Luna: New Moon

‘You shouldn’t have endangered their funding.’ As Lucas’s train left Hadley Central, Mãe Odunlade had contacted Adriana. Lucas knew the reason for Irmã Loa’s visits. Lucas had extorted the information by threatening to cancel funding after Adriana’s death. Adriana is furious at what Lucas did. He was always the silken bully. Whatever else she has done, she has the right to be furious about that.

‘You shouldn’t have played dynasties with our family.’

‘Lucas, it’s all dynasties, always dynasties. I wanted the best for you, for all of you. For the family.’

He’ll concede that. It’s always been the family for Lucas. He’ll play his card now. Adriana has forced his hand.

‘Is it for the family that you named Ariel as the heir to Corta Hélio?’

‘Yes.’

‘Not Rafa. Not—’

‘You?’

‘Rafa would choke this company to death. You know that. Ariel has her own life and career. Do you think she’ll want to be be hwaejang of Corta Hélio?’

‘Perhaps not, but that is what I have decided. After my death, Ariel will become head of the company. She won’t be hwaejang. I’ve invented a new title and executive authority for her. You and Rafa will retain your positions and responsibilities. You’ll all work together.’

‘Is this some notion the Sisterhood whispered to you?’

‘That’s beneath you, Lucas.’

‘What about us?’

‘Us? You and Rafa?’

‘Us; you and me, mamãe.’

‘Lucas Lucas, this is why I wanted this all to wait until I’m safely dead.’

‘I think I’m owed an explanation.’

‘This is the moon. You’re owed nothing. Ariel will be Choego of Corta Hélio.’

‘As I said, I’ve told no one else. So far.’

Adriana knew he would do this in the end, but the manipulation, the oiled threat still makes her catch her breath.

‘And that is why I’ve put as much distance as I could between you and the throne, Lucas.’

This is the knife. This is the wound beyond healing. The corners of Lucas’s mouth twitch.

‘I will fight you.’

‘I’m not your enemy Lucas.’

‘If you act against the best interests of Corta Hélio, then yes you are. Even you, mamãe. You’ve hurt me, mamãe. I can’t think of a deeper cut. I can’t forgive you for this.’

He stands, purses his fingers and bows to his mother. No parting kisses. The air shivers with rainbow, struck from spray of Boa Vista’s tumbling waters.

‘Lucas.’

He is halfway to the shuttle station.

‘Lucas!’

Can I come in?

Lucas, please no. You’re not going to persuade me.

I don’t want to persuade you.

He stands before Jorge’s door-camera as if every bone is shattered like sub-regolith and only his will holds them together.

Come in. Oh come in.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t let leak any word of the devastation inside but Jorge pulls him to him, enfolds him, kisses him. Holds him. Holds him long, in the tiny smelly room, in the tiny bed.

Afterwards Lucas rests his head on Jorge’s belly. He’s fit for a musician, tuned and toned.

The apartment is miserable, high in the rafters of Santa Barbra Quadra, the rooms tiny and cramped, the air over-breathed. The bed takes up an entire room. The guitar hangs on the wall, watching like an icon or a different lover. It makes Lucas uneasy; the sound-hole a cyclops eye or a horrified mouth.

‘Is your mother still alive?’

‘No, she died in the Aristarchus quake.’ Lucas feels the gentle rhythm of Jorge’s words and breath and heart. ‘She worked for you. Selenology. Moon rocks and dust.’

Mild quakes shake the moon regularly; tidal stresses, the aftershocks of impacts, thermal expansion as the cold crust warms in the new sun: gentle trembles, a long slow temblor to remind the humans who crawl through the wormholes in its skin that the moon is not a dead stone skull in the sky. Rattlers, dust-stirrers. Once every few lunes the moon is struck with more powerful quakes: seisms twenty, thirty kilometres deep, that stop people in their business in their underground cities, that crack walls and gas seals, bring down power lines and sever rails. That collapsed the Corta Hélio maintenance and research base at Aristarchus and buried two hundred people. The base had been cheap and rapidly constructed. Some compensation cases were still working through the Court of Clavius.

Lucas turns his head to look at Jorge.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘You’re lucky,’ Jorge says. ‘You’re lucky you have her.’

‘I know that. And I’ll look after her and I’ll defend her and I’ll be the one who sits with her and holds her hand.’

‘Do you love her?’

Lucas sits up. There is anger in his eyes and for a moment Jorge is afraid.

‘I have always loved her.’

‘I shouldn’t have asked.’

‘You should. No one ever asked. Every week I go and see my mamãe and no one thinks to ask me, do I do this because I have a duty or because I love her? Rafa is the lover. Lucas Corta? The dark one. The schemer. My boy Lucasinho is everything to me. That boy is a wonder, a treasure. But when I talk to him, I can’t say that. It twists up. It goes wrong. It comes out hard. Why is it so easy for the Rafas of this world?’