Moonrise (42 page)

Harsh ragged static drowned out her words.

“That’s all we got,” Killifer said.

Brennart huffed. “That’s plenty.”

“There’s another message, though,” said Killifer. “Piped in parallel with Anson’s.”

“What is it?”

“It’s for Mr. Stavenger.”

“For me?” Doug blurted. Brennart said nothing.

“Doug, this is Greg.” Doug was astonished to hear his brother’s voice. “I’m at Moonbase. I’ll be taking over the director’s slot when Anson leaves. I don’t want you to take any unnecessary chances out there. Do you understand me? Play it safe and come back alive.”

Doug felt embarrassed. “My brother,” he mumbled to Brennart and the others. “Half-brother, actually.”

“He’ll be the director of Moonbase in a few days,” Brennart said, his voice flat.

“I had no idea,” said Doug.

A dead silence fell upon the bare little shelter. The four of them sat on the bunk edges, the only places to sit, staring at each other like a quartet of cyclops.

“We’ve got to get back to the mountaintop before the Japanese do,” Brennart said at last.

“Do you think they’d try it while the radiation’s still so high?” Doug asked.

“They sent the team here while the radiation flux is pretty damned near maximum,” Brennart pointed out. “They must have hardened suits.”

“And equipment,” Greenberg chimed in.

“And we don’t,” said Rhee.

Doug turned to face Brennart. “What should we do?”

For a long moment Brennart said nothing. Finally, “You said that legally we need two people at the summit?”

“That’s only if we intend to keep a team there. The minimum number is two,” said Doug. “That’s what the Moscow Treaty calls for.”

“But if we’re just going to set up a monitoring station?” Rhee asked.

Doug spread his gloved hands. “As long as the station can
function automatically it doesn’t matter how many people are used to set it up.”

“All right, then,” Brennart said. “I’ll go alone.”

“You can’t!” Doug snapped.

Brennart planted his fists on the hips of his spacesuit. “Do I have to remind you,
Mr.
Stavenger, that I’m in command here? Even if your brother’s going to be my boss in a few days, I’m still in charge of this team.”

Trying to keep his voice light, Doug replied, “We all know that, sir. I simply meant that the radiation out there will kill you before you could get the job done.”

“Maybe,” Brennart admitted, “but the job’s got to be done.”

“You have to kill yourself for the corporation?” Rhee asked.

Brennart turned toward her. “Like the man says, everybody dies, sooner or later. Do you think my life would be worth much if Yamagata gets to claim this whole territory?”

“That’s crazy,” Rhee said.

While Brennart and Rhee argued, Doug went to the shelter’s computer terminal and called up the medical file.

“It’s my job,” Brennart was saying. “My responsibility.”

Rhee said, “Oh, I get it. Machismo.” Her voice dripped loathing.

“No,” said Brennart. “It’s very practical. I get paid for results. If Yamagata takes this territory I might as well be dead, professionally.”

And he doesn’t have any other life, Doug realized, tapping out numbers on the screen. Rhee might despise the idea, but for men like Brennart this is a way of life. It’s all they’ve got. The time in between missions is waiting time, limbo, useless. Call it machismo or stubborness or even stupidity, but it’s the hard-headed ones like Brennart who got the job done. My father must’ve been like that, Doug thought. He died rather than endanger the rest of the people in Moonbase.

“The question is,” Doug said—for himself as much as for Rhee and the others, “is the claim to this region worth risking your life over?”

“Let’s stop this right here,” Brennart said. “Somebody’s got to get back up that mountain and I’ve decided that I’ll do it. End of discussion.”

“Wait,” Doug said.

“I said,
end of discussion
,” Brennart growled.

“But I think there might be a way we can get this job done at much lower risk.”

“How?”

Pointing to the numbers on the screen, Doug said, “I’ve just calculated the exposure doses, based on the background data in the medical file and a rough estimate of the time needed to get up to the mountaintop again.”

Brennart came across the shelter and leaned over Doug’s shoulder to peer at the screen.

Doug said, “To get this job done, somebody’s got to find the astronomical equipment, load it onto the hopper, refuel the hopper, jump up to the summit, set up the equipment, and then fly back down here. Right?”

“Right.”

“Okay, here’s my estimate of the times involved for each task.”

“Pretty rough estimates.”

Smiling inside his helmet, Doug said, “It’s the best I could do. I’ve tried to include the shielding our suits provide—”

“It adds up to more than a lethal dose,” Rhee saw. Greenberg got off his bunk and joined the rest of them, but said nothing.

“But what if we break the job down into its component tasks and let different people handle each task?” Doug suggested.

“What of it?” Rhee asked.

Working the keyboard as he spoke, Doug said, “That way, each individual gets only a fraction of the radiation exposure that one person would get if he tried to do the whole job by himself. See?”

“Whoever flies the hopper up to the mountaintop still gets a big dose,” Rhee pointed out.

“But it’s not a lethal dose,” said Doug. “At least, that’s what the numbers show.”

“If everything goes exactly as you’ve plotted it,” Rhee countered.

“No, it won’t work,” Brennart said. Doug could sense him shaking his head inside his helmet. “I can’t ask people to take that kind of risk.”

“But look at the numbers,” Doug insisted. “We can do it!”

“Those numbers are shakier than a nervous guy with palsy in an earthquake,” Brennart grumbled.

“You’ll be killing yourself otherwise,” Doug said. “That’s the one really solid number we’ve got. If one man tries to do the whole job, he gets a lethal dose. No doubt about it.”

Brennart rested his gloved hands on the thighs of his suit. “Listen up, people. I’ve taken risks like this before and lived through them. Truth is, I don’t really give a damn if I live or die. I’ve had a full life and I’ve got nothing much to look forward to except retirement. Like the man says, I’d rather wear out than rust out.”

“More machismo,” Rhee muttered.

“Bianca,” Doug asked, “where are your astronomical instrument?”

She hesitated a moment. “I carried them into the shelter as soon as it was put up. Before we got the order to help with the digging.”

“Which shelter?” Brennart asked.

“The first one.”

“Okay,” Doug said. “So you could go to shelter one and get your hands on the instruments.”

“Sure.”

“Isn’t the second hopper right outside that shelter?”

“About fifty yards from the airlock,” Brennart said.

“So Killifer or somebody else could dash outside and load the instruments onto that hopper. No need to refuel the one we’ve already used.”

“I’ll do it,” Greenberg said, surprising Doug. “I’ll go with Bianca and load the instruments. It’ll only take a couple of minutes and then I’ve got an excuse to stay in shelter one. Let one of those guys pull on a suit and sit out here for a while.”

“Good,” said Doug, turning to Brennart. “Then you and I can hop up to the summit—”

“You’re not going,” Brennart said.

“I’ve got to,” Doug answered firmly. “The numbers prove it. Two people can get the job done before the exposure adds up to a lethal dose. One can’t.”

“You are not going,” Brennart said, emphasizing each word. “I’m not going to risk my future boss’s brother.”

“Half-brother,” Doug said.

“I’m not going to risk either half of you,” replied Brennart.

Doug grinned inside his helmet. He made a joke. Good!

“Besides,” Brennart went on, “I made a promise to your mother.”

Doug jumped on that. “You promised not to let me out of your sight. How can you keep that promise if you go up to the mountaintop without me?”

Brennart was not amused. “Don’t split hairs with me, kid. I can’t allow you to take that risk.”

Very seriously, Doug replied, “And I can’t allow you to go by yourself.”

“Stavenger, I’m the commander here. I
order
you—”

“Besides, I can pilot the hopper if I have to,” Doug said, actually enjoying the excitement.

“This is getting weird,” Rhee said. “Now we’ve got two macho flangeheads.”

“I’m not going to let you take the risk,” Brennart repeated firmly.

“I’m not going to let you kill yourself,” Doug answered.

Brennart got to his feet and loomed over Doug. “Now listen—”

“A dead body doesn’t constitute a legal claim,” Doug said.

“What?”

“If you die up on the mountaintop before you get the instruments set up, the corporation won’t be able to make a legal claim to the area,” Doug said.

Tapping the numbers on the screen, Doug added, “And if you try to do this all by yourself, you’re going to die.”

For a moment there was silence in the bare little shelter. Doug heard nothing but his own breathing and the faint whir of the air fans in his suit.

Then Brennart broke into a low chuckle. “All right, you’re dead set on risking your neck. We’ll do it your way.”

Rhee repeated, “Two macho flangeheads.”

Greenberg said nothing.

*       *       *

“I don’t know about you,” said Jinny Anson, “but I could use a few hours’ sleep.”

Greg realized he had been awake more than twenty-four hours straight. The last six hours he had spent in Anson’s office, anxiously watching, waiting for some word from Brennart’s group. Nothing had come through, and the radiation from the solar flare was still lethally intense up on the surface.

“I’ll go down to the control center, I guess,” he said.

Anson got up from her desk chair. “Don’t you want to catch a few winks?”

Shaking his head, Greg replied, “I’m too keyed up to sleep.”

“Go back to the party, then.”

“Is it still going on?”

With a grin, she leaned across her desk and stabbed at the keyboard. The display screen showed the Cave still jammed with dancing, drinking, chatting, laughing party-goers.

“They’ll stay at it till the radiation level starts to decay.”

Greg felt his brows knitting into a frown. “They’ll be in some shape for working, won’t they?”

Anson stiffened slightly. “The party breaks up when the radiation starts going down. It takes several hours, at least, before the radiation’s low enough to go out on the surface. They’ll be ready for work by then.”

Greg almost admired her. She could be a tigress when it came to defending her people.

“Okay, maybe I’ll drop in at the party. I’ll stick my head in at the control center first, though.”

“Whatever,” said Anson. She headed for the door, thinking, What this guy needs is to get laid.

Greg followed her out into the tunnel. Anson walked off toward her quarters; Greg went the other way, toward the control center.

He was surprised to see Lev Brudnoy there, hovering morosely in his faded, stained coveralls over the three technicians working the comm consoles. There were two men and one woman sitting at the consoles, none of them the same as the crew he had seen several hours earlier. Nearly half the screens were still blank or so streaked with interference that they were useless.

“What are you doing here?” Greg asked, realizing how tactless it was as he spoke the words.

Brudnoy made an elaborate shrug. “I worry.”

“Me too,” Greg admitted.

“I understand that a Yamagata vehicle has landed near Brennart’s team.”

“Yes,” said Greg, feeling slightly annoyed that this guest, this … farmer, knew as much about the situation as he did. Probably a lot more.

Brudnoy read his face. “There are very few secrets in Moonbase, my friend.”

“Really?”

“We are too small, too crowded to keep secrets,” Brudnoy said. “It’s a good thing, I think. Governments back on Earth, they thrive on secrecy. Not here. Here we are like a
mir
, a village; everyone knows everyone.”

“And everyone knows everybody else’s business,” Greg added.

Brudnoy smiled charmingly. “Within limits.”

“Such as?”

Brudnoy placed a hand on the shoulder of the technician sitting nearest him. “For example, even if I knew who this lout of an electronics man was sleeping with these days, I would not broadcast the news. It would be impolite.”

“And damned dangerous,” said the tech, glaring up at Brudnoy with mock ferocity.

“Like a village,” Greg muttered.

“Yes, like a village,” said Brudnoy. “You probably think of Moonbase as a subdivision of your corporation, with its organization chart and its lines of authority. Please throw that image out of your head. Think instead of a village. People come and go, it is true, but the social structure remains the same. In your country you call it a small town, I think.”

“Winesburg, Ohio,” Greg said, almost sneering.

“Oh, no!” Brudnoy answered immediately. “I read that decadent work when I was first studying your language. No, not like Winesburg. More like Fort Apache—without the Native Americans.”

Greg blinked with surprise. “Fort Apache? Who’s our John Wayne, then?”

“Why, Brennart, of course. And you will be the stiff-necked
commandant of the fort, if you pardon a personal reference.”

Greg automatically glanced down at the three technicians, to see how much of this they were taking in All three of them were bent intently over their screens, which made Greg think they were listening to Brudnoy for all they were worth, despite the headsets clamped to their ears.

“You think I’m stiff-necked?” Greg asked coldly.

“Of course. Everyone is when they first come to Moon-base. It takes time to adjust to our village mentality, our small town social structure.”

Greg relaxed only slightly. “Fort Apache,” he repeated.

“An outpost on a vast and dangerous frontier. That’s what we are.” Brudnoy seemed to relish the concept.