Line In The Dirt

A single word blared into the minds of the construction crew, DESIST.

They scrambled back to the habitats, half running and half hopping the low gravity. Most chose to leave their bulky suits on, more ready to brave the lunar surface than whatever had just roared into their heads.

WHO IS YOUR EMISSARY?

There was brief discussion between the foreman and the company rep, with the company rep losing.

PRESENT YOURSELF.

On the monitors, a humanoid figure stood before the habitat. Shivering in his protective suit the company man awkwardly shuffled out of habitat’s squat dome. The lunar surface, an eerie gray as their little patch of the moon entered its days long dusk, felt even more lifeless and inhospitable viewed through the thick lexan viewplate of his helmet.

The being was almost twenty feet tall, a dull craggy gray almost as if it was hewn from the regolith. Legs and arms were just thick pillars, ending in rounded nubs. The torso was oblong, ending at the shoulders, no head, no hint of a face.

“Um… hello,” the foreman began.

DO YOU HAVE A PERMIT FOR THIS CONSTRUCTION?

“From… from who,” the terrified man asked.

THE HOMEOWNERS ASSOCIATION. ALL IMPROVEMENTS MUST BE APPROVED BY THE COUNCIL.

“The… homeowners association?”

THIS WAS ADDRESSED AT THE RECENT MONTHLY MEETING. YOU DID NOT ATTEND. THERE WERE REFRESHMENTS.

“We… were not aware of there being life on the moon, much less an HOA. Who do we talk to about this?”

The name that entered the foreman’s mind was made of syllables a human could never make. He screamed, feeling a slight trickle of blood from his left nostril as it reverberated in his brain.

EVERY THIRD SUNDAY. BRING A HOT DISH.

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The sound of her laughter. “A world” is published by Rabdeep Kaur.