Dutchman Waiting

Ch. 1: The Contract

The roof was a geodesic sphere of lead-infused crystal, the size of a dozen athletic fields. Gone were the extravagant palaces, lunatic recreations, and the iniquitous indulgences of the super-rich, and in their place stood practical buildings with simple lines that conserve resources and enhance structural integrity. They were color-coded for simplicity. Blue for air and water systems, green for hydroponics and recycling, yellow for living quarters, red for engineering, and so on. The graffiti-covered monument to the terrible past was all that remained of what had been.

Lunadom's layout was in concentric circles, starting with hundred-meter-tall hydroponic farms in a four-by-four grid in the center, which grow a large portion of all the food eaten all over the system. The green leaves starkly contrasted against the metal, concrete, and glass surfaces, and there is something peaceful about walking among the coiled towers of genetically engineered plants, even if the carbon dioxide levels in those growing chambers would kill a person in minutes. Something deep in humans still called us to the forest, Vadym thought.

To contrast with the infinite blandness of construction materials, lunar residents grew very fond of bright paints and dyes. Along the edges of the farm sector stood an arc of rainbow-colored storefronts selling fresh fruits and vegetables, homespun tinkertech, loud and garish clothing, and marvelous toys for children and adults. The Spectrum Center, where the only gray was the legality of the trade.

The next ring was toned in yellows and tans, the social sector. Family workshops, cafes, restaurants, daycares, and businesses line the walkways, with a dozen decks of homes above. Residents adorn balconies with potted plants and Earth flags, representing every nation, sports team, tribe, cult, religion, social cause, or type of pet the owners prefer. The residential district extends almost to the outer wall, insulated by a ring of garages that offer rover parking, ship docking, and vacuum storage. The garages are all triple air-locked from the outside. Outside, beyond the dome, is the domain of remotely operated vehicles.

Vadym stood at a high table outside of a bar, taking it all in. He has been back from his last trip long enough to get sick of it all, and it only took three weeks this time. He spent the time with his mother and regaled her reading club and business partners with tales of his exploits, carefully omitting the cloud of insanity and loneliness and embellishing the views of the Jovian ballet of moons and clouds. Careful listeners would ask, "How do you deal with being alone for so long?" and he would brush it off with "Movies and sleep." or a similar excuse. The truth was that he didn't deal with it; he reveled in it. Numbers, arcs, and ellipses of orbits, fuel calculations, tuning the hydroponics, and breeding generations of the perfect tomato, the most succulent strawberry, were his life: that, and a lot of sleep.

He knew about mental health and that detaching too much from humanity doesn't lead to good things, so he forced himself to spend a month on Luna between missions. Somehow, he always found ways to shorten it by a few days. The smells, the noise, the chaos, and the unpredictability of people were refreshing, then blasé, and then annoying. After enough trips, one starts to notice the patterns in humanity, and everything becomes rather predictable. He might leave for a year, sometimes three, but to Vadym, only weeks would pass. When he returned, they were will arguing about the same politics – immigration, energy credits, growing out or up or down, the same conflicts with Earth and the Belt. Fashion changed but stayed the same and cycled back. Only pilots understood, and there were too few of them.

He watched the crowd move around him at their own speeds. People were embarking upon their domestic missions, delivering packages, attending meetings, and conducting business. There were those enjoying the company of others, going at a leisurely pace and missing the forest for the trees or trees for the forest. There were patrons at cafés and bars, but even their presence was fleeting, long enough for a meal, a drink, and then on to other things. Vadym was also waiting but had come very early to acclimate ahead of his customer. Or was he the customer meeting the buyer? He was being paid to do what he had been born to do and viewed contracts as a formality, like maintenance or going to the bathroom. Something that had to be done but wasn't the central part of his life.