It was set on a shelf overlooking the kitchen table. He aimed the remote and clicked it and the Time logo filled the screen, then faded to an image of the comet. The comet was overlaid by the vice president's picture. It carried the legend:
WILL WE LOSE HIM?
Luke liked Charlie Haskell. Like most Americans, he instinctively distrusted politicians, but he thought Haskell might be an exception. Luke's friends laughed when he said that. No such thing as an honest politician, they maintained.
But he'd decided that, if Haskell got the nomination, he'd vote for him. Luke didn't have the energy to try to sort out the issues. Both sides seemed reasonable when they presented their arguments for reducing the debt or handling the influx of immigrants or dealing with nanotech. Hell,
Luke didn't really understand what nanotech was. So his philosophy was to do the next best thing: find a candidate who seemed honest and put him in charge and hope for the best. His son Christopher liked to say that the country wasn't governable anyhow. Problems were too big, too intractable. The nation was too deep in debt. The borders were a joke. Every now and then some terrorist group took out a thousand people with nerve gas. Meantime, everybody who was out of power leveled all kinds of personal attacks against the people who were in power. Maybe Chris was right. Maybe even Andy Culpepper couldn't have dealt with things anymore.
Maybe the comet was a sign. Skyport Terminal. 9:12 P.M.
Tory Clark's flight left without her. It carried two hundred twenty-two passengers and a crew of fifteen. Prior to departure her phone bleeped for several minutes. She ignored it. SSTO Arlington Flight Deck. 9:25 P.M.
Their window was coming up. George watched anxiously while the last of the moonbuses arced in to dock.
They were down to four minutes before he had to lift out of orbit. Or forget about getting clear.
He listened to the rattle of conversation between Mary and the bus pilot, which seemed to go on interminably. Finally he broke in with a sharp warning and she acknowledged. He debated whether the clamps would hold if he tried to accelerate out while the bus was still attached. It wasn't something he wanted to try.
Listening over Mary's cell phone, he heard the inner hatch open, heard voices, gotta move, hurry up now, let's go let's go.
The comet was as big as the Earth, visibly inching forward. "Let me know as soon as they're aboard, Mary."
There were nineteen people on this one, including the two bus pilots. Full load.
He could hear Mary's voice counting heads as they came through. Fourteen, fifteen…
"We're down to two minutes, babe. Hurry it along." He switched to the public address system and warned the passengers to buckle in. "Departure is imminent," he said.
"Arlington." One of the moonbus pilots this time.
"Go ahead."
"Not set up yet for auto."
The plan was to let the autopilot ease the moonbus clear of the SSTO, which didn't have much flexibility for maneuver. "Forget it and get over here," said George. "Or we're leaving without you." He leaned back and looked at Curt. The port wing might clip the bus on the way out.
"I'll have a solution in a minute," Curt said. He worked over his console.
The comet was sinking. Not good.
"Nineteen," said Mary. "All accounted for."
"Get everybody buckled in. And stand by to jettison the bus."
She repeated the order and waited.
Curt's numbers flowed across George's display. "Ready to go," the flight engineer said.
"Cut it loose," said George. His control board winked.
"Bus away."
George applied Curt's solution and the SSTO wheeled to starboard and began to climb.
"Bus clear," said Curt. "Return to base course. Go for the window."
George went to full thrust and the space plane rose swiftly out of orbit.
• • • Micro. 9:26 P.M.
Tony and Saber, descending toward Alphonsus, overheard most of the conversation between Arlington and the bus. Saber thought she saw a brief flicker of light against the velvet sky, a flicker that might have been Arlington starting for home.
They were now alone with the monster.
6.
Moonbase, Director's Dining Room. 9:27 P.M.
It was winding down. Jack Chandler felt a wave of regret when Bigfoot, after glancing several times at his watch, excused himself, explaining that he really shouldn't be here, that he should be at his station in case something went wrong.
What could go wrong? Chandler asked, but did not listen to the answer.
"We should probably all go," said Evelyn a moment later. "This isn't a good time to be late."
The others nodded, glanced at their watches, drained their glasses.
"Good luck," said Haskell, so low that the words were barely discernible.
Morley looked at the vice president and pointed to his throat mike. Haskell glanced at Evelyn, who shrugged. The vice president nodded and Morley withdrew to the far end of the room, took his microcam from his pocket and set it on the table. He aimed it at himself and began to speak into the mike. Chandler couldn't make out what he was saying.
The chaplain looked over at him and smiled encouragement. We're going to be okay, Jack.
"I know," said Chandler aloud.
He hadn't yet made up his mind what he was going to do. Or maybe he had, in some inner recess where no light lived.
And maybe that was why his heart pounded so fiercely, he thought the others must hear it.
"You okay, Jack?" asked Haskell. He was frowning.
"I'm fine. It's an emotional moment," he admitted.
They filed from the dining room into the adjoining passage, took the elevator, descended to ground level, and emerged through the front doors. It was, of course, night in Main Plaza. Post lamps provided pools of light, illuminating benches and shop fronts and walkways. It was a scene of almost painful tranquillity.
Chandler paused near an azalea bush. "Something I forgot," he told Evelyn. "Family pictures. I'll meet you at the Spaceport."
"Okay," she said. "But hurry it along, Jack."
He nodded.
"Want company?"
"No, no. You go with the others. I'll be right over." He felt his face growing warm.
She looked at him for a long moment. The others were walking toward the tram station. Their leisurely demeanor had been replaced by something more precipitate. "Make it quick, Jack. Okay?"
He nodded, turned away, and descended the ramp to level three, where he walked back to his quarters in McNair Country, an area reserved for Moonbase managers.
His footsteps echoed through the empty corridors. He seemed preternaturally aware of the texture of the walls and the geometry of the passageways. There was a sense the place was alive, as if everything that had ever happened here had somehow been captured and stored.
He found his room, inserted his keycard, and opened up. When he'd left it to go to the dinner, he hadn't known whether he would return or not. Even now he wasn't sure about his intentions. But he was sure he did not want to go back groundside, back to the crushing weight in his chest, back to the constant fear he took to bed every night that he would not wake up in the morning.
He could probably arrange to live at Skyport, but there was no job for him there. He'd be a hanger-on, a pathetic former paper shuffler, sucking up space and resources. And zero gravity would only mean further decay anyway. No. What he needed was a clean end. Cut it off and be done with it. Moonbase Tram Station. 9:32 P.M.
The tram was waiting.
They climbed on board, Evelyn and Charlie, the chaplain and Morley. Morley asked if he could interview the vice president when they arrived at the Spaceport. Just get his reactions, very casual, very quick. Charlie knew that Rick would never agree to such an arrangement without preparation, fearing Charlie would say the wrong thing, admit to fear, express indecision, say something that would be used against him later. So he readily acceded. Then he sat back t
o take his last look at the interior of Moonbase. Beside him, Pinnacle looked distracted.
"You okay, Chaplain?" Charlie asked.
"Yes." His eyes seemed far away. "You're very fortunate, Mr. Vice President. However things go, you've accomplished a lot with your life."
Charlie thought about that as the vehicle drew away from the station. It navigated Main Plaza, penetrated copses and gardens, passed along rows of darkened shops that looked as if they'd been empty a long time. The smell of freshly cut green grass was in the air.
"I'm not so sure," Charlie said. "I'll admit I've done better than I would have ever thought possible. But it's all position. I don't know that I've ever actually accomplished anything." There were probably a lot of people out there who remembered the chaplain fondly for one reason or another. But whose life was better because Charlie Haskell had lived? "What would you change about your life?" he asked suddenly. "What would you do differently?"
The chaplain thought about it. "Veronica," he said.
"Veronica?" Charlie had expected an answer couched in piety, a failure perhaps to be sufficiently charitable. Not something as mundane as a woman's name. "An old girlfriend?"
"No. To my everlasting shame." Pinnacle smiled shyly. "I conceived something of a passion for Veronica years ago. When I was nineteen. I seem to harbor it still."
"What happened?"
"Not much. We dated a few times. Over a period of three months. She lost interest."
"Oh." Charlie looked past the chaplain's shoulder at a cluster of elms. "It must have been a pretty strong passion to survive for so many years. What happened to her?"
He shrugged. "I took her at her word and never went back."
"Not ever?"
Pinnacle chuckled and shook his head. "Pride's a deadly thing, isn't it? The most destructive of the vices, I think."
They rolled through manicured parks and clicked into stations where no one waited. Eventually the greenery dropped away. They passed out of Main Plaza, crossed a bridge over an excavation that would have become the operating area for the Mining and Industrial Department. Then they slipped into a tunnel. The tram grew dark and lights came on. They were climbing now.
"What about you?" the chaplain asked. "What would you change?"
Charlie considered the question. "I'd like to have had a couple of kids."
"Are you married?"
"No," said Charlie. "I never got around to it."
"Things undone," said the chaplain.
"I'm sorry?"
"Regrets always involve things undone. Never stuff we did that we shouldn't have. Always opportunities missed."
"Yeah," said Charlie. "I think that's probably true."
"Mr. Vice President, if we get clear of this, I think I'll be a different man."
"We better hide the women," smiled Charlie.
But the chaplain said nothing more.
The mood had grown sober. After a while the tram began to slow down. Its automated voice warned them to exercise caution, that a curve was coming. Minutes later they emerged into the terminal. Before the vehicle stopped, Morley got up and twisted round to face everyone. "What I'd like to do when we arrive," he said, "is to get off and set up. And I'd like to send you guys and the tram back into the tunnel. Just for a minute. Then I'll bring you out again so I can get pictures of the arrival."
Charlie started to protest but Evelyn squeezed his arm. "Go along with it," she said. "He deserves some pictures."
"If we get caught," said Charlie, "people will accuse me of staging shots."
"Nobody'll ever know," said Morley as they arrived in the station.
"Do we know how to back up the tram?" asked the chaplain.
Morley had done his homework. He went to a control box, opened it, and smiled at them.
TRANSGLOBAL SPECIAL REPORT. 9:51 P.M.
"This is Keith Morley at the Moonbase Spaceport. About three-quarters of an hour remains before Comet Tomiko arrives. We've received word that the vice president and his party are headed over here to board the microbus that will try to carry them to safety.
"They left Main Plaza just a few minutes ago and should be here any-wait, I think I hear them coming now…" Moonbase, McNair Country. 9:53 P.M.
Jack closed the door behind him and sank onto his sofa. It was getting late, and if he didn't leave soon the decision would become moot. He looked up and saw the photo of Jeanie and the three kids taken years ago on Cape Cod. They'd all been young then, Jeanie apparently in the bloom of health. But even then the disease had sunk its roots into her. She'd fought it until the last of the kids were gone, and then she'd collapsed. Six weeks later he'd lost her.
There were other photos: here, he was accepting a Special Performance Award from Evelyn; there, his features were superimposed over a graphic of the Moon. Over the desk was a citation from the Boston Chamber of Commerce; and by the door, a scroll from the U.S. Contract Bridge League:
OPEN CHAMPIONSHIP, PAIRS
WILMINGTON, DELAWARE, JUNE 2-4, 2017
FRED HAWLEY, JACK CHANDLER
He'd been reared a strict Baptist. It was a way of life he'd been happy to escape, but he envied now the quiet faith of his boyhood, the conviction that he would see again everyone he cared about.
Jeanie. Luminous eyes. Mischievous smile. He missed that most of all.
It occurred to him that he had known all along what his decision would be. He had, after all, left the photo on the shelf.
He went into the bathroom, opened the cabinet, and took down a container of tranquilizers. He shook a half dozen out into a trembling palm and looked at them a long time before he filled a glass and drank them down.
He'd sent messages of farewell to his children. They'd been phrased against the backdrop of events, couched in ambiguous terms suggesting he might be unable to escape.
Evelyn would, he knew, conceal the truth.
He laid his head back against the cushions, closed his eyes, and waited for the tranquilizers to take hold. Moonbase Spaceport. 9:57 P.M.
Morley was talking into a microcam when they reentered the station. "… here they are now," he was saying. Following his directions, Evelyn climbed first out of the tram. And then Charlie. "Mr. Vice President," he said, maneuvering Charlie into the eye of the microcam, which he'd attached to a wall, "I wonder if I can get you to say a few words. What's your feeling at this moment?"
Dumb. But Charlie gave it his best: "They tell me that Tony Casaway and Alisa Rolnikaya"-he pronounced her name deliberately, taking great care to get it right-"are two of the best pilots we have. I'm confident this'll have a happy ending."
Bigfoot appeared. "The Micro's running on time," he said in the overdramatic, wooden manner of a poor amateur actor. Charlie decided he'd been cued. "We'll be leaving from Bay Four."
He waited a minute or so for a brief exchange between Morley and the vice president. Yes, admitted Charlie, this was an unnerving situation and he'd feel better when he was on his way. Then he turned the interview around, asking Morley for his thoughts. The reporter was amenable and laughed, and they recorded a conversation that Charlie knew was going well.
"This won't be the end of manned space flight," Charlie told the television audience, by way of rounding off the interview. "One way or another, we'll be back."
He didn't really think so, though it seemed like the right thing to say. But if "back" meant out in space again, it wasn't going to happen. The economics wouldn't support it. Maybe manned space flight would happen again one day, but it would be far down the line somewhere, so far down that he suspected the human race might have time to forget it had ever traveled to its Moon. He'd always been a supporter of Moonbase International and the Lunar Transport Authority and NASA, but he knew which way the wind would blow after this. The next campaign would be about fiscal sanity. Next time, they'd let another generation impoverish itself.
Briefly, they'd touched the sky. And it had been to no purpose.
A vast emptiness opened inside hi
m. The White House seemed far away, as remote and unattainable as Mars. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he was not sure for whom they came-himself, or something far greater.
Bigfoot was gritting his teeth and looking at his watch. Charlie signaled that was enough. Morley thanked him on camera, signed off, shut down, and thanked him again.
Bigfoot led them into the passenger waiting area. "I'll be talking to you over the PA," Bigfoot said. "When I ask you to, go down that tunnel over there." He pointed. "The door'll be closed at the far end. It'll open when the Micro's down. There'll be a tube. Go through the tube and into the passenger cabin. As quick as you can. Okay? I don't need to emphasize that there'll be no time to waste."
"What about you?" asked Evelyn.
"Don't worry about me. I'll be going in through a different door." He started out of the room, but turned back. "Good luck," he said.
He left them and Evelyn looked at her watch. "Getting late. What do you think's keeping Jack?" Moonbase, McNair Country. 10:01 P.M.
The medication obviously wasn't working. He opened the bottom drawer in a side table and extracted a bottle of Scotch. He filled a tumbler, straight, and drank it down. Its warmth spread through him and the tension began to dissipate.
His cell phone chimed. "Jack?" Evelyn's voice. "For God's sake, where are you? It's late."
"I've decided not to go, Evelyn."
"Jack, you can't do this."
"I don't want to go back."
"I think we should talk about this later. Where are you now?"
"My apartment."
"My God, Jack-"
"That's right. I couldn't get over there in time if I wanted to."
"Jack-" He heard her struggle to control her voice. It felt good to know she really cared about him. Other than professionally.
The Moonfall Page 24