Authors: Jack McDevitt
“Five minutes ahead of the event.
That’s
good. And where would you take them? The plane will be gone.”
“Anyplace is better than here.”
“Whom do you suggest I ask to hang around to fill your tanks?”
There was a long, uncomfortable silence at the other end. Then Bigfoot sighed. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said.
Moonbase Commcenter. 1:21
P.M.
Andrea was the last of the nonsupervisory personnel to be relieved. She hurried back to her quarters, where her bags waited beside the bunk. They weren’t going anywhere. No luggage other than light carry-ons was allowed on the flight. But she’d packed anyway. Just in case.
She opened one and took a zero-gravity coffee mug out of it. It carried the
Ranger
logo: a full Moon resplendent on a windblown U.S. flag. She pushed it into her pocket.
The apartment was cramped and not much to look at, but she felt as if she’d lived here a long time. It housed a lot of good memories. And a few not so good: a failed romance and some lonely evenings. Nothing earth-shattering. It had been home for much of her adult life, and she was going to miss it.
She stood on the threshold making one last survey. A peculiar feeling came over her that she’d been through this before and that she’d be back to do it again. In this life or in another.
An hour later she boarded a crowded moonbus. Her fellow passengers were subdued. They were all MBI employees, like herself. The dependents, visitors, consultants, and assorted VIPs were long gone. She settled into her seat and drew the harness around her. She realized she was glad to be leaving, not only for the obvious reason that the comet was coming, but because Moonbase suddenly seemed
alien
, unquiet.
It was an impression that had been growing, fostered probably by the increasingly empty malls and walkways and the closed shops and whispered conversations. During the few
days since the crisis had begun, she’d been constantly in other people’s company. But almost all her friends were gone now, either already in orbit, or well on their way to Skyport. She looked around the bus and saw Eleanor Kile, who’d stayed with her to work the last shift. Eleanor smiled. She looked scared.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” The pilot’s voice crackled over the intercom. “We’ll be departing within five minutes. The ride up to the plane will be brief, not quite two hours. Once there, we’ll transfer through the same door by which you entered the spacecraft. The plane will leave orbit at nine-thirty this evening. My copilot and I will be with you on that flight, and we’re looking forward to a spectacular show.
“We know the ambiance on the bus isn’t what any of us are accustomed to, or what we would like to make available, and I regret to announce there are no flight attendants. One of us will be along after we’ve gotten under way to see if we can do anything to make your trip more comfortable. I’ll let you know when we’re ready to leave.”
Andrea closed her eyes and tried to sleep.
TRANSGLOBAL SPECIAL REPORT
. 1:31
P.M.
“This is Frances Picarno in Rome, reporting from outside the Vatican. It’s early evening here, Bruce, and a huge crowd has gathered at St. Peter’s to pray. The pope is expected to appear momentarily at his third-floor balcony.”
“Frances, what’s the mood there?”
“Somber. They’re very quiet. I could almost say frightened. But these are believers, and they feel very much in the hands of their Creator tonight.
“Vatican officials have told us that Innocent will do what he can to reassure everyone. This couldn’t have come at a worse time for the pontiff, as we all know. He has been in failing health for the past year, and his doctors have apparently advised against his appearance here
this evening. But this pope, the
People’s Pope
, is said to be quite concerned, and—wail a minute, Bruce. There he is now…”
2.
Moonbase, Grissom Country. 1:32
P.M.
Haskell was just returning to his quarters when his cell phone jingled.
“Charlie?” Evelyn’s voice. “I’m glad you’re there. I thought I was going to get the recorder again.”
“I was out touring the facility, Evelyn. Seemed like the right time. What’s going on?”
“Some good news. We might have a chance to get out of here.”
“
Wonderful
. I knew somebody’d come up with
something
.”
“The chances probably aren’t very good.”
“What’s the plan?”
“One of the buses is going to come back for us tonight. Take us off. But it’s strictly last-minute stuff.”
“Anything’s better than just sitting here. Tell the pilot I said thanks.” He felt weak with relief.
Moonbase Spaceport. 1:35
P.M.
Bigfoot had struggled with his conscience since the incident with the valves. It was he, after all, who had checked the fuel lines when Tony first reported a suspected leak. He’d found nothing, because he’d taken Tony at his word and looked for a leak and nothing else. In his own defense, he thought, finding the improper valve would not have been simply a matter of opening the manifold and looking. Both sizes of valves were identical in external appearance. He would have had to remove each unit and inspect it. And, of course, they’d been under extreme time pressure.
But now, despite the fact that he’d put himself at risk (or
maybe because of it), he was feeling good again. Maybe they could pull it off.
It didn’t occur to him that he wasn’t the only person carrying a burden of guilt. Elias Tobin, the engineer who’d installed the wrong valve, left a note saying he was sorry, and took an overdose of tranquilizers. He survived because a worried friend came by to check on him. Later Elias asked to stay with the Chandler group, but Jack refused the offer when a therapist gave his opinion that Tobin was incapable of making a rational decision.
They’d put him on a moonbus at about the time Evelyn was talking to the vice president.
Moonbase, Director’s Office. 1:57
P.M.
Chandler looked across the desk at Angela Hawkworth. “We’ve got another volunteer,” he said. “So you’re off the hook. You’ll be on a flight later this afternoon. See Susan about the details.”
She avoided his gaze. “Jack,” she said, “I’m sorry—”
“It’s okay.” She was the last of the people Evelyn had dragooned.
“I was willing to stay. You know that.”
“I know.”
She rose, anxious to be away before something changed. “Who is it?”
“Caparatti. We’re going to put everybody in a bus and make a run for it. They need Caparatti to take care of the details, so he’s staying on.”
She nodded and started to back away. “I’d have stayed.”
“It’s okay, Angela. Everyone knows that.”
Carlista, Pennsylvania. 2:15
P.M.
Claire eased the truck under a line of elms and parked outside a restored turn-of-the-century country home. It had broad
lawns and a driveway that curved around the house. The air was colder here than it had been in South Jersey, and smoke was coming out of the chimney. There was a backboard mounted over the garage door and a swing set was just visible in back.
Archie climbed down, feeling stiff and unclean and not really presentable. But the occupants were already at the front door: a middle-aged woman and someone else, an older man, behind her. Walter’s lodge buddies, who were opening their home to two of Walter’s employees.
The woman came out, studied them for a few moments, and started in their direction. Archie raised his hand in greeting. “Hello,” he said.
She didn’t look particularly well. There was a fragility of both mind and body about her, an impression of a woman made of broken glass. “Archie?” She held out her hand. “My name’s Mariel Esterhazy. I’m glad you were able to get here all right.”
Archie had left a message on their answering machine to explain the delay. “Nice to meet you, Mariel,” he said. He introduced Claire.
“My husband’s at work,” Mariel said. “But if you bring your luggage up to the house, we’ll try to get you settled.”
The man who’d stood with her in the doorway came out onto the deck. He was short, with an expression and posture that would have looked good on a Rottweiler. He wore thick glasses, a blue blazer, and loafers.
“We’ve been watching the reports all morning,” Mariel said. “This Moon thing certainly has people stirred up. Isn’t that right, Scott?” She waved impatiently at the man to help Claire with her bag.
Scott, it turned out, was her father-in-law. He allowed Claire to come to him before taking the bag from her. Archie saw that he did not entirely approve of his guests. “Several of
your trucks have arrived in town,” he said, making only minimal effort to hide his distaste. “How many are there altogether?”
“Eighteen.”
“I think we can account for about half of them.” He managed to look inconvenienced, hefted Claire’s bag, and hauled it inside the door.
Mariel showed them to their rooms and invited them to come back downstairs when they were ready. Archie’s room was far nicer than anything that had ever been put at his disposal before. It contained an ornately carved queen-size bed, a thick blue carpet, antique furniture, lush drapes the color of lemons, and a spacious walk-in closet. An original landscape dominated one of the walls. Photos of laughing children were displayed atop the bureau and on a side table, and several leather-bound books were stacked on a shelf at the head of the bed.
He washed, changed, and went back down to the living room, where Mariel and Scott were conversing in low tones. Mariel balanced a cup of coffee on her knee. Scott had a mixed drink.
“This whole comet situation has gotten completely out of hand,” Mariel said. “People have no sense of perspective anymore.” She shook her head, mourning the loss. “Can I get you something to drink, Archie?”
Scott agreed. “But it’s got nothing to do with the comet,” he added.
Archie asked for chablis. He wondered about Scott’s comment. “In what way, sir?” he asked.
“The comet’s going to hit the
Moon
, for God’s sake, Archie. I don’t care how you cut it, that just isn’t a big deal. Listen, the truth is that the country’s taking another step toward a collective nervous breakdown. In my profession, we’ve seen it coming for years.”
“And what
is
your profession, Scott?”
“Same as my son’s. I’m a securities dealer. Retired.” He made it sound like fleet admiral, retired. “Everybody knows these are scary times. Terrorists with nuclear weapons, rebels everywhere, international corporations with no loyalty to any flag so you never know where they stand. Everybody’s scared to death of technology. The country has no faith in God anymore. The government’s just a pack of bureaucrats and politicians getting theirs while they can, the churches are dying, and the crazies don’t know what to get into. Anything at all happens, it’s a conspiracy. This’s an age when you need a good account executive.”
“I beg your pardon?” This was from Claire, who had just entered the room.
“What I’m trying to say,” said Scott, “is that the old days were different. Whatever you bought, it went up. People said they didn’t need the advice of the pros. Because they always made money. But that’s not true anymore. You need an expert now—”
“I’m sure,” said Mariel, “everybody knows that, Dad.” She turned to her guests. “Are you two hungry? Can I get you something to eat?”
“Thank you,” said Archie, “we ate lunch on the road.” He was admiring the furnishings. The room was done in oak and leather. One wingback chair had come from Pine River. Another original oil painting, people on a hillside beneath threatening skies, hung over the mantel.
“It’s by Tollinger,” Mariel said, apparently expecting him to recognize the name.
Archie nodded as if he wondered how he could have missed the fact.
Claire had been circling the piece, and now she closed in on it. “It’s the
Coeur deVivre
,” she said, startled.
“Yes,” said Mariel.
Archie understood from Claire’s sudden breathlessness that the painting was worth quite a lot. “Scott,” he said, “what do you like on the market right now?”
Moonbase, Chaplain’s Quarters. 2:26
P.M.
“Chaplain? This is Jack Chandler. I wanted you to know that we’ve got a bus coming back for us. We’re going to make a run for it.”
“Thank God.”
“To be honest, I’m not all that optimistic. But it’s a chance.”
“Yes. Anything’s better than sitting here.”
“But Evelyn thought it would be a good idea if we tackled the evening with a full stomach. We’re planning a dinner. Will you come?”
“Certainly.”
“Good. Excellent. We’ll eat, have a few drinks, if that’s agreeable. And then we’ll go over to the Spaceport.”
“Okay.”
“Six-thirty.”
Right. Very British, that. Tea and lamb chops on the eve of disaster. “I’ll be there,” he said.
TRANSGLOBAL SPECIAL REPORT
. 2:31
P.M.
Distributed to participating networks via Pool Agreement
.
“This is Keith Morley reporting live from Moonbase, where Comet Tomiko is now very large in the eastern sky, and where the vice president of the United States has announced that he is holding fast to his intention to “lock the door and turn out the lights.” Drama is building as the comet approaches. It’s due here in a few hours. According to Jack Chandler, the director of Moonbase, the last scheduled flight will depart at six-thirty
P.M.
, leaving behind the vice president and several others, who will try to return to Skyport by microbus.
“But the bus that will carry Haskell and six other people will barely be off the surface before the comet hits. Operations people here are not confident the vehicle can survive the blast that is expected at impact. Bruce, I’ll be staying with this story, and we’ll just have to see how it plays out.
“This is Keith Morley at Moonbase.”