“Go to the Moon, he said. We’ll have fun, he said.” I grumbled as I stared irritably out the dome window at the unbelievably boring lunar landscape. My friend Steve had promised me a month-long vacation to the moon, an adventure touring the restaurants and hotels of the sickeningly rich.
Steve, however, was an asshole. The moment we’d arrived on the Moon he’d fucked off with an ambiguous wave and a shrug. To make things worse, I was pretty sure I left the keycard to my room inside the room, and I wasn't looking forward to the walk of shame to the counter to request a replacement.
It was going to be a very long and very boring month.
“So... what’s there to do on the Moon that’s relatively cheap?” I muttered.
“Well, you could rent out a buggy.” A gruff voice piped up behind me. I turned in my seat, and standing there in maintenance coveralls and a lemon yellow jumpsuit was a burly man with a walrus mustache.
“Eh?” I stared stupidly at him.
He nodded and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “It’s not the most exciting thing in the world, but it’s fun. Drive the buggy around a bit, kick up some dust- heck, maybe find a chunk of moon rock that you think looks cute, I dunno.”
This wasn’t part of the package brochure that I’d looked over before we shot up into space. Clearly this was a grift this guy ran.
“And how much is it gonna cost me?” I asked sourly.
He laughed, but his eyes were the flinty type that glimmered at the thought of cash- happy that he’d hooked a victim.
“Eh, five hunnerd.” He offered. “Three for me, who’ll get you down to the maintenance bay, and two hunnerd to the guy that’ll let you out and let you back in.”
I contemplated another night doing fuck-all in my hotel room while Steve availed himself of whatever richboy fuckdreams he had at the casinos and brothels that were so ridiculously expensive I couldn’t pay to walk through the front door.
“Fuck it. Fine. I’m in.” I capitulated, and reached for my wallet.
“No, no, no, not here, not on camera.” He urged, and then motioned for me to follow him.
*****
I followed the guy down into a maintenance corridor where I obligingly handed over three hundred dollars. He grinned and pointed the way. I followed him down and through a mess of maze-like corridors, already accepting that I was hopelessly lost and had no chance at all of making my way back to the mezzanine waiting area.
He stepped out into the maintenance bay, and he pointed out the buggies.
“Controls are simple- pretty much like driving a car, though in this case you have to yank the e-brake to stop. The buggy’s got an onboard map if you get lost, and it’s own oxy supply, though personally I go batshit insane after about four-five hours. Those EVA suits are bastard-tight.”
I nodded along as he explained. “Anything you decide to find- rocks and dirt- you get to keep. There won’t be any problems getting rocks in, and Customs will just wave you through. It’s just rocks, right?” He added somewhat sarcastically. I nodded.
“The real beaut is the speed on these babies. You can damn near fly when you ramp up off one of the crater edges.” He moved his hand in a long, slow falling gesture.
Shit. That actually sounded fun.
I handed over the remaining two hundred and he helped me put on the EVA suit.
Outside... well, it was just as boring as seeing it from the mezzanine. Stark white dirt, stark white mountains, utterly lightless black sky with stars shining hard as diamonds.
Stars don’t twinkle in space. That’s an atmospheric thing.
So, naturally the first thing I did was kick up the buggy as fast as it could go and ramp it up over the crater, like he suggested.
Oh man. That was so boss. And terrifying. I thought for sure I was just going to keep going up and up and up until I was lost in space, never to be seen from again.
But no. I eventually leveled out, and then, just as slowly, I descended, until the damned buggy slammed into the lunar surface in a dramatic spray of lunar dust.
The suspension groaned and creaked and the drive train squealed and the engine roared in protest.
That was about a gallon and a half of adrenaline dumped into the piss-pot.
I took a long deep breath and stared up at the sky while I waited for my heart to stop hammering in my chest.
“Okay. where to, now?” I keyed up the map and drove around a bit, spraying dust while I did wheelies and popped cookies like I was a kid in an iced-over parking lot.
“Fuck, this is borning.'' I realized.
I picked a direction at random and floored it; driving as fast as you wanted without anyone in your way and no obstructions to impede you is kinda fun.
I came down from a jump and smacked into a rock, hard, and the buggy jittered to a stop.
The engine made a curious sort of whining noise, so I decided to gently shuttle it down to a more socially acceptable level, where it started purring again... and then I got out and decided to check out what I smacked into.
*****
Okay, so... this was the most baffling shit I ever saw. In the middle of this crater, maybe a half-mile wide, was this... plinth... pedestal... thing. A slab of black rock, polished as smooth as glass that jutted out of the middle of the crater like an accusatory finger. Sticking out from the top of that was an ornate sort of handle-thing. I approached it, and on the plinth on my side was a scuff-mark from where my buggy had hit it.
On the other side was a plaque that was carved in english: “Whomsoever shall draw this sword of this stone is rightwise and shall forever be the King of the Moon."
Clearly someone was having fun. This was obviously a tourist trap. Come out here, pull out the sword, have a good laugh, head back to the resort, wave the sword around, cheer your buddies, and then go home and show off a cheap souvenir.
I reached out and grabbed the handle and gave it a tug. The handle wouldn’t budge, so I hopped up a little, put my foot on the pedestal, grabbed the handle of the sword and pulled, pushing with my foot.
That handle was mighty cold. That cold seeped in even through the insulated gloves of the EVA Suit.
Stolen story; please report.
I jerked and tugged, and suddenly I realized that this was probably a tourist trap of a different sort: They probably bussed people out here, everyone had a jolly time tugging on it, and maybe they used a remote, or pressed a switch, or something like that, and the blade popped up for someone and then everyone had a good laugh afterwords.
The sword slid out of the stone like a knife through butter.
The blade was brilliant, polished steel, and looked razor-sharp.
“Holy shit that looks badass.” I muttered. The crossguard looked to be made of gold, and there was some sort of swirled symbol in the middle. I walked back to the buggy and awkwardly put the sword inside.
I keyed up the map in order to drive back to the base, when I realized that the swirled symbol on the sword was the face of the moon.
“Huh. At least it looks good.” I muttered. When I headed home at the end of this boring-as-fuck safari, I’d put it up on my dorm wall. It didn’t look too bad, after all.
*****
When I got back to the resort, I had to putter around a bit to find the maintenance bay, but otherwise, I made it back without any problems.
I climbed out and went through the airlock, cradling the sword. Once the air pressurized, I began stripping out of the uncomfortable suit.
“Have fun out there?” My expensive guide asked, grinning.
“You were right- that jump off the crater’s edge was something else.” I admitted, and tapped the piss tank on my suit to prove it. He laughed uproariously.
“Happened to me the first time I did it too!” He exclaimed, and punched my shoulder in what I assumed was a friendly way.
I picked up the sword, and his expression changed. His eyes glazed over for a moment, and then he blinked and shook his head.
“Forgive my rudeness, my lord. Was there anything else I could do for you?” He asked, strangely and bafflingly respectful.
Oh. Right. The sword. I’m the King of the Moon, now. I suppose the staff was trained to respond that way to deepen the immersion, or something? Like how in disneyland the people in the costume act like the characters.
“Yeah, sure.” I replied. “You mind taking me back to the mezzanine?”
He dipped his head in a respectful bow.
What the fuck? I kind of expected he’d break character, give me a chuckle, and then congratulate me on finding the tourist trap.
He silently and respectfully escorted me back to the mezzanine, however, and then bowed again when he left.
Nobody that was walking around seemed to think that it was a big deal that I was carrying around a razor-sharp sword, either. It was difficult to carry, since there was no sheathe to go with it, either.
“Fuck it. Might as well go back to the hotel room.”
I headed back to the hotel, and as I headed back, I started feeling the eyes of everyone following me.
“Yeah, that’s to be expected.” I muttered. You walk around with a sword, people are going to stare. Fuck, this is sort of embarrassing.
I made it into the lobby, and the moment I walked in, everyone stopped and stared at me. Even the porters stopped. I headed to the reception desk, and the woman at the counter eyed me nervously.
“Is there something I can do for you, your Majesty?” She asked, eyes flicking up to my face and down to her screen.
“Uhhh, yeah.” I replied, reaching for my pocket to pull out my wallet. “I can’t find my keycard. You mind issuing me a new one?”
She blinked a few times. “I don’t see-” She muttered to herself. “Your Majesty, I don’t see that either of the penthouse suites have been checked out-?” She asked as sort of a half-question.
“Eh? No, I’m in Room 1138.” I replied.
She gave me a baffled look. “But that’s-” She began, and then pushed away from the desk. “By your leave, your Majesty, I’ll see about getting this cleared up for you right away.”
She hurried away, and spoke to a rather bullish man with a well-trimmed haircut. They went over to a workstation away from me and they did some things, and then they disappeared, and an older gentleman with silvery-white hair and a well-tailored suit appeared, spoke with them sharply, and then approached me.
“Your Majesty, forgive our disrespect and insult to your personage. It seems as though there was some sort of error in our system regarding your arrival at this establishment. We’ve made the necessary adjustments and we’re all ready to escort you to the Eastern Penthouse Suite, with our compliments.”
There’s no way I could afford that in ten lifetimes. I was here on Steve’s dime, and while he was a son of a rich man, even his family couldn’t afford a penthouse suite.
“I, uhhh...” I froze for a moment. “With our compliments” rang a note with me, though.
Oh God, was I gonna do it? Fuck it, let’s see if I can get a night in the Penthouse Suite comp’d to me.
“By your leave, then.” I made an imperial gesture, expecting everyone to laugh and then you know, head back to my room.
But instead, the owner of the hotel called six bellboys to move my meager possessions from my current room and an additional ten to escort me to the penthouse suite.
*****
So first off, let me say this: The penthouse suite was fucking huge. Fucking huge.
I felt lost in the massive room. It looked like the place was made to entertain tons of people. Like hosting parties, or something. The bed was so large it could sleep twenty, I think.
I put the sword down on the sofa and and, testing the limits of “our compliments”, rang down for room service.
The meal was delivered by a nervously sweating man in cook’s whites. He explained each dish respectfully. I couldn’t remember the names, most of them went in one ear and out the other.
I nodded at his explanations, and he bowed as he left.
The food was rich and luxurious and tasted divine. While I ate, I went through what was happening in my head.
I picked up a sword from the tourist trap outside, at which point everyone started treating me as if I were royalty- the King of the Moon, in fact.
At first I thought it was all fun and games, but they wouldn’t just comp a suite- the penthouse suite- to some rando with a sword, right? Roll out free room service that was attended by a man introduced as the head chef?
That was... a bit over the top, even for acting.
Fuck it. You know what? Let’s see how far I can take this.
I remembered to pocket my keycard this time, and opened the door- one of the bellhops was there, waiting for me.
“Was there something that Your Majesty required?” He asked, his voice squeaking a little.
“No, no. I was thinking of heading to the Royale.”
He nodded jerkily. “Understood, sir.” He muttered into his handset and then he escorted me to the lobby, at which point I left the hotel and was met with one of those electronic carts to whisk me to the casino.
Once I arrived at the casino, I was immediately escorted into the casino, where another gentrified man in an immaculate suit greeted me with a pile of “complimentary” chips, each worth more money than I made in a year.
I was escorted through the casino, where I watched people playing poker, shooting craps, yanking the arms of slot machines, and betting on races. They had horses- actual horses- up here. How did they manage that?
I was offered a drink, so I accepted and received a beer in a frosted mug. I tried my hand at craps, and the dealer immediately just... let me win. Everyone cheered on each terrible throw like I was the greatest thing since sliced bread.
“Good show, Your Majesty.” I was congratulated, and everyone clapped. How embarrassing was that?
After a while I just... I gave up, turned in my winnings and cashed out at the cage. I had no idea what I should do with the money I’d... won, but the owner simply provided me a handful of discrete envelopes to carry the money in with a brilliant smile.
I now had enough money to buy at least four houses in my old neighborhood.
All of this... for a sword?
Oh boy.
What... what was it that I was supposed to do?
I was going to head back to the hotel, but the owner of the casino stopped me.
“Your majesty, if I may be so bold... for our... more... discriminating clients, we offer certain... services.”
He gestured to a number of cocktail waitresses, who lined up expectantly.
Wait, what?
Was I expected to...
I shook my head. “That’s...” I started, and then stopped. What would be a good way to turn him down?
“That will not be necessary.” I replied, and he bowed his head, hands folded on his cane.
“As Your Majesty decides.” The owner of the casino agreed.
I was whisked to a restaurant where I was led past the table of a gaping Steve and up to the second floor, I was waited on by no less than twenty staff members, and then whisked back to the Penthouse Suite.
It was going to be a very long and very interesting month.