’Neath Quicksilver’s Moon by Jaye Michael
Chapter Four ― The Dark Side of the Moon

¿Hasta cuándo, oh simples, amarán la simpleza, Y los burladores se deleitarán en hacer burla, Y los necios aborrecerán el conocimiento?

— Proverbios 1:22

How long, O simpletons, will you love being simple-minded, and tricksters delight in trickery, and you fools hate the truth?

— Proverbs 1:22

It is the very error of the moon;
She comes more near the earth than she was wont,
And makes men mad.

—William Shakespeare
King Lear

“Madre de dios, vamos already.” The two children dragged along behind their parents as Margarita urged them onward, down the dirt road leading toward the city. Ahead of them, Quicksilver’s twin moons, collectively called “The Lares,” loomed large in the darkening sky, almost perfectly aligned with each other tonight through some trick of cosmic timing. The smallest, Castor, was the nearest, almost at the Roche limit where it would be torn to pieces through tidal action — or at least would in a few million years, according to the astrophysicists — while the largest, Pollux, was much further away, far enough to be stable in a three-body system, but large enough to subtend almost the same visual angle, so it made a spooky sight, unsettling somehow, impossible, like one of those “Mystery Rooms” where tiny babies were larger than their parents. As the Lares orbited Quicksilver, it was difficult to avoid thinking that they were about to crash into each other whenever they approached conjunction.

“Do we have to go, mama?”

“Sí, muchachitos. Your cousins will be there. Don’t you want to be able to play with them?”

“Sí, mama; sí. Can we get some flan there, mama, por favor?” They were suddenly dancing about their parents as they pleaded.

“We’ll see, muchachitos.” Juanito struggled to keep a straight face. “Let’s see if we can get there first.”

As the children danced ahead with visions of treats before them, Juanito tried once more to avoid going himself. “Margarita mi amor, I’d like to stop off and check on that Triff I brought Dr. Nevrith. It’s just down the road and I’ll just be a moment.”

“Juanito, you’re as bad as the children. This is family. You’ve got to be there for Miguel.” We were almost to the schoolyard where the rally was being held and the children, seeing their cousins, ran on ahead.

“I know, but if that Triff turns out to be a new type it could mean a lot more money, money we could use.”

“Oh, all right. Help me get the children settled in and listen to your brother’s speech and then you can disappear.”

“Thank you, mi amor. I appreciate.”

“We are a colony. Quicksilver is a colony. Each and every one of you is a colonist.” Miguel stood on the makeshift stage shouting at the people milling about the open schoolyard talking, eating and relaxing. Few were listening, which deterred Miguel not at all. “And as a colonist what do you get? You get the right to send Earth your produce, your raw materials.” The crowd was not getting it.

“You,” he shouted, pointing to a man in the crowd. “Mannie Hernandez. You grow corn, right?”

The man Miguel had pointed to nodded and smiled at being recognized while wiping his hand over his mouth in a less than effective attempt to remove the melted butter. Even from the stage, it was possible to see the bits of corn stuck between his teeth.

“How much are you getting for your corn now, Mannie?” Miguel asked. “Eight E-creds a ton? No? How much? Six and a half E-creds? Do you know how much it sells for on Earth, that same corn you sold here for six and a half Es? Do you know, Mannie? No? Can you guess? Allow for the cost of transportation and distribution; then add a reasonable profit. No, add an exorbitant profit. Add an obscene profit. The biggest profit you can imagine. What is it? Tell us all, Mannie. How much?”

“One hundred E-creds?”

“How much?”

“One hundred fifteen E-creds?”

“Mannie, Mannie, think BIG.”

“One hundred fifty E-creds?”

“Mannie, you’re not even close. At the close of the market at the time of departure from Earth of the latest vessel to arrive yesterday — make that about three months ago — after conversion from World Credits back into our made up currency, corn was trading on the commodities markets of Earth at eight hundred and ninety six E-creds a ton.”

The crowd was much more attentive now, but there were still some holding back.

“And you,” he shouted and pointed again. “Chin Ye Kim. You’re a miner; tell the people what you send to Earth.”

The man designated, obviously embarrassed, mumbled something that no one could hear.

“Louder, Chin. No one heard you.”

He repeated himself, just barely audible even so, “Copper.”

“Did everyone hear him? He’s a copper miner and when I last checked your hourly salary compared to the current rate of extraction you get about fifteen E-creds per ton at the spaceport.”

“Now you all know what I’m going to ask next. How much do you think it’s selling for on Earth? How about it, Kim, do you want to take a guess?”

“Sure. Why not? How about two hundred and fifty E-creds?”

The crowd murmured.

“Tell him everybody. Is it too high, or too low?”

“Too low.”

“That’s right people, way too low. Try again, Kim.”

“Five hundred E-creds.”

The crowd was hushed. Miguel had them in the palm of his hand.

“Folks? Tell him.”

The crowd roared, “Too low.”

“That’s right, Kim. Give it one more try.”

“Nine hundred E-creds.”

The crowd oohed.

“Still too low. Folks, at the close of the market at the time of departure from Earth of the airship that arrived yesterday, copper was trading on the commodities markets of Earth at one thousand...” The crowd oohed again.

“One thousand five hundred and fifty four E-creds a ton.”

“He’s going to go on for hours, you know that, mi amor,” Juanito whispered to his wife. They were sitting on the close-cropped earth grass of the schoolyard surrounded by several hundred others. “If I leave now I’ll be back long before he’s done.”

“Sí, but he is your brother,” Margarita affectionately patted him on his knee, “and regardless, I know you’re dying to get out of here.”

“Es verdad. I love him, but I have no interest in his efforts to educate us about the evils of Earth’s government.”

Margarita sighed. If she tried to get him to stay any longer, he would be worse than the children with his complaints. It would spoil what Margarita thought of as a pleasant day off from the rigors of farming. That reminded her of the children and she glanced up. They had been at the swings but were currently out of sight. “Why don’t you go check on the children and then continue on to see how Dr. Nevrith is doing? Just be discrete. We’re too near the stage and I wouldn’t want Miguel to see you leave and feel we didn’t care.”

“An excellent idea, mi amor,” Juanito smiled and kissed his wife. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Juanito almost jumped up in his enthusiasm for the idea. With sign language telling Miguel he’d be right back, Juanito headed over towards the swings, leaving Margarita hoping Miguel had seen, let alone understood what her husband had meant. He saw Pablo and Conchita playing tag with a group by the slide. Knowing they were safe, Juanito felt free to continue on to the nearby research center and Dr. Nevrith. He was about to enter the building when the screaming started.

He was running before he knew what was happening. He had to get back to Margarita and the children. When the first shot sounded, he ran even faster.

“¡Margarita! ¡Margarita! ¿Donde esta? Where are you?” He frantically searched for his wife and children amongst the panicking crowd. People were running, mostly away from the makeshift stage. On the stage, some goon from the Colonial Peace Militia was yammering over the speaker system, telling everyone to go home. Other Peace Militia goons, weapons drawn, were striding in groups through the mass of people looking for someone or something while still others were using riot gear to push people away from the stage. Someone knocked him down in his haste to get away. In seconds, he was trampled by a dozen other fleeing colonists. Holding on to consciousness by a thread, Juanito staggered to his feet only to be knocked down again. This time he was not as lucky. His last thought was of how soft the grass felt.

“Good, you’re awake. I was getting worried.”

Juanito struggled to open his eyes. The right one was not quite working and it hurt when he tried to breathe.

“Don’t try to move. You’re in bad shape. I think you have a broken rib or two and one heck of a black eye. Given how long you’ve been asleep, I’m also betting on a concussion. And there has to be more, because some of the readings on the medscan are just plain strange.”

“Duh... ¿Donde estoy?”

“Do you know who I am?”

Squinting, Juanito tried to make sense of the blurred images before him. “Nu... Ne... Dr. Nevrith?”

“Very good. You’re right. It’s me, Dan, and you’re at the Research Center. I found you at the schoolyard along with dozens of others. The others were able to walk and quickly disappeared, but you were badly hurt so I brought you back here. I don’t think anyone noticed me in the confusion. Don’t try to move. I’ve got some clear broth or juice for you when you’re up to trying to eat something.” Dan placed a small tray on a pile of boxes next to the cot on which Juanito was lying.

“¿Donde estoy?”

Dan moved a box labeled autoclave next to the cot and sat down. “My Spanish is a bit rusty, but I’m pretty sure you asked where you were. You’re in the storage room off my lab. Turn your head a bit to the side and I’ll try to spoon-feed you some broth. It’s soy chicken flavored.”

“¿Donde están mi esposa y mis muchachos?”

“Please, use English, Juanito; you know my Spanish stinks. Did you ask about your wife and children?” Juanito nodded and then groaned from the pain. “I’m not sure. I didn’t see them, but I’ll check around as soon as I can.”

“Gracias...I mean thank you.”

“Now sleep. Your body needs to heal.”

Juanito did not bother to nod. He just closed his eyes. Seconds later, he was asleep.

“How are you feeling, Juanito? Your face looks much better, less puffy and bruised.” Dan sat beside the cot with more broth.

“Better. The pain is almost gone.” Juanito took the bowl from the hands of an astonished Dr. Nevrith.

“But it’s less than two standard days since I brought you here. Either the medscan is faulty or you should be barely able to move for another week or two.”

“Don’t know. I’m still a bit stiff, but that’s about it. Where is Margarita? Is my family alright?” Juanito asked as he rose up on his elbow plaintively seeking some positive news about his family.

“I’m sorry Juanito; I don’t have any easy way to tell you this. The Peace Militia has your wife. She’s charged with disorderly conduct, interference with a peace officer in the pursuit of his duty, incitement to riot, assaulting a peace officer, conspiracy to overthrow the government and several more that I don’t remember. They’ve got her at their headquarters by the spaceport.”

“I’ve got to go to her.” He struggled to get up but was prevented by Dan’s hand on his chest.

“Please. Wait. There’s more I need to tell you.”

Juanito reluctantly lay back.

“You’re a fugitive. You’re accused of conspiracy too. They have a sizable reward for your capture — dead or alive.”

Anger, frustration, fear and worry warred with each other for the convalescing man’s emotions. “Don’t stop now. Is there any other bad news? Let me guess; the children have been taken from us. They’ve confiscated our farm. Quicksilver is going to crash into Verne. Humans are mating with Triffs.” He finally ran down.

“I realize you’re upset, but I don’t think I deserved that. You need to hear what I have to tell you.”

The last traces of emotion washed out of him and Juanito slumped back onto the cot. The researcher could barely hear his whispered, “Disculpa me, amigo mio. Lo siento...”

“As I said, there’s more I need to tell you,” Dan repeated as he paused to gather his thoughts. “You were partially correct. Your son, his name is Pablo, isn’t it? He’s in the custody of the Peace Militia. I can’t find out any more about what’s going on, but he hasn’t been placed like they would usually do.” Juanito was so still the researcher stopped to check for respiration.

“They have him in quarantine at the spaceport along with your wife. A friend of mine, who works there, says they have him and your wife in separate rooms, each under constant watch. All he could find out was that they keep doing all sorts of tests on both of them.” The lids of Juanito’s closed eyes were moist. It was as if his whole world were crumbling about him.

“The final piece of news you need to hear is about your daughter. She was just coming back from the playground area looking for your wife when the Militia broke up the rally. She was in the middle of the crowd when people panicked and started running.” The researcher shuddered and took a ragged breath, fighting to maintain his composure as he forced himself to continue.

“Like you, she was knocked over and trampled. The Militia brought her to the hospital once they cleared the scene, but she was terribly injured. Her spine was broken and her head hit a rock or something hard. Juanito, old friend, I’m truly sorry. There’s no easy way to say this. She’s dead. My friend says she must have died instantly.”

Copyright © 1993, 2010, 2011 by Jeffrey M. Mahr

All rights reserved.

DEDICATION:

To my loving wife, Betty. She completes me.