Lunar Self
A short story from the Alternate Timeline. -- "But no soul debates Amox, the fourth and furthest moon, which has always been known… as death."
The following tale is from an Alternate Timeline that feasts on the events our own.
If you’ve received this transmission via digital mail, you may encounter errors that have been eradicated in the living document. Time is tricky. Use the order of alternate events as your guide.
LUNAR SELF
Written by Tim Barnes
Loosely inspired by NASAs Recent Moon Lander Malfunction.
Event Date: 1977 (Earth Years)
The first was Zoza, our closest moon. To the feuding ancients of Tilas it represented either birth, flora, fire, or sight. But as we leapt from land to star, it became a singular thing… An object of desire… A trophy to be won by the first emperor or executive to impale it with their flag.
The four nations of Tilas were united during the trek to Okart, the second moon—which to the ancients meant either life, fauna, water, or touch—and became my home as member of the United Ministry, which forges coherence out of our once divergent creeds.
Gerlan, the third moon, was reached out of obligation. Probes from Science Hall discovered minerals necessary our survival within the dancing dust of its surface. We use them to combat the toxic rain that torments Tilas as a result of our old wars. This moon’s meaning was debated among the ancients, who assigned it hundreds of purposes due to its shifting colors.
But no soul debates Amox, the fourth and furthest moon, which has always been known… as death.
Despite this, I cannot resist smiling as the pinkish glow of Amox (or death-moon, as our children call it) widens and extends through the glass of our ship’s main deck--causing myself, lead analyst Iko, her assistant Kilb, and the remaining eight researchers aboard Vessel-154 to take on its hue.
The researchers wear a dour expression common among the Science Hall ilk, who love nothing more than seeming unimpressed.
“Mind guiding me in prayer, Minister Qel?”
Iko’s stoic tone masks the fact that we’ve known each other since the knowledge academy on Okart—and were once quite close. She never appreciated my decision to leave Science Hall for the United Ministry, or my belief that we were, at heart, studying the same things. Yet Iko wisely asks for my prayer, understanding that, for the sake of crewmembers like Kilb who do not share her view that scientism holds the only truths, a prayer which does nothing is better than no prayer at all.
“Lift your head, and close your eye…” I say to her.
Iko closes her eye, I close mine, our hands clasp, and the crew watch as tendrils from the four quadrants of our faces extend and vibrate in a unified frequency behind the glass of our spacesuits. There was once a time when everyone would pray together, but the United Document states that a leader’s prayer covers all.
“TEN MOMENTS UNTIL LANDING,” the ship informs.
“Thank you, Qel,” Iko whispers to me at the prayer’s end. “They really needed that.”
“And you?”
“I only require information from those probes.”
As we part, Iko gives the ship a demand.
“Vessel, recite what we know of the moon. Remind us of our mission as we prepare for our tasks.”
Its words blend into the hum of the machinery it contains.
“AMOX, THE FURTHEST MOON FROM TILAS IS THE LARGEST IF ITS NATURAL SATELLITES. IT HAS ITS OWN MAGNETIC FIELD – CAUSING POLAR LIGHT TO FLOAT AROUND ITS SURFACE, BLOCKING WIRELESS DATA FROM BEING SENT OR RECEIVED IN THE PROCESS. SEVEN PROBES HAVE BEEN SENT TO AMOX TO STUDY IT’S TERRAIN AND ANALYZE ITS MINERALS. NONE HAVE RETURNED.”
I am to bless its surface and ask it to welcome us without harm. Iko is to lead her team in researching Amox’s terraine, locate at least one probe, and get everyone aboard the ship before we depart in three standard cycles.
Draping a sacred cloak over my space suit, I try focusing on the ritual I’ll conduct in eight moments time. But my mind resists such progress, and instead rumbles back to the sensation of Iko’s hands, trembling during our prayer.
Iko snipes at mewhile analyzing dust samples with Kilb in the main deck.
“If you can’t say it with an equation, don’t say it at all.”
The remaining crew is similarly occupied—attempting to connect with the lost probes via their frequency machines.
Having already conducted the ceremony, further insight from a clergyman such as myself is clearly undervalued.
I lay in bed facing a view screen made to feel like the window in the main deck. Through it, I witness a stunning aurora, whose light I imagine would wash over me were I not viewing a mere projection of the real thing.
“Vessel…” I ask of the ship.
“YES, MINISTER QEL.”
“I forgot an important part of the ritual and wish not to disturb the crew. If I depart, can you forgo an announcement? They need not know of anything pertaining to me as they conduct their research.”
Our God watches solely over Tilas. Who is She to judge my lies on Amox?
Nestled in a small crater, I look up at the great constellations. The Crown, The Beast, The Pupil, The Wing… and… and… the… the… the…
I must’ve fallen asleep.
And something has changed.
The constellations are gone.
God has shuffled the stars in some cruel game.
“What?! More of your Ministry lies!”
Iko yells at me in front of the team after I report on the reshuffling of the stars. “We’d have to be light years away for the constellations to scramble as you describe. You know this, Qel. Look!”
She points to the ship’s feed of the stars. And behold! The old forms appear as they should. The Wing… The Pupil… The Beast… The Crown…
“How long were you out there anyway? And why didn’t the ship—”
A faint voice intervenes.
“I may know why Qel’s vision is so altered.”
Kilb lifts my cloak with his center hand.
“There’s a rip in the back of his space suit.”
By asking the ship not to announce my departure, it must have disarmed the mechanism on my suit that would warn even me of a tear.
“Vessel,” Iko commands. “Sterylize everything.
A powdery mist engulfs us.
Defying all logic, I can breathe on the surface of Amox.
To no one’s belief but my own, I can see a different constellation of stars.
And to no surprise in Iko’s character, she is unwilling to test whether anyone else can breathe on the surface or witness the new forms as I do.
Vessel-154 provides me with food and drink, but I hunger not.
“You should eat anyway,” Iko suggests through the thick dividing glass imprisoning me in my quarters. “You should also know that I’ve sent the crew out to search for probes by rover.”
“No luck with the frequency machines?”
She stares blankly, reminding me that we are not here for conversation. Kilb, who sits beside her, hasn’t even mustered the courage to look me in the eye.
“Amazing how it works, isn’t it Kilb? It’s as if he’s here. It has weight… mass… words… all things we can acknowledge on a physical level. And yet…”
“Explain yourself, Iko!” I shout.
But she remains calm.
“Vessel, show my old friend the live feed from outside, in the small crater.”
I see a body in the dent. Dead, cold, and blue. Eye wide open--fixed to the stars. It is me.
“Now… Show him the live feed of this very moment, behind the glass in his quarters.”
The view screen indeed shifts to this very moment where Iko stares stoically into the eye of nothing.
“Leave us, Kilb.”
As he exits, a pink aurora emerges on the viewscreen.
“Vessel,” she whispers. “Lower the glass.”
Her face drops into a well of emotion.
“Now, lift your head, and close your eye…”
Her hands are calm as they clasp mine. Light washes over us and takes me away.