Ben Bova: Moonrise

Paul had always been one of the early ones at board meetings, but this time apparently he was the first. The opulent room was empty, except for him. Glancing at his wristwatch, Paul saw that the meeting was scheduled to start in less than fifteen minutes. Usually more than half the directors would be already here, milling about, exchanging pleasantries or whispering business deals to one another, drinking and noshing.

Where is everybody? Paul wondered.

He paced the length of the long conference table, saw mat each place was neatly set with its built-in computer screen and keyboard.

He went to the long windows at the head of the conference room and gazed out at the towers of Manhattan, thinking how much better it was on the Moon, where all a man had to worry about was a puncture in his suit or getting caught on the surface during a solar flare. He craned his neck to see JFK, hoping to catch another Clippership takeoff or, even more spectacular, see one landing on its tail jets.

“Paul.”

Startled, he whirled around to see Joanna standing in the doorway, looking cool and beautiful in a beige miniskьted business suit. He hadn’t seen her since the day of her husband’s suicide.

“How are you?” he asked, hurrying toward her. “How’ve you been? I wanted—”

“Later,” she said, raising one hand to stop him from embracing her. “Business first”

“Where’s everybody? The meeting’s scheduled to start in ten minutes.”

“It’s been pushed back half an hour,” Joanna said, “Nobody told me.”

She smiled coolly at him. “I asked Brad for a half-hour delay. There’s something I want to discuss with you before the meeting starts.”

“What?”

Joanna went to the conference table and perched on its edge, crossing her long legs demurely. “We’re going to elect a new president and CEO,” she said. , Paul nodded. “Greg. I know.”

“You don’t sound happy about it”

“Why should I be?”

“Who else would you recommend?” she asked, with that same serene smile.

“Greg doesn’t know enough to run a corporation,” Paul said, keeping his voice low. But the urgency came through. “Okay, we’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead, I know, but his father nearly drove this company into the ground.”

“And you saved it.”

Paul felt uncomfortable saying it, but he agreed. “I had to practically beat your husband over the head before he saw the light”

Every major airline in the world began clamoring for Masterson Clipperships, once Paul pushed the project dirough its development phase. Yet Gregory Masterson II had almost ruined Masterson Aerospace, despite the Clippership’s success. Maybe because of it, Paul how thought.

And his son was eager to follow in his father’s mistaken footsteps.

“He wants to shut down Moonbase,” Joanna said quietly. “He told me so.”

“You can’t let him do that!”

“Why not?” she asked.

“It’s the future of the company — of the nation, the whole goddamned human race!”

She sat on the edge of the conference table in silence for a moment, her eyes probing Paul. Then Joanna said, “The first order of business in today’s meeting will be to elect me to the board to fill Gregory’s seat.”

“And then they’ll elect young Greg president and CEO,” Paul said, surprised at how much bitterness showed in his voice.

“They’ll have to have nominations first”

“Brad’s going to nominate him.”

“Yes. But I intend to nominate you,” said Joanna.

He blinked with surprise. A flame of sudden hope flared through him. Then he realized, To show there’s no nepotism.”

Joanna shook her head. “I know my son better than you do, Paul. He’s not ready to head this corporation. He’d ruin it and himself, both.”

“You mean you really want me to be CEO?”

“I want it enough,” Joanna said, slipping off the table to stand before him, “that I want us to get married.”

Paul’s insides jolted. “Married?”

Joanna smiled again and twined her arms around Paul’s neck. “I like being the wife of the CEO. I just didn’t like the CEO very much. With you, it will be different, won’t it? Very different”

Paul’s mind was racing. CEO. Married. She doesn’t love me, not really, but if we’re married and I’m CEO we can keep Moonbase going until it starts making a profit but she’s probably only doing this so Greg can grow up some and then she’ll want to turn the corporation over to him sooner or later.

Joanna kissed him lightly on the lips. “Don’t you think marriage is a good idea? Like a corporate merger, only much more fun.”

“You’d marry me?” Paul asked.

“If you ask me.”

“And nominate me for CEO?”

“You’ll be elected if I nominate you.”

She’s right Paul realized. If she doesn’t back her own son the rest of the board will turn away from him. Hell, I’m one of the corporation’s leaders. Saved the outfit from bankruptcy. Making them all rich with the Clippership profits. Half of ’em would be afraid to vote against a black man; afraid it’d look like discrimination. And I could protect Moonbase from Greg and Brad. I could keep them from shutting it down.

“Okay,” he said, surprised at the tightness in his throat. “Will you marry me?”

Joanna laughed out loud. “How romantic!”

“I mean — well, will you?”

“Of course I will, Paul. You’re the only man in the world for me.”

Paul kissed her, knowing that neither one of them had used the word love.

The edge of the sunlit day came up to meet Paul with the inevitability of a remorseless universe. One moment he was ь shadow, the next in full glaring sunlight. The sky overhead was still black but now the glare reflecting from the ground washec away the few stars that he had been able to see before.

A pump somewhere in his backpack gurgled, and the air fan in his helmet whined more piercingly. He thought he heard metal or plastic groan under the sudden heat load.

Paul looked down and, sure enough, the ground was breaking into sparkles of light, like a whole field of jewels glittering for hundreds of meters in front of him. The sunshine triggered phosphorescence in the minerals scattered in the regolith’s surface layer. The effect disappeared after a few minutes, but plenty of the earliest workers on the Moon had actually thought they’d found fields of diamonds: the Moon’s equivalent of fool’s gold.

There was real wealth in the regolith, but it wasn’t gold or diamonds. Oxygen. The opiate of the masses. Habit forming substance; take one whiff and you’re hooked for life.

Cut it out, Stavenger, he railed at himself. You’re getting geeky in your old age. Straighten up and concentrate on what you’re doing.

He plodded doggedly ahead, but his mind wandered to the first time his eyes had opened to the grandeur of the Moon. At the planetarium, he remembered. Couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven. The videos of astronauts walking on the Moon, jumping in low-gravity exhilaration while the lecturer told us that one day we kids could go to the Moon and continue the exploration.

Levitt, Paul remembered. Old Dr. Levitt. He knew how to open a kid’s mind. The bug bit me then, Paul realized. He had gone up to the lecturer after the show and asked if he could stay and see it again. A round-faced man with a soft voice and big glasses that made his face look like an owl’s, Dr. Levitt turned out to be the planetarium’s director. He took Paul to his own office and spent the afternoon showing him books and tapes about space exploration.

Paul’s father was away at sea most of the time. His classmates at school were either white or black, and each side demanded his total loyalty. Caught between them, Paul had become a loner, living in his own fantasy world until the bigger dream of exploring the Moon engulfed him. He haunted the planetarium, devoured every book and tape he could find, grew to be Dr. Levitt’s valued protege and, eventually, when he reached manhood, his friend. It was Lev who secured a scholarship for Paul at MIT, who paved the way for his becoming an astronaut, who broke down and wept when Paul actually took off from Cape Canaveral for the first time.