There are No Dogs on the Moon
A Selene City Story
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“What did I tell you about the bleach? Bottom shelf, girl! Bottom shelf! Sponges and dry materials up top, mops on the door, powders-”
“-in reverse pressure, I know.” A young woman leaned against the station’s wall, flipping through the phone-like transceiver the company issued her. A bandana valiantly failed to contain the frizzy, black hair sprouting behind her head. “I’ve been through basic training, same as you.”
The old janitor bristled. “Excuse you! Do you know the catastrophes it could cause if one of these leaked onto a lower shelf? Or, I dare say, the foundations!” His wiry moustache and round face gave the old man all the appearance of a hairless beaver. “I have practically been working aboard Chang’e SSZ since its founding, girl! I organized the cleanup after the regolith breach on Chandra City, and am far and beyond your senior here!”
The woman sighed. “Look, we’re just janitors, man.”
“We keep this enclosed environment habitable, Subira!” The man pouted. “The labs may have machines keeping them sterile, but everywhere else is on us.”
Subira frowned. She knew he was right- the job was important. Just not glamorous. When she signed up to work in Selene City, she had expected adventure. How in the world did she end up on moon cleaning? “Alright, alright. I’ll put the bleach in the right place from now on. Okay, Mr. Liang?”
“Hmph.” He wasn’t convinced. He jutted his chin towards a panel on the wall. “I’ll see to re-organizing. It seems there is an issue with the southern wing you should be attending.”
The panel displayed a rough map of the station’s cross-like design, with lights of different colors denoting their habitability and status. Most were off, with non-urgent, light yellow lights. The bio-bay on the southern wing was still in the red- for now, that was a problem for the scientists to deal with.
However, just before the far-flung bio-bay, an orange light flashed. A custodial issue. “Alright, I’ll take a general cart.” Subira said, tucking her transceiver into her jumpsuit pocket. “Any advice?”
“Don’t be stupid.” Mr. Liang grumbled as he fumbled with the bottles on the bottom shelf.
The auto-rail whipped Subira quickly around the outside of the space station. Taking advantage of the low gravity, the little cable cars zipped up and down the southern wing’s knobbly housing extensions at high speeds, like a giant abacus. The moonscape shot past the woman as she sat in the pod, her cart taking up the rest. She always loved the way the lunar surface blended together on these rides- like a sea of liquid silver, dotted with the relics of ancient expeditions into the Mare Serenitatis.
The ride ended with an abrupt screech of high-tension steel cord, and the auto-rail sank back into the airlocks of the station. Subira had clipped back her hair down the small of her back, and flipped her hood over. With her face mask, all that emerged from the airlock was a light green, vaguely humanoid blob capped by two rubber gloves.
Children scattered in terror as Subira emerged, their parents chasing close behind. Around her, a residential dome contained several small bunks, a half-assembled boardgame, and a splatter of biohazard all across the wall. The culprit- a slumped kid with his head in a paper bag- lay slumped over the bed, retching.
Subira raised an eyebrow as the mother- the xenobiologist on staff- finally wrangled the last of her kids behind their stick of a father. “Gravity sickness?” She guessed.
“Maybe it’s just excitement for the festival tomorrow.” The woman shrugged apologetically. “We would have cleaned it up ourselves, but he managed to hit some wiggly panels. I fear it may have leaked into the insulation…”
The janitor nodded. It was good they called- who knows what damage they might have caused cleaning it themselves. “Alright, Doctor, I’ll take care of it. I’ll need to get into a standard suit and evacuate the room.”
“Oh, you’re a saint.” The woman turned back to her kids. “Come on, now. Let’s go see what they’ve added to the tree.”
Before the xenobiologist could usher her family out, her youngest- a tomato-faced girl with stubby limbs- waddled past her. “My wishes!” She cried as she crawled halfway beneath her bunk.
“Please, Anika, not now…” The doctor’s husband kneeled beside the bed, trying to usher his kid out. “They won’t go anywhere, I promise.”
“Wishes?” Subira tested the lid on her disinfectant sprays and unlatched the cords holding her cart shut.
“A family tradition.” The doctor answered, gently shoving her kids out the door. In the tight hallway, a crowd of onlookers had gathered to watch their eviction. “We hide a slip of paper telling what we want in each other’s presents during Christmas. First to be opened has their wish read out loud- and the family tries their best to make it come true the next year.”
“That’s sweet.” Subira responded almost automatically. Christmas was never a part of her family, but she’d gathered these traditions were part and parcel of the holiday. It was better not to question them.
After a moment, little Anika carried out by her father, snuggling a wrapped tube of a present that contained her greatest desire. The door shut, and the room was silent.
Time to get to work…
The panel wrenched open slowly revealing- much to Subira’s dismay- the once fluffy strands of insulation bogged down by the kid’s last lunch. Subira sighed, flicking the little wipers inside her round visor. The standard suits were clumsy things- more dexterous than the expedition suits for spacewalks and lunar roving, but only by a hair. Still, she’d be glad to have the fully-enclosed suit if a breach did occur.
The janitor worked tirelessly away at the strands of candy floss insulation, replacing befouled bits with new fluff. Yet, as her hands burrowed deeper into the ruined strands, she found something else. A splotch of sticky, resinous tar stuck to the bottom of the wall, clumping the insulation into a tough knot. Something rotten- a dead rat? Not unheard of, but rarer in new installations like this one.
A half dozen antiseptic powders and a stronger base than she should have used, and the mess- whatever it was- was dissolved into a mopped-up sludge. And yet, something didn’t dissolve away- a small, square piece of metal, no larger than her thumb. On it, a faded word was inscribed, and the remains of leather strips connected each side. A bracelet, or collar. Someone’s pet? Subira hoped she was wrong. They disallowed most animals for just this reason.
Still, it was more than sterile at this point. She pinned the dissolved collar to her cart- just one of many other curiosities she’d gathered there- and began her slow work to re-seal the tiles. She had other floors to get through today…
“You think it’s the ghost dog?”
Fatima was by no means a serious person, but the question came out of left field even for her antics.
Subira twisted herself in her bunk, raising her eyebrow down at the bunkmate below her. “Excuse you?”
“You heard me.” Even in her plush, bedtime jumpsuit, Fatima held an air of begrudging professionality that scarcely covered her impish gossip. She worked on rubbing away the purple eyeshadow she’d worn for the night’s festivities. “I heard Dr. Baker talking about it. Called it a ‘grim’. Superstition where she’s from.”
“I know you’re baiting me.” Subira frowned. Her shoulders ached- she’d already had to do rust maintenance on the auto-rail and the eastern wing kitchens. Her curiosity got the better of her soreness. “Alright, I’ll bite. What’s she say?”
“It's something for graves,” Fatima abandoned her makeup pad, beaming with a half-darkened eye. “That when they christen a graveyard, they bury a dog first, so it’s ghost’ll keep the rest of the spirits safe.”
“What? They killed a dog?”
“That’s the thing.” Subira’s bunkmate tapped the stone foundation with her foot. “When Heping put down his foundation here, it’s rumored he buried one of his dog test pilots down here, just in case anyone else had to be buried.”
“Hmph.” Dead dogs beneath us. Great news, Fatima. “That’s just dumb superstition.”
“Says you and your electric candles for the djinn.”
“That isn’t superstition- that’s a precaution.” Subira flopped back onto her bunk, talking up to the rounded ceiling. “I don’t actually think there are any on the moon. It’s just, you know, a way of warning them off if they do come by. We can’t exactly move house…” She realized the hole she was digging, and pivoted. “And still, it doesn’t end up in killing a poor doggie.”
“I think the dog was already dead, girl.” Fatima tossed the wad of makeup pads towards the trash can. She missed, and groaned as she rolled off her bed to pick it up. “So, you going to celebrate with anyone tomorrow?”
The party. It was supposed to be fun- Subira could only think of the cleanup. “Ugh, no. You?”
“That tattooed muscle-lady from engineering was giving fuck-me eyes last evening, and girl, do I intend to follow through.”
Subira rolled her eyes. “Please, say less.”
“You’ve gotta let go, girl. It’s your one night off.” Fatima perched on the trash can, the low gravity letting it easily support her weight.
“Maybe I will.” She didn’t exactly know anyone here. Except Mr. Liang. So, no one fun. “Still, I’ve got a long day tomorrow. Hit that light, would you?”
“Aye-aye.”
“What has been happening?” Subira ripped off her sullied jumpsuit as Mr. Liang monitored the status panel. They were both sweating bullets, and hadn’t even seen each other all day. “I’ve already dealt with the compost spill in east-3!”
“Well, there’s another in north-2.” The chubby man had a notebook, desperately listing down the custodial issues plaguing the station. “As well as a foundation crack in the water purifier, and an odor wafting from the south kitchens.”
“What kind of odor?”
“Not anything that should be near food, girl!” Mr. Liang snapped. He sucked in a deep breath as he looked over the shelves. “Bleach!” He growled.
“We’ll organize later!” Subira snapped open the packaging of a new working suit. “Honestly, of all days for the station to shit itself-”
“Language!”
“My language couldn’t be more apt, sir!” She growled back. “Did something happen to the pressure gauge?”
“It seems level.” Liang grumbled as another light popped up on the display. “Subira, you get to the kitchens. I’ll get to the north hall.”
“The water-”
“It’s a secondary system.” The old man waved his hand. “Something to fix later. We need to make sure the base thinks everything is fine. They need this day- without the interruptions.” He sighed. “Let’s make sure they never noticed anything off.”
Subira blinked as Mr. Liang grabbed his mop and vacuum-sealed standard suit. He was right- everyone needed this day off.
So why should it all break down now?
The kitchen smelled foul. Worse than Liang had described it- and he hadn’t held back on vivid detail.
Something was dripping from the vent above the stove- a slow, molasses of black tar. Something rotten. The abandoned pots of re-hydrated potatoes were utterly ruined.
A quick dismantling of the vent revealed that whatever had made this mess had scurried away. Skids of rot scraped across the metal airway.
Something still living on the ship. Subira sighed. Probably a rodent, rotting alive from the poor habitat. It was in the ducts- that would explain some of the breakdowns. Where did these vents lead?
She taped off the kitchen with biohazard tape, and quickly tracked down a map of the air ducts. They led all across the base, but all made their way through a pressure sensor array in the stone foundation beneath the crossway. If she’d catch the pest, it would be there.
The janitor quickly dodged down the hallway- past by some blissfully drunk scientists pre-gaming the celebration this evening, around a couple of not-quite-teens flushed red to kiss their parents for their long-late Eid gift, and a gaggle of engineers and mechanics heckling the resident writer.
It was when Subira reached the crossing, though, that everything began to feel… off. A headiness filled the air. The Christmas tree seems to sway in a non-existent wind, and people’s steps staggered more than the few open bottles should cause. It was worrying.
The latch to the sensor array should have been locked, it it was popped ever so slightly. A patch of fur and black tar stuck to its edges. Subira’s vision wavered, and it hit her all at once.
Gas was in the vents.
She covered her mouth and fished around her cart. Had a chemical solution gotten loose? One of the chemists’ glove boxes broken? She didn’t know. But it came at a terrible time.
Subira clasped an emergency breather to her jaw, and gasped as its oxygenated payload pushed into her lungs. Her vision stopped swimming, and she began to notice the drunken stupor everyone else was in. She didn’t have the time or overhead to call for help. She didn’t know who was effected.
The janitor yanked the hatch open, and flipped on her lapel light. She floated down the vertical shaft. Scrabbling claw marks and fur clung to the walls. Had it caused the leak?
The ventilation’s sensor array was a bulky thing, easily out-of-date at this point. It was spherical, held in the air by electromagnetic coils and surrounded by the honeycomb patterns of vents connecting the entire facility. The top of the array had rusted- a slow leak from a cracked pipe above had damaged it. It didn’t sense the gas leak because it couldn’t sense anything.
Subira stepped around the rusty orb. She didn’t have the tools to fix this- not in time. She had to think. A base? No, that would damage the sensors more. Clumping powder? It was too late- the rust had already set in. A polish? That would work- if she had any.
She needed to find some. The base couldn't afford the time for her to get back to her cart and haul it over here.
Her hands moved around her body, exploring the knickknacks and plastic tubes strapped to her outfit. She had a low-G level, three tubes of superglue, and Fatima’s fake eyelashes, but she didn’t have fucking polish? Never can be overprepared.
She quickly fell to her knees, looking to the emergency kits in the side of the passage. Bandages, splints, industrial staples. She tossed them aside, frantic. Please. By god, by anybody, please… Her mask’s oxygen was running low. If she passed out here, everyone above her would be dead.
Then, a wet slap sounded behind her. The animal- she’d forgotten. It sounded larger than she expected. Subira grasped the empty emergency kit like a cudgel and spun.
“Grr-uh?” A black mass- easily her shoulder height and two Subiras long- shambled into view. Ooze framed its canid face, its bloated intestines trailing behind it. It’s shackles were matted with grime and blood. It cocked its canid head.
Subira’s heart skipped a beat. She was dead. The thing was baring yellow fangs. She should have believed Fatima. She dropped the kit.
The oozing hound’s hackles lowered. It leaned forward, sniffing pensively. A fragment of broken leather connected its neck.
“You’re good?” Subira’s voice was muffled through the mask. It appreciated the gesture. She tried some more soothing words. “You’re a- a good boy?”
The trail of ooze behind it slapped the ground as it looked up. It was.
“I- I need you to get my cart.” Subira had decided that she was fully hallucinating now, but couldn’t do any more damage at this point. “Quickly. Can you do that?”
The thing blinked its red eyes, then let out something close to a bark. It didn’t understand. It sat down, though. It understood she was trying to give it orders.
“How do I…” Then, an an idea struck her. She reached for its neck. The ‘dog’ first recoiled, then slowly let her reach for the collar on its neck. It was half torn apart. “That’s it!” She wiped the old leather off on her pants. It was like she left it. “Here, you can find the rest of this, right? Bring it here!”
This, the hound understood. It bounced back down the hallway- it moved as a supernatural blur. The latch slammed open, and a shocked gasp echoed down the hallway as it shot back, carrying the collar fragment- and the cart it was still attached to.
“My god!” Subira rushed forward, unlatching the cart and rummaging around for the polish. “Good dog! Good fucking dog!” She laughed- half-mad, half-ecstatic. This is what she got for wanting an adventure.
By the time she had fished out the polish, the dog was gone. She didn’t think much about it then- the sensor needed cleaning. Later, she would wonder if the grim had been looking for its lost collar all this time, or if it had been trying to warn them of the leak.
Or, maybe it was pure coincidence.
Subira slumped over the table. Carols, cheers, and red-faced arguments rattled the air of the crossing. With the sensors cleaned off, the gas leak had been automatically removed, and nobody was any the wiser for their near-death experience. She’ll put in her report- tomorrow.
For now, the festivities rushed around her as she dissociated into her cheesecake. Just what had happened down there? Was it all a vivid hallucination? Had the gas damaged a part of her memory?
Did it even matter?
Her eyes drifted over to the xenobiologist and her family two tables over, as they argued loudly over the present they had opened. Anika, the youngest, loudly cried- “but it's my wish! You have to make it happen!”
Her father patted her head, trying her best to explain. “I know, I know. You want a pet- and it would be good for you all, I agree.” He sighed. “But, try as we might, dear,
“There are no dogs on the moon.”
This was a submission for the Collaborative writing project: “Christmas in Selene City”. Check it out at the Coracle Voyager publication!
Loved this! Gotta appreciate custodial staff - moon or anywhere else!
Your dialogue is superb, for real. I'm taking notes on good conversation writing!
I loved how you made janitorial work feel somehow heroic. And that "subira" name is so common where I am from. is it common there too?