The green jewel of Ménggǔ’s twenty-mile-diameter lunar habitat had been visible from the Earth. At the center of the circle had been a wide complex of research labs and dorms with a few other satellite stations dotted around. With all the nation had learned about terraforming and weather architecture, they’d hoped to build a second dome that would test the large-scale stability of their findings before they irreversibly changed the Earth. They’d dreamed of drought-resistant forests that would grow in months and suck carbon from the air, with tree roots boring deep into the soil to purify the irradiated ground water. Decades of unchecked climate change had fried the Earth—withering jungles, shriveling the Nile, carving a new desert from Vienna to Warsaw across Ménggǔ’s Eastern Province. They’d planted a prototype jungle on the edge of Luna One and had watched it flourish into a green paradise. Untouched groves of pineapples and hibiscus shrubs, with neon blooms the size of dinner plates. Waterfalls spilling into crystal pools fringed with birds of paradise. The perfect place to build a hotel, right by the supply spaceport, to woo investors with the unlimited future of Luna Two.

Logan had gotten the green light and they’d have free run of the place for the whole production. First, though, he’d had the bright idea to travel to Luna One with the cast for two weeks ahead of the shoot so they all could bond as a creative unit.

Joel had been cast as the commander of America’s first Space Armada and his soulful brown eyes could carry a lot of the movie’s weight. With betrayal and mutiny at the heart of the story, the cast had to live together to develop a real chemistry—a collective heartbeat, Logan had swooned. When Joel’s second-in-command stabbed him in the back, he wanted the audience to feel the blade.

Week one had been a paradise of lobster kebabs and ketamine. Of caviar and cocaine, and boys breaking off into groups to scatter into the palms surrounding Hotel Selene’s infinity pool. Week two, Logan had taken a couple of cameras and led the cast into the jungle for four days of camping, and rehearsals, and shoots to test the mood of the script, completely incognito without even a satellite phone for the studio to harass them. They’d pitched tents or slept in the open air under the hab dome with its fake sunsets to mimic Earth. They’d cried, and talked about their dead childhood pets around campfires, and frolicked through more chemistry screen tests in glades of palm trees.