Moonrise (26 page)

Misunderstanding her silence, Doug said, “Mom, all my life I’ve heard about my father and Moonbase. I want to carry on in his footsteps. I’ve got to!”

“Your freshman classes start in September.”

“We’ll be back by then. It’s my legacy, Mom! All my life I’ve wanted to get to Moonbase and continue what he started.”

All his life Joanna, thought. All eighteen years of his life.

“It’s the frontier,” he told her excitedly. “That’s where the action is.”

Joanna countered, “Moonbase is a dreary little cave that’s only barely paying its own way. I’ve come close to shutting it down a dozen times.”

“Shutting it down? You can’t shut it down, Mom! It’s the frontier! It’s the future!”

“It’s a drain on this corporation’s resources.”

Doug started to reply, then hesitated. With a slow smile he said, “Mom, if you won’t allow me to go to Moonbase, I’ll get a job with Yamagata Industries. They—”

“Yamagata!”

“They’re looking for construction workers,” Doug said evenly. “I’ll get to the Japanese base at Copernicus.”

That was when Joanna realized how utterly serious her son was. Behind the boyish enthusiasm was an iron-hard will. Despite his pleasant smiling way, he was just as intent as his father had been.

“Douglas,” she said, “there’s much more at stake here than you understand.”

He jumped to his feet, startling her. Pacing across the office, Doug replied, “Mom, if we can get water from the ice fields down at the south pole we can make Moonbase profitable. We can even sell water to Yamagata and the Europeans.”

“No one’s ever gone to the south pole. It’s mountainous, very dangerous—”

Doug grinned at her. “Come on, Mom. Foster Brennart’s going to head the expedition. Foster Brennart! He’s a living legend. He’s like Daniel Boone and Charles Lindberg and Armstrong, Aldrin and Collins all wrapped up in one!”

Joanna knew Foster Brennart quite well. On the Moon Brennart had distinguished himself as a pioneer trailblazer: he had been there from Moonbase’s earliest beginnings, side by side with Paul. On Earth, especially here at corporate headquarters, Brennart was a constant aggravation. He always had some wild scheme to promote, some adventure that he swore was crucial to the survival of Moonbase and the profitability of Masterson Aerospace Corporation. More often than not, his treks into the unknown cost far more than they could ever return. And he was getting wilder, more adventurous
with the years. Reckless, Joanna thought. Brennart took chances that seemed outright foolish to her.

Now he was pushing for an expedition to the lunar south pole. He had been at it for nearly two years, wheedling and cajoling every time he visited Savannah. Now he had enlisted Doug in his campaign. Joanna felt simmering anger at that. Brennart had taken advantage of the eighteen-year-old’s natural enthusiasm and now Doug was as frenzied as a religious convert. Brennart had made the Moon’s south pole into a holy grail in Doug’s young eyes.

The trouble was, this time Brennart seemed to be right. The more Joanna studied the possibilities, the more inevitable the idea looked to her. Still, it was chancy—even dangerous.

I can’t keep Doug on a leash, Joanna told herself, but it all sounds so damnably dangerous.

Doug couldn’t sit still. He paced between the two little Sheraton loveseats to the window, glanced out at the cloudy afternoon, then turned expectantly toward the door.

“He ought to be here any minute,” he said.

“Relax. Foster’s never been late for a meeting,” said Joanna. “I’m sure he’ll be on time for this one.”

Her intercom chimed. “Mr. Brennart here to see you,” said her private secretary.

“Send him right in,” Joanna said, leaning back in her chair. Doug was practically quivering as he stood by the window.

Foster G. Brennart was accustomed to dominating any room he entered. Tall, athletically lean, he had a thick mane of curly golden hair that he allowed to flow to his shoulders. His eyes were pale blue, and although they often seemed to be gazing at a distant horizon that only he could see, when they focused on an individual, that person felt the full intensity of Brennart’s powerful character.

He wore a simple sky blue velour pullover shirt and pale blue slacks. Joanna noticed that he was shod only in leather sandals; no socks.

“Foster,” she said with a gesture toward Doug, “You’ve already met my son—”

“Hello, Doug,” said Brennart, extending a long arm. “Good to see you again.”

Doug was surprised by Brennart’s sweet high tenor all over
again. He somehow expected the lanky six-footer to sound deeper, more manly. Still, Doug smiled with pleasure as he shook Brennart’s hand. The older man sat in the loveseat facing Joanna.

“I presume the subject of this meeting is the south polar expedition,” he said.

“Of course,” said Joanna.

“The Aitken Basin down there is the most valuable real estate on the Moon,” Brennart said.

“I’ve watched your proposal disks several times,” Joanna said. “And read all the tons of material you’ve sent.”

Turning toward Doug, still standing by the window, Brennart touted, “There’s a mountain down there—Mt. Wasser—that’s in daylight all the time. We can generate electrical power at its summit constantly, twenty-four hours a day. And use the power to melt the ice down in the valleys and pump the water back to Moonbase.”

“We’re producing enough water for Moonbase with the nanomachines,” Joanna said.

“Barely,” said Doug.

Brennart smiled at the lad. “At Moonbase you have to build twice the solar power capacity that you really need, because the area’s in night for two weeks at a time. At Mt. Wasser we can provide electrical power constantly.”

“Once you put up the solar panels,” said Joanna.

“We can use nanomachines to build a power tower on the mountaintop.”

“And transmit the energy back to Moonbase by bouncing a microwave power beam off a relay satellite,” Doug added eagerly.

Shaking her head slightly, Joanna said, “Moonbase is only marginally profitable. This expedition—”

“Can put Moonbase solidly into the black,” said Brennart.

“There’s enough power and enough water at the south pole to allow Moonbase to grow and prosper.”

“But the cost.”

“Mom,” Doug said, “if we don’t claim the polar region somebody else will.”

Joanna started to reply, then hesitated.

“He’s right,” said Brennart. “Yamagata’s planning an expedition,
we’re pretty certain. And the Euro-Russians aren’t fools; they know the value of that territory.”

No corporation could claim it owned any part of the Moon. No nation could claim sovereignty over lunar territory. Treaties signed almost a century earlier prevented that. But, after people had actually begun building bases on the Moon and digging up lunar resources, the earthbound lawyers had to find some legal method of assuring some form of property rights.

They cloaked their decisions in clouds of legalistic verbiage, but what it boiled down to was that any “entity” (which was defined as an individual or a combination of individuals) which could establish that it was utilizing the natural resources of a specific part of the Moon’s surface or subsurface was entitled to exclusive use of that territory. It was not first-come-first-served, exactly; it was the first to show
utilization
of a chunk of lunar real estate who could expect legal protection against others who wanted to use the same area.

“Well,” said Brennart as he sat facing Joanna, “like the man says, there it is. We can reach the Aitken Basin first and use those resources to make Moonbase a real city. Think of what we can do! A year’s worth of tourist income would more than pay for the expedition.”

“Tourists?” Joanna snapped. “Tourism destroyed Lunagrad.”

“Aw, Mom, that was years ago,” Doug replied. “Tourists go to the space stations, don’t they? If we could build reasonable facilities for them, they’d spend their money at Moonbase.”

“They could plant their bootprints where no one has ever stepped before,” Brennart said. “If we built a big enough enclosure and filled it with air at Earth-normal pressure, they could fly like birds.”

“On plastic wings that we rent to them,” Doug added.

Suppressing an urge to laugh, Joanna said, “That’s all in the future.”

“Yes,” said Brennart, “but the future starts now. The resources at the south pole can make Moonbase into a true city. Or maybe Yamagata or the Europeans will get there first, and Moonbase will never be able to grow much beyond where it is now.”

Joanna recognized the threat. “There’s only one detail that still bothers me.”

Brennart leaned forward slightly and fixed his pale blue eyes on her. “And what might that be?”

Turning slightly, Joanna said, “My son, here. He wants to go along with you.”

Brennart looked over at Doug and smiled broadly. “You do, eh?”

“You bet!” said Doug. “I’ve been spending every minute I can in lunar simulators. I can handle a tractor or a hopper, and I’ve got the rest of the summer free.”

Brennart laughed his high-pitched giggle. “You want to come along to the lunar south pole for your summer vacation?”

Grinning back at him, Doug said, “I know it won’t be a vacation. But, yes, I very much want to go.”

“He wants to go so much,” Joanna said, unsmiling, “that he’s threatened to go to Japan and take a job with Yamagata Industries.”

Sobering, Brennart said, “Yamagata’s people don’t give soft jobs to Americans, you know. Only the dog work—basic construction labor, stuff like that.”

“I know,” said Doug. “But it’ll be on the Moon.”

“You want to get to the Moon that bad?”

“I want to be at the frontier. I want to go places where no one’s been before.”

With a solemn nod, Brennart admitted, “I know the feeling.”

“If I approve your planned expedition,” Joanna asked, “will you take Doug with you?”

“If I say no, will you still approve the expedition?”

She looked into those ice blue eyes, then said, “I might approve it more easily if you say no.”

“I mean it, Mom,” Doug said. “I’ll go to Yamagata.”

Brennart smiled again. “I like his spirit. Reminds me of his father.”

“If I approve,” Joanna cut off any reminiscences, “I want Doug under your direct supervision. I want you to keep your eyes on him every moment. Both eyes, Foster.”

Brennart hesitated a moment, as if marshalling his thoughts. “We’ll have to find some useful task for him. There’ll be no room on the expedition for anyone who can’t pull his own weight.”

“I can be the legal recorder,” said Doug. “You don’t have
anyone in your group who’s responsible for recording the corporation’s legal claim to the polar region. I can do that for you.”

Brennart rubbed his chin. “We were going to take turns recording everything with vidcams, but I suppose it makes some sense to have somebody specifically assigned to that responsibility.”

Joanna said nothing, but she realized that Doug had thought all this out very carefully.

Grinning, Brennart asked, “You’ve really put in time in lunar simulators? You’re certified for tractor operation? And hoppers?”

“Nearly fifty hours!” said Doug.

With a shrug, Brennart said, “I’ve got no objections to your coming with us.”

“Then I can go?”

Joanna sank back in her chair and closed her eyes briefly. “Yes,” she said reluctantly, “you can go.”

But she sat up straight again and levelled a finger at Brennart. “He’s your responsibility, Foster. I don’t want him out of your sight.”

Brennart nodded easily. “I’ll treat him as if he was my own son.”

“Don’t worry, Mom,” said Doug, almost dancing with excitement. “I’ll be fine. What can happen to me?”

Joanna stared at Doug, grinning from ear to ear. Just like his father. Who died on the Moon.

“I hate his guts,” said Jack Killifer.

“Who? Brennart?”

“Naw. Little Douggie.”

“Doug Stavenger?”

“That’s right,” Killifer said sourly. “Mama’s boy.”

“How can you hate him? You haven’t even seen him yet. He’s not due to arrive until—”

“I don’t have to see him,” Killifer snapped. “The little pissant’s already screwed me over.”

Killifer and Roger Deems were sitting in Moonbase’s mess hall, a cavern large enough to hold the entire regular staff of fifty, plus a dozen or so visitors. At the moment, in the middle of a work morning, they were the only two people seated at the tables. A few others drifted in now and then, made their way down the line of automated dispensing machines, then headed back to their offices or workplaces.

Known to the regular Lunatics as the Cave, the galley had been carved out of the rock of Alphonsus’s ringwall mountains by the same plasma-torch crews who had dug the tunnels that now served as living quarters, laboratories, offices and workshops for Moonbase.

They had left the Cave’s ceiling rough-hewn, unpolished rock: hence its name. The walls were smooth, though, and the floor was planted with the toughest species of grasses that could be found on Earth. Twelve square plots of grass, forbidden to step upon, tended constantly and lovingly by the agro team, formed a green counterpoint to the tables and chairs scattered across the Cave’s floor.

Full-spectrum lamps spanned the rock ceiling, keeping the Cave as bright as noontime on an Iowa summer day. The Lunatics joked that you could tell how much time a person spent in the Cave by how tanned he or she was. Ceiling, walls, and the smooth rock walkways and floor beneath the tables were all sprayed with clear, airtight plastic.

“Why’re you pissed with the kid?” asked Roger Deems.

He was sitting across the small table from Killifer. Both men had mugs of what was supposed to be vitamin-enriched fruit juice before them. Both had laced their drinks liberally with “rocket juice” from Moonbase’s illicit travelling still.

The two men were a study in contrasts. Killifer was lean, lantern-jawed, his face hard and flinty. His light brown hair was shaved down almost to his scalp. His eyes were deepset, piercing, suspicious. Deems was large, round, plump, his dark locks curling down to his shoulders, his soft brown eyes wide. He always seemed startled, like a deer caught in a car’s headlights.