Ben Bova - Moonwar

“Doug!” Tamara screamed as Killifer dropped to his knees beside her.

“Doug?” he growled. “Is that who you’re screwing with? Little Douggie, on the Moon? Getting laid in VR?” Killifer laughed and started ripping the sensor suit off Bonai.

She struggled and kicked, but he cuffed her hard enough to draw blood from her mouth and peeled the rubbery suit down off her shoulders.

“Nothing underneath,” he said, grinning down at her. “Makes it easy.”

Doug was screaming for somebody to alert the Kiribati police, but he knew there was no time to help Tamara. He pounded his fists in helpless fury on the virtual sand as Killifer stripped the suit off her struggling body. He punched her once in the midsection hard enough to double her up. Her struggles stopped.

“You killed her, you sonofabitch!” Doug raged.

Killifer did not hear him.

But Tamara wasn’t dead. Not yet. Doug watched helplessly as Killifer spread her naked legs apart and raped her, his hands squeezing her windpipe as his body covered hers.

Killifer watched the light in her eyes fade. He fucked her good, pumping years of hate and fury into her as he slowly, slowly cut off her air. Then he stopped and pulled away from her limp body.

“Come on, kid, you’re not finished yet,” he said. “And neither am I.”

He grinned as her eyelids fluttered and she coughed.

Doug was raving like a lunatic when the electronics technicians burst into the VR chamber. It took four of them to get him down on the floor and peel the sensor suit off him.

The last thing they took off were the contact lenses, so Doug was able to see Killifer sitting on Tamara’s chest, pinning her arms to the sand, slapping her to full consciousness as he came erect once again.

“She’s dead,” Jinny Anson told Doug. “The Kiribati police found her on the island. She was pretty badly beaten up. Neck broken.”

Despite the tranquilizer the medics had given him, Doug was quivering like a knife thrown into a wall.

“I couldn’t do a thing to stop him,” he chattered. “I couldn’t do anything.”

Edith was sitting on the edge of his bunk. Anson and one of the medics crowded next to them. Bam Gordette stood by the partition, watching silently with brooding eyes.

“It’s not your fault,” Edith said gently. “There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

“I should’ve killed him years ago, when he murdered Foster Brennart. When he tried to kill me. I should’ve killed him then. Executed him. Then this wouldn’t have happened. Then Tamara would still be alive.”

“It’s not your fault,” Edith repeated.

“It’s all my fault,” Doug snapped. “All of this mess is my doing. If I hadn’t… if I’d just let Faure…” His voice sank to an exhausted moan.

Looking uncomfortable, Anson said, “Speaking of Faure -just who the hell is Killifer working for?”

“What do you mean?” Edith asked.

“You don’t think he went all the way out to Kiribati and murdered their chief of state all on his own, do you? Who’s pulling his strings?”

“The police will find out when they catch him,” Edith said.

Anson shook her head. “He’s already left Kiribati. Never went back to his hotel. Chartered a plane and took off at first light.”

“Interpol will find him,” Edith said confidently.

Anson was not so certain. “Interpol works for the U.N. now, doesn’t it? Besides, what evidence do they have that he murdered Bonai?”

“An eyewitness,” Doug said from his bunk.

“In virtual reality,” Anson countered. “I wonder if Interpol or anybody else is gonna take that seriously.”

Sinking back on his pillows, Doug admitted, “You’re probably right. The Kiribati police certainly took their sweet time getting out to the islet to find her body.”

Edith looked intrigued. “An eyewitness in VR. That’s a helluva story.”

“They won’t accept my testimony,” Doug said weakly. “I won’t even be able to testify against him. It’s totally useless. I’m totally useless.”

Edith sat on the edge of the bunk. “Don’t think that for a minute, Doug. We’ll get him, you’ll see.”

Doug closed his eyes. “Let me sleep for a while. I just want… I need to sleep.”

“The tranquilizers are hitting him,” the medic said.

“About time,” said Anson.

“Come on, let him get some rest,” Edith said, shooing them out of the bedroom.

The others left, all except Gordette.

I’ll wait outside,” he said to Edith. “If you need to go someplace, I’ll stay with him.”

Edith worked through the night at the computer in Doug’s living room, splicing together a coherent story about the rape and murder of a national leader that was witnessed by a man from four hundred thousand kilometers away. She called down to Global News headquarters in Atlanta a dozen times, rousting researchers and fact-checkers until she had the whole thing pieced together.

Once she squirted the basic bits through to Atlanta she looked in on Doug, who was still asleep in his bunk. Afraid of disturbing him, she took the sling chair in the living room and leaned back to catch a few winks. Her sleep was interrupted almost immediately by the phone chime.

It was Manny, her programming chief in Atlanta, bouncing in his chair with excitement.

“Edie, cheez, this is terrific! The assassination on Tarawa was witnessed by a guy on the Moon! Absolutely fantastic!”

“And it’s our exclusive,” Edith pointed out.

Manny hadn’t stopped talking. “Legal says we can’t name the killer; can’t make any accusations until the guy’s arrested and charged. But, cheez, the story’s tremendous!’

Edith smiled at the screen, but for the first time in her career she realized that behind the story she was filing there were human beings in pain. A dead woman. Doug, sick with frustration and responsibilities that no one could take off his shoulders. And a murderer somewhere on Earth who would probably never be arrested, let alone brought to justice.

“Yeah,” she said wearily to her boss. “Tremendous is the word for it, all right.”

Manny eyed her questioningly. “You don’t look so hot, kid.”

“I’m kinda tired,” she admitted.

“Pull yourself together. We missed the evening news slot but the suits upstairs want your personal report in the system in time for our affiliates’ eleven o’clock.”

Edith had been on the Moon long enough to make a quick mental calculation. She had a little less than three hours to show up at Moonbase’s studio looking bright and perky for a live broadcast.

“Okay,” she said. “Let me get a little nap.”

“And some makeup.”

“Yeah, sure,” she said, knowing that it might be a problem. She had been borrowing makeup from the supply that Joanna Brudnoy had left behind, but she had always scrupulously asked Doug’s permission to raid his mother’s quarters. Now Doug was sleeping, tranquilized, and she didn’t want to wake him.

She stretched out again on the sling chair, this time using the desk chair to rest her feet upon. She set her wristwatch’s alarm for one hour. Maybe Doug’ll be awake by then, she thought. She fell asleep almost at once, a trick she had learned years ago. News reporters had to grab their sleep when they could, like soldiers.

The wrist alarm beeped softly. Edith woke as instantly as she had gone to sleep, alert and feeling refreshed.

She tiptoed to the partition and looked in on Doug. He was tossing restlessly, the sheet twisted around his legs. Edith went in and straightened the sheet, kissed him lightly on the forehead, then tiptoed out again.

I’ll have to go over to Mrs Brudnoy’s place without asking him, she thought. Yet she hesitated, not wanting to leave Doug alone. If he wakes up, I ought to be here. Or somebody oughtta be here, at least.