Attention: ALL
Subject: Message from MCO
Margaret Mead said: Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.
We have faith in you, Lunar Trust One.
Love from your friends and family at Masdar Collective Operations, Earth
My new home rested along Peary Crater’s northern rim like a sugar balloon nestled into folds of meringue, but I was too numb to enjoy the view. My sister Faraday should have been here to witness her life’s work. I plastered on a shadow of her smile as our ship landed without a hiccup.
We were the first to secede from Earth, and not one corporate state managed to stop us.
Only some of us, the very best.
That was how Lunar Trust One began, with twelve hundred nervous people squeezed single file through an insulated tube into a sprawling dome with simulated gravity. When the tube sealed, we shuffled into a gymnasium-sized room in the dome proper. I stripped off my helmet and outer suit, piling it beside the growing tower of others along the front wall. The walls reached two stories high, which was a welcome change from our suffocatingly small ship quarters. There were no windows to hint at the deep black beyond the ceiling. I knew it was there though. It had me stuck to the floor until my parents dragged me to the front where the greeting party waited.
I took position behind my parents, squeezing my boyfriend Andrek’s hand. Our arrival wasn’t supposed to be like this, all somber like a funeral. Faraday should have been here to lead us, and there should have been twenty-two others my age, my classmates and friends, breathing down my neck or poking me in the back to make me laugh. Instead there were hundreds of strangers, recruits hired at the last minute to fill vital positions.
I shouldn’t have resented the newcomers. It wasn’t their fault they were filling empty slots in the colony machine. If I were honest with myself, I was jealous of them, because they earned their positions. These people were vital to the trust’s success, while I was basically human cargo. I hadn’t even graduated high school; I was over a year behind before my sister died. Then it was too late to bother.
My parents hardly looked at me when they turned to check that I was still behind them. Our grief was too fresh, and our promise to make this a day of celebration too hard.
Commander Dae Han, hair cropped and gleaming like a silver helmet, activated a microphone attached to her wheelchair and welcomed us with a watery smile. She had been on the moon with other department heads and staff for over a year to get the domes ready for our arrival. Even she was muted today, despite her full-throated welcome. At her prompting, we all placed hands over hearts and followed her in reciting the Lunar Trust oath.
“I pledge my life to the Moon and the principles of peace and sustainable prosperity. I leave Earth to its suffering history, its warfare and inequality, and commit my will to a new and brighter human future. I am Lunar, and I am free.” I squeaked through the vow, choking on memories that swam to the surface, tasting the words which rang as falsely sweet as the mint toothpaste stink of the crowd. So what I said was “sustainabubble property,” then I smooshed the “suffering history” bit trying to find my place. Once we reached the “I am Lunar” business, I was caught up, though my voice trembled.
“Fuck you, Earth. I’m Lunar now,” I added, louder than I meant to.
“Language, Lane,” my mom scolded while laughter rippled behind me.
“It’s what she’d say,” a girl behind Andrek whispered, and I knew she meant Faraday. I glanced back to find that the girl was astonishingly beautiful, with hair that draped like a curtain of black silk over her oak-brown skin. She had the brownest eyes, dark and sharp like thorns.
She caught me looking, and my cheeks flushed lava hot.
I was grateful for the burn. It beat imagining what should have been. If I could make it through the day without crying, I could believe the trust would succeed, and Faraday’s dream of a free, peaceful home would be safe.
“You ready for this?” Andrek hugged me so close I had to crane my neck to see his sun-kissed face. His eyes were cool blue lakes beneath wheat-colored bangs, and his smile could melt a glacier. Mensa-smart and cucumber cool, he’d been my parents’ first choice for an administrative assistant.
“How can I know?” I asked, and Mom whipped around to give me her I-know-you’re-not-still-talking scowl.
Andrek chuckled low. “No, I mean, here. This!”
“I’m trying to be.” I snuggled into his side. It was still hitting me, our new reality. New prospects and problems. New chances to embarrass myself in front of people who actually belonged.
I shuddered and reset my head toward positive thoughts. No more sirens in the night. No red skies or freak storms, no corporate raids or street riots. Living on Lunar Trust One should be gravy and potatoes, hold the meat.
Dad cleared his throat quietly, telling me to pay attention, so I focused on hearing Han as her amplified voice rattled on with reminders. It was the only sound aside from the rhythmic hum of air pumps and hushed conversations.
Two women pushed forward, arguing as they beelined toward Han. The trust president Aya Marshall and her second Rosamund Barre. Both had been presidential nopefuls who had never stood a chance at leading anything beyond a committee while my sister was alive. Marshall, a sharp-eyed Black engineer from the Pacific Northwest, was a longtime friend of my parents and one of my sister’s early tutors. She and Barre—a willowy political scientist from Free Brazil—stood tall beside Han, appearing far more rested than they had any right to be.
“I realize everyone’s tired from the journey and eager to unpack and explore, but I think it’s important we reflect on how far we’ve come against terrible odds,” Barre said. “More importantly, we need to take a moment of silence to honor those we’ve lost on our way to achieving this valiant dream.”
“A moment of silence is essential, yes,” Marshall interjected, projecting her voice to be as loud as it was warm, despite the critical glance Barre shot her. “But let us speak their names before we assign our loved ones, our leaders, into the past.” At that, she brought out a tablet and began to read carefully, adding each person’s assigned position with deliberate pauses.
As she read, the fact that I, the least of us, was the only survivor under twenty-five from the original Masdar Collective made each syllable hit like a bullet.
They weren’t all my friends, the ones who died with my sister. In truth, I had hated nearly half of them for being pandering fans of hers while being condescending asshats to me, until me and Andrek hooked up. Aside from the twenty-two plus Faraday, there were one hundred forty-seven other adults to be named, many of them the movers and shakers that had made this dream more than a paper wish.
I chewed my cheek into pulp before she reached my sister. Joan Faraday Tanner, inventor, humanitarian, visionary, and presidential candidate. Her lovely face—bloody and broken, gasping its final breath—took over my vision. She was the important daughter, the smart and special one, while I, a common lunch lady, was easily replaceable. The star was dead, but the dropout flamed on.
I wondered if everyone in the trust knew how much I sucked and, if they did know, what it would take to make them forget. When Marshall stopped and Barre declared our moment of silence, I felt as small as a bug and less significant.
“Speak with your department head if you have questions, and again, congratulations. It’s an honor to support you all through this transition,” Han concluded, and her microphone clipped as she shut it off.
Mom looked at me like she was waiting, and I guessed she either couldn’t see the pain on my face or simply decided not to comment. My mother had never wiped my tears. That was not her way, but she was the first to take charge of anything else. Years on the coast had darkened her ivory skin to a peachy pink, and her auburn hair was now streaked with gray.
“I hate to leave you now, but we’re expected in the lab.” She sounded syrupy and wrong, and Dad’s hand was sweaty when he patted my back. “I’m sure Andrek won’t mind if you need help getting settled in.”
“I’ll manage. It’s not like I can wander off.” I pressed my lips together to stop words spilling further, since the more stressed I got, the more likely I was to stick my foot in my mouth. I was an expert word-vomiter, but I was sure there was no career in it aside from being my sister’s comic relief. Mom used to say someday my light would shine, as if the only thing between me and my sister’s brilliance was other people’s attention.
She didn’t get me at all.
“We won’t work late,” Dad promised.
I swallowed a laugh. First night on the moon in their swanky new lab, and they weren’t going to work late? They would be puppies in a ball pit for the next year at least. I couldn’t blame them. I would be lucky if I liked working in the kitchen half as much as they liked ordering people around.
“Go on. I’ll be fine,” I said, hoping against history it was true.
Mom gave me a weak hug, and she and Dad disappeared into the crowd. After more than a decade playing with mockup designs, I ought to have known exactly where they were headed, but I didn’t have a clue. Reality was so much bigger than my sister’s models.
The speed of their step, the hard set of their jaws—they were on a mission already. I was too, to fake it till I made it or whatever. Keep it inside. Distract, deny. Everything would feel better with time. For now, that was the most I dared hope.
After I checked in with the chef to get my work schedule and required uniform, Andrek and I found an empty spot near the western hallway to people watch while waiting for our cases to be delivered to our quarters. I fiddled with the mesh hairnet I’d have to wear, trying to figure out how to position it without cutting off circulation to my brain. It took some doing, but at last I tweaked it into some kind of floppy shape that held my flyaway hairs.
“Masterful,” Andrek said, which made me yank the thing off immediately.
I bopped his nose. “I don’t need a babysitter. You can go to work too. If you want.”
“Oh, I can, huh?” He laughed with his whole face. “You think I’m sticking around for you?”
I crossed my arms. He definitely was, though whether it was to hang out or keep me from having a meltdown, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t have autistic meltdowns that often anymore, not like when I was little. My sister had promised it’d be easier in the dome, because she kept potential sensory triggers close to mind in her design.
“I’m not staying to play zip-Lane’s-mouth. I’m on the hunt. There are dozens of eligible partners to scout, and now’s my chance to find out if any are cute as you. So you know, get over yourself.”
I grinned at him. We had been an item for over a year, and we talked a lot about growing our circle. I’d always liked girls, even kissed a few, but I hadn’t met one I wanted to date. Now hardly seemed like the time, with my sister filling my head like a ghost and all the newness of being on the moon. Still, that shouldn’t stop Andrek, who likely needed a break from my family drama.
“Hey, everyone! Line up so Andrek can decide if you’re as cute as me,” I called out. “Tops preferred, please.”
“What do you mean by that?” Andrek demanded, pinching my waist, but I doe-eyed him innocently.
A rich laugh rolled over my head, and we spun in surprise.
“Should we queue here then?” A striking Black guy, dark-skinned and head shaved, breezed toward us with that thorn-eyed girl on his arm. He had an accent I didn’t recognize. It was slow and round, leaning on the ends of his words.
“I was joking,” I mumbled, feeling my cheeks heat all over again.
“Pity.” The guy studied Andrek like he was a museum sculpture. “I’m quite good at queuing.”
“I bet. I’m Andrek. She’s Lane.” He pulled himself so tall he was almost on his toes.
“Joule,” he answered. “Joule Sarka. As much as I’d like to stay and change your minds, I’m supposed to report in immediately. Manufacturing waits for no one and such. See you both at dinner, I hope?” He pulled his arm free of the girl and darted away, but not before giving Andrek a not-so-subtle wink.
We watched him go—Andrek visibly pulsing with the unexpected attention, and the gorgeous girl he’d left behind tensing with barely concealed annoyance.
“Viveca Osborne.” Her full lips slid out her name as if it were made of velvet. It nearly was, and it was weirdly familiar. She swept her gaze past me like I was invisible and lifted a delicate hand for Andrek to shake. “You’re Andrek Evers? The one who accepted the position with Dr. and Mr. Tanner?”
Andrek hesitated, and I came to my senses.
Viveca. The only real contender for the position Andrek had won. The way my parents had talked about her in breathless wonder, I’d considered petitioning for private quarters.
“Viveca’s application was flawless. Flawless!” Mom had mused, and Dad’s face had lit, gazing over our heads like the mystery girl approached from the stars.
Dad had muttered something about, “You know who she reminds me of?” because everyone beautiful must resemble my sister somehow. Then they’d consoled themselves about passing her over because “Medical needs minds like hers” and “she’ll be running things before long anyway.” The fact that she hadn’t landed a position in the first round had probably saved her life.
“We may have heard of you,” Andrek answered warily and clamped a hand on my shoulder.
“I was hoping to talk to you about a security petition your department rejected. How are we preparing for more attacks from the Royal Corps? Without the war crimes accord, we’re far more at risk than our constitution anticipated. Brand Masters isn’t the type to give up once he has sights on a goal, and the shipyards are still—”
“Best to leave such things to our leaders.” Andrek made a low noise in the back of his throat, like he always did when someone mentioned Brand, the Royal Corps’ tyrannical leader.
I went blank, refusing to react.
Here on the moon, the RC was thousands of miles away, like it was supposed to be from my thoughts. They were corporate soldiers, a mercenary group that had outgrown its original design then ate up free states as they fell.
When I was little, the Pacific Northwest faced a viral outbreak during an epic winter, and the RC happened to have a base nearby with supplies and a conveniently worded emergency contract. The PNW’s sovereignty got crunched like celery.
Then the United Kingdom suffered a drought leading to an economic collapse, and the RC slurped them up too. State by state, across the planet, everything slipped into the RC’s stew.
Brand tried to get his claws into the lunar collective in Masdar, hungry for the ships the trust meant to build on the moon, but my sister had refused to cooperate. That was probably why he had her killed, to break the accord and weaken our resolve before we could launch and fulfill the trust’s goals. It had almost worked.
“Especially today,” Andrek insisted.
“I think security should be on everyone’s mind today, particularly if we intend to be here tomorrow,” Viveca snapped. “Particularly the two of you.”
His voice flattened. “Admin passed the petition on to operations. Maybe check with them about it?”
It hit me then that operations, a department that used to manage defense and internal affairs, was now in charge. Not my parents or the board, and definitely not my sister, but President Marshall and operations. Aside from the small command crew that traveled with us, a bare dozen survivors, there was only Commander Han’s skeleton security detail who were already on the moon.
“Operations… I see. I’ll do that. Thank you.” She coolly shifted her perfect eyes to me, and just like that, I was visible again. “You’re the other Tanner girl?”
“That’s me. The leftovers.” I shoved out my other hand to take hers then shook it quick, trying not to notice how it was smooth as rose petals. Like, it was painful letting go. How the hell was she so moisturized? My skin had turned to chalk on the ship.
A wistful expression ghosted over her face. “It’s so sad about your sister. She was my hero, and she always seemed proud of how I ran her fan club.”
I huffed and tried to cover the noise with a cough. Faraday was everyone’s hero, but hearing Viveca say it sounded off. Possessive. I should have been used to that, what with the entire world following Faraday on social media and treating her like science royalty my whole life. I thought my sister would have laughed in this girl’s face for being so self-centered she deserved an award. I was about to say so, but something warned me she was a lot faster with comebacks than I’d ever be.
“Anyway,” she continued. “Your name’s on a list for the daily grief groups, and I wanted to invite you to mine.”
“Grief groups.” I blinked at her. “Did you lose someone too?”
“Not recently, but it’s not like grief ever ends exactly. My experience with your sister might help you process her death.”
She didn’t hide the word “death” like everyone else. It wasn’t “her passing” or “our loss.” She’d probably call the invasion what it was—a massacre, a murder—instead of a political tragedy. As much as I liked that, preferred it even, I couldn’t tell what she was really asking.
“You knew my sister?”
“I see how you might think so, but no.” She lowered her lashes to study her shining nails. “We never got to meet in person.”
“I don’t understand,” I said, feeling thick-headed. She didn’t speak too fast, but somehow nothing she said fit together. “What experience do you mean unless… Wait, you think being a fangirl should give you access to my pain? That’s—that’s like—” My voice broke and my insides went slippery as if tears were going to rip through my paper-thin mask.
Andrek’s grip tightened on my arm, less protective than preventative in case I started throwing punches, which suddenly seemed like a distinct possibility.
Viveca sniffed prettily. “You misunderstand. See, I was referring to my research experience about your sister. I’m working on my psychiatry degree and apprenticing in counseling. So ‘my’ group is the one I’m in myself.”
I stared hard at her mouth and sipped a slow breath as I pieced her words into sense. She had studied my sister. Studied, like for a science project. My arms went icy and stiff, my tears forgotten.
“You want to counsel me? What am I, your next book report?”
“It’s called a thesis, but you’re missing what I’m saying.”
“Wow.” I’d lost all feeling in my fingers, and my heart had started to pound. This girl made me want to crawl out of my skin. “Do you study torture too?”
She shook her beautiful head in confusion like I was the one being horrible. “Torture would be malpractice.”
“Oh my god!” I said, nearly screaming.
“Well. When you calm down, I hope you’ll think about joining. We’ll be in the courtyard before breakfast.” She smoothed the hair that fell over her chest and smiled with total confidence. “It was nice meeting you both. Ta!”
Andrek let out a low whistle as she walked off. Even in the stiff, unflattering jumpsuits we wore, Viveca was all curves and legs forever. Beauty and brains and buckets full of obliviousness.
I exhaled less musically through my teeth and worked to unclench my hands. “She’s a lot, right? Like, a whole lot.”
“That’s one way to put it.” He lifted my hand and kissed it. “Are you okay?”
“Just wow.”
We were both quiet a moment, letting the Viveca storm wash away, then his mouth twisted, fighting a smile. “Do you think you’ll go to your new best friend’s group? Seems like it might be incredibly helpful. For me. And my very important entertainment research.”
“I hate you so much.”
“I know.” He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and tipped his forehead to mine. “I hate you too.”
I rested against him, soaking in his warmth and steady heartbeat, inhaling the autumn sweetness that lived in his skin. I wished I could stay cocooned in his arms so my tears might dry up and my lungs refill. I could pretend that Faraday was only a room away, alive and brimming with plans to fix everything that was wrong.
“Andrek?” His name came out muffled because my mouth was buried in his jumpsuit.
“Yeah?”
“I am going to need counseling probably. I mean, not with that snobby fangirl, but…”
He sighed softly, and it buzzed in my ears. “That’s probably a good idea.”
I kept my eyes closed for as long as I could stand still. If my sister had been here, she’d have been dragging us around to gaze out the viewing windows and explore every room. Her famous smile would’ve flashed with who-knows-what-comes-next eagerness, followed by her giggles of let’s-find-out. I was nothing like her, a decider, a leader, a peacekeeper. I was hardly a whole version of myself since she died and poked through my half-baked identity, leaving me to collapse in the too-cool oven of her lunar scheme.
None of this was what I wanted, but I didn’t remember how to want anymore. It used to be so easy, because I had never chased great big things—that was for my sister to do—and I could wish for simple, tiny things like an evening on the town or a new game console. How was I supposed to wish for anything else again, when nothing would change that she was gone and I wasn’t?
Fresh tears gathered in the corners of my eyes like dust bunnies under a bed. “Let’s find our quarters. I’d rather not cry here.”