Ben Bova - Moonwar

“I wonder how many of these Japanese tourists are actually Yamagata security people,” Lev murmured.

Joanna had noticed them, too, strolling innocently along the beach walk, window shopping, lolling in the sunshine. “About the same number as our own Masterson troops,” she replied.

Lev’s brows rose. “Are any of these people actually tourists?”

“A few, I suppose.”

At last they stood before the Sunrise Hotel, a quiet little modernistic construction of concrete painted pastel blue on the far end of the beach, away from the gaudier shops and restaurants. The arrangements for the meeting included the requirement that they walk to this hotel from their own corporate-owned condo; no taxi whose trip record could be traced, no ostentatious limousine.

Joanna thought that Yamagata was being melodramatic, overly cautious. It’s understandable to want to keep your movements private and avoid the media paparazzi, she thought, but the man’s acting downright paranoid.

She noticed that Lev walked up the hotel’s front steps stiffly, like a man in pain.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He looked surprised. “Yes, of course.”

“You looked…” Joanna didn’t know how to say it without hurting her husband.

“Like an old man,” he finished for her. “My dearest one, I am an old man.”

“As soon as this mess is over,” she said, almost whispering, “we’re going back to Moonbase and you are going to start nanotherapy.”

Instead of protesting as Joanna expected he would, Brudnoy nodded. That told her worlds about how he truly felt.

Then he said, “Assuming, of course, that there is a Moonbase left standing, and nanotherapy will still be allowed there.”

Joanna murmured, “Yes, assuming all that.”

Once they stepped into the cool shade of the hotel’s lobby they saw that it was completely staffed by Japanese.

“Why do I feel like a fly walking into the spider’s web?” Lev whispered to his wife as they followed a smiling young woman in an old-fashioned kimono through the lobby and out into a small but pleasantly decorated restaurant.

It was completely empty. The minimalist decor was decidedly Japanese: polished wood and lacquered low tables with cushions on the floor. No chairs.

They took off their sandals at the door and the young woman led them to a table by a window that looked out onto a garden of raked sand and bare rocks.

“I’m glad I wore shorts instead of a skirt,” Joanna said as she sat cross-legged on one of the cushions.

Grunting, Lev slowly lowered himself into the cushion next to her. Once his long legs were settled properly, he pointed through the window. “We could have gardens like that at Moonbase,” he said.

“If Yamagata has his way,” Joanna whispered, “probably they’ll turn the entire floor of Alphonsus into a rock garden.”

“An exercise in esthetics,” Lev murmured.

The slightest of noises made Joanna turned her head. A middle-aged man in a deep blue kimono that bore the white symbol of a flying heron had entered the otherwise empty restaurant and was striding toward them.

Lev scrambled to his feet. He towered over the Japanese.

“Please, please, be seated. Make yourselves comfortable,” said Seigo Yamagata, in strong, deep voice. “I am so sorry to be late. A last-minute call from Kyoto.”

He was wiry thin, with black hair combed straight back from his receding hairline, face round and flat with deep brown eyes that sparkled with intelligence and what might even have been humor.

As he sat on his heels opposite Joanna, Yamagata shook his head and put on a rueful expression. “No matter how carefully you pick your assistants and how well you train them, they always seem to find some emergency that only you can resolve.” He laughed heartily.

“How true,” Joanna said. “I trained Ibrahim al-Rashid for many years, and now that he’s risen to the top of Masterson Corporation he’s trying to undermine everything I stand for.”

Yamagata’s brows rose a few millimeters.

Three young women in identical kimonos brought each of them individual trays of sake and, kneeling, placed them on the table.

Yamagata used the moment to consider Joanna’s words. “Yes,” he said slowly, “I can see that you do not agree with the direction Rashid has taken. I hope this little meeting can clear up the difficulty between us.”

He looked directly into Joanna’s eyes as he spoke, ignoring Lev. At least he’s not a male chauvinist, Joanna thought.

“I didn’t realize until just a short time ago,” Joanna said,’that Faure is actually being controlled by you.”

Yamagata’s eyes widened momentarily, then he threw his head back and laughed. “Controlled? By me? Whatever gave you that idea?”

“He’s using the nanotech treaty as a pretext for seizing Moonbase, yet he intends to have your people run Moonbase and continue to use nanomachines just as we are doing now.”

Instead of answering her, Yamagata lifted his tiny cup of sake. “A toast. To better understanding.”

Joanna clicked her cup against his, then Lev’s. As if it were an afterthought, Yamagata touched his cup to Lev’s also.

“Do I misunderstand the situation?” Joanna asked, after sipping the warm rice wine.

“It’s not a question of misunderstanding,” Yamagata answered,’so much as comprehending the entire picture.”

“Please enlarge my understanding, then,” she said.

“Gladly. Moonbase is the leading center of nanotechnology development, that is true. Faure is using the nanotech treaty as a means of establishing U.N. control over the nations of the Earth, that is also true. As long as Moonbase continues to defy the treaty Faure will bend every effort at his command to stop you.”

Joanna nodded. “That much I already know.”

“However,” Yamagata raised one finger, “once the U.N. has taken control of Moonbase, Faure will turn the operation of the base over to Yamagata Industries.”

“I knew that, too,” Joanna said.

“Yes, of course. Yamagata will continue to operate Moon-base just as before, but under the direction and supervision of United Nations inspectors.”

“How will that be different from the way Moonbase is being run now?”

Yamagata took another sip of sake. “The major difference,” he said, after smacking his lips, “is that Yamagata Industries will stop the manufacture of Clipperships and their export to Earth.”

“Stop building Clipperships!”

“The market will be saturated within a few years,” Yamagata said. “Your diamond craft are too good! They are so reliable and durable that the need for new ones will soon decline steeply.”

“But how will you maintain Moonbase?” Joanna asked. “Economically, I mean. Clipperships are our main source of income.”

Yamagata hesitated a moment, then said in a lower tone, “Moonbase will be maintained at a smaller size and level of activity.”

“Downsized?”

“To some extent. Yamagata Industries will support the scientific studies being done there, of course, and the research work in Moonbase’s laboratories.”

“But not Clippership manufacture.”

“Nothing that has touched nanomachines will be exported to Earth,” Yamagata said firmly. “Except helium-three, of course.”

“Fuel for fusion power generators,” Joanna realized.

“Yes.”

“So this is nothing but a power grab, after all,” she said. “You’re using Faure to take Moonbase from us, just as I thought.”

“Not at all! I am offering Masterson Corporation a share of the greatest opportunity since the discovery of fire: a share of the fusion power industry.”

“That’s Rashid’s doing,” Joanna said.