Jack McDevitt - The Moonfall

Moonbase, Director's Office. 6:27 P.M.

Jack Chandler hadn't slept since the emergency started. He was no longer young and just couldn't keep going indefinitely. But he wasn't aware there was anything left he needed to attend to, so he turned the operation over to his aides, announced he'd be at his desk if he was needed, turned down the lights, and lay down on the sofa in his office. Of all the people at Moonbase, of all the careers that would be lost, investments dissipated, dreams blown away, no one was going to take a harder hit from Tomiko than the director.

For the first time in almost ten years, there was no lead weight in his chest, no painful awareness of his bruised heart's constant struggle with gravity, no sense of his lungs struggling for air. Jack Chandler loved his life on the Moon. He'd come to stay.

Evelyn thought they were at the end of the human attempt to expand off-world. What was it she said she'd told the vice president? You get a window when the technology, the money, and the will are all there. We had it. Briefly. They were already scrambling at the LTA to salvage what they could from their fleet of space vehicles.

For Chandler, it meant a return to one g.

He closed his eyes and listened to the soft, steady rhythm of his heart. His body remembered what it had been to be twenty-five.

The distance between Earth and Moon was measured, not in kilometers, but in heartbeats.

Someone knocked. The door opened. "Mr. Chandler?" His secretary.

"What is it, Susan?"

"Phone, sir. It's Elrond Caparatti. Says he has to speak with you. Says it's urgent." Moonbase, Grissom Country. 11:53 P.M.

Evelyn was wrapped in an oversized bathrobe. "You're sure," she demanded.

Chandler hesitated. If the average weight went miraculously down so they could squeeze an extra person on here, and another one there, they could still make it. But realistically speaking, that wasn't going to happen. "Yes," he said. "It looks like about six people."

Her eyes bored into him. "Overload the buses," she said.

"They are overloaded. One of them damned near crashed an hour ago. They aren't built to carry a lot of excess weight, Evelyn. I'm sorry: A few of us are not going home and I think we better start getting ready to face it."

"Show me," she said.

Chandler produced his numbers, the maximum weight allowances for the individual vehicles, departure and rendezvous times, the windows. He watched the muscles move in her throat as she studied them. "We can't do any better than this?"

"I've been over there, working with them all evening. We've tried everything we can think of. This is the best we can do."

Her eyes moved away from him. "You can get the Micro back here by about ten," she said.

"What good's that going to do? The last of the planes'll be out of here by nine-thirty. We couldn't even get back up to it before the comet hits. Couldn't even get out of the Spaceport, for that matter."

"Six people?" she said.

Chandler felt the weight in his chest. "Make it five," he said.

Crandall: Go ahead, Bill from Nashua. Welcome to the show. First Caller: Frank? Frank, am I on? Crandall: You're on, Bill. But you want to turn your radio down. First Caller: Oh. Okay. Listen, about this comet thing? Crandall: Yes. First Caller: It's another government coverup. You know what I mean? Crandall: Why do you say that, Bill? First Caller: They claim they put all that money into the Moon- Crandall: You mean Moonbase? First Caller: Yeah. And now this comet comes out of nowhere, and they're telling us it's gonna whack the place. Completely. Doesn't that sound a little strange to you? Crandall: Well, I think it's pretty unlucky. First Caller: Unlucky? Come on, Frank. They've given the money away. Handed it out to their friends. And all these welfare types. So now they have to come up with a way to hide what they did. Get rid of the body, you know? Crandall: Okay. Thanks, Bill. Appreciate your calling. Jeanie from Clarksdale, Alabama. Hi, Jeanie. Second Caller: Hi, Frank. Hey, you know, I can't believe I actually got through. I've been trying for two years. Crandall: Well, we're delighted that you were so patient. So, what are your thoughts on the comet? Second Caller: You know how people are saying it's weird that it comes the week we're opening the place? Well, I don't think it's a coincidence. Crandall: In what way, Jeanie? Second Caller: I think it's pretty clear. We open the moonbase, and God sends a comet. Same day, we see it. What does that mean to you? Crandall: Anything can happen? Second Caller: The Lord's trying to tell us something. You know what the Good Book says: "He that has eyes, let him see." Crandall: What's the Lord trying to tell us, Jeanie? Second Caller: We got no place on the Moon, Frank. It's too dose to heaven. We got no place, and he's tellin' us so. I hope we're smart enough to listen. Crandall: Okay, folks, we'll be back after a break.

Friday, April 12

Moonbase, Grissom Country. 5:50 A.M.

Evelyn Hampton stood in Charlie's doorway. Her usually placid features were unsettled.

Under other circumstances, Charlie would have been grateful for the company. One of the disadvantages of his office was that, if he didn't travel with an entourage, he had no one to talk to. Except reporters. Reporters always wanted to talk, of course. And that was okay. But it was business. Politics. And despite his good relations with the press, Charlie understood the need for caution. There was no such thing as a casual conversation with the Washington Post.

"Hi," he said, wondering why she was there, knowing it was not good news.

She pushed the door shut behind her. "Problem, Charlie."

He made room for her to sit. "How did I guess?" he said.

Her eyes were dark pools. "We're running behind."

He nodded, feeling the world close in. "How far?"

"Looks like six people."

That wasn't possible, and Charlie wanted to believe he'd misunderstood. "Six who won't get off?"

"That's what it looks like."

"So few," he said. "Surely they can be squeezed in somewhere." Her features remained unyielding, and Charlie started thinking about political implications. But when he saw that her cheeks were damp, he felt a twinge of embarrassment. "What are you going to do?"

"Jack says he'll stay."

"Maybe it won't be as bad as we think." He didn't know what else to say.

"I doubt we can count on it. Anyway, you need to think about covering your own rear end."

I will personally lock the door and turn off the lights. Yeah, he was in an uncomfortable situation.

She turned back to the door. "I've got to go."

"What will you do about the others?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"Ask for volunteers," Charlie said. "You only need five. I know this sounds harsh, but you can always find people who're willing to be heroes if you phrase the request right." That was a corollary of Rick's primary principle that most people can be talked into damned near anything if you find the right emotional icon to appeal to. God, country, whatever.

Her eyes hardened. "You're a cynic, after all, aren't you?"

"No. I…" He squirmed under that dark gaze, saw contempt creep into it. "That's not what I meant…"

She started for the door. "Doesn't matter. Anyway, I only need four."

He stared at her. "You don't have to do that," he said. "You're not assigned here."

Evelyn looked suddenly vulnerable. "You can't do that speech, Charlie, unless you're willing to stay yourself. You know, captain of the ship and all that."

Something passed between them, a communication at a level so visceral that Charlie shuddered. He groped to recover the situation. "Is there anything I can do?"