Homesick for the Stars
Senator Kael Wells gripped the railing tight as the lunar shuttle touched down on the tarmac at Dulles. He looked out at the haze of a hot East Coast morning, not a single star was visible in the sky.
He’d been to Earth before of course, but back then he was just a child. It was a vacation, a way to explore their cultural heritage. This time was different. This time, he carried the weight of an entire state on his shoulders.
He glanced around the shuttle at his fellow passengers, who were unbuckling and grabbing their luggage. He picked up his own duffel and slung it over his shoulder. It was sparse. Most of his wardrobe would need to be purchased on Earth. Lunar fabrics were durable, but ill-designed to handle this humidity.
As he stepped out of the craft and into the bright light, he had to shield his eyes. He hadn’t experienced the sun like this in a long time.
An attendant suddenly appeared beside him. “Senator Wells, I’ll escort you. Where’s your luggage?”
“I didn’t bring anything else,” he replied gruffly.
It was best to establish at the start that he was a man of few needs. His people were minimalist and pragmatic.
As he took a step forward, he was struck with an intense pressure on his chest. Gravity. He looked away from the attendant, not wishing to appear weak. He took a deep breath, inhaling the mixed sensations of Earth air. It smelled like asphalt and smog.
He was led to a car, to take him to the city center. His head leaned out of the window and he felt impatient sitting in the dull roar of traffic. Earth was so noisy and… inefficient. He preferred the simplicity of recycled air and the soft vibrations of their intrastate train network.
From his home in New Aldrin, his appointment as junior senator would’ve been nothing more than a short announcement on the daily broadcasts. Then everyone would just return to their jobs.
Here, as he stepped out of his vehicle clumsily, he was accosted by several reporters shoving phones in his face. Everyone clamored for a statement, a soundbite, some sort of content that they could rip apart and create a catchy headline.
Kael gritted his teeth. He tried to remember the media training he received, but his head felt like jelly. Earth-level gravity wasn’t treating him well.
“Senator, how does it feel to be the first person born on Luna to represent his home in Congress?” he heard someone ask. Their words blurred together under the oppressive weight of the atmosphere.
“Honored,” he spoke clearly, flashing a smile he practiced dozens of times in the mirror. “And I am humbled to serve my home.”
His week in the capitol was a blur of endless meetings, handshakes, and too many faces. Everyone on the Hill seemed eager to meet him and get a photo. Staffers coming in all directions seemed to come equipped with a laundry list of questions about Luna and its needs — water rights, power grids, helium-3 mining — as if just being born there suddenly made him the expert on every logistical matter of his home.
“…and just think of the implications for jobs in the self-driving industry,” Senator Hayes declared, his voice slick and rehearsed.
Kael sat in the corner alongside other junior senators during this party convention. Inauguration day was approaching and the party wanted to ensure everyone was aligned on party platform priorities.
The coffee shook in his hand. He had trouble sleeping, being distracted by random aches and the strange pull of his body towards the ground.
“The neural-integration tax breaks will be a boon to the sector,” chimed in Senator Patel, oozing confidence. “We’re talking streamlined traffic, lower accident rates, revolutionized transport…”
Kael shook his head. These things sounded alien, as confusing as they’d find the mining reports from Luma. Sure, they had advanced technology on the moon, but it was always designed to be rugged and practical, without the frills and aesthetic choices that often drove large contracts.
“Senator Wells,” Hayes suddenly turned to him. “I imagine with Luna’s reliance on automation, you must have strong opinions on this issue.”
Kael looked up at the large patronizing grin Hayes had on his face.
Opinions? He had a number of them, but not about driverless cars. On Luna, a breakdown could quickly turn fatal. Resilience was more important than bells and whistles. Nobody cared about traffic times, just that they could keep breathing.
“Luna has its own unique transportation challenges,” he spoke softly, trying to remain cordial. “We have limited infrastructure and severe environmental challenges. Public transit is the preferred method for most constituents.”
Hayes had already turned his back. Everyone’s interest had wanted, and their eyes returned to their plates. All of these people around him, dressed in fancy suits and speaking with fancy words, might as well be from another planet.
He returned early to his sterile hotel room, taking the first opportunity possible to duck out. He flopped on the bed and adjusted the tie around his neck. It seemed so impractical, so easy for it to get caught on something.
On the vidscreen was a news segment with anchors debating the ethics of robot rights and the potential for selective memory editing. The topics jumped rapidly, from one to the next, creating an irritating buzz in his head.
“TV off!” he exclaimed, feeling relieved when it responded.
Everything here seemed to frivolous and self-indulgent, a stark contrast to the reality of life on Luna. People had constant work, careful rationing, and a healthy understanding of the precarious balance of their tiny world.
He looked out the window, seeing nothing by the bright cityscape. He yearned for the cold clarity of lunar night, with sharp horizons and a dense, endless field of stars.
Kael had few friends as a child. Schools were far from crowded. But somehow here, on a planet of billions, he felt more isolated than ever.