Chapter 4

The morning sky above the orbital terminal shimmered faintly, pale blue deepening into the velvet black of near-space. The band clustered near Gate 9, surrounded by stacked instrument cases, soft chatter, and the unmistakable scent of too much espresso.

Carmen had come to see them off, looking a little more rested than she had in days, but still carrying that anxious tightness around her eyes. She hugged each of them in turn, lingering with Sophie and Zora.

“Don’t worry about the sanctuary,” Zora said, trying to sound breezy. “We’ll be back before the next feed shipment even thinks about going missing.”

Carmen managed a laugh. “You always make it sound simple.”

Sophie smiled. “It’s not simple, but it’s solvable. We’ll be in touch.”

Once Carmen departed down the concourse, Zora turned toward the boarding gate, stretching. “Three and a half hours to Luna,” she mused. “Think they’ve got decent coffee up there?”

Finn, who had been scrolling through a holo-menu of lunar restaurants, perked up. “Forget coffee—what about meat gravel? I heard the Las Estrellas version’s made from vat-grown alpaca.”

Nigel wrinkled his nose. “Meat gravel, on any planet, remains a culinary abomination. It’s what happens when civilization gives up on texture.”

“Texture’s overrated,” Finn said. “Taste’s what counts.”

Nigel sniffed. “In that case, your palate should be perfectly content in zero gravity.”

Delta, leaning against a railing with her tablet, didn’t even look up. “Children, please. We’re about to represent Earth’s finest on Luna. Try to sound at least mildly sophisticated.”

Zora grinned. “You know, mildly sophisticated is my favorite setting.” After a moment’s hesitation, she added, “Accent on mildly.”

Nigel turned toward Sophie, flashing what he clearly thought was an effortless smile. “I believe, Dr. Ardent, you and I have a shared appreciation for the finer things—music, conversation, gravitational stability.”

Sophie didn’t even glance up from her datapad. “Gravitational stability, yes. Conversation ... still pending.”

Finn muttered under his breath, “Another swing and a miss, pal. You’re getting good at that.” Zora stifled a laugh behind her hand.

Delta’s com chimed—a final boarding call. “Alright, band of geniuses,” she said, gathering her things. “Grab your seats before they start selling them to tourists.”

As they filed onto the sleek lunar transport, Sophie double-checked her messages. Brian’s text blinked in: Kids travel tomorrow with Miri (the nanny). They’ll meet us day after next. Don’t let Zora buy any lunar pets.

Sophie smiled faintly and pocketed the com.

Outside, the shuttle’s engines began their soft crescendo, a vibration that settled in the chest more than the ears. Zora leaned toward the window as the ground crew retracted the loading bridge. “Here we go,” she said, the excitement threading through her voice.

Sophie fastened her harness, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Next stop, Luna,” she said.

The engines flared white. The cabin shuddered. And then, with the easy grace of a rising note, the shuttle left Earth behind.

The shuttle touched down with a soft hiss of pressurized air, settling onto the landing pad like a swan gliding to rest. Through the broad viewport, the colony of Las Estrellas stretched out in a luminous sprawl—a cluster of domed micro-cities gleaming under the hard white sunlight reflected from Luna’s surface. Beyond the transparent curve of the dome, the void shimmered—black, infinite, silent. Inside, the air glowed gold with life and color.

The band disembarked into Terminal 40, greeted by a rush of warm, filtered air set to a perfect 22 degrees Celsius. The hum of conversation rose around them, flavored with Spanish, Portuguese, and English, and the faint background rhythm of Latin pop playing from a nearby café. Neon murals sprawled along the terminal walls—flamboyant explosions of color depicting dancers, rockets, musicians, and constellations that seemed to move when you blinked.

“Wow,” Zora said, turning a slow circle. “They really did manage to make Luna feel like Rio at sunset.”

“Minus the humidity,” Sophie murmured, adjusting her bag on her shoulder.

Delta walked briskly ahead, her com already pinging with reminders and schedules. “Alright, everyone. We’re due for soundcheck in eighteen hours, and the Luna press meet in twenty-two. I’d appreciate it if nobody gets arrested or abducted by street performers before then.”

Zora waved a hand airily. “I heard there’s a market here that sells moon empanadas. I intend to test them scientifically.”

Finn fell in beside her, rolling a suitcase full of cymbals. “Scientific testing usually involves control samples. Which means I’ll need to help.”

Nigel gave a world-weary sigh. “Naturally. Because nothing says ‘artistic discipline’ like pastry-based fieldwork.”

They passed through the colony’s main concourse, where glass tunnels connected neighboring domes. Outside, Las Estrellas shimmered—a constellation of urban bubbles across the lunar plain, each one with its own rhythm and accent. In the distance, the faint curve of another dome caught the light from the distant Earth.

Brax whistled low. “One-G gravity, warm air, and actual street vendors. I could get used to this.”

Delta didn’t slow her stride. “You won’t. You’ll be rehearsing.”