Leaving Luna

3 - Snoring Through Imperfection

Sometime in the thirteenth century Richard Whatshisname looked up at Luna and decided that the surface was marred by imperfections, and thus the concept to Lunar Mare was born.

That's a lie. I'm pretty sure that's a lie. I made it up in the spot to make a joke about Luna being marred. I'm sure there's a more studious explanation for the Lunar Mare, but I'm too exhausted to bother looking it up. Please, if you know why Lunar Mare are called Lunar Mare, whisper the real reason into a bottle of empty essential oil, burry it in regolith for a Lunar day and then forget you ever did such a thing. Then we can both dream of some far-future archeologist digging up your expired bottle of essential oil, unscrewing the cap, because you'd never bury a corked bottle of essential oil in the Lunar regolith, and seeing your puff of breath and words escape into the vacuum.

We are all marred with imperfections, mirrors of Luna, pocked with foibles and acne, even those of us with perfect unblemished skin. Not that you can count me among the unblemished. Again, hyperbole for hyperbole's sake.

Elliot snores. It's his nose, pronounced, neigh aquiline, a great gray iceberg on a sea of wrinkles, gurgling and gasping, drawing in air in fits and starts. I've told him once or twice, years ago, so long ago that he's forgotten. I can't use the memory as vocal riposte for the mundane fact that he has no memory of the suggestion. And yet.

"It's cute," Loraine says.

Elliot's chin is on their chest, bouncing and bobbing in the clatter and bump of the tram line. We're outside the dome, whisking along the surface of Luna, on our way to Acosta for a long weekend. Most travel on Luna is by tram line, though there are occasional shuttle rides to get from the equator where most communities are to the poles where the more industrial parts of my home world are. Acosta is only a few hundred kilometers from Collins Landing, but the tram lines are preoccupied with cargo over people, we are shuffled off onto slower rails, with slower trains, giving us a slower transit and plenty of time to consider the stark Lunar surface without the protection of a dome or other structure. And to snore. There's plenty of time to snore.

Loraine, my older sister, insisted on joining us for our getaway. She took Lucas's spot in our triumvirate. Lucas had schemes in motion long before I learned I'd be leaving for Mars and Ganymede beyond months ago, schemes they were loath to abandon to accompany us to Acosta, the garden spot of Luna. Truly, Lucas never much liked Acosta, or at least they don't like who Elliot and I are in Acosta. Lucas is an angel to endure our squabbles and often-times charming bickering – is it charming? I suppose, but I'm biased. Lucas isn't as accepting of the nostalgia that Elliot and I fall into when we visit Acosta.

"It is what it is," I say, leaning back into the relative comfort of the tram seat.

These long-range trams are half a step more comfortable than the inter-dome trams, which on whole makes them merely fine. I've traveled across the solar system as a Courier for the Lunar Chorus, on some of the finest passenger ships that are offered. I've also traveled on cargo ships that should have been condemned to the boneyard and recycled into fountain pens. The inter-Luna tram line lies closer to the boneyard in terms of comfort on that scale of scrap to luxury. Still, having my sister and husband with me elevates that rating a bit, even if Elliot snores like a hand tool.

"Do you know why you're traveling?" Loraine asks.

I never know why I'm traveling before I travel. The link I have to the Lunar Chorus is tenuous as best, nothing like being an actual member of the Chorus. I feel more like a doorman than a member. I'd feel like a taxi driver, if Luna has taxies, which it doesn't. I've ridden in taxies on Mars, whose population of more spread out than here in Luna. You'd think that Martian taxies would be self-driving, but you'd be wrong. Something about unions and the sanctity of human labor. I don't pretend to understand it. On Luna I can tram to most anywhere, Rimside Gardens to Docks, Collins Landing to Acosta, Mars is different. Mars has taxies.