SEA OF CRISES

William Chen stumbled on, driven by the same blind greed that drove him to murder Stevenson. If Ms. Vlaklavik had communicated anything in the last few hours he hadn't heard it in his frenzied state.
Heading south-west over a low escarpment he had come into a vast plain stretching to the horizon. He vented his bodily wastes from the suit and took a sip of water. It had been hours since Stevenson's murder, already it was a dim memory in his mind, growing dimmer by the second. He had no conscious recollection of it, only a vague feeling of something disturbing his psyche; he was consumed with a single purpose: to win at all costs.

Only a few more hours remained--then the Moon's Earth-facing side would be plunged into two weeks of dark and cold and the game would be over, winner or no. Nearing exhaustion, his oxygen running low, Chen spotted what appeared to him a red flag on the horizon. This was it..."I'm the winner!" he shouted. He made the last few hundred yards in a series of bounding leaps, keeping his eyes fixed on the flag. The flag! It must be, but something wasn't right. It was red alright, but also blue...and white...and dotted with stars...
Chen found himself facing the flag: the Stars and Stripes of the United States!

"No! No! It can't be! It's not fair" he cried between spasmodic gasps for air.
Dazedly he shuffled past the flag and hung drunkenly onto one leg of the nearby Lunar Lander--left by the Apollo astronauts a century ago.

"It's not fair," he repeatedly whispered it like a mantra between labored breaths. Falling to his knees as if in supplication to the relic, lost in irrationality, he didn't react when his oxy-gauge signaled the near depletion of his air supply. He remained there, too tired to move. His arms hung limply at his side, his eyes were fixed on the metallic leg before him; as he blacked out he read the plaque attached there:

"Here men from planet Earth first set foot upon the Moon, July 1969 A.D. We came in peace for all Mankind"