The Moon’s highlands and Farside were visibly peppered with circular crater lakes, glimmering in soletta light. The first oceans, which had pooled in the basins of the old maria, still glittered blue where they had formed, all over the hemisphere which was still called Nearside; but they had been shrinking steadily since then. The problem was drainage. The oceans evaporated, the water returning as rain; but every time rain fell on the highlands it got trapped in the high craters. As the Moon had been born dry, there was no natural drainage to return the water to the oceans, as on Earth.

So great channels were being dug, canals to restore the water to the oceans. Nadezhda could see Tycho-Nubium, for instance, a straight-line thread of blue light.

Thus, on the Moon, by the side of the canals with their huge waves and feathery pleasure-boats, the crystal cities glistened in the sun.

As she looked at the Moon’s surface now, it was predominantly blue and white, ocean and cloud, or the powder-grey or baked red of desert. Much of the Moon was still not much more habitable than it had been for Meacher and Bourne themselves. It would take some time for the green of life to show on the Moon.

It would come.

But the Moon would never be a shrunken twin of vanished Earth. The engineers” dreams would see to that. They could do a lot better.

There was a scheme to go further than Spin-Up. Perhaps the black hole wind from ruined Earth could be used to move the Moon: to the orbit of Jupiter, perhaps, where there were whole worlds full of frozen volatiles, waiting to be tapped…

Or even further, to the stars themselves.

But that was the future. For today, Nadezhda had work to do.

Nadezhda tipped herself up so she was facing Icarus, with the Sagan behind her.

“Sagan, I’m preparing to go in.”

We copy, Nadezhda.

She fired her thruster. Computer graphics started to scroll across the inside of her face plate, updating burn parameters. She was actually changing orbit here, and she would have to go through a full rendezvous procedure to reach Icarus.

The angle of the sun was changing, and the slanting light changed Icarus from a flat silhouette to a potato-shaped rock in space, fat and solid. Icarus was crumpled, split by ravines, punctured by craters of all sizes, the beat-up surface a record of this little body’s dismal, violent history. There was one massive crater that must have been a half-mile across, its walls spreading around the cramped horizon.

The rock was more than three miles long, spinning on its axis once every twenty hours. It was as black as coal dust. Icarus was a stony asteroid, its substance baked dry of water and other volatiles by a billion years of passes around the sun, here in the hot heart of the Solar System.

Primordial rock. Ideal resource for the Moonseed.