Geraldine Potts was never any good at school. She was a 3-time, no-award-winning elementarian. Even with the extra advisement that Basic afforded through its “You Get a Gold Star, You ARE a Gold Star!” every child advancement program, she just couldn’t find it in her heart to give a damn about her education. 

She would rather be up THERE…

…up there with Dad.

Papa Potts was what you would call a “Lunar Lifer”; a rough necked, rougher handed heavy equipment operator for Helium3 moon mining. Guys like these were always after the big score, ready to gamble life and limb for the mother lode that would set them and theirs up for life.

That was one definition of “Lunar Lifer”…

…the other was less fantastic.

The wives and children of lifers (if ever consulted) describe an altogether different truth. One where Daddy now has a HandyHook for an arm and wheels for feet. One where his portrait on the mantle gets more bedtime kisses than his scruffy jib. One where the money spent chartering skiffs all over the nebula looking for the fabled mother lode dug a deeper hole in the family credit account than any pit he physically mined.

The odds are against. The house always wins. Especially when the Von Schmidts own the whole damn neighborhood.

The Von Schmidts owned the exclusive rights for all Helium3 mining on Luna in perpetuity. They owned the entire Lunar Labor Transit Fleet (The LLTF). They even owned an ironclad patent on “a thruster that thrusts”. They were able to push through these vaguest of intellectual property terms by successfully blackmailing a high-ranking Vulcan judiciary with damaging proof of a minor emotion. Ever since, the “thruster that thrusts” patent enabled Schmidt Starship Enterprises LLC to sue every emerging competitor quickly out of business. All this served as a wickedly effective precedent to crush any aerospace firm that thought about entering the mining trade.

The exclusive mining rights and the thruster patent laid the foundation for the My Moon My Mine Inc. (another VS Enterprises subsidiary) business model. The patent created a transit monopoly which enabled them to up the cost of Schmidt Starship transit tickets, and the mining rights made it possible to squeeze the labor rates of their mining contractors. All of this was done with impunity.

“My Moon My Mine: YOUR livelihood on OUR terms”

The only way M.M.M.M. Inc. was able to sell this business model to their de-unionized workforce was by offering a MAJOR profit share on each contractor’s daily gas haul. They used a sliding scale on an exponential growth curve to determine profit percentage.

To summarize: Cheap hourly wage, expensive transit ticket, but HUGE profit-share potential…BUT ONLY IF you can make it to the steep part of the curve.

The sinister equation under the surface was this:

• The profit curve only begins to steepen at the tenth hour of dig as measured by the onboard time tracker on each blast lifter.

• At roughly nine hours the high-speed lunar dust flying around will have fully penetrated the deepest electronics and mini gears of the lifter.

• When a lifter is compromised in this way, the dig bot’s crane arms begin to short out and spasm violently. 

Needless to say, it would be difficult to make it back to base with any haul let alone continue to dig meaningfully into the profit vertical.

Quit before the ninth hour? Hell no! Lunar Lifers go big or blow dust!

Back to the classroom:

There little Gerry sat. Ignoring her instruction on the fundamentals of biometric non-ethics staring up and out the window. As usual she was dreaming of the spoils Papa was sure to return home with this time.

Maybe he’d pick up some Martian perfume for all his girls on the hop back.

This would be the time, she thought to herself.

It had to be.

Mama was starting to get quite thin. Either from the solely soylent diet or the credit stress, Gerry couldn’t tell for sure. Her skin was looking particularly waxy and tight these days and she didn’t need no school to know that weren’t no good.

By now Gerry was old enough to understand why Mama yelled at Papa. She could comprehend the ideas of risk and reward, and she knew that Mama would prefer no risk and no reward. What a silly woman, she thought. Didn’t she understand what had to be done? Didn’t she understand that Papa HAD to risk it all to WIN it all? Why couldn’t she get it? Papa was doing this because he loved us. We were his everything! “I’d shrivel up and die without you three! Paula, Trill, and Ger…I love you here and I love you there! I love you when I’m anywhere!” He’d always chant this in his mania just before he left for another seven months.

Papa was just as bad at math as Gerry though and blind to the probabilistic truth of the Von Schmidt house odds.

And he was just as shocked as Gerry would be when his lifter shorted and spazzed at hour eleven (clocking in his biggest potential score to date) and pulled the cave roof down on top of him. Even with gravity a sixth of Blue Dot, ten tons of moon rock still weighed over three thousand pounds. Sure, it happened slowly, but he was still made of mostly meat and it didn’t take long to turn the meat from man shaped to pancaked.

The only person entirely unsurprised was Mama Paula.

Trillian was too young to really feel the “gravity” of the situation, and Paula had done much of her mourning in preparation it turned out, but Geraldine…well, Geraldine was “crushed”. She spent weeks without a dry cheek, months without speaking to Mama (it was her fault, didn’t she know), and a year later on her ninth biennial she thumbed a ride off planet with a goon squad of Martian pirates.

From the time the news of Papa’s death had reached their cramped Basic apartment until the day she left; his words ran circles through her head. Something he’d said four, maybe five years ago:

“You can call me a starry-eyed, bent-to-lose gamblin’ fool but don’t you DARE tread on her dreams. She’s gonna go places, just like her old man. That girl was born to WIN; you hear me! She’s MEAN! Geraldine the Hustle Queen!”

Of course, he hadn’t said any of this to Geraldine directly. He had spat it at Mama Paula during one of their typical eve-of-departure fights. Paula had been particularly vicious to him on this occasion because earlier that week Gerry had gotten detention. Gerry got detention all the time, that was nothing new, but the REASON was new…and the reason terrified Paula.

What had happened was this:

One day one of Gerry’s classmates at school received a double XL aerosol of Dust Daisy for her birthday, and all the other girls were fawning. Everybody knew that Dust Daisy was out of season on Mars for the next two years (due to solar orbit differential) and getting a can this size at this time of year meant this girl’s daddy had major connections. Sure, the other girls liked the smell, but what they were really seduced by was POWER, and this little birthday debutante had it.

At first Gerry couldn’t understand what the big deal was. Yea the girl was rich, her daddy was in-house counsel for the LLTF. He was stacked. Everybody knew that. Summer (the rich girl) never shut up about it. So why the special excitement for a can of flower piss from dusty ol’ Mars? She was puzzled. And even though Gerry couldn’t be bothered with schoolwork, she loved puzzles.

So, she decided to solve it.

Here’s what she knew:

• Summer had new perfume.

• The perfume was special.

• To get it, it took a special person.

• Her Dad was this special person.

Here’s what she didn’t know:

• Why do special people get things when other non-special people don’t?

• Why do non-special people drool over special people?

• How do special people get the things they want?

• …and most importantly…how do non-special people get the things that the special people have?

If any of her classmates had turned their fixated little faces and glimpsed her, they would have seen Gerry fists clenched, brow furrowed, trying to drill a hole of insight into Summer’s skull. She puzzled and puzzled and puzzled. “How do I take that can? How do I get that can? How do I get her to give me that can.” She ruminated. 

And then it clicked. Her face softened into a smile.

She reached forward and grabbed the strap of one of her classmates’ packs and yanked her swiftly backwards.

“What if I told you I could get you a spray a day of that Dust Daisy for the next month?” She whisper hissed into the young girl’s ear.

“What?! Ew, get off me! Wait, what?”

“I said, what if I…”

“No, I heard what you said. How? What a weird thing to say…you’re weird. Weirdo.”

The girl looked disgusted.

“But, like, really. How though?”

The girl tried to be cool but was clearly interested.

“All you gotta do is go over there and sneeze. Twice. No three times. Not all at once. Once. Then again, twice.”

“Ohmygawd you are SO weird…weirdo…what are you EVEN talking about?”

“Yes or no.”

“…ok, yas.”

And with that, the snooty girl turned and left Gerry to return to the fawning mob. After a moment, Gerry circled around to the other side and joined the group herself.

The circle was loud and squeaky and shrill. They all bounced up and down on the balls of their feet. All their hands were clutched together tightly in desperate prayer. Bubbling and jostling and bouncing and squeaking…it was almost enough to make Gerry puke.

Then she caught sight of her accomplice across the circle. They briefly held an understanding eye contact. Gerry’s heart started racing. She looked at Summer in the middle, hoisting the can upwards and circling it around for all to see. Gerry worked her way toward the inner ring. She could smell the botanical musk. Summer threw her head back and her throat forward poised to give herself another dramatic spritz.

*FZZZZT*

The shrieks of delight paused and were replaced by the sound of twenty girls simultaneously inhaling.

*WHIIIIIISSSSSHHHHH*

And then a unison sigh of contentment.

*AHHHHHHHHHHHH*

…and then…

*ACHOOO*

The girls most near the sneeze jumped.

*ACHOOACHOO*

More jumps and nervous giggles rippled through the group. A “gesundheit” and one “g’blessya” was issued, and then the pack resumed their chirps and squeals and ball-of-foot bouncing. Gerry left the group and walked away, a wide and devious smile on her face.

“Hey!”

The accomplice had caught up with her.

“Sooo, what’s the deal? I did what you said.”

“Yes. Good job sneezing.”

“Sooo, whenamigonnaget the Dust Daiseeeey?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?

“Tomorrow.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“REALLY?”

“Yes.”

“Okaay….but like, how?”

“Don’t you worry about that. Just find me tomorrow.”

“Okaaaay…you’re weird.”

The girl walked back to the group, but it was already disbursing. The tone had rung, and mid-meal was over. The girls all went their separate to their respective classes. Summer hung back to dote on her lagging subjects, but eventually they all had gone. 

Gerry stood not far off watching all of this, and when Summer left, she followed. She tailed the tween celeb for a while, and when she approached the lateral lift Gerry hastened her pace and  joined her in the box compartment before the doors closed.

After a moment of awkward silence, she spoke:

“Soo cool about your birthday present. It’s like waay totally quilt.”

“Ya.” Summer replied without looking up.

“It’s soo cute of your Dad to have gotten that for you. Fresh Dad.”

“Ya.”

“My uncle works for LLTF too and last season he got me some of that. Pretty quiche stuff. Especially when it’s the real deal.”

The girl didn’t “ya” so quickly this time.

“The real stuff is definitely the best.” Summer said.

“Ya, like way better than the stuff that’s not real, y’know?”

“Yaa.” This time Summer was engaged. She was keeping her cool, but she was interested in what Gerry was saying, maybe even nervous. “Ya, fuck that not real stuff….”

This time Gerry leaned in.

“It’s like DUH, c’mon! People know when that shit is offbrand. Knockoff MarScents are soo easy to spot. More like SNEEZY to spot AMIRIGHT?!”

She gave Summer a playful push and did that hand wave thing she’d seen other girls do that seemed to signal “as IF”. Summer was clearly annpyed but found herself able to give a semi-friendly chuckle. Gerry continued:

“I dunno if you follow MarScents like I follow MarScents, but this faux fume market is getting pretty outta control. BlackMarsket vendors are getting’ bold! They’ve even been trying to sling their piss water to respectable class-type like you and I. Can you imagine? Like WE would fall for THAT?! The nerve! Guess it just makes you grateful; lucky to have people like your Dad and my uncle so close to the source of the real stuff. Can’t be no question ‘bout the pedigree of your little can of juice, surely!”

She paused for a moment. She could feel Summer squirming.  She began again:

“…My uncle though…such a good guy. Not even last month, he heard his buddy got scammed. Spent his whole last paycheck for an out of season flask of D.D. Oil for his wife. She rolls it on her wrists, take a big whiff, and…ACHOO!”

“…She like litrilly blew her brains out she sneezed so hard. So, my uncle, he hears this story and he says to this guy ‘You give me that flask. I’ll certify its IN-authenticity when I’m back on Mars. Then, if it’s fake, I’ll take the cert to MarScent and they’ll exchange it for the real thing.’ See that’s the thing, MarScent’s knows their reputation is at risk but they’re going the extra mile and doing the right thing. That guy will buy so much fecking Dust Daisy over the years after an awesome customer service experience like that. And all because of my uncle. Such a sweetie!”

“...yaaa…” By now Summer was very nervous.

Gerry could feel her temperature rising. Her blood was pumping hard and she felt alive, maybe for the first time ever. The picture was painted. The trap was set. All that was left was for Summer to take the bait.

The lift was almost all the way to the tech wing. Was this her stop? Gerry held her breath.

*DING*

The lift slowed and stopped.

Summer adjusted her pack and stepped forward.

The doors slid open.

She stepped out.

Gerry’s heart sank.

Summer turned around.

“Hey, question: so, like, I’m thinking it’d be great to have, like, a legit certificate for my D.D.. I’m not, like, worried it’s fake or nothing, but, y’know, it’d be nice to have an auth cert, y’know? Think your uncle could get one for me? I’d pay, or course.”

Geraldine was electric.

“Oh girl, of course he would. He’s just that kind of guy.” She said cooly.

And with that, Summer reached back through the doorway and handed over the aerosol along with a twenty thousand credit chip.

“Thanks.” Summer said, then briskly turned and walked away.

Over the next few weeks not only did Gerry deliver on her promise to her allergic accomplice, but she expanded into a lucrative little venture, offering daily doses to any girl who could afford the hundred credit price tag per spritz.

But alas its success was also its downfall.The month of free spritzes had run out for ol’ sneezy, and Gerry had no reason to keep up the charity with such vibrant demand from other customers. So, when her partner was forced to pay for her next dose, she ran blabbing to Summer and spilled the whole story. She figured, if she couldn’t have any for free, she’d be damned if that Basic sleaze rat was going to keep stacking credits from HER blood and HER sweat! She made it all happen, and she could make it all go poof.

And poof it went.

Summer enlisted three of her father’s detectives and two paralegals to spin up a case against Gerry. A jury of her customers bent feebly in the face of super celeb Summer and her suited henchmen. The evidence was conclusive and a swift verdict of guilty was rendered by student court. Two weeks of detention, though certainly a bummer, satisfied Summer but didn’t come close to justifying the massive expense her vengeance incurred.

Which brings us back to the fight night between Mama Paula and dear ol’ Dad.

“Geraldine the Hustle Queen” He’d said.

It certainly had a ring to it, she thought. But there was something more urgent deep inside her that night’s memory wouldn’t stop picking at. A mission. A drive. An identity. A destiny even…

“She’s gonna go places, just like her old man.” He’d said.

He knew she had what it took. He knew she had what HE had.

And that’s precisely what scared Mama. She was terrified her baby Ger would squander her Basic allowances, waste her life chasing silly dreams, and ultimately get crushed by a moon cave. Just. Like. Dad.

“Mama, you can’t win if you don’t play.” she’d said as she left the house that fateful day on her 9th biennial. “Maybe I am just like Dad, but I’m also like you. I’ve got the guts to go for it, but I ain’t no fool. I play smart Mama. I see things others don’t. You’ll see. One day, I’ll be back, and then…you’ll see.”

That was the last time she saw Mama or Trillian. A hug, kiss, and hair ruffle and she was out the door and off to rip her dreams from the death grip of life, odds be damned.

She’d hustle and outsmart the universe.

She’d score the motherlode Papa never could.

She’d make it rich, and she’d make him proud.

WTF IS THIS BY THE WAY?

On 3/21/20 at the start of the global COVID-19 pandemic I crowdsourced the bones of a story from my friends on Facebook (find the original thread in my profile, it’s fantastic). These are 100% their elements. You guys did me real good. Cheers to creative isolation and a bizarre interplanetary cross-fictional adventure!