The Relentless Moon (Lady Astronaut Universe #3)

by Mary Robinette Kowal

turned to the students with one of my prettiest smiles and patted the harness I wore. The world’s ugliest apron was designed to support me as if I were in one-sixth of Earth’s gravity. “Now, I’ll be putting you through your paces with the POGO. That stands for Partial Gravity Simulator and, yes, I know. If the IAC were consistent it would be the PGS, but that’s asking too much for an international governmental agency.

Finally, Clemons sighed and stared at the floor. “I’ve conferred with my security officer and am going to read you on information based on your security clearance and your new need to know. This is TS/SCI.”

There’s nothing wrong with being short, and under normal circumstances I wouldn’t have hit an area that he was sensitive about, but let me tell you a joke that is not funny. When you see a woman with stitches in her chin and ask her what she did to make her husband angry. There are two scenarios. The first is that she’s happily married and you’ve insulted their relationship. The other is that her husband is abusive and she will not thank you for endangering her by drawing attention to it. In the range of possibilities in between, there’s not a single one in which a joke about being a battered woman is funny.

“Mrroo? Mrrp. Mrrrrrooo.” He shoved his head under my chin and mixed purring in with his meeps. He doesn’t meow so much as monologue.

“Sorry about that…” Eugene sounded utterly calm. Of course, I’ve also heard him sound that calm when he was flying a plane literally on fire, so take that as you will. “The alarm looks good.”

I have so much practice at smothering rage that I could let the wave of heat wash over me without driving the clipboard into his forehead. But only just.

It’s hard to get men to give a health report accurately under the best of circumstances. For all I know, ‘under the weather’ actually means dying. They all think they can out-macho a germ.”

Myrtle shook her head with a constant stream of muttering. “And you’ve known how long? I swear to God you’re lucky I don’t bend you over my knee and try to knock the sense your mama gave you back into place.”

“Pfff … I’m a Taiwanese woman in the astronaut corps. Your drama does not frighten me.”

There is a sincerity and an earnestness with which people ask that question after a tragedy that is kind and exhausting all at the same time.

He gave a little laugh but didn’t look like he really believed me. Fair enough. Trust was earned by actions. Kenneth always said that our collective actions meant there were centuries of work to be done to prove ourselves trustworthy.

And then I remember that you are essentially a cat and really only tolerate people. There are, perhaps, twenty-seven people in all the worlds that you find genuinely appealing. This is one of your charms, I think, but I am somewhat biased. I might be counting high. Maybe you only like ten.

I will honestly never understand why men, who seem to spend so much of their lives thinking about sex, get so flustered when a woman discusses it.

The lander looked solid, but it was really just a bunch of engine parts and tubes wrapped in tinfoil. Excuse me. Wrapped in Kaplon. Still. You had to know exactly where to step or you’d punch through the gold foil and hit one of the “no-go” zones. The danger wasn’t that you would damage the engine, but that you would rip your suit.

From the inner recesses, a small gray streak bounded across the room, fluffy tail held high. Maggie the Cat billowed as she hurried to me and rubbed against my legs. Her fur was like a thundercloud and, as Kenneth had promised, her eyes were iridescent. She was the most beautiful cat and had a voice like a dying sheep. “Miaaaaaah.”