Moonfall (14 page)

Boatmann’s vision blurred. He divided the people in the mantel photographs into two groups: those who were safe, and those who were not. He had already warned some. Several, for one reason or another, he had not been able to find on short notice, and he was too discreet to leave messages on answering machines. But he’d try again today.

He stirred himself, got up, drew the curtain aside, and peered out into the morning. The sky was slate-colored and the air smelled of approaching rain. Wisconsin Avenue was unusually quiet.

His anguish was compounded by the knowledge that the president was right: A mass exodus from the coastal cities would cost lives. What were the odds that cometfall might indeed amount to nothing more than a few late-night meteor showers? There seemed to be no answer to that question. He had spent much of yesterday, after the cabinet meeting, on the Web and on the phone. Nobody knew.

But it seemed inherently dishonest to withhold what they really believed. No matter the motivation. The system only works when there is an honest compact between government and governed.

Easy to say. But how was he going to justify it to himself if he set off a panic?

His coffee had gotten cold. He poured another cup. After a while he reached for the phone.

3.

Moonbase, Grissom Country. 8:05
A.M.

The vice president’s call had come late the previous night, with the suggestion that Rick prepare appropriate remarks for a televised news conference today.
A good opening statement. We want to be upbeat
, Charlie had said.
We should probably admit the uncertainties of the situation. But we’re in the hands of good old American technology. We and our foreign friends are going to come through, blah, blah, blah. The president wants us to focus attention on Moonbase problems. He’s hoping we can divert the public’s attention and stop them from jamming up the highways at home
. His voice had taken a strange tone. Charlie rarely showed negative emotions about others, but he’d sounded irritated with Kolladner.
While you’re at it, prepare a list of likely questions I’ll be asked. And recommended responses
.

Not that you’ll use any of them, Rick had thought.

Anyhow, Rick arrived at the vice president’s door loaded with suggestions. Charlie’s voice invited him in. He was sitting on the sofa, turning pages in a notebook. “Good morning, Rick,” he said. “I have some ideas how this should sound.”

“Are they that nervous at home?” Rick asked.

“I understand the situation’s improving. But the Man is uncomfortable. And he has reason to be. You ever play poker with him?”

Rick hadn’t. But he knew the president’s reputation. Kolladner didn’t play now, of course. There’d be no way to keep it from the media, and the public could be made to frown on a poker player in the White House. It would be the kind of thing the talk show hosts and the late-night comedians loved.

“He’s always claimed,” Charlie said, “that he never bluffs. It isn’t true, of course. But it makes the bluff effective.”

“He’s bluffing now? About Saturday night?”

“Yeah, I think so. He’s scared.”

Rick nodded. “If the worst happens, he could lose both seaboards.”

A muscle moved in Charlie’s jaw, but he said nothing.

Rick, who had an elemental dislike for downbeat conversations, waved it away. “I made some notes on how I think we should handle the news conference.”

“Good. It’s scheduled for eight. Prime time, all networks and Weblinks. There’ll be several guests, including some groundside scientists who think there’s really nothing to worry about. They’ve even got one who swears the comet’s going to miss. They’re going to have Kendrick anchoring the thing. He’ll ask a few questions. I’m sure you can imagine what they’ll be. And we want soothing answers.” He sat back and looked closely at Rick. “Henry wouldn’t admit this, but if I’m reading correctly between the lines, I think the fix is in. J wonder if the president has heard more than he’s admitting.”

“It’s the wrong move,” said Rick.

“Why? What makes you say that?”

“It’s just going to stir up the people who think there
is
a major problem. I guarantee you, within an hour after the telecast, every Ph.D. who disagrees will be holding a press conference of his own. Our best bet would be to say as little as possible, photograph the president going about routine business, and for God’s sake make sure they get pictures of his wife and grandkids down on a Florida beach.”

“It’s too late for that now.”

“I guess. You know, I hate to criticize a colleague, but the president needs a decent press secretary.” Rick sighed. “I saw some reports from your home state. Everybody’s clearing out. Headed west.”

“I think I would, too,” said Charlie.

“Yeah,” said Rick. “Especially after we tell them tonight there’s nothing to worry about.”

Percival
Lowell
Utility Deck.8:14
A.M.

Rachel received the mission postponement order while her second shipment of passengers were coming aboard.

MARS FLIGHT CANCELED. NEW DATE NOT ESTABLISHED.
REGRETS
.

Lee Cochran was in back getting everyone settled. Rachel ran a copy, and when the bus had pulled away, she strolled back and showed it to him. He nodded, showing no emotion. “I wonder,” he said, “if the mission will ever happen.”

Lee’s comment stuck in Rachel’s mind while she stayed to help get everyone settled.
It won’t be that way
, she thought.
We have the instrument to break out into the solar system; and whatever happens here, we’ll go
.

We
will
go
.

The passengers had been informed they’d be required to wear a breathing apparatus, but they looked askance at the devices anyhow. Several wanted assurances there were enough oxygen tanks to take care of everyone. Rachel thought how odd it was that people thought nothing of boarding a ferry or a moonbus without asking whether the life support system was adequate. But here, of course, they were holding the life support system in their hands and it worried them. There were other questions. How would they eat? In shifts. What if the mask came off while they slept? Don’t worry, if we develop a problem you won’t sleep through it. But in any case, we’ll check on you regularly. When I have to change tanks, do I have to hold my breath until we get another one? It’s a three-second changeover. You’ll be fine. Why don’t
I
get an oxygen mask? Everybody doesn’t need one because there’s enough air in the cabin to support eight people and then some. We’ll take turns, Rachel explained, and everybody will get some time out of the mask.

They had a passenger list in advance and they assigned the older travelers to the astronaut quarters. Several families were with the group, four officials from various governments, one Russian industrialist, and two NASA heavyweights. Rachel knew both of course, and one, the comptroller, told her wryly that he was glad to see they’d found
some
use anyhow for
Lowell
.

Lee was acting as flight host. He’d collected a dozen viewers from L1 and had jacks installed throughout the ship so their riders could tap into the onboard library. He showed everyone where the galley and washrooms were located, and which buttons to punch if they needed help. He demonstrated the restraint systems in the various seats, and gave webbing to those who did not have seats. He stayed with them, helping them tie down, until he was satisfied they were safe.

Rachel put on her most reassuring manner. Flight time to Skyport would be about nineteen hours. They’d arrive around four o’clock Friday morning, have breakfast, and would then be able to board one of the space planes that would be waiting to take them home. Nothing to worry about, she said. Sorry about the inconvenience. Just remember to keep the mask on and breathe normally and we’ll all do fine. If you need to take the mask off for any reason, go ahead, it’s no problem. If you feel you have to
keep
it off, please be sure to let us know.

“You’ve got real talent for this,” Lee told her.

She went back to the flight deck and looked out at the comet. It was east of the Moon, getting bigger. The tails were now easily visible to the naked eye.

She switched on the PA. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re about to get under way. We’ll be taking it slow and easy, but you’ll still feel some push. The ship will be accelerating for about ten minutes. Please don’t try to move around until after we tell you it’s okay to do so.” She could still see the lights of the second bus, pale and lonely, drifting into the dark.

Lee came in and sat down beside her. “All set,” he said.

She nodded, and pushed the throttles forward.

The nuclear plant was quieter and smoother than a chemical rocket. NASA had done extensive testing of the nuke in the Mojave and at L1 and had run hundreds of simulations. The ship’s crew had taken
Lowell
on a few local test flights. Around the Moon and back, that sort of thing. But this was the first time that a nuclear-powered spaceship could be said to be operational. “We live in historic times,” Lee observed.

“Yeah.” Her wrist was pale in the glow of the instrument panel. “That we do, lad.”

Arlington, Virginia. 9:16
A.M.

Mary-Lynn Jamison of
Washington Online
was working on the Arnold Cloud story when her phone rang. Cloud was a Midwestern congressman who had apparently hired a hit man to murder his wife. In this case, it appeared that the motive had not been another woman, nor even insurance. Rather, Cloud was in trouble in his home district, and he planned to claim that organized crime had wanted to send him a message. The cops were suspicious, but the congressman had the goods on a lot of people around Washington, and those persons, in a minor panic, were calling in favors. The authorities were under pressure to look the other way, but Mary-Lynn had enough thread to begin unraveling the entire story.

“Jamison,” she said into the phone.

“Mary-Lynn, how are you?”

She recognized the secretary of transportation’s voice. “Hello, Harold,” she said.

“No recordings, Mary-Lynn.”

She shut the machine down.

“Can we meet somewhere?”

“For lunch?”

“One o’clock,” he said. “Willoughby’s.”

Moonbase Spaceport. 10:03
A.M.

“Any problems, Tony?” Bigfoot was waiting for them as they debarked.

Tony shook his head. “Running like a good little puppy,” he said. The program for landing at Moonbase was standardized, and the attitude jets were therefore not extensively used. They did generate enough vapor that Tony got more bogus readings on his way down. But it seemed trivial, and time was now of the essence.

“Okay. Glad to hear it. We’ve got enough to worry about.” Bigfoot made a rumbling sound deep in his throat. “The space planes are here. And so are your passengers. Take ten minutes and be ready to go.”

Saber smiled. “Plenty of time to relax, huh? Couldn’t ask for more, Bigfoot.”

“Sorry, babe,” he said. “We’re a little pressed.”

SSTO
Berlin
Flight Deck. 10:17
A.M.

Willem Stephan arrived on station and reported in.
Copenhagen
had already rendezvoused with one of the buses, call sign
Wobble
, and was taking on its first passengers. The schedule called for the buses to load as the most efficient windows came open.
Copenhagen
would depart lunar orbit Friday afternoon, and
Berlin
, Friday night.

He looked down at the lunar terrain. “I never thought I’d get here,” he told his copilot.

The copilot was Kathleen Steadmann, from Bremerhaven. Kathleen squinted at the comet. “Just in time, looks like,” she said.

L1, SSTO
Arlington
Flight Deck.10:23
A.M.

Arlington
had also required a midcourse correction to compensate for the programming, but nevertheless she arrived at L1 almost exactly on time.

The station did not have standard docking facilities for the SSTO. Station personnel had converted a truck bay, and George guided the rounded prow of the big spacecraft into it. An airtight fit wasn’t possible, so the area couldn’t be pressurized. He still had red lights on his board when he’d gotten in as far as he could. He killed the engines on command and watched a group of technicians in p-suits swarm over the wings and hull, using cutaway cables to secure the spacecraft. The bay was located in the hub, which was stationary and therefore a zero-g area. The plane swayed and occasionally bumped against its mooring. Now a second team appeared, drawing a Fleming tube out from the boarding ramp. They connected it with the main airlock.

The Fleming tube was a pressurized, flexible, accordion-like walkway constructed of metal and plastic, designed to gain access to vehicles whose normal means of entry had been damaged. This one was about thirty meters long. George went back and stayed by the main door, which was somewhat forward of the center of the spacecraft. When the lights on the door went green, signifying pressure on the other side, he opened up.

A young woman in a dark blue uniform, similar to the one worn at Skyport but with an L1 patch, smiled out at him. “Welcome to LaGrange One, Captain,” she said. “We’re glad to see you.”

An hour and a quarter later, George and his crew had cleaned up and returned to their plane. Two hundred twenty-four passengers were now on board. A few of the operational people remained at their posts until
Arlington
was clear.

“Do you have transportation?” George asked the radio voice with whom he’d been talking.

“Oh, yes. We’ve got the
Antonia Mabry
warmed up and ready to go. We’ll be right behind you,
Arlington
.”

“See you at Skyport, then,” said George. He guided the
plane onto its return heading and began to accelerate. Behind him, the lights of the space station were going out.