The Blue Moon - Part 1 - Into the Forest (6 page)

When Emmy arrived at the black market, she stopped her bike and took in the view. The black market had changed from her last visit. Now, they had large, full-letter written signs advertising the product, quantity and price — and this over a stretch of an entire neighborhood and for any consumable product available on St. John’s.

Emmy continued on foot, wheeling her bike beside her. The crowds had calmed down, but it was still busy. She headed straight for
Clarence’s Comics and Tea
. She saw the price of tea on a handmade poster. She couldn’t believe how cheap tea had become since the St. John’s government stopped actively policing and inspecting the black market.

She walked into the shop and spotted the man she was looking for and said, “Clarence. Got a minute?”

Clarence looked around, wishing there was a line up of customers so he could have an excuse to avoid Emmy again. There wasn’t, so he said, “What can I do for you?”

“Any new rumors?”

“In times like these, I don’t deal in rumors. Everyone is up to it. There’s no value in having ideas. I haven’t heard a single thing that sounds credible, if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s what I thought. Actually, I came for more of that silver leaf tea you gave me a few days ago.”

“I’ve gotten a lot of compliments. It’s much better than the government rationed stuff.”

“Who grew it, anyway?”

“This stuff was from old man Johnston, over on St. George’s peak. He says because he’s higher up on the hill, he’s closer to the Rock Sun. He thinks because it’s warmer up there, his leaves grow fuller than down in the large fields. His leaves are healthy.” Clarence pulled out some fresh, uncut silver leaves and showed them to Emmy.

“Those do look nice. His theory makes sense. Being higher up is warmer.
 
His fields are large. I bet he produces a lot of tea leaves. Did he sell to the government before?”

“Well, I suppose he did. Everyone has to. But the government would have just mixed his crop with everything else that’s produced. The stuff I’m selling is not mixed with any other crop, you see.”

“Why would someone want to make such a high quality tea if it’s just going to be mixed with everyone else’s inferior crop?”

“That’s a good question." He stuffed the leaves back in the tin. "Who knows?”

Emmy wasn't going to let him get away without hearing the question she'd come to ask. “Do you think he sells it to anyone from off St. John’s?”

Clarence raised an eyebrow and looked Emmy over before answering, “Why do you want to know?”

“No one from St. John’s has any clue about what’s happening here. No one could even guess where the Blue Moon has gone. I can forget getting help from anyone here. People would rather just be afraid and wonder when the St. John’s Council will tell them everything is going to be ok. I need to hear from someone from off of St. John’s. I want to know what they have to say about all of this. They might be able to help me find my mother.”

Clarence pursed his lips and stared at some far off spot. He regretted ever speaking with Emmy. He looked up when he finally gave in. “Your mother was kind to me. She helped my wife and me when we got our license. We love the son she created for us. I hope you can find her.

“Go to a restaurant in the dining neighborhood named
The Cracker Barrel
. The owner is named Ross. This guy may look normal, but he’s a Terran in disguise. He runs ships between St. John’s and Earth. He travels often. I know he arrived here this morning and is scheduled to leave again in a few days.”

“Thanks Clarence.”

He turned without saying another word.

Emmy ran out of the shop, got on her bike and pedalled down the hill towards downtown and
The Cracker Barrel
.

Biking through the hub of activity in the downtown dining district was time consuming. The place was never as busy as it was then. All of the drama surrounding the missing Blue Moon had amplified traffic, just like in the black market. The restaurant was on the main street and Emmy needed to get off her bike and walk it next to her.
 

She parked her bike and walked in, only to be met by something she’d never seen before. The strange sight made her stop in her tracks. There was a small green frog in front of her. The small green frog seemed to be standing on two legs, wearing a purple and gold suit, and staring Emmy straight in the eyes.

As Emmy stood at the door, her mouth agape, a tiny ball whizzed past her head, brushing her silver hair. The ball flew into the hands of the frog blocking her path.

The frog said, “Come inside and close the door quickly.”

Emmy instinctively knew to listen, and closed the door and entered the dimly lit, empty restaurant.

When the door closed, the frog asked, “Is your name Emmy Whitewood?”

Not sure what to do or say, she asked, “Are you a frog?”

The frog raised his small hand as if to say, wait a minute. He looked into the ball that had flown into his hands and said, “Detective Shankar, I’ve found the girl. She’s too surprised by my appearance to confirm her identity, but I’m sure it’s her. My camera picked her up in the market and followed her here. Would you like me to lead her to you?”

Emmy couldn’t hear any response, but she could tell the frog was hearing one. The frog looked at her and said, “He’ll be right over.”

“Who’ll be right over? Who are you? How is it you’re a frog who can talk, and who did you just speak with?”

“I can talk because I was created this way. Don’t worry about it. The person I spoke with is a detective from Earth. He just arrived here on St. John’s. He was offering top dollar for anyone who found you, plus a paid flight off of this space-island. A good deal. I sent out a few of these camera balls and they tracked you down when you were in the black market. Looks like I just found my ticket outa here.”

“But you’re a frog who can talk?”
 

“Hahaha. You silly, insular people. No one on St. John’s knows anything about the Solar System. I’m a creation.”

“What’s
a creation
?”

“You’ll see if you spend any more time here at this restaurant. I’ve got some animal DNA, and some human DNA. A human created me to work for him, but a few years ago, I decided I wanted to work for myself, so I started out on my own. Don’t ask me how I ended up on this dump of a space-island.”

Emmy was about to ask him just that, but a strange looking person entered the restaurant and said, “Felicitations. You have done the needful thing for me. Here is your reward and your ticket. Thank you for your services to me.”
 

The tall man handed over a piece of paper and a small purse to the frog. The man spoke in a melodic accent Emmy could understand, but was so different from the common accent of her homeland.

“Thanks,” the frog said, looking in the purse, counting the money. He looked up and added, “Nice doing business with you. Let me know if you need to find anyone on Earth.”

“Hopefully, I’m back on the same flight as you,” the tall man said, smiling at the little frog. They said goodbye and the frog left the restaurant without giving any salutation to Emmy.

The tall man turned to Emmy, smiling as he said, “Is your good name Emmy Whitewood?”

The beam of the man’s smile made Emmy feel unsure. She mustered a belligerent tone and said, “And who’s asking?”

“My good name is Shankar, Detective Shankar.”

He took off a glove and put out a hand for Emmy to shake. Emmy noticed that the color of his skin was dark — darker than the skin on his face and much darker than the skin of any person from St. John’s, where people all had either grey or bleach-white skin. Emmy shook his hand, but the smiling and the color of his skin left her without a clue as to what to say. She blurted, “I’m fine, thanks for asking. How are you?” even though Shankar had never asked how she was.

Shankar took no notice of her agitation; he simply smiled and said, “I’m great. Glad to be here. It was a long trip.”

He took a step closer to Emmy, who could now see that Shankar’s eyes were not grey, as they were with most people from St. John’s. His eyes were bright blue.

Shankar noticed that Emmy was staring at his dark hands again. “Oh yes, my hands. I didn’t have time to get a high quality disguise. Plus, I had to take what my travel agent arranged for me. I was in a rush to get here and I was only given a mask and this hat. Who cares though, I need to take this thing off soon — it’s itchy.”

“A mask? I don’t understand,” Emmy said.

“I’m from Earth. I’ll stick out here in St. John’s if I don’t wear a mask. My skin is dark, as my ancestral DNA is mostly Indian. I was born in Toronto, in Canada, but I grew up in India, specifically in Bombay.”

“What are you doing here? And why were you looking for me?”

“I can tell you all the information you are wanting, but we need to be somewhere private. This restaurant will be opening in just a few minutes, so we can’t stay here.”
 

Emmy looked Shankar over. She didn’t have a choice but to trust him for now. “There aren’t many places where you can be private on St. John’s. People are nosy and there are lots of tattle-tales and gossipers. We should head back to my cottage.”

“I’ll follow you.”

“I’ve only got my bicycle. We’ll need to walk.”

“Walk? We don’t have time.” The tall Indian man motioned for Emmy to move outside. She followed, and when they walked onto the street, Shankar called, “Taxi!”
 

Emmy stared in disbelief. She’d read about people doing such a thing in some comic books — she’d even read a book where the main character was a taxi driver. But, she’d never heard it spoken aloud before. Of course, no such service existed on St. John’s. People were self-sufficient and looked after themselves.

“We don’t have those on St. John’s,” she said, but to her surprise a small electric powered truck drove up beside them. Its door was marked,
St. John’s Maintenance
.

“Oh great,” Shankar said. “Emmy, please tell this good man where you need for him to take us.”

Emmy looked at the driver and could tell he was wearing a mask just like Shankar. The driver said, “Where are you headed?”

“Whiterose Road, near 10th line,” Emmy said.
 

“Put the bike in the back, let’s go,” the driver said.

Shankar grabbed Emmy’s bicycle and put it in the truck. They both got into the backseats and they were off.

Inside the cab, Emmy asked the driver, “How did you get this truck? It’s property of the government.”

“I just lease it off this guy who works for the government. I drive cab for off-worlders on St. John’s at night when he’s not working. These days, he ain’t even going into work, not since the Blue Moon disappeared. So, I been putting in extra time, making money. Gonna leave this place when I can.”

Emmy settled into a comfortable seat in the truck. It was better than biking. While the cab sped along, Shankar continued to itch at his mask. “I can’t take it anymore,” he said. “I can’t live with this mask. I mean, it’s crazy in the first place. What kind of a society bans foreigners? Why should I have to wear a mask when I travel here? It’s absurd. I’m taking it off.”

Shankar peeled the mask from his face, chuckling like he was letting Emmy in on a mischievous prank. With his mask off, he revealed a brown skin color that Emmy recognized from pictures she had seen in her copy of the
Traveler’s Guide to the Solar System
. The mask had also made him look younger than he really was. He was an old man.
 

Emmy could also see what he was wearing under his grey cloak — a dark black suit with dark trim — many shades past the darkness limit for clothes on St. John’s. She’d also seen clothes like this in her guidebook — a hard thing to miss when you come from a colony where almost everyone dressed in the same utilitarian fitting, same-shade-of-grey clothing.

Then, Shankar took off his hat. Beneath was a bush of bright red hair that he’d tried to comb back, but this style seemed difficult to hold in place, given his hair’s wiry texture.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Emmy said, staring at the wild ball of bright red hair.

The truck began to slow as they arrived at Emmy’s cottage. They got out, Shankar picked the bike up from the back of the truck, then paid the driver. The truck turned around and left.

Emmy led Shankar into the cottage and sat him down at the kitchen table. “Would you like some tea?” Emmy said.

“Thank you kindly. On Earth, of course, St. John’s silver leaf tea is a delicacy. I love it.”

“Did you know that everyone on St. John’s drinks this tea?” she said and began to boil water.

“I read the plant was engineered when your space-island was first terraformed. The tea was the first lifeform designed specifically for St. John’s. It’s considered the original St. John’s DNA. But more importantly, it’s a bright and cheerful drink.”

“It’s the building block of St. John’s. You know a bit about this place, don’t you,” Emmy said, her eyes widened.

“I am a detective. These days, I am inquiring about St. John’s. It’s my job to know as much as there is to know about this place.”

“And how do your investigations find you looking for me?” Emmy said.

“That’s an interesting story. Where to start?” Shankar paused to think.

Emmy felt a rush of vitality in her veins that had been dammed up inside since her mother and the Blue Moon disappeared. Finally, some movement. Some news.
 

“Just start,” she said.

Shankar said, “I’ll begin on Earth a few weeks ago. I heard voices.”

“What?! Say that again! You heard voices?”

“Wait a second — ah, I see. No, it’s not like that. The voices weren’t in my head — no, I actually heard voices.”

“How do you know they weren’t in your head? Where were the voices coming from?” Emmy was no longer having trouble harnessing her belligerent tone.

“First of all, I wasn’t the only one to hear them — other people were there too. The voices themselves — I suppose they were coming from the Blue Moon. One of the voices was your mother’s.”

Emmy paused her skepticism at the mention of her mother. Shankar once again had her attention.