Ben Bova - Moonwar

Again the wait. Then, “I leave Monday morning.”

“Monday? But the board meeting isn’t for another week.”

“My foreign secretary is arranging a quick visit with your President, at the White House.”

With a pang, Doug realized that the President of the United States was no longer his President.

“It’s something that Rashid suggested,” she said. “He’s going to give me a tour of the city afterward. Then I’ll go to Savannah for the board meeting.”

“Rashid suggested you see the President?”

“No, he suggested escorting me wherever I’d like to go. I picked Washington, and my foreign secretary has moved heaven and earth to get me a five-minute meeting with the President. Rashid’s been helping, of course.”

“A photo op,” Doug muttered.

Bonai agreed. “I imagine that’s about all it will be: a public relations gesture toward the Chief Executive of the Kiribati Council.”

Suddenly realizing what an opportunity her visit could be, Doug asked urgently, “Tamara, could you do us a favor?”

“Us?”

“Moonbase.”

She looked up at him from beneath long eyelashes, the expression on her lovely face almost sly. “I’d be happy to do a favor for you, Doug.”

Oblivious to her nuance, Doug went on, “When you’re talking to the President, could you ask her to consider backing our independence?”

The three seconds ticked slowly. “The American President? She’s as anti-nanotechnology as they come!”

“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.

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 mid-sleeved 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 baize-covered 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 Moon-base, 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.”