The shuttle home seats nine. There are ten of you, and two men answer to the engineer's name.
You are the doctor on a Moon mining base. The man you pulled from an escape pod says he is Adam Kessler. Adam Kessler is at breakfast. The shuttle home lands in twelve days. It seats nine. You are ten.
6:10 a.m. base time on Copper Rim Base, at the south pole of the Moon. Your stethoscope is cold, and the heart under it is going much too fast.
Two hours ago, you and the pilot pulled this man out of a drifting escape pod. He says his name is Adam Kessler, the base engineer.
Adam Kessler is in the galley next door, laughing over his eggs. His face is on the file, and he came in on the supply run three weeks ago.
Commander Dorsey is on her way to lock your patient in storage. The shuttle home lands in twelve days. It seats nine. There are ten of you.
The doctor on Copper Rim Base, a mining base at the south pole of the Moon. Once, on a night shift in Flagstaff, two patients needed the last open spot in intensive care, and you waited for the senior doctor to pick.
The man from the escape pod: thin and pale, cracked lips, red-blond stubble, a burst blood vessel in his left eye, a borrowed gray jumpsuit too short at the wrists.
Next door, a man with your engineer's name is still laughing. Keep reading.
Commander of Copper Rim Base: a Black woman with short gray hair, glasses on a cord, a navy jacket and a chipped mug from Houston.
The pilot who flew you out to the pod has a story ready. Keep reading.
Someone who runs the base's air says it is fine. Keep reading.
Every call home goes through a friendly voice in Houston. Keep reading.
Hand sanitizer and the burnt-match smell of Moon dust that no filter gets out. Through a small window, Earth hangs half lit in the black.
The rescue shuttle lifts nine people, and no tenth, not even in cargo. Whoever stays waits seventy days for the next ship.
No one boards without your signed fitness check, and only you can sign. Every name you sign is one you chose.
Every call to Earth goes through the company relay in Houston. Whatever you ask Earth, the company hears first.
You wake after twenty years. Your face is on every poster. You never ran for anything.
You wake forty years early on the Meridian. The only other person awake says he has been alone for forty years.
Five years ago he left you for the alien ship without a word. It sent him home, and it wants one more guest.
You remember him falling tonight. He's alive, wearing the twin of your ring. At dawn, the Queen announces your engagement.
