The Shoemaker estate did not pick up until the fifth ring. When they did, a slow mechanical voice drawled over the line. A special microphone disguised this person's voice. The message came, and was recorded as such: "A talisman, in the hands of one crew member, will dramatically increase the effect of the moon’s gravity on the Apollo spacecraft. The moon landing must be sabotaged in order to preserve the secrecy of our operation, and our relationship to the lunar menace."

  When the speaker had finished, the line went dead, and the secretary of the Shoemaker estate finished writing, tore her note from the pad, folded it and placed it in an envelope, prepaid for first class mail. Then she took the notepad, which bore faint pen-marks on the blank page. This she brought to the hearth in the foyer. Tossing it inside, she stoked the flames, and crushed the pages with the iron prong. Then she returned to her desk, and picked up the phone.

  "There is a message coming for Tombstone through the US Mail. I am calling to request urgently that he speak with me."

  The Kennedy Space Center was in Cape Canaveral, Florida, north of the city, and slated for a whole variety of attractions. A NASA shuttle launch simulation was on the docket, as well as a huge gift shop with astronaut memorabilia. An Air Force Space and Missile Museum would show the remains of the space shuttle, assuming it came back.

  A manatee sanctuary park lay on the banks of the Banana River just a few minutes drive into the city, and the three men, soon to be heroes of Man, had spent about an hour on the boardwalk, shuffling along, soaking in the boring and terrestrial ambiance.

  In less than twenty-four hours, they'd have a birds eye view of this city, if they wanted one. But their eyes would be turned upwards.

  After their brief walk on the waterfront, the three men returned to their hotel rooms and made themselves ready for the celebratory dinner, which would celebrate their guaranteed success, whatever the real odds were. No one knew, really. Nobody had done this before.

  Niel took the microphone once everyone was settled in. “The last time I was in this room," he said, "There were ten people. Myself, Buzz, and a few others. We had just met with the director of NASA and former President Kennedy, for whom this facility was named. Without his support, and the continued support of former President Johnson, and President Nixon, we’d be years away from a launch.

  There was some scattered applause.

  “I’m happy to announce that—officially—we have confirmed tomorrow’s launch. Everything is going according to plan.”

  A scatter of camera flashes.

  “What a fine time in Cape Kennedy. Thanks for having us. And wish us luck, folks. Our next stop is the moon.”

  Neil gave a last wave and stepped down. The lights were dim and a celebratory band played in the corner.

  When applause died down, he sat by Mike and Buzz at a small round table, one of many.

  Mike leaned back. “How about this place, huh? What a show.”

  Neil grinned. “Too dark. Too colorful. Get me back on board. The white and gray, and too-bright lights.”

  “I prefer this.” Mike said.

  Buzz grinned. “Me too, but I can barely see. For example, what’s this? It looks like water, right? Too dark to tell. I wonder if it tastes like water—”

  Neil snatched the drink. “I can tell by the scent, Buzz. One great leap for mankind?” He winked at Mike.

  Mike laughed. “One drunken blunder for Neil Armstrong, and Buzz Aldran. I can see the headlines now. At least they had a good time.”

  “One great night for two men, and apologies to mankind.”

  All three of them laughed. Then Buzz shrugged and played innocent.

  Niel disposed of the hard seltzer.

  A while later, Mike leaned on the balcony rail. He caught a whiff of the fuel tanks. A whiff of the alcohol. A whiff of the steak.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Perfume ticked the fine receptors at the edge of his perception.

  A woman appeared at the door. She took in a deep draught of the night air and walked toward him, stretching her arms.

  The dress flowed over her like water, over the wide curve of her hips. Her legs surfaced and sank into the layers of fabric. The sharp angle of her shoulders trailed behind her as she stretched, and the neck of her dress, which was already cut low and the candlelight cast deep shadows on her chest.

  He watched her with all his attention out of the corner of his eye. His throat had turned dry.

  Her eyes were fixed on the horizon. She did not look at him, not even when she drew level with him. Without acknowledging his presence, she melted into his side, and leaned her head on his shoulder.

  “You look good in a suit.” Her lips tickled the lobe of his ear.

  He breathed in sharply. Then he inhaled, and drank in the scent of her perfume, and the deeper scents he knew so well beneath it. The scents of the lab, her laundry detergent, and the scents that lingered on their bedsheets.

  She nudged his arm with her elbow and they held hands.

  “How many more parties, Mike?”

  He shook his head. “We launch tomorrow. How many can there be?”

  “When you get back, I mean. How many? Celebrating the work you did.” She turned a bright green eye toward him.

  “I’ll skip ‘em,” he shrugged. “Mary-Anne…”

  “Mike?”

  “I don’t want to lose you.”

  “That’s a funny thing for you to say.” She frowned at him, and he smiled. Her eyebrows crinkled when she frowned.

  Then he signed. “I know you’re angry, about me going, and you staying.”

  “Well… Yes. It should’ve been us, Mike.”

  “I know. But…”

  “But what?”

  “I don’t know. It wasn’t up to me.”

  “That isn’t true.”

  “No, it is true.”

  “Well you didn’t work that hard to convince them, did you?”

  “I asked them, I explained why you should be on the crew. They gave me a definite answer. A firm an unequivocal no. They weren’t going to budge, Mary-Anne.”

  “You could’ve tried again.”

  “What, just to make you feel better?”

  “No, to make me feel like you cared. Why am I on the backup team? Buzz is more distracting than any of us. It’s all a load of bull.”

  “I wish I could take you with me.”

  She wasn’t really listening. “I bet they’re drinking right now. Does anyone else take the missions as seriously as I do?”

  “I do,” Mike retorted.

  She looked at him, and her face softened. “Sweetheart. I know you do. But it feels like you’re the only one besides me who cares what happens up there. It’s a shame, that’s all. If something goes wrong… I just can’t bear the idea that those fools might get you all killed. What am I supposed to do?”

  “Maybe I should let them drink. Then we can send the backup crew. Serve them right for dicking around all the time.”

  “That would be nice.” She turned his head gently toward her. “But if that happens, they won’t send you.” Her lips pressed into his. “My hero. My Heracles. My sweetheart. Always off on another adventure….”

  “I always come back to you.”

  “To me?” Her breath ran down his neck, her voice the barest whisper.

  “Always.” His hands rested on his hips, pulled her against him.

  “Not to anyone else?” Her voice was barely audible.

  Mike leaned back and searched her face.

  His face was a mask of worry, and she enjoyed the deep green, dancing with the soft light of the dining hall.

  “Nobody else, baby. Never.”

  “I want you to bring something with you, something of mine.”

  He grimaced but she didn’t let him speak. Her finger pressed against his lips.

  “They won’t mind. They won’t even notice. Here.”

  She pressed an object into his hands and closed his fingers around it.

  “Carry this and think of me.”

  He looked at her in silence.

  “Promise me.” She groaned. “I’m not asking a lot.”

  “I promise. I promise.” He cracked his fingers and looked. It was a ring, small and unadorned save for a green jewel. His favorite color. His eyes went wide and he looked at her again.

  “You know what that is, right? Mike.”

  “Oh my god,” he said. He stepped back, half expecting her to kneel.

  “Maybe we can do it when you get back.” She smiled, and squeezed his hand once. Then she took him by the hand and led him back inside. He couldn’t see her face, but tears ran down her cheeks.

  Mike held the ring with an iron grip, until his hand tingled. He felt light, like he could lift off the ground and just float.

  “You’ll look good in a wedding dress,” he whispered in her ear.

  She smiled, and her green eyes flashed.

  The moon was a waxing crescent, but as everyone knows, the shape was just an illusion created by shadows. Nothing actually changed about the moon, except the slow erosion of meteorites smashing into the wide, empty planes where no man ever walked.