by Ben Bova
TWENTY-NINE
“NOT ONLY DOES she suspect me,” Gaetano was saying, his voice high with anger and fear, “but now she’s got the Russian to oppose me in the vote for chairman!” Marcello Arcangelico sat calmly in his powered wheelchair, his eyes following the furious pacing and wild gesticulations of his young henchman. “Softly, Rafaelo. Softly. This isn’t Aida; you don’t have to bellow.” Gaetano stopped his raving and stared at his chief. In the sudden silence he could hear the faint chugging hum of the biomedical equipment built into the wheelchair that kept the old man alive. “Come, sit down here. Beside me.” Arcangelico patted the seat of the chair next to him. They were in the old man’s study, a dark and somehow menacing room lined with bookcases from floor to ceiling. The windows were covered with tasseled drapes, heavy with dust. Medieval suits of armor stood in the corners and on either side of the double sliding door, brandishing lances and battle-axes and spiked truncheons. Scant glimmers of sunlight leaked around the thick draperies; dust motes danced in their wan beams. Don Marcello had parked his powered chair beside the heavy mahogany table in the center of the darkened, somber room. There were four chairs placed perfectly around the table, and a small lamp exactly in the middle of it, shining feebly, throwing the Don’s face into wrinkled highlights and deep shadows. Gaetano sat obediently on the proffered chair, complaining, “But the chairmanship was supposed to go to United Europe. To me. The rotation is traditional. It’s unheard of for another Council member to contest the election! It’s a slap in my face!” Don Marcello shook his head sagely. “Let them have the title,” he said, his voice wheezing slightly. “What do you care?. Titles mean little. Power is what counts.” “What about respect?” “The Council chair is an empty title. Some prestige, I know, and more responsibilities. But what additional power does it gain you? Very little.” “It should be mine, by right,” Gaetano mumbled. “Yes, I understand. But now I will show you how to gain more power than the chairmanship would give you. And respect, as well.” Gaetano leaned forward slightly, eager to hear. Raising a trembling finger, Don Marcello said, “You will withdraw from the election.” “I will what?” The old man coughed, then continued, “You will withdraw and allow the Russian to be elected unanimously. In the name of peace and harmony.” “But-” “You will tell the other members of the Council that you agree with the Russian: in this time of extreme emergency the Council needs an experienced man at its head, not the youngest of their members.” “But Don Marcello? “Once you do that, they will all be indebted to you. They will be very grateful that you did not cause a rift in the Council’s ranks. They will respect your willingness to step aside in the name of harmony and efficiency.” The old man laughed wheezily. “They might even become convinced that you are not a Mafioso, after all!” Reluctantly, feeling very downcast, Gaetano said, “I see. I understand.” He knew that Don Marcello’s suggestion was a command. Give up the chairmanship. It would be a humiliation, a personal affront. But perhaps giving it up voluntarily would be better than being beaten in a vote. Still, Gaetano glowered in the shadows of the dusty old room. I am a member of the Global Economic Council, he told himself. I represent all of United Europe. Nearly three-quarters of a billion people. And I must accept this humiliation? I must grovel in the dust? Why? Why must I allow them to show such disrespect for me? He knew why. Don Marcello had raised him to his present height and Don Marcello could push him down into oblivion, quite literally, whenever he chose to. He looked down at the old man, sunken into his wheelchair, his face half-hidden in shadows, his mind spinning intricate webs of power. How much longer can this ancient wreck of a man keep on living? Why don’t I just reach over and turn off his batteries for a couple of minutes? No one would know. Then I could step into his place. “Another thing,” Don Marcello murmured, totally unaware of the younger man’s murderous thoughts. “There will be a meeting soon, perhaps as early as next week. In the Cayman Islands . Top people from Japan ,Latin America , the States, everywhere. You will represent me at this meeting.” Gaetano blanched. “I shouldn’t be seen with such people? “You won’t be seen. The meeting will be totally private. Not even the news satellites will notice it; we have taken steps to see to that.” “But still-” “I want you to give them the complete layout of the GEC’s program on the greenhouse. And I want them to vote for you to coordinate all our actions in this regard. That is an election I want you to win!” Gaetano felt as if he were soaring up among the clouds. “Me? You want me to be the head?” “Capo di tutti capi,” Don Marcello said. Then he made that wheezing laugh again. “Except for me, of course. You can be boss of all the other bosses, but I am still your boss. Understand?” “Yes. Of course. Thank you, Don Marcello.” And he thought, You will be my boss for as long as you live. For such a powerful office, the room looked small and indecently shabby. It was high in a skyscraper in midtown Manhattan , and if the windows had been clean they would have offered a fine view of the old Rockefeller Center and even a glimpse of Central Park ’s threadbare greenery. But the four people in the office were focused entirely on their own problems. Two of them were reporters, a man and a woman, both in their early thirties, both aggressive, ambitious and angry. Josh Pollett was the wiry, high-strung type; he had wadded his suit jacket into a ball and flung it across the room an hour ago. Harriet Mclntyre had shouted so much that her throat was sore and rasping. The third person was the news network’s president and CEO, sleek-looking with a beautifully groomed silver gray toupee and a hand-tailored silk suit that cost a month of the two reporters’ pay, combined. Although the argument had been raging for more than an hour, neither of the reporters had said aloud what was commonly gossiped in the office hallways: that Wayne Manley had risen to his present post on the strength of his skin color rather than his abilities. Sitting at the head of the wobbly steel table was the owner of the network and chairman of the corporation’s board of directors. To her back she was called the Empress Theodora. “But I’ve got corroboration!” Pollett was yelling. “I’ve got ten different sources all telling me the same story!” “Leaks,” muttered Manley, his eye on Theodora rather than his reporters. “Try to put them on the air and they’ll clam up. Then they’ll sue.” Mclntyre, coolly blonde on camera, tried to cool things off here. “Let’s all calm down a little and see where we stand.” “Fine idea,” said Theodora. Even seated at the rickety table she looked tall, austere, regal. “Okay,” said Pollett. He sucked in a deep breath, then, glaring across the table at Manley, said, “There’s a global catastrophe coming down. The greenhouse effect is going to hit with a vengeance. Sea levels up thirty feet. Killer storms all the time. Half the world flooded out.” Manley muttered, “Nonsense.” “I’ve got Zachary Freiberg’s word for it,” Pollett insisted. “He’s a distinguished scientist from CalTech.” “He’s not with CalTech,” said Manley. “Hasn’t been for ten years. “He’s a visiting professor there,” countered Pollett. “He’s also lectured at MIT,University of Texas , and half a dozen countries overseas. “But he works for Dan Randolph, doesn’t he?” “Dan Randolph ?” Theodora’s eyes snapped. “I met him once. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw this building.” Harriet McIntyre wondered if Randolph had made a pass at her. Or failed to make a pass at her. “Freiberg’s top talent,” Pollett was saying. “He says that this greenhouse will hit in ten years, maybe less.” “Absolute nonsense,” Manley said. “There’s more,” McIntyre interjected, throat rasping. “Three months ago the GEC confiscated Astro Manufacturing. Just took it entirely away from Dan Randolph, for some little infraction of the rules.” “It must have been more than a little infraction,” said Theodora. “And the GEC has been quietly muscling every major corporation on Earth,” McIntyre went on, “especially the Big Seven space companies.” “Over this make-believe greenhouse cliff?” Manley sniffed. “Right,” she croaked. “The GEC is trying to line up all the major corporations—especially those in energy and manufacturing—to follow some master plan that they’re drawing up.” They went into another h
our of fevered discussion, slightly calmer this time; at least there was no screaming. But when all the arguments were laid out on the table and the two reporters sat back exhausted, Manley still said: “You don’t have anyone who will admit to this greenhouse thing on camera. Not even Freiberg .” “He’s being muzzled,” said Pollett wearily. “They’re all being muzzled,” Mclntyre added. Shaking his head again, Manley said, “We can’t go on the air with rumor and innuendo. We’d get sued!” Turning to the Empress, “And our FCC license renewal comes up in eight months.” “But this is an important story? Pollett pleaded. “It’s vital! Millions of lives are at stake and the goddamned government’s suppressing the story!” “The GEC,” McIntyre corrected gently. “But Washington ’s going along with them.” Pollett’s voice sounded agonized. “We’ve got to do something,” Mclntyre said. All three of them turned to Theodora. She sat there for a long moment like a true empress: calm, aloof, all-powerful. Then, “What I am about to tell you is in strictest confidence. If you repeat it anywhere, to anyone, I will deny it totally and you will not only be fired but blackballed throughout the industry. Do you understand?” They nodded dumbly. “The greenhouse threat is real. The GEC is putting together a monumental effort to stop it from happening. I have been asked by the President himself to keep the lid on this story until the GEC is prepared to make it public. This network will cooperate with the GEC and the United States government in every way possible. Is that understood?” More nods. “Good. Then this is the last word any of us will utter on this subject until the GEC is ready to make its announcement.” “When will that be?” Pollett found the strength to ask. “When they’re ready.” With that, the Empress got to her feet and headed regally for the door. Manley scrambled to catch up with her. McIntyre stared at her colleague. Pollett was sweaty, his shirt a rumpled mess, his eyes bloodshot. “Well,” she said, “that’s that.” “Maybe,” he said tightly. “Don’t go off the deep end,” she warned. “Sure. We’ll just sit here until the sea level reaches our floor, huh?” Like similar facilities back on Earth, the Yamagata Hotel’s gymnasium was called a “fitness center.” It was filled with shining equipment, had thick, dark blue wall-to-wall carpeting, soft music piped in through the ceiling speakers, and air fresheners sprayed through the air to mask the stink of sweat. Unlike similar hotel facilities on Earth, this lunar gym was almost always filled with men and women, even children, puffing, bending, lifting, grunting, pedaling away in grim determination. Anyone who stayed on the Moon for more than two weeks was not allowed to return Earthward until they had put in enough exercise hours to convince the authorities that their hearts were ready to face a full one g once again. Dan pedaled on a stationary bike next to Tamara, knowing that he was in a race against time and chance. Sooner or later someone would recognize that Roger Wilcox was actually the wanted fugitive, Dan Randolph. Or one of the well-bribed hotel employees would turn him in for the reward that the GEC was offering. That must have been Kate’s idea, putting a price on my head, he thought as he churned away at the bike. Ten thousand dollars. Damned piker. I’m worth a lot more than that. Hell, I’ve put out more than that in bribes already. Across the gym, Big George was lifting enormous barbells, lying flat on a padded bench and hefting the tremendous weights like a cartoon-character strongman. It would take weeks before either George or Tucker could condition their bodies properly, after years of lunar living. Tucker, convinced that at his age he could never get back into good enough shape, had flatly refused even to come to the gym. I don’t have weeks, Dan knew. I’ll have to leave them here when I head back to Earth. He had ensconced Tamara in her own room at the hotel once Tucker had cranked out faked identification for her. The old man’s a whiz with the computer. Dan realized that Tucker could make himself a multimillionaire with his talented fingers any time he wanted to. But he feared being caught again, and kept as low a profile as he could. So Dan would head for Earth with Tamara. The Mafia couldn’t threaten her if they didn’t know where she was. Tamara Duchamps had already disappeared, as far as the security computer system was concerned. The exotic dark beauty pedaling alongside Roger Wilcox, her gym shorts revealing long smooth-skinned legs, was a tourist named Emelia Temple . From the Caribbean island of St. Croix . The odometer on the bike’s console beeped. “Ten miles,” Dan said. “I’m finished.” He slid off the bike’s seat, backside aching, sweat dripping everywhere except into his eyes, thanks to the headband he wore. “I still have one-point-seven miles to go,” said Tamara, hardly puffing. “Dinner in my suite,” he said. She nodded and went back to the video she was watching on the bike console’s built-in screen. Tamara had slept in her own room since that first night they had shared, a week earlier. It’s better that way, Dan told himself as he lingered in the gym’s shower, letting the gloriously hot water sluice over his body. We shouldn’t be complicating each other’s lives; they’re complicated enough as it is. Besides, he admitted ruefully to himself, she’s right. I love Jane. I’ve loved her damned near all my life. The thought made him grin. That’s the way the world works, buddy: you can get just about any woman you want, but you want the one you can’t get. As he dried off and began to dress, his grin slowly evaporated. There’s one woman you want, and she’s right here, within reach. Kate. The treacherous Scarlett. She’s in with Malik and it looks like she’s in with the crime syndicate, too. There must be a helluva lot of valuable information stored in that pretty head of hers. Tucker had tried to hack into Kate’s private files, but unlike most of the Astro programs, Kate’s were strongly protected with programs that would trigger alarms if anyone tried to access them without the proper code. But I could access her, all right, Dan said to himself as he rode the lift up to his suite. I could grab that redheaded bitch in my two hands and access the hell out of her.
THIRTY
THAT EVENING, AFTER dinner, after Tamara had gone back to her own room, Dan asked Big George to come with him. He did not say where until they were well out of the hotel, riding a powered walkway through the underground corridors that led to the Astro office complex. “Kate Williams?” George was aghast. “The one who’s running Astro now? Are you out of your looking mind?” “I’ve got to see her,” Dan said grimly. “You’ll get us all caught and sent to the penal colony!” “You can go back to the hotel if you want to.” “What good would that do? They catch you, they pump you full of babble juice, and then they catch us.” “I wish I had some truth serum with me right now.” George shook his smooth-cheeked face. Under Dan’s orders he had faithfully shaved every morning, complaining loudly each time about the pain to his sensitive skin. “Let me get this straight,” George said as they rode past homebound Astro employees heading the other way. “You’re going to go back to your office, say hello to her and ask her to spill her guts to you?” “Something like that.” “You’re looking daft, my friend.” “She screwed me out of my company!” Dan blurted. “And now you want to rape her? Is that it?” “No!” “Then what?” “I want to-” He hesitated, groping for words. “I want to make her know that she hasn’t finished me. I want to spit in her eye and tell her that I’m going to take back everything she’s stolen from me. And I’ll break her back in the process. Figuratively, not literally.” “And the thought of sticking it to her has never crossed your mind,” George said. “Well...” “It’s a fooking enormous risk, just to impress a woman.” Dan shrugged. The big kid is right, he knew. This is crazy. But I’ve got to do it. I can’t leave the Moon without seeing the expression on her face when I tell her that I’m going to get even. “You had a lot of women in your day, didn’t you?” George asked. Dan looked sideways at him. “In my day.” “I’ve only been with the ladies over at the camps on Nubium.” A sorry bunch, Dan knew. But he said, “In the dark, pal, all cats are gray.” “I’ve heard that,” George said. “Is it really true?” The big kid looked almost melancholy. Dan could not lie to him. “No, it’s not, Georgie. Women are as various and marvelous as fine wines. You can spend your life tasting and still not be halfway thr
ough the list.” George brightened considerably. “Really?” “There’s hope for you, Georgie. Why don’t you try smiling back at some of the women who watch you in the gym?” “Oh, I don’t think—“ “Try it. Break the ice. They’ll come over and talk to you. You’ll see.” They were coming to the end of the powered walkway. Beyond lay the corridors of the Astro complex. Glancing at his wristwatch, Dan saw that it was well past nine P.M. Most of the regular staff was gone, even the eager beavers who worked late. But if Kate’s taken over my office, then she’s probably living in my quarters as well. If she’s not in one of them she’ll be in the other. Mad dogs and Englishmen, thought Zachary Freiberg as he jogged along the broad, flat Santa Monica beach in the noonday sun. The surf was down, but the public beach was busy with shapely young ladies in skimpy bikinis sunning themselves while muscular young men showed off for them, playing volleyball, hoisting weights, or just flexing well-oiled biceps. They’d better be well oiled with sunblock, Zach thought, or else the UV coming through what’s left of the ozone layer will give ‘em all skin cancer. There was a lot of skin visible to worry about. Zach felt distinctly out of place, old and puffing and potbellied, in his sweat stained running suit. He had bolted from his office, unable to stand the pressure that was building up inside him. Invited to an international conference on the greenhouse effect being held at a hotel just minutes from his CalTech office, Zach had been refused permission to attend by the GEC bureaucrats who feared “a premature disclosure of the impending crisis that would cause widespread public panic and have a deleterious effect on the global economic balance.” I should have told them to shove it and gone to the conference anyway, Zach said to himself as he jogged along the beach. Yeah, and then they’d send you to Zaire or Patagonia or some other sweetheart of a location, you and Jessie and the kids too. Premature disclosure. They’d better disclose something soon. Time’s ticking away and from what I can see all they’re doing is holding conferences of their own and shuffling papers. And trying to keep the lid on the situation. He stared at the soft swells surging in toward the beach. Is it my imagination or is the beach narrower than it was last year? I ought to call the local parks department and have them make a measurement. “Hey, Zach! Wait up!” Surprised, Zach halted and turned to see who was calling him, one hand raised to his brow to shield his eyes. He recognized Terry O’Doul loping across the sand toward him, suit jacket swinging from one hand, shoes in the other, shirt unbuttoned, a big grin on his lantern-jawed face. “What on earth are you doing here?” Zach blurted as the lanky O’Doul caught up with him. “Why the hell weren’t you at the conference?” O’Doul shot back. “It was right around the corner from your office, for god’s sake. You were invited, weren’t you?” Zach tried to keep the bitterness from showing. “I was too busy, Terry. Couldn’t make it.” “Too busy—jogging?” The hell of the GEC’s security measures was that Zach was not allowed to tell anyone why he was not allowed to say anything. “Come on.” He pointed toward the refreshment stand up the beach. “I’ll buy you a beer.” They talked about the conference, the papers delivered, the people who were there, as they sat in the shade of the refreshment stand’s awning. Neither of them drank much of their beer. “Everybody was asking for you,” O’Doul said. “Brudnoy was especially disappointed that you didn’t show up.” “Couldn’t be helped,” Zach muttered. “Why not?” “I told you. I’m too busy.” “Doing what?” Zach did not answer. “Your work’s related to the greenhouse, isn’t it?” O’Doul probed, his eyes showing more curiosity than suspicion. “We all expected you to give us the latest on what the new landers have found on Venus.” Zach gave a single shake of his head and reached for his beer. “What the hell is it, Zach? What’s wrong? This is me, Terry, remember? We used to make up limericks about Brudnoy when we were in grad school, remember? You can tell me.” “No,” Zach said. “I can’t.” “Why not?” He gulped at the beer, almost strangled on it. Sputtering, he managed to choke out, “Job security.” “I don’t understand.” Zach coughed down the beer, cleared his throat. His old class mate was staring at him, alarmed, worried about him. “Listen, Terry, you still go down to Antarctica every winter?” “It’s summer down there.” “To McMurdo?” “Yes, most of the time. I make a trip to the station at the pole now and again.” “I shouldn’t be telling you even this much,” Zach said, lowering his voice. “But you’d better start drawing up plans for evacuating those bases.” “Evacuate? McMurdo?.” “All the Antarctic bases.” “But why?” Zach flicked a glance at the youngster running the refreshment stand. He was at the other end of the stand, chatting with a couple of bikini-clad teenagers. “Because all the bases in Antarctica are sitting on top of a mile-thick sheet of ice.” “So?” “So the ice isn’t going to be there.” “What?” “It’s going to melt down, Terry. It’s probably started melting already.” O’Doul’s expression went from incredulous to thoughtful. “Well, the Ross shelf has thinned noticeably, but that’s just a long- term climate swing. The ice will thicken up again with the next sunspot cycle.” Zach said nothing. “Won’t it?” “Be prepared to evacuate. Just in case the ice keeps on melting regardless of the sunspot cycle.” “What are you trying to tell me?,” O’Doul asked. Zach got down from his stool. “I’ve already told you too much. Got to get back to the office now. It was good to see you, Terry. Don’t tell anybody you saw me, okay?” He started trotting to the parking lot where he had left his car, leaving O’Doul standing there scratching his head. “But you haven’t even been here two weeks!” Kate Williams said, nearly shouting. Kimberly slumped in one of the chairs in front of Kate’s desk. “There’s nothing to do here. It’s a bore.” “Nothing to do? What about flying in the big dome, or low-g acrobatics? There’s—“ “It’s a bore!” Kimberly snapped. “Everybody up here is boring. A bunch of Japanese who stick to themselves and some Americans who’ve mostly engineer nerds. I don’t need this! I want to go back.” Kate held her breath, trying to make herself as calm as possible before replying to her sister. In just two weeks Kim had gained a healthy bit of weight, gotten some color in her cheeks. Good diet and regular exercise under the carefully metered full-spectrum lamps in the gym had done more for her than months in the rehab clinic. “You can’t go back,” Kate said, keeping her voice soft and even. “There’s no one back on Earth for you to go to, unless you want to return to the clinic.” Kimberly gave her a self-satisfied smile. “Rafe invited me to visit him in Italy .” Kate felt her jaw drop open. The breath gushed out of her so hard she could not answer. “I’ll be staying with his family, so it’ll be okay. They have a beautiful place down below Naples . He’s shown me pictures on the phone and he even sent me a set of holograms. It’s a gorgeous estate” “Absolutely not!” Kate nearly screamed. “You’re not going to see him!” Kim’s smile turned nasty. “Have I taken your boyfriend away from you?” “I forbid it! You’re not leaving this city.” “Hey, you don’t own me!” “Oh no? Where did you think you were going to get the fare?” “Rare will send it.” “The hell he will! I’ll impound it. You’re still a minor, legally.” Kimberly’s tawny eyes flashed with anger. “Then I’ll raise the money myself.” “And how are you going to do that? What kind of job do you think you can get up here?” “Same as anywhere.” “Get out!” Kate screamed. “Get out of here, you little whore? Smirking, Kim got to her feet and started for the door. “You’re confined to your room,” Kate called after her. “I’m going to instruct security that you’re not to be allowed out and no one but me is allowed in. You’ll sit in there until I can talk some sense into you.” “You’re just jealous,” Kim said, without a trace of anger. She was almost smiling as she spoke. “I thought you were finished with Rafe. Well, anyway, he’s finished with you now.” She left, closing the door gently behind her. Kate sank her head in her hands. Kimberly. Kimberly. That bastard Rare is just using you to keep his power over me. I’ve got to explain that to her, tell her the whole story. Will she believe me? Probably not. Can I keep her here, keep her from running back to Earth and int
o Rafe’s arms? She sat up straighter in her desk chair. I’ll keep Kimberly here, no matter what it takes. If I have to break both her legs I’ll keep her out of that bastard’s clutches. No matter what. No matter what. She called security and explained that she wanted her sister confined to her room. The woman on the phone screen promised to send a robot to Kimberly’s door. Then Kate leaned back in her chair and lowered the room’s lights. For long hours she reclined there, letting the chair’s softly yielding surface soothe her, relax her. She drifted into a light, troubled sleep. And awoke when she sensed someone stepping into the office. Blinking her gummy eyes, she saw the figure of a man standing before the desk. In the shadowy light she could not quite make out his face, but she knew who it was anyway. “Hello, Dan. I was wondering when you’d show up.”