Ben Bova - Moonwar

Flinging herself on Doug, she burst into the tears she’d been holding back for hours. “I thought you were dead!”

Doug held her close; felt the sobs racking her body. “I’m okay,” he whispered into her golden hair. “I’m okay now.”

“God, was I scared,” Edith gushed. She kissed him on the lips. The others fidgeted around the bed.

Once Doug let go of Edith and she straightened up, Anson surmised, “Gordette must’ve been the one who malfed your suit.”

“Yeah.” Doug tried to push himself up on his elbows. The room spun and he dropped back onto the pillow.

“You lost much blood,” Zimmerman said, glancing at the monitors over the bed. “You need time to build up your supply.”

“Where’s Bam now?” Doug croaked.

Anson shrugged. “I’ll get security to roust him.” She ducked out of the cubicle.

“Are you really all right?” Edith asked, wiping at her eyes.

“I’m okay,” said Doug. “Weak, though.”

“A blood transfusion would help,” Cardenas suggested.

Doug thought a moment. “How much do we have on hand? If we’re attacked, we might need a lot.”

“No transfusion,” Zimmerman said flatly. “I must see how long it takes my nanomachines to rebuild his blood supply. A transfusion would obscure the data.”

Edith started to say something, but Doug gripped her hand and stopped her.

Smiling weakly at the old man, Doug said, “I’m still your walking experiment, huh?”

Zimmerman put on his scowl again. “Except you spend more time on your back than walking.”

“It’s not my idea of fun, believe me.”

Dr Montana came in and shooed them all out of the cubicle with the authority and impatience of a minor tyrant.

“If he’s not allowed a transfusion,” the doctor grumbled, glancing sideways at Zimmerman,’then he needs rest.”

“I am kind of sleepy,” Doug admitted. “And hungry.”

“My nanomachines need energy,” Zimmerman mumbled.

“We’re pumping nutrients into you,” Montana said, touching one of the IV tubes gently.

“He can take solid food, as well,” said Zimmerman.

Montana looked skeptical, but said nothing.

Edith kissed him again and they all left, the doctor and Zimmerman in a heated, whispered conversation about who should be making the decisions about the patient. A few minutes later, an aide brought Doug a tray of food. He had to be helped up to a sitting position. He ate quickly, then fell asleep almost immediately.

When Doug awoke he saw that Edith was sitting in the little observation area on the other side of the glass partition, staring intently into the display screen of a laptop. The IV tubes had been removed. He felt strong enough to sit up on his own. A little woozy, but it passed quickly. He pressed the button that cranked up the bed, then leaned back comfortably.

One of the paramedics bustled into his cubicle, her face set somewhere between pleased and annoyed. “You’re not supposed—”

“I’m starving,” Doug said. “When do I get something to eat?”

With a swift glance at the monitors, the aide muttered, “I’ll get you another tray,” and headed out.

Edith snapped her laptop shut and pushed past the departing aide.

After a quick kiss, Doug asked, “Have they found Gordette?”

“No,” she said. “He checked out a tractor and went outside just after he tried to kill you.”

“A tractor?” Doug’s mind raced. “He can’t get all the way to Copernicus in a tractor.”

“Copernicus?”

“The Yamagata base, Nippon One.” Doug reasoned it out. “He knows as much about our situation here as any of us, Edith. He can tell the Peacekeepers exactly how weak we are, what we’re expecting from them, how to take us.”

“But he can’t get that far in a tractor, you said.”

“Maybe he’s got a pickup arranged with them. He could bounce an emergency signal to them off L-1 and they’ll come out and pick him up.”

“But L-1 is off the air, isn’t it?”

“For us, but they’re still working for Yamagata.”

The aide brought in a tray heavy with a double portion of dinner. Doug thanked her and began wolfing it down.

“Edith, call Jinny for me. Ask her if there’s any way to spot Gordette’s tractor. I need to know where he’s going.”

“Why…?”

“So I can stop him, that’s why.”

Inoguchi and Zimmerman were sitting at a small corner table in The Cave, sipping fruit juice. The big cavern was nearly empty, yet they hunched together and spoke in low tones like conspirators.

“His throat was cut?” Inoguchi’s pretense of impasivity was long gone. There was wonder in his eyes, awe in his voice. “You are certain?”

Zimmerman took a sip of juice, then frowned at the glass. “From the amount of blood in his room, at least one of his carotid arteries must have been opened.”

“But he seems hardly hurt at all.”

“The machines work on millisecond time scales.”

“So do the natural blood clotting factors, but they could not have stopped arterial bleeding in time.”

“I think maybe the machines activated muscles in his neck and used them to clamp down the wound,” Zimmerman mused.

“Not possible! Is it?”

With the wave of a pudgy hand, the older man said, “You saw the results.”

Inoguchi shook his head ruefully. “I am a child. Compared to your work, what I’m doing in Kyoto is kindergarten level.”

“The benefits of censorship and your lovely treaty,” Zimmerman said acidly. “You work in ignorance of what has already been done years ago.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

Zimmerman started to take another swig of the fruit juice, then decided against it and put the glass down firmly on their little table.

“That young man is my long-term experiment. He was dying from radiation overdose when I injected the nanomachines into him, eight years ago—”

“Eight years?” Inoguchi seemed startled. “Was he at the south pole with Brennart?”

Zimmerman blinked. “Yes. Brennart died there.”

“I was there also. Or close by, actually. I broke my ribs in a landing accident. Yamagata and the Masterson Corporation were racing to claim the ice fields discovered at the south polar region.”

“So. That was when I injected Douglas Stavenger with the nanomachines. Some were specialized, others programmed in a more general way.”

“And they have been inside him all these years?”

“They will always be inside him. They have formed a symbiotic relationship with him.”

“How can inanimate machines create a symbiosis with an organism?” Inoguchi challenged.

“You see what they have done! What else can you call it?”

“But true symbiosis…”

They argued for hours, neither of them raising his voice, both of them waxing passionate for his position and against the other’s. Zimmerman enjoyed the debate immensely; he hadn’t had this kind of intellectual stimulation since he’d left Switzerland.

“It’s a shame you must return to Kyoto,” the old man said at last.

“Perhaps I won’t,” said Inoguchi.

“You want to remain here? You want to work with me?”

“Most certainly.”

Zimmerman beamed at him. “Very good! You can ask for asylum and—”

“No, I’m afraid you don’t understand,” Inoguchi said, smiling politely.

“What don’t I understand?”

“My work at Kyoto, fumbling and childlike as it is, must be done in great secrecy because Japan has signed the nanotechnology treaty and therefore such research is technically illegal.”

“So come here to Moonbase!”

“Once Yamagata Industries has acquired Moonbase, I will certainly come here and engage in nanotechnology research without all the hinderances I experience in Kyoto. I offer you the opportunity of remaining here even after the others have been removed. You may remain here and work with me.”