Moonwar Page 24

  “Is that so?” The president leaned slightly toward Bonai and made a motherly smile. “Let me give you a bit of friendly advice, young lady. Kiribati’s recognition of Moonbase won’t affect the political situation one iota. So don’t stick your neck out; you might regret it later on.”

  Bonai smiled back thinly. “I appreciate your frankness, Madam President. But I do think that America’s recognition of Moonbase’s independence would be in keeping with the finest traditions of your nation.”

  The president sighed, her signal to her aide to end the meeting. He immediately got to his feet and walked across the Oval Office to bend over her and say:

  “I’m afraid the ambassador from Uganda has been kept waiting for more than three minutes now.”

  Bonai took the hint, got to her feet, and left the Oval Office.

  Now she leaned back on the limousine’s fine leather seat, resting her head on the backrest as the car inched through the traffic on its way to her hotel.

  Rashid was either too polite or too crafty to ask her how the meeting had gone.

  “I’ve arranged for dinner in the hotel’s restaurant,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “It’s quite a lovely place, very quiet and private. The food is excellent.”

  Bonai said, “That’s fine.” And she realized that Rashid hadn’t expected anything of significance to come out of her five minutes in the Oval Office. His whole attention was focused on their evening together.

  Jack Killifer had just enough time to down a premixed martini on the commercial flight between Washington and Boston. He had followed Bonai to Washington and immediately given up any hope of killing her there. Too many guards, too many police, too many people on the streets and in the hotels.

  I’m no professional hit man, he grumbled to himself on the brief flight home. Why’d O’Conner pick me for the job?

  He knew perfectly well. Killifer had brought Bonai’s intransigence to General O’Conner’s attention. And O’Conner had always been a firm believer in the idea that the man with the problem should be the man to produce the solution.

  But murder? Maybe when she’s all alone out on that little island of hers. Or even in the town on Tarawa atoll; the only real security those islanders have is guards for the casino.

  As the plane lowered its landing gear and lined up for landing at Boston’s ancient Logan Aerospace Port, Killifer toyed with the idea of calling O’Conner in Atlanta and asking for a professional to do the work. Or even one of the faithful Urban Corps fanatics.

  But it’d be a waste of breath, he knew. O’Conner had made it clear: he wanted Killifer to do this job personally. “The fewer people know about this,” the general had said, “the better off we are.”

  Yeah, Killifer told himself as the plane’s tires screeched on the runway. And knocking off Bonai’ll give him an absolute grip on me.

  Yet he was almost smiling as he got out of his seat and followed the other passengers to the plane’s exit hatch. Okay, he told himself. When Bonai goes back to Tarawa I go back, too. I’ll hit her there. Now that I know the layout of the islands, it oughtta be fairly easy.

  And he began to lay his plans.

  DAY THIRTY-EIGHT

  They watched the Clippership settle down gracefully on landing pad one from the snug confines of her quarters.

  “Well,” said Nick O’Malley, “there she is.”

  Claire Rossi nodded.

  “Aren’t you excited?” he asked, forcing a grin.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, Claire said, “About the wedding, yes. About leaving, no.”

  “Well, you’ve got to go,” Nick said. “It’s for your own good. And the baby’s.”

  Claire nodded again. But she said, “It’s not an illness, you know. Pregnancy is just as normal as breathing, really.”

  “The rules are the rules,” Nick insisted. “Besides, you’ll get better medical care back Earthside. And your mother’ll be there with you.”

  “But you won’t.”

  “I’ll come down on the next flight.”

  “Nick, there might not be a next flight!”

  “Now look—”

  The phone chimed and Claire immediately called out, “Answer.”

  Jinny Anson’s chipper face appeared on the wall. “Okay, you two, we’re down to two hours and counting.”

  Claire said, “We’ll be there.”

  “With bells on,” Nick added.

  They forgot their argument and began dressing for the wedding. Claire had borrowed liberally from her friends and put together a beige long-skirted dress (the closest she could find at Moonbase to a wedding gown) and various accessories that almost looked right. Nick could find nothing that fit his big frame except a fresh pair of white coveralls from the medical stores.

  The wedding was held in Jinny Anson’s office, with half a dozen of their friends in attendance and Claire’s arms filled with a bouquet of flowers freshly plucked from Lev Brudnoy’s little garden.

  The archbishop of Kiribati, brown skin and flashing white teeth, looked out at them from the wallscreen. Dressed in the full regalia of purple stole and skullcap, he appeared to be in a chapel made of stuccoed walls and a timbered roof.

  Anson, Doug, and Harry Clemens stood off to one side while Edith, camera glued to one eye, panned across the office. Joanna and Lev Brudnoy watched from the wallscreen on the other side of the room.

  The ceremony was brief, a little awkward with the transmission delay, yet somehow touching. Doug heard Anson sniffle slightly, beside him. Looking over to the far wall, he thought that his mother looked just a bit teary-eyed, too. Why do women cry at weddings? he wondered.

  When he finished, the archbishop grinned at them and said in a strong voice, “There will be no collection.”

  The Catholics in the small crowd laughed.

  The married couple and their friends trooped out of Anson’s office, on their way to a reception in the Cave.

  “Some honeymoon they’re going to have,” Anson said, sounding a little wistful. “The Clippership lifts off tomorrow at ten hundred hours.”

  “Well, at least they were able to get married,” Clemens said. “I hope that makes them happy.”

  Doug had already turned his attention to his mother’s image on the wallscreen.

  “Any progress with Faure?” he asked.

  After three seconds she shook her head gravely. “He’s making the maximum media noise about this so-called mercy flight. Otherwise, he’s stonewalling me.”

  “Any indications of preparations by the Peacekeepers?” Doug asked, standing before his mother’s larger-than-life image.

  Brudnoy, standing slightly behind her, answered, “No indications at all. They seem to be doing nothing at present. Of course, they could be getting ready for another assault in secrecy.”

  “That’s what I’d do, I suppose,” Doug agreed. “No sense letting your enemy see you coming.”

  “The board meeting is tomorrow,” Joanna said. “I’ve got to turn Rashid around and get him to support you.”

  “Tamara Bonai got nowhere with the president,” Doug muttered.

  Once she heard his words, Joanna raised a finger. “Don’t be too sure of that. The ambassador to Japan just flew back unexpectedly to Washington on a Clippership. Something’s stirring, I think.”

  Doug thought about that for a moment, then said, “Mom, this may be off the wall—but have you considered talking directly to Yamagata?”

  The delay was much more than three seconds this time. “You mean the old man himself? Seigo Yamagata?”

  “If he’ll see you.”

  Her expression hardened. “He’ll see me. I’ll make certain of that!”

  It took an effort of will for Nick to pull his gummy eyelids open. The party had been glorious, but now it was morning and the fun was over. Claire had to pack her few belongings and get aboard the Clippership.

  She was curled next to him in the bunk, sleeping soundly with a beatific smile on her lips. />
  Nick struggled up on one elbow and squinted at the digital clock.

  “It’s nine-twenty!” he yelped. “Good lord, Claire, you’ve gotta dash!”

  She opened one eye and snaked a bare arm around his neck. “Married hardly more than eighteen hours and you’re already giving me orders.”

  “But the time—”

  “Relax,” Claire said dreamily. “I’m not going anyplace.”

  “Not going? What do you mean not going?”

  “I’m staying right here with you,” she said, opening both eyes at last.

  “But you can’t do that!”

  “I gave my boarding papers to Ellen Berson,” Claire said. “Last night, while the rest of you were getting blotto on rocket juice.”

  “You what?”

  “Ellen’s got a boyfriend in Philadelphia. My boyfriend is right here.”

  “You can’t do that,” he repeated, his voice high, panicky. “They’ll stop her at the rocket port.”

  “No they won’t. And even if they do, I decided I’m staying right here with you.”

  “But they’ll force you—”

  “Nobody’s going to force anybody,” Claire said quite firmly. “And if they send some goons from security, I’ll put up such a battle they’ll be afraid of harming the baby.”

  “You’re crazy!”

  “Over you, sweet-face.”

  “But you can’t have the baby here. It’s not allowed.”

  She smiled knowingly. “Nick, there’s a first time for everything.”

  “But …” He ran out of steam and sank back on the pillow, defeated. Yet delighted.

  “It was during the wedding,” Claire said, “when the archbishop said that bit about cleaving together. I made up my mind then that I’m not going Earthside until you can go with me.”

  Staring up at the low ceiling, Nick said, “There’s going to be hell to pay over this.”

  But he was grinning from ear to ear.

  DAY THIRTY-NINE

  Joanna deliberately took the seat at the end of the long conference table, where she could look directly at Rashid, up at the head. Every member of the board was present in person, even old McGruder in his powered wheelchair and its bulky life-support system. The old man was still waiting for a heart donor; he was more heavily wired up than an astronaut, Joanna thought.

  Rashid and Tamara Bonai came in together, not exactly holding hands, but obviously happy to be in each other’s company. Joanna seethed. If that little tramp has gone over to Rashid’s side, I’ll …

  She stopped, not knowing what she’d do. Or what she could do. She had told Doug to woo Bonai and win her over. It looked as if Rashid had done it, instead, and there was nothing Joanna could do to counter that.

  The conference table was buzzing with whispered conversations, board members catching up with the latest news and gossip among themselves. No one spoke to Joanna. She sat as if in an isolation ward down at the foot of the table.

  The murmurs died away as Rashid sat down and smiled brightly at the board members.

  “I’m delighted that all of you could manage to make it here in person to this special meeting,” Rashid said in his slightly reedy tenor voice. “Including you, Mac.”

  From behind his oxygen mask McGruder rasped, “Couldn’t keep me away from this one if you tried, my boy. When all this nonsense with the U.N. is over, I’m going to Moonbase and get some of those nanomachines to fix my heart.”

  He broke into a cackling laughter; the other board members joined with him, politely. All except Rashid, Joanna noticed, who sat with his original smile frozen on his face. Mac’s on our side, Joanna knew. She had been feeding him information on nanotherapy for months now.

  “There’s only one item on the agenda,” Rashid said, “and we should be able to take care of it fairly quickly.”

  All the heads along the table swivelled to Joanna.

  “Since you called for this meeting,” Rashid said to her, “and it’s your resolution that we’re here to discuss, why don’t you give us the formal reading, for the minutes, Joanna?”

  She didn’t bother even glancing at the display screen set into the table before her. Joanna said in a clear, strong voice:

  “Resolved: That Masterson Corporation exert its best efforts to support the political independence of Moonbase.”

  A dead silence fell upon the boardroom.

  Finally, one of the white-haired men halfway up the table asked, “You mean we don’t support Moonbase’s independence?”

  “Why should we?” a woman board member asked.

  “Because if we don’t,” Joanna answered before anyone else could reply, “we stand to lose the Clippership manufacturing to Japan.”

  “Japan?”

  “That’s not entirely fair, Joanna,” said Rashid.

  “The Clippership product line belongs to our Kiribati subsidiary, doesn’t it?”

  “How’s Japan going to get it? I assume you mean Yamagata Industries, not the Japanese government.”

  “They’re pretty close to being the same thing,” Joanna said.

  “I don’t understand how Yamagata can take the Clippership manufacturing away from us.”

  “But we don’t manufacture them; Kiribati does.”

  “We get the profits, don’t we?”

  “Wait, wait,” Rashid called out, motioning them to silence with both hands. “Let’s go through this calmly and logically.”

  Joanna immediately said, “We set up Kiribati Corporation to get out from under the nanotechnology treaty.”

  “Yes, and then the damned islanders signed the treaty anyway,” said one of the men. Suddenly he realized that Tamara Bonai was sitting across the table from him, and his face reddened. “Ah, sorry,” he mumbled. “No offense intended.”

  Bonai looked directly at him as she said, “Kiribati was forced to sign the nanotech treaty by unbearable pressure from the United Nations. We never expected the U.N. to try to extend the treaty to Moonbase, however.”

  “Where do you stand on Moonbase’s independence?” asked the woman sitting next to Bonai.

  “We have been assured that Moonbase’s political independence will not interfere in any way with their contractual agreements with Kiribati Corporation. Therefore, we support their independence.”

  Several people along the table nodded.

  Bonai added, “What we fear is that the U.N. will turn over all Clippership manufacturing to Yamagata once they have thrown us out of Moonbase.”

  Rashid’s face clouded. “There’s more to it than that,” he said. “Much more.”

  “The core of this issue,” said Joanna, “is that the U.N.’s fervor to force the nanotech treaty on Moonbase is a sham—a coverup for turning the base and all its operations over to Yamagata.”

  “And that includes manufacturing Clipperships with nanomachines?”

  “Yes. Certainly.”

  McGruder swivelled his wheelchair slightly toward Rashid. “You knew about this?”

  “I found out about it,” Rashid answered.

  “And what are you doing about it?”

  Rashid took a deep breath. “I am trying to lead this corporation to a new level of profitability. And to a new product line, while we make a greater profit than ever from the Clipperships.”

  He had their full attention now, Joanna saw.

  Leaning forward intently, Rashid said, “I want to negotiate a partnership between us and Yamagata to produce nuclear fusion power plants—”

  “We went over this ten years ago,” McGruder rasped.

  “It was eight years ago and we made a mistake then,” Rashid said hotly. “Let’s not repeat the same mistake. Fusion power will be a multitrillion dollar business. This corporation has a chance to get in on it; one chance, take it or leave it.”

  Forcing her voice to remain cool, Joanna said, “So you’re offering Yamagata the Clippership product line in exchange for a partnership in their fusion program.”

 
“Fusion can be profitable if it can be fueled by helium-three, which can be mined on the Moon,” Rashid said.

  “Then why don’t we mine it ourselves?” Joanna asked. “With nanomachines we can produce helium-three at a fraction of Yamagata’s costs.”

  “Joanna, it’s time you stopped clinging to Moonbase as if it’s your personal nursery!” Rashid snapped.

  She felt his words like a slap across her face. “You’ve been carrying a grudge for eight years now, Omar; ever since this board voted to back Moonbase in preference to your ideas about fusion.”

  “That was a mistake and we have a chance to correct it.”

  “By giving up Moonbase and allowing Yamagata to take the Clippership line away from us.”

  “We own the patents,” Rashid countered. “Yamagata will pay us royalties while our costs go down to zero.”

  One of the women muttered, “Yamagata will pay us royalties until they figure out how to reverse engineer the Clipperships and come up with a manufacturing system that’s different enough from ours to break our patents.”

  “Which will take a year or two, at most,” another board member said.

  “Not if we merge with Yamagata,” Rashid said.

  Silence again. They all looked stunned, Joanna thought.

  “A merger makes perfect sense,” Rashid went on, more calmly. “Our combined corporation will be the world’s leader in aerospace transportation and fusion power. Your stock will be worth ten times what it’s going for now. Even more.”

  “I will never vote to merge with Yamagata Industries,” Joanna said, her voice venomously low.

  “And why not?” Rashid taunted. “Are you afraid that your son will have to come back to Earth and live with the rest of us?”

  “That is unforgivable,” Joanna said.

  “It is out of line, Mr. Chairman,” said the bald, portly man sitting at her right. Others muttered and nodded.

  Rashid closed his eyes briefly, then said softly, “You’re right. I went too far. Joanna, I apologize. The heat of the moment …”

  She glared directly into his eyes. The silence around the table stretched painfully.

  Tamara Bonai broke the spell. “I move that we vote on the resolution presented by Mrs. Brudnoy.”