The Moonfall

by Jack McDevitt

  "Tad reports he's in position to take out a few more," said the major.

  They were running a security exercise. Tad Wickett, with six men, had blown up a simulated arsenal. The security forces, charged with defending the target, could now hope for nothing better than to apprehend the strike force. But it was apparent they weren't going to do that either. "It's not entirely their fault, Colonel," said Jack, reluctantly. "Tad is very good."

  Steve knew security assignments bored his people. They wanted to blow things up, not protect them. But the day was coming soon when they would have to defend installations against guerrillas. His accession to power in Virginia would be resisted. Not least of all by surviving government loyalists. But he understood he'd also have to face a lawless element that had simply been waiting for something like the Tomiko affair to seize power. And in the days to come, the only protection civilized life would have against the inevitable wilderness thugs was going to be the Jefferson Legion.

  Tad was still pinned within the six-square-mile training area. There were two roads and two bridges by which he could leave, and all had been sealed off. But the security forces had failed to bring him to ground, losing several more people in the effort. Not a particularly good demonstration. "Did I explain about methodical?" he asked Jack. "Did we talk about how important it was that operations be systematic?"

  His brother nodded. "Doesn't look like it took, Steve."

  "No, it doesn't." The colonel looked at his watch. It was twelve o'clock. "Okay. Let's call it a day. Send the troops home and we'll get the officers in. We need to talk for a bit."

  Legion headquarters was located in the east wing of the colonel's rambling frame house. There were seven officers all told, not counting himself. They were good, well trained, intelligent, loyal. A hell of a lot better than his critics knew.

  A large family room in back served as his conference area. When Jack signaled that everyone had arrived, Colonel Gallagher entered from the side. They jumped to attention. "As you were, men," he said, and took his place at the lectern. (Actually, one of the captains was a woman, but no distinction in gender was ever noted, nor did she seem to object.)

  The aroma of coffee filled the room. Someone handed the colonel a cup, and he began the proceedings by inviting Tad to explain how he'd evaded the security forces all morning. Wickett, who was only a captain, irritated his colleagues by observing it had been simple, that the security units hadn't been coordinated. He showed why, drew arrows on maps, and suggested alternate strategies. Wickett was one of the two people in the room with actual military experience. The colonel himself had never worn the uniform of his country. But no one other than his brother Jack knew that. To the rest, Steve Gallagher had served a dozen years with combat infantry and the Rangers. That he was able to carry off this imposture was a tribute to his extensive interest in, and ability for, military techniques and technology.

  There was something cold and vaguely reptilian about Tad Wickett. Jack listened to him speak, watched his eyes move smoothly around the room, saw his tongue occasionally brush his upper lip, noted the sense of ongoing calculation about the man. He never missed a chance to make his colleagues look incompetent.

  When Wickett finished, Steve invited comments, listened dutifully, and then added his own observations. Peterson's unit had been slow to react when their planning went awry; Barber had failed to anticipate several possibilities; as a result, the terrorist force had been completely successful and had escaped with only one casualty. It was, he implied, a pathetic demonstration by the security force.

  If Steve Gallagher had never served, it hadn't been for lack of desire. He'd struggled with asthma and a multitude of allergies, and they'd kept him from the colors. The asthma was gone now, long since outgrown. He'd learned a lot since those early days when he wanted nothing so much as to qualify for the Rangers. Mostly he'd learned that the United States was governed by a small cabal of families who pretended to squabble but who kept power in their own hands and milked the nation's working people dry. Today he would never have considered defending the dictators.

  He'd found a better way to serve the American Ideal. He'd founded the Thomas Jefferson Legion, a group of God-fearing, country-loving men and women dedicated to preserving liberty at home against the assorted shadowy manifestations of an oppressive government that was itself an arm of a world body whose only interest was to maintain its grip on power.

  The colonel owned the Potluck Restaurant in downtown Staunton. The Potluck, founded by his grandfather, had been in the family thirty-eight years, and had thrown off a sister establishment in nearby Harrisonburg.

  But the Potluck was not as profitable as it should have been. Unlike most Americans, whose tax money vanishes without their ever seeing it, the colonel was burdened with actually paying out substantial sums each month to an increasingly onerous and corrupt government. But that wasn't the worst of it. Regulators were everywhere. Inspectors from all levels of government, following the example set by the feds, harassed him continually with safety and health inspections, demanded licenses, controlled how much he paid his help, dictated whom he should hire and what medical plan he should provide. All the money went to support the vicious practices of a decadent nation, a nation that forbade God to enter the schoolroom, that allowed women to murder their children, that had so distorted the reproductive process that men were no longer necessary.

  He had become over the years a fiery enemy of the invisible hand that weighed so heavily on his fortunes and on those of his countrymen. Right-thinking men and women across the state of Virginia had flocked to him, and the Jefferson Legion now had units in a dozen counties.

  It wasn't only the godlessness and the corruption that enraged Steve Gallagher, much less the money or even the inspections. Rather, it was the condescension of the official agents, their obvious belief that he was not a man of honor, that he could not be trusted, that it was necessary to keep him on a leash.

  … In order to… secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity…

  It hadn't happened.

  Tom Jefferson had lost to the federalists, and his ideals had been sacrificed to Hamilton's notion of an oppressive central government. The colonials had exchanged one set of chains for another. But because the second set was emblazoned with an eagle, they hadn't noticed.

  "Gentlemen," said the colonel, winding down his remarks and wanting to send them home with something to think about, "I'd like to talk with you for a moment about something other than the exercise." He drew himself to his full height. "As you're aware, last night was a disaster for the dictators. The people of this nation have finally seen their government for what it is, and the potential for revolt is everywhere. All that's needed now is a spark.

  "Be aware that I've been in touch with our brothers-inarms around the state and in other parts of the country. We're almost ready to move. When the moment comes, and I can tell you that it's very close, we'll be ready to seize the power brokers and give the nation back to the real Americans."

  They applauded, assured him they were with him, and went home. Afterward he sat alone in his kitchen and listened to the lazy hum of insects.

  The horse is prepared against the day of battle. But when, O Lord? When?

  7.

  NEWSNET. 12:30 P.M. UPDATE

  (Click for details.)

  POPULATIONS IN FLIGHT AROUND WORLD

  Did Experts Underestimate Comet Fallout?

  Refugees Overwhelm Resources Everywhere

  AMERICAS HIT HARD

  Western Hemisphere In Direct Line Of Explosion

  Fatalities Expected To Reach Three Million

  Scientists Say Worst May Be Over

  But Some Still Fret About "Possum"

  X-RAY SURVEY: MOON HAS BROKEN UP

  Astronomers: Most Large Fragments Pose No Danger

  Will Earth Eventually Get Rings?

  TOMIKO HARRINGTON REPORTED IN HIDING

  Drive-By Shootings, Death
Threats For Comet's Discoverer

  HASKELL SWORN IN AS 47TH PRESIDENT

  New Chief Executive Adrift In Space

  But Not In Danger, Says Administration

  CHILE SAVES MANY BY MOVING THEM TO MOUNTAINS

  Anderos: "Never Believed Happy Talk From U.S."

  POPE LEADS THOUSANDS IN PRAYER AT ST. PETER'S

  Calls For Unified Relief Effort

  GUNMAN KILLS ELEVEN IN MACAO SCHOOLYARD, THEN SHOOTS SELF

  Left Note: Wanted To Save Children From "End Of World"

  "Everybody Liked Him," Say Neighbors

  REPORTS OF DAMAGE BY MOON "PEBBLES"

  Golfball-Sized Objects Still Pack Wallop

  Several Killed, Cars And Houses Wrecked

  GIANT WAVES DECIMATE CARIBBEAN

  Few Survivors At Nassau, St. Lucia

  PRESIDENT DOES SPACEWALK TO RESCUE MOONBUS

  Haskell Wears Home-Made Suit Outside

  IRS WILL EXTEND TAX DEADLINE ONE WEEK

  Transportation, Communication Difficulties Cited Micro Passenger Cabin. 12:38 P.M.

  Saber's voice, speaking through the intercom, was cool and detached: "We've used the last of our fuel," she said. "Tank's empty."

  Morley looked across at the chaplain. "What happens if we have to get out of the way of one of those rocks?"

  "Splat, I guess," said Pinnacle.

  Morley got up and looked down at Charlie. "I'm going to file a report," he said. He and the president had reached agreement on what might be broadcast and what demanded discretion. All of the president's calls, for example, were off-limits.

  "Okay," said Charlie. "Go ahead. But add that there's no immediate danger."

  "Mr. President, that takes the bite out of the story."

  "Not at all, Keith. I wouldn't want to be the one to tell you how to do your job, but understatement will jack up the drama."

  Keith grinned. "You're a good politician. But I don't think you'd make it in my profession."

  C-SPAN SUNDAY JOURNAL 1:07 P.M.

  Host: Cleveland Somers; Guest: Senator Audrey Belmont (R-NJ). Somers: Go ahead, Caller. First Caller: I live in Kokomo. North of Indianapolis. And I have a question for Senator Belmont. Somers: Okay. First Caller They were saying on the television this morning that the damage in your state, Senator, is going to be up in the billions. Belmont: That appears to be true, Caller. First Caller: And that's only New Jersey. The whole East Coast is wrecked. For that matter, most of both coasts is wrecked. Did you see California? It's just a bunch of islands. Somers: I saw California. My understanding is that the water will go away on its own. First Caller Well, the damage sure as hell isn't going to go away on its own. We're talking about rebuilding. My question is, where's the money going to come from? Because I can just see what's going to happen. The president's going to declare both coasts emergency areas and the government's going to pay for it. Which is to say, the taxpayers will pick up the tab. Like always. Somers: Okay, Caller. We've got the question. Thanks. Senator? Belmont: I think the caller means the stricken areas will be declared disaster areas. But yes, of course, federal funds will be used to help stave off the worst effects of what happened last night. I'm sure the caller doesn't think we should just leave several million people on the road with no place to turn for help. Somers: We have another caller. Go ahead, please. Second Caller: Hello? Somers: Yes? You're on. Second Caller: Am I on? Somers: Yes, you are. Second Caller: I was listening to the last caller. And he's absolutely right. I live in Grand Island. In Nebraska. Why should my taxes go up to rebuild New York and Miami? I think we should secede, that's what I think. It's the only way to save the country. Somers: Senator? Belmont: I don't want to offend anyone, Cleveland, but if there's an attitude that guarantees this nation will go down the drain, I think we've just heard it. Micro Passenger Cabin. 1:32 P.M.

  The passengers heard the PA system click on, and heard their pilot's voice. "This is Saber. We are now at our closest approach to Earth, traveling at 11.7 kilometers per second. The Lowell is ahead of us, gradually accelerating to our velocity. We will rendezvous with them at about four." 109th Airlift Group, Scotia, New York. 1:31 P.M.

  The big army chopper that had brought them from Manhattan skirted the airfield and descended on a bare field behind a hangar. It blew up a cloud of dust and the pilot cut the engine. The blades slowed and drooped. Marilyn, who'd never been in a helicopter before and didn't like planes all that much anyhow, was grateful they were on the ground.

  Almost all of the people on the aircraft were from Louise's party. They looked sodden and tired and lost. Larry sat beside her and squeezed her hand while they waited for the hatch to open. "When do you think we'll get home again?" she asked him.

  He shrugged. "Probably only a few days. The water should go down pretty quick. And our stuff'll be okay, as long as they keep the looters out. That's what worries me."

  Louise was sitting directly across from them. She'd changed into a woolen shirt and jeans, and had contributed clothes to several of the women. "I doubt there are many live looters left," she said. "But I don't think we'll be going back for a while. Place like Manhattan…" She shook her head. "I don't want to be downbeat or anything, but there're going to be major health problems. We'll be lucky if we're home by the fourth of July."

  "Goddam, Louise," said a balding little economist near the door, "you sure know how to give a party."

  That brought some hollow laughs. Marilyn didn't join in.

  She'd changed. She wondered what the little boy's name was. What his mother had thought when Marilyn closed the door.

  Something else had happened: She felt closer to Larry than she had at any time during, or before, their marriage. He'd been taking her for granted for a long time, but that had stopped last night. Maybe it wouldn't last, but she felt as if she had her husband-her old boyfriend-back again.

  The hatch opened to reveal two female soldiers in neatly pressed khakis. Marilyn looked past them and saw crowds of dazed people being shepherded between vehicles and buildings. Some were sitting on the ground.

  One of the women wore a sergeant's stripes and carried a clipboard. The other was barely eighteen.

  "Welcome to Scotia," said the sergeant. "The pilot tells us that nobody here has any injuries. Is that correct? Anybody hurt? No? Good.

  "We'll start unloading over here on my left. Please be careful; it's a long step down. And I'd appreciate it if you'd give your card to Private Turner here." The pilot had distributed yellow data cards on which they'd printed their names and other personal information. "Please note the long gray building behind me. We'll go over there. You'll be able to get a sandwich and some soft drinks or coffee. 1 wish we could provide a hot meal but we just don't have the capability. Not for so many people.

  "You've got about an hour before your next flight leaves. We'll make an announcement. This is the seven-fourteen group. Can you remember that?"

  "Excuse me," one of the passengers broke in. "You're putting us on another plane?"

  Several people now began to talk at once. The sergeant held up a hand and waited. When they'd quieted, she continued: "I'm sorry, folks. Truth is, we're a little crowded here right now. We're asking for your cooperation. And your patience. We'll move you out and get you to a permanent relocation facility as quickly as we can."

  "Where's that?" asked one of the women. "Where are we going?"

  She consulted her clipboard. "Bismarck."

  "Bismarck?" whispered Larry. "Where's Bismarck?"

  "North Dakota," said Marilyn. She got up and started for the exit. "That might not be so bad. It's a long way from the ocean."

  8.

  SSTO Arlington Passenger Cabin. 2:28 P.M.

  In its headlong flight, the Micro had caught up with and passed Arlington. Andrea had not been aware of it when it happened. But she was delighted, a few hours later, to see the gleaming, counter-rotating wheels of Skyport. Like virtually everyone else on the spacecraft, she felt lucky to be alive. Nevertheless, the overall
mood was somber. The death of friends and colleagues on the lost flight, and fears for family and friends at home, weighed heavily on the passengers. They were also tired, sweaty, weary of plastic food, still frightened. It was, after all, no small thing to look out the window and see a rock the size of a small garage whistle past.

  Debris now might come from any angle. The pilot explained that much of the material that had been blasted off the surface of the Moon had gone into orbit. It would, he added, probably constitute a navigational hazard for a long time to come. The unspoken implication, in Andrea's mind, was that transatmospheric flights might be discontinued.

  Among those who'd been on the missing spacecraft were several close friends, a former lover, her favorite bridge partner, most of her work crew, and God knew who else. She'd find out when they were off the plane and she could get a look at the passenger manifest. Right now nobody was saying anything official.

  They slipped nose-first into their cradle. The bulkheads moved past and steam leaked out of gargantuan fittings.

  People behind long observation panels bent over consoles and talked into microphones. The bulkheads slowed, and there was a mild bump.

  "This is Captain Culver." The pilot sounded as if he'd just concluded a routine flight. "Please remain in your seats until the light has gone off." He paused. "We were glad to be able to assist you, and I want to thank you for your cooperation during a difficult flight." The cabin lights blinked. "There'll be representatives of the Lunar Transport Authority waiting in the deplaning section to answer any questions you might have."