Moonwar Page 29

  “How soon, Jinny?” Doug asked.

  “Five minutes. No, four-fifty. I’ll get the data wrung out and pipe it to you in half an hour, max.”

  “Good.”

  It took longer. Doug let Edith drive the tractor while he dug into the food box. There was no way to eat solid food in a spacesuit, but he pumped a quart of milk and three containers of juices through the feeding nipple in his helmet.

  “Milk and orange juice?” Edith asked, grimacing. “Chugging them down one right after the other?”

  “The last one was beet juice,” Doug said. “Got to thank Lev for that: he likes to make borscht.”

  Anson called again. “Got him! He’s way past the mass driver, out beyond the central peaks. Still heading north.”

  Doug thought a moment. “Jinny, if he’s that far out he couldn’t have stopped for long at the mass driver, could he?”

  “Prob’ly not,” she answered. “I doubt that he stopped at all. He’s been truckin’ right along, I betcha.”

  “Then he hasn’t tried to sabotage the magnets.”

  Anson hesitated, then replied, “Unless he left a bomb there to go off later.”

  Doug started to ask where Gordette would get explosives, then realized that a man with his smarts could convert rocket propellants into a bomb easily enough.

  “The satellite’ll swing by this way again in sixty-three minutes,” Anson said. “I’ll update you then.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Jinny.”

  “Just doin’ my job, boss.”

  They drove past the mass driver. It seemed intact to Doug, but he made a mental note to send a team out to look for booby traps, just to be on the safe side.

  Edith rode beside him in silence. She picked a container of fortified dietary supplement and sipped at it unhappily. It tasted somewhere between chalk and sweat socks.

  “I’m glad it was Bam.”

  After the long silence, Edith wasn’t certain she had heard his muttered words correctly.

  “Glad?” she asked.

  “Well … not glad, exactly. But …” His voice faded away.

  The damned spacesuits took away all the visual clues, Edith realized. All she had to go on was his voice in her earphones. She couldn’t see his face, his eyes.

  “You see,” Doug said slowly, as the tractor trundled along the bleak landscape, “we didn’t have any problems with sabotage or attempted assassination until—well, until you came into Moonbase.”

  That jolted her. “You thought I was a hit man?”

  “No, I didn’t. But the possibility was there. And I hated it.”

  “You never—I mean, we were sleeping together! How could you think …”

  “I had to consider it,” he said, his voice sounding miserable. “I never really thought you were the one who tampered with my suit, but I had to consider the possibility. And the possibility that I wasn’t thinking straight because I love you.”

  “You love me?”

  “I had to get my throat slit to finally figure it out. My last conscious thought after Bam cut me was that I was glad it wasn’t you.”

  Edith blinked several times inside her helmet. “Douglas Stavenger, that’s got to be the least romantic announcement a man’s ever made to a woman!”

  For several moments she heard nothing but her own breathing, magnified inside the helmet. Then Doug burst into laughter.

  “You’re right, Edith,” he said, laughing. “That was about as romantic as reading an inventory list. I’m sorry.”

  She felt a smile tugging at her lips. “Nothing to be sorry about, I guess.”

  “I do love you, Edith. I really do.”

  “And I love you, too,” she said, surprising herself.

  His laughter only increased. “We picked a great time to bare our souls, sealed up in these suits.”

  She began to giggle. “Yep, guess so.”

  Doug reached for her gloved hand and pressed it to the visor of his helmet. “That’s the best I can do right now. But we ought to be coming up on a tempo pretty soon.”

  “Tempo?”

  “One of the old temporary shelters. We keep them stocked with emergency supplies. We can go inside and get out of these damned suits for a while.”

  “Uh-huh. And what about Gordette?”

  She heard his sharp intake of breath. “Gordette,” Doug said, all the laughter gone. “I had almost forgotten about him.”

  “Doug, if we’re going to have to surrender anyway to the Peacekeepers or Yamagata or whoever, why are we chasing after Gordette?”

  It took several moments before he answered, “Because I don’t want to surrender to them, Edith. Deep inside me I’m still hoping for a miracle.”

  “What kind of a miracle?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  DAY FORTY-THREE

  Grand Cayman Island had been a haven for tax-weary investors for more than a century, the Switzerland of the Caribbean, a home away from home for money that was to be hidden, laundered, or otherwise kept out of the sight of the tax collectors of the world.

  Still a Crown Colony of the British Empire, the tiny flat island—a few minutes’ flight from Cuba, less than an hour from Miami—possessed more banks than hotels, more financial offices than brothels, more citizens in business suits than beach wear.

  Yet the beaches were lovely, Joanna thought as she and Lev strolled along the concrete walk from her hotel to the restaurant where she had been told the meeting would take place. It’s a shame we won’t have the time to go snorkeling or enjoy the sunshine.

  The street was lined with restaurants and shops vending beach wear and souvenirs. They were dressed like tourists, as they had been instructed. Joanna was in white shorts and a flowered sleeveless blouse, with a big floppy straw hat; Lev wore comfortable baggy slacks, a loose-fitting mesh shirt hanging over them, and sunglasses.

  “I see the string bikini is making a comeback,” Lev said, grinning. “I’ll have to buy a few for you.”

  Joanna pretended to grimace. “One woman on the entire beach in a string outfit doesn’t make a fashion trend, Lev. And she’s very young, probably still in her teens.”

  Her husband shrugged. “She is a bit on the emaciated side, but still she seems quite attractive.”

  “Honestly.”

  “You would look much better than she does.”

  “I couldn’t wear a skimpy thing like that on the beach!”

  “Who said you’d wear it on the beach?” Lev countered. “We have fourteen rooms in Savannah. I could spread a little sand in the sun porch and chase you through the entire house.”

  “You would, too, wouldn’t you?” Joanna said, laughing. Lev was trying to lighten her mood, she realized. Ease the tension.

  Arranging a meeting with Seigo Yamagata had been easier than getting to see Georges Faure. And more difficult. Yamagata was even more inaccessible than the U.N. secretary-general, but his aides had responded with swift politeness to Joanna’s call. Very indirectly they suggested that a luncheon might be of interest to both parties. Joanna refused to come to Japan; Yamagata’s aides said with deep regret that a meeting elsewhere would probably be impossible.

  At Lev’s suggestion, Joanna suggested a neutral territory. Within an hour Yamagata’s twenty-year-old son Saito called back to propose meeting at Grand Cayman. Quietly. Discreetly.

  “Many corporations conduct business on Grand Cayman,” the young man said, looking earnest. “It would not be out of the ordinary for a very high officer of this corporation to be present on the island at a certain time and place.”

  Joanna nodded at his image on her phone screen. “Yes,” she agreed. “Masterson Corporation does business with several banking establishments there.”

  The time and place were set. Now Joanna and Lev walked along the beachfront street in the brilliant late morning sunlight and brisk sea breeze, heading toward the Sunrise Hotel.

  “I wonder how many of these Japanese tourists are actually Yamagata security people,”
Lev murmured.

  Joanna had noticed them, too, strolling innocently along the beach walk, window shopping, lolling in the sunshine. “About the same number as our own Masterson troops,” she replied.

  Lev’s brows rose. “Are any of these people actually tourists?”

  “A few, I suppose.”

  At last they stood before the Sunrise Hotel, a quiet little modernistic construction of concrete painted pastel blue on the far end of the beach, away from the gaudier shops and restaurants. The arrangements for the meeting included the requirement that they walk to this hotel from their own corporate-owned condo; no taxi whose trip record could be traced, no ostentatious limousine.

  Joanna thought that Yamagata was being melodramatic, overly cautious. It’s understandable to want to keep your movements private and avoid the media paparazzi, she thought, but the man’s acting downright paranoid.

  She noticed that Lev walked up the hotel’s front steps stiffly, like a man in pain.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  He looked surprised. “Yes, of course.”

  “You looked …” Joanna didn’t know how to say it without hurting her husband.

  “Like an old man,” he finished for her. “My dearest one, I am an old man.”

  “As soon as this mess is over,” she said, almost whispering, “we’re going back to Moonbase and you are going to start nanotherapy.”

  Instead of protesting as Joanna expected he would, Brudnoy nodded. That told her worlds about how he truly felt.

  Then he said, “Assuming, of course, that there is a Moonbase left standing, and nanotherapy will still be allowed there.”

  Joanna murmured, “Yes, assuming all that.”

  Once they stepped into the cool shade of the hotel’s lobby they saw that it was completely staffed by Japanese.

  “Why do I feel like a fly walking into the spider’s web?” Lev whispered to his wife as they followed a smiling young woman in an old-fashioned kimono through the lobby and out into a small but pleasantly decorated restaurant.

  It was completely empty. The minimalist decor was decidedly Japanese: polished wood and lacquered low tables with cushions on the floor. No chairs.

  They took off their sandals at the door and the young woman led them to a table by a window that looked out onto a garden of raked sand and bare rocks.

  “I’m glad I wore shorts instead of a skirt,” Joanna said as she sat cross-legged on one of the cushions.

  Grunting, Lev slowly lowered himself onto the cushion next to her. Once his long legs were settled properly, he pointed through the window. “We could have gardens like that at Moonbase,” he said.

  “If Yamagata has his way,” Joanna whispered, “probably they’ll turn the entire floor of Alphonsus into a rock garden.”

  “An exercise in esthetics,” Lev murmured.

  The slightest of noises made Joanna turned her head. A middle-aged man in a deep blue kimono that bore the white symbol of a flying heron had entered the otherwise empty restaurant and was striding toward them.

  Lev scrambled to his feet. He towered over the Japanese.

  “Please, please, be seated. Make yourselves comfortable,” said Seigo Yamagata, in a strong, deep voice. “I am so sorry to be late. A last-minute call from Kyoto.”

  He was wiry thin, with black hair combed straight back from his receding hairline, face round and flat with deep brown eyes that sparkled with intelligence and what might even have been humor.

  As he sat on his heels opposite Joanna, Yamagata shook his head and put on a rueful expression. “No matter how carefully you pick your assistants and how well you train them, they always seem to find some emergency that only you can resolve.” He laughed heartily.

  “How true,” Joanna said. “I trained Ibrahim al-Rashid for many years, and now that he’s risen to the top of Masterson Corporation he’s trying to undermine everything I stand for.”

  Yamagata’s brows rose a few millimeters.

  Three young women in identical kimonos brought each of them individual trays of sake and, kneeling, placed them on the table.

  Yamagata used the moment to consider Joanna’s words. “Yes,” he said slowly, “I can see that you do not agree with the direction Rashid has taken. I hope this little meeting can clear up the difficulty between us.”

  He looked directly into Joanna’s eyes as he spoke, ignoring Lev. At least he’s not a male chauvinist, Joanna thought.

  “I didn’t realize until just a short time ago,” Joanna said, “that Faure is actually being controlled by you.”

  Yamagata’s eyes widened momentarily, then he threw his head back and laughed. “Controlled? By me? Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “He’s using the nanotech treaty as a pretext for seizing Moonbase, yet he intends to have your people run Moonbase and continue to use nanomachines just as we are doing now.”

  Instead of answering her, Yamagata lifted his tiny cup of sake. “A toast. To better understanding.”

  Joanna clicked her cup against his, then Lev’s. As if it were an afterthought, Yamagata touched his cup to Lev’s also.

  “Do I misunderstand the situation?” Joanna asked, after sipping the warm rice wine.

  “It’s not a question of misunderstanding,” Yamagata answered, “so much as comprehending the entire picture.”

  “Please enlarge my understanding, then,” she said.

  “Gladly. Moonbase is the leading center of nanotechnology development, that is true. Faure is using the nanotech treaty as a means of establishing U.N. control over the nations of the Earth, that is also true. As long as Moonbase continues to defy the treaty, Faure will bend every effort at his command to stop you.”

  Joanna nodded. “That much I already know.”

  “However,” Yamagata raised one finger, “once the U.N. has taken control of Moonbase, Faure will turn the operation of the base over to Yamagata Industries.”

  “I knew that, too,” Joanna said.

  “Yes, of course. Yamagata will continue to operate Moonbase just as before, but under the direction and supervision of United Nations inspectors.”

  “How will that be different from the way Moonbase is being run now?”

  Yamagata took another sip of sake. “The major difference,” he said, after smacking his lips, “is that Yamagata Industries will stop the manufacture of Clipperships and their export to Earth.”

  “Stop building Clipperships!”

  “The market will be saturated within a few years,” Yamagata said. “Your diamond craft are too good! They are so reliable and durable that the need for new ones will soon decline steeply.”

  “But how will you maintain Moonbase?” Joanna asked. “Economically, I mean. Clipperships are our main source of income.”

  Yamagata hesitated a moment, then said in a lower tone, “Moonbase will be maintained at a smaller size and level of activity.”

  “Downsized?”

  “To some extent. Yamagata Industries will support the scientific studies being done there, of course, and the research work in Moonbase’s laboratories.”

  “But not Clippership manufacture.”

  “Nothing that has touched nanomachines will be exported to Earth,” Yamagata said firmly. “Except heliumthree, of course.”

  “Fuel for fusion power generators,” Joanna realized.

  “Yes.”

  “So this is nothing but a power grab, after all,” she said. “You’re using Faure to take Moonbase from us, just as I thought.”

  “Not at all! I am offering Masterson Corporation a share of the greatest opportunity since the discovery of fire: a share of the fusion power industry.”

  “That’s Rashid’s doing,” Joanna said.

  “He has tried to interest your board of directors in fusion for many years, to no avail. Now Yamagata Industries offers you a partnership in this new industry.”

  “You want to take over Masterson Corporation.”

  “A merger makes much sense.
Cooperation is much to be preferred over competition.”

  Lev spoke up. “May I interrupt?”

  Yamagata turned his head toward the Russian.

  “If you gain control of Moonbase, why do you want to pursue a cooperative partnership with Masterson Corporation? You will have the nanotechnology to produce fusion fuel on the Moon. Yes?”

  Yamagata smiled politely. “Just so. But why not be generous to a defeated competitor? Masterson can market fusion systems in the western hemisphere while Yamagata markets them in the eastern hemisphere.”

  Scratching at his beard unconsciously, Lev replied, “And when the market for Clipperships opens up again, you can resume manufacturing them despite the nanotech treaty. No?”

  Yamagata shook his head vigorously. “No. Not at all. That point is clear. The forces arrayed against nanotechnology will not allow Clipperships to be brought to Earth. Not for the foreseeable future.”

  Lev frowned, puzzled.

  “You must realize,” Yamagata said, shifting his attention to Joanna again, “that not even I can openly flout Faure and the nanoluddites. Helium-three they will accept, diamond Clipperships are too obvious a symbol of nanotechnology for them to put up with.”

  Joanna watched the man’s face as he spoke. Even though Yamagata maintained a bland mask that revealed almost nothing of his inner emotions, there was something going on inside him, she was certain. He’s not telling us his real motivations.

  “You will maintain the nanotechnology laboratories at Moonbase?” she asked.

  Yamagata avoided her eyes. “Yes, I think so. Although we will have to keep their work quiet, so that the fears of the nanoluddites are not aroused.”

  “Including the medical research?”

  “Of course.”

  “But what good will the researchers’ work be, if their results can’t be used on Earth?”

  He shrugged. “It is my belief that scientific research should always be encouraged.”

  “Even if its results have no practical uses?”

  Yamagata dipped his chin slightly.

  “Or even if the results can be used only on the Moon,” Joanna guessed.