“Are the wars now religious?”

“In a sense. But they are about the future. There are different groups who believe they have the right to control the future of humankind — which, for the first time in our history, has come into our thinking as a tangible thing, an asset, something to be fought over. And that’s what they are fighting for.”

“What you mean is they are fighting over the children. Blue children, like me, and what they think we can offer.”

“Yes,” said Maura.

“They are wrong,” Anna said carefully. “All of them.”

“Here’s the bottom line,” Maura said. “I’m not sure how much longer, umm, wise heads are going to prevail. Even in the U.S.”

Anna listened, her eyes soft. “How long?”

“I don’t know,” Maura said honestly. “Months at the most, I would think. Then they will come for you.”

Anna said, “It will be enough.”

“For what? “

Anna wouldn’t reply.

Frustrated, Maura snapped, “You frighten people, Anna. Christ, you frighten me. Sitting here on the Moon with your plans and your incomprehensible science. We detected the artifact in the lunar mantle…”

It had been picked up by seismometry. A lump of highly compressed matter — possibly quark matter — the size of a mountain. It was right under this dome. Nobody had any idea how it got there, or what it was for.

Maura glared at Anna. “Are we right to be frightened?”

“Yes,” Anna said gently, and Maura was chilled.

“Why won’t you tell us what you’re doing?”

“We are trying. We are telling you what you can understand.”

“Are we going to be able to stop you?”

Anna reached out and grabbed Maura’s hand, squeezed it. The girl’s skin was soft, warm. “I’m sorry.”

Then, without warning, Anna tipped forward, falling out of the tree, and spread her wings. She soared away, sailing across the distorted face of Earth, and out of Maura’s view.

When Maura got back to the tractor, Bill was waiting for her. He affected a lack of interest. But as the bus crawled its painful way back to the NASA base, he hung on every word she had to tell him about conditions inside the dome, and about the children, and what she had glimpsed of Tom and little Billie.

The sun had set over the rim walls of Tycho, but the walls were lit by the eerie blue glow of Earthlight. The sun would linger for a whole day, just beneath the carved horizon, so languid was the Moon’s time cycle. There was no air, of course, so there were no sunset colors; but there was nevertheless a glow at the horizon, pale white fingers bright enough to dim the stars: she was seeing the light of the sun’s atmosphere, and the zodiacal light, the glimmer of dust and debris in the plane of the Solar System. It was calm, unchanging, unbearably still, austere, a glacier of light.

She found Bill Tybee weeping.

He let her hold him, like mother with child. It was remarkably comforting, this trace of human warmth against the giant still cold of the Moon.

Reid Malenfant:

His suit radio receiver was designed only for short distances.

Nevertheless he tuned around the frequency bands.

Nothing. But that meant little.

If he couldn’t hear anybody else, maybe they could hear him. The backpack had a powerful emergency beacon. He decided that was a good investment of their remaining power. He separated it from the pack, jammed it into Cruithne soil, and started it up.

Then he shook out the bubble shelter, zipped himself and Emma into it, and inflated it. Once more it was a welcome relief to huddle with Emma’s warmth.

He took a careful look at Emma’s damaged leg. Much of the flesh seemed to have been destroyed by its exposure to the vacuum. But at the fringe of the damaged area mere was discoloration, green and purple, and a stench of rot, of sickly flowers. He drenched the bad flesh in an antiseptic cream he found in the backpack until the place smelled like a hospital ward. But at least that stink of corruption was drowned.

And she didn’t seem to be in any pain. Maybe all this would be over, one way or the other, before they got to that point.

He sacrificed a little more of their power on warming up some water. He mixed up orange juice in it, and they savored the tepid drink. They ate more of the backpack’s stores, dried banana and what seemed to be yogurt. He used scraps of cloth torn from their micrometeorite garments to improvise washcloths, and then he opened up their suits and gently washed Emma’s armpits and crotch and neck. Malenfant took their filled urine bags and dumped their contents into the military backpack’s water recycler, and he filled up their suit reservoirs with fresh water. Almost routine, almost domestic.

He was, he realized, on some bizarre level, content.

And then the shit hit the fan.

“Malenfant.”

He turned. She was holding his personal med kit. With her gloved hands, she had pulled out a blister pack of fat red pills. And a silver lapel ribbon.

Oh, he thought. Oh, shit. There goes the Secret.

“Tumor-busters. Right?” She let the stuff go; it drifted slowly to the floor. Her face was a yellow mask overlaid with Big Bang sunburn; her eyes were sunk in dark craters. “You’re a cancer victim.”

“It’s manageable. It’s nothing—”

“You never told me, Malenfant. How long?”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“This is why. Isn’t it? This is why you washed out of NASA. And it’s why you pushed me away. Oh, you asshole.” She held out her arms.

He pulled himself over to her, held her shoulders, then dipped his head. He felt her stroke his bare scalp. “I couldn’t tell you.”

“Why not? What did you think I’d do, run away?”

“No. If I thought that I’d have told you immediately. I thought you’d stay. Care for me. Sacrifice yourself.”

“And you couldn’t stand that. Oh, Malenfant. And the affair, that damn Heather—”

“The cancer wasn’t going to kill me, Emma. But it screwed up my life. I couldn’t have kids, I couldn’t reach space… I didn’t want it to screw your life too — ow.”

She’d slapped him. Her face was twisted into a scowl. She slapped him again, hard enough to sting, and pushed at his chest. She was weak, but she was pushing them apart. “What right did you have to mess with my head like that?” And she aimed more slaps at him.

He lifted his hands, let her dismally feeble blows rain on his arms. “I did it for you.”

“You control freak. And then, even after you engineer a divorce, for Christ’s sake, you still can’t let me go. You recruit me into your company, you even drag me into interplanetary space.”

“I know. I know, I know. I’m fucked up. I’m sorry. I wanted to let you go. But I couldn’t bear it. I could never let go. But I tried. I didn’t want to wreck your life.”

“My God, Malenfant.” Now her eyes were wet. “What do you think you did? What do you think life is for?”

“Emma—”

“Get out. Leave me alone, you cripple.” And she turned her face to the wall.

He stayed, watching her, for long minutes. Then he closed up his suit.

He found remnants of human presence on Cruithne: footprints, scuff marks, even handprints. There were pitons stuck in the re-golith, dangling lengths of tether, a few abandoned scraps of kit, film cartridges and polystyrene packing and lengths of cable. There were a few fresh, deep craters that looked as if they might have been dug by the bullets of troopers’ guns.

A few yards from the portal itself he found the battery of instruments which, a million years ago, Cornelius Taine had set up to monitor the artifact: cameras, spectrometers, Geiger counters, other stuff Malenfant had never been able to name, let alone understand. The instruments were still in their rough circle, centered on the portal. But they were uniformly smashed, lenses broken, casings cracked open, cabling and circuit boards ripped out. The regolith here was much disturbed. It was obvious somebody had deliberately done this, taken the time and effort to wreck the instruments. Tybee J., maybe, while she prepared to chase them into the portal.