Moonseed

‘Do I have to wear pyjamas?’

‘Pyjamas are optional. Will you come?’

‘I don’t know. All that stuff you were saying sounded –’

‘Cracked?’ Bran smiled sadly. ‘But I have proof.’

‘Proof?’

For answer, Bran turned and pointed to Venus.

Mike and Jane strode back up the flank of the Seat, towards the summit. They found a place to sit on the agglomerate, looking north over the city.

Mike, agitated, disturbed, said, ‘You know, that guy was in control from the moment he walked up to us. Even before. He used everything I said to make his case stronger.’

She shrugged. ‘That’s what it takes to be a cult leader, I suppose.’

‘He ought to be a politician.’

‘Oh, I think he has his eye on higher goals than that … You said you wanted to see me.’

‘Yeah. I have something for you.’

He glanced around to ensure they were alone. A couple of walkers, a hundred yards away; the steady susurrus of noise from the city.

Pleasurably anticipating her reaction, he dug into his pocket, and pulled out his phial. It was just a small plastic test-tube, stoppered with a rubber bung.

He held it up in the morning light so she could see. There was a little puddle of dust in its base, a handful of grains. It was coal black, and when Mike shook the vial the dust clung to the sides.

‘It sparkles,’ Jane said.

‘That’s the glass in it. Shards of it, from volcanic activity and meteorite impact –’

‘Mike, what is this?’

He grinned. ‘Can’t you guess? Look, no one will ever know. Whenever you take a power-saw sample from a rock there’s always a little wastage. A few grammes. There has to be – the rock just crumbles. They expect it, when they reconcile the weights later. I was just careful to capture every loose grain. And here it is. I even pumped the vial full of ultra-dry nitrogen to keep it pure.’

‘Are you telling me this is Moon dust?’

She looked – not pleased, not awed, as he’d expected – but horrified.

‘Well, yes. That’s the point.’ He frowned, puzzled. ‘Don’t you want it?’

‘You’re giving it to me? Mike, what the hell am I supposed to do with it?’

‘I don’t know.’ He shrugged. ‘Give it to Jack. Put it in a locket. Sell it, to someone who will appreciate it.’

‘Mike, you’ve brought me a lot of stuff in the past – stuff I could never have gotten hold of otherwise – but this is different.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s against the law.’ She looked into his eyes, the way she used to when he was a kid. ‘You must have let someone down, to take this.’

‘What?’

‘Someone who trusted you. Someone who gave you responsibility.’

Shit, he thought. ‘… I suppose so.’

She pushed the vial back into his hand. ‘You’ll have to take it back.’

‘I can’t. What do I do, glue it back to the rock?’

‘You can’t keep it, Mike.’

‘It’s Moon dust.’

‘Even so.’

He hesitated.

‘You know I’m right,’ she said.

‘Oh, Christ. I hate it when you’re right.’

‘That’s what big sisters are for.’

He took hold of the rubber stopper. ‘You may as well look. You’ll never be so near a piece of the Moon again.’

She crowded close.

He pulled out the bung; it came loose with a soft pop.

She sniffed the vial. ‘I can smell wood smoke.’

‘That’s the Moon dust. It’s never been exposed to free oxygen before. It’s oxidizing. Burning. Here.’

He tipped up the vial, and tapped its base; the Moon dust poured into Jane’s palm. It was just a few grains; there really was hardly any of it.

Jane pushed at it with the tip of her little finger. ‘It’s sharp. Like little needles.’ She lifted her fingertip and inspected it. ‘It’s stuck to my skin. Oh, well …’

She tipped her hand, and let the grains scatter. They sparkled briefly before dispersing.

Talking, arguing, they made their way down the flank of Arthur’s Seat, towards the Dry Dam. Above them, the sky brightened.

… They were just grains of basalt, falling through the air.

A little piece of the Moon, come to Scotland. But, though different from any terrestrial samples, the grains themselves were unremarkable.