Jim Baen's Universe

Science Fiction Stories

One Small Step

Written by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

Illustrated by Lee Kuruganti

“It’s just a footprint,” Liz Borra said, crossing her arms over her ample bosom. “I don’t understand all of the fuss.”

Nyalou Templeton suppressed a sigh.

She sat on the opposite side of the wide conference table from Liz, but still felt as if she were being crushed by Liz’s presence—and Liz’s voice, which seemed somehow amplified in the acoustics of the old Government Meeting Hall.

Liz intimidated everyone. No one contradicted her, or if they did, they did so carefully. Liz had campaigned to join the council; everyone else had been drafted as part of their community service.

Because Liz had actually gone through an election, the other council members seemed to think Liz’s position was more legitimate than theirs. Even though she hadn’t had an opponent, she had been elected. She was a “legitimate” member of the council, instead of someone forced to chose between jury duty or a two-year council term.

Even Council President Miguel Juarez seemed to think Liz’s position had more validity than his because of her election. He rarely argued with Liz any more.

After Liz made her pronouncement about the footprint, Nyalou wanted Miguel to shut her down—or at least contradict her.

Instead, he stood and shoved his hands in the back pockets of his pants. He had to hunch because his 6’5” frame was too tall for the ancient room with its colonial-style ceilings. He paced close to the walls (as far from the table as he could get), pausing each time he passed the single plastic window.

Nyalou knew the view outside the window by heart: the hardpacked street, smoothed by decades of use, and the prefab buildings brought from Earth mingling with the new construction made of a mixture of Moon rocks and recycled nanomaterials. Tranquility Base was getting crowded, and the air was getting thinner. Sooner or later, the colony would have to expand the dome, whether the council liked it or not.

Nyalou hated the idea of expansion. And most of all, she hated Liz Borra, whose perfume made each meeting a burden, and whose opinions were hard to take whether delivered in person or in private.

Now Liz was dominating the discussion about the Arrival Monument. The Arrival Monument had been a part of Moon lore since the first colonists. The actual footprint itself was on a square patch of Moon dust that was protected by a case. Succeeding generations had built a stone floor around the case, and a building on top of it, with holographic recreations of the landing, ancient photographs lining the walls, and souvenirs from the early Earth missions. Nyalou didn’t think she’d been to the Monument since she was in grade school, and even then she hadn’t liked it. In fact, her comment during her first visit had been the same as Liz’s not a few moments before.

It’s just a footprint.

She could still feel the disappointment. Somehow she had thought the footprint was going to be much more. And much bigger. Earth astronauts had tiny feet.

But now that Liz was making the argument to get rid of the footprint, Nyalou wanted someone to contradict her—or at least shut her up.

Nyalou turned to Caleb Washburn, hoping he would speak, but he looked down at his slender, callused hands. He was a laborer in the greenhouses outside the dome. He didn’t like to talk even on the best days, but sometimes he blurted exactly what Nyalou had been thinking.

Only so far tonight, he hadn’t blurted anything.

Nyalou folded her hands. She was the newest council member. She’d tried to speak up at her first meeting and Liz had told her that people her age weren’t allowed to have opinions.

Miguel had shushed Liz, but the damage had been done. Liz had hit Nyalou’s insecurities and hit them hard.

Nyalou had vowed not to say anything unless she could back her opinion with fact. And she knew very little about the Arrival Monument.

She knew very little about most things.

Finally old Anastazia Denver-Kyoto shook her elegantly coifed head at Liz. Anastazia had been on the council off and on since before Nyalou was born.

Anastazia could stand up to Liz, but usually felt it wasn’t worth the effort.

This time, Anastazia grimaced and said, “It’s more than a footprint, Liz, and you know it.”

“Yes,” Liz said. “It’s a damned eyesore, and I think it’s got to go.”

“It abuts your property,” Caleb said in his slow deep voice.

“It abuts a lot of property,” Liz said, “not just mine.”

Miguel returned to his chair. It squeaked under his weight. His knees hit the table, shaking it. Most residents of Tranquility Base were small—their ancestors had to meet a height requirement to fit well into the ships designed for the long journey from Earth—so Miguel was an anomaly. And the way he constantly banged against things, he was always reminding people how he didn’t fit.

Nyalou found Miguel’s size fascinating. She found most things about Miguel fascinating, from his dark eyes to his coal-black hair.

And she did her best to hide her fascination. It wouldn’t do for the newest council member to have a crush on the council president.

“Miguel,” Liz said, as sweetly as she could manage. “Would you share with us why you are acting so tortured?”

“The footprint is part of our history, Liz,” Miguel said, his deep voice sending shivers through Nyalou.

“Such history as we have here,” Liz said. “I say if people want real history, let them stay on Earth.”

“We should safeguard our roots,” Caleb said.

“Roots?” Liz somehow managed to sniff the word. “We can put a plaque on the site, saying ‘One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind,’ which is better than a footprint, and takes up less room than that damned Monument. We’ve already removed the flag. I don’t understand why we can’t dispose of the print.”

Nyalou couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “The first settlers made a resolution—”

“The first settlers!” Liz stood and Nyalou winced. She should have known better. She had heard this speech before.

They all had.

“The first settlers picked a footprint. They had several to choose from, and they didn’t know which was which. Then they cover it in permaplastic and we all have to bow to it, because of their decision. They could have stopped those kids from stealing the flag—”

“Liz,” Caleb said.

“—but no. The flag is gone, and we’re stuck with a footprint that could have belonged to the second lunar mission, for that matter.”

“The second mission landed at the Ocean of Storms,” Caleb said.

“Yes,” Miguel said in his dry voice. “It could be worse. Someone could have found the sacred golf ball.”

“You’re making fun of me,” Liz said.

“We wouldn’t dare,” Anastazia said.

Liz shot her a look. Anastazia raised her silver eyebrows—an affectation that on her looked good—and smiled with such warmth that Liz turned away. As she did, Anastazia rolled her eyes. Nyalou suppressed a giggle.

“I don’t think a plaque will do it,” Caleb said, ignoring the interchange. “Imagine if someone had placed a plaque on the spot where Columbus landed—”

“Then we’d know where it was,” Miguel murmured.

“—or where the Romans first set foot in Britain.”

“Or,” Liz said, “where Homo Sapiens first emerged from the muck. That is what we’re talking about, isn’t it? Celebrating humankind’s first appearance on the Moon.”

“Homo Sapiens didn’t emerge from the muck,” Miguel muttered.

“Oh, they did too,” Liz said.

“If you boil down evolution into a single instant,” Anastazia said.

Liz whirled so fast that Nyalou thought she was going to fall over. “You are making fun.”

“Whyever would we do that?” Anastazia asked, those lovely eyebrows raised again.

Because it’s easy, Nyalou thought, but she said, “The first settlers thought we should keep track of our history. Earth started way too late.”

“And because Earth keeps track of its history, no one can buy land any more. Do you know how much space is taken up on Earth by historically protected sites?” Liz waved an arm. Bracelets rattled together, making her sound like a small drum. “At least—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Miguel said softly, but with that firmness that always managed to shut the group up. “We’re not talking about Earth. We’re talking about Tranquility Base.”

“We have the same problems,” Liz said, apparently not as responsive to the subtleties of Miguel’s tones as the rest of the group. “We have limited space—”

“Three quarters of the Moon is undeveloped,” Caleb said. “That’s not exactly limited.”

“Developing domes is expensive,” Liz said. “Not to mention the cost of maintaining them. Within the existing domes, space is at a premium, and we shouldn’t waste it on things that no one really cares about.”

The group was silent. Liz had a point. Who cared about the Monument? Nyalou hadn’t gone in years, and she would venture the others hadn’t either. But it was the principle of the thing. She, for one, understood the first settlers’ determination to carve out a history on their new land. And she liked to uphold traditions. Despite what Liz said, too many old Earth historical sites were plowed under, or demolished, or built over.

Nyalou didn’t want that to happen on the Moon.

“How do we know no one cares?” Nyalou asked, softly, a bit astonished that the words were coming out of her own mouth. “I mean, has anyone done a study?”

“Of course not,” Liz said. “And if they did, it would take forever. We don’t have forever.”

Miguel had turned. He was staring at Nyalou. Her cheeks grew warm. In her term on the council, she had argued points, but she doubted she had ever made a useful suggestion before.

“Why don’t we have forever, Liz?” Miguel asked. “What’s the great hurry?”

“Space,” she said, as if he were feeble. “It’s at a premium.”

“And it will be at a premium next week and the week after,” he said.

Liz’s eyes narrowed. She aimed the gaze at Nyalou. Nyalou did not flinch. She had practiced not-flinching in front of a mirror since she joined the council. Some day she might get enough character in her face to frown back.

Miguel was still staring at Nyalou. His expression was soft, as if she had saved him somehow. Had he ever really looked at her before? She wasn’t sure. When he had welcomed her to the council six months before, he had shaken her hand, but he hadn’t really looked at her since.

“I think a study is a good idea,” Miguel said to everyone. “But we do have a limited budget. Let’s find out if a study will answer our questions before we authorize one.”

“Here we go again,” Caleb whispered. “A study to authorize a study.”

“It’s a waste of taxpayer funds,” Liz said. “No one goes to the Monument any more.”

“We don’t know that, but we do know that developers have been after the land for years.” Miguel inclined his head toward Liz. While she wasn’t a formal developer, she had made most of her money in real estate, a lot of it by renting overpriced condos to Earth tourists who planned to stay longer than a week.

“Nyalou,” Miguel said, and she jumped. He had never used her name before. He pronounced it wrong, with the accent on “lou” instead of “ny,” but she didn’t care. She found the mispronunciation endearing. “Would you get the records for the Monument? We need to know who visits and why.”

“You expect a Monument to keep those kinds of detailed records?” Liz asked.

“They’re a government organization,” Anastazia said in her I-can’t-believe-you-didn’t-know-that voice. “They have to have those kind of records or they lose their funding.”

“You mean we could simply cut off their funding and be rid of them?” Liz sounded excited.

“If it were that easy,” Caleb said, “people would cut off our funding just to be rid of us.”

He had his fists clenched as he said it, as if he wanted to somehow cut off all funding to Liz Borra.

“I can do that,” Nyalou said softly, looking at Miguel.

“Cut off funding?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Get a report on the Arrival Monument. I’ll have it by next meeting.”

He smiled at her, a deep rich smile that made her heart pound. Another flush warmed her cheeks, and she hoped he didn’t notice—or, if he did, he would attribute it to the assignment and not the attention.

“Excellent,” he said, and turned away from her. “Other business?”

He didn’t look at her again throughout the entire meeting.

****

Nyalou didn’t get angry with herself until she walked home. Her apartment was small—one room on the third story of a second generation stone house with plexi-windows. She kept them shuttered most of the time. When the apartment was built, the view had been of the beautifully barren lunar landscape. Now all she could see out her windows was a new building made of recycled nanomaterials. The black walls absorbed everything and reflected nothing. It was like looking into space without seeing stars.

At least she had a view at her job. She was executive director of Souter Mines, which sounded more glamorous than it was. She was actually a second executive director, and her focus was mostly public relations. She didn’t mind—without the mines, there would be no colonies—but she did wish the job paid better. Occasionally she had to complete a press statement or make a denial, but she spent most of her time alone reading, and she knew that her talents were being wasted.

Still, she wouldn’t have given up the view for anything. She had windows that overlooked the surface, with the Earth, the homeland she never claimed, looming blue and white in the background.

She liked looking at it, liked knowing that her ancestors had come from that cool and beautiful place, liked knowing she could visit it if she could ever save up enough credits. She doubted she would, of course. The dream of Earth would probably be so much better than the reality. But if anyone downloaded her reading history—audio, text only, or visual/full entertainment—they would know that she read mostly romances set on old Earth. And she would be hard-pressed to explain why.

When she entered her apartment, she punched up her table-side reader, and entered her password. The text she had been reading appeared, her place marked by the earlier shut-down. She ignored it, though, feeling butterflies in her stomach—the same butterflies she felt when she had opted for two-year long council service instead of the standard month-long jury sequestration.

Then she had wanted to do something important, and, if she told herself the truth, she also wanted to have someplace to go during the evenings, someplace she didn’t have to pay for, like a class or a performance.

This time, she was afraid she wasn’t up for the task. She was afraid Miguel would see how inept she was and ask her to leave the council.

She used the water recycler to make herself a cup of imported herbal tea—chamomile always tasted better when grown on Earth—and sat down beside her reader. The bed had flopped from the wall to the floor at its appointed time, but she wasn’t tired. For the first time since she had become a council member, she would have to use her position to open doors. And she wasn’t exactly sure how.

****

How turned out to be startlingly easy. She sent a request for the Monument’s visitor records from her council account. The records came to her in a secured file within three-point-five seconds, and they seemed complete.

But she felt as if the records weren’t all the information she needed. She hadn’t looked them over, but she knew she wouldn’t be satisfied until she visited the Monument herself.

She had to know what, if anything, she was fighting for.

So she took the following afternoon off and went to the Monument. The trip from the mine to the other end of the colony took longer than she expected. She had planned to walk, but she had finally hired a small rover. Still, when she arrived, she was dust-covered and exhausted, certainly not in the best condition to view the Monument.

The Monument was smaller and shabbier than she remembered. The permaplastic doors looked yellow and sunken into their bed of Moon rocks. The rocks themselves looked worn, as if they’d been scraped by a thousand hands. The building was short and squat, and not all that large, at least not compared to the development rising around it.

The development brushed the edges of the dome. The domeside of the development was made of recycled plexi-glass, so that the condo owners could have an unobstructed view of the surface. The remaining three sides were of recycled nanomaterials in their requisite black. They shone, something Nyalou doubted they would do after all the units had been purchased.

Still, the net affect was to make the Monument look shabby, old, and uncared for. No wonder Liz wanted it out of the neighborhood. It no longer fit.

Nyalou got out of her rover and crossed the hard-packed dirt to the front door. There she let the cycler clean the dirt off her shoes, and then she pushed the door open.

The light inside was artificial, like everything else here, but it had a thin quality to it, as if someone had determined that too much light would cost too much money. The air smelled of dust and was just a bit hot for her comfort.

She ran her council i.d. through the entrance scanner—another first, using the i.d. to get into a building for free—and then walked around the corner.

The main room was smaller than she remembered, and it was full. Children peered at the exhibits, and stood in line for the holo displays. Flats ran constantly, showing Neil Armstrong’s jerky movements on the lunar surface, the resolution grainy and indistinct. His reedy voice repeated his famous line softly, as if the designers of the museum wanted everyone to strain to hear it. In a room to the left, the flats played all the time, showing the full tape of the event, from the moment the Apollo capsule went up to the moment it landed.

A holographic display of the Moon itself—recreated of course—showed Neil Armstrong climbing off the lunar module in his bulky suit, and putting the first footprint in the dust.

A chubby boy who was no more than ten stood beside the hologram, copying its movements, then laughing with his friends at the quaintness of it all.

No one wore bulky suits anymore. To go outside the dome, all a person needed was a skin-tight nano-suit and a small oxygen mask over the nose and mouth. When she had been here before, she remembered wondering how it felt to walk in that bulky equipment, and she had been too small to try on the suit’s replica.

She took a step farther in. The ceilings were lower than she remembered, the doors to the displays closer together. The Monument itself was a model of efficiency, cramming as much information into a small space as possible.

She almost headed to the suit, when she remembered her mission: the footprint.

With a small sigh, she went around the holographic display, and stopped at that small hole in the floor. The footprint was there, the rounded boot mark, the lines across it, all preserved in the lunar dirt. It still looked small. In fact, it looked smaller than it had when she was a child.

No one else was looking at it, even though it was the reason the Monument was here. The children were all playing in the displays, and the adult chaperones were watching the flats with practiced disinterest, as if they’d seen them a thousand times before.

And maybe they had. Maybe they brought a different group of children here every year.

The boy who’d been playing by the hologram stopped beside her. He crouched too.

“So that’s it?” he said, running his fingers over the plexi-glass case even though the nearby signs asked him not to. “It’s not very big.”

“It isn’t, is it,” she said, marveling that he had the same reaction that she did.

He pushed away