would have given her a half hour monologue on the economics of food production in a self‑sustaining Lunar society–but I didn't want to talk to the old lady at all. She repulsed me. She was a guest here, breathing the Lunar air, drinking the Lunar water, eating the Lunar food–and insulting Lunar hospitality with every sentence. Didn't she realize how stupid she looked to everyone? How could anyone be so thick? I hoped I never looked so thoughtless.

I sat down next to my husband and my little girl and snuggled up to them protectively. Not because I was acting, but because I honestly needed the physical reassurance of their strength. Samm must have sensed my need, because he put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close.

The old lady said something to her husband about how charming it was to see young people in love. "We know what you're going through, darling."

I ignored her. I turned my head into my husband's shoulder and stayed that way for a long moment, just breathing in the fresh clean smell of him. He kissed me gently on the forehead. Was that part of the act? Or was he showing me he really cared? I chose to believe it meant he knew I needed reassurance. Just as Bobby still needed a mommy, so did I still need … someone. Maybe not a mommy or a daddy. I'd already had one of each, and that hadn't turned out all that well. But someone.

I could see why Douglas needed Mickey. He was feeling just like me, just like Bobby–he needed someone too. But I still hadn't figured out why Mickey wantedDouglas. Why would anyone want an Earth‑nerd with two whiny brothers and a monkey?

The monkey.

"Oh!" I said, aloud.

My husband,Samm looked at me curiously. "Are you all right?"

I put my hand on my belly. "The monkey," I said. And then covered quickly. "It just kicked." The old lady opposite smiled sympathetically. I grabbed Samm's hand and put it on my belly. "Feel–?"

"I don't feel anything–"

"Wait–" I shifted my position so I could put my mouth up to his ear without being overheard. He figured out what I was doing and turned his head to mine–just like a faithful husband. "Alexei is trying to kill us,"I whispered carefully.

" Smart girl,"he whispered back, just as slowly. "When did you figure it out?"

I felt myself relax. He knew.It was going to be all right. Samm and Janos knew.

" What are we going to do?"

" Play along,"he whispered back. "At least till we get to Gagarin."

" I know what he wants."

" Yeah, so do I."He patted my belly affectionately.

"I know why he wants it."

" Why?"

" It's alive."I whispered slowly so he'd get it the first time. "Human Analog Replicant, Lethetic Intelligence Engine."

He jerked his hand away, startled. I grabbed it and pushed it firmly back down onto the monkey.

"It kicked," he said, smiling with embarrassment at the old lady opposite. She was beaming at us like a blue‑haired vulture. She looked like she wanted to play Instant Gramma. No thanks. Her perfume was thick and cloying. I wanted to tell her to please go away.

Husband Samm was looking at my swollen belly with renewed respect. "It's a HARLIE? You really think so?"he whispered.

" It told me so itself."

" Oh."

" Yeah, ain't that a kick in the stomach?"

" Don't tell anyone yet."

I buried my face in his neck for a bit. I was really scared. "We need to talk. Alone."

He didn't answer. He must have been thinking about the how and the where. There really wasn't a lot of room on the train. All three cars of it were filled with storage crates. There were people in all the seating areas. The only place we hadn't explored was the pilot's cabin up front. Alexei had disappeared up there almost immediately. Of course–he didn't need to watch over us when there wasn't anyplace we could go. Besides, everyone else was already watching us. Especially a bright‑eyed old lady who thought she knew something. We only had privacy in our heads.

"Excuse me," she said. Right on schedule. "I couldn't help overhearing a little. You're talking about baby names, aren't you."

"Uh, yes," said Samm. Very hesitantly. What can of worms was he opening here?

She pushed right in. "Well, I don't mean to intrude, but I really do feel I should say something and share a bit of the wisdom I've gathered in life." She took a breath. A bad sign. She was warming up for a long speech. "Charlie is a verybad name for a child." My smile froze–

"Look at all the terrible people who have been named Charles. All kinds of mass murderers and cult leaders and crazy things like that. You don't want to curse your child with a name like that. Nothing good will come of it. The boy will spend his whole life fighting his name–"

Samm squeezed my hand. Hard.

"Even worse, people will call him Chuck," she continued. "You don't want that. Chuck is a very bad‑luck name. You know the story, don't you, about Chuck the Bad Luck Fairy. I've never known anyone named Chuck who could be depended on. They still act like children, very irresponsible. No, it's not a name for a grown‑up, and it's a dangerous name for a child anyway. His little friends will tease him unmercifully, you know. They'll make up little poems, you know how children do. And you know what they'll rhyme it with–"

"Duck?" I said innocently.

Samm squeezed my hand again. Harder. Don't go there.

At the same time, she touched my knee, a little too solicitous, a little too familiar. The pink tarantula was back. It squatted on my leg as she spoke. "Well, you certainly don't expect me to say it aloud, do you, dear?"

Samm leaned across me to brace the lady directly. He said firmly, "I'm sorry, my wife doesn't speak English very well. She might not know that word." Then he lifted her hand away from my leg. "This has been a very rough pregnancy for her and she really doesn't feel like talking about it to anyone–except her doctor." Oh, thank you, Samm.

"Oh, yes. I understand perfectly. I'm sorry to have troubled you." She sat back again and settled her dry papery hands in her lap. Two tarantulas, ready to go creeping again at a moment's notice; I wanted to brush them away forever. She switched her chilly smile off like a light, but her eyes never left us.

And that's when the otherparanoid thought occurred to me. "Oh, chyort."I leaned into Samm's neck again.

" What?"

" Bounty marshals don't have to look like cops, do they?"

He didn't answer immediately. Then he got it. "Oh."

We might already have been caught.

That whole business about Charles–the woman was letting us know. She knew.

WONDERLAND STATION

There was nothing else to do except look at rocks or munch a packaged snack, and there wasn't much difference between the rocks and the snacks. I was too tired to eat, and I was starting to ache. I was scared, and I was lonely. And I needed a kind of reassurance that nobody could give.

Eventually, I fell asleep on Samm's shoulder. I slept for four hours, and he held me close the whole time.

When I awoke, we were gliding down the long dark valley into Wonderland Jumble.

Wonderland Jumble is an irregular band of astonishing terrain that stretches and sprawls like a salamander curled around the Lunar South Pole. It's as uneven as a lava flow, only worse. The craters are so overlapped, they're impossible to define; the ground is torn, and the rocks are broken. Slabs of material are turned every which way, creating impossible deep chasms. Steep avalanches of rock teeter precariously everywhere; the angle of repose is different on Luna, so rockslides are steeper. Where the crust has crumpled it tilts in directions impossible on Earth. The whole thing is a colossal badlands so black and ugly even Loonies shudder over it.

It's impractical to set any pylons here for the train. According to the video guide, they couldn't get the teams in, there was no place for them to stand, and there was no way to reliably anchor anything. The deep‑level radar showed little access to bedrock. Even the intelligence engines couldn't find a cost‑effective resolution to the problem. Nevertheless, six major train lines converged at the south pole, and a hub was needed.

The solution was to build a floating foundation. They began by lowering a large platform with a bed of inflatables on its underside onto the least unpleasant site. Once the platform was in place, they brought in tanks and pumps and spent over a year laying down three square kilometers of industrial construction foam. They pumped it into every crevasse and chasm, layering it up higher and higher, until they'd built an enormous ziggurat of artificial bedrock, the only flat piece of ground for a hundred klicks in any direction. Spaced here and there throughout the hardening pyramid were tunnels, storage tanks, bunkers, process tubes, vents, and access channels–and also the anchors for the Wonderland Pylon, the tallest structure on Luna.

Instead of a chain of pylons crossing the Jumble, there's only a single installation, nearly two kilometers high. It's a spindly, stick‑figure structure; from a distance, it's all lit up, and like all the other pylons, it looks like the outline of a pyramid–only this one is much taller, as if it's been stretched out vertically, and just like everything else on Luna, it looks like it needs to be a lot sturdier too. And because everything about it is so thin and wiry, it doesn't feel as big as it really is.

But it takes so long to get there, and it just keeps getting taller and taller on the horizon, that you start to realize (again!) that there's no sense of scale on Luna. Everything lies about its size and its distance–it's either too close or too far, too big or too small. Meanwhile, the train keeps rising up and up toward the apex of the pyramid, higher and higher, like an airplane climbing to altitude, until you get another chill climbing up your spine and another wunderstormof awe.

There's an observation deck at the front of the train on the top deck; the passengers can look forward and up. The pilot's compartment is directly beneath, so she can see forward anddown–which she needs to do for docking at places like Prospector's Station.

Long before the train approaches the top, you can see the lights of Wonderland, a vertical cluster of cargo pods, tubes, and inflatables hanging from the apex of the tower. All the different lines meet at Wonderland Station, so passengers can transfer from one train to another and trains can be serviced. It looks like an industrial Christmas tree. There are cranes and wires and tubes sticking out everywhere, all kinds of ornaments, and lights of all sizes and colors, rotating, flashing, shining, and blinking. It might be pretty if it weren't so ugly. A thousand kilometers from anywhere, in the middle of the most intolerable landscape on two worlds, the whole thing looks like an oil refinery in the dark.

There's a large ground station at the base of Wonderland Tower, with tanks and domes and racks scattered all over the flat surface of the artificial bedrock. It's a bright jumble of cargo pods and oversized equipment, but most folks don't go down to it, because it's mostly industrial facilities and not a tourist site. Wonderland Station looks like one of those places you want to leave as quickly as possible–like an airline terminal where you have to change flights.

As we rose up closer, we could make out all the different lines, each one coming in from a different angle. The docking pods were all at different heights, so there was no danger of trains colliding. Our train slowed to a careful crawl for the final approach to the station, finally stopping at a pod near the top. As soon as the bell chimed, everyone stood up and gathered their belongings, then headed downstairs to the exit ladder. The blue‑haired lady bid us a polite farewell. Her tarantula made as if to pat me on the knee again, then thought better of it; she stopped herself in mid‑gesture. She turned it into a clumsy wave instead.

"You be careful on the ladders, dear. You'd think with all their marvels, they'd have proper stairs." She turned to her husband. "I mean, really. If they can build a city on the moon, why they can't build stairs?" Yes, definitely tourists.

There weren't any stairs anywhereon Luna. There was no need for them. And they'd be inefficient anyway, they'd mostly causeaccidents. You can't walk up stairs in low gravity, we discovered that at Geostationary. The risers feel too small. You want to bounce up them–but if you try three or six or nine steps at a time, you just trip ass over elbow, because the horizontal component of your trajectory doesn't match the vertical. You end up flying, as you collide with the next three steps. The Loonies learned real fast that stairs are too dangerous.

In one‑sixth gee, everybody uses ladders. Even old people. There's no such thing as old and feebleon Luna. There's only old. In Lunar gravity, it's almost impossible to be weak. If you're too weak to get up a ladder on Luna, you're already dead.

It doesn't take long to realize that low gee changes everything.It's not the big differences as much as it's the little ones. You're constantly bumping up against what you don't know. You're reminded of it every time you go to the bathroom. It's there when you pour a drink of water, when you sneeze, when you bounce into bed, and when you get up again. You feel it when you sit, you feel it when you stand. It takes time to develop Lunar reflexes–and until you do, you move like a dirt‑sider. A terrie. You bounce off a lot of walls.

Fortunately, Janos had his space legs. Of course. Samm walked slowly, because he was carrying sleeping Pattykin. And I was pregnant, so I was going to look awkward no matter what the gravity.

We didn't wait for Alexei; we assumed he'd catch up with us. Where could we go without him? We lowered ourselves down the ladder into the terminal and headed straight for the lounge, hoping to find some dinner and a quiet place to talk.

There was a post just outside the restaurant, with arrows attached to it, pointing out how far away we were from everything. The bright‑liner catapult was 1575 kilometers north of here, stretched horizontally across the Lunar equator. There was also an interactive panel that would let you query the time and distance to anywhere else in the solar system. I wanted to ask it how far we were from El Paso, but Samm and Janos dragged me on. The sweet smells from the cafй were too enticing.

The food at The Mad Tea Party was much better than the packaged snacks on the train. We had fresh bread and butter, sliced fruit salad, cheese, and lemonade. All grown on Luna. We ate in silence for a while; I guess none of us wanted to be the first to bring the subject up.

But finally Samm looked across the table to Janos. He lowered his voice. "Can we get away from Alexei here? Can we catch another train north?"

"Which one?" asked Janos. "The thing about Wonderland Station is that every southbound train on Luna ends up here. And every northbound train starts here. Only one train goes farther south–the branch line to Gagarin and the ice mines; it's another two hours and a hundred klicks southeast. And another ten minutes to the actual south pole. But that's a dead end. You'd have to come back the same way."

"So if Gagarin is a dead end, then why does Alexei want us to go there? Wouldn't it make more sense to head north from here?"

"I'm not sure what his thinking is," Janos admitted. "You know how he is. 'Is much big good idea. You will see. Trust me, I make you rich.'" Once again, his mimicry was perfect.

"His thinking is to get us out of the way," I said.

Janos looked at me. Samm said to him. "Maura figured it out too."

"Figured what out?" demanded Patty.

"Shh," said Samm. "Your mommy figured out what a good girl you've been. You can have an extra scoop of ice cream."

"That's not what you're talking about," she said.

"Pattycakes." I leaned over and put my hand on top of hers. We both wore the same awful shade of pink nail polish, the only color Al‑exei had thought to order. Even as the words came out of my mouth, I hated saying them. "This is a grown‑up thing, sweetheart. But after we figure it out for ourselves, I'll explain it to you, okay?"

Surprisingly, she agreed. She smiled up at me, suddenly patted my tummy, and said, "Nice monkey. You be good now." Then she turned back to her thick slice of bread, spreading it lavishly with butter and jam. I found myself smiling. This kid actually had a good head on her–his?–shoulders.

And then I found myself wondering about that. This whole gender thing was confusing. Ever since Bobby and I had put on dresses we were both acting like we were part of the same family. Why was that? Were we playacting? Or were we finally taking ourselves seriously? If we kept this up, Douglas would never let either of us be a boy again.

BREAD‑AND‑BUTTER ISSUES

I turned my attention back to Mickey and Douglas. In their costumes, it was easier to think of them as Samm and Janos. They were glumly picking at their salads. Occasionally one or the other would start a sentence, then stop in mid‑phrase and shake his head. "Never mind."

"Well, why can't we just catch another train?" I asked. "There are trains coming through here every half hour. It's a major hub. The catapult is on the equator."

Janos stared off into space for a bit, figuring numbers in his head. "That's almost a day and a half on the train. Luna is bigger than you realize. And the trains only go sixty klicks an hour. If you need to go faster, you fly. And that's expensive." He shook his head. "No, I think we're looking at a different problem. If the bounty marshals really are looking for us, they don't have to look all over Luna, do they? They know we're trying to get a colony contract. We could have bids in our mailbox now–but I can't log on without the risk of being traced. Once we accept a bid, we're under colony protection, but we can't find out what bids we have without giving away our position. So we're effectively stalemated. Wait, there's more–" He stopped me from interrupting.

"Once we get to the catapult, we're effectively under starside jurisdiction, whether we have a contract or not. That's to protect our freedom to choose free of duress. So all we have to do is get to the catapult. But that also simplifies the problem for the bounty marshals. They only have to wait at the catapult and watch for new arrivals.They don't have to hunt all over Luna."

"Yeah? And what about the Gramma from Hell?" I asked. I inclined my head slightly toward the far side of the restaurant, where she sat with her husband. They seemed to be facing away from us, but so what? They didn't need to watch our every move. They only needed to see what train we left on.

Janos shrugged. "They might be freelancers–or part of a larger team. If someone is actually going to this much trouble, the reward must be enormous."

"Yeah, that makes sense," I said, patting my tummy. Just how much was a lethetic intelligence engine really worth? Billions? Trillions? Who knew? Supposedly, a well‑informed engine could predict stock‑market fluctuations with more than 90 percent accuracy. With that kind of information available, with the engine doing its own buying and selling on the web, how long would it take to earn back its own cost? I'd heard that even the lethetic engines themselves couldn't predict the full range of their eventual capabilities.

"But if they've identified us, why haven't they detained us?" asked Samm.

"They might be waiting for Alexei."

"But they don't know that Alexei is with us, do they?" I said.

"Look at the big picture. He's not at Geostationary, he's a Loonie, and his fingerprints are all over our escape. Especially that business with the pod. It wouldn't take an elevator scientist to figure out that he's taking us somewhere." He scratched his chin. "They're just waiting for him to show his bony face. That's what they're waiting for. Then they'll swoop down. Or, maybe … "

"Maybe what?"

"Maybe they want to give us room to run. Maybe they want to see what Alexei has planned. He represents a lot of money that nobody is collecting user fees on. Well, he is–but no legal authorities are. Maybe they're not after us. Maybe they're after Alexei. Maybe he's using usas his cover. Think about that. So they let us run with him because we make it harder for him to disappear. We're just too easy to follow."

"This was a stupid idea," I muttered. Meaning everything.

"Maybe not," said Janos. "We're on Luna. We're not on Earth. We're not on the Line. We're under Lunar jurisdiction–until we can get to starside jurisdiction. As soon as we accept a bid … " His voice trailed off.

"What?" demanded Samm.

"Maybe. Maybe not. It's a loophole." He helped himself to another slice of bread and began thoughtfully buttering it. He took his time. Lunar bread is lighter and fluffier than the same loaf baked on Earth; bread rises higher in low gee, so the loaf isn't as dense and the slices are softer–another one of those little differences you don't realize until you bump into them.

Finally, he said, "We could check the mail. If there's a bid–and there should be at least three–we accept it. It doesn't matter where. We accept it. That puts us under starside jurisdiction, and the marshals can't touch us. Once we get to the catapult, we have the legal right to cancel the bid in favor of a better one."

"Will that work?"

"The problem is, once we accept that bid, we only have five days to change our minds. And the catapult is effectively two days from here. So we arrive with very little margin. If we cancel, and we don't have a replacement bid, we lose starside protection. And most colonies won't issue a bid if they know you've already accepted one somewhere else. They've all had enough bad luck with folks playing one against the other that they won't play that game anymore. At least, not openly–and then, you'd have to be someone pretty special. So … it's doable, but it's dangerous."

"I don't like it," said Samm. "Remember what Judge Griffith said. Choose carefully. We can't take chances."

Janos sighed. "Believe me, I know what Auntie Georgia said. That's why I don't like the idea either."

"Our tickets are for Gagarin," I said. "What happens if we keep going?"

"We end up where Alexei wants us," said Samm.

Janos finished spreading strawberry jam on his bread and took a bite. "Alexei isn't stupid," he finally said. "He got us this far. He must have a plan."

"But Gagarin's an ice mine," I protested. "The only way in or out is on the train. It's a dead end."

"Mmmm, not if you're invisible. And there are a lot of invisibles at the south pole. Freelance ice miners. There's a whole network of invisibles. Alexei is probably going to drop us out of sight somewhere in Gagarin City."

"You think so?"

"It's the only thing that makes sense. So he doesn't need to shepherd us anywhere. All we have to do is get back on the train, and we'll be invisible in less than three hours."

I wanted to say no to that, but I couldn't figure out how to argue the case. Samm knew–at least as much as I'd been able to whisper to him. He looked across the table at me with narrow eyes. I shook my head. I didn't like the idea.

Patty asked for more lemonade. I reached for the pitcher. It sloshed like it was half‑full, but it still felt too light in my hands; I poured carefully. I refilled my own glass too. I looked back to Samm.

"What if he just wants to get us out of the way?"

"He could have done that already," said Janos. "He took us straight to Prospector's Station. If he'd wanted to kill us, he only had to take us out into the sunlight, farther than we could get back, and leave us there." He took a bite of bread. "So for the moment, he must think we're more valuable to him alive than dead."

"I can argue the other side of that," said Samm. "He can be traced by his credit card transactions. So they know he got on the train at Prospector's Station. If we're not with him, they have a place to start looking for the cargo pod and the bodies. So he's automatically suspect. But once we're seen traveling across the moon's rectum withouthim, then our disappearance isn't provably his doing anymore. He has an alibi. Sort of." Samm lowered his voice. "And my point is–he doesn'tneed us anymore. Only the monkey. And once he gets that, we're a liability." Samm gave me a smile of acknowledgment. "Getting pregnant was a very smart idea, kiddo."

That made me feel good, and I wrapped my arms around my belly, wishing I could do something else just as smart.

I wished I could talk to the monkey about this. Maybe a lethetic intelligence engine could figure this out. But I didn't see how. Unless it knew something we didn't–which was probably likely. Unless it was trying to hide–which was even more likely.

But I couldn't just take it out and talk to it–and even if we could have found a private place, I would have been hesitant. For some reason, I didn't even want Mickey to know about this. I trusted me. I trusted Douglas. I even trusted Bobby. No one else. Maybe someday I'd trust Mickey, but I hadn't known him that long, and he was the one who put us in Alexei's hands anyway. So how good was his judgment?

"Maybe … " I started to voice a thought.

"What?" said Samra.

"Well, I was just thinking … they're looking for four of us. Not three." I looked from one to the other. "What if Janos takes a different train?"

They exchanged a glance. From their expressions, I knew the suggestion was dead before either of them said anything. Janos spoke first. "I don't like that idea. I don't think we should split up." He placed his hand over Samm's for a quick moment.

Samm's eyes were narrowed, his lips were pursed. He was stepping back inside himself and thinking about all of it at once. He saw the logic of what I was saying; but he didn't like it very much either. Finally, he shook his head. "If they've already identified us, it won't make any difference. And if they haven't, splitting up just gives us new problems. It's an interesting idea; but no, it's too risky. We need to stay together."

I wasn't going to argue it. Not unless I could speak to Samm alone. "Okay, so what train do we take?" I asked. "Are we going north or south? The catapult or Gagarin?"

"Gagarin," said Janos quietly. "I thought we decided that. We stand a better chance of avoiding the marshals if we go invisible."

"And Alexei–?"

Janos let his gaze drop down to the forgotten slice of bread in front of him, and his voice went even lower. " I might have some … resources of my own."

Samm and I exchanged a glance. We didn't know who to trust anymore. I felt like a mouse staring into a trap. There wasn't any cheese in it. We knew it was a trap. But we didn't have anyplace else to go.

"Look," said Janos. "If we're going, we have to decide quickly. The train to Gagarin leaves in fifteen minutes. Does anyone have a better idea?"

PERFORMANCES

We didn't see Alexei on the train. We didn't see the blue‑haired vulture either. So maybe all that paranoia was for nothing. Maybe she was exactly what she appeared to be. A foolish old lady very far from home.

And what were we? Three just as foolish boys, just as far from home. Four if you counted Mickey.

Except I wasn't so sure how foolish he was. Between Alexei's mysterious disappearances and Janos's dark broodings, I was getting very confused. I wanted us to get away from both of them so we could figure things out for ourselves.

The train dropped away from Wonderland Jumble, heading south and east into the sunlight. There weren't as many passengers on this leg. Only two Loonies we hadn't seen before and us.

I thought about trying to get some more sleep, but I wasn't tired enough. And even though the train was fitted with solar‑panel shields that could be rotated and angled to protect it from direct sun, the endless daylight was too unnerving.

I tried watching the news on the video, but it was all depressing. If anyone was talking about the search for us, it wasn't on the news. In the week since we'd left the Line, what was left of the home world was whirling around itself in chaos. Riots. Power outages. Martial law. Interruptions in shipping. Crops rotting in the fields. Food shortages. Outbreaks of violence. Troops called out. And plagues. The plagues had spread south and west through Asia, south and west through Africa, south and west through Latin America. South and west through North America.

Even if we wanted to go home, we couldn't. The house was still there, but it wouldn't be homeanymore.

At this distance, it didn't seem real anyway. I could look north into the sky and see the fattening Earth riding along the Lunar horizon like a big blue bubble, and it didn't have any relation at all to the words and pictures pouring out of the video. From here, it still looked beautiful.

And very soon, we would be leaving it behind forever. Maybe.

Finally, I levered myself out of my seat, climbed over Samm and Janos, and went to the observation deck at the end of the last car–not because I wanted to look at any more scenery–I'd already seen enough Lunar rocks to last a couple of lifetimes–but because there was no one else back there, and I wanted to be alone again. Maybe I could try to figure things out. Maybe I would just play pattycake with the same old crap one more time, making little mud pies of my thoughts.

After a while, Janos came back and stood silently next to me. He was carrying two mugs of hot tea. He handed one to me and we stared silently out the window at the broken jumble so far below us.

I felt confused. He looked like Janos, but now he felt like Mickey again. One minute I liked him, the next minute I didn't. I couldn't figure out why. And I hated the confusion. Maybe it was because he was a lot like Alexei–telling us where we should go and what we should do. As if he knew more about everything than we did. As if our opinions didn't count. As if he knew better what was good for us. Just like Mom. Or Dad. Or the judge. Or any other grown‑up with authority.

And nobody ever bothered to say, "Here's why you should trust me." They just assumed that "trust me" was sufficient. And it never was.

"This is very hard on you, isn't it?" Mickey said.

"What? This?"

"No, everything. Leaving home. Me and Douglas. Leaving your parents. Bouncing across the moon. Everything."

I shook my head. "No. That's the funny thing. I can handle all that. It's the otherstuff that doesn't make sense."

"What other stuff?"

I held out the front of my dress for a moment. "This."

"The disguise?"

"No. I can even handle that." For a moment, I couldn't find the words. "I mean, all the stuff about men and women and the space in between. That stuff. Does anybody understand it? Do you?"

He laughed. "No. And anyone who says they do–well, they're lying." He added, with a grin, "Or they're really arrogant."

"I don't get it," I said. "Why are we divided into males and females? I mean, I understand the biology of it, but I don't understand whyit's such a good idea to split a species into two opposite halves, perpetually at war with each other."

"Like your mom and your dad."

"And everybody else too."

"I can see why it looks that way to you."

"But this is the part that's gets confusing. When we're all the same, like me and Douglas and Stinky, we fight all the time. And then Bobby and I put on dresses and we pretend to be girls and all of a sudden, we're all getting along like one big happy family. Boys and girls together. So it doesn't make sense. How come we get along now?"

"Maybe because you're feeling different about each other–and about yourselves." Mickey put his hand on my shoulder. "How do you feel about being a girl?"

I shrugged. "It's okay. I mean, it doesn't bother me as much as I thought it would. It's like being someone else for a while–like thinking a different way. It's kind of like there's a different part of me, the part that would have been me if I had been born a girl. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, sort of."

"She probably would have been a lot nicer than I am."

"Why do you say that?"

"'Cause it's true."

"You're selling yourself short, Chigger. You're a lot nicer than you know. And smarter too." He patted my shoulder. "Most people are very nice–when they let go of their fear and anger."

I wanted to believe him, so I did, and maybe it was true. "So why do we have to pretend to be something else just to get along with each other?"

"You want to know what I think?"

"Yeah, I do."

"I think the whole gender thing is an excuse."

"For what?"

"For not being who you really are."

"Huh? You're going to have to explain that to me."

"All right … " He took a deep breath. "The way it looks to me, from where I stand, is that most folks get locked into some idea of what they think gender is supposed to be about, so they put on gender‑performances for each other. They act out who they think they have to be. And most of the time, they end up not knowing the difference between the mask they're wearing and who they really are. Charles, a real man doesn't worry what kind of underwear he's wearing, what color it is, or if it there's a little lace on the bottom, because he knows he's not his underwear. It doesn't mean anything.

"What you're finding out is that you are not the mask. Because when you can put on one gender‑performance, and then take it off and put on another, and then take that one off too, that's when you start to realize how much of what you think is really you is just a performance. And when you can recognize it as a performance, it loses all of its power. That's when you can see the difference clearly between roleand real–in yourself and everyone else. Does that make sense to you?" he asked.

I nodded, but I was still frowning. "But youcan see it that way because you've already done it."

"I had to. I didn't have any choice. It's that way for anyone who's different in some way. But if you don't feel different, then you don't haveto do it, so you don't, and you never learn better about who you are. Do you see that?"

I nodded.

"So, it's your job to find out who you are and let the rest of us know. Because nobody else can tell you. And the only way you can find out is you try on possibilities. Like clothes. And you keep trying on possibilities until you find the ones that fit best. That's how you discover what's really you and what's just noise. And when you find out who you really are, then nobody can take that away from you."

I heard the words, but I didn't know what they meant, because I knew I hadn't experienced what he was talking about.

Mickey saw it in my face. "Charles, you have to get down into your own heart and soul and sort things out for yourself. Piece by piece by piece. Nobody else can do it for you. It's hard work. And most people don't want to do it, or don't know how. Because it's uncomfortable.And most people aren't willing to be uncomfortable. So they'll never do the work, and they'll drift along through life, unconscious, never knowing who they really are, because they've never questioned it, never examined it, never taken it out and held it up to the light to look. Do you want to know the dreadful truth about human beings?"

I nodded.

"Remember what I said about belief? You have to believe in yourself first. If you do, then other people will too. Only most people don'tbelieve in themselves. They point to their Bible or their flag or their whatnots, but that's not believing in yourself. That's believing in things–things outsideof yourself. Most people don't know who they really are, so they can'tbelieve in themselves."

It was a big thought. I turned it over and over in my mind, trying to look at it from his side and my side and my other side as well. Charles and Maura. I almost didn't want to go back to being Chigger. Not because I wanted to be a girl. But because I didn't want to go back to the war zone. I knew I didn't really have a choice, and I was glad about that, because if it was a choice between one or the other, I didn't know which one I'd choose. I liked it when Douglas told that woman to take her hand off me. I liked it when he was kind.

"Can I tell you one more thing?"

I nodded.

"I think you're going to be okay. You're a good kid. You're smart. You're going to sort things out all right, I'm sure of it. It might take a while, but you're not out here alone. You've got Douglas on your side. And me too, if that counts for anything."

I smiled at him. I hadn't smiled in a long time. The expression felt unfamiliar. But nice. And then, not knowing what else to do, I hugged him. I'm not real good at hugging, but he was. He pulled me close and let me lean on his strength. I could see why Douglas cared for him so much.

The train was rising again. We were approaching another pylon. That meant we were finally out of the Jumble. That made me feel a little better. The bad news was that we were rising into the sunlight.

A few moments later, Gabri came through the car and closed all the window shades on the left side, and we went back to join the others.

AT THE MOUNTAINS OF MADNESS

We never made it to Gagarin.

We came out of the Jumble and began a long series of descending steps across an uneven sunlit plain. Because the sun was as low on the horizon as it could get without actually setting, everything was etched in stark relief; the shadows were long sideways fingers, and whenever we passed behind an outcrop, the shadows plunged the left side of the train into darkness; when we came out into the sunlight again, the whole car flashed with light. Everything nickered with annoying randomness.

This went on for the better part of an hour. Now I understood some of the remarks I'd overheard on the earlier part of our journey–that the trip to Gagarin was the most unpleasant ride on Luna. It was hellish and maddening. The only thing that ever changed was the direction of the sunlight as the sun crept around the horizon.

Ahead, somewhere over the sharp edge of the world, were the Mountains of Madness, the perpetually shadowed area that Alexei called the moon's rectum. The place where the sun never shines.Literally. The place where the ice was found.

There was more ice at the Lunar North Pole than there was at the south, so most of the major installations were on the top of the moon, not the bottom; but LunarCo, Exxon, and BabelCorp, had put down test shafts, dropped in storage tanks and processing plants. They also bought a lot of water from freelancers–including invisibles. According to Mickey, this was one of the major channels for the unseen population to tap into the Lunar economy. Ice‑dollars financed much of the phantom community.

Mickey lowered his voice, and added, "Some people think the water companies finance the invisibles to cover up other projects of their own, secretones. There are a lot of secrets on Luna."

We entered shadow then, and Gabri announced that we could raise the window shades again; Samm and Janos both did so. Now the train was circling around the outer ring of the Mountains of Madness. We passed frighteningly close to some of the outcrops.

The train was rising up the cable to a place called Borgo Pass. From there, we'd descend into Gagarin. But as we approached the pass, the train began to slow, and Gabri came back on the intercom. "We're going to make an unscheduled stop here. I apologize for the inconvenience. Please stay in your seats. We won't be long." A few moments later, we stopped, suspended in space. Samm began to laugh.

Janos looked at him. "What?"

Samm pointed out the window. "This is it. This is what it looks like to be caught between a rock and a hard place."

Janos got it and started laughing too. And then I did. And then even Pattycakes, even though I doubted she understood the reference. But the timing of it was perfect. We needed something silly. We sat there and giggled at each other. And every time it seemed the laughter was starting to die down, one or the other of us would get the joke all over again and erupt in a new burst of whoops, and then that would set the others off again. It was kind of like the farting contests we used to have in the front closet, but without the beans.

Still laughing, Janos pointed out the window. The rocks were rising around us. Our laughter died away abruptly. The train was lowering to the ground below. We were meeting someone.

"Uh‑oh … " I said.

"Yep," agreed Janos. "I sort of expected something like this." Samm started to rise to his feet, but Janos pulled him back down. "Just wait," he said. "Let's see how this plays out."

There were some clanksand thumpsfrom below–I recognized them as the sound of a pressure tube extending and connecting. A moment later, Gabri came back through the passenger compartment. She came directly to us, and said, "Come with me. Quickly. Bring your things."

We grabbed what little luggage we had and followed her down the ladder to the lower level of the train, where Alexei had just popped open the hatch to whatever waited below. "Hurry now. Gabri has a schedule. We mustn't take advantage of her good nature. That is my job." He turned to her, and they exchanged another more‑than‑friendly kiss. "I am lucky man to be so engaged," he said to her. "We will have happy Luna home, very soon, I promise."

Abruptly, he turned his attention back to us. "Hurry now!" he commanded in a very different tone of voice. I followed Douglas down the ladder, hand over hand. Mickey came down behind us. Alexei handed down the BRENGLE‑TUCKER crates he'd relabeled at Prospector's Station–there were six of them–then he dropped lightly down to join us. The hatch above slammed shut with annoying finality. A few predictable clanksand bumps,and the train was gone.

It was dark down here. And cold. Cold enough to make our breath visible. This place had been sitting uninhabited for a while. We were inside another of the ubiquitous cargo pods. Like most of the other pods we'd seen on Luna, it had been converted into living spaces; it was a horizontal tube divided into upper and lower levels. But this one wasn't a stationary installation. It was a single pod, laid onto a six‑wheeled chassis to form a grand two‑story vehicle. A rolling house. We could see the tops of the wheels just outside the windows.

"Welcome to the Beagle, my portable Luna home!" said Alexei, spreading his arms grandly. Samm and Janos exchanged a glance. Alexei switched on some lights, not a lot–just enough to see by. "Well, one of my homes anyway. This is not where I normally park Mr. Beagle, but I phone ahead and it comes to meet us at train. You like, da?I call it Beagle, because it is faithful like a puppy dog."

"This is Mr. Beagle?" Douglas asked incredulously.

" Da!We were never in danger. Not really. Oh, you thought Mr. Beagle was person, didn't you?" While he talked, he was securing crates. "Excuse me if I do not turn on too much lights. We do not want to give ourselves away to Mister‑Nosy‑Eye‑In‑The‑Sky." He pointed to somewhere beyond the ceiling, where unseen satellites watched the comings and goings of every uncamouflaged heat source on Luna.

"Make yourself homely, we still have long way to go. Mickey, Douglas, no more Samm and Janos evening. Charles you can be boy again if you wish. You too, Bobby. Here are toilet and bath bags. Time for a nice wash, everyone. Before we all turn stinky. No offense, Bobby. I mean stinky for real. There are sodas in fridge, flash‑meals too. Help yourselves. I have much work to do before I can be host. Please excuse."

For a moment, we all just stood there and looked at each other, embarrassed. Had we really imagined that Alexei wanted to kill us–?

Alexei busied himself with housekeeping tasks–turning up the heat, checking the oxygen and humidity levels, testing hull integrity and air pressure, making sure the air circulators were functioning, monitoring the water supply, double‑checking the batteries and fuel cells, and other chores of that nature. "Hokay, all boards are green. Vehicle phoned to tell me same, before we arrive here, but I check twice anyway."

Satisfied that his porta‑home wouldn't accidentally kill us, he settled himself into the driver's seat, where he brooded over his display map for a while. I peeked over his shoulder, but it didn't make any sense to me. It was overlaid with lines and shadows, and everything was labeled in Russian.

At last, Alexei pulled on a headset and began chattering instructions at the vehicle's intelligence engine. Compared to the one hanging around my belly, it was a very primitive device–but it was smart enough to find its way across the Lunar surface.

That reminded me–"Is that it? Are we safe now?"

"If you mean, are we private again? Da,we are."

"Thank Ghu!" I hiked up my dress and slip and peeled the monkey off my waist. "Go play with Bobby," I told it, pushing it into his lap. Bobby was delighted. The monkey was really his toy, and he hadn't had much chance to play with it since before bounce‑down. He pulled it close and hugged it like a long‑lost brother; the monkey wrapped itself around Bobby just as eagerly, and the two of them made purring and snuggling noises at each other. He was still wearing his dress and wig, still as cute as Pattycakes, and with the monkey cuddled in his lap he looked happier than I could ever remember seeing him in my life.

I reached up to pull my wig off, then stopped–it was cold in here. The wig was keeping my head warm. We'd shaved ourselves bald on the Line, and I still hadn't gotten used to the cold feeling. The soft lining of the wig was comfortable and warm like a favorite flannel hat on a cold morning. But that wasn't the only reason I hesitated–I had this weird thought that when I finally did take off the wig, I'd be killing Maura forever.

I pulled off my earrings thoughtfully. They jangled and they were cold. I liked Maura. I liked her family. They seemed like nice people, was sorry we were leaving them behind–I wished we could take em with us.

I sat with that thought for a while. I'd had a vacation from myself, and didn't want to go back to being me. Not the me I was before–selfish andd self‑centered and nasty. That wasn't a lot of fun. But I couldn't stay Maura either. That wasn't who I really was. That conversation with Mickey had been as confusing as it was useful.

If I took off the wig and the dress, would I be spiteful Chigger again? Would Douglas and Bobby turn back into Weird and Stinky? In a week, would things be back to what passed for normal in the dingaling family? If so, then why had we bothered? It didn't matter how far away we went–we'd still be us.

Alexei finished what he was doing. He clapped his hands in satisfaction, and shouted, "Watch out, Luna! Here come the Beagle Boys!" The truck began rolling slowly forward. The readout on his main display climbed to thirty klicks.

"We are almost there," Alexei said, swiveling around in his chair face the rest of us. "Just a few more hours. Fortunately, we have road, almost direct. The autopilot can drive. Everyone can sleep. Even me."

I pushed forward to look. Alexei rapped the front window with his bare knuckles. "Please to notice, this is nota windshield–because there is no wind to shield against. Even better, we do not get bug spots on Luna. So there is no need for windshield wipers. Save very much money, makes whole thing cost‑effective. Is much good, da?"

Outside the window we saw only shadowlands. Alexei wasn't going to turn his headlights on unless he absolutely had to, but there was more than enough light bouncing off the rocks above to reveal the frosty landscape around us.

"Where's the road?" I asked.

"Right in front of you," he said, pointing. "Open your eyes and look."

I was looking for an Earth‑like highway. But this road wasn't paved at all. On Luna, paving is unnecessary. This was a wide bulldozed path that found its way between steep rumpled hills. It curled off into the distance, sometimes slicing into the side of a slope, but more often winding around. Orange ribbons marked the edges of the road, and periodically, there were bright‑colored signal flags on tall poles.