It was strange, but it was here to fight a very different war than in the past. It had been a long time since a smaller country stood up to the aggression of a much bigger neighbor, much less with this amount of success. This was but one more step, and even relics were important.

I ran my hand along the metal flank, across the rubber wheels on the carriage. Imprinted on the side of the bore: "From death, life." So many people misunderstood. What made this a holy relic wasn't about religion. They all were just human interpretations of a broader concept anyway. I looked over at my team. A Christian, a Hindu, a Buddhist, a Muslim, an Atheist. All of them were here for the same core idea that was the source of their respective beliefs. The natural order of the universe was balance, healthy growth among mild chaos, a billion pendulums of life, force, energy, resources, all swinging gently around their center. Any that were pushed too far, held out of place too long, got more pressure to return to how it should be. The most severe imbalances would produce the greatest corrections. It was the universal mandate for balance. The judgement of against those who would defy it. The justice that required sacrifice to restore.

This was an old Soviet gun, repaired, repurposed, and maintained for this battle. It was a good gun. It would help push back the advance of the invaders. It would help keep safe my mother, my sister, my wife, and my son. It wasn't one of the incredible triple 7s but I was proud of it and of what my team could do with it.

I patted the barrel again as the ready signal came over the radio, and our signal officer began punching the coordinates into the targeting computer, then called out the angle, elevation, and charge. It was a fantastic piece of fire control technology. I grinned, remembering how most of the brightest of the old way were actually Ukrainian. The enemy couldn't win this. They didn't need to start it in the first place. But no way in hell we were going to back down.

I stepped back to the safe zone just as the order came: "Fire!"

The gun lept in recoil, throwing it's shell with greater precision than the original gun could ever have managed. To my left and right, came the rippling reports of twenty nine more guns firing as nearly simultaneously as reasonable came crashing on my ears.

The fight to retake Mariupol from the Russians had begun.

I maintained regular communications with the creature, they called themselves something that sounded like "Yu-la", over the next several days. The status of process on a fix was always the same, which is to say no indication of any progress. But we did spend a great deal of time synchronizing each other's vocabulary as we learned more about each other. It took some time for me to understand that whatever passes for a generation among them is apparently shorter than a human generation, but that the number of generations since leaving their home surpassed their ability to track. It must have been sheer chance that they were passing near enough to the solar system in the past several decades to even pick up the radio waves we are broadcasting into space. They had diverted to investigate, and had found a wonderful potential home on our moon. Attempts to understand what kind of craft they traveled in was only met with confusion.

A second but empty capsule landed nearby while all of this was going on. It's arrival was detected early and caused a great deal of commotion, and an inspection of the capsule confirmed the same melted circuitry.

"What causes this?"

"Ourr shieldd thatt hidess uss iss dangerrouss too yourr craftss."

It didn't get any more helpful.

Eventually though, the Yula gave news that they could send the HLS and me back to Earth, but would provide no details as to how.

"Are you worried that my return will increase the threat to you from more like me?"

"Perhapss, butt wee doo nott thinkk yourr Aetchh Elll Eessess willl bee successsfull, andd Oxii genn." It spread it's appendages in a hopeless gesture.

Indeed. They had made the moon even more hostile than it ever was.

"Andd wee willl nott causee harmm."

Several days later I was strapped back into my flight chair, waiting on something. I never got a clue as to what they were going to do. I watched out the window, but saw nothing. The change came rapidly. One second I had ducked my head in exhaustion, only for that to be the moment in which they launched the HLS, pinning my chin to my chest for a few seconds. When I recovered and could look back, the surface of the moon looked it's normal pale grey again. I trusted them. If they said they could get the trajectory right, I felt I could believe them.

I think I owed them their safety. I should have been dead, but had another chance at life.

This repeated itself every hour or so for a while. A creature would knock, I would open the hatch, it would gesture for me to take off and leave, I would repeat that I couldn't, and the communication would end. Several times the creature would look at Hughes, as if comparing. Something told me that they knew he was dead. They certainly didn't seem hostile. Whatever it was that destroyed our systems and killed him didn't seem to be intentional. The fact that they wanted me to go certainly suggested that they automatically granted me the right to leave. Not the actions of killers.

This all finally changed one visit, perhaps 12 hours after landing, though I didn't really have a good read on the passing time. The creature spent some time talking to me, humming a wide variety and range of sounds. It finally stopped, waiting, expectantly. "I don't know what you are trying to tell me." It spread it's ... arms I guess I should call them, and then made a motion as if to come, or continue. "You want me to talk to you?" It repeated the gesture. "I hope that is what you mean." For lack of anything more apt to say, I began to describe the landing, the power loss, the surprise at seeing everything this way, finding the Hughes had not survived it, and the melted control boards, at the problems blocking my ability to launch again. It was a long list.

I finally finished, the creature spread it's appendages again, then pointed at the hatch, and turned to leave again. "Wait, did you understand anything I said this time?" I called after it. It paused, turned around, looked at me a moment, then pointed at the hatch. I sighed and closed it again. "Not making any progress. In here or out there.

There was a long wait till the next visit, noticeably longer. As the time passed, I realized exhaustion was catching up to me as my possible paths of exploration kept disappearing. I finally made the decision to return to my seat and get some sleep.

I awoke suddenly to the knocking. It must have been going on some time. Cycling the hatch open, I again saw the creature before me.

"Doo youu underrstandd mee?" The voice was high pitched and thrummed with a vibration. Like a bee talking into a fan. Surprised, I smiled, "Yes, I do understand you. Do you understand me?"

"Ii doo underrstandd youu."

"Wonderful," I replied, an odd sense of relief flooding through me. I realized how much less alone I felt.

"Wee havee analyzedd yourr voicee patternss withh thee assistancee off thee Orbb Thatt Talkss," it pointed up. At Earth.

"You can hear Earth?"

"Earthh. Yess. Itt iss whyy wee chosee too livee heree. Itt calledd uss."

"How did it call you?"

"Itt speakss intoo thee Greatt Blackk, announcingg itss presencee likee thee Greatt Lightss Thatt Spinn With Noise, butt slowlyy andd nott soo loudd."

My mind hunted for what he might be talking about. "Pulsars. You hear pulsars and their radio waves.""Ii doo nott knoww exactlyy whatt youu meann."

"Neutron stars that spin very fast and emit radio waves," I paused, turned and grabbed the checklist and pencil, flipping it over for the blank back. I quickly sketched a spinning ball, then pointed at the sun, "Stars," then at my sketch, "That spin very quickly, and make," I realized that its description was very accurate. "lots of noise."

"Yess. Ii seee youu knoww off themm. Theyy aree tooo loudd forr uss."

"That means you hear radio waves. Incredible. Where are you from?"

"Wee doo nott knoww. Ourr Orbb wass destroyedd beforee anyy off uss weree awaree."

"Oh," that didn't make a lot of sense, "And you came here to live?"

"Andd too listenn too Thee Orbb Thatt Talkss."

"And you made all of this?"

"Yess. Wee changedd thee surfacee andd thee skyy too livee. Butt wee aree feww and weakk. Wee mustt hidee too livee."

"You are refugees then. I understand that concept at least. Do you understand the problem with why I can't leave?"

"Yess. We havee underrstoodd thee problemm. Wee aree workingg onn aa solutionn."

"That is wonderful. Do you have any idea if you can succeed? I only have a limited supply of oxygen available."

"Whatt iss oxii genn?"

"It is what I need to breath. To live." I quickly sketched a representation of two oxygen atoms on the back of the checklist.

"Wee knoww thiss thingg. Theree iss muchh off itt onn thee Orbb Thatt Talkss. Wee cann createe itt, butt itt iss dangerrouss too uss."

Things just got a whole lot lighter.

No response or change.

I turned and carefully climbed down the ladder. The slight gravity certainly suggested I was on the moon still. Reaching the bottom, I hesitated before stepping off. Neil Armstrong made one small step, but onto moon dust and rock. I was stepping onto something that resembled clover, although with leaves some 4 inches across. I turned back to the creature, noting as I turned that there were more in most directions, some distance away. They were all pale, but varying in an array of pastels colors.

"They didn't cover this in the manual." I thought. I took a few light unsteady steps toward the creature, bouncing awkwardly high as I tried to adjust to the gravity. It just watched me approach, and I stopped about 10 feet away. I raised my hand again, "Hello." Then extended it forward instead of dropping it.

The creature's face rotated toward my hand briefly, then ... moved ... closer. I saw no feet, it was hard to identify what I was seeing down below it. A translucent appendage floated out and briefly touched my gloved hand. Tentatively, like it was testing what contact was like. Then it recoiled slightly, then slowly extended it's appendage at my face. The gesture was oddly child-like. It made contact with my face shield, paused, then slid across it a short ways before withdrawing.

"Is that how you say hello?" I asked. There was a brief high pitched hum, varying in octaves. "And your speech."

It pointed, and it was decidedly a point, at my chest without making contact, then pointed up, slowly descended until it was pointing past me at the HLS, then withdrew again, as if waiting. I nodded, "I came from above," and pointed first at my chest, then up, "And I landed in that." Pointing at the HLS. Then I paused, and pointed at myself again, "I live there." and pointed at the crescent of Earth above. It's face followed the line of my pointing, and there were some more high pitched hums, including behind me. I turned to see several more creatures nearby, some watching me, some looking at Earth. A more varied set of humming. It finally registered that there must be some sort of atmosphere here, or else I wouldn't be able to hear them. It might be breathable. Although even if there were good odds that it was, and there weren't, it wasn't a risk I was willing to take. Something about all of this felt a bit more like underwater life than anything else.

The creature in front of me made a series of more decided pointing, first at me, then at Earth. It took several repetitions before I realized it looked a lot like a demand to leave. I spread my hands helplessly. "I do not know how to leave." It was futile to use English speech, but it helped my gestures somehow. It looked like some gestures were universal, as it stopped repeating it's gesture. Some seconds passed before it gestured again. At me, then at the HLS. There was the same demanding feel to the gesture.

"Ok, might as well."

I turned and returned to the lander, climbing the ladder, and crouching through the hatch. I looked back out, and saw that the creature I was talking to was moving away slowly, surrounded by many more of the creatures. It very much looked like a crowd of bystanders questioning someone in authority as to what was going on. I closed the hatch and plugged into the O2 port. Might as well start figuring out what kind of diagnostics I can do.

It took me several hours to come to the conclusion that I had no diagnostics. Every circuitry panel I could access was entirely melted. No sign of overheating, or even that it was a heat based melting. It looked a lot more like melted ice cream than slagged metal and plastic. The boards only barely retained their shape. Thin wafers of metal and green plastic running together before congealing. All wiring I could find was still intact, so it must be something that affects only very low voltage hardware.

The banging returned some time later. I opened the hatch to find the creature, or at least one very similar, right outside. It's appendages waved gently in a manner that suggested some form of flying hover. "Hello again." It pointed an appendage at me sharply, then upward twice. I spread my hands again, shrugging my shoulders, "I can't." It repeated the gesture. I turned and picked up one of the melted boards, holding it out for the creature to see. I made a gesture with my hand palm up and moving to the side, "It doesn't work."

The creature continued to look at me, but wasn't gesturing any more. I slowly and with exaggerated motions, tossed the board over my shoulder toward the other side of the lander. "The boards are all junk." The creature watched me for a time, then pointed at the hatch door, then at me, then turned and drifted back to the ground, moving away. "Okay, at least we seem to be getting somewhere in communication," I murmured. And shut the hatch.

Colors swam and my eyes attempted to focus, then were successful. I was still strapped into my flight chair. The capsule looked intact, no electronics. The scene out the window was still the strange habitat rather than the lunar surface. I looked over at Hughes, still out. That must have been more than 12gs, but not an impact. Something had slowed us. Violently, but survivable. I reached over to shake Hughes, but didn't get a response. "Hughes!" I called. Still no response. I began unbuckling, feeling the slight gravity of the moon, and tried the radio. "HLS, Houston." The words rang so hollow that I knew that nothing was being picked up. That didn't stop me from trying again. "HLS, Houston."I got out of the chair and shifted over to Hughes, attempting to wake him again. Nothing. It wasn't really possible to feel for a pulse with our suits on, so I stared intently at his neck, looking for the carotid artery motion. Still nothing.

Shit. Double shit.

I glanced over at the environmental panel out of habit. Nothing there of course. I had no idea if our capsule atmosphere was even present. I tossed about for an idea, then ripped the cover off of the procedure manual, lifted it as high as I could and let go. As it floated down I waved my hand past it. It responded and shifted away from my hand, then back in as my hand passed. Ok, there is at least some air here still. I decided to risk it, and opened the seal on my helmet, pausing with my hand on the sealing lever. No decompression. I lifted my helmet off. Ok, still breathable, no apparent reduction in atmosphere. Suggests that the capsule's integrity remained.

Reaching over I removed Hughes helmet, then reached for his neck, pausing with a curse at myself, removed my glove, then felt Hughes' neck for a pulse. I waited for over a minute, kept repositioning my hand in case I had somehow gotten the spot wrong. Nothing. I wet the back of my hand with my tongue and held it in front of his mouth and nose, hoping a sign of breath. Nothing.

"Shit". I crouched there, looking at Hughes for several minutes. What was I going to do? What happened? Some sort of massive systems failure. Finally I put Hughes's helmet back on and re-engaged the seal. "I'm sorry."

The orbiter would be watching and recording the landing. They would know something went wrong. I couldn't signal them in here though. They were going to disappear over the horizon soon. Two hours before they were back overhead. I needed to be able to have some sort of message to them by then. I began collecting my EV gear and putting it on.

I was most of the way ready when I head a rhythmic banging from the hull. I froze. Suddenly remembering the scene out the window. The impossibility of it had failed to really register as a reality until now. I looked back outside. There was some sort of motion, but it was hard to tell what it was. I crouched at the window for a better look. This seemed to produce what I can only call a startle reaction. A brief flurry that disappeared left, right, and below. I don't know what I really saw. The scene was the same. Green plant life, although nothing I recognized. A blue sky. A stream nearby, although the water seemed almost impossibly pale blue. Maybe it wasn't water?

The banging was continuing. It wasn't knocking really. Very mechanical sounding. I finished pulling on my EV gear, keeping my eyes on the window.

Ready a few minutes later, I shifted over to the hatch, staring at the handle to release it. This would vent the atmosphere I had. There were reserves of course, enough to handle at least 25 full replacements of capsule atmosphere from EVs. We were supposed to minimize usage though, remaining in our EV suits between EVs and just plugging in to the oxygen terminals if we could get away with not re-pressurizing the capsule. But with all of the controls down, I didn't know if I could access any of the reserves. If I couldn't, I would have about 3 hours left to live. Better see if the ports work. I turned to the nearest oxygen port and pulled out one of the tethers, plugging it into my EV suit. I sensed the flow of oxygen increase briefly. Ok, that was one thing that still worked.

I took another steadying breath and reached for the hatch handle, hesitated, then pulled. Clunk, and a faint hiss. Not the depressurization expected. What was going on here. The banging from outside had ceased. I pushed the hatch and it swung out gracefully.

About 30 feet away was a ... creature. It was pale, soft edges, maybe 3 feet tall. It was vaguely humanoid shaped, but reminded me a lot of the texture and consistency of a jellyfish. It even seemed a bit translucent. It's face, at least I think that was it's face, was facing me directly. Two pairs of green points suggested eyes, some curvature suggested a mouth. We watched each other for a time. At least, I was watching it and I felt like it was watching me.

Finally I raised my right hand in greeting, "Hello."

(supplementary to my other WP response here: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/119ut50/comment/j9s4n0a/?context=3)

(5 parts due to size)

"Landing burn initiated" I called into the mic, getting the signal relayed up to the MPCV in orbit above and then to Houston. A shudder and shake tugged at the HLS Lander, the heavy vibration of the engine countering the Moon's gravity, the pulsing of the RCS thrusters ensuring stability and correct landing flight path. The altimeter and velocity both scrolled down as the descent slowed.

"500 meters." I called.

"400." The words were barely out of my mouth when suddenly everything went dark. Every screen, every light, even the engine. They drilled a lot of scenarios into us in training, but not this one. The recognition of the new state of things, the time adjusting mentally to the crisis, recall of memory items rapidly brought up and discarded, and finally to action took several seconds.

"Oh shit." There were a few manual controls available. Hughes was already reaching for the RCS control yoke, and I registered the lack of response even as I was reaching for the emergency abort lever. Pulling that still did nothing at all. When everything went dark we had just crossed 400 meters in altitude, descending at 31 meters per second. Maybe 12 seconds from loss of control to impact. That was about 7 seconds ago. 31 meters per second was deadly. The few seconds left were long enough to look out the window in a morbid attempt to see our fate closing on us, a shock of recognition as I saw green plant life, a blue sky, a stream nearby. A close up view of what I, and many in the world, had seen 10 months ago for a brief 25 minutes.

"Oh my g..." the word was cut off as we were suddenly compressed into our seats and everything went dark.

"All rise."

Bang. "The 9th Flavor Circuit Court is now in session."

There is a general bustle as everyone seats.

"The first case today is Town versus... versus ... Mr Pepper. Bailiff, please read the charges."

"They are quite lengthy Your Honor."

"I understand. Please continue."

"The Town does charge Mr Pepper with the following crimes:

"One. That on March 21st the accused did make a batch of dough with microwaved egg, and then did make a pizza with overboiled tomato sauce, paneer cheese, and boiled chicken. The accused then did eat said pizza without the customary baking first.

Two. That on March 24th the accused did make two over-easy eggs, then coated said eggs in meat rub, microwaved those same eggs, and then served the result to a guest.

Three. That on March 25th the accused did bake chocolate pop tarts submerged in applesauce made with vinegar instead of sugar, and did serve the same to a guest.

Four. That on March 26th the accused did burn instant potatoes in a crockpot and attempted to conceal the arson by carving the potatoes with a butcher blade and mixing the remainder with Cheese Wiz.

Five. That on March 26th the accused did use a tide pod instead of sugar in the process of making cookie batter, which the accused then fried in pickle juice.

Six. That on March 27th the accused did make chickpea spaghetti in a tall narrow pot, resulting in both overcooking and undercooking in the same pot. The accused did then served the spaghetti cold, with cold anchovy sauce as a relish.

Seven. That on March 28th the accused did serve seventeen guests of the Honorable Order of Fishmongers a dish comprised of canned peas and beef that was boiled while frozen, with no added seasoning.

Eight. That on March 28th, when faced with the righteous complaints from the Honorable Order of Fishmongers, the accused did singularly serve a desert course comprised of frozen apple pie soaked in room temperature melted nepoleon ice cream on a plate.

Nine. That on March 28th, the accused did accumulate all uneaten food from the banquet of the Honorable Order of Fishmongers into a soup pot and did leave the soup pot cooking overnight to serve as breakfast.

Ten. That on March 29th, "

"One moment bailiff. Just how many counts does Mr Pepper stand accused of?"

"Six hundred twenty seven Your Honor."

"Lengthy indeed."

There was a moment of silence, then a growing murmur of whispering in the court.

"Silence in the court please."

"In the interest of brevity and efficient usage of court resources, Mr Pepper, would you consent to forgo the reading of charges and have them entered into court record by the clerk directly?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

"Very well, it is so ordered. Now Mr Pepper, how do you plead on these charges? Pleading not guilty one any one of them is sufficient to move to trial, so there is no need to specify which. Unless you plead guilty to them all.

"Guilty, Your Honor"

"That certainly saves considerable time. Your cooperation and agreeableness is noted by the court in your favor. Now do you have anything to say before I pass sentence?"

"Only that I was taught how to cook from my mom, and in her memory I can not in good conscience feel ashamed for what she taught me."

"Your thoughtfulness and respect for your mother is commendable Mr Pepper. Your adherence to her lessons may not be.

Very well. Mr Pepper, I sentence you to twenty years in the town jail, ten years suspended and credit for time served. During your incarceration you will be required to attend and pass culinary classes. Failure to attend or complete the courses to the satisfaction of your instructor may be considered violation of the terms of your sentence and the suspended sentence may be applied in full."

With a click, the chair of the parole board stopped the tape and stared at me steadily. "Mr Pepper, it is time to see how far you have come," and picked up his fork.

Wait a moment please. Before we engage in near certain mutual destruction, I believe that it is important to my legacy, and yours, that you hear me out. As an incentive, if you stay your hands and your spells and listen to what I have to say, I will forgoe continuing this ritual until after I have spoken. Continue beating through the defenses of this castle, and I will continue the ritual. Your choice. Choose through your actions.

Ah. Good. I'm going to make some guesses about how you got here. You were minding your own business, getting food and ale at a tavern perhaps, spending hard earned coin from your last adventure, relaxing as you so well deserved. And then you were approached by perhaps a mysterious figure who offered you a great deal of money to help the kingdom survive a very serious threat. You then met in secret with a functionary of the king or queen who gave you an excellent story about a threat of terror and doom ahead. Then you met the king or queen face to face, perhaps under the cover of darkness, maybe in an ancient ruin, maybe in a secret passage under the castle. They confirmed the story to you, confirmed the legitimacy of the money, promising even more and great status within the kingdom if you were successful. The money up front was just for expenses after all.

The story you got was of the great undead hordes of the north, how their numbers have grown, how horrible necromancy is, and so on. But did you take the time to validate the story? Of course you didn't, not at first. There was no need. As you traveled north across the Erulid you began to encounter first hand witnesses to those who have seen the undead with their own eyes. The fear was palpable, as expected. Your resolve only hardened. You are the Heroes after all. But not even the most primal story really prepared you for what you found. Hamlets, Villages, keeps, castles, towns, cities ... absolutely stuffed with skeletons, ghouls, gasts, zombies, wraiths, ghosts and more.

You cut your way through them with some inconvenience to you. A thousand fell at your left hand and ten thousand at your right. But still you encountered more. And on you came.

I grieves my heart, and yes, I do still have one, it's over there on the shelf actually. You did not stop to really observe them did you? Not once did you apply any of that limited intelligence to anything you saw. Not the structure, the habits, the activities, the commerce ... the civilization you encountered. Ahhh... what do they teach in schools these days. It is as if the vaulted intelligence of the modern world is treated as a dump stat.

We are peaceful. Certainly many of us are armed with weapons, as we have our criminal element as do you. Plus with invaders from the south, one has to be careful.

The south.

You really don't understand do you? How we have grown so fast, how we understand the concepts of trade, politices, craftsmanship, and hospitality. Look out the windows at what is left of my city. Ask yourself one question first: Where did all of the undead come from? Who were they when they were alive?

Ah, yes. I see you haven't really considered that either. Every single being you destroyed was once alive. It is a tragedy that so few retain their vocal chords from the transition. What you hear as wailing is an attempt to communicate. What you hear as groaning is broken speech. They have been trying to tell you. Trying to reach you. Trying to stop you. Trying to make you see.

For we are your kin.

Suspicious, I know. But it is indeed true. Every death in your kingdom to the south adds to this nation. We carry on what we knew in life, but in a new place that makes sense with the limited grasp we now have. That wraith there? The spirit of Gravenrod the scribe. His immortal flesh you destroyed two days ago. He served your royal family faithfully for 60 years. This ghast was once Peg the beggar, starved to death by neglect. This zombie was Shellay, the fish merchant's wife drowned trying to help her husband salvage the catch from the broken nets. The ghost of Ultrinda in the rafters there, still traumatized by his unjust execution after being framed for a a crime he didn't commit, and the minor one he did do being buried with him to save the reputation of a noble's son.

We are your kin, your countrymen, your future.

What threat did we pose to you? It is not our fault that we are held thus. This nation has grown from necessity, beginning as nothing more than a place for all who cease to draw breath. It was chaos at first of course. My only hand in all of it was to provide structure, stability. Purpose.

It was not a bad death after all. One could look forward to the days and the time rather than just standing in one place hoping the way would reopen. Ah, you didn't know that either. Yes. They were not raised. They have been prevented from continuing. The past Beyond has been blocked. None may pass. We have not determined how or why. We can see the barrier, but we can not see the reason for it.

Despite your horrific destruction of my land, I would make use of you to find and remove the barrier. If you could lift it, then all of us remaining could move on. This interests you? Excellent. I was hoping it might.

There is just one catch.

You can not hope to comprehend the barrier while you live, and you can not hope to remove it if you die. Only by jointly functioning in both will to be able to prevail.

Ah. Hmm. Well, you see the problem. No one can be both alive and dead at the same time. But there are four of you, and you have worked closely for years? Decades? I suspect that if one or two of you were to cross over, you would be able to work with the others. Kind of a liason to work together across both realms.

Yeah, that might be a stumbling block for you I thought. I see no alternative though.

Which of you will die for the sake of all?

It isn't the realization that they find me uninteresting that hurts so much. It's how nothing really changed until Becca mentioned: "Wait a minute, is his birthday the 4th or the 5th?" Mom replied that it was the 7th. Dad replied that it was the 2nd. They debated which one it was until finally Mom went back through her phone to settle it. She didn't pull up a note list. Or photos. She pulled up a calendar. Then changed the display year back to 2012. Then she frowned after scanning the page and changed it to 2011. Then 2010. "Ah, here it is." she said, gesturing to one of the events on the calendar. It was labeled: 'Induce'.

"It was the 6th."

Becca commented surprised: "Oh, today is the 6th."

Mom and Dad's eyebrows went up. "Oh." Dad said. "In that case, go find your brother so we can tell him happy birthday."

I sat there. The numbness that I felt spreading down my limbs to my fingers was excruciating. It felt like every shred of my soul was sliding into oblivion, a black pit of soothing terrifying nothingness.

"He isn't in his room" Becca announced, coming back into the living room.

Dad didn't even look up from his computer this time. "Try outside."

I couldn't stay in the house any more and followed Becca outside. She yelled a few times for me from the porch. The only answer was my faint whisper: "I am here," spoken from the remaining shriveled shreds of my voice. She didn't hear it. Just the wind.

Becca shrugged and turned back into the house. I could hear voices talking, but couldn't muster the energy or courage to face what they might be saying.

I started walking. I don't remember climbing the fence into the woods, or even getting wet crossing the creek. I must have tripped a few times, because I was quite dirty and wet. Normally that would be alarming, because this was no season to be out in a t-shirt and jeans, wet, without shelter. But the biting cold was something to hold on to, something that showed me that I actually was alive. I didn't know if I wanted to be, but I clung to that like a jumper holds onto the bridge railing near the end.

I don't know how long I walked either. Or when I laid down. I was laying there staring up at the tree leaves and the pattern of the cold sun coming through them. Thinking about what the witch said. If my parents reported me missing, then I should be visible to anyone searching for me. If. But then if they found me, I'd have to go back to that. Pretend that this was all an accident. Pretend I didn't know how little they cared about me. I had always known. I had just fought against it refusing to believe it was true. All my angry raging. All my bleak depression. There was a cause for it after all. And it wasn't my fault. My mind kept working to try to figure out if there was a way it WAS my fault. Because if it was my fault, I could do something to fix it. I kept coming up empty as my blood slowed and my temperature dropped.

But then everything changed.

A warmth enveloped my hand briefly, then my chest. I looked down to see Hondo, my cat, sprawling out on my chest, staring at me with his large unblinking eyes. His grumpy face told me that he was most displeased with my choice to be out in the cold. But his purr, firing on only 2 of the 8 cylinders, told me that he would make that choice to be with me even in the cold. He kept staring at me. He could see me.

The relief, and the grief, washed over me like an avalanche. I couldn't deny the pain. I wasn't actually numb. But I wasn't gone. I wasn't missing. Not to this creature who cared.

The house was mostly dark when I got back. It took me a long time to figure out where I was and how to get home. Hondo followed me faithfully, watching me carefully whenever I stopped. I no longer felt cold by the time I got home, so I probably had hypothermia. No one noticed that I entered the house though. Only 3 places had been set for dinner, and no food was stored as leftovers. I got some crackers and some cheese and quietly went to my room. I ate them slowly sitting on the floor against my bed. Hondo got his share of the cheese as he lay in my lap.

When I got in bed, I wedged myself in the gap between the mattress and the wall, shaking the covers out to look like the bed was empty, Hondo tucking himself across my neck and rumbled in his quiet staccato. I felt asleep quickly, slowly warming up.

Becca found me in the morning, laughing at how she had missed seeing me there yesterday. It was a comfortable way to dodge the truth.

At least I had Hondo.

I don't know what to do. I have to take this secret with me to the grave for others are depending on my silence. And yet the pressure of my silence is burning a hole through my head. It is literally killing me.

See, I alone know the truth of what happened on the 22nd of September 2029.

The world knows that date. It was a normal Harvest Moon, some press making catchy articles to drive ad revenue but really nothing special. More eyes turn to full moons though, and no one who looked could miss it. I was in Ogden Utah at the time, winding down on the back porch after another stressful training day on the base. The moon was just rising over the Rockies, just to the right of De Moisy Peak, looking oversized with the reference points of the mountain profiles. It had the reddish hue that early evening full moons had and drew my eye readily. I was watching it measurably creep upward when the pale red seemed to flicker, leaving blues and greens instead. It took some seconds for my mind to register the shocking change, but it finally started sinking in.

I scrambled out of my chair and inside for my binoculars, my fallen and shattered glass unnoticed on the concrete. The binoculars confirmed the radical color change, but no greater detail. I could barely stop staring at it, unable to comprehend what it meant, but I finally pulled out my phone and started checking news sources. Nothing. Social media was trickling, then flooding. Lots of pictures. Some memes already. Plenty of people asking questions. Some were even intelligent questions.

It lasted 25 minutes.

The color flickered again, and the moon returned to what it has always been. Almost always.

The news finally got the story and puzzled hosts and reporters do what they do: ask silly questions of the wrong people. It took a few days to confirm that not a single major telescope got pointed at the moon until after the color vanished. There were millions of images from phones, thousands from cameras with lenses, a few from amateur telescopes. None with real detail.

Artemis was nearly ready, and the decision to go gained even more pressure and momentum. My training schedule ramped up even harder.

Most people know me by name, since I was the science officer for that return landing to the moon. The only survivor from the surface.

The flight itself was incredible, but I don't remember the sensations of it any more. 32 years since helping to finish erasing that memory that started with the enormity of what we found.

I don't know how to continue. The habit of keeping silent has formed a wall within me that is tangible. Like a physical restraint keeping my fingers from typing out the words that reveal the truth. Who would believe me anyway at this point. Nutjobs. Wackos. The kind of people that would go camp at the gates of Area 51 after seeing Independence Day 4.

The public record states that contact was lost with the HLS Lander at an altitude of 391 meters above the surface and was never reestablished. The public record states that for 26 days NASA and ESA worked tirelessly night and day to try to figure out how to contact us, then when our liftoff didn't happen, how to rescue us. The Lunar Reconnaissance Orbiter kept up a steady stream of imagery of our landing site, but told them almost nothing aside from the fact that the HLS Lander didn't crash. The crew in the MPCV was a helpless link to whatever hope was held. They expected that we would work to conserve whatever oxygen and water we had and the longest possible scenario was one survivor lasting 26 days before hypoxia and death.

After 26 days, focus shifted to recovery and finding out what happened. The MPCV and its two crew members were brought home shortly after. 35 days after contact was lost, NASA got an unmanned capsule to the moon, at the same coordinates of our landing site. Contact was also lost with that capsule at 391 meters altitude.

At 42 days, my HLS Lander lifted off of the surface of the moon and entered a ballistic return trajectory to earth. No contact was ever established and the lander was never going to survive reentry. A scrambled Dragon capsule on a Falcon Heavy managed to rendezvous and dock with the lander, burning all of its fuel to barely get the lander into a stable orbit, although highly elliptical. A week later, another Dragon was able to dock and a rapidly developed adapter allowed the crew to interface with the lander hatch.

I was inside, still alive. The body of my fellow crewmate strapped to his seat beside me.

We made splashdown a few hours later.

I had to lie. Every electronic device in the lander was fused to slag, there was no possible way to corroborate any story, true or false. The truth was absurd. And dangerous. I was debriefed for months. I held close enough to the truth to stay repeatable without revealing anything. You know the official conclusion that was reached. "Through an extraordinary display of ingenuity and resourcefulness one and the humbling and heroic sacrifice of the other, " etcetera.

There were suspicious people of course. The math didn't lie. I had survived 52 days on oxygen that would have been exhausted at 26. There was no explanation given or found for where the oxygen had come from. Theories and fan fiction abounded that maybe there actually was oxygen and habitable conditions on the moon. But no one of any real scientific mind believed that.

There was just that 25 minute glimpse of lush green and verdant blue on the moon to suggest all sorts of ideas.

None came close to reality.

No one suspected that the moon had been colonized. Or holographically masked. That glimpse everyone saw? A bug had crashed the software maintaining the holograph. And they neutralize any craft which pass within it to protect themselves.

They are peaceful. Fleeing their own past. A remnant of a remnant that was saved.

In the decades since, scientists have decided that moon dust is impossible for electronics to survive in, and no mechanical solutions to explore have been found. Political will has fallen, and no one even thinks seriously about returning to the moon any more.

It's for the best.