Moonwar Page 23

  “I know, I know. But if you tell her that Yamagata will take over Moonbase, and Japan will be using nanotechnology to take over the aerospace industry and god knows what else—maybe she’d have second thoughts about us.”

  Bonai disengaged her hand from Doug’s and walked in thoughtful silence along the beach. He followed her, wondering if he was pushing her too far, but unwilling to give up the chance to make a plea to the president.

  “All right,” she said at last. Then she laughed. “I was wondering what I’d have to say to her. Now I know.”

  “Great!” said Doug.

  “And then,” she added, “Rashid wants to show me the city of Washington. He’s already picked out the hotel we’ll stay in.”

  “Hotel?” Alarm bells rang in Doug’s mind. “You’re not staying at the same hotel with him, are you?”

  “Why not?” she asked innocently.

  “You know his reputation. With women, that is.”

  “He’s very romantic, apparently.”

  Feeling nettled, Doug said, “He’ll just try to add you to his list.”

  “Perhaps I’ll add him to my list,” Bonai shot back.

  Doug stood there on the beach, staring at her, dumbfounded.

  “All’s fair in love and war, isn’t it?” Bonai teased.

  “All he really wants from you is your vote at the board meeting,” said Doug, frowning.

  “And you think he’ll try to convince me in bed?”

  “Yes,” he snapped.

  Bonai giggled and threw her arms around Doug’s neck. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

  “Jealous?” Doug sputtered. “How—why …”

  She pressed against him. “You are jealous.” She seemed delighted.

  “Rashid’s not to be trusted,” Doug mumbled.

  “Would it make you feel better if I said I won’t sleep with him?”

  “Yes,” he blurted.

  “Good. Wonderful.” She kissed Doug swiftly on the lips, then pulled away and almost danced along the waves lapping the beach.

  Doug stood in confused silence, wondering what he was getting himself into, uncertain of what he felt about Tamara, and feeling more than slightly guilty about Edith.

  Jack Killifer rammed his rented outrigger up onto the sand, not caring whether he ripped off the electric motor’s propeller or not.

  She was all alone out there, he thought as he trudged up the sand toward the tiki hut that sheltered the beach bar. I could have done it and gotten away with nobody seeing me. Except for that goddamned boat from the hotel. They must look out for her all the friggin’ time.

  He sat in moody silence on a rickety stool at the bar, sipping mai tais and wondering how he could get Tamara Bonai alone. He also wondered if he’d actually have the guts to murder her. Yes, he decided. I’ll do it. I’ll just pretend she’s Joanna Brudnoy.

  He grinned at the thought. Bonai will be a practice run for Joanna. He laughed aloud, startling the young Australian couple sitting a couple of barstools away.

  DAY THIRTY-ONE

  There were more news people than dignitaries or U.N. employees, Joanna saw. The meeting chamber was jammed with reporters and photographers, all focused on the little ceremony that she and Faure were prancing through.

  Lev stood off to one side, in a corner where the cameras did not peer, hands clasped quietly behind his back, looking slightly uncomfortable in a dark blue business suit and a tie that refused to stay knotted tightly against his collar. Lev’s done most of the real work, Joanna knew, but he’ll get none of the credit.

  Faure was at his haute couture best, wearing an impeccable dove-gray suit with a vest of sky blue over a crisp white shirt: the U.N.’s colors. His cravat matched the vest. Joanna, knowing she’d have to compete with Faure’s fashion statement, wore a simple white midsleeved dress of classic lines, with a vee neckline cut low enough to arouse the cameras’ interest. Her earrings were gold Incan sunbursts, her choker and one bracelet also gold.

  They entered the chamber from doors on opposite sides of the room, stood together before the long baizecovered table for a few moments while photographers snapped still shots of them. Neither of them looked at the other, both stared straight ahead as if an invisible wall separated them.

  As the video cameras hummed, one of Faure’s aides brought a slim leather-bound document to them and laid it open on the table. Only then did Joanna and Faure sit in the high-backed chairs placed there for them.

  Faure looked into the phalanx of cameras as he picked up one of the pens that had been laid on the table.

  “The signing of this agreement sets in motion a mercy flight to the rebellious Moonbase, allowing the rescue of sixty-five men and women who have been trapped on the Moon by the unfortunate stubborness of the Moonbase management.”

  He bent his head and wrote his name at the bottom of the document. Then, with a beaming smile, he offered the pen to Joanna.

  Ignoring his gesture, Joanna picked up one of the other pens waiting on the table top. She too looked into the cameras.

  “This evacuation flight has been made necessary by the unprecedented actions of the United Nations against Moonbase, a community that has declared its political independence and should be treated as an equal member nation of the U.N.”

  She signed in a flowing hand, making certain that her signature was larger than Faure’s tiny, cramped letters.

  The small band of dignitaries and U.N. workers standing behind them clapped perfunctorily. Faure scooped up the pens and started to hand them out to the onlookers.

  “Mr. Faure!” yelled several dozen news reporters. “Mrs. Brudnoy!”

  Faure raised both his hands, as if in surrender. But he said, “I regret that we will have no time for your questions. My schedule is much too pressing.” He started to get up from his chair.

  With a smile, Joanna said, “I’ve got lots of time. Ask away.”

  “What’s happening at Moonbase?”

  “When do you expect the World Court to take up your case?”

  “Why can’t Moonbase agree to shut down its nanotech operations?”

  “How does it feel to be in rebellion against the whole world?”

  “One at a time!” Joanna pleaded. “One at a time, please.”

  His face darkening, Faure plopped back onto his chair.

  “How long can Moonbase hold out against the Peacekeepers?”

  Joanna glanced sideways at Faure, then turned her attention back to the reporters. “Moonbase is physically self-sufficient. They grow enough food to feed themselves, and generate all the electrical power they need from solar cells built out of elements from the lunar regolith—”

  “By nanomachines?”

  “Yes. Nanomachines are essential to Moonbase. They produce the air we breathe and purify the water we drink. We use them to expand and maintain our solar-energy farms, and—of course—nanomachines build the Clipperships that we sell to the world’s commercial aerospace lines.”

  “Are you saying that Moonbase can hold out indefinitely?”

  “Yes, of course. Unless the base is attacked by overwhelming military force, which would probably kill most of the people in the base.”

  “Mr. Faure, will the U.N. attack Moonbase with overwhelming military force?”

  Obviously struggling to maintain his self-control, Faure replied, “The United Nations has a responsibility to see that international law is enforced. The nanotechnology treaty forbids all work in nanomachines, yet as you have just heard from the mouth of Mrs. Brudnoy, Moonbase insists on continuing its insidious use of nanotechnology.”

  “There’s nothing insidious about it,” Joanna said to him. “We’ve been quite open about it.”

  “The nanotechnology treaty is quite clear!” Faure snapped. “And it applies to all the nations of the world!”

  Coolly, Joanna pointed out, “Moonbase is not on Earth, and the nanomachines we use there never leave the Moon. They are no threat whatsoever to anyone on Ear
th.”

  “The law is the law!” Faure insisted, his mustache twitching slightly.

  “And the law states that any nation that does not sign the nanotech treaty is not bound by its restrictions.”

  “But Kiribati has signed the treaty.”

  “And Moonbase has declared its political independence.”

  One of the reporters jumped in: “Could Moonbase survive without using nanomachines?”

  “No,” said Joanna flatly.

  “You see?” Faure made a dismissive gesture. “They refuse to abide by the law.”

  “We are no threat to anyone on Earth,” Joanna repeated.

  “How do we know that for certain?” Faure demanded. “How do we know what your scientists are doing, four hundred thousand kilometers away?”

  “Send inspectors to Moonbase,” said Joanna. “We’ve offered to show U.N. inspection teams everything and anything they want to see. The offer still stands.”

  A reporter called out from the rear, “You mean you’d allow U.N. inspectors to look over your nanotech operations?”

  “Of course,” Joanna replied. “We made that offer at the very beginning. It still stands, if Mr. Faure is willing to take us up on it.”

  “What about it, sir?”

  Faure brushed a fingertip across his mustache before answering. “Of course we have planned to send inspectors to Moonbase. Several of them will fly there on the mercy mission we have just agreed upon. But that does not change the fundamental situation. Moonbase must accede to the law!”

  Joanna quickly added, “But if—or, rather, when—the World Court agrees that Moonbase is an independent nation, then the law allows Moonbase to continue using nanotechnology.”

  The reporters weren’t interested in the legal fine points anymore. They had something new to deal with.

  “You’re sending inspectors to Moonbase?”

  “Does this mean some sort of compromise can be worked out?”

  “Who will the inspectors be?”

  “What are their names? What nations do they come from?”

  Faure raised his hands to silence their questions. With a little smile of satisfaction that their attention was once more focused on him, he said, “Please! Please! I cannot divulge all the details at this moment.”

  Joanna said to herself, Of course you can’t divulge all the details, you lying little fart. You just made up your mind to send inspectors on the evacuation flight, right here on the spur of the moment.

  But she decided not to embarrass him further. Inspectors could be a step toward gaining Moonbase’s independence, and she did not want to do anything that would interfere with that.

  You’ve won a small victory, Joanna told herself. Be content with that. For now.

  “That’s good news,” Jinny Anson said. “Isn’t it?”

  Doug had asked Anson and Kris Cardenas to meet him in the Cave to discuss the latest news from Earthside over dinner. Edith sat at Doug’s side, the two other women across the table from them.

  Leaning over his dinner tray, Doug said, “It’s good from the political aspect, I suppose.”

  “It’s the first break in the deadlock,” said Edith, as she spooned up some chicken soup. It was almost a stew, it was so thick, but it tasted flat and bland to her. She longed for just one little jalapeño.

  “I’ll be happy to show the U.N. inspectors our entire nanotech operation,” Cardenas said eagerly. “Of course, if they want to get into Willi’s lab they’ll be on their own.”

  Doug almost grinned at the idea of strangers trying to talk Zimmerman into allowing them to inspect his laboratory. Then he thought, On the other hand, Zimmerman might be pleased to have other scientists see what he’s accomplished here.

  “But will they be scientists?” he wondered aloud.

  “What?” Cardenas asked.

  “Will the U.N. inspectors really be scientists, or will they be spies for Faure?” he said.

  “Both,” Edith replied immediately.

  “Then how much do we really want to show them?”

  Anson said, “Everything—except whatever you guys are doing to help defend the base.”

  With a rueful smile, Cardenas admitted, “We can show them everything, then. We haven’t come up with anything that’s specifically military in nature.”

  “Okay,” said Doug, “then the inspectors will be no trouble.”

  “Not unless they rub Willi the wrong way.”

  “Does he have a right way?” Anson jabbed.

  Doug looked past his table companions. The Cave was almost filled with diners selecting meals at the dispensers, carrying trays to tables, meeting friends. The big rock chamber buzzed with dozens of conversations.

  He forced his attention back to the problems at hand. “Jinny, how are you deciding who goes back Earthside on the evac flight?”

  Anson shifted mental gears smoothly. “The ballet troupe, of course.”

  “Their manager told me he’s going to sue the U.N. for all the dates they’ve missed,” Edith said.

  “Lotsa luck,” said Anson.

  “That leaves thirty seats on the evacuation ship,” Doug said.

  Nodding, Anson replied, “We’re going by contract dates. People whose employment contracts ended the longest time ago get first priority on the evac.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” said Doug.

  “Plus, we’ve got one pregnant woman,” Anson said.

  “Really?” Edith’s interest was immediate. “Who is she? How far along?”

  “A couple of months, from what the medical report says.”

  “I’d like to interview her before she leaves.”

  “I’ll set it up,” Anson said.

  “What about the father?” Doug asked.

  Anson shook her head. “His contract’s up, but there are too many people ahead of him. He’ll have to stay here.”

  “Won’t somebody give up his seat so he can go with his wife?” Edith asked.

  “They’re not married. Not yet, anyway. And if somebody gave up a seat I’d have to put the next guy in line in it, not the daddy.”

  “How far down on the list is he?” Doug asked.

  “Eighteenth.”

  “You think they’ll get married Earthside?” Cardenas asked.

  “They want to get married right here and now,” Anson said, “but there’s nobody here to perform a legal ceremony.”

  Doug leaned back in his chair and stared at the rough rock ceiling for a few moments. “I don’t see why we can’t get a man of the cloth from Earthside to marry them by video.”

  “They’re both Catholic,” Anson said.

  “How about the Pope?” Edith quipped. “Or at least a cardinal. Make a great news feature.”

  Doug grinned at her. “Let’s see what we can do. At least they’ll be married, even if they have to separate for a while.”

  Suddenly Anson looked uncomfortable, and Doug realized that her husband was still on Tarawa. They had separated several years earlier; Jinny was at home in Moonbase, her husband had not been. Not at all.

  To get off the subject, Doug said, “I wonder just who Faure’s going to send here to check out our nanotech work.”

  Anson snorted. “At least one of ’em’ll be Japanese, from Yamagata Industries, I betcha.”

  DAY THIRTY-SIX

  “It’s too bad you missed the cherry blossoms,” Rashid said to Tamara Bonai. “They were magnificent this year.”

  The city of Washington was in bloom: Bonai saw the roses and magnolias that flowered brightly on the White House’s lawn as their limousine glided past the heavily-guarded gate and out onto Pennsylvania Avenue.

  Her five minutes with the president had not gone well. True to her word, Tamara had urged the president to support Moonbase’s bid for independence. True to her expectations, the president had politely but firmly answered that she could not do that as long as Moonbase used nanotechnology.

  “But without nanotechnology, Moonbase will have to sh
ut down,” Bonai had said.

  The president shrugged it off. “My record is quite clear,” she said. “The potential threat from nanotechnology is so severe that it’s worth the loss of Moonbase to be safe from it.”

  For a long moment the two women sat facing each other in plush armchairs set before the Oval Office’s dark and empty fireplace. Bonai wore a sleeveless sheath of pink, with pearls at her throat, earlobes and wrist. The president was in a navy blue suit with a modest mid-calf skirt and jewelry of silver and turquoise from her native Arizona.

  “Are you aware,” Bonai asked slowly, “that the United Nations intends to turn over the operation of Moonbase to Yamagata Industries, once they have taken the base?”

  The president glanced at her aide, sitting quietly across the room behind Bonai’s back with a cyberbooksized computer in the palm of one hand. The young man had a miniaturized microphone clipped to the inside of his shirt collar, so that he could subvocalize information to the all but invisible receiver in the president’s left ear.

  “Yamagata Industries?” she said, stalling for time. “They already have a base on the Moon, don’t they?”

  “Yes,” said Bonai. “And they intend to take over Moonbase and continue using nanomachines for many purposes—including manufacturing Clipperships.”

  “Are you certain?” The president was now glaring at her aide, who had given up all pretense of secrecy and was scrolling madly through his computer files.

  “That would give Yamagata—Japan, really—the world leadership in aerospace transportation,” Bonai said.

  The aide shook his head and whispered. The president put on a smile and parroted, “I have had no indication from Mr. Faure that the U.N. intends to turn Moonbase over to Yamagata.”

  “Then may I suggest,” Bonai said, “with all respect, that you ask Mr. Faure directly if he plans to do this?”

  The president’s brows knit slightly. “May I ask what your interest is in all of this? After all, Moonbase is trying to break away from Kiribati’s ownership, aren’t they?”

  “Kiribati supports Moonbase’s independence. It will have no effect on our business relationship with Moonbase. We intend to formally recognize Moonbase’s independence.”