SENSE OF UNITY:
In Which Luna Exerts a Different Sort of Gravity.
by Electric Keet

I once irritated an architect-in-training – my friend Jantje, in fact – by suggesting that Luna doesn’t have a style of its own, that it’s defined by a complete lack of style. We argued for thirty minutes, right there in the centre of the common campus of my old school. She finally gave up trying to convince me, and insisted that I’d understand if I ever visited the place. She couldn’t have known that years later I would find myself on Luna, in one of her domes, in one of those domes’ many automats, surrounded by precisely the lack of style I spoke of. At the moment, I was also surrounded by thirty mooncats, Yaz, Falda, and the sandy-maned human she’d just leapt up to embrace.

The wolfess’ tail thumped the cushioned booth rhythmically, and she grinned to us. “Can you see the family resemblance?” she teased with a giggle. “Lárus Flosason, meet Bell Gloeckner and Yaz Lenslight.”

“Honoured to meet both of you.” The human nodded to each of us with a grin and a hand held up, palm out. Yaz returned the gesture in that awkward way tourists do. I made a passing motion of it. Lárus nodded. “I hope my little sister has not given you too much trouble.” After I first met her, It took me a long time to get used to the way Falda spoke, conversationally but without contractions, some quirk of the Callistian dynasties that she’d clung to after discarding all else. Lárus spoke with the same quirk, but somehow it annoyed me again.

“Quite the opposite,” Yaz gushed. “She’s given us just the right amount.”

Falda slid into the other side of the booth and playfully tugged her brother in after her. “Have you been in touch with Mom?”

“I have. First, though, we’re in an automat for a reason.” Lárus motioned to the table-side conveyor. “See anything you like?”

Lunarian food thus far seemed to consist of myriad configurations of nutritive paste ranging from liquid to solid, treated with synthetic flavourings, all equally palatable. “Well, I… don’t really know where to begin,” I admitted.

“The cuisine is a bit strange at first,” he admitted, “but there’s a certain minimalist appeal to it.”

The word is “ascetic”, perhaps? I thought as I lifted a passing plate. The red edge meant it was a hot dish; everything on Luna was colour-coded. The contents smelled strongly of carrots but looked like a cylindrical parody of such. “Let me know if you spot any raspberry food-cubes, eh? Those are my favourite.”

If the human picked up on my sarcasm, he showed no sign of it. “Mine also. So, sister, you asked about our house. The pack is well, though apparently Sigfús is at that… difficult age, just at the edge of adulthood.” Falda and I nodded with the understanding that only freebirths have. Yaz never suffered puberty, having been grown in a tank; he was born at the age of sixteen. “The family… is as always, perhaps worse. You have heard of the recent troubles?”

Yaz nodded and swallowed. “The territorial scuffles, yeah? No offence, friend, but I don’t understand how there can still be arguments this far down the line.”

“To be honest, nobody really does. All of it is posturing to give the houses something to do besides watching the ems trickle in. A waste.” The way he said it was emphatic, but the disgust didn’t reach his eyes. I trusted him less by the moment. “Mom went on about it for quite some time, but the details are of no consequence. I believe she was attempting to convince me to return home in her awkward way.”

“When will you?” Falda asked.

Lárus fingered the edge of his putty-coloured jumpsuit. “The research collaboration I started here four years ago has been fruitful, and… I would rather not lose those opportunities.” He smiled with satisfaction. “I have decided that this will be my home. I consider myself to be a Lunarian now, as do my colleagues and comrades.”

The wolf didn’t seem to know whether to be disappointed or approving. She looked to me, then to Yaz, then back to her brother. Approval seemed to win out. She wagged her tail within the confines of the booth and motioned toward him. “Will you be…?”

He grinned. “I’ll be going into the tank two weeks from now!”

“Rubin?”

I didn’t answer my father just then. I simply stared at him, terrified of his cautiousness, infuriated at his composure, trying not to admit any of it.

He rubbed his jaw. “Son… it’s obvious that we need to talk.”

“I’ve said enough. I’ve explained enough. I can’t beat that sort of programming.”

He took a single slow breath. “We haven’t been programmed. This isn’t a snap decision or a fad. It’s a choice, a valid choice. Your mother and I have searched ourselves carefully and found the truth… the truth for us. We waited until now for your sake. You don’t have to accept it for yourself, or even understand it, but respect it.”

“Respect? This is a mistake. Another mistake. One you can’t just clear up with a visit to a body clinic and a fresh start.” I resisted the urge to snarl at him, to mock his previous decision.

He closed his eyes and shook his head like I was still some sort of uncomprehending child. “We gave you every opportunity to choose your own path—”

“—and what?” My voice took on that snarl anyhow. “What child wants to be different from his parents? What child wants to stand by and watch his parents become something he’s not? Well? What child wants to watch his parents get brainwashed into some cult without following along just to be with them, eh?” Words tumbled from me. “You’re right. I’m no child anymore. Go ahead! Go fly to the edge of the System, get those other religious psychotics to turn you into whatever, play your horsey games and worship your new horsey heroes.” It wasn’t an afterthought, but it sounded like one when I added, “Forget about me.”

The last I saw of my father was his silent form turning, walking, disappearing toward Charon.

In all honesty, I know those memories are probably more pungent than what actually happened, but it did happen, and it’s all I could think about as I listened numbly to Falda’s brother’s obsession with Luna. After a time, I excused myself and left the automat. As I navigated perfectly rectilinear streets, I walked past so many steel and concrete buildings, so many boxes and domes and boxes with domes, and stared at the cryptic, colour-coded numbers affixed to each. I began to understand. There was a style in Luna, but it had nothing to do with people. It had to do with systems and ideals which swallowed people. The flight off-world couldn’t come fast enough.

PART OF THE BUSINESS:
In Which Certain Vagaries of Professional Bodyracing Are Laid Bare.
by Electric Keet

“Yaz, I think I have an opening.”

“Let it go, Ira.” It pained me to say that. “Right out of a scrape, they’re too nervous. No telling what they’ll do.” That was only half of the truth – the weak half, at that – but I’d have to wait to discuss it with zim. “If everyone holds position, we still keep first overall.”

I let out a heavy breath as the first few racers crossed the finish, Ira sixth among them. At least my people all made it through, I thought. The moment the last of them was in, I headed for the door of the observation blind and sent one last message. “Good work, team. I’ll be right down.”

In my hurry, I nearly collided with Element’s manager, Marcello. He half-chuckled, “Whoa! Careful there, Lenslight.”

“Sorry. What’s the word on Sweeper?” I followed him into the lift. “Not too bad, I hope?”

“Depends on your definition.” The lanky human tapped a button to close the doors and start the lift on its way down. “She’s unconscious and already on her way to a nice, comfy tank. She’ll probably be out for Mars.”

I shook my head sympathetically. “Poor kid.”

“Not her first time. She’ll be fine. So will the team.” He offered a nonchalant shrug. “Nice flower.”

“Thanks.” The squid-influenced part of me that was pleased with the compliment yielded after about two seconds. Then, the rest of me was too busy trying not to be embarrassed about it. “Local variety. Falda has an eye for flowers.”

He half-chuckled, then grinned. “Hey, I have an idea.” He motioned toward the approaching ground level and said in a conspiratorial baritone, “Give ’em a show?”

I blinked. “Serious?”

“As organ failure. We have a rivalry to maintain, and you haven’t had a chance at it yet.”

My stomach filled with angry butterflies. I knew this would be part of the job, but somehow I figured I’d have more preparation. “Yeah, I guess.”

He adjusted his jacket and grinned widely. “Don’t worry, you’ll do fine. Catch up afterwards at your locker room?”

“That works.”

“Good. Angry face, and remember it’s all for the cameras.” His casual demeanor left him like a sneeze the moment the doors opened. He shouted, “And if it hadn’t been for your orange freakshow—”

“Look here, ringer, I’m running a clean race out there, and I don’t want to hear—”

The attention was on both of us. This was his favourite place to be, and he showed it passionately. “Can it, fuzzball. I got no patience for your little whimpery noises. Element’s gonna scrub the ribbon with you!”

I snorted dismissively. “Well, you’ve got ten more races to learn how.”

“Excuse me, boys.” Mahatapa slid between us like liquid and brushed my muzzle with the tip of her tail. “Maybe you should take your little tantrums elsewhere.” Her all-business walk took her right past and toward the pit.

I was too stunned to react, but Marcello sneered at her and then practically growled at me. “See you in Rustville, tank-job.” With that, he turned toward the pit also, and all I could do was shake my head in bewilderment and follow the rest of the team managers down.

Lady peeled off her unitard. “Nice act. You know, if your part is that of the hapless khlyupik,” she said, eliciting a snicker from Eekay.

I shook my head. “The what? What does that even mean? Anyhow, it was my first time.”

“I thought I was your first time,” the snow-leopard teased.

Bell tensely folded his jacket. “So, what happened to ‘no cheap antics’, eh?”

I blinked in surprise. Lady seemed to be expecting an answer to that also. Ira’s expression was even. “Well, I… said that, yes, and what I meant was the on-ribbon antics. This is different. It’s harmless.”

The lynx nodded slowly. “All right, I’ll buy that,” he said. “I just don’t want you turning into Basil on us. For your sake as much as ours.”

I started to respond, but just then a voice rumbled from outside. “Little pigs, little pigs, let me in!” I opened the door to see Marcello’s gleaming grin. “Think I’d make a good wolf?”

“No,” Falda laughed. She peeked her head out from behind the divider obscuring the scrubbers. “Hi, Marcello.”

“Mind if I come in?”

Nobody objected, so I motioned for him to enter. “We were just talking about you, actually. Well, about the little show you and I put on. I’m trying to assure them that it won’t go any deeper.”

His expression went instantly apologetic. “Oh, space, I didn’t step on anyone’s toes there, did I? I swear, it’s all just kayfabe. If I offended—”

“No offence taken,” Ira said with a slight smile. “If anything, this ‘orange freakshow’ is amused by your illusory attitude.” Zie swished zir tail enigmatically and followed Lady into the scrubbers.

The human sputtered. “Ah, well, I… think that’s an apology accepted.” He grinned to the rest of the team. “It’s all in fun, I promise. Anyhow, I’m the least of your worries. Miss Congeniality in spots out there is keeping to herself all of a sudden, and my guess is that she’s taking some stuff personally.”

Bell wadded his unitard up and tossed it in the locker. “Doesn’t matter long as we keep our racing up to level, right?”

Falda walked back to her locker and sifted through her street clothes. “Or at least better than we did today.”

“You did fine today, all of you.” I shrugged. “I don’t think Zeno’s End could beat us in a straight contest, so I’ve been a little worried that she might try to game things a little. You know, like convincing the committee to demand another psi test for Ira just to stress us and seed doubt, or things like that. She certainly wasn’t quiet after my accident, remember?”

A sweater Falda was pulling over her head muffled her voice. “Well, you did take out two of hers….”

“Not intentionally!”

Marcello rubbed the back of his bare head. “Anyhow, I just wanted to give you a heads up and make sure everything was fine here. We slice?”

“Top slice,” I responded confidently.

“Great. I’ll go make sure my remaining crew haven’t managed to set themselves on fire or anything.” He gave a nod, then said, “Oh, that reminds me. Lenslight, Falda, you know there’s an E.O.B. show tonight, right?”

The wolf wagged. “We have seats already. I missed the last Io stop of the tour. I will not miss this one!”

Marcello grinned. “I’ll probably see you two there, then. Ciao!” With that, he was out the door.

AN AFTERNOON’S ENTERTAINMENT:
In Which an Unplanned Spectator Puts it All into Perspective.
by Electric Keet

At the Albedo Lounge, time was measured in laps when a race was on. Furthermore, anyone who interrupted the Martian bartender during that time was unlikely to do so twice. Banell, having learned that lesson some time ago, quietly took a spot at the bar.

“Be with ya in a mo’, luv,” Ndidi said. Zir gaze hadn’t strayed a millimetre from the screen.

The stoat let out an exhausted “mmm” in response and resigned himself to watching the same monitor everyone else was. Much of it showed any of a number of live camera feeds tracking the racers’ progress. One side had a smaller frame which swapped between secondary views and slow-motion replays. Below that, statistics flashed by too quickly to be read by anyone unfamiliar with the sport. The sound of bantering sportscasters was nearly drowned out by the crowd of fans. He leaned in to get a better view just as something spectacular must have happened; the force of the cheer from the others at the bar dragged him back reflexively.

An announcer swiftly added, “Iromouairu slips past Tanvi. just shy of the ribbon’s edge! That’s an awfully risky manouevre.”

“That’s right,” a deeper voice said. “Zie’s not in the clear yet, though. Theta Silver still has a solid lock on the first two positions— whoa!” The exclamation came at a near-crash at the head of the pack which sent the surrounding racers into a defencive scatter. “It looks like Neutron’s trying to make a point up there, Tess.”

“Doesn’t surprise me one bit,” Tess responded. “Zeno’s End has had an axe to grind since before Mercury.”

Banell shook his head and muttered, “How dramatic.”

“Hush!” The bartender held up a hand for a couple seconds, then said, “Right, should be a straightaway going into the fifth. Dull spot, everyone in the front half is out of boost. What can I get ya, Banny?”

“Still got Amurani’s Chain on tap?”

“Just barely, we’re almost out.” Ndidi thunked a bowl of triangular pretzels on the bar and grabbed a pint glass. “Six Below’s strugglin’ on this one,” zie complained while pouring.

“Right, right.” Banell munched on a pretzel and kept watching. There was a mooncat with a bit of a lead, and the cluster of racers who’d scattered before were starting to come back together after a turn. “Any crashes?”

“Not yet,” the tiger started to say, but sudden action on the monitor cut zim off.

“Neutron’s making another move,” the deeper announcer snapped. A hare in a blue uniform edged toward a skunk in green. “He pops a skandy toward Sweeper, she drops back— and a collision between Sweeper and Tanvi on three!” A tiger who looked rather like Ndidi tumbled painfully with the skunk. “ They’re tangled. Sabastien… barely squeaks by and jumps in. Yes, looks like both Sweeper and Tanvi are stopped cold halfway through the fifth.”

“Insane,” Banell grumbled between sips of dark lager. It was hard to tell who, but one of the two crashed racers was bleeding profusely onto the other. “Could get killed that way.”

“Doesn’t happen that often in Jovian circuits,” another patron said with a rush.

“Only has to happen once to ya,” the stoat smirked.

Ndidi pounded on the bar hard enough to liberate a couple pretzels from the bowl. “Mute it ’til race end, will ya?”

The view of the injured racers slid to one of the secondary positions, and the screen filled with the silver-clad mooncat in the lead. The sportscasters were still going on about the way the accident would affect the team rankings. The crowd around the monitor were watching with rapt attention and no small amount of excited chatter. After a few more seconds of that, however, the tone changed completely. The left side of the display started filling with times as racers crossed the finish line. Most of the fans were grumbling, then.

Banell watched in confusion. “Hey, Ndidi, I don’t get it. Why didn’t anyone boost near the end?”

The tiger refilled a pair of mugs. “Loss of control. Everyone’s worn after a long race so they’re twitchy to start with, and when it’s all crowded like that, a boost is a guaranteed ribbon-kiss for someone.” Zie handed each mug off. There was a mellow sort of cheer then, and she looked to the monitor. “Ooh, looks like our folks had enough points to keep the lead!”

“Six Below, hunh?” Banell drained his mug. “Local favourite?”

“They used to be local, and regulars here. Now they’re based in Iopolis, but they’re out here half the time anyhow for races. Fill that for ya, luv?”

The stoat nodded. “Yeah. Hey, here’s a question for you. Anyone ever try to boost and do that skandy thing at the same time?”

“Mm-hm.” Ndidi pulled a tap. “A few times, but I only remember one in partic. In fact… there, see that scrawny guy in the bottom corner?”

Banell glanced to the display, then chuckled. “What, the one with the flower?”

The bartender slid the mug over. “Yeah, him. He did it once. Couldn’t keep it steady and it cost him an arm. Now, he manages the team.”

“Gets into screaming matches too, looks like.” Banell shook his head and waved the spectacle away. “What an absurd sport.”