Ben Bova - Moonwar

Jill glanced up at her private secretary and realized with a pang that he’d been a fresh-faced kid just out of law school when he’d first come aboard as a senatorial aide. We’re all getting old, she thought, catching her own reflection in the phone screen. Her face was round and ordinary as a pie pan, she thought, with mousey brown hair as straight and limp as overcooked spaghetti. And still that scattering of freckles across her snub of a nose, like a tomboy version of Huck Finn.

“Jill,” said the President, “You’re looking very pensive today.”

The President looked elegant, as usual. Silver-gray hair swept back stylishly, bright blue eyes sparkling. Her latest facelift had tightened the sagging flesh beneath her chin and made her seem ten years younger.

“What can I do for you, Mrs President?” Jill asked, genuinely curious about the reason for this call. It had to be nearly 7.00 a.m. in Washington, early for her.

“It’s this request for extradition—”

“Oh. The Killifer business.”

“Yes. I don’t understand what you’ve got to do with it.”

“I’ve been asked to intercede, in my official capacity as a justice of the World Court.” Jill said.

“Asked? By whom?”

“Joanna Brudnoy.”

“I see.” The President’s tone went decidedly frosty.

“The Justice Department has apparently refused to extradite the man to Kiribati.”

“We have no treaty of extradition with that nation,” the President said.

“That’s why the World Court has been asked to intercede,” said Jill.

“I see.”

“Killifer was identified as the man who raped and murdered Tamara Bonai, yet the American government has refused to extradite him to Kiribati to stand trial. The victim was Kiribati’s head of state, for God’s sake.”

“That’s a very serious charge,” said the President.

“There’s an eye-witness.”

“Douglas Stavenger, I know. But he’s on the Moon and his so-called eye-witnessing was done through a virtual reality link. Any competent defense lawyer will make mincemeat of that.”

“I’m not so sure,” Jill said. In any event, I’d think you’d want the sonofabitch to be brought to justice.”

The President did not flinch at Jill’s deliberate profanity.

“Jill, this is all tied up with the Moonbase business.”

“Which means it’s all tied up with the New Morality people, right?”

“Those are my supporters, Jill.”

“And they’re protecting a murderer?”

The President’s face was a smooth, blank façade. She gave away nothing. “An alleged murderer,” she said coolly.

“I may not be a lawyer,” Jill countered, “but I do know a few points of law. You’re protecting Killifer. Why?”

“Jill, I thought you were one of my supporters, too. I know you don’t agree with everything the New Morality does, but you’ve always been on my side.”

“Why are you protecting this man?”

There’s much more here than you’re aware of, Jill.”

“Wait a minute,” Jill said. “I’ve served time at Moonbase. I was there with Paul Stavenger when it was nothing but a bunch of tin cans stuck in the ground.”

“You had an affair with Paul Stavenger,” the President murmured.

“Name me one woman who served at Moonbase in those days who didn’t,” Jill rejoined happily. “He was one helluva guy before he married Joanna.”

“Joanna,” the President said, with obvious distaste.

“If I were still in the Senate instead of stuck here in the World Court, I’d be fighting you on this Moonbase business. You’re making a bad mistake.”

With the ghost of a smile, the President said, “That’s the thanks I get for nominating you to the International Court of Justice?”

“Come off it, Luce.”

“You backed me on the nanotech treaty when you were in the Senate.”

“Because I didn’t want nanotechnology turned into a new arms race,” Jill said. “I never thought the treaty’d be used against Moonbase. They can’t exist without nanomachines and you know it.”

The President sighed. “So I suppose you’ll vote in favor of their independence if the question comes up before the World Court?”

“It’s on our docket for November. I’ve tried to get an emergency session to hear the matter, but I was voted down.”

“It doesn’t matter, Jill. By November the question will have been settled conclusively. In fact, it should be settled in about a week or so.”

“You’re going to do it, then? Attack Moonbase?”

“The United Nations is doing it, not me.”

“But you’re not raising a protest? If you hollered, Faure would have to listen.”

“I am not going to interfere with a U.N. operation,” said the President.

Jill fumed in silence for a moment, then grumbled, “Well, I hope you don’t expect to get re-elected.”

This time the President’s smile showed teeth. “The New Morality will re-elect me because I backed the enforcement of the nanotech treaty.”

“You think so?”

“All the polls show it conclusively.”

“So you’re not going to let Killifer be extradited?”

“Under no circumstances.”

“Damn! If I were Doug Stavenger I’d come down there and hang the man myself.”

“Vigilante justice? From a judge of the World Court?”

“Justice,” Jill snapped. “When your own government won’t give you justice, you’ve got the right to make your own move. Jefferson wrote that into the Declaration of Independence, remember?”

“But Jill dear, Stavenger and the rest of his Lunatics don’t regard us as their government anymore. Do they?”

Jill had no answer. Luce always was the better debater; she could score points off the devil himself whenever she chose to.

Jinny Anson’s office was crowded. Doug sat at the foot of the table that butted against her desk, flanked by Zimmerman and Cardenas, the heads of Moonbase’s major departments, and the physicist Wicksen. There was no room at the little table for Edith, so she sat slightly behind Doug and to his right.

Bam Gordette sat alone on the couch by the door, separated from all the others by a meter of empty floor space and an uneasy distrust that was almost palpable. The others are treating Bam as if he’s a leper, Doug thought.

“You’re certain the Peacekeepers are gonna make their move so soon?” Jinny Anson was asking.

“We’ve got maybe a week, if we’re lucky,” Doug replied grimly. “What can we accomplish in that time?”

A gloomy silence filled the office. Even the normally perky Anson looked downcast.

“Wix?” Doug asked. “We need the beam gun up and working in a week.”

The physicist shook his head slowly, his big soulful eyes staring straight at Doug. “I told you it would take two lunar days… two months.”

“You’ve got seven Earth days,” Doug said. “Maybe less.”

Wicksen started to shake his head.

“Put every man you’ve got onto it,” urged Doug. “And every woman.”

“We’re already working flat out.”

“How close are you?”

The physicist shrugged uncomfortably, more like a writhing.

“The beam collimator is finished. The aiming circuitry is ready to be tested. Then we’ve got to bring the kloodges out to the mass driver and mate them. Then we need to test the complete system.”

“Kloodges?” Edith asked. “What are they?”

“Ramshackle collections of hardware,” Harry Clemens answered in his laconic twang before Wicksen could respond. “Clinking, clanking, caliginous collections of junk.”

“Oh.”

“Makeshift hardware,” Wicksen said, grimacing slightly at Clemens. “Slapped together quickly, without worrying about how it looks.”