Chapter 4: Red Moon

Few acts of diplomacy in human history were as grand as the Lunar Utilization Negotiation Agreement or, better known as the LUNA Accords, yet they were a relatively simple matter. The Soviets and Americans met in Bern and in only a few days hammered out a pretty good deal. The Americans got a good piece of the Moon and so did the Soviets; there were also neutral zones between them to ensure no complaints about claims. If any other countries wanted to settle, they would need permission from both Powers.

This of course set off titanic protests throughout the globe against two superpowers having the only say on a celestial body of that scale. Beijing, New Delhi, Paris, Brasilia—when historians dubbed it the "Ten Million Protest," they were not kidding! But, in a display of true hegemony, neither Washington nor Moscow even grunted. General Secretary Pokhis put it best: "The pups may bark as much as they wish, but the wolves still rule the forest!" The one notable nation without a complaint was Japan. It lacked the military might to independently establish a Lunar foothold, and being on good terms with both powers ensured its own ambitions would be met with little issue.

Soviet pioneers began laying the groundwork with a rudimentary outpost featuring space mining and solar harvesting facilities 65 years ago. Ten arduous years of that led to the formal foundation of Gagaringrad. Leonovgrad followed another 10 years later, as the industrial heart of the Korolev Oblast, where the raw resources were processed before being sent to Earth. Most of the subsequent years were spent properly establishing the borders and infrastructure of the Korolev Oblast upon the agreed lines, just as the Americans did with the State of Augustine.

Tereshkova was different; the purpose for its construction was the Academy of Sciences' masterpiece, dreamed of, laid out, and planned before the LUNA Accords' ink was dried. Decades of ferocious lobbying finally wore down the Politburo's great walls of bureaucracy; the battering ram that smashed opposition was promises to make the Oblast capable of self-sustainability with dynamic agricultural innovations. The Academy's radical methods shocked no one as much as they themselves were shocked, with their irrigation framework moving food production an entire five-year plan ahead!

For the population of this "Innovation City," Soviet citizens were picked through meticulous screening among the most deserving applicants, who exemplified patriotism in both war and peace. The Agronsky family, whose patriarch had been awarded Hero of the Soviet Union and eldest son Hero of Socialist Labor, made them a poster child for selection. A brand-new city built with the finest craftsmanship, cutting-edge technology, and an intricate drone worker force made it very appealing. Whether or not the narrative of Korolev's entire history from conception to present had been necessary could be debated; Grigori could not think of a better idea to alleviate the dead silence.

Milena had not much to say after his verbal flub. He had hoped that if he unburdened himself, it would give him a moment to think over what to say and a chance for her to compose herself. Instead, the tension just got more awkward, and she couldn't even look at him. She didn't seem mad; she just didn't want to talk about anything.

For the entire trip down the hill, it was quiet. The streets seemed so much longer on the way back, even though they had far fewer people than before. Should I apologize, or would that just make things worse?

"Where did your family live before coming to Tereshkova?"

Milena turned to him, tilting her head slightly. Relief poured over him, a cold shower after a brutal workout. His right hand went over his mouth in a pondering pose to mask his goofy expression.

"My father was born in Leningrad and moved with his family here as one of the first settlers."

"You've never been to Russia proper or the other Republics?"

"I've never left the Oblast, but I hope one day to see all the splendor of the Motherland for myself. I like it here. All those who remember the Motherland say being so far means we don't have Moscow breathing down our necks. We have a unique sort of Freedom here."

She could agree with that; while news could reach the Kremlin in a matter of minutes, actual responses could take days, weeks, if not months. The cargo vessels made up most of the travel to and from Korolev; the military's garrison consisted of permanently posted local units, and only a handful of shuttles ran the lunar route.

"What's it like to fly in a Space liner? Was Liftoff really scary?"

"It was fine; the seats are designed to absorb most of the force. Aside from that, it's just like flying on a plane in low gravity. My only real complaint was the food sucked! I should have demanded that the KGB get me a First-Class Ticket!"

Fine dining in Zero-G was a conundrum yet to be solved; it was not nearly as horrible as it was for the first spacefarers, but a common punchline in jokes for a reason. Finally, they were back to enjoying one another's company. Milena resumed her critiques of Soviet Administration in a lower tone close to his ear, but not close enough to feel her breath.

"I'm the test subject for this program, the "Individual Relocation for Societal Harmony." Really smooths over the strong-arming! The future of banishment is the Moon!"

"They should have given you a certificate or medal!" Milena snorted, wiping away a tear.

"At least it's better here than Siberia, or expatriated to some horrid hole like...!"

A policeman coming across the street put a dagger into their chat and terror into their hearts.

Rybak had set a couple of simple rules for "Little Miss Activist" for her own sake; one of which he had emphasized was that she could speak freely without consequences as long as she did not write it down or say it where others could hear it. Ruble "gifts" would not work in every situation or just create more hassles down the line. Grigori had full discretion to report whatever he wished; he could also withhold whatever he wanted as long as it did not lead to problems, which was up to interpretation. "Babysitter" might have been a better title for his role, but at least if he survived, it would benefit his standing.

The officer walked by with a nod and whistle; they mutually agreed without a single sound that Politics were done for the night.

"I've made a decision and I expect you to be willing to oblige it, Cadet Agronsky!"

"Yes, Comrade Yumatova! How can I be of service to you and the mighty Motherland?"

"I wish for you to call me Lena from now on, and for you to allow me to know your preferred name?"

"Well, I don't much care for Grischa; my friends call me Grig, but my family calls me—Grig is fine for me, Lena."

If an onlooker was asked to describe her smile, nefarious would undoubtedly be the first word to come to mind. She tried to pry it out of him, but his resolve held firm. Her puppy dog eyes even proved ineffective; he knew this She-wolf had fangs.

By the time they reached Krasivy-Vid, the streetlights had already come on, with only the restaurants and bars still open. A confirmation had been sent to Milena hours ago that the "movers" were done and she was free to go to her apartment. She confessed her first priority was a hot bath; Grigori certainly liked the thought of that as well, for an entirely different reason. Her complex was just ahead. As soon as it was within their vision, its regal appearance stood out even next to the other elegant buildings.

One tap of her keycard opened the front gate, and another tap opened the elevator. "Eighth floor out of ten, that's pretty fancy." Grigori remarked that having such a view every day was enviable. Milena nodded; she had no complaints. Her lodgings were not too far from the elevator: Apartment 812.

They bid one another a good night; exhaustion heavy on both of them. He could sense that there was still some unease in the air, but could not pinpoint the origin of it. Halfway before closing the door, she turned around. Whatever was on her mind, she was going to say.

"Grigori—"

"Yes?!"

"Your fly is down."