Mustachioed waiters bustled about in bow ties and garters. The air was thick with the smell of garlic and tomatoes.
I looked around and spotted a small, unoccupied corner table. Naturally, there was a red-and-white-checked tablecloth with a round candle in the middle. I took a seat and picked up a menu from behind the napkin dispenser. The menu was extensive, and everything on it looked wonderful. There were no prices listed. Apparently, the Moon Child was all-inclusive. A waiter appeared and asked what I wanted. I ordered the lasagna, with a garden salad and double garlic bread. He took the order as if I’d said the secret word and scurried off.
I’d just about decided that this was the finest restaurant I’d ever been allowed to eat in, when I noticed that there were no ashtrays. A brief inspection of the room confirmed that no one was smoking. I wondered momentarily if the entire place was no-smoking and shuddered. At least I was about to eat. Once I had something in my stomach, I’d go back to worrying about the situation.
The waiter returned in record-setting time with a large salad. As he set it in front of me, I caught him staring at my wrist. If he’d been looking at my watch, I probably wouldn’t have thought anything about it — my watch was certainly handsome enough to catch someone’s eye. But he was looking at my right wrist. He backed away, a concerned expression on his face, then turned and walked quickly toward the kitchen. Mystified, I glanced at the people at the adjoining table. I hadn’t noticed before, but everyone was wearing a thin metal bracelet on their wrist.
I jumped up and left the restaurant. Out on the street, I turned in the direction I’d come from and strode briskly back toward the elevator. I reached it without incident. No one seemed to be following me. I pressed both the up and down buttons and waited. A moment later, the elevator arrived and opened. There were at least ten people inside. I squeezed in, and the doors shut behind me.
The elevator climbed to level thirteen and stopped. Fate had chosen this level earlier, and I’d ignored it. Now I was in more danger and even hungrier than I’d been before. I wasn’t about to chance it a second time. Luckily, most of the group was getting off here as well, so I went along with the crowd. I figured I could blend in, as long as I kept my right hand in my trouser pocket. We stepped out of the elevator into a foyer like the one I’d seen outside the cargo bay, except that this one had two revolving doors. One was marked Environ 3, the other Environ 4. Most of the people moved toward Environ 3. I walked through the revolving door and stepped into paradise.
I found myself in maybe the last place I would’ve imagined. Several tiny paths were worn into the grassy floor of a forest and meandered off into the shadows. Thick oaks towered overhead, and a robin’s-egg blue sky peeked out from behind leafy branches.
The moist air was filled with the whistling and chirping of birds. The unfamiliar smell of fresh earth, flowering plants, and pure summer rain was intoxicating. To someone accustomed to the city odors of smoke, hot asphalt, and urine, this place was surreal. I half expected to see a merry band of nymphs come dancing out of the shadows and sprinkle pixie dust on my wing tips.
This was the kind of sylvan glade that hadn’t existed since I was too young to remember.
Between the widespread devastation caused by the war and the radioactive fallout, most of the world’s forests had been decimated. Even in places that had survived relatively unscathed, the depleted ozone was working its black magic on the ecosystem. But perhaps most shocking about this bizzare place was the blue sky — something I don’t ever remember seeing. Of course, the sky here had to be artificial, but the effect was overwhelming.
The others who had entered with me went scampering down the paths and disappeared, leaving me alone in awe. I was still ravenously hungry and rattled from the incident at the Italian restaurant, but suddenly finding myself in a beautiful forest had an amazingly calming effect. I wandered down one of the paths, taking in the natural beauty. I wondered what kind of money was required to create something like this. Whoever had designed this place had spared nothing. From the mossy floor to the woodland animals I occasionally spotted in the underbrush, the forest appeared to be absolutely real. It was hard to believe I was actually on a man-made satellite, orbiting 25,000 miles above Earth.
I continued down the path, passing elms and maples. A light breeze drifted through the trees, stirring the leaves and diffusing a flowery fragrance. After several minutes, I began to hear the trickling of water. Following the musical sound, I soon reached a meandering brook. A large rock bordered the stream, and I sat down on it. Up until this moment, my hunger pangs and splitting headache had overshadowed my exhaustion.
When I sat down, I realized how tired I was. I’d left the path and felt relatively safe, so I moved down onto the spongy ground and leaned back against the rock. Closing my eyes, I tried to make sense of the situation I’d gotten myself into.
What the hell was I going to do? I certainly wasn’t equipped to stop the cult on my own, lacking both knowledge and weapons. The only thread of hope was the possibility of finding the CAPRICORN mole, if he had made it on board without being discovered, that is. But there were literally thousands of people on the Moon Child, maybe tens of thousands. Locating the mole would make winning the lottery seem easy.
Maybe I just had to admit I was beaten. I’d never found myself up against such overwhelming odds — except, of course, when I’d tried out for the Giants during the strike of ‘27. Maybe I should just cut my losses. This was a beautiful place, more beautiful than anything I’d ever seen. Sure, the cult was planning on perpetrating a diabolical act against humanity, but what could I do about it? Wasn’t it Ben Franklin who’d said, “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em?” I took a deep breath of pristine air and actually considered the option.
Who was I kidding? I’d never cut my losses in my life. Any successes I’d enjoyed had happened despite myself. I’d lost more money, prestige, and social advancement than anyone I knew, all because I wasn’t the type to play along. Kissing up and compromising my principles, as warped as they might be, just wasn’t something I could do and still maintain any sense of self-respect. I knew, at least vaguely, what the cult wanted to do, and I couldn’t possibly rationalize it. Maybe they’d let me join them and spend my life here in this orbiting Garden of Eden, wanting for nothing. But I’d never be able to overcome the feeling that I’d been an accessory, albeit unwilling, to the greatest mass murder in history.
I racked my brains for a long time, trying to come up with a clever plan to find the CAPRICORN mole, but it was hopeless. At least I would try to go out in a blaze of glory. If I could find out who was behind this whole thing and take him out, I might be able to make at least a small dent in their plans. For the time being, I needed sleep.
Trying to block out the thoughts racing through my brain, I eventually nodded off.
I woke up to a light rain shower. The sky overhead was still robin’s-egg blue, but some kind of sprinkler system was simulating a misty precipitation. My fedora and overcoat were damp, but not soaked. The shower must’ve just started. I stood up and slowly worked a painful knot out of my lower back. Checking my watch, I saw that I’d been asleep almost six hours. The aching in my head had subsided, and now I was just hungry. I brushed dirt off the seat of my pants and found my way back to the path.
I reached the revolving door and moved through it. The foyer was filled with people, all waiting for the elevator. There was an excited buzz, and everyone seemed to be talking about the Reverend Sheppard. From what I could surmise, everyone was heading to a massive gathering.