Ben Bova - Moonwar

He almost sounded wistful, Killifer thought. “Well, now they have office buildings and shopping malls and major tourist centers.”

“And this woman, what’s her name?”

“Tamara Bonai.”

“She broke the news blackout?”

“She sure as hell did.”

“Then she ought to be punished,” General O’Conner said. “Swiftly and obviously. People ought to know that those who oppose God’s will are struck down.”

Killifer’s insides shuddered. “You mean kill her?”

“Yes,” said the general. “See to it.”

“Me?”

“You. And nobody else.”

He started to say, “But why me? I’m no…”

O’Conner’s burning red eyes silenced him. The General had made up his mind and he had chosen Killifer for the job. That was unalterable.

One thing that Killifer had learned in his eight years with the Corps: you obey, but you ask for something in return.

“If we’re going to punish people, what about Joanna Stavenger… I mean, Brudnoy.”

“She’s back here, back from the Moon?”

“Yeah.”

O’Conner mulled it over for ten seconds. “You’re right. Strike her down, too.”

Killifer nodded, satisfied. The woman who had ruined his life was going to get what she deserved, at last.

“Too bad we can’t get her son.”

“Douglas Stavenger?”

“Yeah. He’s up at Moonbase, though. Out of reach.” General O’Conner pointed a wavering finger at Killifer.

“Don’t be so sure of that, my boy. No one’s out of reach of the angel of death.”

“Hey, what’re you doing there?”

The mercenary looked up. A woman in the slate gray coveralls of the transportation division was striding down the line of spacesuits toward him. She looked to be in her thirties, a little heavyset, mousey brown hair chopped short, and an angry frown on her face.

“Doug Stavenger asked me to check out his suit,” the mercenary said.

“I maintain the suits,” she said, jabbing a thumb toward her ample chest. Her nametag said LIEBOWITZ. “Since when does Stavenger send strangers to do my job?”

She was almost the mercenary’s own height, and now that she was almost nose-to-nose with him he saw that her size was probably muscle, not fat.

He put on a smile. “Doug’s worried about sabotage,” he said. The best lies are always based on the truth, he knew.

“Sabotage? Are you kidding?”

The mercenary shook his head slowly. “No, I’m not kidding, Liebowitz. We’re at war, aren’t we? Under siege?”

“But who the frick’s gonna sabotage anything here? Everybody here’s for Moonbase. We’re all on Stavenger’s side.”

“Yeah? Were you at the meeting in The Cave last week?”

“Sure.”

“How many people there wanted to go back Earthside right away?”

Liebowitz’s expression turned thoughtful. “Well, a few, I guess.”

“And they won’t be able to go until this war is settled, right?”

“Oh, I dunno. Stavenger talked about arranging an evacuation flight for ’em.”

“You seen any evacuation flight arrive? The U.N. wants to keep us bottled up here until we cave in.”

“Yeah, maybe…”

The mercenary was enjoying sparring with her. He began to think it might be fun to share a meal with her, get to know her better. She was white, of course, but maybe…

He pushed those thoughts aside. “Well, don’t you think that maybe some disgruntled technician or administrator might figure that a little sabotage here or there will help make us surrender and end the war? Then he can go home.”

Liebowitz almost bought it. But after a few moments she said, “Naahhh. I just don’t see anybody who’s lived here for more’n ten minutes going around sabotaging anything. That could kill somebody, for chrissakes.”

“Maybe so,” the mercenary said. “But Stavenger’s worried about it and he asked me to check out his suit.”

She puffed out a breath between her teeth. “Okay. Okay. It sounds wonky to me, but if the boss wants you to check his suit, go right ahead.”

She folded her arms across her chest and stood there, solidly planted, not budging. The mercenary went through the motions of checking Doug’s hard suit, wishing she would go away, knowing she wouldn’t, and telling himself that he’d have to come back when Liebowitz was off duty and some less dedicated technician was on the job.

“When’s your shift end?” he asked as he looked over the seal ring on Doug’s helmet.

“Same’s yours.”

“I’m working directly for Stavenger. No shifts; it’s twenty-four hours a day for me.”

She h’mphed. “Well, I’m on the day shift, as you can see. I finish at four, just like everybody else.”

The mercenary returned the helmet to its rack, above the suit. “How about having dinner with me? Seven o’clock, in The Cave?”

She gave him a quizzical look. The mercenary knew exactly what was going through her mind. Would she want to be seen having dinner with a black man?

“Okay,” she said guardedly. “Seven o’clock at The Cave.”

It took him a couple of heartbeats to realize she had accepted. “See you there,” he said, with a genuine smile.

And as he walked away, down the long line of empty spacesuits hanging like medieval arrays of armor with their helmets racked above them, he thought that after dinner with her he’d return and finish the job here.

Stavenger’s going to go outside sooner or later, and when he does, a malfunction in his suit is going to kill him.

Later that day Doug was in Jinny Anson’s office, meeting with the base director and the heads of the mining, transportation and research divisions.

Anson had rearranged the furniture so that the oblong conference table now butted against the desk like the vertical leg of a letter T.

Kris Cardenas was also sitting at the table, across from Zoltan Kadar, the astronomer. No one had invited the Hungarian to this strategy meeting; he had shown up with the others and grabbed a chair before anyone could shoo him away. His precious survey satellite to Farside had been launched the day before, so Doug wondered what he wanted now.

And sitting silently on the couch along the far wall of the office was Bam Gordette, silently watching, listening. He’s become like my shadow, Doug thought. Everywhere I go, he goes. He doesn’t say anything, but he takes in everything with those dark brown eyes, like a detective looking over a crime scene. Then a new thought struck Doug: Maybe Bam thinks he’s my bodyguard. He sure acts like one. The thought made him smile to himself. I don’t need a bodyguard here, not in Moonbase. But it made him feel almost grateful to Gordette for caring enough to act as one.

Doug took the chair at the foot of the table, facing Anson, who sat behind her desk.

“I’ve asked you here—most of you, anyway,” he added, with a wry grin in Kadar’s direction,’to talk over the chances of developing defenses against the next Peacekeeper assault.”

“You think they’ll be back, then,” said Deborah Paine. Head of the research division, she had a frizzy blonde hairdo and an hourglass figure that had driven many men to distraction. She happened to be a very serious biologist, a topflight science administrator, and a cheerful lesbian.

“They’ll be back,” Doug said. “Faure’s delaying any negotiations as much as he can. He’s going to try to take us by force before agreeing to any compromise.”

“We don’t want any compromise, either,” Anson snapped. “It’s independence or bust.”

Harry Clemens, the transportation division chief, clasped both hands behind his bald head and tilted his chair so far back Doug was afraid it would fall over. “So we’ve got to be prepared to defend ourselves, then?”