Dead Man on the Moon (10 page)

Noah waited nervously, then silently rebuked himself for his worry. Sure, he needed this job, and up to the boss was no fun, but there was no way Linus was going to call anyone else at six in the morning. Noah knew it, and Linus knew he knew it. There was also the subtle rebuke about safety in a vac suit. It was dangerous to be out in full vacuum when your mind was fogged with fatigue.

At last Linus said,
"Fair enough. You're a student first. But the minute, and I mean the minute you get your errands done, you're calling me. Got it, Kid?"

He signed off and Noah lay back down. Linus reminded Noah a little of Lieutenant Charlie Meeks, his superior back in Madison. Meeks put his work ahead of everything, which was one reason he was such a great cop, even if he was a pain in the ass as a boss. The only way to handle him was to lean on the rules defining your job and keep the union informed.

By all rights the small confrontation should have wired him up and made him restless, so he completely surprised himself by falling almost instantly back to sleep. When he awoke two hours later, the tropical sunrise had turned to tropical day, though the sound was muted and the ocean remained silent.

The bedroom remained stubbornly shut and as quiet as the holographic ocean. Noah showered quickly, but with difficulty. The water seemed to ooze more than it flowed, and the back spray that bounced off his chest hung in the air and nearly drowned him until he learned the trick of keeping his back to the showerhead at all times. Then he dressed and left the apartment. A check with the computer showed him a cafeteria not far away The food, while adequate, cost more than Noah was willing to pay except on an occasional basis. He wondered if the grocery stores were just as bad, and then he wondered what Ilene was eating that morning. Toast points and caviar with champagne and orange juice?

After breakfast of toast, coffee, and a gooey pastry, he had a quick meeting with his advisor, a short, grandmotherly woman named Arissen Mayfield. He already had a good idea of what his courses would be, and she agreed with his choices. This semester he would take three classes: low-gravity physical metallurgy, materials fracture and fatigue under radiation, and cell matrix mechanics in microgravity. Next semester, if he felt he could handle the workload, he might take four classes, but for now this seemed plenty. Noah knew he was smart, but he wasn't brilliant, and would need a fair amount of study time.

Arissen walked him through the registration process on her computer, and he received immediate notice about what texts he needed to download—and at what price. Noah whistled when he saw the total for tuition, lab fees, access fees, and books. One semester cost twice his annual salary as a crime scene technician back in Wisconsin.

"A lot of people react that way," Arissen said with a smile. "But every year, we get thousands more applicants than we can accept. People claw and fight to get into Loony U."

"Thank god for my grant," Noah said.

"Oh, that's right," Arissen said. "You're the Aidan Cos-grove recipient. You know, something close to four hundred people applied for that grant. You should feel pretty proud that you got it."

"And grateful," Noah said. "Without it, I wouldn't be here."

A bit later, Noah exited the academic building into the warm, eternal spring of the Dome. He was about to ask his computer for directions to the closest grocery store when a call came in from Roger Davids, a name he didn't recognize. Curious, Noah sat down on a park bench and accepted the call on visual. His monocle showed him the image of a man in his late thirties. Dark brown hair, fair skin, sharply defined features, ice-blue eyes. He had an easygoing smile and a quiet voice.

"I'm the entertainment coordinator for Luna City,"
he said after introductions.
"Sorry I didn't get hold of you earlier. Your secondary job is working for me."

"Really?" Noah said. "Doing what?"

"Your file says you worked your way through college doing vaudeville revival."

"That's right," Noah replied cautiously.

"We want you to do a few shows for us"
Roger explained with a quiet grin.
"Entertainment's always in short supply up here. It's expensive to upload the new vid-feeds from Earth, and the inter actives always suffer from time delay. So we depend on a lot of live stuff and locally recorded broadcasts."
He glanced down at something off-screen.
"I've got you down for an hour-long show twice a month, if you work out well at your first one. Style and content is up to you. We don't get a lot of kids, but you'll still want to be careful with any blue stuff until you get a feel for how audiences react up here. I should probably warn you that newcomers always play to packed houses. Everyone will be curious to see who you are. Your first show is in two days, but you'll need to get with the theater manager and tell her what you'll need for
—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Noah held up his hands. "I haven't done vaudeville in five or six years, Mr. Davids."

"I guess that means you've got some rehearsal ahead of you. I'm sending you contact information for the theater. And call me Roger."

His image vanished. Noah stared through his empty monocle at the green grass beneath his feet. Ilene clearly hadn't been kidding when she said they didn't leave you much down time up here. Maybe he should cut back on a class?

No. He was the sole recipient of the Aiden Cosgrove Memorial Grant. He could handle it. He
would
handle it.

With a sigh, he gently pushed himself to his feet, noticing with a surge of satisfaction that he was getting better at it already. He barely bounced at all. The Dome arced far overhead, and birds twittered in the trees. Noah wondered if they stayed green year-round or if they ever changed colors. He would miss the smell of autumn leaves, though he imagined they'd be a real headache for the groundskeepers. Loose leaves in low-g—what a mess. And then you'd have three or four months of bare branches to stare at. Autumn trees were pretty, but winter trees were depressing, and you wouldn't want anything like that up here if you could avoid it.

Noah checked a computer map of Luna City and found the grocery store closest to his apartment. He hadn't discussed food with Jake and Wade, but he had the feeling that after last night, no one was going to want to set up a household food supply and take turns cooking. Wade didn't look trustworthy in that arena, in any case.

The store, of course, accepted orders electronically and would bag and/or deliver Noah's groceries for small fee. Noah, however, preferred to squeeze the produce and heft the packages himself. His Midwestern upbringing also nagged at him, muttering that it was a waste to spend money on something he could easily do himself. Mom and Dad had never hired anyone to do yard work, shovel driveways, or clean the house. That was what children were for. At the time Noah and his siblings had snarled under their collective breath about "all this work," but in retrospect, Noah was glad he had learned the basics of running a household. It was obviously a lesson no one had taught Wade.

Noah was thankful that Luna U Grocery did
not
use slogans like "Out of this world prices" or "Stellar selection!" The store, located entirely underground, would have been a medium-sized grocery back home—except for the prices. They were more than triple what he was used to. The price of a bottle of juice got a gasp. A can of soup cost enough to make Noah's eyes widen. And the fresh produce made them bug out. The Aidan Cosgrove Memorial Grant paid all University costs and a small stipend for living expenses— emphasis on the word "small." Well, Noah had known he'd have to dig into his savings to survive two or three years of graduate school. He hadn't thought the food bill would bankrupt him, though.

"You're still standing," said a familiar voice. "I'm surprised. A lot of people faint dead away their first time."

A smile crossed Noah's face and he faced Ilene Hatt, who had maneuvered a grocery cart of her own up beside him. "Hi, Ilene. I think you came just in time. I was about to collapse gracefully to the floor."

She laughed. "Let me show you how it's done around here. You
can
eat well without breaking the bank."

"If this place can break
your
bank, I should probably leave while I can still afford the flight home."

"None of that, now," she admonished. "I had a fight with my parents once and had to live like a
real
person for two whole months."

"That makes me feel so much better."

"Come on, smarty. Let me show you how it's done. First, put those apples back. You won't need them."

Noah obeyed. "Why not?"

"Because the botany department raises local apples in the greenhouse and my friend Erik says they're harvesting in a few days. He'll get me my usual two bags, and I'll tell him to set some aside for you. I'll introduce you." She fixed him a hard look. "You aren't gay, are you?"

"What? No," Noah said, a little startled at the change in subject.

"Bi?"

"Not that I've noticed."

"Then it's safe to introduce you to Erik. From my perspective, anyway." They guided their carts down an aisle of prepackaged food and into a chilly refrigerated section. "Anything that's dried will be cheaper, so you'll want to get beans and macaroni and the like here at the store, unless you're a fanatic about home-made pasta. You'll have to do without real milk"—she placed a white container of it in her cart—"unless you're me."

"I'm from Wisconsin," Noah moaned. "We drink milk like fish drink water."

"If you're very nice to me, I'll give you a taste," she said. "And speaking of fish ..."

Noah, still recovering from the double entendre, followed like a slightly stunned duckling. A fish counter took up most of the store's back wall. Fish of all shapes and sizes were on display, some on ice, some in water, some wrapped up, some precooked. The strong smell of fresh fish permeated the air, and several customers were vying for the attention of the counter workers.

"Fish," Ilene explained, "are easy to raise in low gravity because they already live in it back on Earth. They don't develop the attendant muscle atrophy land animals do. All these little guys were farmed right here, and they'll be your main form of animal protein while you're on Luna. Having said all that, don't buy any."

Noah blinked. "Why not?"

"Because I work the fish farms, remember?" she said. "I can get you a nice fresh batch of trout and tilapia for nothing, assuming you don't mind cleaning and scaling them yourself."

"It's been a while," Noah admitted, "but I think I can remember."

"Smart lad," she said, and moved her cart away.

Noah hurried to catch up. "Does everyone gather food like this? Buy half and scavenge half?"

"All the smart people," Ilene said. "My only regret is that I haven't been able to find a good tofu supplier. But you can't have everything." She gave him a long look up and down. "Unless you try really, really hard."

"Right." Once again, Noah felt a little uncomfortable. "So what
do
I buy here?"

Ilene took him through the rest of the supermarket, efficiently finishing her own shopping and helping with his. They were bagging their goods—the computer had already deducted the shocking total from their accounts—when Ilene leaned close. Her soft hair brushed his cheek.

"I hear you're giving a show in a couple days."

"How did you know that?" Noah asked, surprised. "I only found out about it this afternoon."

"I checked the nets for your name," she said. "It came right up. Said you do vaudeville?"

Noah straightened with four bags of groceries in each hand. His brain told him to brace for pain as the handles cut into his fingers, but the light gravity let him lift them with ease. "Yep. The vaudeville revival hit when I was in high school and I sort of fell into it. By the time I was in college, I had my own site and was doing two shows a week there. I did a theater show a couple times a month. Paid a lot of bills."

"How did you fall into it?" They moved toward the door and onto the main path toward the train station. Gray gravel crunched beneath their feet.

Noah shot her a grin. "I'm the middle child out of seven," he said. "The only way to get attention was to demand it— or earn it. I wasn't much for acting out, so I tried acting. The drama teacher at my high school put together a little vaudeville troupe as an after-school thing, just for fun. We even competed and did pretty well."

"Are you being modest?" Ilene asked.

"Yeah," Noah laughed. "We beat the pants off everyone else. A theater manager approached me one day and said
he'd save me a slot in his house. Between that gig and my net downloads, I earned some nice money."