Under the Coffee Ring

At the Moon base, the canteen stays open late. Orson works there after school. He washes trays, wipes tables and stacks cups. Behind him, a wide window shows the grey, quiet land outside.

Tonight, Orson looks at the clock every minute.

It is twenty past eight. At twenty to nine, the cover of Dome Four slides shut. After that, nobody can see the stars until morning. And at lunch today, Teo said something strange.

"Come to the dome tonight," she said. "Before it closes. I want to show you something."

"What?"

"If I tell you, it is not a surprise." She smiled and walked off with her tray.

Orson thinks about that smile all afternoon. Teo is sixteen, like him. She helps the dome guide, and she knows every star by name. Orson arrived from Earth only two months ago. He still does not know which door is which.

Now he stands at the sink. A big pile of dirty trays waits. His manager is a tall woman with a loud laugh. She drops one more stack beside him.

"Finish these, then you can go," she says.

"How long?"

"Ten minutes. Maybe fifteen."

Orson works fast. Water splashes his sleeves. At eight thirty, the last tray shines in the rack. He grabs his jacket and the old paper map from his pocket.

The map belonged to his father, who worked here years ago. It shows every tunnel in the base. His father drew small notes on it in green pen. Orson likes to carry it. It feels like having a friend in his pocket.

He opens it on the table. He puts his finger on the canteen. Then he looks for Dome Four.

There is a problem. Somebody left a coffee cup on this map once. A brown ring sits right over the dome, thick and dark. The name is under it. The little lines around it are under it too.

"Oh, no," Orson says.

He tries to read the ring. He sees a tiny edge of a corridor on the left. He sees a corner of the Ring Road on the right. Nothing more.

He knows the long way. It goes around the sleeping rooms and past the farm. Then it climbs the big ramp. Last week it took him twenty-five minutes. It is eight thirty-one now.

"Too slow," he says. "The cover closes in nine minutes."

He runs anyway. In the corridor, a cleaning robot rolls out of a door. It stops in front of him. It beeps. He jumps left. It jumps left, too. He jumps right.

"Please," he says, "move."

The robot turns and goes away as slowly as a sleepy snail. Orson does not wait. He runs to the first corner. A sign hangs there: CORRIDOR C CLOSED, REPAIRS. A yellow tape crosses the way.

Corridor C is the short path. Everybody knows that. Now he must take the long way. But the long way is too long.

He stops. His heart beats hard. He looks at the map again. This time he holds it up to the bright lamp.

The light shines through the thin paper. The brown ring glows like a small gold moon. And under it, Orson sees something new. A line of tiny dots runs through the stain. It starts at the bottom edge. It is not part of the corridors. His father drew it in green pen. The coffee ring hid it.

At the end of the dotted line, there is one short word. It is in his father's neat writing.

LIFT.

Orson reads it twice. His eyes go to the left side of the map. The dotted line starts at a small square, behind the canteen. It is the storeroom. He passes it every day when he takes out the boxes.

"The cargo lift," he says. "There is a lift to the dome."

It is eight thirty-four. He turns and runs back the way he came. He pushes through the kitchen door and past the pots. He runs into the storeroom. Behind the boxes, a low grey door sits in the wall. An old sign says SUPPLIES ONLY.

He pulls the door open. A small metal cage stands inside. It smells of dust and cold metal. Orson steps in and pushes the big green button.

The lift shakes. Then it climbs. It makes a loud noise like a tired old dog. Orson holds the map tight against his chest and counts the seconds. One, two, three. At forty, the lift stops with a bump.

The door opens. He walks out into a dark room full of boxes. A thin line of light shines under a second door. Orson crosses the room in three steps and pushes it open.

And he stops.

The dome is huge and round and made of glass. Hundreds of small chairs stand in rows, all empty. Above them, the sky is black. The stars are too many to count. In the middle of the sky hangs a small, bright ball. It is blue and white.

It is Earth.

Teo stands at the control panel by the wall. Her hand rests on a silver switch. She turns when she hears his steps, and her eyes grow wide.

"You came through the supply door!" she says. "Nobody uses that lift."

"My father did." He holds up the map, a little out of breath. "A coffee ring saved me."

She looks at the clock on the wall. It is eight thirty-nine. "You have one minute. I will wait as long as I can."

"What did you want to show me?"

She points up. "Your home. I see that you never look at it. So I want you to have the best seat."

Orson walks slowly between the chairs. He sits in the front row. The glass curves over his head. For a moment, the whole room is silent. The blue ball shines above him. He thinks of his old street and his old school. He misses a hundred small things.

Behind him, the switch clicks. The metal cover begins to move. It slides slowly from the edge of the dome. Teo comes to the front row and stands near him.

She looks at the empty chair at his side. Orson looks at her. In the last light, the stars seem very close.

"Teo," he says quietly, "is this seat taken?"