by Garon Whited
Julie wasn’t in the control area, nor was Lin. The gentleman there was named Shu. I asked after Julie and was told she would be back in a minute. I loitered shamelessly while he kept an eye on the various processes of our miniature world.
It never fails to amaze me that we managed to build machines that can duplicate the life processes of a planet. Admittedly, we cheat; we do it with a lot of intense pressure and some high voltage. Doing it at all strikes me as the high-water-mark of our understanding of our former world.
Julie came back with Lin; I saw them through the windows of the control room. After another minute or two and some gesturing, Julie came through the other door into the control area while Lin took off for points unknown.
“Max! Good to see you.” She stood on tip-toe and kissed my cheek. “Feel like a new project?”
I sighed in mock exhaustion. “How did I know?”
“It’s not that bad, Max. It can wait, oh, at least a couple of years.”
“Forward thinking. I like that. What’s the problem?”
She tugged me out of the control room to take a walk in the recycling bay while she explained about water. We recycle almost everything in the base, but we lose a little water in humidity every time an airlock cycles, just like we lose a little air. The loss in miniscule, but definite. Likewise, if we ever spring a leak, we’ll lose a lot more. But replacing it is impossible; there is no water on the Moon, at least not where we can get to it.
“So I was thinking—”
“Dangerous,” I observed.
“Ha. –thinking that if we had hydrogen, we could make water.”
“If we had hydrogen, we could run the Luna on a standard fuel mix. We don’t. That’s why I’m converting her to Al-Oh-two when she’s down for repairs.”
“Ah, but we do have hydrogen. A little, anyway. It’s streaming down all day!”
“Streaming down?”
“Solar wind. Hydrogen is raining out of the sky all the time.”
“Right.”
“So, come up with a way to collect it.”
People have got to quit giving me ideas like that. My brain just starts figuring these things out, and it’s been overworked. I’m on light duty, darn it.
“A Bussard collector—a charged magnetic field to attract the hydrogen ions and concentrate them, as well as a low-pressure pump to force them into a tank. What else?”
She smiled at me. “Combine that with oxygen and we have water. How much do you think it will make per lunar day?”
“Not a clue. Why don’t you mention it to Peng and see if he can set up an experiment with you?”
She blushed. “I will.”
“Or have you been talking to Peng already?” I asked, watching her turn even more pink.
“A little. He’s been very helpful.” What she didn’t say was that Peng had explained how the hydroponics on the habitat had been important to recycling wastes. She’d pretended to listen with quiet attention. Peng never had a clue that he was talking to a recycling expert.
“Great. If there’s spare capacity, Peng will know it. I’ll tell him to expect the project. We need to experiment a little, at least. If we can get enough, we may use it for the Luna.”
“I doubt it’ll be that much, but we can save up for it, maybe.”
“There’s certainly time.”
* * *
I don’t spend a lot of time on the “bridge” of our base. Captain Carl makes the duty rosters and keeps me off normal watches. I may have a staff, but I also have a lot to do. It’s his discretion, but I’m not complaining.
I made a point of being in central control during the last few hours of Luna’s approach. Captain Carl was seated at the director’s seat, while Anne and Julie were both at radar stations. I was manning a terminal and was watching the Luna’s radar track while comparing it to a computer-projected optimum. Long before the critical point, she was far enough from Heinlein that her busted antenna could put out more power than the apparent power of the jammer.
“Come in, Luna Base,” crackled from the speaker. The voice was full of static, but it was Kathy.
“Go ahead, Commander. We read you, over,” the Captain answered.
“About time, sir! I regret to report Heinlein Station has been occupied by hostiles. Ensign Mishenkova was captured by the enemy. I was forced to retreat to prevent the loss of the ship. Over.”
“Roger that, Commander. We have you on radar. Are you prepared to make a course correction? Over.”
“Affirmative, over.”
A few minutes later, the Luna’s radar track matched the computer’s optimum track. A report on the fuel situation told us that she had enough to get down—barely; Captain Carl had estimated the fuel use for the correction in his earlier calculations. There would be no room for mistakes, though.
There were no mistakes. The Luna came down on a perfect ballistic curve, braked on her jet, and set down lightly on her belly jets. She rolled over to the airlock using the electric motors in the wheels. I would have attached the docking tube, but my monitors showed me what had been done to the Luna’s outer airlock door when she broke away.
Okay, I admit it—that hacked me off. I’d gone to a lot of trouble to put that window in. One more blasted thing to fix… again.
Then we’d see about getting Galena back.
That’s when Kiska came in and reported to the Captain. It struck me that she seemed agitated, even nervous, moreso than she usually was when speaking with the Captain.
“Sir?”
Captain Carl turned away from the monitor, obviously in a good mood.
“Yes, Voronkova? What’s on your mind?”
“Sir, it’s the guests. They want to talk to you.”
The Captain shook his head. “Later, perhaps. I have a pilot to debrief.”
“I volunteer,” I said, grinning.
“Later, in your quarters,” Captain Carl replied, absently, still looking at Kiska. She still seemed upset.
“Sir,” Kiska continued, “I don’t know if this makes any difference… but it’s the Federals among them.”
“Oh?”
“They’ve elected a President, and he’s demanding that you report in person.”
* * *
Some days, it doesn’t pay to get out of bed.
Someone among the guests decided to hold an election. We had a little over fifty habitat residents with us; the staffers, being younger, healthier, and trained for space, had a greater percentage of survivors, so they were now almost as numerous. Most of the staffers were Chinese; the corporation that used to own the habitat was based in China, after all. The residents were from several nations—the only requirement to be a resident was money.
The twelve citizens of the Federated States held an election. Now they had a President and Vice-President.
Captain Carl listened with a quiet, neutral expression to Kiska’s report. When she was done, he nodded and stood up.
“It looks like we’re going to go meet the President. Everyone, please follow me.”
We looked at each other, but followed in silence. This was going to be interesting. Possibly disastrous, but interesting. For some reason, it reminded me of the time the Infernal Revenue Service summoned my Uncle Jim to court. We went down to the airlock elevator and met Kathy. Once she was unsuited and briefed, she had a few choice words about letting the animals run amok. Captain Carl just shrugged.
“We should go see the President,” he said, simply. Kathy subsided and followed along. I was wondering about the Treasury Department and the Secret Service—and how it would reflect badly on them if the President got his head torn off by an irate pilot. Of course, they might not even exist, yet.
When we got to the messhall, the whole complement of residents was there, along with several of our new noncoms. The few people not present were on duty.
Andrews stood up and greeted us.
“Ah, Captain! Good of you to join us. We’ve been waiting for you. We wanted
everyone to be here for the inauguration.” He fairly radiated smug self-satisfaction.
“Indeed. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” the Captain replied, quietly. I detected no trace of irony in his voice.
“Hey!” Julie protested. “Don’t I get to vote? I was born in California. You got something against Californians?”
Andrews looked even more smug. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry! It didn’t occur to us to include you in the voting, given your obvious preferences. By all means, vote! We wouldn’t want to disenfranchise a citizen.”
“Lieutenant…” Captain Carl began.
“Please, Captain,” Andrews interrupted, hand raised. “If a citizen of the Federated States wishes to vote in a legally-established election, it is not your place to bar her.”
Captain Carl smiled. “An excellent point,” he agreed. “By all means, Lieutenant, go ahead.”
Julie glanced at the Captain and hesitated. Captain Carl smiled ever so slightly and nodded.
“All right. Who are the candidates?”
“Myself, of course,” Andrews replied, “and Edward Olman. Ed! Come over here, please, and meet a constituent that wishes to vote.”
Olman was a chubby fellow with a wide grin, a slightly-wider fringe of white hair around his head, and thick glasses. He reminded me of a happy clown. I didn’t know what he did Earthside, but he would have been great as a kids’ entertainer. Later, I found out that his cheerful exterior concealed a shrewd former CEO of Trans-Pacific Shipping Amalgamated, once one of the largest shipping firms in the world.
He pumped Julie’s hand enthusiastically and said, “Very pleased, very. So nice to meet you, miss. As much as I’d like to have your vote, I’m afraid it won’t do much good; Andrews has a bit too much of a lead. But,” he added, winking, “it would make me feel better to lose by less. Sort of giving me hope for next time, you see. Of course, I’ll still be Vice-President if I lose—not enough candidates. But it’s the difference between being the winner and first-place loser.”
“Now, Ed,” Andrews chided, “you shouldn’t have told her that. It might influence her thinking.”
“Oh, no,” Julie protested. “Not a chance of that. I just wanted to know who it was that ran against you so I could vote for him. There was no way in Hell that I was voting for a slime-sucking, fatuous gasbag such as you. Mister Olman, you’ve got my vote.”
Andrews’ face was a study. If I live to be a hundred, I don’t think I’ll ever see a more interesting expression. Olman was much easier to read. He burst into glorious laughter. He had to sit down and hold his sides. The whole crew was amused. I know I was smiling.
“Well,” Andrews said, frostily, “I think that settles the vote count at eight to five, my favor. So, if there are no further protests?”
Captain Carl looked at the rest of us and gave the smallest of headshakes—a very, very faint “No.”
Nobody protested.
“Good. Then we can have the Reverend Wembleson proceed. If you will excuse me?” Andrews glided off toward the padre. Olman finally stopped chuckling.
“Miss? Lieutenant, ah…?”
“Lewis,” Julie answered.
“Lieutenant Lewis, I have to thank you. Andrews can be impossible at times. How he managed to swing the votes, I’ll never know. But thank you for your vote and the most amusement I’ve had in weeks.”
Julie smiled. Olman was hard to dislike. “It was a pleasure, sir.”
Olman chuckled a little more and wandered off for the inauguration ceremony. Kathy leaned close to the Captain and whispered for a moment. The Captain looked tempted, but shook his head.
“Everyone,” he said, quietly addressing us. We gathered closer around. “In a few minutes, the government-in-exile of the Federated States is going to have a real and material presence here on the Moon. It’s quite possible that other governments are going to establish themselves here in the same fashion. I intend to nip this nationalism in the bud. Do you understand?”
We all nodded.
“I hate to ask this, since we all served in the armed forces of the Federated States… but are you with me? I need to know beyond any doubt.”
We didn’t need to think that one over. Nations or nationalities, races and ethnic groups—a lot of things went overboard with such a small population. All of the crew nodded without a word.
“Sir?” I asked.
“Yes?”
“Sir, I’ve been thinking… and I have an idea.”
“Uh-oh,” said Julie. The Captain silenced her with a look.
“Go ahead, Maxwell.”
“I propose to nominate you King of Luna.”
Anne gasped and suddenly there were a lot of goggly eyes staring at me, Captain Carl among them.
“I think you’d make a great King,” I added, maybe a little defensively.
“That’s… flattering, Maxwell,” he answered. “Thank you. But no. No. We won’t… no, we can’t have that. We need a meritocracy, not a monarchy—”
Whatever he was going to say was interrupted by the start of the ceremony.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please be seated,” said the Reverend. People shuffled to seats and the Captain just said to us, “Later.” We found seats ourselves. I noticed that Anne sat next to the Captain and held his hand, or vice versa. Well, well, well.
“Thank you all for being here, either as interested parties or as guests. I would like to take this opportunity to say a few words.”
The padre took the opportunity all right, and it was more than a few. He went on for nearly half an hour, droning about responsibility and authority and the need for leadership and good judgment. I don’t know who his speech was aimed at; it was phrased in such a way that he could have been for either the new President or for Captain Carl. It was actually kind of entertaining, trying to figure out which way he really did lean.
Once that was over, he got down to the meat of the matter. He called up the President-elect and got out a Bible. The President was sworn in on the spot with the ancient words. Olman followed as the Vice-President, and Andrews—excuse me, President Andrews made a speech.
I sat up and paid close attention. It sounded like a campaign speech to me, filled with a lot of tub-thumping and rousing phrases. The freedom, the liberties, the restoration of our former quality of life, all of that was part of it, as well as a promise to allow unrestricted immigration for the foreseeable future. I half expected to hear about bread and circuses.
He ended with, “Now, all those citizens of other countries who may wish to join in the fellowship of the Federated States, please stand up. I promise you, naturalization into our nation will be as swift as a simple ‘I do.’ Please, join us in seeking greater prosperity and quality of life for all!”
A lot of residents stood up immediately, followed by a lot who were considerably slower. It looked as though about thirty or so were willing to give up citizenship in one radioactive crater for citizenship in another. And, true to his word, President Andrews asked them en masse if they chose freely to be citizens of the Federated States. There was a general declaration of “I do,” and he pronounced them citizens that same minute—citizens of a glowing place on the map, but he didn’t mention that.
He turned his attention to Captain Carl.
“Captain Carl,” he began, “I thank you for your attendance at this august ceremony and for all your hard work in maintaining order among the scattered remnants of humanity over the past weeks. Now, I think, I would like to discuss with you the future of our race. Please see me in my quarters.”
Captain Carl stood up. “Of course, Mister President. However, I’d like to take this opportunity to address everyone, since we’re all gathered together.”
“Of course, Captain.”
President Andrews stepped aside and Captain Carl stepped up to the front so everyone could see him.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am taking this opportunity to address you so you may be informed regarding the events of the
past few hours and the likely course of events in the near future.
“First, the Heinlein station is occupied by individuals who attempted to capture the Luna. The spacecraft, under the command of Commander Edwards, escaped from this attempt at piracy, but only at the cost of Ensign Mishenkova. A rescue operation is in the planning stages. However, it must be made clear that action involving military force will be required.”
A murmur moved through the room, a ripple of sound that swelled as it came from a hundred different throats. President Andrews stood up to say something.
“Second,” Captain Carl went on, cutting the President off, “I wish to inform everyone of the change in plans for the occupation of the Liwei habitat.”
A silence descended on the room. President Andrews remained standing, but he fell silent to listen.
“At this point, the habitat should be completely unable to support life. The temperature is too low to be conducive to survival and the need to heat food and melt drinking water assures that the carbon dioxide content of its atmosphere will render it uninhabitable. By the time we can return to the habitat, it will be completely derelict, and, as such, we will claim it as salvage. Until then, those of you who are not Lunar citizens are still welcome to be our guests.
“However,” he added, eyes glinting, “we will be able to provide transportation home for the citizens of the Federated States much more quickly.”
President Andrews answered that remark. “Captain, really, I believe such planning is a bit premature. You really should wait until you’ve had the opportunity to discuss it with your commander-in-chief.” President Andrews smiled as he said it.
“Unfortunately, Mister President, I don’t have a commander-in-chief. I am the commander-in-chief… of Luna. But,” he added, “the sovereign state of Luna is working diligently to provide you transportation back to your country, as a courtesy. A group of reentry vehicles will be constructed for your exclusive use as quickly as possible. With a little patience on your part, I feel certain that we can repatriate you to your native soil.”