The Twin Moons of Aksala

Last night’s snow layered on ice crunched beneath her boots. The harsh wind from the mountains polished the light snow into a glass sheet. The tracks left by earlier travelers helped her metal cleats find purchase, making the climb slightly less arduous. Breathing heavily, Arda reached the plateau and strode towards the gathering crowd. In the twilight she could see the few locals in attendance stood a good distance from the group of refugees. She moved past the latter nodding in greeting. Some she recognized from the camp on the far west side. It must have taken them over an hour to get here.

 One can only hope the event would unfold without incident. Arda’s job was to see that it would. No one wanted a repeat of last week.

They were slowly exiting Aksala’s excessive winter season. The sun peeked over the horizon a few more seconds each day and the temperature creeped up a few degrees with it. At this latitude the sun disappeared for eight out of the fifteen lunar cycles per solar rotation.

The Aksalan government had granted the refugees permission to settle the less populated western slope of the northernmost continent. The desolate arctic environment was the exact opposite of their former home world, Urotas. Arda supposed they were just meant to be grateful to be received, to have somewhere with an atmosphere to plant their feet and try to piece their lives back together.

“There you are,” Officer Thalin barked, the antennae atop their head twitching anxiously. Not bothering to quicken her pace, Arda moved to stand beside the native Aksalan, overlooking the divided groups on the hillside.

“Good to see you too, officer,” replied Arda blithely.

“You are late, again.” The cloud of vapor they huffed hung in the air, heavy with impatience.

“I arrive precisely when I am needed,” she parried with no small amount of sarcasm.

“Well, we will have to see if the cheif agrees with you,” they retorted. “Over two hundred citizens and some number of your people have been arriving since oh-six hundred, and I have been posted here since before then.”

A one in three hundred solar cycle event was happening. The planet’s two moons would pass in front of the sun at the same time. Even though the sun did not rise particularly high above the horizon at this latitude, it would still be a momentous event. Local scientists had already set up their equipment and comfortably conversed among themselves. Meanwhile, her people stood to the side huddled together for warmth.

“Thankfully your species is uniquely adapted to this environment,” Arda said, glancing up at the lean officer. The only sign of chill was the slight blue flush across their nose and cheeks contrasting their teal-colored skin. That color reminded her of the ocean back home, if only it were not also associated with the huffy Aksalan.

“Your inability to adapt to your new environment hardly excuses your tardiness,” Thalin quipped.

Arda kicked the ice beneath her, digging her metal cleats into the surface for greater traction. The gangly alien had a point, she was not adapting well. The endless night made her restless. She would work long, unproductive hours and sleep at odd times. On one hand her appointment to the planet’s law enforcement agency added some much-needed structure to her life and credits in her pocket.

However, Thalin had proved to be one of the most challenging superiors she had served under. They were strait-laced, quick to draw conclusions. Self-doubt seemed a foreign concept. There was no disagreeing with the younger officer’s judgment. Thalin’s straightforward means of communication left little room for misinterpretation despite their cultural and linguistic differences. However, that also meant she was acutely aware when the Aksalan was displeased with her, which was most of the time. Sometimes she missed giving the orders.

Before her planet, Urotas, tore itself apart Arda had a career in law enforcement as a senior investigator. She lived in one of the largest cities on the central continent’s western coast. She could walk daily along the expansive boardwalk from her home into the heart of the city. She took her meal breaks by the water, perched on one of the ancient sea walls. Arda could think best there.

So what if she had to take less than above board assignments? Arda had clawed her way to the most coveted position in the department. She could take her breaks when and where she pleased. Make her own snap judgements. Then one day, it was gone. All of it.

Her memories clashed against the physical reality of the winter air stinging her eyes as the moisture froze onto her lashes. She was peering into the life of a totally different person. One that had ambition, that craved excitement that felt the sun on her face.

“Just what we need,” Thalin huffed, their antennae arched forward.

Utticus. This morning could not get any better. His small band of followers trudged up the hillside. Thick hoods over their heads and cloth wrapped tightly round their faces.

Arda wore the latest in thermal technology available to everyone through the interplanetary refugee program. However, Utticus’ people snubbed all alien influences over their lives including the anoraks. On Urotas zealots like Utticus were just that, fringe extremists with a limited reach. The imperial government did not consider them a threat as much as a nuisance.

Now that their species population had been reduced by seventy percent and scattered across the sector, the radicals found a more receptive audience.

The Guardians of Urotas believed their planet to be the center of the cosmos. Since the planet’s destruction, the group wove a new narrative. This was the next great test. Only the most devout had survived the rapture and must now go forth to seed the galaxy with civilization and enlightenment, creating not one but a plethora of home worlds. Their planet was no longer the center of the universe, it was their universe.

Therefore, the irony of Utticus and his followers being alien to this world did not deter their xenophobia in the slightest. Funny enough, people like Utticus rarely asked the other planets’ original inhabitants what they thought of their new destiny.

“Good day,” Utticus greeted Arda, turning his head away from Thalin’s sharp gaze.

“Utticus.” She stated curtly. “I hope you know this is a peaceful, non-partisan gathering. I hardly think floating chunks of rock care who is watching them this morning.”

“Why should it be anything but?” Utticus asked airily, the creases appearing around his eyes. She knew exactly what his superficial smile looked like beneath the wraps.

“Why indeed?” Thalin added, crossing their slender arms.

Without pausing Utticus continued, “though it would seem to be a bit partisan.” He theatrically waved his hands over the two segregated groups.

“You know what I mean,” Arda affirmed. “If anything like what happened last week happens again, it will be Officer Thalin’s and my responsibility to bring it to an immediate and unceremonious end.”

“Oh that, that poor misguided soul. So unfortunate.” Utticus shook his head slowly. “We simply wish to observe the bi-lunar eclipse and then we will be on our way. It will take the rest of the day to wash the contamination from our minds and spirits as is,” he tilted his head towards the teal alien, “but the spectacle of our wondrous universe should be well worth it.”

Arda merely glared as he moved back towards his followers, who were circling on the far side of the slope. The Urotas refugees already assembled eyed the cloaked group warily. They certainly had heard about what had happened before too.

“I also feel the need to bathe after being around them,” Thalin’s antennae flicked skyward.

“It is like they tried to preserve the grime of our planet by refusing to wash themselves since it exploded,” Arda agreed, wrinkling her nose beneath her gator. “Can’t believe we didn’t smell them before they came into visual range.”

Thalin snorted. The closest she’s gotten them to laugh. She thinks.

The sun began to rise above the horizon, bathing the arctic landscape in an amber glow. Voices suddenly began to pick up in pitch and volume.

“I would have thought more of your people would have come for such a rare astronomical event,” Arda commented, trying to nurture this small flicker of comradery. “The snow even let up to give us a clear view.”

“The elders believe it to be more than a natural phenomenon,” Thalin stated flatly, “in the written history of Aksala only two bi-lunar eclipses have been documented. After each, the largest civilization on our world suddenly collapsed.”

“So they are still superstitious, in this day in age? Afraid the Urugs Dynasty will fail based on a coincidence that occurred hundreds of cycles ago?”

“Some take their history and the wisdom of their ancestors more seriously,” Thalin countered flatly.

“It’s hardly a supernova,” she muttered.

As rapidly as the sky brightened it began to grow dim. Raised voices fell to soft murmurs.

“Make sure to wear your goggles for the entirety of the event,” Thalin announced over the crowd. “We have extras should you need them, gifts from our noble governor for your safety.”

A few refugees and one local scientist shuffled towards them.

Arda moved her whole head to peer up at Thalin from under her hood. “Could I have a pair, citizen?” she asked in false innocence. Technically, her second eyelid should protect her eyes for a short period of time, but the cold made her ever so slightly more antagonistic.

“I already gave you a pair during our briefing yesterday,” they hissed, handing her the goggles.

The bands were much too large to fit around her head, even over her hood. She awkwardly attempted to knot the material using her gloves. Heavens know she wasn’t exposing her bare hands to these temperatures.

Thalin sighed exasperatedly and plucked the goggles from her grasp. “For those of you with smaller craniums, there is a way to make adjustments for the goggles to fit children,” they called out as they adjusted the strap using long, nimble fingers. Before Arda should think of something witty to say, the goggles were pushed down onto her head.

“Safety first” she grumbled, just loud enough.

Through the smokey lenses the glare from the planet’s star was muted so she could see the perfectly circular silhouette. The first moon had begun to pass in front of the sun, making it look as though a bite were taken out of its side.

With few moments of sunlight these days, it almost seemed a waste for the sun to make its appearance.

The sky darkened even more, and a hush fell over the gathering. Only the wind and crunching of metal boot spikes on ice could be heard. Everyone was looking toward the horizon together. Arda noticed even Utticus stopped his constant proselytizing to watch the celestial display.

Glancing back at the sky, the second moon began to catch up to its twin.

Arda too became drawn into the spectacle, fixing her eyes above the horizon.

The moons steadily came together, the two dark circles overlapping.

For a moment, Arda forgot her numb toes and frozen lashes.

The speed of such enormous celestial objects was incredible. All at once the moons aligned directly in front of the sun. Total darkness enveloped the hillside.

For a moment, she forgot the sea and salt breeze.

The singular dark circle seemed to loiter there, stealing the sun’s rays.

No one shifted or uttered a word, not that Arda heard. The gathering on the hill was small and inconsequential, shells scattered on the shore.

Unconcerned with her existential crisis the moons continued to move, staggering themselves once more in front of the sun before slipping across to the other side.

What do the planets and stars care of their existence?

The light slowly returned.

Frozen breath in front of her face fogged the goggles. She blinked and quickly pulled them off. Thalin had already removed theirs, scanning the crowd. Her people and theirs were still standing in awe, slowly rousing as if waking from a dream.

Arda turned to Thalin, “well, I don’t think civilization has collapsed yet, but you have my word I’ll stay alert, Officer Thalin.”

With a sweep of antennae Thalin was about to deliver a no doubt dry, witty gibe when a piercing scream ripped through the morning haze.

The stiff alien was suddenly a teal blur against the brightening snow. Instinctively Arda jerked her head in the direction of Utticus’ followers. There were several uniformly cloaked figures still huddled together, but he was not among them.

“Oh you conniving changeling swapped son of a-” Arda released a stream of curses under her breath as she ran as quickly as she could in the direction of the escalating panic. She skid across the ice, gritting her teeth as her cleats tried to make up for her momentum.

“Officer coming though,” she yelled, pushing her way through the crowd. The groups merged into one horde as they clamored to the opposite side of the hill to see what had happened. One of the Aksalans turned suddenly, their elbow striking her in the face. Now Arda was really seeing stars. Malmus’ armpit, why did they have to be so tall?!

The first thing she saw when she broke through the throng was a pool of dark blue liquid, steaming slightly as the heat released. Though it looked nothing like her own emerald-colored blood, she instinctively recoiled.

“Get back,” Thalin commanded, their voice becoming shrill as they tried to corral the onlookers.

Realizing her partner wasn’t actually yelling at her, Arda turned on her heel and spread her arms wide. “You heard Officer Thalin, stand back!” she shouted.

Thalin barked unintelligible orders into their communication device. Then came to stand beside Arda, antenna drooping, “I was not informed that Their Excellency was coming.” It was a flat statement, not punctuated by any usual huffs or exasperated sighs.

“Who? The regional governor?” She glanced over her shoulder at the corpse lying in the snow.

“No,” they breathed.

Not getting any expedient answers from her superior, Arda turned to quickly assess the scene. She had surveyed many a crime scene and was not a stranger to the abhorrent things people did to one another. At a glance she could tell from the amount of blood the attack had been swift and brutal. Coming up on the body, Arda could see the figure was splayed face up on the frozen ground. One long teal limb twisted unnaturally beneath the slight frame. She didn’t recognize them as a local though.

The violent display had distracted her from the victim’s clothing. The insignia on the Aksalan’s chest was clearly recognizable even half soaked in blood. The royal crest. Also conspicuously protruding from the victim was a bladed weapon. The ornate handle with its triangular hilt left no doubt, it was a ceremonial Suspan dagger. Few of these prized weapons of antiquity had survived Urotas’ untimely demise.

Arda’s ears deafened to the rising panic of the crowd and Thalin’s attempts to maintain some semblance of control until backup arrived. Innumerable questions passed through her mind creating a numbing mental white out. The facts she observed with her eyes betrayed her every instinct, seemed to defy reason.

She hadn’t seen Utticus since the panic began, but could he physically have covered that distance? How long had the eclipse actually lasted? Even a zealot like him would surely not be stupid enough to endanger their people in such an obtuse fashion after just seeking refuge.

Perhaps the Aksala elders were right. Maybe the bi-lunar eclipse had heralded the downfall of another dynasty.

Things would never be the same for this world, especially not for her and her people. Not now.