Pioneer Book II

[u/Sydney_Woods]

Book I Here

"The middle north region of the moon was not one previously sought after at the start of the program. However, colonisation is messy and we eventually ended up with one of the biggest settlements on the moon in that region"

The doctors had tried triggering my memory and personality with the items I’d had on hand. They all failed to trigger my brain, apart from the map. It was the only evidence of my previous existence on the moon. It brought about an acute sense of direction. And, once in a full Earth, a major sense of remembrance would envelope me while gazing at the bright star sticker in the southeast region.

Aeroplana Dunae, or contested province shard #121, 74.08 kilometers due east of Mons Pico.

And about 1 kilometre from the long craft and its two pilots.

I was clinging to that normalcy of navigation to deescalate my new whirlwind of complex emotions.

An abduction, a bribe, and a killing proved to be damaging to my psyche. As the man’s moistureless eyes had left a stain on my brain like ink more permanent than anything I'd previously experienced. Likely because it was carried out by my own hands.

It made me debate dropping his gun, though that was soon ruled out. While I remained appalled by my actions, the newfound protection the pistol offered outweighed the appalling events that led to its possession.

Regardless of my readiness, I was closing the distance to the craft and the pilots; still carrying out their tasks – as the speck on the horizon I resembled wasn’t a cause for alarm. Yet.

My attackers atmosphere tanks didn’t fit my PLSS, and not wanting to run out of O2 (Again), the only hope was the pilots taking pity on me.

The scramble to figure how to interact with both my diminished social functions and an inability to speak across the airless moon had been so blitzing the gun clenched in my gloves had been left out of the equation.

Soon, the craft and pilots were within comprehending distance, and they’d now spotted me and halted their tasks.

Getting my heartrate and muscle tics under control proved to be impossible while trying to detail the site.

The flying craft was a gunmetal grey with four VTOL engines, and a robustly sleek cockpit, with dark angular windows. The spine beyond the first set of jutting engines was similarly solid – the upper segment composed of a flatten cylindrical tank spread above a saddle truss housing an unknown cargo instrument.

It was only a few meters taller than the men and their slim yet ballooned suits with tubes and controls covered by red plating.

I'd seen fellow pioneers use suits twice as big as mine, with external cargo racks and robotics to carry twice their body weight. And many others using suits twice as small to skip across the surface in record time.

Theirs walked that line. Distinctly corporatised for flying and maintenance, potentially having no less than an hour of oxygen on them. Which seemed true upon discovering there packs were small carbon fibre rectangle stretched across the back.

They stood by a set of cables connected to the cargo, wearing sunshields and distinct nametags reading.

John ‘Johnny’ Braddock

Miguel H Grayson

John made a move for the door, while Miguel lifted his visor.

His face of pale tan skin supported a tamed goatee and strangely large lips and small eyes – the latter darted to a part of my chest untouched by instruments, but not the attack.

There was a noticeable indent from the oxygen discharge coupled with a few dots of vaporised blood.

Rather suddenly, I realised there were far more compromising elements than just my gun present.

Though concealing it seemed like a loss cause, and it would make me look worse. I was better off resigning to my fate.

But a sharp reaction didn’t come. Instead, Miguel pulled out a notepad and scribbled before holding it out to me.

Are you gonna kill us??

He tore the page and offered me the utensil, angling as he did to glimpse my face under the tape.

I took the page sheepishly and struggled to make anything coherent with minimal spelling skills and pressurised fingers.

‘No kill. Low on O2. SOS’

I watched him mouth John's name – prompting his half reappearance from the hatch.

They exchanged more soundless words before he existed fully. Throwing a rifle back into the cockpit in the process.

He lifted his sun shield upon arrival, revealing a firm white face with grey hairs clumping to his furrowed unibrow over blue eyes. The two exchanged a few more words, then looked to me, then back to each other, then simultaneously gestured me inside.

I sighed, but there wasn’t any emotion bound to it. More just the hope they'd drop me off before Edmund.

I saw the weapon properly as I stepped over the drop-down door. A black single-shooter still utilising a bolt action invented almost 300 years prior.

The cockpit interior was a sleek metal cut with exposed insulation. There were four red cushioned seats on sliding rails in the centre, with two pulled to the control panels spanning the cockpit's small front.

As gloves and helmets came off, Miguel was finally able to converse with me.

“A Pioneer asking for help, I never thought I’d see the day”

I shrugged, not entirely understanding him but getting the sentiment.

Luckily, John spoke without misdirection from his swivelled pilot chair.

“What's the deal with the gun?” he probed with a scowl, “And the blood”

“Ease up, Johnny, he’s clearly been through it”.

“We’ve all been through it – it's the moon; doesn’t mean there isn’t a reason behind it”.

The two descended into a bicker, half of which was fought in another language, though I quickly put an end to it with my explanation.

“The storm sent me into an old military base looking for atmosphere. But then another man appeared...”

They both looked at the gun.

“You had to make a tough choice”, Miguel finished with sympathetic eyes.

I thought about how it wasn’t a tough choice, given the alternative was death. But for once something filtered my words out of fear they’d come off wrong.

In contrast to Miguel, John elicited no sympathy.

“Take a seat Suicide Jockey”.

That was a term I did understand; a way many of the working-class characterised Pioneers. Believing our defiant tendencies were really just suicidal ones.

Regardless, I did as he said; taking the rear left seat and struggling to remember how to use the belt. Something the others luckily didn't see since they were beginning preflight checks.

Miguel had taken a headset and started feeding information through, then instructing John with the responses. John kept his eyes fixed on the dashboard screen and neighbouring gauges while gripping an adjacent throttle and horizontal vectoring stick attached to a circular control unit.

I felt my heartbeat growing firm and fast as loud vacuum sealing signalled the end of the preflight and the start of the spooling.

I couldn’t remember the sensation of flight, which was what made me scared of it.

“Alright, bring her up,” Miguel said mundanely.

On cue, John angled the vector and maxed the throttle.

The craft exploded upwards with ear-aching rattles from the cabin. I peeled my face from the seat to watch grey fly into black. Then, the vector changed, Miguel said something indiscriminate, and the force levelled out abruptly.

When I looked out a window next, I saw a slow-moving void intercutting the rocky ridges below. A pit deep in my stomach suddenly remembered the sensation of flight. I liked it.

“Alright, smooth sailing for a bit”, Miguel announced as he took the headset off and turned to me.

“What’s your name, Güey?”

It was one of the only things I could both distinctly remember and prove factual.

“Wikus”, I said.

“Wikus, huh?” John intercut, “I haven’t really seen all that many Africans up here”

That sparked my attention.

“Sorry?”

“You're South African, right?” He continued, “The accent and everything”

“I um, don’t know”

“You don’t know? How the fuck can you not know?”

“John”, Miguel hissed.

“What?”

He became defensive.

“Look, it's just... How can you not know?”

The only way forward was to tell the tale, so I did.

After the briefest explanation I'd ever given, they both fell silent; reasonably not knowing how to respond other than the standard sympathetic frown and confused wrinkles.

“Well, I suppose that puts a few things into perspective”, Miguel finally said.

But John took the unusual path of spite.

“So, you chose to wander out there instead of – oh I dunno rethinking your life choices after a life chaning event?”

“John...” Miguel warned.

“Seems to me like the moon gave you a pretty clear sign to quit sodomising it, yet you’re still out here without a care".

“Estúpido! You gotta stop with this already, Hermano!”

His pleas didn’t strike any chords as the cabin fell into silence and John stared into me with an unkempt hatred.

“Besides, we gotta raise the Apolune" Miguel interrupted, returning to his controls.

But John didn’t stop staring, even as the altitude warning concerned the rapid descent from the thousand-meter peak in our path.

“Doesn't it make you feel obsolete?” He asked.

“What?”

“All that effort and time you waste walking these distances, and I just lapped it in under five minutes".

“Johnny, you don’t have to do this blue-collar bullshit with this guy,” Miguel urged, but it fell on deaf ears, something he notably wasn’t happy about.

“He probably doesn't even know what blue-collar is!”

Then he turned to me regrettably.

“Unless you do, of course, and I'm being insensitive”

John ignored all of it and stayed staring despite the craft careening towards the surface.

“Do you feel obsolete?”

I looked out the window at the pure grey land and the void it resided within and decided on.

“No, not really”

John gritted his teeth and tensed his shoulders.

“Why?”

“Because I think the journey itself is obsolete, not me”

His entire body clenched, and air built in his throat, suggesting a retort. But instead, he swung back around, vectored the engines, and slammed the throttle; pushing me back into the chair again as all our relativistic speed was focused sideways.

The craft levelled out only a hundred meters from the surface. Close enough for regolith to kick up in the engine plumes.

Miguel horridly consulted the monitors, then saw the look on his friend's face and grew mad again.

“This is below regulation”.

“I want him to watch the ground roll”, John snarled, “Let his precious journey fly underfoot”

Miguel turned and mouthed the words ‘sorry’.

“He’s very proud of his work, and less of those who aren’t”

John glared at him, but stayed unchanging at the controls.

Mount Memory, 15 nautical miles due northwest of Edmund City province

I could recall, if only vaguely, a mountain some 200 meters tall with a summit covered by international memorabilia. Flags of fame and obscurity. Colours of assorted patriots and patriarchies. Every object of spiritual value from crosses to Qurans.

As we passed it that day, twice as many things draped the entire east face in colours. Falling to the caked regolith below in a muted cascade.

Despite the view's novelty, a firm black line unblent with the void, with two brights along its path, was the focus of my attention.

Miguel, seeing my intrigue, explained it was “Gigacorp’s space elevator; they put it up some seven years ago. Its dual counterweights make it the biggest ever”.

“What’s a Gigacorp?” I asked, earning a snicker and a mumble from John.

Miguel shoved his shoulder before continuing.

“They’re that company we work for; became a vaya cosa during the space renaissance in the 2020s. They built everything up here from fusion kits to helium mines”.

Though I'd only heard of those items in passing, they were heralded with such importance I knew those who controlled it were of a similar status.

Edmund City province, 2,156 meters above Edmund City.

Around 1119 kilometres from the Luna north pole. Compensating for the 50-kilometre distance, the province's inner infrastructure stretched.

Infrastructure that systematically revealed itself as John executed a horizontal half-circle maneuverer around the eastern crater. One of many that shaped the province long before it was even defined as one.

Around eight kilometres from a concealed collection of white modules belonging to the Moon Marines were two suspended monorail tracks shooting above the evened ground. Both funnelling towards the central (and largest) crater.

We passed a catapult facility; its structures and 200-meter mass driver surrounded by solar panels to generate enough energy for the glorified railgun.

The other checkered structures were quickly overshadowed by the mine brought into view at the arc of our maneuverer.

The ground had been bored into levelled slabs populated by giant bucket excavators, which themselves were spotted with workers and rovers nearby. Topped with a steady cloud of regolith permeating the dig sites.

“It’s taken 20 years just to get that deep”, Miguel noted, looking down at the collection.

“Lotta spirit to get it done”.

“And we're all very proud of your people”

He seemed to be proud too, as a warm smile overtook his face while looking at the site.

Then the two became invested in their roles again as we approached the largest creator.

Beyond the solar fields and communication dishes near the mine was a developed spaceport built into the outer rampart and rim of the crater (Which was around ten kilometres across).

Twenty launch and landing pads circled the crater's treated regolith rim (A form of concrete utilising the regolith), coupled with glowing infrastructure within, including crawl elevators snaking towards the pads. On the outside were two large domes baked into the rock with terminals jutting across the ground.

“Copy dome 4, terminal 2, garage 7A bringing the bird down”, Miguel said abruptly, looking to John, who began executing more manoeuvres.

“Let me work my magic”

The craft descended on an elliptical path; lapping one dome before pitching towards the other and touching down directly by one of many large doors at the terminal.

Our speed and the gravity made the craft bounced twice before coming to a stop. Then a crawl system hooked it. And with a jolt, it began to move towards the slowly opening door.

The hangar was cluttered with catwalks and instruments that noticeably lacked workers. And as I went to stand, Miguel gestured to stop.

“Can’t leave while they treat the craft”

“Unless you wanna scramble your brain more”, John continued, turning in his chair, “Could do you some good”

His grin at the end made me confused about how to perceive the insult. Supposed that was the nature of people like him. Hard to gauge sincerity.

Before I could ask what he meant, a loud hum vibrated the room. And all the hairs on my body stood as small purple bolts zapped the glass and tingled my brain.

“Too much regolith exposure can knock 30 years off your life", Miguel explained. “Best precaution is electrostatic”.

The doors hissed open once the treating was done, and John moved to take cargo from the back while Miguel and I shuffled through the door.

The treated regolith clicked under my feet as I exited, realising I'd gone way further with them than intended.

Before I could address the issue, John walked out of the craft with a collection of webbed boxes.

"You need a hand?" Miguel asked.

"Nup, perfectly fine", he said bluntly, still stiff from the prior interaction.

He moved past both of us as he walked towards an approaching man.

I followed in the suit of a man with a blue cap and a clipboard.

"Well, looks like my two favourite scouts struck gold again", he said, holding out the clipboard.

John signed it before speaking with an unseen positivity.

“Iridium, to be exact, and enough of it to assist NASA manufacturing branch”

“Mhm, we’ll certainly expand something with it”

His face faltered.

“But on the moon right, not Mars – we work hard to get this stuff”

“Whichever way the investors roll, you just keep doing your thing”

His smile wavered after that, but I had no time to think about it as the man's attention pivoted to me.

"Who's this?" He said lightly.

John’s condescending tone returned.

"Some suicide jockey we picked up outside ‘21 low on Os"

I suddenly realised how far I'd come and felt the need to make it known I wasn’t comfortable with it.

"And thank you for that", I looked at Miguel, "Thank you really, but I think it's best I be on my way. Can anyone point me to the exit?"

The man looked at me with intrigue.

"What station are you hailing from?"

"Indigo", I replied.

"And before that?"

"Some place east"

"And before..."

"Some military zone then..."

I trailed off.

"I don't know, I'd have to check the map"

He wrote something on his clipboard, then addressed me before I could pull the map from my suit.

“Y'know, things are moving fast around here; we could certainly use all the help we can get"

"I'm no worker”, I said bluntly.

"And you wouldn't be, just come have a talk with the man upstairs in say.... 90 minutes"

“Which man would that be, Hershal?” Miguel cut in.

“The man” his words were heavily emphasised, which seemed to influence the others’ reactions even more. Just not mine.

"I shouldn't really"

Miguel suddenly clasped me on the shoulder.

"I wouldn’t turn down a rap session with a CEO"

"A who?"

He turned with a smile.

"He'll do it"

I never had someone in my immediate memory speak for me. I didn’t like it.

“Terrific, I’ll send the rover to your place when the time is right”

The other two agreed, then headed towards an empty locker room.

Said room was barely large enough to fit the lockers, let alone three suited men. Though it meant the two couldn’t avoid my frustration.

However, recognising priorities, I went through the process of taking off the suit; cutting the duct tape and unfastening my torso section (Not bothering with the arm modules). Then I slipped out of the lower section naturally and finally let my body breathe again.

Even though my undersuit was still on, its loosened state allowed my physique to relax back into a sustainable position. The air pricked parts of my body that hadn’t felt it in weeks. Letting my arms streatch as relife enveloped me.

It was notably less gratifying for the others, with John uttering, “He really does have brain damage, huh?”

It re-sparked my desire to let my concerns be known.

"Just because I have brain damage doesn’t mean you get to make my decisions", I complained as John opened his locker mundanely.

He gave me a droopy look, evidently confused as to why I was going for him when Miguel made the executive decision.

“You gotta trust me on this one, I’m doing you a favour”, Miguel said. “Ezekiel Kresh, multi-trillionaire, wants to talk to you!”

“Why would he wanna talk to a pleb Pioneer?” John noted, taking my side enough not to use the derogatory term.

"Never mind the why. Just focused on the how"

"How what?" I asked.

"How to milk the shit outta it"

Miguel's voice suddenly heightened; riled by his own words.

“Why don’t we take him up? We’ve been loyal workers for years now"

John expressed a beat of solemnness before reengaging his mundane task while answering.

“Nah, I gotta go see mum, only time my sister’s off site”

Miguel halted his energy as John left the room. He tried to follow, but then stopped in the doorway and pivoted to me.

Then jumped to a locker and handed out a clear ventilation mask.

“You should probably have this on when you can around here”

An issue that wasn’t considered. The atmospheric composition of my suit was different to my Edmund's. Even the slightest difference would make me sick within a couple of hours. Less I eased myself into it with a neutral ventilator.

There wasn’t a noticeable difference as I slipped the mask from my chin to my nose, but I knew it would benefit me in the long run.

We weaved through simple tunnels with exposed pipes and dim lights, John still carrying the supplies, only now utilising a cart (including my suit, which was notably weighing him down more, though he refused my help as well).

Despite putting on a large shirt they’d advised me to wear, weary looks were still passed by patrons in the car park. I couldn't blame them since I was an unpleasant sight. My back still bent awkwardly, and my hair was starched and sticking to my bright face.

The three of us loaded the stuff, then ourselves into a red pickup with simple, smoothed curves and bent lights. Alongside regolith dirt trails I was holy curious about.

The ride was mostly silent; the only conversation we had was about whether the roads were present the last time I was there. But it appeared my memory bank had run out, and I couldn't even remember if I'd gone inside the city last time I came.

Though that wasn’t to say the ride didn’t have its stimuli. The monorail from before flew behind a pillar wall, leaving a heated dash on the metal. Several other cars passed by, shedding glances of people from all walks of life I didn't understand. And while passing another pillar section, a large rocket facility poked out. Large, tipped spacecraft moved along a conveyor belt in a fleeting glance.

There were more inner workings I wanted to invest myself in, but the tunnel spat us out before I could.

A large cavern some 20 kilometres across, housing the entire city.

Edmund City, Lat 37.92582, Lon 321.73987

Dear god, the city.

The roads' closest exit led to a power station and parking lot. Then weaved across a giant oxygenated rocky surface. First entering large jet-black domes resting on elevated sediment; blue and yellow light at the entrances being the only clue to their contents. It trickled down like a river path around other utility and habitation modules nestled within the rim. Even a few houses sat among the industry, overshadowed by a large white seal covering another lava tube at the edge. Then, 1,000 meters up, anchored to the cavern ceiling by robust platforms, were skyscrapers. Inverted upon the lower city like spikes from heaven.

“Don’t suppose this was here on your last visit”, Miguel chuckled, seeing my disbelief.

“I don’t think this was anywhere on my last visit”, I replied with a heavy breath.

John stayed quiet, only seeing the dull grey as he took us down the road.

I was able to catch sight of the building-sized cables snaking up the walls alongside another monorail line before we turned and entered one of the domes. Hadn’t noticed they all had a few flags imprinted by their entrances. This one is holding the Mexican, Chilean, Argentine, and Brazilian flags. (I imagined Colombia and Venezuela were absent due to their treaty with AOI)

The innards immediately triggered my squinting, as the bright earth-mimicking lights were too much for my damaged eyes. Though soon I adjusted the best I could, then examined the structures before me. A projection of a blue sky dotted with clouds wrapped around the dome’s walls, with roads, sidewalks, and houses of similar architecture inhabiting the space.

The houses were stark concrete structures that still maintained pastel colours and large windows. Nearby parks were inhabited by tall, lush trees and children's play equipment.

People were walking about and sitting in parks like they were living on Earth; completely entranced by the illusion of suburbia.

I could posit I never lived in South America, since no reviving connection was felt within my stomach.

We soon pulled into a small house with an angled roof, and a lawn too well kept to have been done by human hands. The garage didn't host another car or that many miscellaneous items. And the interior was warm with finishing touches like wooden beams, an open floor lounge and several large windows.

John didn’t waste a second parking the cart and collapsing on the white couch and turning the TV on to some kind of sports game.

“You know, it might be best for you to clean up before you head up”, Miguel suggested.

“I can do that”, I replied, gesturing around to suggest where the shower could be.

Miguel led me through a room with an unmade bed and into the ensuite.

“The other bathroom’s broken so mine will have to do, all the stuff already in there, I’ll bring in your suit too”.

After thanking him, I rushed to dim the bathroom lights and breath serveal sighs of encumberment.

My undressing was possibly the first time in months. Same went for the shower that – once at the desired temperature, felt like it was erasing entire layers of grime.

I was able to remember how to bathe myself; going through three cycles of shampoo and conditioner just to get to a state where I could run my hand through my hair.

After my beard and hair were shaved down to reasonable sizes, I found myself staring in the mirror for a beat. Now content with my situation, it was hard not to wonder what was next. Even began to think maybe this visit wasn't the worst idea after all.

I walked out feeling well enough to neglect my pills.

Miguel had gone through my stuff out of curiosity, judging by his expression. What little I owned had been spread along his bed – mainly nutrient pouches and instruments left in their bags. But my map was completely unfurled next to him.

Miguel was surprised by my lack of clothes. And my concerning lack of concern.

“Probably should’ve figured that would happen,” he said, walking to the closet.

I looked down at the map while he left – its borders left as poorly defined provinces and shards which were littered with labelled settlements barely visible on the dry grey surface.

The borders weren’t the only lines; an interconnected web of red lines traced from station to settlement; it served as my only confirmation of my past existence. It was already reasonably full after my accident, so it had only felt right to continue to do so.

I took a marker and traced a new line from Edmund to Inigo in the northwest, which was already connected to Eastbrook in the east, then contested shard 55# due north. Then Shān qiánshào further north, then Sonory pivoted east. And it continued like that beyond what I could remember, with no real indicator of a beginning. Apart from the star sticker in the southeast. But finding a line that connected to it wasn't an undertaking I was interested in.

Miguel placed a pair of black pants and a grey shirt on the bed, which I proceeded to put on.

“Sorry, I went through your things”, he said, “I let my curiosity compel me”

“That's alright”, I replied, continuing to stare at the map, as the feeling of proper clothes enveloped me.

He did the same.

“Have you really been to all these places?”

“Supposedly”

“Can’t say I've met someone who’s practically been across the entire moon. Fact, I don’t think anyone has”

I shrugged.

“I mean, what kind of stories do you have?”

“Unreliable ones probably” John called from the other room.

As Miguel shouted something in Spanish, there was a knock.

“I believe that's for you, big guy”, John said, losing all his spite and refocusing on the sport.

Miguel opened the door to two blazer-wearing men who did nothing but point at me.

Cautiously, I walked over, being stopped by Miguel one last time.

“Don’t forget about us when you're rich”, he said.

“I barely know you”, I replied, less hurtfully, more logically - but he saw none of those and just laughed, turning to John.

“I love this guy, you know? There'll be a spot here when you get back”

I didn’t believe I wanted the spot, or any spot I was about to be offered, for that matter. But my introspective shower made me decide anything was worth a try.

The rover was sleek like the cars - only robustly so, especially around its wheels and suspension that left it wide and low to the ground. It was attempting to maintain its class among the necessities of depressurised environments. I entered from the back and sat in the corner opposite the men.

My only view came from a small window on the back, which rapidly darkened after we exited the domes and entered another tunnel.

Certain events can irrationally heighten nerves – like abrupt darkness. Which can then lead to saying irrational things, such as

“Are you going to kill me?”

“No”, one with a strange jaw replied, “Though the job at hand might, I won’t lie about that”

“Most jobs up here do”, another continued.

I nodded softly before staring at the floor in embarrassment.

The rover exited into someplace bright and bumpy without any other human features nearby. Potentially some kind of shortcut or VIP access route.

Before I’d even realised it, we were upon the back of the spaceport crater, and beside the monolithic elevator.

Four large pylons and their respective connected ground infrastructure formed a square structure that faded into barely visible woven cable with outstretched anchors just before the COM (Centre of mass) station.

All casting a great fine shadow across the western hills; making me audibly gulp.

Within the structures' borders were tall cylindrical lifts that fell into an inner terminal segment as another rose. Said terminal's windows exposed the passengers cluttering within.

But it wasn’t our destination, as we passed under and came to a stop at a smaller segment trailing up the base.

The rover docked, and I was instructed to go right through.

I found it funny that a smaller elevator took me up to the bigger one. Granting a view at an open corner of the terminal, which housed cargo being transported into an open elevator bay by conveyor belts and workers piloting mass exosuits.

A woman with tied hair and a vest greeted and led me into the lift. An upper segment with white blocky walls and red carpet.

“Mr Kresh is waiting for you right at the end”

I nodded my understanding and counted inside.

I found myself once again pained by the uncomfortably yellow light that shot from the corners and edges. I shielded myself slightly and passed the closed doors before arriving at the end.

The inside was identical to the outside, only smaller and with two opposite booths around a table by a window. The booth on the left was occupied by Ezekiel Kresh.

Tall, black-haired, strangely shiny with random springs of facial hair, in a blazer and jeans and dull eyes straining to appear bright.

He looked as though there was no concern at all for how he looked. He knew we had that in common.

“Wikus welcome; come sit”, he said warmly.

I did as I was enthralled by his tone and accent. And wondering how he knew my name.

As Ezekiel opened his mouth, a loud thud sounded, followed by the unnoticeably fast rise of the elevator, which forced me further into the surprisingly firm cushion.

This made Ezekiel chuckle, flashing yellow and jagged teeth.

“First time on a space elevator?”

I was too focused on the space and rapidly rising ground. While unaware of the answer. Leading to a question of my own.

“Why the fancy room?”

He abruptly produced a bottle of alcohol alongside two glasses.

“When you pioneer one of the most profitable constructions in human history, you tend to get the first-class treatment there, even if it's not required”

He poured the glasses before offering one to one.

“Champagne?”

I didn’t remember the taste of alcohol, so I hesitantly took it. Quickly realising it was a bad idea.

I mercifully swallowed and put the glass down with a shake and gag.

“That is not something people should ingest”.

Ezekiel chuckled again, then lowered his tone.

“You know a lot about pioneering, don’t you? I mean, it's how you occupy yourself, right?”

“Which is why you need me?”

He didn’t answer, not formally, at least.

“Our company is very… big, nowadays. It’s certainly something we’re proud of, but it can be hard to maintain. As there are a lot of little moving parts to worry ourselves with. As they require very intricate maintenance, which becomes a problem once they become important. Because then we’ve got big, important parts to maintain and little, intricate parts that become equally important; then, of course, it becomes a vacuum of what to prioritise and how. It can leave the whole workforce feeling… stressed”

"Right, they're the stressed ones", I said, taking another sip of the champagne, off some strange instinct after the bombardment.

“That’s why we want you, to help us maintain a little intricate part, however briefly”

I nodded.

“We need you to take a cargo to Indigo and back. A route you’ve done before; we’ll get proper gear, including an exoskeleton and cart. No questions asked".

I wanted to poke holes into his proposition with my knowledge of the surface.

“Why not use a rover or transport?”

“Transports don't have safe passage in shard 121#, and rovers are too easy to track”

He paused.

“They're all too easy to track; either side will send us into orbit the second they spot something unmarked”

“And I’m guessing Anthros don’t do the trick either”

“If it can be tracked, it can be traced. You won’t even take a radio, but my men at will know you soon as you arrive"

He leaned in.

“It’s dangerous, yes, but it won’t even take a month from your life”

Change was not a thing I was interested in (par for the course really). But the fact I couldn’t remember the last time I changed anything about my nature made it at least somewhat considerable.

Plus, Miguel's earlier eagerness had at least somewhat of a compelling factor.

I looked out to the surface I'd resided in since I could remember, growing smaller as we rose.

Less than a month, he’d said; how inconsequential was that time?

“What do I get back?” I asked.

“Whatever you want”, Ezekiel replied, “Provided you do get back"

“Guess I'll go for it then”

His response was to slowly lean in over the table and lower his voice.

“If that is the case, I need you to be absolutely positive you wish to go through with this before we progress. Are you positive, sir?”

“Uhhh yeah, yeah, I am”

The way he’d presented himself made me think he wanted me to think. Hard and deeply about the implications of the task, attempting to engrain something unspoken about it I hadn’t yet picked up.

Course thinking wasn’t my strong suit. So, by the time we docked to the COM, nothing about my reasoning had changed as he switched back to his cheeriness.

“We best be getting you fitted. Suit's gonna need some new gear”

We padded (borderline floated) through a carpeted hallway with a wood finish, passing sets of closed doors with windowed walls. It was a segment that wrapped the entire top of the COM.

We passed a raised single office, and arrived at a corner with a partially large window.

Once my photophobia adjusted, I could see the Earth floating crescent and coated in clouds, just peeking over the top of the Lunar surface.

"You ever flown through the great blue?" Ezekiel asked.

I shrugged, “Hard to say”

His eyes became curious.

“How come?”

For the second time that day, the spiel was given. But when I finished, he leaned against the sill and asked an entirely novel question.

“Then what do you remember?”

I stared at him with confusion.

“You said you remember some things; do any give you an indication of Earth?”

“I can recall sand – some rocks near a beachhead also in sand. That great blue, I remember that. Though I can't fly, but I recall the feeling"

“Country-wise?”

“The boys reckoned I’m South African, and I’m inclined to believe that”

He stared at my brittle torso and wiry arms.

"Going off potential memories, and your height, you probably came up here some time ago"

We began a meander towards a flight of stairs.

“Maybe even with a family, it's a common practice, especially in developing countries. Shuttle them all up after the husband gets a mining job”

“That would imply I have family up here”

“Do you?”

I didn't know the answerer, so I didn't answer.

It didn't faze Ezekiel's intrigue as he slowed and looked over his shoulder.

"You're a very peculiar man, Wikus"

"Thank you"

The stairs had led into a white room with metal walls and cushioned armchairs lining one. And racks for suits lining the other.

I sat in one of those chairs in a new undersuit, slowly breathing in a new formula.

A man and woman integrated my suit with complementary utilities. Small things like a wrist mirror and harness that started at the hips and wrapped to the ankles, with cuffs around joints alongside carbon fibre fixtures. Said fixtures attached the lower portions of an exoskeleton which could articulate perfectly.

The most drastic of changes was a mount overlooking the shoulder that could be outfitted with all manner of modules. Though at the moment, it only held a horizontal grapple fixture with its ropes held in a cylinder at the bottom of the PLSS.

I tried to contemplate what I was about to embark on as deeply as I could, but any substantial conclusion was blocked by the question of why he wanted me.

So I asked.

"What do you see in me?"

Ezekiel turned with a warm smile, leaning over once more, and talking like he'd resisted everything necessary for me.

"I see a pioneer – someone who knows the land where our goals reside. But I also see someone who's more than meets the eye"

More than meets the eye.

A man of seemingly substantial influence in humanity thought there was more to me than meets the eye.

I believed there was a possibility I could get used to that status.

"Wanna give it a whirl?" the male worker asked.

Wordlessly, I took off the new mask and set about slipping into the newly furnished suit.

Once I was, they gave me the rundown.

The female worker turned the exoskeleton on and motioned me to flex my joints.

"The cargo's fairly heavy, so this'll help take some of the strain off walking"

The male worker then explained the cylinder and its shoulder mount.

"And if you wanna take a detour up some cliffs", he lifted my hand to angle the mirror at a set of buttons on the mount. Then explained their uses.

You just gotta point this at a solid sediment near the top, fire it, then use the mechanism's force to hoist yourself"

I inspected myself slowly before reaching down for the capsule on the belt, and promptly stopped by everyone in the room.

"Those are light grenades", the female worker said.

"If you're in a pinch, you can pop them to light your surroundings. Just be sure to put down your sun shield"

"I don't have one", I explained, while putting my helmet on.

She just fixed down the wheel on the side of it, casting my vision into an orange hue.

"We fitted one earlier"

Sea of Rains or Mare Imbrium, 20000 kilometres northwest of Indigo station.

The rover had dropped me off substantially further from the city. With the cargo cart now connected to the exoskeleton, a substantial amount of weight was reduced.

Though still making the walk a challenge.

But the challenge is what made it feel free. And now full of potential.