Moonwar gt-7

by Ben Bova

  “MeWrath” did not sit down. He pointed the ringers of one hand like a pistol at the vice president for news.

  “This Edie Elgin works for you, doesn’t she?”

  The man swallowed obviously before answering with a timid, “Yes.” He was lean and sallow; he looked as if he hadn’t been out-of-doors since puberty.

  McGrath pointed the finger-gun at programming. “How come her report from Moonbase was aired from freakin’ Kiribati instead of from Atlanta?”

  Programming was made of sterner stuff. He too had been a football player and was still young enough to have retained his muscular physique.

  “We agreed with the U.N. people on a blackout from Moonbase, chief. Remember? You talked to Faure yourself, weeks ago.”

  “But the freakin’ broadcast aired out of Kiribati! We look like idiots! Every independent station on Earth is picking it up. Even our own subscribers are using it. They think it originated here!”

  “We were just following your orders, chief,” the news VP found the strength to say. “You told us not to air anything from Moonbase until further notice.”

  “Live footage of that shithead Peacekeeper blowing his own ass off and you keep it in the can?” McGrath roared.

  “But you made this agreement with Faure…”

  “That two-faced little frog let me think the Moonbase people had killed the Peacekeeper! He lied to me!”

  “You didn’t tell us—”

  “And they’ve declared independence! This is the biggest story of the year! Of the decade! Don’t you have any freaking sense?”

  “You mean you’d’ve wanted us to air it?”

  McGrath walked around the table to loom over the news VP Leaning over until his nose almost touched the younger man’s, McGrath pointed to the elaborate corporate logo engraved on the wall above the doorway.

  “What’s our middle name?” he asked sweetly. Before the anguished vice president could open his mouth, McGrath bellowed, “NEWS, goddammit! Global NEWS Network. A colony on the Moon declares independence and chases off a regiment of Peacekeeper troops—that’s freakin’ NEWS!”

  The vice president was perspiring, his face white with fear and shock.

  Straightening, McGrath whirled on the head of the legal department, a distinguished-looking man with the chiselled features of a video star, carefully coiffed silver gray hair, and a tan almost as deep as McGrath’s own.

  “How can Kiribati pick up a report from one of our employees and broadcast it around the world?”

  The lawyer arched an eyebrow. “They can’t. Not legally. We can sue them for billions.”

  McGrath stared at the man for several silent seconds. “It would make a great news story, wouldn’t it?” he asked rhetorically. “Global News Network sues the nation of Kiribati in the World Court because a bunch of half-naked islanders have the brains to broadcast news from one of Global’s own reporters while Global’s news department DECIDED NOT TO AIR THEIR OWN REPORTER’S STORY!’

  “He was following your own orders,” the lawyer said mildly.

  “That’s right, chief,” said programming. “You can’t blame the news department for doing what you told them to do.”

  McGrath stood silently for a moment, then crossed his beefy arms across his chest.

  “We look like freakin’ assholes,” he muttered.

  “As I understand it,” the head of the legal department tried to explain, “Edie Elgin beamed her report here from Moonbase. We were under your orders not to reply to any messages coming from Moonbase—we expected her to return with the Peacekeepers, after all.”

  “Okay, okay,” McGrath grumbled,’so I told you not to carry anything coming from Moonbase. But our own reporter, for chrissake! Shows the world that Faure’s a lying little sneak. And they’ve declared independence. Doesn’t anybody think for themselves around here?”

  An uncomfortable silence greeted his question.

  The lawyer resumed, placatingly, “Apparently Elgin, or the Moonbase people, repeated her report to several locations around the world. Maybe she was trying to get one of our offices to acknowledge receiving it.”

  “We don’t have an office in Kiribati,” McGrath mumbled.

  “That’s true. But those islands are spread out over a considerable portion of the Pacific. Somebody out there must have picked up Elgin’s report and decided to pirate it.”

  “So what can we do, legally?”

  “Sue them, of course.”

  McGrath shook his head. “I’m not going to give the competition a chance to show the world what buffoons we’ve been.”

  “We’ve got to do something,” the lawyer insisted, “even if it’s just a suit to protect our copyright.”

  McGrath fumed for a few moments. I’ll talk to whoever’s in charge there. I want to keep this as quiet as possible.”

  Programming piped up, “So what do we do about Moonbase now?”

  “Edie Elgin’s still up there?”

  The news VP nodded.

  “Then we run her reports, goddammit. We’ve got the only reporter on the scene at Moonbase. We play it for all it’s worth!”

  “But your agreement with Faure…?”

  “Fuck him! You think the United Nations is more important than Global News Network?”

  Ibrahim al-Rashid was not happy when his executive assistant—a lissome sloe-eyed Jamaican woman with a delightful lilt in her voice—informed him that another news broadcast was coming from Moonbase. Rashid watched Edie Elgin’s report from Moonbase’s farm in glum silence. His heart sank when she told the world that Moonbase could sustain itself indefinitely and did not need supplies from Earth.

  Even before her report ended, Rashid’s intercom chimed softly. He glanced at the phone screen: GEORGES FAURE, UNITED NATIONS, NEW YORK.

  With a sigh, Rashid muted the news report from Moonbase’s farm and activated the phone. Faure’s face, even on the small screen, looked bleak.

  “You have seen this latest news broadcast from Moonbase?” Faure asked, without preamble.

  “I was just watching it now.”

  “The situation deteriorates with each moment,” Faure said. “Now the entire world knows that Moonbase has asked for independence.”

  “I thought Global News had agreed to the blackout,” said Rashid.

  “They did. But once Kiribati broke the blackout, Global and the other networks broke their agreements with me.”

  Rashid sank back in his chair. Kiribati. That means Tamara Bonai has betrayed me. And Joanna’s out there whipping up the other directors against me.

  “It was my belief,” Faure almost snarled,’that the Kiribati Corporation was under your control.”

  “It was my belief, too. Apparently we were both wrong.”

  “Then something must be done to correct them!”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  Faure’s image glowered out of the screen, like a little imp trying to look threatening. “I might ask of you the same question,” he retorted.

  I’ll call the person responsible for this. I’ll see to it that it doesn’t happen again.”

  “Too late for that,” Faure snapped. “Now that the cat is out of the sack, we will not be able to stuff it back inside again. All the news networks are besieging my public information office for permission to send reporters to Moonbase.”

  “You don’t have to grant such permission,” said Rashid.

  “Certainly not! But this means that the news networks will carry any propaganda that Moonbase beams to Earth!”

  Rashid thought about that for a moment, and reluctantly decided that Faure was right.

  “In that case,” he said to the fuming image, “all we can do is counter their propaganda with information of our own.”

  “Yes, and in the meantime the World Court will meet to decide whether or not Moonbase can be considered as a nation of its own.”

  “Surely you can delay the World Court.”

  “Only to a certain e
xtent.”

  “Long enough to send a stronger contingent of troops to seize Moonbase?”

  Faure nodded tightly. “Yes, long enough for that, I should think.”

  For some time after Faure’s call, Rashid sat in his desk chair, fingers steepled before his face, swivelling back and forth slightly. He was wondering what he could do about Tamara Bonai. This broadcast from Moonbase had to be her doing. She was defying everything that Rashid had worked so patiently to achieve.

  There would be a showdown with Joanna soon, he knew. She’s trying to drum up support on the board for a special meeting. Bonai will undoubtedly be on her side, unless I can prevent her from it.

  The problem was that Bonai was not merely the figurehead president of the hollow-shell Kiribati Corporation. She was also the head of the Kiribati council of chiefs; technically, legally, she was a chief of state.

  I will have to deal very carefully with her, Rashid thought. But she must be dealt with, one way or another.

  A slow smile worked across his face. Bonai is a very beautiful woman. It could be quite enjoyable dealing with her—one way or another.

  DAY FIFTEEN

  Joanna’s call woke Doug. He almost told the smart wall to answer it without canceling the video, but Edith stirred drowsily beside him and mumbled, “What’s that?”

  “Nothing,” he whispered, bending over her and kissing her bare shoulder. “Go back to sleep.”

  Doug slipped out of bed and padded to his desk on the other side of the partitioned room. The phone kept on chiming softly, insistently.

  The chair felt cool to his bare rump. He picked up the old-fashioned receiver and spoke softly, “Stavenger here.”

  From the delay he realized the call was coming from Earthside. His mother’s voice asked testily, “Where are you? Why isn’t there any video?”

  A smile creased Doug’s face. “Because it’s almost four a.m. here, Mother, and I’m not dressed.” He pressed a stud on the phone console and his mother’s features appeared on the wall screen opposite his desk, slightly larger than life.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, and heard the same question from her, almost at the same instant.

  “I’ve had a long talk with Rashid. He’s as much as admitted that he’s working toward a merger with Yamagata.”

  “A merger?” The thought alarmed Doug. He had never considered that Masterson Corporation might be taken over by another company.

  “It would be a buyout, really. Lord knows how much cash Yamagata’s promised him under the table.”

  “What can you do about it?” Doug asked.

  He knew her answer before he heard it. “I’m rallying the members of the board. If Yamagata wants us, it’s going to be a hostile takeover, and we intend to fight it every inch of the way.”

  “Do you have enough votes?”

  As he waited for her response, Doug realized he didn’t know the board well enough to count the votes himself.

  “It’ll be close,” Joanna admitted. “Rashid’s got a solid bloc on his side. But I think I can turn some of them around. Tamara Bonai might be the swing vote.”

  “Tamara?”

  A slight smile turned the corners of Joanna’s lips. “It might be worthwhile for you to visit her with the VR system. She’s a year or so older than you, but a little sweet talk might help us.”

  Doug stared at his mother. Despite the smile, she meant it.

  “Mom,” he said, thinking of Edith sleeping in his bed, “I’m no Romeo.” He couldn’t help smiling.

  But Joanna was already saying, “Faure’s been ducking me, as usual. His office has set up a meeting with two of his underlings, so I’m sending Lev to meet with them.”

  “We want to send some of the people here back Earthside,” Doug said. “The dance troupe… and there’s at least a dozen others who want to get home as soon as they can.”

  Joanna nodded once she heard his words. “I’ll tell Lev to see what he can work out. An evacuation flight might be good publicity for us. Faure won’t be able to turn down such a request. If he does—”

  “Speaking of publicity,” Doug interjected, “are Edith Elgin’s reports doing us any good?”

  Her face lit up once she heard the question. “Are they! She’s going to get a Pulitzer, you mark my words.”

  “Great,” said Doug. “But are they having any effect?”

  “Everybody knows you’ve declared Moonbase’s independence,” Joanna said excitedly. “All the talk shows and newsheets are full of debates about it. I’ve gotten three U.S. senators to ask the White House to request a hearing in the World Court. Faure’s turning blue over it!”

  “Good,” Doug said. “Great. How soon will the World Court take up our case?”

  Joanna’s reply came three seconds later. “We’re pushing for an emergency session of the court. Otherwise it’ll have to wait until November, when they convene again. At least they’ll put it at the head of their agenda, even if it’s November.”

  “November? That’s more than six months away.”

  “I’m trying to get to them sooner.”

  Doug felt his brows knitting. “Faure could do a lot of damage in six months.”

  Once she heard him, Joanna nodded. “But at least the public knows what’s going on now. Here in the States, especially, it’s the hottest thing in the media. You tell that reporter that she’s done more for Moonbase than a thousand troops could do.”

  Doug looked up and saw Edith standing by the partition that screened off the bedroom, quite naked.

  “Okay,” he said with a grin that he couldn’t suppress. I’ll tell her right away.”

  The digital clock on Jack Killifer’s desk said 11.00 p.m. The offices of the Urban Corps’ headquarters in Atlanta were nearly deserted.

  The offices took up the entire top floor of the tallest tower in the Peachtree Center. Looking out through the sweeping windows, Killifer saw a city darkened, blacked out, as if fearful of an air raid. Only far down at street level were there bright anti-crime lamps blazing through the night. Otherwise all the buildings seemed totally dark and abandoned.

  The sonofabitch enjoys making me stew around, waiting for him, Killifer groused to himself. Going on eight friggin’ years I’ve been working for these people and he still treats me like some office boy.

  The Urban Corps was one of the many disparate organizations loosely held together under the banner of the New Morality. They had elected presidents, won control of the House of Representatives, and had enough senators on their side to block legislation that they didn’t like. The anti-nanotechnology treaty had originated in the New Morality. Nanoluddite fanatics had gunned down pro-nanotech advocates, even women suspected of having nanotherapy instead of plastic surgery, and then proclaimed at their trials with the fervor of true belief that they were doing God’s work.

  For years, though, Killifer had urged his superiors in the Urban Corps that Moonbase was a danger to them. As long as Moonbase exists it must use nanotechnology. As long as Moonbase exists it will continue to make its profits by building Clipperships out of pure diamond, using nanomachines, and selling those rocket craft to transport lines on Earth. As long as Moonbase exists, the nanotechnology treaty is a farce and everything that the Urban Corps and the New Morality has worked to achieve was in danger of crumbling away into dust.

  And now it was all coming true. Moonbase was laughing at them, Stavenger and his bitch of a mother were thumbing their noses at them. The news media were all full of bull crap about Moonbase’s declaration of independence. Even some politicians were starting to say that maybe the nanotech treaty shouldn’t be interpreted so strictly.

  It could all fall apart, Killifer had been warning them for years. Only now, only with the humiliating rout of the Peacekeepers from Moonbase, were they beginning to take his warnings seriously.

  His desk phone beeped once. Killifer didn’t have to pick it up. He knew that he had been summoned at last into the presence of General O’Conner
.

  Killifer hurried past rows of empty, silent desks and down a corridor formed by flimsy shoulder-high plastic partitions. Through an open door he stepped, into a reception area that was tastefully carpeted and furnished with small consultation desks. The door at the far end was shut. He knocked once and opened it.

  General O’Conner was sunk in his wheelchair, half-dozing, a shrivelled shell of the dynamic powerful savior Killifer had met when he had joined the Urban Corps nearly eight years earlier.

  They had kept the news of the general’s strokes a secret, of course, known only to the innermost circle of the Corps. Not even the highest leaders of the other New Morality groups knew about it. To the outside world, General O’Conner was still the vigorous, forceful, charismatic leader of the organization that was transforming American cities from crime-ridden slums into rigidly controlled urban centers.

  With the staff’s careful handling of the crisis, General O’Conner had become an inaccessible figure, too lofty to waste his time with meetings and rallies. And the more inaccessible he became, the greater the tales of his power and saintliness. The less he was seen, the more he was admired and sought after. Rumors abounded of his appearances in disguise among the poor. He was ‘seen’ all across the country, sometimes in more than one place simultaneously. Thanks to clever electronic simulations that kept his image before the public, the general was becoming a figure of mythic power.

  “Well, what’re you waiting for?” General O’Conner said, in his cranky slurred croak of a voice.

  “I thought you had fallen asleep,” said Killifer, going to the armchair beside him.

  The general worked the toggle on his wheelchair’s control box and trundled off toward the windows. “Is the whole city blacked out, except for us?”

  Killifer had to get up and follow him. “Most of the city,” he replied. “When curfew strikes, the power goes down. Electricity stays on for residences, of course.”

  “Apartments, too? Condos?”

  “Yeah. It wouldn’t be smart to shut off their power.”

  “Then why’s everything pitch black out there?” the general demanded. “Are we the only ones showing any light?”