It had seemed an unfair statement to call it a scam, but there it was. Very much clearly a scam, so much so that even I could not find it in me to let it pass by. Perhaps there had been better ways to do so, but I did not believe that the Lunar Patrol would respond to such a trivial matter as this, especially what with all that uproar in the Sea of Tranquility. 

Professor Proulx always told us that a Traveller should have recourse to the local authorities, but Professor Proulx also attempted to apply the theories of JLA Park, which automatically discounted him, to my mind. 

I much preferred Professor Hamilton's approach to Customs Negotiation, and it had not let me down so far.  

It had gotten me across the border into Armstrong numerous times, which was quite the achievement considering the restrictions on Travellers these days, especially on the Artemis Express, that wonderful old train which remains the only way for tourists to reach the Moon.

Professor Hamilton's strictness on teaching Denning's Easement had paid off, and I secured myself a seat on the Artemis Express from the fringes of the Enzonian Forests, convincing the Lunar Patrol that I, as a Traveller, was not here to cause trouble.  

It had all arisen, you see, out of the fiasco out on the Circle Sea, when a Traveller had assisted James of Pearl with escaping from the uprising in Khattar across the border into Cascadia. 

I had known that Traveller, actually, and she had been the best in Customs Negotiation. Far better than I had ever been.

But anyway, I digress. 

Back to that scam, then.

Selling tourists five minutes on the Dark Side for a hundred per person?

Those gondoliers were banking on their inexperience and the fear of the unknown which often overtook new tourists to the Half-Moon, when the tide of the Dark Side blanketed half of the land. 

When I had first visited the Half-Moon, I'd paid a gondolier a hundred dollars for a trip to the Edge.

It had taken us five days, me taking my spells on the oar, and together we stared into the starry abyss on the other end. He told me a folk tale, in these parts, that the bravest of souls could defy gravity itself and sail off the edge and into what he called the Undersea, which lay underneath the Moon, to parts unknown.

I was one of the few at Yorktown who chose the Half-Moon for my final. Many preferred the New Moon, or simply to stay on Earth. I had told Jane, with all of Known Space to look at, why stay on Earth?

She had laughed at me, as she always did, and with those sparkling eyes had told me, "Oliver, you can travel to the edges of Known Space, but if you don't even know what's in the mountains of your homeland, what's the point?"

These days more people were willing to pay more to travel in the Dark Side, but that was mostly because of the instability in the Sea of Tranquility. It seems that every day that passes, instability spreads further and further.

 

I took matters into my own hands, and I admit that perhaps that was a major mistake. I confronted the gondolier at the docks when I noticed him convincing a young couple to pay an extravagant amount for a brief tour around the Dark Side's islands.

Applying Erther's Needle has usually been sufficient to get scammers to back off, but this time the gondolier displayed a remarkable resistance, and despite my best efforts, the reprobate decided to get physical with me for calling him out on his ways.

"You Travellers have no right!" He'd screamed at me, drawing a seaman's knife from his belt.

The Lunar Patrol showed up before things could escalate too far, fortunately, in response to my Traveller's Flare. I spoke briefly to the Lieutenant of the Patrol squadron, and what he said unsettled me all the more.

"Travellers are getting rarer these days on the Moon," the Lieutenant had said. "I suggest you follow the lead of the rest of your order."

It was true that Travellers were, increasingly, sticking to the Continent.

I had received a letter from Jane months ago telling me that even the Circle Sea was getting too dangerous for lone Travellers, even if they stayed well east of Khattar.

Being a Traveller was not for the faint of heart, either. Even before the Yorktown Institute had raised its entry requirements, few graduated. But those that did were given permissions to cross all borders, to move between cultures at will, beyond the designated tourist zones.

The Travellers were meant to help foster unity across the Alliance, and to act as liaisons throughout the Earth and the Moon. I like to think that in my way, I've done that. I used to consult for the Lunar Patrol, before Major Reaves took over.

The Lieutenants are all new.

 

The Half-Moon is no longer a safe haven. After that incident with the gondolier, Shrike got in touch. He was looking for a guide across the Dark Side to sneak into the Sea of Tranquility.

I still trusted the credentials that Professor Proulx had pressed for me, his database of credentials being among the very best in the entirety of Known Space.

I hadn't needed to use them until now, of course. But when Shrike told me what he planned on doing, I knew that I had no choice. I also knew that this would cost me whatever tenuous rope I had left with the Lunar Patrol.

I visited Major Reaves personally, hoping an application of Paver's Gambit might be sufficient to obtain a guarantee of safe passage. Instead, I left a fugitive, running out the back gate with a stolen rifle in hand.

Proulx's credentials held up at the gate to the Sea of Tranquility, after Shrike and I spent three heart-pounding days paddling slowly in a low-slung, black-hulled canoe in darkness. Occasionally we sighted the lanterns of other gondoliers, but once we were out of sight of Armstrong, the Dark Side lived up to its name.

Shrike asked after Jane before we parted ways. He'd heard about Khattar, and James of Pearl. I assured him that Jane was too wily to be caught. The mountains of Cascadia were her home, after all. No one knew them better than her.

I didn't ask Shrike what he planned on doing with a stolen rifle and my credentials. I think from the moment Shrike was relieved of his post as the Protector of Armstrong I always knew it would come to this.

As I slipped the canoe free of the dock, as Shrike's lantern faded across the border, I thought about Jane.

 

There are few places that I have not yet been. The lights of the Lunar Patrol close in around me like a tightening net. It seems fitting that I meet an end here, on the Edge of the Dark Side, where the Moon ends. The hull of my canoe rocks precariously against the Edge.

I light my lantern to write. They already know I have no way out.

Or do I?

Do I dare?

Well, I am a Traveller. Of course I dare.

And I think about Cascadia. That cabin in the deep mountains where we wintered. I have been avoiding the world for too long, trying to stay uninterested out here at the edges. But I am a Traveller. I have been into the depths of the Autumn Canyon.

Dived the Sea of Wrens.

And now, I will be the first to sail the Undersea of the Dark Side of the Half-Moon.

I will put down my pen, and pick up my oar, and in one fluid motion, travel over the Edge, hoping that I will not tip over into nothing, but find purchase on the underside that surely must exist.

If it exists, it will be Travelled. This I swear to you.

Jane, I'm coming.