Moonrise (68 page)

“Can’t I? Criminal courts have become much tougher over the past few years.”

“We’ll have the best lawyers in the world.”

“Fine. Hire all the lawyers you want. A big, scandalous
trial will be perfect. The public will love to watch the two of you, week after week. It’ll be the entertainment highlight of the year.”

“Two of us?” Joanna asked.

“You aided and abetted your son, Mrs. Stavenger. Didn’t you? Accessory after the fact.”

“Now wait …” Greg started.

Melissa silenced him with a glance. “Mrs. Stavenger, it was you who covered up the evidence of the murders. It was you who sent Jack Killifer to Moonbase, so he wouldn’t be available to tell anyone what he’d done until nearly twenty years afterward.”

“You can’t be serious,” Joanna said.

“I’ve never been more serious in my life,” Melissa replied. “The murderer son and his accomplice mother. Think how that’s going to look on video back home.”

Greg stared at her. The bitch is trying to ruin my life. She’s trying to ruin both our lives. He thought how easy it would be to get up from this chair, walk around the desk, and snap her neck like a brittle stick.

Then he gasped with the sudden realization that Doug had ordered Killifer out of Moonbase. And I let him do it! Greg raged at himself. Doug knew exactly what he was doing. He
knew
Killifer would testify against me once he got back to Earth! He’s been against me from the very beginning. Doug, Melissa—all of them!

Joanna took a deep breath, then asked Melissa, “What do you want?”

“Justice,” said Melissa.

“And what do you think would be just, in this case?”

Melissa turned away from Joanna’s cool gray-green eyes to look squarely at Greg once again. “Shut down Moonbase,” she said flatly. “Put an end to all the nanotechnology you’re using here.”

Greg blinked at her. “And what else?”

Melissa shook her head. “First things first. I want an end to this evil of nanotechnology. An end to this place where rich people can escape the problems of Earth.”

With a shaky laugh, Greg asked, “That’s all? Just shut down Moonbase?”

“And any nanotech operations you might have elsewhere,” Melissa said.

“And for that, you’ll forget about this murder business?” He couldn’t believe it.

Melissa smiled again, this time showing teeth. “Oh no, Greg. You misunderstood me. Moonbase has to be shut down. But you’ll still have to stand trial for murder. In Atlanta, I imagine. In the federal court in Atlanta.”

“You little bitch! You want to destroy me!”

“That’s right,” Melissa said calmly. “I’m going to destroy you. And Moonbase with you. And the nanotechnology that you’re protecting.”

For the first time, Joanna looked alarmed. “My son’s life was saved by nanotherapy. He can’t return to Earth.”

“He’ll have to. He’ll have no other choice.”

“But they’ll murder him! One of your fanatics will kill him just the way they killed Carlos Quintana.”

Melissa replied coolly, “Surely, Mrs. Stavenger, you have enough money to protect your son. Even if you go to prison, the family fortune will still be there for him.”

“To live behind walls all his life?” Joanna said, her voice almost pleading. “To live separated from the rest of civilization?”

“What’s he doing here?” Melissa retorted. “A quarter-million miles from civilization.”

Greg watched and listened, the horror within him freezing his insides. They’re worrying about Doug when she wants to put me on trial for murder. She wants to destroy me and Mom’s thinking of Doug! Mom doesn’t care about me; it’s Doug she’s trying to protect.

“All right!” he shouted, leaping to his feet. “You want to kill me? You want to wipe out Moonbase? All right, I’ll help you!”

Joanna’s face went white. “Greg, what are you—”

He came around the desk, swift as death, and grabbed Melissa by her bony wrist.

“I’ll show you!” Greg roared, dragging Melissa toward the door. “I’ll show you all!”

“So? You have come to see my monastic little cell?” Zimmerman asked as he stepped aside and allowed Doug to enter his room.

Stepping past an unopened garment bag thrown carelessly on the floor, Doug said, “I think we can make the room feel a lot bigger if we put up a couple of Windowalls for you.”

“Windowalls?”

“Big flat-screen display panels. You could show videos of scenes you like, make it seem as if you’re looking out a window.”

Zimmerman bobbed his fleshy jowls. “Yah, that would be an improvement.”

“I’ll let you have one of mine until we get some new ones brought up,” said Doug.

Zimmerman gave Doug a crafty look. “You didn’t come here to discuss my interior decorating problems, hah?”

“No,” Doug admitted cheerfully, “I’ve come to enlist your help.”

“Sit,” said the professor, gesturing to the desk chair as he eased his bulk onto the sagging bunk. “What help do you need from me?”

“We want to build Clipperships out of pure carbon—diamond—using nanomachines.”

Zimmerman’s shaggy brows rose. “So? That would make them much stronger than metal ships, no?”

“And lighter,” Doug said.

“My experience has been mostly in medical uses of nano-technology, not rocket engineering.”

“It would help us enormously if you’d work with the technicians here. Just look over their shoulders a bit. Encourage them.”

“Stick my nose in.”

“You’d be an inspiration to them.”

Zimmerman shook his head. “I’d be an old man bothering your young people. The one you want is Professor Cardenas. She has experience in engineering programs.”

“I intend to ask her, too. But I wanted to ask you first.”

“Why first?”

“Because I respect you so much,” Doug replied. “I owe my life to you.”

Zimmerman slouched back on the bunk until his head rested against the cushioned wall. “The Chinese believe that if you save a man’s life, you are responsible for him ever afterward,” he said gloomily. “I have the feeling that you are going to find many things for me to do.”

Doug laughed. “I’m not Chinese. But I do want your help on this.”

“I suppose—”

The ceiling lights flickered.

“What was that?” Zimmerman sat up rigidly on the bunk.

“Don’t know,” said Doug. “The lighting system must’ve switched—”

They flickered again.

“Does this happen often?” Zimmerman looked decidedly worried.

“No, never,” Doug said, puzzled. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

From outside in the tunnel they heard the ceiling speakers paging, “DOUGLAS STAVENGER, PLEASE CALL THE BASE DIRECTOR’S OFFICE. DOUGLAS STAVENGER, PLEASE CALL THE BASE DIRECTOR’S OFFICE.”

Feeling uneasy, almost worried, Doug tapped the phone key on Zimmerman’s computer keyboard.

Joanna’s face appeared on the screen, strained, distraught. “Doug! Where are you?”

“I’m with Professor Zimmerman, in his quarters.”

“Your brother’s snapped! He’s run off with Melissa Hart somewhere, screaming that he’s going to destroy everything.”

“Greg? What do you mean?”

Then he heard the unmistakable thud of an airlock hatch slamming shut.

“EMERGENCY,” blared the speakers out in the tunnel’s ceiling, loud enough to be heard clearly through the flimsy accordion door. “EMERGENCY. AIR PRESSURE DROP IN MAIN GARAGE. ALL AIRLOCKS HAVE AUTOMATICALLY SHUT. FOLLOW EMERGENCY PROCEDURES. UNLESS YOU ARE WITH SECURITY OR ENVIRONMENTAL CONTROL GROUPS, REMAIN WHERE YOU ARE. DO NOT MOVE FROM YOUR PRESENT LOCATION UNTIL NOTIFIED BY BASE ENVIRONMENTAL CONTROL.”

The sad sweet strains of the Rose Adagio from
Sleeping Beauty
filled her mind as Bianca Rhee floated through a nearly perfect
grand jeté
, higher in the air than any prima ballerina could possible achieve on Earth, arms extended, toes pointed properly, when the loudspeakers bellowed out their warning.

She landed on her toes, stumbled off-balance, and staggered against the flimsy partition that closed off her little practice area from the rest of the main garage. Almost angrily she yanked out the earplug and snapped off the miniature chip player clipped to her belt.

“EMERGENCY,” the automatic warning repeated. “AIR PRESSURE DROP IN MAIN GARAGE. ALL AIRLOCKS HAVE AUTOMATICALLY SHUT. FOLLOW EMERGENCY PROCEDURES. UNLESS YOU ARE WITH SECURITY OR ENVIRONMENTAL CONTROL GROUPS, REMAIN WHERE YOU ARE. DO NOT MOVE FROM YOUR PRESENT LOCATION UNTIL NOTIFIED BY BASE ENVIRONMENTAL CONTROL.”

Bianca didn’t feel any air pressure drop. Some stupid sensor’s gone down, she thought. But she padded in her ballet slippers to the edge of the partition and looked out at the main garage. People were hustling for the hatches that led into the base’s four main tunnels.

And she felt a breeze.

Bianca had screened off this unused part of the main garage to serve as her practice hall. It was as far away from everything—and everyone—else as it could be, a good hundred meters from the nearest airlock.

There was definitely a wind surging through the main garage.
She could see dust swirling along the floor. Somehow one of the airlocks to the outside must have been opened and the air was rushing out into the vacuum. A pang of fear shook her. I’ll never get to one of the tunnel hatches in time!

A rack of six spacesuits stood a few meters away, hanging like empty suits of armor against the rock wall. There were racks like this spotted throughout the garage, standing ready against a possible emergency.

Bianca dashed to the nearest suit, ducked under its torso and wormed her way into it. As soon as her hands wiggled into the gloves attached to the arm cuffs, she reached overhead and grabbed the helmet, desperately hoping that the backpack’s tanks were filled with breathable air. She clapped the helmet down on the neck ring and sealed it, then took a deep breath. The seal mechanism automatically activated the air flow.

Okay, she told herself shakily. The gasket around the waist of the torso shell will hold your air; you’ve got a couple of minutes to get into the leggings. It was awkward bending inside the hard shell of the suit’s torso, but she ripped off her ballet slippers and got into the leggings faster than she had ever done before. Then she sat on the floor and pulled on the boots.

I did it! Bianca exulted. I got into the suit. Then she remembered that if she stayed in the suit for more than a few minutes she would get decompression sickness: the bends.

Greg had dragged Melissa from his office, down the tunnel toward the rear of the base.

“You want to destroy everything?” he had screamed at her. “I’ll show you how to wipe them all out! All of them!”

Melissa tried to keep up with him but her legs wouldn’t work right in the low lunar gravity. She stumbled, flailed her free arm to regain her balance, then tripped again and fell to the floor. Greg hauled her along, skidding and scraping on the cold rock floor.

Two women and a young man, all in the olive green coveralls of the mining division, rushed up the tunnel toward them.

“What’s the matter?” one of the women asked. “What’s going on?”

“Get out of my way!” Greg roared. “Get out! Now! Leave us alone!”

The two women glanced at Melissa, sitting on the tunnel floor with her legs drawn up, glaring up at them.

“I’m the base director,” Greg bellowed, banging the nametag on his chest with his free hand. “Get out of my goddamned way.”

“Call security,” said the young man. “Let them take care of it.”

They hesitated a moment longer, staring at Greg’s wild-eyed expression and Melissa, her arm still hanging in his grasp.

“Come on,” said the young man. The three of them hurried up the tunnel.

“Assholes,” Greg muttered after them.

Melissa yanked her wrist free of Greg’s grasp. He turned on her, hand raised to strike.

“I’ll help you,” she said, climbing slowly to her feet. “You don’t have to drag me. I’ll go with you willingly.”

“You bet you will,” Greg said. And he started down the tunnel again.

“Where are we going?” Melissa asked, trying to keep up with him without stumbling again.

“EVC,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Environmental Control Center. The air pumps.”

Breathlessly, Melissa answered, “Good.”

Greg felt lightheaded, almost giddy, as he hurried down the tunnel. Don’t run, he warned himself. You might trip yourself and fall. You don’t want to look foolish in front of Melissa. He thought about the veteran Lunatics he had seen taking yards-long strides in the gentle gravity, soaring along like ballet dancers. I’ll show those wise-asses, he thought. I’ll show them all. Let’s see how far they can jump when there’s no air left to breathe.

For the first time in his life Greg felt free, totally, absolutely free. It didn’t matter what anyone thought or said or did. This is the end of it all. At last it’ll all be over with, finished. The end of everything. No more fear. All my worries are behind me now.

To Melissa, this tunnel seemed longer than the others. As she struggled to keep up with Greg, she saw that they had passed the area where laboratories and offices lined the tunnel on both
sides. Now the doors were farther apart and the labels on them proclaimed
MAINTENANCE STORES
and
ELECTRONICS SPARES
.

At the end of the tunnel was a dull metal hatch with an electronic security pad alongside it.

“Rank has its privileges,” Greg said, almost giggling as he tapped the keyboard with his index finger. “All the base director has to do to open any hatch, anywhere, is punch in his personal code.”

Greg’s eyes were aglow. Melissa thought he looked—happy. I’ve freed him, she said to herself. I’ve freed us both.

The hatch clicked but did not open. Greg grasped its metal wheel, gave it half a turn and then pushed.

Inside was a shadowy cavern that throbbed with the sound of pumps.

As Greg, suddenly solicitous, helped Melissa over the hatch’s coaming, he explained, “All the base’s air supply is routed through here. That’s the recycling equipment….” He pointed to a clump of bulky metal shapes connected by a maze of piping. “We’ll take care of them later.”

He pushed the hatch shut, then spun its wheel, locking it.