Jack McDevitt - The Moonfall

Then Charlie was alone. Pacifica, California. 8:35 A.M. Pacific Daylight Time (11:35 A.M. EDT).

Jerry Kapchik watched the images of crowded expressways on his TV. Fortunately, the scenes were all east of San Francisco. Route 1, which he could see from his front porch, was quiet. After the first wave of nervous reaction, few of his neighbors had left town. It might have been they were more worried about looters than moonrock. There'd already been reports of break-ins in San Mateo and Palo Alto.

He could see Marisa setting up the water sprinkler out back. She'd be leaving in about forty-five minutes, taking the kids to the park. She was not happy that Jerry had volunteered to go into work, but she understood that such things were not entirely within his control.

The big news this morning was that the vice president was staying behind at Moonbase. Jerry had watched a brief interview in which Haskell said he hadn't given up hope that they'd all get out. Hadn't given up hope. How could we allow a vice president to get put in that kind of position? It didn't make sense, and Jerry wondered if the government was even more incompetent than it looked.

There were other stories. Terrorists had seized an embassy in Djakarta and were demanding the release of several hundred criminals from Indian prisons. Red Cross workers had been murdered in the Transvaal. There'd been a shoot-out in the Japanese Diet. In a group action, several thousand families were suing the Los Angeles school system for failing to educate their kids. Everything seemed normal enough.

Jimmy came down the stairs. Seven years old, bright-eyed, big smile. He had his mother's blond hair. "Dad? Are we going to watch the comet tonight?"

The kids had stayed up late last evening, and they'd stood out near the garage with neighbors. The comet was out over the ocean. It was big, several times bigger than the Moon, and misty, like a big blob of fog caught in moonlight. It looked out of place, and Jerry'd had a sense that it belonged in another sky.

"Sure," he said. "If you want."

"Dad, I was wondering if we could do something."

"Like what?"

He hesitated. "Could we get a telescope? Like the Ryan's have?"

Actually, Jerry had been thinking about investing in one. He saw a chance to interest his kids in astronomy, and he'd been looking at an inexpensive telescope in the downtown Wal-Mart yesterday. "Sure," he said. "I think we can manage that."

Then there was Marisa. She'd been in a strange mood, saying she felt fine but refusing to meet his eyes.

Jerry, fortunately, was hard-headed, down-to-earth, eminently practical. Whatever might be happening a quarter-million miles away, the real world would continue to be caught up in tax law and mortgage payments and Little League games.

(Click for details.)

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Found In Desk Once Owned by The Quarterly Review Moonbase Spaceport. 1:02 P.M.

Bigfoot's new crew had just come on. There were five of them, two short of a full complement. They'd stay through the rest of the day, and ride up to orbit on the last flight. He made it a point to thank everyone on the outgoing watch and wish them well.

He was out on the bay floor helping set up for the next refueling operation when the radio operator reached him. "Tony wants to talk to you, Bigfoot."

The Micro was on its way down, having completed a rendezvous with Rome. It was noisy in the bay so he walked into one of the offices to take the call.

"Yes, Tony, what can we do for you?"

"Bigfoot, I think we can get everybody off."

Bigfoot was tired of thinking about it. If they could make up a few hours somewhere it could be done. But they'd run every conceivable launch pattern in simulation, and they had the best they could get. The only other way was to try packing extra people on board the buses, which were staggering under their current loads. Chandler had ruled out going over the limits they'd set. He had no intention, he told Operations, of allowing a minor disaster to turn into a major one.

"How you going to do that, Tony?" he asked.

"My last flight lifts off tonight at seven thirty-five. I take my passengers up to the plane and deliver them. Then I'm supposed to get on the plane myself and ditch the Micro."

"Go ahead. So far, you're doing fine."

"You've got two more busloads leaving shortly after I do. And that's it. But I can get back to Moonbase by ten-ten. Give or take. That's twenty-five minutes before impact. If we cut the usual routine to bare bones, we can get the vice president and the rest of them on board and skedaddle. We bypass all the usual procedures. Don't close the roof to refuel. Instead, put somebody in a p-suit to handle it. Have the passengers ready to go. We can be out in twenty minutes."

"Five minutes ahead of the event. That's good. And where would you take them? The plane will be gone."

"Anyplace is better than here."

"Whom do you suggest I ask to hang around to fill your tanks?"

There was a long, uncomfortable silence at the other end. Then Bigfoot sighed. "I'll see what I can do," he said. Moonbase Commcenter. 1:21 P.M.

Andrea was the last of the nonsupervisory personnel to be relieved. She hurried back to her quarters, where her bags waited beside the bunk. They weren't going anywhere. No luggage other than light carry-ons was allowed on the flight. But she'd packed anyway. Just in case.

She opened one and took a zero-gravity coffee mug out of it. It carried the Ranger logo: a full Moon resplendent on a windblown U.S. flag. She pushed it into her pocket.

The apartment was cramped and not much to look at, but she felt as if she'd lived here a long time. It housed a lot of good memories. And a few not so good: a failed romance and some lonely evenings. Nothing earth-shattering. It had been home for much of her adult life, and she was going to miss it.

She stood on the threshold making one last survey. A peculiar feeling came over her that she'd been through this before and that she'd be back to do it again. In this life or in another.

An hour later she boarded a crowded moonbus. Her fellow passengers were subdued. They were all MBI employees, like herself. The dependents, visitors, consultants, and assorted VIPs were long gone. She settled into her seat and drew the harness around her. She realized she was glad to be leaving, not only for the obvious reason that the comet was coming, but because Moonbase suddenly seemed alien, unquiet.

It was an impression that had been growing, fostered probably by the increasingly empty malls and walkways and the closed shops and whispered conversations. During the few days since the crisis had begun, she'd been constantly in other people's company. But almost all her friends were gone now, either already in orbit, or well on their way to Skyport. She looked around the bus and saw Eleanor Kile, who'd stayed with her to work the last shift. Eleanor smiled. She looked scared.