“Pulling Up the Moon” • by Karl Dandenell

 
Every night we pull up the Moon. 

It’s a massive undertaking involving thousands of technicians, millions of drones, and billions of dollars.

My team is based in Los Angeles, and I coordinate with my fellow techs in Santa Fe, Minneapolis, New York, across the seas to Nuuk, Reykjavík, Dublin and beyond… all the time zones of the globe. All to pull the Moon into the sky. From behind mountains, from beneath oceans and lakes, through fog and clouds, we create Luna from scratch and send her on her journey across the heavens.

We work in shifts, 24/7, nearly 364 days a year, crafting the different phases, adjusting brightness and position, all to create the illusion of our beloved missing satellite. The only time we get a break is on those days when the Moon should be New. You know, when people expect it to be hidden. That took a lot of negotiation. When Project Artemis was first proposed, there were astronomers who welcomed the extra darkness, and there were other folks who so grieved the Moon’s loss they demanded a Full Moon, all the time. Neither stance felt right, so we based the lunation algorithms on the Islamic calendar.

It was hard to argue with something that’s been accurate for over 1500 years.

One thing, though. On September 13, whatever the Moon’s phase, we initiate a pulse, a single, blinding pulse. This happens simultaneously in every time zone on Earth, echoing the events of that day.

The day we lost the Moon.

Even now, nobody knows what actually happened. Between one minute and the next, the Moon just… blinked. Flashed. Pulsed. Then it… disappeared.

It was like God took His cosmic pool stick and scratched the shot, knocking the cue ball into a pocket.

Worldwide chaos and war followed. I’m sure they cover those decades in your middle school history class, so there’s no need to talk about that.

Do they teach you why we pull up the Moon? We had to, that’s why. If we didn’t, all the old art, old videos and music—anything that mentioned or depicted the Moon— wouldn’t make sense anymore, would they?

People weren’t willing to erase thousands of years of cultural history.

The lunar show is a security blanket we tuck around ourselves at night. When we look up and see the Moon, we know we aren’t mad. We can allow ourselves to hope for the future.

Personally, I’m very proud—and a little humbled— to be an integral part of something that affects every single person on Earth.

There are a million theories about September 13. It might have been aliens. It might have been a massive nuclear strike. It might have been something they were doing up there at MoonBase Alpha. All those experiments with quarks and bosons and such. Who knows.

If you ask me, it’s not important how it happened. What is important is that the Moon is gone and it’s not coming back. Someone has to do this job, and it might as well be me. Besides, in another decade, I’ll be able to quit with a full pension.

I plan to spend a lot of my retirement on my little backyard deck, with a cold beer or a warm brandy, depending on the weather. Just sit where I can observe the waxing and waning Moon and wonder how the aliens made it disappear.

Because it had to be aliens, right?      

____________________

Karl Dandenell’s short science fiction and fantasy stories have appeared in numerous publications, websites, and podcasts in England, Canada, and the US. He and his family, plus their cat overlords, live on an island near San Francisco famous for its Victorian architecture, accessible beaches, and low-speed traffic. His preferred drinks are strong tea and single malt whiskey. You can find him online on his blog (www.firewombats.com) and lurking on Twitter (@kdandenell) and Mastodon (@karldandenell)

P.S. If you liked this one, look for Karl’s story, “Krishna’s Gift,” in Stupefying Stories #24!

Categories: 1999 Week