Dance by the Light of the Moon

  Dance by the Light of the Moon

  Milo James Fowler © 2014

  www.milojamesfowler.com

  Originally published by Perihelion Science Fiction

  When she first caught the blip on her proximity scanner, Eyan thought one of the drillbots had broken loose and was drifting by its tether from Futuro's underside. Nothing the control team couldn't handle—a small blot on an otherwise pristine moonscape as it swept upward, reeled into the launch bay. But they notified her on internal comms as soon as they had the situation under control, requesting her presence immediately.

  In all her lifetimes as station security chief, she'd never seen anything like it.

  Now as she stood outside the portside airlock and waited for the visitor to complete his pressure equalization sequence, Eyan found herself at a loss. She played her recent conversation with Dr. Hammersmith over again in her mind, hoping to make sense of things.

  "Deal with this," he'd said crisply via Link, his voice resonating from the subdermal implant behind Eyan's left ear. "Make it disappear."

  "I haven't completed my investigation, sir. There is no need to send—"

  "He will arrive within the hour. I expect you to make every effort not to impede his investigation in any way. He'll get the job done, I'm sure."

  "Am I being replaced, sir?"

  "Nonsense," he'd been quick to respond. "You know how the UW mucky mucks can be. They've insisted on an impartial observer, that's all."

  "I am still in charge of the investigation, then."

  Silence held the moment. "I'll let him explain the situation to you when he arrives. Rest assured, Eyan, you'll still have your job when this is over—provided Hammersmith Enterprises is not deemed liable for any damages."

  On that note, he'd abruptly ended the transmission.

  Damages. Liability. All too much to be bothered with in the eyes of Earth's greatest entrepreneur. Eyan couldn't help wondering if Dr. Hammersmith had sold his soul in the bargain when he'd won sole rights to the moon's titanium ore deposits over fifty years ago, managing to outbid the entire Eastern Conglomerate and garner the favor of the United World extraterrestrial acquisitions board.

  But she knew she was the last person to question another's soul.

  The airlock door slid open automatically with a rush of stagnate air. Eyan raised her chin, hands clasped behind her back, expecting to see a soft little bureaucrat in a bulky pressure suit come forth—they always overdressed for the occasion, believing they could be sucked out into space at any moment. Instead, it was a bald, barefoot monk with a face as white and devoid of expression as the robe he wore.

  Eyan expected to hear herself say, "Welcome to Futuro 2," but her eyes immediately caught the scabbard slung across the man's back, and she blurted out, "Weapons are not allowed here." How had he managed to check such a thing through shuttle security?

  "Projectile weapons. Of course." He met her gaze briefly with an air of indifference and entered a command code for the unmanned shuttle to return to Earth. "One would be a fool to risk puncturing the hull of this station."

  Eyan tried to read the look in his dark eyes, but it was difficult; they seemed to lack irises. Being adept at translating body language, she could tell he had nothing at stake here, and he did not recognize her authority over him.

  "Welcome to Futuro 2, Mr.—"

  "Cade." He strode past her, arms across his abdomen with hands tucked into the generous sleeves of his robe. His bare feet made no sound as they pressed against the cold plasteel floor. "What lifetime is this?"

  With a frown at his complete disregard for protocol—one did not enter Futuro 2 and strike out on one's own without an escort—Eyan moved to overtake the slight fellow and extended her hand, leading the way to the conference room. "Dr. Hammersmith regrets being unable to meet you in person, but we have a vidLink set up—"

  "I will meet with the crew first." He did not acknowledge her with even a glance. He seemed, by all appearances, to be counting rivets along the floor, walls, and ceiling of the corridor. "You have not answered my question." He faced her as he walked. "Your lifetime?"

  "I don't see that it's any of your business."

  "A single question. If we are to work together, we must know something about one another."

  His non-confrontational demeanor coupled with such a rude request made a strange juxtaposition—as if knowing her current lifetime would sum up her entire existence for him.

  "My fifth—on Futuro."

  "And in all your time here, nothing like this has ever happened before?"

  "Of course not. I included that in my preliminary report."

  Twenty meters ahead, the corridor branched in two; one side led to the control team's operations center where all six of them would be on duty at this hour, and the other side led to the mess hall and conference room. Futuro 2 was small enough that everyone knew how to get everywhere they needed within the first twenty-four hours aboard. But unless Cade had managed to memorize a map of the station's layout, he wouldn't know she was leading him to the vidLink with Dr. Hammersmith, as scheduled, despite his request to meet the crew.

  "How long are the team's shifts?"

  "Six hours." The same as any workday on Earth—also in her report. "What's your order?"

  His pace slowed, but he did not stop, his face an indecipherable mask.

  "My single question." She shrugged, nodding at his attire. "Not exactly what I'd expect from a UW official."

  "I do not represent the United World government."

  Of course not. He was an impartial observer. "Last I heard, religions on Earth had died out."

  "Five lifetimes ago, perhaps. But things have changed. There are new ways that harken back to the beliefs of the ancients—when life was simpler."

  "How ancient is that?" She pointed to his scabbard, still uncomfortable with him bringing such a thing onto her station.

  His thin lips curved upward slightly. "There has never been a death aboard a Futuro station." He stopped where the corridor forked. He didn't know the way, or he wouldn't have stood there waiting for her to lead onward. "Until today."

  Eyan folded her arms, flexing her slim-but-sizeable biceps. "You're not a bureaucrat, and you're not a priest. So who the hell are you?"

  "I am the man to get the job done, according to your employer."

  With a polite nod, he struck off down the corridor leading to the operations center as if he'd known the way all along.

  * * *

  Dr. Hammersmith's attention was divided, but he managed to catch the gist of what Eyan relayed.

  "He's there already? Excellent. You just let him do his job, and we'll be able to put all of this behind us in no time." He didn't bother to meet her gaze.

  Eyan stood at attention, alone in the conference room, and faced the wide screen on the wall before her. From the vidLink's perspective—low on Hammersmith's desk, intentionally placed there to make him look like an imposing figure—he appeared incredibly busy, juggling two slates while he entered streaming data into his desktop console.

  "He came aboard armed, sir. With a sword."

  "As well he should have. You might have a murderer on board, Eyan. It's only prudent that this fellow come able to defend himself. You carry around one of those shock prods, don't you?"

  She'd never had to use it. "Part of my uniform, sir."

  "Then consider that sword to be part of his. Eccentric maybe, but the world takes all kinds, as you should know well enough." With a wink, he met her gaze long enough to reach over and end the transmission.

  Eyan stared at her reflection as the screen faded to black. What sort of religion would expect its priests to carry long b
lades across their backs? But of more concern was the fact that Dr. Hammersmith didn't appear to see anything amiss with the situation.

  Eyan lifted her prod from its holster, and the weapon snapped to life, crackling with static energy as its forked prongs glowed in the dark.

  * * *

  Outside the operations center, the situation in the corridor was already getting ugly.

  "Open up!" Franklin's eyes bulged with fury as he pounded his large fists against the door. He paused, catching sight of Eyan as she approached. "Who the hell is this guy? Keeps Peters inside and kicks the rest of us out!"

  "He's here with Dr. Hammersmith's permission, as an impartial observer." Eyan kept her voice level, just as she had when Franklin showed her Xavier's body that morning. In situations where emotions had a tendency to spike, maintaining an even, midrange tone usually helped to deflate hostilities.

  "Did you see that freakin' sword?" Franklin clawed at his bushy ginger beard—a physical tick he displayed while under duress. Standing head and shoulders above the other members of the crew, he was usually the jovial giant among Futuro's control team. But when angry, he was a major force to be reckoned with. "All operations are on pause, Eyan. Are you sure Hammersmith's okay with that? Isn't time money?"

  They all knew that every minute lost meant millions of dollars to Hammersmith Enterprises. "Mr. Cade is here with full authority to—"

  "Does he outrank you?"

  She didn't know. She still had no idea who or what Cade really was.

  "What are we supposed to do now? Wait for him to interview us one at a time? He could've used the conference room for this cop routine!" Franklin crossed his thick arms—fat outweighing muscle by a factor of two to one—and leaned back against the plasteel wall. He glanced at his teammates, murmuring discontent among themselves. "He thinks one of us did it. Is that it?"

  "He's only just arrived," Eyan said. "I'm sure he's gathering as many facts surrounding the incident as he can."

  "Incident," Rojas spoke up, her eyes kindling with hate at the sight of Eyan. "That's all he was to you?"

  Douglas—the oldest member of the crew by at least twenty years—muttered, "Can't expect a machine to care. Isn't that so, Eyan? You're just a glorified drillbot."

  "Hey." Franklin stared him down.

  Grumbling to himself, Douglas nudged Rojas and they turned their full attention to the wide porthole overlooking the moon below them, waiting for their work to recommence.

  "So he's some kind of samurai detective?"

  Eyan's gaze returned to Franklin. She didn't know why he was the only member of Futuro's crew to treat her like one of them. "Dr. Hammersmith wouldn't tell me. Perhaps you can ask Cade yourself when it's your turn to be interviewed."

  As if on cue, the door to the operations center slid open and Peters stepped out with an expression of subdued bewilderment. "Next," she said quietly, as though it were a doctor's office.

  "That would be me." Franklin glared at the others—Douglas and Rojas in particular—who seemed perfectly content moongazing. "Time to find out what the hell is going on around here."

  He stomped into the command module, and the door slid shut behind him.

  * * *

  Xavier's body was already frozen brittle by the time Franklin had reeled him in. Eyan had seen death in a variety of forms long before her lifetimes on Futuro, but never anything like this. It was as if the man's blood had turned to glass and split him open from the inside out.

  "Why did he leave the station?" Cade sat across from her now, staring with those dark eyes of his. "Did his duties require him to spacewalk?"

  Eyan shook her head. "The drillbots are remote-controlled."

  "The crew never needs to leave the station."

  "Not during the duration of their assignment."

  "Then why did he?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "What would have induced a man to tether himself in place of a drillbot?"

  "You think it was suicide." After meeting with each member of the control team, that's what Cade had concluded? Ridiculous.

  "As does twenty percent of your mind." The corners of Cade's lips turned upward a millimeter. "In your report, you stated there was a chance that Xavier acted alone due to an undiagnosed psychosis of some sort."

  "I was weighing all possibilities—no matter how remote."

  "Remote. Like you."

  "How's that?" Eyan was not warming up to this man.

  "Futuro's crew controls the drillbots on the moon's surface. All of the identifying, digging, and collecting of titanium ore is done in this room, but no one ever has to get moondirt on their hands." He watched her. "Dr. Hammersmith runs this station and the others like it, yet he never needs to involve himself in matters such as this. He handles them remotely. With you."

  Eyan didn't appreciate being compared to a drillbot for the second time in as many hours. "Not today."

  He tapped the folder on the table before him. "It appears I arrived before you could finish your investigation."

  Was he apologizing?

  "What did you learn from the crew?" she said.

  He'd sent them to their quarters to await his decision. Eyan knew the idea of Xavier committing suicide wouldn't go over well with any of them. He'd been well-liked and did his job with no grumbling or complaining. He'd been known to put a smile even on Douglas's face, and as for Rojas—

  "They all have one thing in common. No one has ever met Dr. Hammersmith."

  Eyan blinked—an autonomic response when she found it difficult to understand matters. "Why should that have any bearing on this case?"

  The proximity scanner bleeped as real-time video appeared on one of the wallscreens, captured by an external camera. A manned transport pod was on approach, preparing to dock.

  "UW security detail," Cade said with a nod as if they'd been expected. "Escorting that impartial observer you were promised." He looked her in the eye.

  Eyan didn't blink. The situation had become clear in an instant.

  She lunged to her feet, drawing the prod from her holster and activating it as she leapt onto the table with Cade in her sights. He rolled over backward, drawing his blade from its scabbard and sweeping it through the air in a single fluid movement.

  Eyan's prod clattered to the floor with her hand still gripping it, severed at the wrist. There were no wires or sparking mechanical parts, as the old-timer Douglas might have expected. There was no blood, either. The cut was clean, and a clear, thick fluid bled out as Eyan crouched atop the table and held up her forearm to survey the damage.

  "We are more alike than you know," Cade said, his blade hovering in midair at the end of its arc.

  "Tell me who you are." She clenched her teeth. She felt no pain—only fury.

  "This module can be sealed off from the station and jettisoned in case of emergency, correct?"

  "You already seem to know the answer." It was a failsafe measure to ensure operations on the surface continued unimpeded despite any technical difficulties on the station. The command module had been designed to operate autonomously.

  "Futuro 2, this is Transport Delta 7 requesting permission to dock. Please respond." The UW detail would not remain patient for long.

  "You cannot hope to escape." Eyan glanced at Cade's weapon, recognizing it as an antique katana from an extinct culture. She looked at her wrist. She'd been careless, not realizing how fast he was. She would not make that mistake twice. "You haven't thought this through."

  Cade stood erect as he sheathed his blade and gave the verbal command code for the module to separate from Futuro 2. "You may want to strap in."

  The floor lurched, pitching Eyan off the table. She scrambled to her feet and noticed the screens monitoring the drillbots on the surface—frozen like statues—had begun to flicker wildly.

  "Shall we dance?" Cade had her by the arm and midsection before she knew it, and he half-carried her to the main console where two bucket seats were bolted to the floor. Dropping h
er into one of them, he landed in the other and buckled on the safety harness.

  Instead of doing likewise, Eyan made a quick grab for his sword.

  "I will take this hand as well." He gripped her wrist. "If you force me to."

  "You weren't interrogating the crew—not about Xavier's death. You were—"

  "I have all the passcodes I require now, thanks to their help."

  "Not willingly."

  "My blade holds certain powers of persuasion."

  "You threatened them."

  "And wiped the memory of it from their minds."

  That explained why each of the crew had looked a little lost when they'd exited their one-on-one sessions with him.

  "They couldn't tell me how to find Dr. Hammersmith. But each of them seemed to think you would know."

  She tugged her arm free of his grasp and buckled on her harness. The command module shuddered free from Futuro 2 and drifted a safe distance before its thrusters ignited and artificial gravity came back online.

  "I don't know where he is."

  "You are the only person on this station who is in communication with the man."

  "I'm his—"

  "Daughter."

  Her eyes widened. She would have said chief of security.

  "Futuro 2—what the hell is going on?" the UW pilot demanded. Seeing the command module float away from the station had to be a disconcerting sight.

  "Not biologically, of course," Cade said. "He created you, and there is a link between the creator and his creation in every world." He paused. "In my reality, Dr. Hammersmith is my father."

  Eyan blinked. "You're insane."

  "This is your fifth lifetime. Do you know what that means?"

  "My upgrades—"

  "When the good doctor shuts you down, you carry no memory of your past lives after you've been restarted."

  "I'm not a computer."

  "We are not machines, you and I, but there is no blood flowing through our veins."

  "I am nothing like you."

  "We both were created by a genius. But his work didn't stop after bringing new lifeforms into existence. Years ago, Dr. Hammersmith discovered a way to travel into the past, inadvertently creating a myriad of parallel worlds where nothing lies beyond his grasp."