felt the muscles at the back of his neck tighten. Someone was moon mining and processing the products into Artemis compounds. They both thought so. If they were right, they’d be in for it.
The Hague had imposed a moratorium on moon mining two years ago, after lots of trouble on many fronts. Their ruling was up for either repeal or extension in six months and corporations were lobbying hard to lift the ban, already lining up to stake claims on the lunar resources they wanted to exploit.
That was the word they used. Exploit. Alex heard it on the news, saw it on the net, had been in rooms where actual humans said it without hesitation or shame. Every time he heard it, he winced. Given that exploitation of natural resources almost brought the planet and the human species to its knees more than once, how could anyone use the word so cheerfully, as if it was a good idea. More than a few hundred years ago, Lakota leader Black Elk said that white men came to find the yellow metal they worshiped, which made them insane. Moon mining was the new lunacy, quite literally.
And it was also big money.
Lunar dust contained minerals readily available on the home planet, but the refining process had unexpectedly created a new grouping of synthetic chemicals with the high molecular charge useful in shuttle fuels, and some unique electrochemical qualities associated with laser memory bank systems. There was speculation about its use in regenerative medicine, too. Artemis compounds, the byproducts were called, and they were hailed as the next techno-savior of the world. Research and production plants were up and running with the speed of light.
But female workers in the plants and women who lived around the plants began miscarrying, hemorrhaging to death. A few went on mad killing sprees. One woman burned her home with her family in it. Another set fire to the plant she worked in. A third took a gun to a grocery store and opened fire. Workers and Unions lodged complaints. Neighborhood coalitions formed to keep plants out.
Corporations, backed by their own researchers, claimed there was absolutely no connection between the women’s problems and Artemis. The numbers weren’t statistically significant, and other variables could have caused the trouble. Many were survivors of the Killing Times and suspect for PTSD. And, as the scientists pointed out repeatedly, none of the men had any problems.
Then, scientists from environmental groups appealed for a moratorium on moon mining while unbiased researchers studied the issue. That wouldn’t have gotten far, but the Pagan and Indigenous People’s Coalition appealed for preservation of the moon as a sacred site. A Coalition spokesperson was murdered, and politicians threw themselves into the fray.
Finally, the Hague imposed a two year moratorium on moon mining while independent investigations were conducted. At the end of the first year, there were no conclusions either way. Though the ban continued, watch-dogging on dive-and-carry pirating of lunar surface material grew lax, and the corporations who wanted to be ahead of the game when the moratorium ended took advantage of that. With only six months to go before a decision was reached, illegal processing plants were bound to start cropping up.
Alex assumed any Artemis exposure would come from such plants, more than likely run by powerful companies, supported by their powerful political sidekicks. If he and Jaguar made a connection between these new prisoners and illegal mining, none of them would be happy. A few might want that connection buried, perhaps along with the people who made it.
“If it’s Phase Psychosis,” Alex said, “and it still is ‘if’, we need proof.”
“Okay,” she said. “Give the women to me together. If we’re right, I’ll know pretty quickly. Can I get a home planet site?”
That, Alex thought, was just like her. She leapt over any considerations of danger, any possible complicating factors, and went right to the job at hand. “Why home planet?” he asked.
“They’re out of phase. They need to kiss the earth.”
He considered the difficulty of a home planet rehab, and quickly decided against it. “Right now, I want you close. Besides, we’ve got our share of the Mother here. It’ll have to act in loco parentis. What’s your program for the women?”
Jaguar ran a hand through the walnut and honey-streaked length of her hair. “If I can’t go to the home planet, I’ll want something in the old forest eco-site. I’ll do a series of sweats to clear them.”
He raised his eyebrows at her. Sweat lodges with women in Phase Psychosis. She’d be literally breathing in what they released. If he knew her, she’d use empathic contact at the same time.
“The sweat lodge?” he asked. “Isn’t that risky?”
“Necessary. The ceremony creates a container. A safe place to open up while they detox.”
“How do you avoid eating the toxins?” he asked.
“The same way you avoid eating any shadow. Block what you can, release the rest. You know the routine. Besides, I’ll be sweating, too. “
Yes. He knew the routine. In fact, she’d taught him a few of her own blocking tricks, learned from her shaman grandfather, from Jake and One Bird at 13 Streams. Exceptionally skilled and trustworthy teachers showed Jaguar how to preserve her integrity, and she’d kept her spirit inviolate all these years, in spite of the criminals whose psyches she’d touched. She allowed just what she wanted to come in, and nothing or no one else. He sighed.
“What’re you looking at for core fears?”
She shook her head. “I’m not going for fears. I’m going for desires. If they have any big fears, I’ll find them in the same place “
Now that was interesting, and unexpected. The Planetoid system was based on the premise that crime grew out of fear, and prisoners needed to face the fears that generated their crimes. Desires weren’t usually a part of the program.
“Explain, please,” he invited her.
“These women don’t have any criminal background. Most likely they don’t have the deadly fears we usually see here, either. And you know what Phase Psychosis does. All emotions get maxxed out.”
“Then why not focus on joy, or rage or – anything at all? Why, specifically, desire?”
She pulled in breath and let it out. “It’s complex. Elusive of linear explanation. A three body problem, like the orbital relationship between moon, sun and earth. Or Planetoid, moon and earth, in this case.”
“What’s the triangle?”
“Fear, desire and power,” she said. “You know this quote - ‘True power gives birth to desire and true desire is the walkway to power.’ “
“Davidson, The Etiquette of Empaths, writing about how to avoid shadow sickness. ‘But fear chokes desire into greed, and greed is a washing of blood over power,’ ” he finished the quote for her.
“That’s right. These women ate too much power, and that made their real desires visible, but they’ve got nothing to ground them in and it’s scaring the hell out of them. That’s my working premise. The program will work, if I’m right.”
He swiveled back and forth, seemed to engage in discussion with himself. “If you’re right, Jaguar,” he said.
She turned her sea-green eyes to him. Pieces of gold light swam endlessly there. Crescents of
