Ben Bova - Moonwar

“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 board room.

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 nano-machines?”

“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 multi-trillion 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.”

“Second,” said the man across the table from her.

The resolution passed by one vote: Bonai’s. Joanna sighed with relief. She’s not in his camp, she realized. Maybe in his bed, but not in his camp.

Then she thought, But the resolution doesn’t mean much, not compared to this issue of merging with Yamagata.

Rashid was saying,’… each board member should express our support for Moonbase with his or her senators, I imagine. And I will appoint a committee to meet with the President in support of this resolution. Joanna, I suppose you should chair that committee.”

He seemed to be taking his defeat graciously enough. Why not? Joanna asked herself. He’s got every member of the board dreaming of a ten-fold increase in the worth of their stock.

“I think we should set up another committee, as well,” Joanna heard herself saying, not realizing where she was going until the words formed in her mouth,’to work with our board chairman in his negotiations with Yamagata.”

“That’s not on our agenda,” Rashid snapped.

“Call it new business,” said Joanna. “Yes, I want to be on the Yamagata committee,” said the oldest member of the board.

“And so do I,” Joanna added sweetly.

Tamara Bonai cancelled her plans to return to Kiribati and extended her stay in Savannah for twenty-four hours—at Rashid’s request.