High Moon

Astronauts used to be heroes.

Maybe we'll get a medal

if we fix this sensor relay.

Buzz Aldrin's spacesuit

wasn't issued

by the bureau of prisons.

What a bunch of posers.

Those first astronauts,

they were on the Moon

for two and a half hours.

I'm doing 10 to 20.

I thought you said

the first moon landing was fake.

All those medals they got?

The only one they deserved?

"Best actor."

We got a bum satellite.

Satellites don't

just fall out of the sky.

Um...

I think this one did.

Huh.

No. Just stare at it.

That's good.

Here. Can I see

those, please?

Yeah.

Nah. It's toast.

Somebody cut that?

Sabotage...

Probably the russians.

They are history's villains.

You worried about

the russians, Leon?

I... I don't know.

You should be.

They've banked

a hundred years of resentment

about losing the race

to get here,

and now they're

ready to cash in.

Huh. Fascinating.

Whoa.

It looks like a root.

What is that?

It's a flower.

Do we have earthquakes

on the Moon?

Not by definition.

Get up. Get up, Leon!

Compliments of Pilgrim Galactic.

You must be

Eve St. John-Smythe.

Thank you.

I am so sorry for your loss.

I can't imagine losing a brother

and then being asked

to investigate

what caused the explosion

you lost him to.

"Who."

"What" caused it

is for the forensic scientists.

I'm here to find out

who caused it.

I'd want revenge, too.

Justice.

State-sanctioned revenge

is still revenge.

So what part of the state

is sanctioning you?

I guess you could say

I work for myself.

Everybody answers to somebody.

Unless they're you, of course.

I answer to the shareholders.

Don't you own

the majority share?

I answer to my father's legacy.

And his father's.

The St. John-Smythe family

have poured generations

into bringing the Moon

to the people of Earth,

and you still haven't

answered my question.

When I catch

whoever's responsible,

they'll answer

to the air force office

of special investigations.

I hope you find your justice.

Prepare for landing.

Your gravity suit

is too cumbersome

to put on yourself,

so the sarcophagus

does the heavy-lifting.

Doesn't leave much

to the imagination.

We sacrificed modesty

for efficiency.

And a view.

It's just like moving

in Earth gravity.

By contrast,

your spacesuit

is ultra-light,

designed to be taken on

and off quickly.

Snappy.

Uh...

Self-filtering,

smart-fibre clothing,

so if you have to go,

go forth and eliminate.

Just...

No solids.

And where's your space suit?

Form-fitting,

oxygen-recycling force-fields.

Beta-testing?

Omega-testing.

I am wearing it.

You still get oxygen

from your suit.

Don't run out.

Ah. Yours?

When it opens to the Moon's

first recreational visitors

in three months,

we'll finally be delivering on

the commitment made

by this monument.

The Moon and her helium

aren't just an energy drink

to quench Earth's thirst

for fuel.

She's a medal

pinned in the night sky

to commemorate mankind's

greatest accomplishment

and to remind everybody

we're capable of more.

Very inspirational.

It's going to stay that way.

That little lander

didn't just carry

two men to the Moon,

it carried the promise

of bringing the Moon

to everyone on Earth,

and I'm not going to let

sabotage, revenge, or...

Justice break that promise.

Bon voyage.

Ian Thurgood.

I'm Yama winehart.

I'm your lunar liaison.

The general's daughter.

A pleasure.

All mine.

I understand you're the one

going into the debris ring

to collect what's left

of our physical evidence.

One of the perks of having

muscles built for the Moon.

Yes. I am "baby prime."

First, and last,

kid born on the Moon.

Oh, you're a big deal, you know.

Living proof

that artificial gravity

is not fetus-friendly.

So you aren't required

to wear the, uh...

Same sous-vetements

as the rest of us?

That's right.

I don't have to wear

any fancy underwear.

I'm a portrait

of grace in Moon "g" s,

but breathe like

a 600-pound heifer

in Earth gravity,

which is kind of unfortunate,

'cause I'm a sweater.

Good luck with the general.

The entire Moon

is just bigger than Africa,

and the five countries

scratching Helium-3

out of its green cheese

share an area no bigger

than the Sahara.

The japanese are our allies,

the Indians don't have the tech

for this kind of attack,

and the brazilian-mexican

coalition

would've needed outside help.

That leaves the russians.

The russians?

We're not even on their radar.

They've got no motive.

That we know of.

But we can assume that

whatever country was responsible

had inside help.

Suspects.

The U.S. economy is up

cripple creek without a crutch,

which means

that instead of trained miners,

we get

white-collar criminals

who chose manual labor here

over prison time on Earth.

Smart people

who did something not-so-smart

and now have to work for free.

These are

the "indentured servants"

that fit the profile

to go fifth column.

Why are they suspects

if they're dead?

Your brother, Martin Thurgood,

was engaging

in suspicious activity

directly above the epicenter

of the blast,

and immediately preceding it.

He'd have to be

a pretty stupid terrorist

to blow himself up.

Well, "stupid" is

a terrorist's Lingua Franca.

So until we recoup his body

and prove otherwise,

he's swimming laps

in the suspect pool.

Your coming here

is a mistake.

You're compromised.

"Compromised"

suggests an intimacy

I didn't share with my brother.

Well, then you must be

hobbled by regret.

Either one comes

at the cost of objectivity.

You wanted me

to see that mugshot

in the hope that I would crack,

because you don't want

an outsider

running an investigation

you think you should

be in charge of.

I don't crack.

I find answers...

How did this happen,

and who's to blame.

You say the russians,

but you don't really say why,

which suggests to me you know

something you're not sharing,

and that makes you,

not me, general,

the one who's compromised.

Now, let's place our competency

concerns aside

and focus on answers.

Let's start with the one

that explains why the russians?

Tranquility station

sits on the Moon's

largest stores of helium.

The russians

are atop the smallest,

but have the most high-tech

drilling operations.

They're running out of gas?

So they put their straw

in our milkshake.

And you're letting them?

Oh, no, no.

We have them red-handed,

and you'd better believe

we're gonna bend 'em

over a barrel.

But their straw has to be

discovered... "Organically,"

to protect certain assets.

You've got a spy.

Velocity...

Rotation...

Altitude.

Place this in locus 276.

More moon buggy.

Marker 7-1-2,

code for priority.

It looks like ordnance.

Repeat, marker 7-1-2

is a piece of a bomb.

Ew! Ew! Dead body.

Air!

Debris ring blocking your view?

It's not the Earth

I'm looking for.

Hiya, Moose.

Never thought I'd be so happy

to hear your "moose" call.

Ow! Geez...

What's with the...

The explosion,

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