Lunarians
Tall, slow and quiet, the Lunarians lived on the Moon long before the first rocket. Earth never moves in their sky, so they call it the Still One and count their days by its phases. They grind selenite into lenses better than anyone, and greet whoever brings a telescope as a fellow watcher.
«Oh. A guest who walks on their own feet, not inside a tin. I am …. Stand with me a moment: nothing here is in a hurry, not even the Sun.»
The settlement and its dwellers
Crafts
Looks
Where they live
Lunar Court. A court of the Lunarians: round domes of dry stone half sunk into the regolith, each with a selenite window on top that looks at the Still One. In the middle lies the Court of the Earth with its basalt mirror, and every path of flat stones leads there.
Tasks
Dust Under the Lens· Lens GrinderBring the lens grinder sixteen pieces of quartz and four amethyst shards for grinding paste.
«Look at this wheel, guest. Selenite polishes selenite badly: too soft, it smears instead of cutting. Your people carry a white stone that cuts clean, and a violet one that sings when it bites. Bring me some of both, and my lenses will be clear enough to count the clouds on the Still One.»
A Lens of Your Own· Lens GrinderGrind a moonstone lens yourself and show it to the lens grinder who taught you.
«You have good hands for a guest, and now you know what dust is. Grind a lens from our moonstone — yourself, not bought — and bring it to me. Only to me: I want to look through it before anyone else. A watcher who grinds their own glass is never a stranger at my wheel.»
Night Watch· Stonecutter· repeatableDefeat three selenite stalkers that come close to the court in the long night.
«In the long night the stalkers come down to our walls and scratch the new stone — they like the taste of fresh cuts. We do not hunt; our hands are for chisels. But you carry a weapon, guest. Thin them by three, and I will pay as a stonecutter pays: honestly, and every night you come back.»
The Light on the Last Cairn· LamplighterWalk the Cairn Trail in the highlands and bring the lamplighter eight pinches of glowstone dust for a new lamp.
«Seven cairns cross the highlands, each taller than the last, and on the last one we keep a light — for the one who stayed in the hut at the end of the trail. None of us has been up there for many fillings of the Still One, and my legs are slower than light. Walk the trail for me, guest, and see how the lamp is. And bring glowing dust from your world: if it has gone dim, I will make a new one.»
A Lamp for the Cairn· LamplighterCarry the new lamp to the elder of the court: no light goes up the trail without the elder's word.
«The lamp is ready. But a light for the last cairn is not just a lamp: the elder must hold it first and say the old words over it. Take it to the middle of the court, by the Mirror. Then come back to me.»
The Moon Says Hello· Earth KeeperCarry two moonstones from the Earth Keeper to the elder of the Martians.
«You have found the red wanderer in your glass — it shows: there is rust in your eyes. For many fillings of the Still One I have watched slow lights there, moving in rows. Someone lives on that rust. If you go, take them our stone, the one that shines without a Sun, and give it to whoever keeps their count. Tell them the Moon says hello. Slowly.»
Rain of Stones· Earth KeeperLive through a meteor shower on the Moon and bring the Earth Keeper four pieces of meteoric iron from fresh craters.
«The dust says a shower of stones is coming — not today, not tomorrow, but soon. When it comes, do not hide in a tin: stand under the open sky, watch where they fall, and bring me the iron from the fresh craters while it is still warm. Every stone is a letter from the deep sky, and I have not had letters for a long time.»
The Shell in the Pen· Hopper HerderDefeat the crater tortoise that raids the hopper pens and bring its shell to the herder.
«A crater tortoise has found my pens. It crushes the low walls like dry bread and eats the selenite grass my hoppers live on, and the hoppers sit in a ring and listen to the Still One instead of grazing. I cannot fight a tortoise: they are older than the seas, and they do not forgive a blow. You might. Bring me its shell, and I will know it will not come back.»
Our First Home· ElderGo down into the Selenite Catacombs, the old home of the Lunarians, and come back up.
«Under the maria lies our first home: the refectory, the dormitories, the lens workshop, the chapel with the blue disc over its gates. No Lunarian has been down there since the colossus woke — our legs are too slow for its halls now. Go down for us, watcher. Walk where the ancestors walked, come back up, and tell me that the chapel disc still hangs.»
Let the Colossus Sleep· ElderDefeat the Selenite Colossus at the bottom of the catacombs.
«You have seen the halls; now you know what lies at the bottom. The ancestors laid the colossus there to keep watch, and it watched too well: it woke and drove us up into the dust. Its altar asks for two cores. Feed it, and when it stands, put it back to sleep. We will not mourn it. We only want our first home quiet again.»
The Song of the Ring· ElderWake the ring of stones on the Moon: the gate between the worlds.
«Now the old door. The ring of stones sleeps on its platform and dreams of the roads it used to keep. It wants the colossus's heart, a shower of stones weathered under the open sky, stardust, and our selenite and titanium in its frames. You already carry most of it, I think. Wake it, and the court will hear the ring sing again — we have only heard it in stories.»
Rails up the Benches· StonecutterFind the guests' quarry in the highlands and bring the stonecutter six pieces of raw ilmenite.
«The guests dug a pit in the highlands for the dark heavy stone — the one with titanium inside. They left a cart on the rails, still loaded. My chisels are dull, guest, and an edge of that metal never dulls. Climb the benches of their pit and bring me six pieces of the stone. I want to see how the guests cut it.»
Supper for the Herd· Hopper Herder· repeatableBring the hopper herder twelve carrots: the hoppers have not forgotten the taste of the Still One.
«My hoppers live on selenite grass and grow fat on it. But once a guest dropped an orange root by the pen, and since then they have sat by the gate every evening, waiting for another. Bring me a dozen of those roots now and then. I pay with what the herd gives.»
The Bright One Up Close· Earth KeeperBring the Earth Keeper a bismuth crystal from Venus, the bright wanderer.
«From here the bright one is only a white spark by the Sun, and it never goes far from it, as if tied. The Keeper before me thought it was a lamp the Sun carries. But you have stood on it — your tin bore the heat. Next time, bring me a piece of it. I want to know what a lamp is made of.»
A Thread Between the Lamps· LamplighterBring the lamplighter twenty-four pieces of wiring and eight copper coils, to tie the lamps of the court wall into one chain.
«Before every long night I walk the wall and wake the lamps one by one, and by the time I reach the last, the first has burned alone for an hour. The guests' mast blinks with no lamplighter at all: its light walks down a thread of copper. We do not touch their things — but you are a guest, and the thread is your people's craft. Bring me twenty-four lengths of it and eight of the wound spools, and I will tie the lamps of the wall together, so that the court lights up all at once, as the Still One does.»
Iron for the Lens Rims· Orbit WatcherBring the orbit watcher eight tetrataenite ingots from the belt for the rims of the great lenses.
«Watcher, you came by the long road — through the dark, not through the sky. Look at our lenses: the glass is ours, but the rims are tired. Out in the belt of stones lies an iron that cooled for a million of our slow days, and its grain never drifts. Bring me eight bars of it. A lens that does not tremble sees further.»
A Lens for the Runner· Orbit WatcherCarry a moonstone lens from the Stillwatch to a driller of Fear's Nest, the Martian station in Phobos.
«From here I see the red wanderer, and the small dark stone that runs around it. There are lamps in that stone now: someone digs. Those who dig in the dark need a glass that gathers what little light there is. Take this lens to whoever holds the drill there. Tell them the Moon sees their lamps.»
The Light That Went Out· Orbit WatcherFind a wrecked ship in space and scan it with the ship scanner.
«I keep a count of the lights that move. Some stop moving. Some go out. One went out not long ago — a small one, among the stones. I cannot leave the lens; you can. Find what is left of it and let your ship look at it closely. I want to write down how a light ends.»
The Tailed Star· Orbit WatcherCatch up with a comet in your ship, then return to the Stillwatch.
«There is one light we have never held in a lens for long: the tailed star. It comes, it burns, it leaves, and we only watch. You have brought iron, carried glass and found the dead light. Do the last thing: go to the tailed star while it is here, close enough to feel its breath, and come back to tell me what it is.»
The Lights That Breathe· Orbit WatcherScan a living shoal with the ship scanner and bring the orbit watcher two ray sieves: dust rays of the belt shake them loose when a ship drifts slowly beside the shoal.
«I keep a count of the lights that move. Stones move as they are told; ships move as they wish. But out among the stones there is a chain of amber lights that moves like neither: it turns all at once, like a flock. My lens is too slow for it. Let your ship look at such a chain closely. And they say the lights shed something when a ship drifts beside them, slow and patient — a comb, still glowing. Bring me two. I want to hold a piece of a living light.»
What to talk about
Tell me about the Moon.
The Moon is a quiet place, and we are quiet with it. Seas of gray stone that never held water, mountains older than any sea, craters left by stones that fell when the sky was young. Nothing here wears away: the dust keeps every footprint for a thousand years.
Why is it so quiet here?
There is no air to carry a sound, guest. A falling rock lands without a word. We talk the way stone does: through the ground, by touch, by the light of the crown. Your suit only pretends to hear me — or perhaps it listens better than you think.
How do you live through the long night?
A day here lasts two of your weeks, and so does the night. When the Sun goes down, the selenite in our crowns gives back the light it drank, and the Still One shines on the maria brighter than your Moon on your fields. We stay close to home, though: the night belongs to the stalkers.
Who else lives on the Moon?
The hoppers graze the maria and listen to Earthlight with their ears; we keep them in pens of low stone. The crater tortoises are older than the seas, and they do not forgive a blow. And at night the selenite stalkers rise from the dust and hunt without a sound. Respect all three and you will live long here.
What is worth seeing around here?
Many things, if you walk slowly. Our ancestors left their marks across the maria, the guests left theirs, and the Moon left the strangest of all. Ask, and I will tell you what the dust has told me.
And the signs cut by the slab — can you read them?
Read them? No. Remember a little? Yes. The Slab-Setters left their marks over the way into the square, on the altar stone, over the narrow door in the north step — that one we do not wake — and by the ring of stones that sleeps in the maria. Our grandmothers knew a few signs, the way you know a constellation without the names of its stars. Ask, and I will tell you what is left.
Which sign is the ring?
The one that looks like the ring of stones itself: a stone frame without corners, hanging from a beam. If something is drawn inside such a frame, that is a name — the name of a world. The Slab-Setters signed every ring with the name of the world it stands on.
And the tall figure?
With a ring for a head and arms spread wide, taller than anything near it? That is them — the Slab-Setters themselves. We draw them the same way, and we never draw their faces.
Is there a sign your people use?
One. Two brackets around a dot — "keep". Our lamplighters cut it over their doors: we keep the light through the long night. My grandmother said the Slab-Setters cut it on the stone of our court before there was a court.
How do you know where a phrase ends?
By the foot. A sign that stands on a little step is something that is done — set, sleep, keep. It always comes last, like the top stone of a cairn: after it, nothing more is laid.
Who were the Slab-Setters?
None of us ever saw them: the slab stood there when the first Lunarian looked up. But under the dust by the slab lie old steps, and they are not ours: each comes up to my chest, and I am not short. And in the oldest songs the long night was shorter and warmer while they were here. Then they went — upwards, the songs say — and the night became the one you know.
Why a slab — and why here?
The Earth Keeper says the slab is not a stone but a finger: it does not point at itself. For a thousand long nights we looked at the slab — and we should have looked where it looks. Here nothing hides the sky: no air, no cloud. If someone wanted to leave a mark for those who come by the sky, there is no better place under the Still One.
The tablet says the road goes by the stars.
Then I owe the Earth Keeper a bowl of water: he said so, and I laughed. We do not leave the Moon — our road ends where the dust ends. But you have ships. Follow the slab's gaze, watcher, and when you come back, tell the court what the Slab-Setters were looking at. We have waited long enough to hear it.
And the line of cairns in the highlands?
The Cairn Trail. The first walkers raised them to find the way back: seven cairns, each taller than the last. At the end there is a hut of dry stone, for the one who could not find the way. One of us reached it and stayed there. We still keep a light on that cairn.
Names
Ael · Tiu · Sao · Naun · Oeli · Vess · Ormi · Yuin · Selu · Ommo · Nia · Rhe