by Allen Steele
Angry murmurs from around the room. Again, Lina Shapar was twisting facts, trying to make it seem as if the United States was the hapless victim of an international conspiracy. "Our response has been to demand an end to the embargo and to withdraw from the ISC," the president continued. "Our efforts to reach a diplomatic solution to this crisis have been ignored. In the meantime, our country's energy reserves have begun to run low. As a result, we have had little choice but to use military force to break the embargo.
"Earlier today, special forces units from the United States Marine Corps landed on the Moon, where they mounted a two-prong attack on Apollo, the ISC mining facility at Ptolemaeus Crater, and also on Cabeus Station, its support facility located at the lunar South Pole. The effort to take control of Apollo is still underway, and we expect positive results. However, the unit which attempted to take control of Cabeus Station was attacked by a superior force already in place there. I regret to say that this unit was defeated, with its members either killed or taken prisoner.
"Since then, we have learned that the enemy force at Cabeus Station included soldiers from the Pacific Socialist Union. Through their actions, it is now clear that the PSU is rendering aid and assistance to the ISC embargo. Our government sees this as a dangerous provocation by the PSU, with their actions at Cabeus Station as tantamount to an act of war."
As President Shapar spoke, the camera gradually moved in, her image slowly expanding until the podium vanished and her face filled the screen. I'd always been unnerved by the way she stared at the camera without blinking. Now it was worse. I realized that I was looking into the eyes of a fanatic.
"The United States will not tolerate these efforts to undermine our national security. Therefore, as President of the United States, I am issuing an ultimatum to both the PSU and its allies in the ISC. Complete and total control of Apollo must be given to the United States. Any refusal to do so will be considered a signal of hostile intentions, and will result in a declaration of war on the Pacific Socialist Union.
"Good night, and may God bless America."
I barely heard the president's last words. Everything she'd said before then caused the sheltered to erupt. All around me, people were yelling; every face I saw was contorted in shock, anger, or horror. I was still staring at the wallscreen when Hannah nudged my arm and said something to me. I couldn't hear her, so I shook my head; she put her mouth closer to my ear.
"You're getting a call," she repeated, speaking louder this time.
I glanced at my wristband. Its beep couldn't be heard above the noise, but a light was blinking next to its speaker. I raised my wrist to my face. "Jamey here."
"Jamey, this is Loren Porter. I need to see you immediately. Come to MainOps at once."
"Yes, sir. I'm on my way." I switched off, then looked at Hannah. "I've got to..."
"Hold on." Hannah had just received a call as well. She listened to her wristband, made a brief response much like my own, then took my hand again. "He wants me, too. Let's go."
Leaving Nicole behind, we began to pick our way through the crowd. It wasn't easy. Everyone seemed to be shouting at once; I spotted a couple of men in an argument so intense that a third guy had to step between them before fists started flying. Others were crying; we passed a woman who'd gone down on her knees to wrap her arms around her children. And some were just staring into space, their mind's eyes seeing a terrifying fate they were helpless to prevent.
No one paid attention to Hannah and me, and we finally managed to get out of the shelter. It was a quick walk down the corridor to the Main Operations Center; we were obviously expected, because Mr. Garcia was waiting for us outside. "C'mon, guys," he said, opening the door for us. "We've got a job for you."
Hannah and I traded an uncertain look as we followed the Chief through the door. MainOps wasn't as calm as it had been the first time I was there. Controllers were barking orders at each other as they stared at their comps or the images on the wallscreens. A quick glance at the screens caused me to stop dead. Figures in moonsuits, each of them carrying a carbine, were advancing toward the cameras. One look at them, and I knew they weren't Rangers.
"Are we under attack?" Hannah had also stopped to gaze at the screens.
"Not right now. At least we don't think so." Mr. Garcia pointed a map projection of Apollo; from the hills to the east, one small group of red dots were moving toward Loop Road, while another group appeared to be heading toward Krantz Road. "It looks as if they're getting into position. They're preparing for another attack, but it probably won't happen quite yet."
I glanced at the door we'd just come through. "I need to get down to the ready-room to suit up for..."
"No, you don't." Laying a hand on my shoulder, Mr. Garcia gently but urgently pushed me toward the nearby conference room. "We have a much more important task for you. And your friend Ms. Wilford can help."
Mr. Porter was waiting for us in the conference room. So were two men setting up a portable vid camera and its recording equipment. The city manager walked over to us. "Jamey, thanks for coming so quickly. I don't have to ask if you saw President Shapar's speech, do I?" I shook my head. "Good. Then you know she's lying, right? About what happened at Cabeus, that is."
"No sir...I mean, yes sir." The anger felt by others in the shelter was beginning to rise in me as well. "That wasn't the way I saw it. They..."
"Good. But don't tell me about it. Not just yet, at least." Mr. Porter pointed toward the camera. "I want you to do something for me...for all of us. I want you to stand over there, in front of the camera, and give your side of the story. Don't exaggerate, don't make it sound any better or worse than it was...just do what the president didn't do, and tell the truth."
It was if someone had just thrown a bucket of ice water in my face. "I...I don't...why...why do you want me to...?"
"First, you were there. Anything I might say would be only second-hand information, so it would better if it came from an eyewitness. Second, you're an American. Mahmoud is from India and Nicole is a loony, and the others are either wounded or from other countries. You're a US citizen, though, and that matters. And third--" he grinned "--you're a good-looking kid, and in that department, I'd pit you against Lina Shapar any day of the week."
I'd never thought of myself in that way before, but from the corner of my eye I saw Hannah smile in agreement. Mr. Porter turned to her. "You've done this before, so I want you to coach him...not in what to say, but how to say it. Do you think you can do that?"
"Sure." Hannah studied me for a moment. "He's kind of a mess, though. Maybe we should clean him up a little first."
"No." Mr. Garcia regarded me critically. "Less than ten hours ago he was on a battlefield. I want him to look the way he does now...like he just came from Cabeus Station."
I still wore the same clothes that had been under my moonsuit for the past two days, and I'm sure I must have smelled something awful. "Shouldn't I rehearse this?" I asked. "Maybe write it down so I don't forget...?"
"No time for that," Mr. Porter said. "I want to transmit this to Earth as soon as possible. The US government will probably block our signal, but they can't prevent it from being picked up elsewhere and put out on the net. But we've got to act fast, before Shapar can get any mileage from her speech." He grinned again. "We've got her right where we want her...caught in the middle of a big, fat lie."
"Uh-huh." Mr. Garcia nodded. "She doesn't know it, but she may have just made the biggest mistake of her life." Looking at me again, he raised an eyebrow. "Here's your chance, kid. Do this right, and you can stick it to the president of the United States."
I didn't say anything, but instead looked at Hannah again. There was a cunning smile on her face as she slowly nodded. We both had personal reasons to make Lina Shapar suffer; our opportunity to do so had just arrived.
"All right," I said, "let's do this."
So I stood in front of the camera while Hannah took her place directly behind the guy operating it; he bent
low so that I could see her face. She told me to ignore the lens and look straight at her instead, and to speak as if I was talking only to her and no one else. While the sound technician took a few minutes to adjust the levels, Mr. Garcia quietly excused himself from the room, leaving Mr. Porter behind. When the technicians were ready, I took a deep breath, counted to three, and then began.
"My name is Jamey Barlowe," I said, "and I'm from Burtonsville, Maryland. I'm a Ranger Second Class, ISC Lunar Search and Rescue, and I was at Cabeus Station when it was attacked..."
I went on to describe everything that happened, starting with the arrival of the Cyclops unit and continuing through the battle that followed. I was careful to mention that the Cyclops leader fired the first shot, and that he killed the Ranger who'd gone out to negotiate a peaceful ceasefire. I explained that my team was rescued by PSU soldiers who'd come to our aid, and until then we were unaware that they were present. When I said this, Mr. Porter made a rolling gesture with his hands--tell us more--and I added that the Pacific Socialist Union had nothing to do with the helium-3 embargo. Then I revealed what the Cyclops leader had told us after he and the other surviving members of his unit were taken prisoner: that they weren't Marines, but rather private mercenaries who'd been hired to do the dirty work.
I stopped, uncertain what to say next. It suddenly occurred to me that this vid would soon be seen by millions of people; the realization made me self-conscious, and I started to look down at the floor. Hannah whispered my name and I looked up again to see her pointing two fingers at her eyes. Talk to me! she mouthed. Behind her, Mr. Porter was rolling his hands again, more urgently this time.
I hesitated, then went on. "So...anyway, it's like this. President Shapar is lying. She isn't telling the truth when she says that the PSU is behind all this or that Marines were sent to the Moon. She wasn't there, but I was."
Again I paused, although not as long as I did before. "My best friend was killed in that battle, and all he was trying to do was to protect Apollo's water supply. Another friend of mine died when Ball North fired missiles at Apollo from orbit, and he was just trying to save his sister. A lot of other people up here have died, too, just because President Shapar wants...well, I'm not sure what she wants, but she's not going to get it. Because we're going to hold onto to what's ours, and we're not going to let go."
I stopped, not knowing what to say next. "Cut," Mr. Porter said, running his forefinger across his throat. "That's fine, Jamey. You did well."
"Really?" I didn't believe him. "I thought I sounded stupid."
Hannah practically danced out from behind the camera. Before I could do anything, she swept me into her arms and planted a kiss on my lips. "No, you didn't," she said when she let me come up for air. "You were perfect."
"I was?"
She nodded, her eyes shining. "Trust me. Lina Shapar is going to die when she sees this."
"Yeah, well...maybe. If we don't die first."
"No one is going to die." Mr. Porter leaned against the conference table, arms confidently folded across his chest. "Trust me. They've done their worst. Now all we have to do is sit back and wait for it to end."
He was right...almost.
The same time while I was making the vid, Ball North's Liberty Two team launched another attack on Apollo. I watched the assault from MainOps, and although I still wanted to put on my suit and get into the fight, my help wasn't necessary. There were twenty men in Liberty Two; unlike Liberty One, though, they didn't have Cyclops armor. The Duke wasn't big enough to carry that many powered suits, so they were forced to rely upon moonsuits not much different from our own, and their guns were also HK-11 lunar carbines. So the odds were more evenly matched than they were at Cabeus Station.
Liberty Two's intent was to take control of the solar farm and fusion reactor on Krantz Road. So they'd divided into two squads: one to cover Apollo's airlocks and keep anyone from coming out, and the other to attack the power stations. If they'd been successful, they might have shut down our power supply and forced us to surrender. What they'd neglected, though, was the fact that Apollo had dozens of auxiliary airlocks, and they simply didn't have enough men to cover them all.
The Chief knew this, of course, so when he figured out what Liberty Two meant to do, he instructed the Rangers to exit through Airlock 29, at the northeast side of the crater across Loop Road from the industrial park, and take positions on Krantz Road near the solar farm. The Ball North goons never had a chance. As soon as they tried to take the power stations, the Rangers opened fire from behind the regolith berms we'd spent weeks building for this very purpose.
Liberty Two lost three men almost immediately, and two more when the squad sent to cover the airlocks came in as reinforcements. The fifteen survivors were forced to retreat to the freighter. The Rangers didn't lose a single person. Some of our guys wanted to go after them, but Mr. Garcia ordered them to return to the crater.
"That was their best shot," the Chief said to me as we watched the battle come to an end, "and they blew it." He nodded to the left-center wallscreen; it displayed a distant image of mercenaries bounding toward the distant hills. "I give them...oh, three days, maybe four...before they give up and leave."
I gave him a sharp look. "How do you figure that?"
A wry smile. "They're using the Duke as their staging base. It probably has only enough air and water for a hundred hours, tops. Meanwhile, we have enough air and water in reserve to keep everyone in here alive for three weeks." He shrugged. "Like I said, all we have to do is hunker down for a while, and we'll outlast them."
"Standing in place, you mean."
He raised an eyebrow, surprised that I'd remember what he'd said months ago at the town meeting. "Something like that, yes."
It wasn't quite that easy, though.
We couldn't ration air, but we did have to carefully monitor our water consumption. Bathing was out of the question--besides, the only showers were located in the crater apartments, which were inaccessible until the dome was repaired--and everyone was limited to one quart a day for drinking water. Disinfectant towels were issued to everyone, and they helped a bit when it came to personal hygiene, but it wasn't long before all of us began to stink.
Food was likewise in short supply. We'd already stockpiled plenty of vegetables from the farms, and there were crates of ration bars as well, but with about a thousand mouths to feed every day, we could've quickly eaten our way through the pantry. So, the community breadline shut down right after breakfast and didn't open again until dinnertime, and even then we were often hungry again within a few hours. No one starved, though, and I actually learned to like chettuce.
For entertainment, we had vids. Someone had the foresight to stash a small collection of disks in the shelter; after dinner each evening, the ceiling lights would dim, the wallscreen would light up, and we'd all sit down to watch something together. Much of what we saw was fairly recent, but there were also a few 20th-century classics: The Wizard of Oz, The Big Sleep, the Star Wars movies. Some people managed to grab their pads before they fled underground, so they had books to read and games to play; after awhile, a lending-library system came into being, with pads being shared and swapped much like everything else we had.
Indeed, the shelter was filled with a spirit of a comradeship as its inhabitants figured out they'd need to rely on each other to get through. To my surprise, no one exemplified this spirit better than Melissa. Something happened to my sister when she saw how Eddie sacrificed his life to save Nina's. Almost overnight, MeeMee vanished, to be replaced by someone who was no longer vain and selfish. Never once did I hear her complain about the lack of privacy, not being able to bathe, or having to wear the same clothes day after day. She spent a lot of time with Nina, comforting her as best she could, and she also helped Ms. Lagler in the breadline, doling out soup and sandwiches with a smile on her face. For the first time, I became proud of my sister.
Nonetheless, we were living under siege conditions. Just ou
tside was a small yet well-armed force, and although they couldn't get to us, that didn't mean that they had given up trying. Every day, I put on my moonsuit, picked up my gun, and went on patrol with five other Rangers, making sure that our airlocks remained sealed and that the enemy hadn't found another way in. Nothing happened while I was outside, but there was the occasional skirmish when another patrol would come under attack and would have to return fire.
Only once were we seriously threatened...yet that incident was probably the worst of all.
The third night of the siege, I was about to go on duty when the patrol that was already out there came under attack near the North Field Road entrance ramp. A Ball North squad opened fire on them from behind a rover they'd stolen from the depot, and the Rangers took refuge behind the reflector ring supports and returned fire. I was still getting into my moonsuit when I heard another report over my headset: the mercs were giving up the attack, and instead were piling into the rover and taking off again.
This was weird. There didn't seem to be any point behind the attack. After all, the garage doors were shut tight; there was no way the bad guys could have gotten through. But one of the Rangers who'd fought off the attackers noticed that the assault team consisted of only a half-dozen mercenaries, and that made someone in MainOps wonder where the rest of the goons were.
So MainOps quickly scanned the periphery, checking all the external cameras one at a time...and sure enough, they picked up thermal images of nine other mercenaries trying to hide within the shadows of large boulders near Apollo's southern end. They weren't moving, but instead seemed to be waiting for something.
I was about to close my suit when Mr. Garcia's voice came over my headset: "Barlowe, Tate...head down to the south airlocks and check them from the inside. I want to make sure they're secure."
"Copy," I said, and looked over at Billy. "Suit or no suit?"