Dez

Since Luna was tidally locked to Earth, days on the moon were measured in Earth hours. This had the unfortunate effect of making one’s “jet lag” much more difficult to adjust to. Of course, that’s what the drugs were for, but Dr. Oz maintained a healthy mistrust of the yellow capsules distributed after launch, each with their tiny inscription that read, “Donated by Gideons Interplanetary.” And anyways, he had his own reasons for wanting to stay awake a while longer. 

The shuttle was full, but the bamboo leather seats were wide and comfortable enough in zero g. His eyes moved over the sleeping faces of the passengers, each strapped into chairs that lined the inside of the cylindrical hull, floor to ceiling. Only a handful remained conscious. The passenger directly above him was drooling slightly and Dr. Oz watched with disgust as a line of spittle slowly floated to connect with the adjacent passenger’s eyebrow. He caught the eye of an older woman who had also seen this and they shared a moment of silent amusement, before he pocketed the pills and unfolded the projection of a document onto the tray in front of him.

The document was a briefing on the Lunar Environmental Summit. He scrolled listlessly through dated proposals on terraforming techniques and updates on new mapping of some subterranean features on the Dark Side. He’d been to a few such conferences and in his experience, they never failed to tailspin into some political dick measuring contest. This year would be different though. This year he would put an end to the lunar terraforming debate once and for all, because he had finally solved it. A perfect solution; or as perfect as one could get given the laws of the natural universe. A new future for the moon.

Ever since the 1960’s, scientists had wondered at the idea of terraforming the moon. In theory it seemed comparatively easy in relation to other celestial bodies. For one, it was half the size of mars and therefore required only a 10th the amount of mass disturbance- in practice this meant somewhere in the neighborhood of 100 medium sized comets hurled into its surface. Once sublimated, these comets would naturally warm up the surface, release crucial elements and speed the moon’s rotation, giving it a magnetic field. It’s smaller size also gave it the advantage of being a low g staging outpost for further missions into the solar system. 

Dr. Oz swiped through more details of his proposed methods and projections. A hologram appeared, displaying one of the possible trajectories of the manipulated comets. He glanced sidelong at the unconscious passenger beside him. It was merely a reflexive gesture because the map, along with the rest of the documents were a part of the augmented reality software in his government issue contact lenses. Satisfied he would not give anyone reason to panic, he hit play and watched the first series of comets slam into the dark side of the moon. The glow of the surface increased with each collision. While the scenario played out, Dr. Oz rotated the map to a side view and measured the trajectory of the moon. He noted with satisfaction, that as the last comet collided the moon was no longer slowly escaping Earth’s orbit, and that it was rotating in a perfect 24-hour day, mirroring the earth. 

His plan had been confirmed by 3 of the most powerful super computers in existence, and he had personally overseen their completion of the math on this master stroke of terraforming, the shier breadth of which was impossible for any single human mind to fully comprehend. And though it would take a millennium or more for the moon to be ready for the introduction of life, this was the kind of progressive, long term thinking that he was known for. Creating a better solar system for generations to come. 

“Impressive.”

Desmond did a double take. The low voice belonged to a fit, 30 something woman who was floating upside down with her face only a decimeter from his own. She was looking at the place where his AR display was, but there’s no way she could see it. No one could access someone else’s feed without…

“Excuse me?” Dr. Oz replied without emotion. 

“Your plan to turn the surface of the moon into a giant puddle of slag for the next thousand years. Really, it’s impressive.” She reached out and gently plucked one of the curved trajectories, which, to Dr. Oz’s horror, vibrated like a string.

“Who are you?” He asked in a low, rushed whisper. 

The woman used one of the chair straps to bring herself in close to his ear, but instead of replying, she pecked him on the cheek, and, like a gymnast, pushed herself from the row of seats, balling her body into a controlled spin, and then unfurling it to catch the guide ropes in the center of the shuttle.

Dr. Oz, hit the release button on his seat harness and used his legs to catapult himself after her, overcorrecting a bit as he caught a rope. She was quick. Already through to the end of the cabin, disappearing through the next hatch.

As he floated into the dimly lit storage bay he was overcome by the sense that he shouldn’t have taken the bate. Keeping his eyes on the room in front of him, he slowly backed out. A sharp sting to the side of his neck. She was above him again, inverted. 

“Fuck.”

“Fuck is right, Dr. Oz. Now that I’ve got you for a moment,” without so much as shifting the placement of the needle, the woman orbited around Dr. Oz’s head and used her foot to quietly close the hatch behind them, “I think we should have a brief chat. 

“Oh? This chat wouldn’t have anything to do with Cevtek’s interest on the dark side of Luna would it?”

If Dr. Oz could have seen her face, he knew he would have caught at least a whisper of surprise, but the pause was enough.

“You are a very smart man, Dr. Oz. But you are not a very wise man I think.” Her accent had more than a little Russian at its core. He thought he detected Western Siberian. Perhaps Tomsk.

“Keep her talking,” he thought. “Well philosophy was never really my thing. I’ve always preferred… results.”

“Ah, but when your results involve sterilizing an entire moon, you are bound to make a few enemies. By the way, your emergency locator has been disabled.”

Dr. Oz’s eyes moved to the sides of their sockets, annoyed. He ceased the pattern of tapping on his right palm. 

“Fine. You got me. You’re a professional. Let’s be professional about this. What do you want?”

“To kill you.”

“Well… damn.”

“Yes, I would like to kill you now if I’m honest, but of course there are the higher ups, and they want a sit down.”

“Oh well, I suppose I could do lunch then. Ouch!” He yelled suddenly as the needle twisted in his neck. “Jesus, careful with that thing!”

Her grip tightened on his neck and she pushed them out from the wall. They crossed the room and landed near a coffin sized box. A cryogenic tank. 

 “Lunch will work, Dr. Oz. But not for a very long time I’m afraid.” He felt the cold liquid from the needle enter his blood stream, and then warm. And then nothing.