The evening lunar shuttle departed on time. When the engines roared and the rocket left the steel trusses, I took a deep breath. Public transportation to the Moon had stopped being a novelty, but I still admired the pilots’ skill.
“You may unfasten your seat belts,” said a female voice. “The panoramic bar on the upper deck is ready to take your orders. Dinner will be served in an hour…”
Tickets to the Moon were now more than affordable, which meant that any of the passengers on the shuttle could be an object of PP interest.
Leaving my Planetary Police uniform at home in Brooklyn, I flew to the civilian launch pad at Cape Canaveral in inconspicuous jeans and a polo shirt. My gun was hidden in an armpit holster, and I entered the spaceship without the usual security procedures.
“Never judge a book by its cover,” I muttered, scanning people around me, who looked absolutely harmless.
Moon miners returning from vacation and government officials, whom I could spot from afar, had already gone to sleep. But in the corner, I noticed a lone brunette.
The passengers crowded the aisles, but over their chatter I heard a muffled sniffle. Her blue eyes were reddened, and she was absently staring at a personal screen.
I reminded myself that you only live once. In my experience, travel always brought people together, and the girl, with her raven curls and long legs, looked striking.
“You look like you might need some coffee,” I said, leaning over her seat. “Or maybe even a martini. I’m Paul, by the way.”
“Thank you,” she said, blowing her nose. “I’m Rose. I can’t drink alcohol, so coffee would be nice.”
Ordering the coffee from her screen, I smiled.
“Are there any other dietary requirements I should know about, Rose? Because I intend to invite you to dinner at the Apollo, the best lunar restaurant.”
The robotic server brought our cups, and she looked away. Up close, her eyes were the color of the brightest sapphire.
“I’m vegan,” she said, gulping her coffee in one go. “Animal products and alcohol are harmful to my race.”
I decided I must have misheard something in the buzz of passengers’ voices.
“And why were you crying, Rose?” I moved closer to her. “Just tell me who hurt you, and I…”
She smelled of something strange, mesmerizing, and my head spun for a moment.
“Nobody, Paul,” she whispered. “It’s my last minute in the solar system. I’m sorry to leave, but my people are here to take me back home to…”
She began shifting shape, like smoke over water.
“Where?” I tried to stop her, but my hands passed through the air.
“Alpha Centauri,” her voice was distant, disappearing.
“Look at this flash outside!” somebody called. “Wow, it must be a meteorite!”
“I’ll find you, Rose,” I promised, watching a spark of fire dissolve into the dark velvet of space.
Bio:
Nelly Shulman’s prose was published in numerous literary magazines and anthologies and she has authored three collections of short stories. She is a member of The Society of Authors (UK).