Jack McDevitt - The Moonfall

"Are you angry with me?"

"Why would I be angry?" Her voice was icy.

"I really don't know. You sound hostile."

"Tell me about MacArthur."

"In 1942, when the Philippines were about to be overrun by the Japanese, Franklin Roosevelt ordered MacArthur, the commanding general, to slip out. It was the right thing to do because the Allies would need MacArthur. He was worth a couple of divisions. They sneaked him past the enemy fleet, and afterward he became a major force in the war. He was directed to abandon his troops. To save himself. He did, and nothing he did after allowed him to live it down. They called him 'Duck-out Doug.'"

Although Charlie was almost a foot taller than Evelyn, she seemed to be looking down at him. "Forget politics," she said. "You don't have any troops here." She picked up the phone and punched in a number. "Are they confirmed?" she asked.

"Don't," said Charlie.

"Good," she said into the phone. "He'll be on the flight." And she turned to him: "Twelve-fifteen liftoff from the Spaceport tomorrow morning. I've got six seats for you."

Charlie felt a rush of anger. "I'll only need five."

She looked at him for a long moment, glanced at the phone, and sank into a chair. "You're sure?" she asked.

"Yeah. I'm sure. It's harder to cut and run than it is to stay." It occurred to him that history would remember the six who stayed. Probably more clearly than it remembers most vice presidents.

Moonbase, Administrative Offices. 2:08 P.M.

Andrea Bellwether had never before seen her boss in so grim a mood.

Her boss was Teresa Perella, who was usually congenial and animated, and who'd never seen a problem that couldn't be solved or got around. Today she looked beaten. She stared out over the heads of her communications specialists, as if her mind had drifted far beyond the confines of the meeting room.

"We're ready to begin moving out," she said. Teresa was a tiny woman, with dark eyes and a persona that radiated presence. She'd buried two husbands. Exhausted them, the joke was. "We're going to keep the commcenter running until midafternoon tomorrow. I'll need three people to help. Those who stay will be on the late flight out. They're saying it's safe, but who knows?" She gazed at them, lips parted as though she had more to say but was hesitating. Those with no families.

Tommy Chan signaled he would wait.

Those with no future.

Eleanor Kile. Eleanor was a spectacularly beautiful woman, the loveliest at Moonbase, Andrea thought, but one of those who seemed to frighten males off. All but the wrong types.

Anybody else? Teresa drew herself up a little straighter. "We need one more."

Andrea Bellwether was riffling mental files, studying the texture of the wall, thinking of all the people she'd like to see again. Parents, uncles, a niece.

What would Teresa do if no one came forward?

She looked at Chan, and at Kile. Well, hell, they'd have an hour start. Andrea caught Teresa's eye and nodded. She was rewarded with a glimmer of respect. Wrightsville, New Jersey. 2:11 P.M.

The Pine River Furniture Company convoy was finally under way. Archie would have preferred an earlier start, because he wanted to get around Philadelphia before the rush-hour traffic began. But they'd underestimated the complexity of loading the stock safely, and overestimated the ability of the temporary help to follow simple instructions. There were eighteen trucks, filled with executive desks and leather divans and carved swivel chairs. The company had assigned its entire fleet, fourteen dark blue vehicles with white piping, carrying the logo designed by the original Walter Harrison, depicting a debutante curled into an overstuffed armchair on a riverbank. Four other vehicles had been rented from Wrightstown U-Haul.

Archie rode in the lead truck. Claire Hasson, a company driver, was behind the wheel. In the side mirror, Archie could see the convoy stretching back around a curve. They were on Route 68, which would connect via I295 with the Pennsylvania Turnpike. They were headed for Carlisle and the Blue Mountains. Ridiculous, in Archie's mind. But, by God, it would take one very large tidal wave to sink them up there.

Carlisle hadn't been the first choice. But they'd been unable to find commercial accommodations anywhere in Pennsylvania's mountain country. After hours of fruitless calls, Walter had pulled strings with lodge brothers who'd agreed to take the drivers into their homes. Archie wondered what the boss had promised in return.

The lack of motel vacancies had served as a warning. Archie dispatched his family that morning in the Buick station wagon to stay with his wife's sister in Troy, New York. Susan didn't like being separated from him, although she too maintained that nothing was going to happen. But she became visibly worried when Archie reported that Harrison took it all very seriously. We'll be back here next week joking about it, they'd agreed. Then she'd gotten into the Buick with their teenage son and daughter, both of whom had objected loudly to the forced removal, and driven off.

The convoy was moving at a brisk pace along the four-lane road. Now and then, Archie saw other caravans. Macro Electronics. Sonya Precision Timepieces. SolarWorks Complete Auto Power Systems. Occasionally clusters of new cars with dealer plates sped past.

Being out on the highway, watching people heading west, undercut Archie's self-assurance even more. "What do you think?" asked Claire.

"It's crazy," he said. But he knew he was saying it because he was a boss and skepticism was expected from him. "This is just the chief playing it very safe."

"I'm glad to hear you say it."

"I don't think there's anything to worry about." And a minute later: "Where's your family?"

"Home. We thought about going to my sister's for a few days, but it means pulling the kids out of school, and Ed couldn't get the day off."

"Yeah. I know how it is."

And after another long silence: "But I'll be glad when we're through it, Archie. The stuff on the TV scares me."

His cell phone beeped. "Pickman," he said.

"Archie, this is Brad." Brad Cabry was a staff assistant, riding at the rear of the convoy. "I don't know whether you've been listening to the radio, but they're saying traffic's already heavy on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. More than rush hour. They're cautioning people to stay off."

Archie looked out at the long line of cars and trucks ahead. "Too late for us," he said. "We'll stick with Plan A. If it takes all night, it takes all night."

Claire nodded. "Absolutely," she said. "I can use the overtime."

Archie shifted his weight and tried to get comfortable. The truck felt as if it had a broken spring. "Has this damned thing been serviced?"

She reached into the glove box, pulled out the maintenance record, and handed it to him. He looked down at the numbers, but he had trouble focusing on them. Manhattan. 3:36 P.M.

Marilyn Keep had looked at the pictures of jammed expressways, had watched news commentators smile condescendingly at the people who were on the run, had seen Chicken Little cartoons on New York Online. Anybody who was trying to head upstate was being portrayed as an idiot. Well, to those who were stuck in the city, it was comforting.

She was back working on Shadow of the Betrayer when the phone rang. It was Larry: "What are we doing tomorrow, love?"

She looked away from her chart, which recorded every physical and psychological detail of each character from the novel, and frowned at the phone. "Watching the Moon get plunked, I guess," she said. "What did you have in mind?"

"Louise is throwing a comet party tomorrow night. She'd like us to come."

"It's kind of last-minute, isn't it?"

"Well, it's kind of a last-minute comet. I think it'll be a kick."