Trent was intensely aware of how alone they were, of the man dying next to him.
"How much longer till we're home?"
"Twenty minutes, Nathan."
"Oh." After a moment Nathan said simply, "I can't wait that long."
Trent left Nathan's body inside the bolt hole, and walked through the bolt hole, wiping every surface he could conceivably have touched during his stay.
And then brought the bolt hole down with two kilos of blasting plastic.
It was not a dramatic thing; watching the time-delayed explosion from the safety of the crawler, all Trent saw was a gentle sag as the edge of the crater buckled, sank, and settled in.
He had thought about leaving a stone, cutting an inscription with his laser, but he could find no true need for such a thing within himself.
And Nathan, whoever he had once been, was dead.
* * *
18.
It was night, and the Earth was full. The blue Earthlight flooded down across the Lunar plains, turned the world eerie.
He sat in the blue dimness, in Nathan Dark Clouds' unmoving chameleon, overlooking Cassini crater. Wearing his pressure suit except for the helmet; that was on the seat at his side.
Watching cartoons.
They were flat cartoons from a time before the Unification, made sometime around the second World War. They were part of the library Trent kept in his handheld for just such circumstances.
The flat plane of the cartoon was located midway through the depth of the holofield. With a perfect lack of expression Trent watched some of the greatest art to come out of the preceding century--Duck Dodgers in the 24th-1/2th Century, followed by two Roadrunner cartoons, followed by Bugs and Daffy and Elmer Fudd.
Thinking.
He remembered the moments in the Detention Center, the feeling of complete correctness that had come over him in the instant before he had brought down the PKF Boards.
"So shoot me!" screams Daffy at Elmer Fudd.
Elmer does.
The paths split away before Trent with a clarity unlike anything he had ever known before. One path, the one he had been planning for--hoping for--took him back to Earth within a year or two, to a small house on an island somewhere in the South Seas.
Daffy is staring at Bugs Bunny, still smoking slightly from Elmer Fudd's shotgun blast. Elmer stands patiently, watching the two argue. Daffy says, "Let's run through that again."
Bugs shrugs. "Okay." Addressing Elmer in a bored voice: "Would you like to shoot me now or wait until you get home?"
Daffy, in the same bored voice: "Shoot him now, shoot him now."
Bugs Bunny: "You keep out of this, he doesn't have to shoot you now."
Daffy Duck: "Ha!"
And then there was the other path, the one that led to direct conflict with the PKF--and to death, or capture, or legend.
"That's it! Hold it right there." Daffy looks craftily toward the audience, toward Trent. "Pronoun trouble." He looks back at Bugs. "It's not, 'He doesn't have to shoot you now,' it's, 'He doesn't have to shoot me now.' Well, I say he does have to shoot me now!"
Elmer does.
Trent found his lips turning slightly upward. "Turn it off, Johnny."
The image vanished. "Okay, Boss. What now?"
Trent turned the engine back on, sat up as the crawler jerked forward, down the long slope of the crater wall. "They keep pushing, Johnny."
"I know, Boss."
"Every time I'm ready to let it go they push again." Trent stared forward. "I'm standing here with my back to the wall and they ... keep ... pushing."
Johnny Johnny said nothing in reply.
"Except for Denice, and maybe David, they killed everyone I grew up with."
His Image's voice said, very softly indeed, "I know, Boss."
"And now Nathan. I'm tempted to get angry."
"About time!"
"But I'm not going to." Trent said again, very softly, "I am not going to."
There was an audible sigh from the handheld. "Boss, I'm never going to understand you."
"Do you know what their greatest weakness is?"
"The PKF?" Johnny Johnny thought about it in silence for several minutes as the crawler rolled forward. Finally he said, "They're not as smart as we are?"
"No, Johnny. Most of them aren't, but some of them are. Vance may be smarter."
"Then I don't know, Boss."
"They have no sense of humor, Johnny Johnny."
"No sense of humor."
"None."
Johnny Johnny's voice held plain exasperation. "But what are you going to do, Boss?"
Trent was silent for a very long time. Finally he whispered, "Humiliate them."
Johnny Johnny said, "Oh?"
"Hurt them."
Johnny Johnny said, "Oh."
Alone with his Image in the darkness of the crawler, Trent did smile then, a terrible smile without amusement.
His eyes were focused on something very far away.
"I am," he said, "going to bring them down."
* * *
19.
He brought the semiballistic down at the edge of Bessel Crater, in Free Luna.
Briefcase in hand, Trent walked out across the pale Lunar soil to where the city's airlocks awaited him.
A woman of about thirty stood immediately inside the inner airlock door, in a small corridor that led to a pair of maglevs, for the descent beneath the surface. She wore scarlet paramilitary fatigues, with a Series IV Excalibur energy rifle slung over her back and a hand maser slung in a quick-draw holster just over her hipbone.
Trent unclasped the helmet to his p-suit.
The woman said flatly, "Welcome to Free Luna."
"Thank you."
"In the past," she said, "we've shot down unannounced visitors before they could land."
Trent said, "I'm here to see the Mayor."
The woman shook her head. This time she smiled. "No, you're not."
"I'm not?"
"No."
"What am I doing here, then?"
"Leaving." Trent had not noticed her hand moving; it was now resting on the butt of the maser. "You weren't invited, you didn't advise us you were coming, and you're not wanted."
"I'm sorry about that," said Trent, "but I was in a hurry. I needed to go dancing, and you can't do that in the Unification InfoNet. I'm told things are a bit looser in the Free Luna InfoNet?"
The woman shrugged. "Could be. I'm not a webdancer, just a soldier. You're not welcome, kid."
Trent sighed, looking at the floor, trying to think while standing there with his helmet in his hand. The floor had not been swept or mopped recently; Lunar dust had been tracked over it. Trent looked back up at the woman. "What's your name?"
"Domino. I'm the Vice-Mayor of Bessel City Free Luna."
Trent blinked. "No kidding?"
"No kidding."
"Domino's a neat name."
"Thank you."
"I feel like we haven't been introduced," said Trent.
"We haven't been," Domino said agreeably. "We don't know you. Nobody's introduced us, and Bessel Free Luna doesn't take in waifs."
"My name is Trent."
"That's nice. Pleased to--" Domino stopped speaking. "Really?"
Trent nodded. "I promise."
He could see that the woman believed him instantly. "Why are you here?"
"Well, I'm close to being broke," said Trent. "I have things I need to do, expensive things, and frankly I'd like to do it with your Credit."
"What's that to us?"
"Vice-Mayor Domino?"
"Yes?"
"I'm really here to see the Mayor."
Domino raised her voice. "Quentin!"
A male voice came from somewhere above their heads in the small corridor. "Bring him in."
Domino's hand left the butt of the hand maser. She took a step forward and held her hand out to Trent. "Welcome to Free Luna, Trent."
Trent took her hand in his gloved right h
and. "You said that once already."
"Last time I didn't mean it."
The mayor's office was located in one of the very few above-ground buildings.
Mayor Quentin Noas was sitting behind his desk, reading, when Trent was ushered in. He was reading a real book, made of plastipaper; a Western, from the cover. His feet were up on the desk; a cigar was in the hand that wasn't holding the book.
The window behind the mayor's desk had a wide, panoramic view of the Lunar surface.
The mayor of Bessel City was incredibly ancient. His face looked like a puzzle that had been assembled with a sledgehammer. It took him several moments before he even realized that Trent had been let in. He blinked slowly, like a lizard, and put down his Western. He took a puff of his cigar before saying anything. "So you're--"
Trent said, "Shh," putting a finger to his lips. Stepping up to the mayor's desk, Trent put down the briefcase, opened it, and withdrew a circuit tracer. Circling the room slowly, he found three active power sources in the walls; the energy level was characteristic of listening devices. Returning to his briefcase, Trent withdrew his handheld, tuned into a news Board, and turned the volume high. He made the circuit again, and found another listening device--a passive bug that did not operate unless activated by the sound of people talking. "Nobody ever listens," Trent muttered, "except when they're not supposed to." Whistling, Trent rummaged in his briefcase and came up with a handful of tiny speakers. He rummaged in the briefcase again until he found the glue and used it to affix the speakers to the walls over the listening devices. Trent turned the speakers on.
Domino stood in the doorway, watching Trent curiously.
Crossing behind the mayor's desk, Trent checked the drapes--thick, heavy cloth. He pulled the drapes closed over the window. He came back around to the front of the Mayor's desk and turned off his handheld.
The walls of Mayor Noas' office were hung with paintings. Some were good, in Trent's semieducated opinion; some were not. He was certain that all of them were expensive. Trent wandered around without speaking, looking at the paintings.
Mayor Noas leaned forward and jabbed his cigar at Trent. "Are you the Trent I think you are?"
"I don't know," said Trent. "My name is Trent, Trent the thief. I need Credit for a job I have in mind and I thought it would be nice if you gave it to me." Trent had stopped before an old acrylic painting. The painting showed a beautiful kitten sitting in the middle of a black and white tile floor, with a blond Caucasian doll clutched in its mouth. There were puncture wounds in the body of the doll, and blood oozed from the injury, dripping to the pristine floor beneath. It was signed H. Devlin. "This is good. A little sick, but--"
"Everyone thought you were dead."
"They were wrong."
"My God, son, d'you have any idea how hot you are?"
"Yes."
The mayor of Bessel City nodded. "What could you possibly do for me that would entice me to stick my head out where the Peaceforcers are gonna blast it off?"
Trent stepped to the side so that he could look at the painting in a different light. "Want to sell this?"
"Nah. You couldn't afford it; it was painted by the Prophet Harry hisself." Mayor Noas stared at the back of Trent's head. "Tell me why you closed the drapes."
"When you speak, the sound waves vibrate the window panes. Not much--less so than on Earth, where there's no pressure differential to keep the windows rigid the way they are here--but enough. If somebody outside bounces a very low intensity laser off the window, decodes the modulation in the returning beam, poof. Your security is useless. On Earth I'd have attached a buzzer to the window; up here a thick curtain is just as good."
Mayor Noas chewed on his inner lip. "Damn, I was afraid you'd have a good reason for doing that. What d'you want?"
"Access to a full sensory terminal and the Free Luna InfoNet. It shouldn't take me more than twenty minutes. I need it soon."
Mayor Noas examined the end of his cigar. "That's tough, Trent."
Trent turned suddenly. "That's not my fault, is it?"
Mayor Noas blinked. "What?"
"I want to use your full sensory," Trent repeated. After a moment, as though making a concession, he added, "If you let me use the full sensory I'll contract a boost for you. A very reasonable boost, only a half million CU, 250,000 up front as expense Credit."
Mayor Noas had a sharp, barking laugh. "D'you know who you're talking to, son? Before I joined Bessel I was one of the top Syndic Lords in Luna."
"I know. That's why I'm here. An ex-Syndic Lord with ties to the Erisian Claw, ties to the SpaceFarers' Collective, ties to the City-States...." Trent said mildly, "You keep a low profile, Mayor Noas. I spent five thousand CU having a Player I know on Earth do a search of Syndic Lords doing time off Earth. Once we had that list we had to cull to find out who got exiled for incompetence and who got exiled for politics. Then we culled again for known members of the Temple of Eris." Trent said evenly, "Your name popped up, retired two and a half years, hired by Bessel Astrogation Products to manage the city of Bessel Free Luna. You're the first person on the list, Quentin. You're not the last."
"I know," said Mayor Noas, "just about every damn thing worth boosting on this planet. First of all, there's nothing worth paying five hunnert thousand Credits for. Second, if there was, and there ain't, you are just about the last man on this planet I'd contract it to. I don't need the PKF renegotiating our treaty."
"I'll steal the LINK for you."
"Besides," Mayor Noas was continuing, in a somewhat gentler tone, and he rose from behind his desk, "you'll what?"
"Steal the LINK," Trent said. At Mayor Noas' look of incomprehension, he added, "The Key. You know, the Lunar InfoNet Key."
"It can't be done."
"I've studied it. I know something about the program that runs the LINK transputers; it's called Watchdog. I know an awful lot about the layout of the farside DataWatch facility from which the LINK is administered. I can make the boost."
Mayor Noas swore, "Damn it, you can't! The Key is tucked away in a computer in the middle of the PKF Farside base at Jules Verne. You could as easily walk through Peaceforcer Heaven!"
Trent grinned at Mayor Noas. "Hello."
The man's own words sank in on him. "Oh, Lord." He blinked again, took a long, contemplative drag on his stogie. "Do you really think you can?"
Trent looked at Domino, watching him almost warily from the doorway, and then back at Noas. "Yes, I really do."
Mayor Quentin Noas sank back down into his seat. "By Harry. You--" He broke off, at a complete loss for words. He sat at his desk, smoking furiously, blue clouds of smoke swirling up around him. He was not looking at Trent, at anything. Finally he said, "Domino."
"Yes?"
"What happens? We take the boy up on it, I mean."
"At half a million CU? We'll need clearance further up the line, for starters. Then--"
"That's not what I mean. He makes the boost, comes away clean. What happens?"
Domino said abruptly, "Trent. Are we talking about destruction of the LINK?"
"If you like. The LINK is a combination of hardware and software. There's no way you get the hardware. I think I can arrange that you get the control program. You won't be able to do with it what the PKF is using it for, but--" Trent shrugged. "Neither will they."
Domino stood in the doorway, looking at Trent coolly, speculatively. "All right. For starters it means DataWatch loses control of their own InfoNet. If we have the LINK software and a good webdancer to supervise, then it means we'll have access to at least some of the DataWatch Boards, at least briefly. Longer term, I'd guess they couldn't put the LINK system back in place. It was instituted when there weren't any computers on Luna to speak of, and grew with it."
Trent looked at the woman with a degree of genuine respect. "You're not a webdancer?"
Domino shook her head. "No."
"You got most of it. My favorite part is where DataWatch gets locked out of its
own Boards until they strip out the LINK protocols. And I think you're right about the LINK not going back up again, especially if some smart people get together and transmit Earth InfoNet protocols to everybody on Luna while DataWatch is still down for the count. At worst, if what I'm thinking of fails, I'll probably be able to destroy the Key and kill the program that runs it. At best we can join the Free Luna InfoNet with the U.N. InfoNet, and take control of the Lunar InfoNet away from them forever."
Mayor Noas' voice was troubled. "Half a million CU."
Trent said flatly, "It's what I need. This is going to be expensive every step of the way."
There was a long silence. Finally Mayor Noas shook his head decisively. "I can't commit to something this big."
Trent nodded. "So what happens?"
"I need to call in some people, run it by them."
"I see. How many people are we talking about?"
Mayor Noas looked at Domino. "Three?"
"Four. We'll need to bring in a rep from Bessel Astrogation Products."
Trent lifted an eyebrow. "Why don't you just call a press conference?"
Domino's voice took on a degree of coldness that was truly impressive. "These are discreet people, Trent."
"Nobody," said Trent, "ever listens." He smiled at Domino. "But they sure do love to talk."
"If you want help," said Domino, "if you need help, these are the people you need to talk to."
Trent spread his arms in a gesture of defeat. "You talked me into it. I'm definitely going to need help. At least three other people, maybe four. And seven bodies, six male and one female."
Mayor Noas blinked and said, "Seven bodies?"
Trent nodded. "With dental work."
* * *
20.
The fat man said, "I don't think names are necessary."
There were six of them sitting across the long table facing Trent. Trent sat alone, handheld on the table in front of him, wearing his traceset. The holocam in the handheld had scanned them as they entered the room.
Mayor Quentin Noas and Vice-Mayor Domino were sitting together at one end of the table. One of the four directly across from Trent was obviously a SpaceFarer, a black-bearded man wearing ship's colors that Trent did not recognize. The fat man sat next to the SpaceFarer, and next to the fat man were an old, dark-haired Caucasian woman in a floatchair, and a handsome young man in his late twenties or early thirties, wearing a gray business suit.
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