Moonrise gt-5 Read online

  Doug said good-bye to her at last, and she blanked the phone screen, then sank back into her caramel brown chair. It subtly molded its shape to accommodate her. In its armrests were controls that could massage or warm her, if Joanna wanted.

  All she really wanted was her son safely by her side. Both her sons.

  Trying to drive away her fears and apprehensions, Joanna concentrated on her work for hours. Long after darkness fell, long after the corporate headquarters building had emptied of everyone else except its lone human guard monitoring the security sensors and the robots patrolling the hallways, Joanna remained in her office, studying reports, scanning graphs, speaking with Masterson employees scattered all around the globe and aboard the corporation’s space facilities in orbit.

  It was almost one in the morning when she wearily got up from her chair and went to the closet next to her personal lavatory. Joanna felt growing tension as she took off her dress and stripped down to her bra and panties. She reached into the closet and pulled out the sensor suit. It hung limp and lifeless, gray and slightly fuzzy-looking, in her hands.

  He always called precisely on time, and she was slightly behind schedule. Quickly, Joanna stepped into the full-body suit and pressed closed the Velcro seals at its cuffs, ankles, and running down its front. The suit felt itchy on her skin, as it always did.

  Taking the helmet from its shelf in the closet, she went back to her recliner chair and sat down. As she plugged the virtual reality suit into the chair, her wristwatch announced that she had one minute to spare. One minute to try to calm down a little.

  She pulled the helmet over her coiffure, but left the visor up. This must be what a spacesuit’s helmet is like, she thought. Or a biker’s.

  The phone’s chime sounded in her earphones. Joanna slid the visor down and said, “Hello, Greg.”

  Her son had not changed much outwardly in the eighteen years since Paul’s death. Still darkly handsome, pale skin stretched over high cheekbones and strong, stubborn jaw. Eyes as dark and penetrating as glittering obsidian. Just a touch of gray at his temples; it made him look even more enticing, in her eyes.

  “Hello, Mom,” he said somberly.

  Even on this tropical Pacific beach he wore dark slacks and a starched shirt. His shoes and slacks will be soaked by the surf, Joanna thought, then reminded herself that Greg was actually in his own office, quite dry and probably amused at the flowered wraparound pareo and oversized mesh shirt mat she had programmed into her virtual reality costume.

  They were standing on the white sand beach on the lagoon side of Bonriki. The airport was hidden by the high-rise office towers of the town, but out in the lagoon Joanna could see the floating platforms and work boats of the sea-launched rocket boosters. Almost on the equator, Tarawa lagoon was an ideal launch point for Pacific traffic into orbit. The island nation of Kiribati was getting rich on its royalties from Masterson Aerospace.

  “Happy birthday, Greg,” Joanna said. She embraced her son and felt his arms fold around her briefly. I’m sorry I couldn’t come in person.”

  “That’s okay,” he replied, trying to smile. “VR’s the next best thing.”

  “How are you?” she asked.

  “Fine. The operation here is going very well. They’re even talking about setting up an amusement park to draw in tourists.”

  Joanna shook her head. “That’s a good way for them to lose money.”

  Greg laughed. “The more they blow, the more dependent they’ll be on us. I’m already working out better terms for our contract renewal.”

  “I’m very proud of what you’ve accomplished here,” Joanna said.

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  Neither of them spoke of what stood between them. Greg had gone through years of intensive therapy after his maniacal rage had led him to murder. For years Joanna had watched him every day, trusting him only as far as she could see him, protecting him against the pain and pressures of the world beyond the walls of their home.

  Only gradually, when it became clear that the focus of his murderous fury had abated, did she allow him to return to the real world. Greg learned to control himself, learned to calm the bitter tides that surged through him, learned even to accept the fact that he had to share his mother with his younger half-brother.

  In time, Joanna allowed him to return to the corporation. Gradually, slowly, the leash on which she kept her son grew longer, more flexible, until now he lived thousands of miles away and directed an important new operation of the corporation.

  Yet despite his outward calm Joanna always felt the volcano seething beneath Greg’s surface. Even in the tropical tranquility of this Pacific atoll he was all tension and wary-eyed pain. Even in the relaxed mores of Micronesia he had not taken a lover; as far as Joanna could determine he did not even have a steady girlfriend, neither native nor corporate. He doesn’t even have a tan, she realized. He’s in his office all the time, driving himself constantly. The only time he gets to the beach is in VR simulations for meetings with me.

  Joanna had kept Greg and his half-brother Douglas separated as much as possible. Over the years it began to seem almost normal that Doug would be away when Greg visited home, and Greg would not be there when Doug was. It was as if she had two different families, one son in each. There were holidays when the three of them were together, briefly, but they were always filled with tension and the fear that Greg might suddenly explode.

  He never did. And Doug learned to get along with his older half-brother. It was difficult to dislike Doug; he had his father’s charm. Greg could even laugh with Doug, on rare occasions.

  Now, as Joanna and Greg walked ankle-deep in the gentle virtual surf of the lagoon, with the dying sun painting the towering cumulus clouds fabulous shades of pink and orange, Greg seemed lost in thought.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked, looking up into his somber eyes.

  Greg let out a sigh, like a man in pain.

  “What is it, dear?” Joanna repeated.

  He stopped and turned to face her, his back to the glorious sunset. “Have I done an adequate job here?”

  Joanna had to shade her eyes to look up at him. “More than adequate, Greg. You’ve made me proud of you.”

  “All right,” he said. “Then I want to move up to the next challenge.”

  “The next…?”

  “Moonbase,” Greg said.

  For a moment Joanna wasn’t certain that she had heard him correctly.

  “I want to be put in charge of Moonbase,” he said, his voice calm. But she could sense the depth of his desire, even through the virtual reality interface.

  “Moonbase,” she repeated, stalling for time to think.

  “Anson’s due to rotate back to Savannah when her tour is finished,” Greg said. “I’d like to be named to replace her for the next year.”

  Doug is on the Moon, Joanna thought swiftly. But he’ll be coming back once Brennart’s expedition establishes an operational facility at the south pole.

  “Mom? Did you hear me?”

  “Yes, of course I heard you. It’s just… unexpected. You’ve caught me by surprise, Greg.”

  He broke into a cheerless smile. “That’s the first time that’s happened!”

  “I never thought you’d want to go to Moonbase,” she said.

  “It’s the next logical step, isn’t it? A year at Moonbase and then I can move up to head the entire space operations division.”

  Joanna made herself smile back at him. “Director of Moonbase is a big responsibility.”

  His smile evaporated. “You don’t trust me.”

  “Of course I trust you!” she blurted.

  “But not enough.”

  “Oh, Greg—”

  “I know. You’ve got every reason not to trust me. But it’s not like I’m looking to be made CEO, or even asking for my old seat on the board of directors.”

  “There’s going to be a vacancy on the board next year,” Joanna said. “I was planning to nominate you.�
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  If that pleased him, Greg did not show it ’Mom, I want to earn my way. Moonbase is always tottering on the brink of collapse. I want to spend a year there and make the tough decision.”

  “The tough decision?”

  “To close it down, once and for all.”

  “You, can’t do that!”

  “Somebody has to,” he snapped. “We can’t let Moonbase keep draining the corporation, year after year.”

  “But it’s making a profit…”

  Greg’s expression turned sour. “You know that’s not true, Mom. Oh, sure, the bookkeeping shows a small profit, but when you figure in all the seed money we’ve put in for research that’s off the bqpks and all the other hidden costs, Moonbase is an expense we can’t afford.”

  Joanna drew in her breath. That’s what he’s really after. He wants to kill Moonbase. He wants to put an end to Paul’s dream.

  “Let me put in a year up there,” Greg insisted. “I’ll do my best to find a way to make the base really profitable, without bookkeeping tricks. But if I can’t, after a whole year, then I’ll recommend we close the operation for good.”

  “Do you think you can make that decision?”

  “After a year of hands-on management up there, yes.”

  “What do you see as a potential profit-maker?” Joanna asked. “If anything.”

  “I don’t know!” he said, agitated. “They’ve been using nanotechnology up there. Maybe we can turn Moonbase into a nanotech research center.”

  “We’ve been through this before, Greg,” Joanna objected. “The public resistance to nanotechnology is too strong. People are frightened of it. The San Jose labs were trashed. We even had to close down the nanofactory in Austin because of the public pressure.”

  “Yes, yes, I know,” Greg said impatiently. “And I heard the Vice President’s speech last week, too.”

  “He’s asking for a U.N. treaty to ban all nanotechnology all over the world!” Joanna said.

  “He’ll be president after November,” said Greg gloomily. “He’s certain to win!”

  “A man like that in the White House.”

  With a sardonic smile, Greg said, “He won’t be the first ignoramus to get there.”

  “But he’s violently opposed to nanotechnology; he’s making it a religious issue.”

  Joanna did not add that the deaths on the Moon caused by ’runaway’ nanomachines were still prime ammunition for the anti-nanotech Luddites. She did not have to.

  “Ambitious politicians always play to the peoples’ fears,” Greg replied impatiently. “Since when do we let that determine corporate policy?”

  Joanna shook her head. “It’s like the fear the public had of the old nuclear power plants. It’s irrational, but it’s very real. It generates political power, more power than we can challenge.”

  “I don’t agree.”

  “We can’t invest major resources in nanomanufacturing, Greg. We haven’t even been able to put medical nanoproducts on the market, and they’ve been proved to save lives. The government, the public, the media — they’ve stopped us every time we’ve tried.”

  Greg countered, “But maybe if we do it in space… on the Moon or in orbit. Everybody’s afraid of nanobugs getting loose and running wild, so we do it all in space where they can’t get loose.”

  “But what will they build? What can you make in space that we can sell here on the ground?”

  “I don’t know,” Greg admitted. “Not yet. That’s why I want to spend a year at Moonbase, to see what they can do.”

  Joanna stared at her son. He was serious, intent, perhaps even confident. Even though she was afraid of his unconscious desires, she couldn’t refuse him.

  “If you can find a product that could make Moonbase profitable,” Joanna said slowly, “or even if you have the strength to recommend closing the base — you’ll have earned your place on the board of directors.”

  “You mean you’d nominate me?”

  She could see all the hope, all the need in him. He’s been through so much, Joanna thought. But another part of her mind asked. Can you really trust him? Do you dare to let him shoulder so much responsibility? Can he handle it without breaking down?

  “Let me talk with a few people,” she temporized. “In the meantime, I’ll see about getting you the Moonbase job.”

  “That’s the best birthday present you could give me,” Greg said.

  Doug is at Moonbase, Joanna reminded herself. I don’t want them both up there at the same time.

  “I love you, Mom.”

  Joanna felt sudden tears blurring her vision. “I love you too, Greg.”

  She knew that she meant it with every fiber of her being. She hoped that Greg meant his words, too. Yet she was always — afraid that he still didn’t understand what love really was.

  He had been so sick, so terribly mixed up. He had never seen a loving relationship in his home until I met Paul, and then…

  Joanna shut her eyes inside the VR helmet and refused to cry. This is a step in Greg’s recovery, she told herself. I can’t refuse to let him go to Moonbase.

  Then she realized, If we close Moonbase it will be the end of all Paul’s dreams. Greg will be killing him all over again. And I’ll be helping him.

  MOONBASE

  It was easy for experienced Lunatics to spot newcomers to the Moon. They walked funny. Unaccustomed to the one-sixth lunar gravity, they stumbled or even hopped when they tried to take a step.

  But not Doug Stavenger. Even though he had already been to Moonbase once, briefly, he left Savannah a week early and spent the time at the main Masterson space station, in orbit around the Earth, living in the wheel that spun to simulate lunar gravity. So when he arrived at Moonbase he did not need weighted boots. Once in a while he forgot himself and went soaring off the floor when he merely wanted to take a long stride. But by and large he fit into the underground life of Moonbase quite smoothly.

  Until he ran into the linear football game.

  It was almost midnight. Although most of the offices and labs were closed for the night, the tunnels remained as brightly lit as always. Doug had spent the evening in the workshop that Foster Brennart had converted into his office, going over details of the expedition. Brennart was a stickler for detail; he seemed to know every part and piece and item of equipment that had been assembled for the trek to the south pole. He could account for every gram of food, oxygen, water, even the aluminum chips that were used as fuel for the expedition’s rocket craft.

  Doug was determined that he would know as much about the expedition as Brennart did; especially the people. He copied all the personnel files and now, carrying the microdisks in his coverall pockets, he was heading for his own quarters and some sleep before setting out to meet each person slated to go on the expedition.

  He heard shouting from down the tunnel. And scuffling. A fight?

  The tunnels curved slightly, and had emergency air-tight hatches every twenty yards that remained open unless the sensors detected a drop in air pressure. Stepping through one of the open hatches, Doug jogged along the tunnel until he saw a half-dozen men and women tussling, pushing, kicking — and laughing.

  “Outta the way, tenderfoot!” one of the group hollered as he kicked a small round object in Doug’s direction. It was flat and black, like a hockey puck. As it skittered toward him, Paul saw that it was the plastic top from a container.

  It bounced off a wall and the whole gang of men and women raced after it.

  “Watch out!” yelled a young Asian woman, short and stocky, grinning toothily.

  The commotion boiled right into Doug. They were all young people, he saw, not much more than his own age. The coveralls they wore were mostly the pumpkin orange of the science and exploration group, although there was a medical white and even a management blue among them, the same as Doug’s own jumpsuit. One of the guys brushed past him, pushing him into the rock wall.

  “Linear football,” the young woman gasped, by
way of explanation. Then they were past him, kicking the black plastic lid down the corridor.

  Doug trotted after them. The game seemed to have no rules. Everybody tried to kick the lid; they all scrambled to reach it, pushing and elbowing and laughing every inch of the way. Somebody kicked it into the slight niche of a doorway and they all whooped wildly. In an instant, though, the game continued down the tunnel.

  Doug followed them and before he knew it he was part of the game, too. It became obvious that the object was to kick the lid into a doorway. There were no teams, though; it was all against each. And the scorekeeping was casual, at best.

  “That’s eight for me!”

  “The hell it is!”

  “You’ve only got six.”

  “No, eight.”

  “What’s the difference? Are we playing or doing arithmetic?”

  The tunnel ended at the closed hatch that led into the main garage, where the surface tractors were stored and serviced. The six men and women collapsed against the walls and slid to the floor, panting, sweating, all grins. Doug sank into a crouch with them.

  “You’re Doug Stavenger, aren’t you?” asked the Asian woman.

  He nodded, trying to catch his breath.

  One of the young men puffed, “For a tenderfoot…you run … pretty good.”

  Doug said, “Thanks.”

  After a few minutes, one of the women said, “Hey, it’s past midnight already. I’ve got to be on the job at oh-eight hundred.”

  “That’s where you sleep, isn’t it?”

  “A comedian, yet.”

  Slowly, laboriously, they clambered to their feet and started trudging back toward the living quarters.

  “I’m Bianca Rhee,” the Asian woman said. Built like a fireplug, she barely came up to Doug’s shoulder. “The brilliant and beautiful Eurasian astrophysicist.”

  Doug must have gaped at her, because she laughed out loud. Soon they were talking like old friends as they walked along the tunnel.

  “Doesn’t anybody complain about the noise you guys make?” Doug asked. “People are sleeping on the other side of some of those doors.”