Moonfall

by Jack McDevitt

  He still got lonely. He missed Ann, and most days the house was quieter than he liked. But he’d adjusted reasonably well. She wouldn’t have stood for his moping around and feeling sorry for himself, and he did what he could to follow the advice she’d written on the last birthday card she’d sent him, to treat life like an overripe grapefruit, and get all the juice out of it he could.

  So he watched the TV reports with interest and a little trepidation. (Fear was part of the grapefruit, too.) But the ocean looked reassuringly calm and flat.

  Pennsylvania Turnpike, northwest of Philadelphia. 7:33 P.M.

  The traffic, which had moved sporadically for three hours, had now stopped altogether. State police channels reported that the turnpike was a parking lot all the way out to Valley Forge.

  The convoy had long since dissolved. Archie could see four company trucks strung out behind him. The rest were gone, swallowed somewhere in the crush.

  “Claire,” he asked, “do you know what the justification was for building the interstate highway system?”

  She had no idea.

  “Eisenhower said he wanted to be able to move troops quickly from one place to another. In case of invasion.”

  She looked around at the gridlock and smiled. “There were fewer cars then.”

  Pickups, station wagons, vans, all were loaded with cartons and blankets and kids. Furniture was piled on top. Lamps stuck out windows, and trunk lids were tied down atop chairs. Archie had been in the Caucasus during peacekeeping operations, when local strongmen had tried to eliminate minority ethnic groups and the Turks hadn’t cooperated in the rescue. He remembered people on the roads, headed south and east, away from the killing zones. There had been a lot of cars, and the roads were decent. Not the Pennsylvania Turnpike, certainly. But there was something in this automotive crush that reminded him of those frightened multitudes.

  Something.

  Maybe the kids huddled in the back seats; and scared drivers getting out to push stalled cars off the road; and even occasional gunfire. In the Caucasus it had been snipers posted along the highways. Here he didn’t know what it was.

  Ahead, a blinker rotated slowly on a cruiser, but the cops were as helpless as everybody else.

  Old cars were overheating or running out of gas. Electrics were exhausting their batteries. The Pine River trucks had been charged before leaving the plant. But even they would not get through the night.

  “How you doing, Claire?”

  She shrugged. They were inching past an off-ramp. It was loaded with vehicles trying to exit. There was an extra lane of traffic along the shoulder, but it wasn’t moving either.

  He’d tried several times to reach Susan on his cell phone. But the circuits must have been jammed and he couldn’t get through. The roads were probably bad everywhere. He thought about her trying to navigate I–287 around New York, and regretted having encouraged her to go. “These people are crazy,” he said finally.

  She grinned. “We’re out here with them.”

  “Yeah. But we’re being paid.”

  THE MOLLY SINGER SHOW. 8:00 P.M.

  Excerpt from an interview at the WXPI-TV studios in Richmond, Virginia, with “Colonel” Steve Gallagher, Commander, Thomas Jefferson Legion.

  Singer: Colonel, why does Virginia need a militia?

  Gallagher: We all know the answer to that question, Molly. Some of us don’t want to face up to the truth, and some of us are in bed with the traitors at the top. But we all know.

  Singer: Why don’t you tell us?

  Gallagher: The Legion is all that stands between oppressive government and the people. If the federals are ever successful in putting us down, you and the other people out there might just as well put on your leg irons.

  Singer: So you really think there’s a wide-ranging plot to enslave the American people?

  Gallagher: You can joke about it all you want, you and the rest of the liberal media, you’ve always been up front, egging these traitors on and hiding the truth. But when you turn the country over to them, they’ll swallow you whole too. Just like the rest of us.

  Singer: Who precisely are we talking about?

  Gallagher: Start with Kolladner.

  Singer: What’s he done?

  Gallagher: Government without representation, Molly. Open your eyes. It’s the same reason we fought the first revolution. Look, it’s not really about individuals. It’s about the machinery of government. It’s about a system that allows people like Kolladner to get their hands on the levers, that tries to hold down the rest of us.

  Singer: We have the vote.

  Gallagher: Who do you get to vote for? Usually you can choose between two puppets. Molly, Molly, most men and women are born to be slaves. We both know that. At any given time on the planet, there are only a few who can truly be said to be free. The others, the great mass of your audience for example, are enslaved because they believe what they’re told by their schools and their churches. By society, and particularly by shows like this. These are all corrupt institutions with a stake in ensuring correct behavior. Maintain order, that’s what you want, is ensuring correct behavior. Maintain order, that’s what you want, isn’t it? So you can keep your two-hundred-thousand-dollar-a-year job. You were born to be a slave, Molly. You’ve got some ability and you’ve sold out. Your job is to see that anyone who thinks for himself gets isolated, banished to the fringes, and rendered impotent.

  Richmond, WXPI Studios. 8:36 P.M.

  Tad Wickett and the colonel’s younger brother Jack were waiting for him in the lobby. “How’d it look?” Steve asked.

  “You were damned good, Steve,” said Jack. “Maybe we can wake some of these people up.”

  Tad nodded. “You put the bitch down real good, Colonel.”

  Steve stood for a moment, not moving, looking back the way he’d come as if they might call him for an encore. “She deserves to be put down a lot harder,” he said. “It’s people like that who are the problem. They cover for the sons of bitches who are draining this country dry. I can’t believe she doesn’t know she’s being used.”

  “Whether she does or not,” said Tad, “she’s in the way. Why don’t we just put her out of business? Teach the rest of them a lesson.”

  Jack felt a chill. He didn’t like Wickett. Twice in Jack’s experience he’d almost gone off the road trying to run down dogs. He was an ex-Marine who talked a lot about eliminating people. You couldn’t tell whether he meant it or not. The colonel laughed whenever Jack voiced his fears. Don’t worry about Tad. He only does what I tell him to. And we need people like him. Day’s going to come….

  “What did you have in mind?” asked Steve, who was far too smart to use violence except as a last resort. Still, he knew that dismissing suggestions peremptorily was poor leadership technique.

  “Take out the station,” said Tad. Jack could see he relished the prospect. “You know how at the end of the show she always says, ‘This is Molly saying goodnight and good fortune’? Let her get the line in and then blow her and the station to hell. Right on cue.”

  The colonel grinned. Tad claimed to have killed several people in military service, and everybody knew he’d finished Scratchy Ellsworth in a fight last year. Police screwed up the investigation or Tad would be in jail now.

  “I don’t think we need to do that yet,” Steve said. “But in time, Tad, we’ll get around to Molly Singer.”

  7.

  PENNSYLVANIA STATEWIDE RADIO/TV/NET HOOKUP. 9:00 P.M.

  “This is Governor Adcock, speaking to you from the state capital at Harrisburg. I want to urge you to stay in your homes. I understand your concern about the Tomiko Comet, but I remind you that the Moon is a quarter-million miles away, and everything else is speculation.

  “Traffic on the streets and highways of eastern Pennsylvania has all but ground to a halt, despite the best efforts of state and local police. The safest place for you is at home. We have fully mobilized the resources of the Commonwealth to deal with any
problem that might arise. I will and that I do not expect any, other than the ones caused by frightened citizens. Bear in mind that emergency vehicles cannot get through if private vehicles crowd the streets and roads. I would also ask that you refrain from tying up telephone lines unless absolutely necessary.

  “I’ll be leaving here within the hour to join Mayor Hanson in Philadelphia. I plan to stay at City Hall there tomorrow and through the weekend, to be with you until we can put this behind us.

  “Please do not misunderstand me. I recognize the uncertainty of the situation. But be aware that this is a problem for all of us. The best thing we can do right now to help one another is to keep calm. I will continue to inform you of developments. Thank you and good evening.”

  Micro Flight Deck. 10:18 P.M.

  They were chasing Berlin. It was a long run this time, almost an hour and a half, and Tony took advantage of it to try to sleep. But the incident with the leaky valve haunted him.

  Unlike Bigfoot Caparatti, he wasn’t given to guilt, and he in no way blamed himself that they were now perhaps fatally behind schedule. He knew what he might have done differently, knew he could have blown out of the cloud, or climbed outside and shut down the leaky valve, and finished the mission. But he couldn’t have been expected to make those guesses. It would have been reckless, for example, to risk colliding with the plane. A small voice somewhere told him he should have realized the other pilot would draw away. But he couldn’t be certain the other pilot wouldn’t have thought he was in deep trouble, and would have expected the Micro to keep still while the plane approached.

  Anyway, that was all past now. A waste of time to think about it. The question was, how to repair the damage?

  There was a way.

  “You okay, Tony?” Saber was looking at him, worried. Berlin was around the curve of the Moon. They were running over Farside, beneath the baleful glow of the comet, which now looked like a second sun. Not a real sun, but a cool, wispy apparition. Something seen at night in a forest.

  “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “You know,” he said, “we can deliver our last pickup tomorrow night and still get back down before the comet hits.”

  Their last launch from the Spaceport would take place at about seven-thirty P.M., Saturday. They’d rendezvous with Arlington, which by then would be the only remaining plane in Luna’s skies, at about ten after nine.

  “We could get back down to the Spaceport by a quarter after.”

  “Ten?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Tony, that’s only twenty minutes before the comet hits. Not even time to get off the pad. Anyhow, Arlington would be long gone.”

  “So we’d have to stay with the Micro, wouldn’t we?”

  She stared at him. “We couldn’t get out of there in under a half hour. We could skip the maintenance, but we’d still have to refuel.”

  “I know. Saber, I don’t want to leave anyone on the ground.”

  “Hell. Nobody does. But all that would happen if we went back is that we’d get caught down there with them.”

  “Not necessarily.” He picked up their passenger manifest, and looked over the names. There were three private vendors on board and three dependents. He also had two geologists, a hydroponics expert, and an astrophysicist. Total of ten. (The hydroponics expert was heavy, the kids were light. They’d been able to put an extra child on board.)

  The astrophysicist should be just what he needed. He asked Saber to go below and invite her onto the flight deck.

  Janet Koestler was middle-aged, slightly overweight, with a plump, apple-pie expression. It was easier to imagine her surrounded by grandkids than working with telescopes. “How can I help you, Captain?” she asked after he’d seated her in Saber’s chair.

  “Professional question?”

  “Sure.”

  “I wonder if you could describe for us precisely what’ll happen when Tomiko gets here? When it hits the Moon?”

  Ahead, the Earth was rising.

  “In what way?” she asked.

  “Is the Moon going to explode?”

  Her brow furrowed. “No,” she said. “The Moon can’t explode. It’s really a fairly cohesive body.”

  “Then what’s going to happen?”

  “I haven’t seen the calculations, but this comet is very big. It’s an anomaly. And it’s coming at a velocity I’d have thought impossible.

  “A comet this size, if it were hitting Earth, would carve out a crater roughly thirty-six hundred kilometers in diameter. That’s more than the diameter of the Moon.” She paused for effect. “That tells me the Moon will be broken apart.” She looked down at the lunar surface. “Everything in the immediate neighborhood of the impact will be vaporized, probably well toward the core.

  “The comet’s going to melt a lot of rock. A lot. Some of it will be blasted clear of the surface. Or maybe a more correct way to put it is, ejected from the gravitational center. Some will even be blown clear of the Earth-Moon system and go into solar orbit.”

  “But the Moon, or most of it, will still be here? Is that what you’re saying? Because that’s not what we’ve been hearing.”

  She frowned. “It’s just very hard to predict this event. Look, the comet will fracture the Moon. There’s no question about that. It’ll convert it into a cluster of loose rock. Everything that can be broken will be broken. The shock will cause the rock to drift apart. It’ll spread out around the Moon’s orbit, and some of it will probably form a kind of shell around the Earth, at about the lunar radius. I’d want to do some work on this, but I imagine, given enough time, the particles will reform. And there’ll be another Moon. Smaller, I would think.” She took a deep breath. “There’s another interesting possibility.”

  “Which is?”

  “The Earth will acquire a set of rings. Over the long term.”

  Saber asked how long was the long term.

  “Several million years. Certainly nothing we need concern ourselves with.”

  Tony leaned toward her, attentive. “Doc,” he said, “I’d like to ask a hypothetical question. You’ve had a chance to look at the Micro?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “This vehicle. The one we’re in.”

  “Well, yes. I’ve seen it, more or less, I’m in it.”

  “If it were a few thousand feet over Moonbase at the time of collision, what would you think about its chances of survival?”

  “Not good.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  She shrugged. “Well, if the bus were directly over Moonbase, it would have one thing going for it. Impact will take place on the far side. But there’s going to be a very large fireball. My guess is that the fireball will come right over the pole and engulf the entire northern hemisphere.”

  “Moonbase is at Alphonsus,” Tony reminded her. “Thirteen degrees south.”

  “Maybe I should have said it will engulf the entire Moon.”

  “How high would I have to be to be safe?”

  “Preferably halfway to Earth. At least. Captain, none of this is my field of expertise. I really don’t know.” She looked at him, and the smile, which had seemed a permanent part of her features, faded. “You’re not planning on doing anything like this, are you?”

  Moonbase, Director’s Office. 11:03 P.M.

  Chaplain Pinnacle hadn’t been the first volunteer. A mechanic named Tamayaka had offered to stay in exchange for payment of future college expenses for his three kids; and a young optics expert, distraught over the philandering of her new husband, had asked to remain. Chandler had accepted neither. He was disappointed at the reaction of his senior people. Only Jill Benning had openly opposed him. But the others had stood by and left him to defend the only reasonable position as best he could. Eckerd was behaving as if he was doing Chandler a favor. Hawkworth walked around looking like a martyr.

  Eckerd, who headed Health and Safety, knew about the director’s heart p
roblems. Chandler wondered whether he had pursued his knowledge to its logical conclusion: that it was far less difficult for Chandler to play the hero than it was for the others. And that hard reality chilled him. Still, it did not ease his smoldering anger. With or without the heart problem, he would have done the right thing. He knew that.

  After the chaplain called, Chandler simply put out an amended list, inserting the chaplain’s name directly above his own. That bumped everybody else, except Evelyn, up one slot. Then had come the shocker: The vice president was staying! Chandler had his doubts that Haskell wouldn’t change his mind. But he’d duly inserted the name, scheduled Benning for a flight, and moved the others up another notch. Benning had told him that he shouldn’t think for a minute that this would get him and Hampton and the corporation off the hook. She was going to sue everyone in sight.

  He wondered what they’d do if Haskell did change his mind. Call her back and tell her she was going to get to stay after all?

  BBC WORLDNET. 11:07 P.M.

  Excerpt from on interview with Dr. Olive Ellsworth of the Anglo-Australian-Observatory in New South Wales, conducted by Connie Hasting.

  Ellsworth: The section we’ve highlighted is the impact area. It’s on the far side, about a hundred miles west of Mare Muscoviense. It’ll be coming in at roughly four hundred fifty-five kilometers per second, which is a slight decrease in velocity since we first saw it. That’s due to the gravitational influence of the Sun, of course.

  Hasting: And it’s the center of the comet that we have to worry about. Right?

  Ellsworth: Yes, Connie. It’s the center, the nucleus, that will do the damage.

  Hasting: And the coma is the part that glows?

  Ellsworth: The coma’s a cloud of gas and dust. When a comet gets near the Sun, it begins to heat up, and we get a coma. And a tail. Or, as in this case, sometimes two tails.

  Hasting: How big is the coma?

  Ellsworth: This one’s about there hundred thousand miles across.