Moonbase - Moonwar Part 8

"But what could a gaggle of scientists and technicians do to a platoon of fully-armed Peacekeepers?"

"We don't know, but we must be prepared."

"With hand grenades and explosives?"

"With every weapon at our disposal," Munasinghe said, without an instant's hesitation. "If the people of Moonbase offer the slightest opposition, we are prepared to use whatever level of force is required."

Edith's breath caught in her throat. "You mean you're prepared to kill them?"

"If necessary. Yes, of course."

"Even though they're unarmed?"

He jabbed a finger in her face. "You keep saying they are unarmed. How do we know this? How do we know what kinds of weapons they may have at Moonbase? I am responsible for bringing Moonbase under United Nations' jurisdiction. I am responsible for the lives of my troops. If the enemy offers the slightest resistance, the slightest provocation, I have ordered my troops to shoot."

"Shoot to kill?" Edith was surprised at how hollow her voice sounded.

"When you are in battle you don't have the luxury of attempting to merely wound your enemy. Shoot to kill, yes, of course."

"At the slightest provocation?"

For the first time, Captain Munasinghe smiled. "I have served in Eritrea, in Colombia, and against the Armenian terrorists. Believe me, you do not give an enemy a second chance to kill you. Not if you want to survive the engagement."

"Let me get this straight," Edith said. "You're saying that you've ordered your troops to shoot to kill at the slightest sign of resistance from the people of Moonbase."

"At the slightest sign of resistance," Munasinghe affirmed. "Better to destroy Moonbase and everyone in it than to return to Earth with our mission a failure."

Edith swallowed hard, then said, "Thank you, Captain Munasinghe."

She had to push herself past him, then forced a smile as she looked straight into camera one and concluded, "This is Edie Elgin, in s.p.a.ce with the U.N. Peacekeeper force, on the way to Moonbase."

Munasinghe drifted back, then asked, "Is that all? Is it finished?"

"That's it," said Edith, hoping he would go away.

"Was it satisfactory? Can I see it?"

Wearily, Edith ran the abbreviated interview on camera one's monitor. Munasinghe watched himself, fascinated. Edith wondered if the network suits would play the interview. They had made it clear they wanted to cooperate with the U.N., and this interview could stir a lot of hostility toward the Peacekeepers if it was aired.

No, she told herself, they'll play it. They'll have to. So the U.N. b.i.t.c.hes about it, so what. This is news. news.

TOUCHDOWN MINUS 27 HOURS 51 MINUTES.

The mercenary returned to his quarters and sat on his bunk. The time to strike is nearly here, he told himself.

The situation was almost ludicrous. The more he thought about the base's electrical power supplies, its life support systems, its total lack of weaponry or military capability, the more he realized that a single man like himself could bring the entire base to its knees.

They won't need a s.h.i.+p full of Peacekeepers. I can do it all by myself.

But the Peacekeepers were on their way and there was almost nothing that the inhabitants of Moonbase could do to stop them.

Why a.s.sa.s.sinate the leaders when they can't offer any resistance? Just knock out their electrical power system and they're helpless. It won't make any difference if Doug Stavenger lives or dies; Moonbase will cave in as soon as the Peacekeepers arrive.

The mercenary got down onto the floor in front of his bunk and folded his legs into the lotus position. Resting the backs of his hands on his knees, he closed his eyes and murmured his mantra, seeking harmony and understanding.

He saw in his mind's eye what he always saw. His ten-year-old brother in convulsions, dying of the zip he had snorted while their mother lay sprawled on the sofa, too dazed with the same s.h.i.+t to phone for help. He saw his six-year-old self locked in the dark roach closet because he'd been a bad boy, watching his brother die through the closet door keyhole, listening to the screams that turned into strangled, choking sobs and finally ended in a groan that still tortured his soul.

If I had been good, I wouldn't have been locked in the roach closet. I could've helped Timmy.

He saw his mother die, too. She was the first person he ever killed. He was fifteen and a father but she still treated him like a little kid. Took the strap to him. He grabbed it away from her and swung it hard enough to knock her down. Her head cracked on the table leg and her eyes went blank.

He saw his first sergeant, as brutal a man as any, but fair and unwaveringly honest. And the old cowboy on the rifle range, the one who taught him how to shoot. And how to hunt.

Death was his companion always. His ancient friend. He was death's best a.s.sistant. That was his destiny, his purpose in life: to bring people to death.

He opened his eyes. Deep within him the ancient calm had returned. There were no doubts, no qualms, no divisions within him. He was one again. Whole. Death was at his side, invisible but palpable, his oldest and best companion.

After all, he told himself, Stavenger's entire life revolves around Moonbase. Take that away from him and he's as good as dead anyway. I'll merely be helping him to the place where he wants to be.

Still, he sighed.

TOUCHDOWN MINUS 20 HOURS.

Joanna Stavenger actually felt nervous as she sat in her favorite armchair, waiting for Georges Faure's call. The secretary-general had at first refused to speak to her at all, but the threat of telling the media that he planned to use nanomachines despite his public denouncement of them apparently had forced his hand.

Apparently, she reminded herself. The little b.a.s.t.a.r.d's waited until the troops.h.i.+p is almost ready to land before agreeing to talk to me.

Faure had put up conditions. This was to be strictly a private conversation between the two of them. No third parties. And it was to be understood that he was speaking to her as a courtesy only, not in his capacity as secretary-general of the United Nations.

Joanna had agreed easily. She knew that Faure had no private existence; whatever he said to her was being said by the man who headed the U.N. And she conveniently forgot her pledge of privacy when she told her son that Faure was going to speak to her. Doug was not in her sitting room with her, but he was plugged into their conversation, in his own quarters.

Precisely at the appointed moment the synthesized voice of the communications system said, "Monsieur Faure is calling from New York."

"On screen, please," Joanna replied.

A window seemed to open on the wall before her and Faure's face appeared, no larger than life-size. Joanna had programmed the smart wall that way; she had no desire to see Faure looming over her like an intimidating giant.

"Madame Brudnoy," Faure said, with a polite little smile.

"Mr Secretary-General," Joanna replied.

While she waited the three seconds for his reply, Joanna examined the room in which Faure was sitting. It didn't look like an office; more like the living room of a s.p.a.cious apartment in a high-rise building. She could not see much of the background behind him, but there was a window that looked out on the skysc.r.a.pers of Manhattan.

"I am not speaking as the secretary-general, Madame. This is a personal conversation between two private citizens."

Joanna nodded an acknowledgement.

"May I say that you look radiant? And your apartment, from what I can see of it, seems quite charming. I had no idea such luxuries were to be found in Moonbase."

Joanna had put on a tailored blouse of coral pink and a dark mid-thigh skirt: comfortable without being too dressy.

"Thank you," she said. "This is my personal furniture. I had it brought up from Savannah years ago. I a.s.sure you, the other living quarters here are nowhere near as elegant."

"I see," said Faure, after the annoying lag. "The privileges of the wealthy."

Joanna bit back the temptation to comment on Faure's luxurious apartment. "I appreciate your taking the time to speak with me."

This time it took more than three seconds for him to reply. His brow furrowed, his mouth pursed. At last he said, "Madame Brudnoy, it took a struggle with my conscience to decide to answer your request. I confess that my first instinct was to ignore it, and remain aloof from you and everyone else in Moonbase until this crisis is settled."

"I think it's always best to discuss problems frankly, face-to-face."

His frown eased somewhat. "Yes, I agree. That is why I am speaking to you."

"What about our declaration of independence?"

If the question jolted him, Faure gave no indication of it. "Declaration of independence? Pah!" He snapped his fingers. "A transparent ploy to avoid complying with the nano-technology treaty."

"A right of every nation," Joanna retorted. "Just because we're on the Moon doesn't mean we don't have the same rights as any other group of people."

"You are not a nation," Faure countered. "Moonbase is a division of a corporation."

"Moonbase is a community of more than two thousand people. We have the right to be independent."

His cheeks flushed, Faure waved both hands indignantly. "But you are not a nation! Two thousand people do not make a nation! You can't even exist by yourselves without supplies from Earth. It is as if a group of people on an ocean liner declared themselves an independent nation. It is nonsense!"

"We are self-sufficient," Joanna insisted. "We produce our own food. We can exist on our own without any help from Earth.' That was stretching things, she knew, and yet a part of her mind marveled at the realization that the stretch was not all that much. Moonbase could exist without help from Earth.

Faure made a visible effort to calm himself. "Madame Brudnoy, you know and I know that this so-called declaration of independence is nothing more than the smoke screen, the camouflage to disguise the fact that you wish to continue using nanotechnology and evade the conditions of the treaty."

"But you intend to continue using nanotechnology once you've taken over Moonbase," Joanna said.

Once he heard her words, Faure's face went from red to white, as if someone had slapped him.

He took a deep breath, then said evenly, "What makes you think that?"

Smiling, Joanna replied, "Don't you think I have contacts inside Yamagata Corporation? Several of the board members of Masterson Corporation are also on Yamagata's board."

Faure sat in silence for several moments. Then he made a little shrug and admitted, "It is entirely possible that we will allow some work on nanomachines to continue, once we have taken over operation of Moonbase."

"Moonbase will continue to supply water to Nippon One," Joanna said flatly, not making a question of it.

Reluctantly, Faure nodded.

"And Moonbase will continue to manufacture s.p.a.cecraft using nanomachines," she added.

"Only temporarily," Faure replied once he heard her words. "You have contracts with various international transport companies. The United Nations will see that those contractual obligations are fulfilled."

"Of course," said Joanna graciously. "And by the time all our backlog orders have been filled, the United Nations will find that nanomanufacturing can be quite profitable. And not harmful in the slightest. Right?"

Faure leaned tensely toward the camera. "Madame Brudnoy, the nanotechnology treaty exists because of the fears that nanomachines have created. Your own husband was killed by nanomachines, was he not?"

Joanna kept herself from flinching. I should have expected that, she told herself.

Without pausing, Faure went on, "Nanotechnology can produce insidious weapons, deadly weapons. Nanomachines can kill, as you well know. A mistake, an error, and runaway nanomachines could devour everything in their path, like those armies of ants in South America that devastate entire landscapes and leave nothing alive in their wake."

His moustache bristling with fervor, Faure continued, "We cannot have nanomachines on Earth! No matter what glorious benefits they promise, we cannot take the risk that they present to us."

"But we're not on the Earth. You could allow nanomanufacturing here on the Moon," said Joanna.

He replied, "I am willing to allow it on a temporary, experimental basis-under United Nations' control."

With sudden understanding, Joanna said, "Because Yamagata insisted on it. And if Yamagata didn't go along with you, then the j.a.panese government would oppose your takeover of Moonbase and you can't afford to have them against you."

She realized that that was the truth of it. If j.a.pan opposed Faure's plans, a whole bloc of opposition would arise in the U.N.

"You are very perspicacious," Faure said. He leaned back in his chair, seemed to relax. "But the facts are that j.a.pan supports my efforts and the Peacekeepers will be landing at Moonbase in less than twenty hours. Fait accompli!"

"And who's going to run Moonbase after the Peacekeepers land?"

Once Faure heard her question, he smiled like the Chesire cat. "Why, who else but specialists from Yamagata Corporation?"

Joanna could not have been more stunned if Faure had leaped across the quarter-million miles separating them and punched her. She simply sat in her armchair, mouth hanging open, while Faure smiled his widest at her.

TOUCHDOWN MINUS 17 HOURS 38 MINUTES.

Dr Hector Montana was not known for his bedside manner. He was a brusque, no-nonsense physician who had spent most of his career dealing with factory workers, construction crews, and industrial accidents. He was a capable surgeon and, thanks to Moonbase's electronic communications systems, he could consult and even work with virtually any physician on Earth.

Until the war sprang up.

Now he scowled openly at the young couple sitting tensely before his desk. He was a slim, pinch-faced man with graying hair combed straight back off his low forehead. His skin was the color of sun-dried adobe. His profile looked as if it had been carved by an ancient Mayan: high cheekbones, prominent nose.

"Pregnant.' He made the word sound like an accusation.

"Yes," said Claire Rossi. "There's no doubt about it."

"I'm not an obstetrician."

"Yes, but we thought you should know."

O'Malley spoke up, "I want to make sure she gets the best medical attention possible."

"Then you should've taken some precautions beforehand," Dr Montana snapped. "We don't have facilities for this sort of thing here."

Nick bulled his shoulders forward slightly, matching the physician's frown with one of his own. "We don't need facilities, for G.o.d's sake. I just want to see that she gets the proper care."

"I can't even get in touch with other medical centers back on Earth," Montana grumbled. "We've been blacked out."

"Surely this emergency will be over with soon enough for me to go back Earthside," said Claire. As chief of the personnel department, she knew Moonbase's policy perfectly well. Pregnant women were s.h.i.+pped back Earthside before their pregnancies became so advanced that rocket flight was not recommended.