by Ben Bova
I could have killed her, Douglas told himself.
How can I come so close to murdering her if I love her?
He stopped briefly at the rock processing facility, soaking up the clamoring noise and bone-jarring vibration of the big grinding machines. It blotted other thoughts from his mind. The heavy machinery was fully automated: lunar rock went into one end of the massive crushers and grinders, out the other end came pulverized separated powders of aluminum, silicon, titanium, oxygen, and other ores. Some of them were channeled to the metal refineries. Others were fed through conveyor belts into the copper-clad electrolyzers of the water factory.
Douglas felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he saw one of the younger technicians. The kid held out a pair of earphones with one hand as he shouted over the rumbling roar of the grinders:
"Regulations, sir. No one allowed this close without protection."
Douglas looked up at the wide window panel of the control room, set into the raw rock wall above.
Larry LaStrade stood at the window, peering through a pair of binoculars at him. With a shrug and a wave, Douglas turned and left the big, noise-filled cave, leaving the youngster standing there with the earphones in his hand.
Finally, inevitably, he went up to the surface. He spent nearly an hour worming himself into a hardsuit, checking out all the seals, the breathing system, the radio and heater and circulation fans. He allowed the thousand details of dressing for vacuum to occupy his mind, blanking everything else from his thoughts.
After going through the checklist with the safety team on duty at the control office, he clumped into the airlock and swung its heavy door shut behind him. In a few minutes the metal womb of the lock was emptied of air, and the indicator light on the wall beside the outer hatch turned green. He nudged the toggle with a gloved hand and the hatch slid open.
It was a strange and barren land out there, almost colorless, the raw pockmarked ground a study of grays on more grays. Behind him rose the terraced wall of Alphonsus' rim, massive, rugged, silent. Through the tinted visor of his helmet, Douglas' eyes traced out the rimwall's edge against the eternally black sky until it disappeared below the brutally close horizon. The crater's row of central peaks sat out there, worn by eons of meteoric bombardment, eroded to tired, slumped, gray lumps of stone.
A dead world, Douglas thought. Frozen stone dead. No air. The only water available is what we squeeze out of the rocks. The only life here is our own, barely hanging on.
His glance took in the glittering swath of solar panels that covered hundreds of acres of the roiled, pocked floor of the giant crater. With a resigned sigh, Douglas headed toward them. Might as well check on the meteor damage, he thought, and see if the flare did any long-term harm.
As he walked with dreamlike lunar slowness, kicking up tiny puffs of moondust with each booted step, he glanced up at the sky. The Earth hung above him, huge, gibbous, blue and white and gleaming where the sunlight touched it.
You're still alive, he said to the beckoning home world. Despite everything, you're still alive.
He forced his gaze back to the dead bare rock of the Moon.
"How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world" Douglas murmured, inside his helmet.
Inevitably his eyes turned Earthward again. But now he saw not the gleaming blue and white globe a quarter-million miles distant, but the world that had greeted him when he had landed there nearly three weeks earlier.
Despite all the devastation that the traitorous Sun and nuclear-armed men could wreak on the Earth, it was still a green, living world. Palms and cypresses still graced the Florida shores. Wild birds crossed the soft blue skies. The wind sang its ancient harmony. And people were still alive, too, even though they were sick from radiation, starving, injured.
Winter will be on them soon, Douglas knew.
Those who lived in the warmer climates might be able to get through, but what about those further north? What would they do when the snows came, with no fuel except the wood they could hack down with their own hands, no electricity, no food or medicines?
"I can't save them all," he told himself, his voice strangely muffled, muted, inside the hardsuit helmet. "I can't even begin to save one percent of them."
But even as he said it he knew he had to try.
Without the knowledge and skills represented by the tiny handful of people here on the Moon, all of human civilization on Earth would soon expire.
Some people would live, as their ancestors had lived five thousand years ago. But knowledge, art, freedom, the great works of the human mind and heart that had been built up so painfully over so many millennia—that would all perish. Civilization would die. And soon.
"Unless we do something about it," Douglas said to himself. And immediately an inner voice answered. Not we. You. Unless you do something about it, they will all die.
He nodded his head inside the bulbous helmet of the lunar hardsuit. He admitted his responsibility.
"I've got to save them. No matter what it costs, I've got to try."
Chapter 5
"You're sure Douglas won't . . ." Kobol left the thought dangling.
Lisa shook her head. "I checked with the comm center; he's up on the surface, walking by himself."
Kobol sat on the edge of her bed. He wore the usual worksuit of the underground community, a faded gray coverall. On the left shoulder was sewn an equally faded circular patch of blue, slashed by a yellow lightning bolt: the symbol of the electrical power division.
Still in her black jumpsuit, Lisa pulled her legs up and rested her chin on her knees.
"That's a nice little bruise you've got on your cheek," Kobol observed.
"I can cover it with makeup."
"Sure." He glanced around the cramped little room. "And what will you do when the makeup runs out? Send him back to Earth to raid a drugstore?"
"That's not funny."
"It's not meant to be. There's nothing funny about any of this."
"You never expected him to come back, did you?"
Kobol did not answer.
"Martin, look at me!" she snapped.
He turned slowly on the edge of the bed, but made no move to come closer toward her.
"Douglas doesn't know it was you," she told him. "You don't have to worry about that."
His long somber face betrayed no emotion whatsoever.
"I've been thinking about that. About us. About him. You saw the way the people flocked to him. He's a natural hero. They want to worship him."
"Yes" Lisa admitted. "But he's not a natural leader. There's a difference."
Kobol made an impatient snorting noise.
"No. Listen to me. I know." Lisa sat up straighter, pressed her spine against the wall behind her. "He doesn't know how to be a leader. Not really. He knows how to charge off and do what he thinks has to be done. But he assumes that everyone else sees things the way he does, and that they'll follow along with him. He doesn't even realize that he has to convince people, to cajole them or force them to fall into step behind him."
With a slow, reluctant smile, Kobol agreed.
"You're right. That's him. Charging off into the enemy guns without even glancing back over his shoulder to see if his troops are following behind him."
"We must form a real government," she said, more firmly. "These little meetings of the department heads must be turned into a board of governors or a council of some sort, with regular meetings ..."
"And elections?"
"Yes. Elections. Of course. Not right away, naturally. But next year, after things have settled down a bit."
"They'll elect Douglas our maximum leader," he said, that sardonic smile touching his lips again.
"Perhaps."
"You think they won't?"
"I'm not certain that it matters," Lisa said, her voice hard and cold as the rock that supported her. "Let the fools vote him any title they choose. In the council he'll have to deal with us. And he won't kno
w how to handle that. Three or four of us acting together can run rings around him."
Kobol's lean, bony hand stroked his jaw. "You'd do that to him?"
"Why not? It would be for the good of the community, wouldn't it? He'll want to fly back to Earth and drag as many survivors as he can find back here. We can't handle them, you know that."
"But you'd deliberately . . . knife him?"
Lisa fixed her dark, unblinking eyes on Kobol.
"Don't make it sound so dramatic, Martin. I married the wrong man. We may have to share this room, even this bed, but that doesn't mean that I love him or I'll follow him like a blind little slave."
"I don't know," he said slowly. "I was watching you when he came through that airlock. You looked . . ." He hesitated.
"Well?"
"You looked happy to see him. Very happy. Almost like a schoolgirl with her first crush of puppy love."
Her face went red. "Don't be absurd."
"That's what it looked like to me."
"Nonsense." But she turned away from Kobol, turned her gaze to the polished metal mirror hung on the opposite wall, over the drawer unit.
"About you and me . . ." Kobol started to say.
"Nothing's changed," Lisa said. "He doesn't know a thing."
But Kobol shook his head ruefully. "Something has changed, Lisa. I have. I'm not going to live in his shadow. I want you to leave him."
She looked genuinely shocked. "I can't do that! Not now. Not yet, anyway."
"Why not?"
"How can I, with the whole world turned inside out? Don't you see what's happening, Martin? Don't you understand? The life of this entire settlement is hanging by a thread. The Earth is dead, and we're on our own. It's dangerous enough, just as it is, without adding our personal problems to the mix."
He pointed a long unwavering finger at the growing blue bruise on her cheek. "Don't you think your personal problems are already out in the open?"
"No," Lisa said firmly. "I'm putting that behind me. For the time being. I'm going to be his wife, and he's going to be the head of the new government."
"You mean you're going to be the head of the new government and I'm going to be out in the cold."
She reached out to touch his hand. "Martin, please. You've got to understand. We can still be . . . together. The way we have been."
Kobol pulled his hand away. "No, Lisa. You've got to understand something. I want to be the head of whatever government we put together. I want to have it all for myself. Including you. Especially you."
"You will," she said soothingly. "You will. But it will take time, Martin. You must be patient."
"You'll leave him for me?"
"In time."
"You'll work to make me chief of the council?"
She hesitated. "I'm not sure that they would elect you chief, Martin. They'll elect Douglas. He's their hero. We'll have to work through him."
Kobol broke into a bitter, barking laughter.
"What you mean is, you'll run the council through him. You intend to be boss, one way or the other."
Lisa pressed back against the stone again, feeling its strength along her spine. "Is that what you think?"
Kobol's laughter choked off. "No matter who wins, you want to come out on top. You want to be queen bee."
"And what do you want, Martin?" she asked icily. "Isn't your interest in me based at least partially on jealousy of Douglas? Don't you want to be the top man, to have everything for yourself?"
Kobol's laughter choked off. His face went grim.
"Christ, Lisa, we're two of a kind. If we don't tear each other to pieces we can make one hell of a great team."
"I'll keep my claws sheathed, Martin, as long as you don't get in my way."
"And you're staying with him."
"For the time being."
"Do you think he'll have you?"
Lisa smiled. "Oh yes. Douglas has one glaring weakness. He wants to do the right thing. He wants to be good."
"Not like us."
Lisa's smile faded. She swung her legs off the bed, got to her feet. "We'll have to start making arrangements for a permanent council— a schedule of meetings, official titles, things like that."
Kobol nodded agreement.
The intercom phone by the bed buzzed. Lisa picked it up, listened briefly, then thanked the caller and hung up. Turning to Kobol, she said:
"He's come back to the airlock. He'll probably be here soon. Time for you to be on your way, Martin."
Chapter 6
Living space was at a premium in the lunar community.
The original airlock and storage chamber had been a natural cave eroded into the terraced side of Alphonsus' ringwall. The living and working quarters below had been blasted and carved out of the lunar rock by the miners, down at a depth that would assure full protection against radiation and the wild swings of temperature during the 648-hour-long lunar day/night cycle.
The staff psychologists and mining crew foremen had agreed, though, that the living quarters needed more than just dormitory rooms. So despite the cost and labor, they had carved out a few social rooms as well. Before the Sun had devastated Earth, the lunar community boasted a recreation room, complete with a billiard table and extra-sized (for lunar gravity) ping-pong table; a library stocked with real books and video viewers that could access the tapes in most of the libraries on Earth, and a small conference room with a real wood table.
The self-appointed governing council chose the conference room as their meeting place. Nine department heads arranged themselves around the walnut table. Douglas unconsciously took the chair at the head of the table. Lisa sat at his right.
Kobol slouched in a chair halfway down the table.
Their first order of business was to elect a chairman pro-tem. Douglas was unanimously chosen.
Standing at the head of the group, smiling at them boyishly, he said, "Thank you. I appreciate the confidence you've shown in me, and I respect the responsibilities of the job. Now I think we've got to work out an agenda for this committee ..."
"Council," corrected James Blair, down at the far end of the table. "This is a governing council, not a committee."
Douglas shrugged. "Council. We need to agree on an agenda for action. As I see it, the most important thing is to ensure the survival of our community. The next thing, and it's closely coupled to the first, is to re-establish our links with Earth. The two ..."
"Our links with Earth?" William Demain asked, his high-domed babyish face wrinkled into a puzzled frown. "What Earth? Earth's gone."
"Not entirely," Douglas said. "Not by a long shot."
"As head of life support systems," LaStrande interrupted, his voice as strong as an operatic baritone's despite his frail frame, "I think that the most important issue before us—the only issue that really matters—is the one you mentioned first, Doug. We've got to make ab-so-lutely certain that we can support ourselves. Food, air, water, electrical power, medicine ... all the things that we need for survival. We've got to make certain that we can provide these things for ourselves. Without any connections Earthside. We can't depend on Earth for anything! To do that is absolute nonsense."
A murmur of agreement went around the table.
"Now wait a minute," Douglas said. "I've been Earthside. The planet isn't dead."
"No, just half dead," LaStrande stage-whispered.
"There are people on Earth who need our help,"
Douglas insisted. "And there are supplies on Earth that we need: medicines, replacement parts, equipment ..."
"We can't bring more people up here!"
Catherine Demain blurted, her voice pleading.
"We just can't! We don't have the room, the medical facilities, the supplies for them. It wouldn't be fair to the people who live here."
They argued back and forth for nearly an hour as Douglas stood helplessly at the head of the table, looking confused and frustrated. Kobol said nothing. Lisa said nothing. They carefully avoided each
others' eyes as the debate dragged on.
"We have got to be able to take care of ourselves,"
LaStrande kept insisting, clipping each word for emphasis. "We cannot depend on Earth for anything!"
"But we can't just turn our backs on the people Earthside," Douglas countered. "They need our help, and we need the things they can provide for us."
"No! Never! The Earth is gone! Write it off."
"That's inhuman!"
When the digital clock set into the wall next to the room's only door showed that the argument had raged for fifty-five minutes, Kobol finally unfolded his lanky frame and got to his feet.
"You're both right," he said, looking first at LaStrande and then at Douglas Morgan. "We've got to be able to support ourselves. We can't depend on supplies from Earth anymore. But there are supplies that we lack, and Earth has. To become fully self-sufficient, we've got to send teams to Earth to get those supplies."
Douglas, who had been on his feet for the whole debate, sank into his chair. LaStrande peered through his thick glasses, eyeing Kobol owlishly.
"We should organize an expedition," Kobol went on. "More than one, if necessary. Go Earthside, take what we need, and bring it here."
"What about the people Earthside?" Douglas asked.
With a forlorn shake of his head, Kobol replied, "Catherine is right. We just can't take on more people. We haven't got the room, the facilities, or the food or medicine. Most of the Earthers you brought up, Doug, are too sick to work. Half of them are going to die of radiation poisoning. Bringing them here was a waste of time and energy."
Douglas stared at him, his face showing more hurt than anger. But he said nothing. Kobol looked around the table, abruptly sat down.
Lisa broke the lengthening silence. "We'll need a list of requirements from each department. Catherine, you'll have to go through the medical stores and tell us what you need from Earthside. Prioritize the list; put the things you need most at the top."