“Okay, here’s another one.” Her mother cleared her throat. “Do you know in your gut what you’re going to do?” The question sat there, plain and unadorned, the way her mother’s best questions always were.
She thought about what her father had said, back in their living room in Canada, when she’d still been wearing the beige suit:The longer you work there, the dimmer your light gets.
Her light was not dim here. Beneath all the fear and the overwhelm, she’d felt the quiet pull of purpose.
“I know what Iwantto do,” Holly said. “But I can’t dismiss this offer, yet. Moone’s Landing is hanging on by a thread. We are out ofnitsand I honestly don’t know if it’s too late to turn the station’s reputation around before a vital system malfunctions and we can’t afford to fix it. Iwantto stay, though. I love this place, and the people here.”
Her mother was quiet for a moment. “All right,” she said gently. “Then take your time. You have four more weeks.”
They talked for a while longer, about smaller things. Her father’s bowls. A fox that had decided to have pups in Mirth’s potting shed. The weather. Holly let the familiar chatting wash over her and felt the tightness in her chest ease.
After they said goodnight, Holly sat in the quiet apartment and looked at Bean, who had woken up and was watching her with one ear cocked.
“I haven’t decided,” she told him. “And I wish I didn’t have to.”
Bean regarded her with the steady, unblinking gaze of a creature who could smell a lie from across a room.
Holly picked up her wrist comm, listened to Beenan’s message one more time, then set it face down on the cushion.
She had not said yes to her mother. But they both knew. They had always known the same things, she and Mirth. It was one of the quieter gifts of being raised by a woman who asked questions instead of giving answers: you learned, eventually, to hear your own.
Thirty-Three
The spaceport was busier than Holly had ever seen it.
That wasn’t saying much, honestly. Busier than Holly had ever seen it meant a ship on each landing pad, and a stack of supply crates sitting in the terminal that Sam was cataloguing. For Moone’s Landing, it qualified as a rush.
With only two usable pads, those who were staying for the festival would have to keep their transports outside the dome on the moon’s surface. That was where Rasker’s transport sat when he was there. Sam catalogued all ships stored on the surface and flew them remotely to a pad when the visitor was ready to depart.
Holly stood beside Sam, checking the delivery manifest on her d-pad against what had arrived. Carbohydrate powder. Binding syrup. Protein solids. A crate of sweetener tablets. Two containers of cooking oil. A crate full of enough spirits and wines to make the lounge bar look filled out. A box ofrealflour, which she had splurged on with her own money because there were recipes that would likely be better with it, and because the festival was worth the expense.
“That’s everything,” Sam said, ticking off the last item. He straightened and wiped his hands on his jumpsuit. “Short onecrate of the protein solids. Shipping manifest says it’s on a delayed transport. Should be here in two days.”
“Two days is fine. That’s still five days before the festival.” Holly tucked the d-pad under her arm. “How are thezigs?”
“Three are running.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the terminal counter. “Fourth one is fighting me. Motivator coil is shot. I’ll fabricate a replacement, if I have time.”
“Can we manage with three?”
“Should be able to. I mapped out a rotation. Pad to square, square to gardens, gardens to forest trailhead. If we stagger the trips, three can handle it. And we’re charging extra for the ride if they’re able to walk. Mostwillwalk, or have their own mode of personal transportation.” He paused. “Have to warn you, thezigsdon’t look great.”
“You mentioned that.”
“Mentioning it again.” The hint of a smile crossed his face. “One of them makes a sound I can only describe as complaining.”
Holly laughed. “As long as it complains while moving, I’ll take it.”
Sam nodded and was quiet for a moment. He gazed out through the terminal’s wide window toward the landing pads, where a cargo vessel sat cooling after its delivery run. The force field shimmered at full strength, steady and constant. No more pulsing. No more seventy percent power. Holly felt a small swell of pride every time she saw it.
“Got the path cleared,” Sam said, turning back.
“The forest trail?”
“Mish and I finished it yesterday. Widened the narrow sections, cut back the overgrowth, put in markers at every fork.” He shrugged one shoulder. “It’s a nice walk, actually. I hadn’t been out there in years.”
“That’s great news, Sam. Thank you.”
“Also put in a bench at the overlook point. There’s a spot where you can see through the dome, out to the gas giant we orbit. Thought visitors might like to sit there.” He said this in the same flat tone he used for everything, as if installing a bench with a view of a planet was the same as replacing a motivator coil.
