Crescent Page 6

  Crater and Al grinned. Crescent wasn’t certain, but it appeared they were proud of her.

  Then a big woman dressed in scarlet robes pushed through the crowd. On her head was a mountain of silver curls. She was the grandest and gaudiest person Crescent had ever seen. “My boy!” cried the woman, then took Crater in her arms. “I am so glad you survived!”

  “I am too, Q-Bess,” Crater said, his voice muffled in the folds of her robe.

  The woman released him, then stepped back and peered with twinkling blue eyes at Crescent. “And who do we have here?”

  “A crowhopper, ma’am,” Crater said.

  Al added, “A female crowhopper.”

  “Of course she is. But why is she with you?”

  “I captured her,” Crater said.

  Q-Bess smiled. “You could not bring yourself to kill a girl.”

  “I don’t think that was it,” Crater mumbled. “I don’t know what it was.”

  The woman turned and played to the crowd in her regal manner. “My boy Crater has brought this creature to us to civilize, however impossible that may be.” She turned to the sheriff and his deputy. “And why are you here?”

  “To take Crater’s creature into custody,” the sheriff answered.

  “Nonsense,” Q-Bess said. “I claim this creature as mine.”

  The sheriff rolled his eyes and said, “What are you going to do with it, your royal highness?”

  “I will put it to work. It looks strong.”

  “I imagine it is very strong, but it will cut your throat with a kitchen knife the first chance it gets.” The sheriff turned back to Crater. “I notice you’re limping. Battle wound or did you fall in a ditch?”

  Crater nodded toward Crescent. “She stabbed me.”

  This earned a hearty laugh from the sheriff.

  “What is your name, girl?” Q-Bess asked.

  Crescent proudly raised her chin. “I am Crescent Claudine Besette of the Legion Internationale.”

  “A lovely name,” Q-Bess said, “and appropriate too, a crescent being the arc of the moon often admired and written about in poetry and a lovely aspect of our small planet. Well, Crescent, will you work for me?”

  Recalling Trabonnet’s advice to live, Crescent said, “Yes, Madame. I will even kill for you. You need only ask.”

  Q-Bess cast an eye toward the sheriff. “Perhaps I will.”

  The sheriff shook his head. “All right, your majesty, take it. I don’t have any place to lock it up anyway. I will consider it on work release until the Colonel decides what to do with it.”

  Q-Bess waved her hand, her many bracelets jangling, and walked away. When Crescent hesitated, the sheriff shoved her in the queen’s direction. “Well, follow her, you foul thing!”

  Crescent stumbled, the wire between her feet tripping her. Crater caught her and raised her up. “I would not have fallen,” Crescent said, though she knew she would have.

  “The proper response is ‘Thank you,’ to which I would reply, ‘You’re welcome.’”

  She recognized that she had just been trained in a basic human interaction. She tried it. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Crescent walked, her steps little stumbles while chanting under her breath, “Where does our spirit go after we die? It goes to glory.”

  Crescent hoped Trabonnet’s spirit was in glory with all the brothers of her century. She also hoped they would watch over her as she plotted her escape from the ugly underground town. She raised her head and began to study everything.

  ::: TEN

  The Medaris Irregulars were given one day off, then sent back to work on the scrapes. Crater was assigned as a scraper driver. Over the following days, he did his job, although those miners who knew him well—such as Asteroid Al—knew that there was something bothering him. One day, during a break, he wandered off alone and sat cross-legged on an outcropping of basalt, lowered his helmet into his cupped hands, and stared balefully at whatever there was to stare at, which, considering where he was, was mostly gray dust and black sky.

  Crater was trying to work through something that would not leave him alone. Once, so long ago it often seemed more like a dream than reality, he and Maria Medaris, the Colonel’s granddaughter, had crossed the moon together as convoy scouts and then gone into space to complete a mission for the Colonel. At the end of their adventure, Crater learned that Maria had spent the entire time lying to him. This had not kept him from falling in love with her. When Maria was wounded and taken away by her family, Crater had completed their task. After that, the war had come and Crater had been fighting it ever since. Now that the battles seemed over, he thought he might find Maria and see where they stood.

  But that was not to be.

  Amongst the piles of bills and messages he found in his room there was also a memory puter plug that contained a letter from Maria. He’d read the letter a dozen times, and every time it felt as if an elk sticker were stabbing his heart. Still, he kept wanting it to say something other than what it said. That was why, while sitting on that basalt outcropping, Crater got out the memplug and inserted it in his do4u to read it again. To his disappointment, it was exactly the same.

  July 22, 2131

  Medaris Mining Company

  Building #1

  Armstrong City, Luna

  Dear Crater:

  I hope this letter finds you well. My grandfather tells me that you have served valiantly in the battle to clear our planet of crowhoppers. For that, you have my heartfelt thanks.

  In the absence of any query on your part pertaining to my present health, I shall nonetheless briefly apprise you of my condition. I have healed and the doctors have discharged me from their care.

  It is not the intention of this posting to stimulate any response or communication of any kind from you. In point of fact, it is my preference that there not be any now or in the future.

  Be certain I valued our time together. I bid you adieu, good-bye, good fortune, and a worthy life.

  With conviction,

  Maria High Eagle Medaris

  Crater had no notion of what he should do in response to Maria’s letter or if he should do anything at all. He hadn’t contacted her during the intervening years because he supposed that she was fully engaged in getting back her health. Besides that, he had spent much of it fighting crowhoppers and trying to stay alive. Still, in retrospect, he could see he probably should have kept in touch and not assumed that he could just turn up some day. He thought maybe he should go to Armstrong City and beg her for forgiveness or perhaps he should write her a letter and pour out his feelings. He considered calling on his do4u and singing her a song of love and longing or something, but any and all of those things he suspected would only make things worse, if that was possible.

  The Earth hung in the lunar sky like a big blue eye and seemed to regard him with interest, as if it knew the turmoil in his heart. Crater tried to think of something else. He looked out and admired his scrape. He ran a straight scrape, none straighter. The shift was only half over and he’d already piled up enough dust tents for a full day. No one could pile tents as fast as he. He also knew all the tricks of picking rocks out of tracks, levers, and rollers that slowed most scraper drivers down. In fact, they usually stopped to let the scrag pickers come and get the rock out. Not Crater. He picked out his own rocks.

  This took Crater’s mind off Maria for only a few seconds and then he sank back into the despair of the lovelorn. That was when Asteroid Al, who was working as a loader operator, walked over. “Is something wrong, Crater?”

  Crater wished Al would just leave him alone. “There’s nothing wrong,” he said. “I’m just resting.”

  “Is this about the letter from Maria?”

  Crater wasn’t surprised that Al knew about the letter. There were no real secrets in Moontown. By the time that memory plug had gotten to him, there was no telling how many people had read it. “It’s nothing I can’t handle,” Crater said.


  “You can’t be earthing around out here,” Al said. “You’ve got to keep your mind on business or you’ll get hurt.”

  “My mind is on my business, Al. How about you minding yours?”

  Crater put the memory plug in his pocket, climbed off the outcropping, and shoved past Al. He went back to work and his scrapes stayed straight and he kept piling up the tents and he didn’t need anybody to feel sorry for him while he did it. And he sure didn’t need to talk.

  After the shift, Crater gathered with the other miners at the dustlock hatch for the end of shift prayer. The oldest miner on the scrape, by tradition, said the prayer. In this case, it was a woman named Sally Murdock, a puter-order bride from New Scotland. Sally bowed her head and said, “Lord, thank you for not letting any of us get killed today and thank you for giving us the strength to meet the Colonel’s production schedule. Help us do the same tomorrow.”

  “Amen,” came the chorus, and everybody headed into the dustlock to remove their dusty coveralls and boots, peel off their biolastic sheaths and plaston girdles, and hand them over to the dusties for cleansing. Afterward, they showered, put on their tube clothes, and headed for their home tube or, if they were bachelors, the Dust Palace. Asteroid Al fell in step with Crater but kept his peace. If Crater didn’t want to talk, that was fine with him.

  Al peeled off for his tube while Crater went to the cafeteria looking for a freshly baked cookie or two to take the edge off his blues. He also wanted to check on the progress of the crowhopper. He had seen little of her since Q-Bess had put her to work, but he’d heard from the cooks and servers she was a willing trainee. In fact, it seemed at times she worked harder than necessary. The creature was curious about everything, Kurto, the Dust Palace’s chief cook, said. Kurto, once a celebrated chef on the European continent, added, “She has quick temper but she try very hard. I think she make fine cook someday.”

  When Crater climbed through the cafeteria hatch, there were no cookies to be found, mainly because the big mooncrete cylinder, normally sparkling clean, was in complete and utter disarray. Tables and chairs were turned over. Food trays littered the deck. The aluminum sliding tubes were bent, the lunaglas covers cracked, and food was strewn everywhere. Kurto was standing behind the wrecked service line, sorrowfully contemplating the ruin of his kitchen. Q-Bess was sitting disconsolately on a bench, her head bowed. In the back of the cafeteria shrank a contingent of miners, their eyes wide. And then there was Crescent. She was standing amidst the ruin with a man held over her head. “Crescent,” Crater said in a quiet voice. “What do you think you are doing?”

  Q-Bess raised her head, then dropped her chin in her hands. “Yes, Crescent, what indeed are you doing?”

  The man Crescent was holding over her head appeared to be unconscious but at least he was breathing, which Crater took as a hopeful sign. “Put him down,” he said. “That’s an order, Crescent. I’m your captor. Do as I say.”

  Crescent snarled, then tossed the miner all the way across the cafeteria, making the miners huddled there dodge the flying man who bounced off the wall, then fell to the deck. Crescent put her hands on her hips and faced Crater. “As you commanded, Master, I put him down.”

  “That’s not how I meant,” Crater said, “and you know it.”

  “He said I stunk. I do not stink.”

  Q-Bess nodded. “That much is true. I make her take tub baths and use perfumed salts.”

  “Baths are not new to me,” Crescent vowed. “During my training, after every fifty mile hike, we chopped a hole in the ice and washed in a lake.”

  “I don’t think that’s entirely pertinent, dear,” Q-Bess replied in a tired voice.

  Crater saw a medical greenie arrive and kneel over the miner Crescent had tossed. He was a man Crater recognized as Classy Amos, a low fellow of poor character prone to cheating, lying, and stealing and not very classy at all, hence his ironic name. Crater was relieved when the greenie helped Amos sit up. He was apparently going to be all right.

  “So what happened?” Crater asked Q-Bess.

  “After Amos said what he said, Crescent leaped across the serving line, grabbed him, then started swinging him around by his boots.”

  “You’re a bad crowhopper,” Crater said to Crescent.

  Crescent stiffened to attention, raising her chin. “If I have done wrong, Master, I await my punishment. You may beat me and I will not resist.”

  Q-Bess managed a wan chuckle. “Go for it, Crater.”

  Crater didn’t go for it. Instead, he said, “Don’t call me Master again. I am not your master. My name is Crater and that’s what you should call me.”

  “Then you should not call me a crowhopper. I am a Legionnaire.”

  Crater didn’t want to argue with Crescent about the fine points of a proper title for her band of vicious killers. He was thinking about what would happen when the sheriff found out about the altercation and, more importantly, what the Colonel would do. He surveyed the miners cowering along the back of the tube. “Fellows, I apologize for Crescent. She felt threatened, that’s all. I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t spread this around. How about it?”

  One of the miners, a bearded fellow who called himself Memphis Smith, called out, “Well, I ain’t keeping my mouth shut about this. She’s a danger and she don’t belong here. I say get rid of her.”

  Chief Cook Kurto answered, “Ha! If you afraid, Smith, you go live somewhere else.”

  “Where would that be?”

  “Marry that schoolteacher you be seeing and go live in own living tube.”

  Smith shifted in his boots, then said, “Reckon I’ll stay.”

  This prompted laughter and back slapping and shoulder thumping from Smith’s fellow bachelors. “Okay, Crater,” a miner called Dogwood said, “I guess we fellows will keep all this secret. Anyway, it was pretty entertaining, right, Amos?”

  Amos had managed to get to his feet, mainly because two big, burly miners had hauled him up. “Whatever you boys say,” he said, warily eyeing the two manhandling him before they let him go, whereupon he slithered to the floor.

  Everybody got busy moving the cafeteria furniture back into position and repairing the serving line. Crescent helped Kurto pick up pots and pans and, by herself, set to rights an overturned dishwasher. “That girl, she is strong,” the chief cook said.

  “She was designed that way,” Crater said. “Thanks for taking up for her.”

  “I come from a place where many people killed for being different,” Kurto replied. “I know too well her trouble.” He surveyed his cafeteria, then added, “But would be nice if she not do this again.”

  “I will talk to her about it,” Crater promised.

  Later, over dinner, Q-Bess joined Crater at his table. “I have an idea,” she said. “Why don’t you let Crescent help you with the scattering tomorrow? You could spend a little time with her and talk about things.” Before Crater could object, she waved Crescent over. “Dear, would you like to go outside with Crater tomorrow?”

  Crescent’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “For what purpose?”

  “Crater has volunteered to perform a very important duty,” Q-Bess explained. “He is going to scatter the ashes of our Moontown citizens who have died during the past month.”

  “If she doesn’t want to go, she doesn’t have to,” Crater said.

  Q-Bess smiled. “You want to go, don’t you, dear?”

  Crescent provided a small shrug, then lowered her eyes. “If you wish it, ma’am.”

  “Do you see how well I’ve trained her?”

  “Was that an example earlier?”

  “Pish-posh,” Q-Bess said. “A mere incident. A trifle. Not representative at all.”

  Although Crater suspected Q-Bess just wanted to get rid of the little crowhopper for a while, he didn’t want to upset his mother, so he said, “She can help me.”

  “Splendid! Now, back to work, girl, and let Crater eat his dinner.” After she’d gone, Q-Bess patte
d Crater on his shoulder. “Thank you. The girl will learn something and you can talk to her about her temper.”

  “I was hoping you would do that.”

  “She’ll take it better from her brother.”

  “I’m not her brother. I captured her. She’s a prisoner of war. And you’re not her mother.”

  “I could adopt her,” Q-Bess mused, “the same as I did you. She is, after all, an orphan.”

  “She was born an orphan,” Crater pointed out. “Look, I don’t want anything bad to happen to her, but ultimately she can’t stay here. She needs to be taken somewhere to be studied.”

  “Now listen to me, Crater,” Q-Bess said. “She is not going anywhere. You brought her here because you couldn’t bear to kill her. Well, all right, that was a noble thing you did, but it also made her your responsibility, which also makes her mine, and we can’t give her to some white-coat to be turned into a lab specimen. We have to look after her.”

  “For how long?”

  “From now on.”

  “Q-Bess—”

  Q-Bess raised her finger in warning. “From now on!” she vowed, and stood up and marched into the kitchen.

  Crater sat before his dinner, rapidly cooling, then got up and dumped it in the trash. He was no longer hungry. “From now on” sounded like a very long time to look after a creature born to kill.

  ::: ELEVEN

  Maria Medaris signed with her finger the holo-papers Jarvis, her secretary, placed before her. “These production reports were due this morning,” she growled.

  “Sorry, ma’am. Power was down on the transat.” Jarvis touched the pages with his boss’s reader, sucking them inside. “I’ll get these in the system right away.”

  “Anything else? If not, I’m late for my game.”

  “Nothing else, ma’am,” Jarvis replied, then quickly exited.

  Maria walked down the hall but didn’t get too far before her public relations manager appeared from a side office and released a holo-document from her reader that hovered in the air. Maria recognized it as the society page of the Armstrong City Bootprints social page. “It’s a good one, Maria,” she said. “Congratulations.”