Black Moon

by L. A. Weatherly

  “Good luck, pal,” he called to Ingo.

  Ingo waved, distracted. In no time, his plane was roaring, picking up speed as it passed the tarmac’s painted parking spaces. It took off and angled sharply, gaining height.

  It entered the fray.

  Oh, kiddo, you’ve got to succeed somehow, Mac thought dully to Amity.

  Ridding the world of those weapons was the only thing that might make all of this worthwhile.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  June, 1943

  I stood in an empty hangar, drinking a cup of coffee and gazing out at the bomber as it was prepared for flight.

  The hills beyond the airstrip were covered in small pink wild flowers, though in a few deep ruts I could see patches of unmelted snow. Summer in the Yukon was still chilly, as I recalled all too well from Harmony Five. Up there, where it was colder, there’d been places where the snow never melted.

  I was all too aware that I was thinking about this to try to take my mind off everything else. Sheridan had asked me to come to his office an hour earlier. I’d been terrified that I’d been discovered.

  Instead he’d steepled his fingers, looking troubled.

  “I wanted to tell you this myself in case you heard any rumours,” he said. “There’s a lot of confusion and mixed messages flying around today. But General Keaton’s surrendered.”

  Thinking of New Manhattan, my heart had leaped. “He has?”

  “Keaton, not Pierce. Kay Pierce has indicated that she’ll never back down.”

  He looked steadily at me. A clock ticked in the background as my thoughts spun. Two hundred thousand people had already died in Calgary. Pierce’s main military man was throwing in the towel. Sheridan couldn’t be suggesting what I thought, could he? Would World United actually still sanction this?

  Though I knew the role I had to play, I heard myself say slowly, “But surely if Keaton’s backing down, then—”

  Sheridan shook his head tersely. “It has to come through the official channels. There’s been no verified surrender. The Puget bombing goes ahead.”

  The Cusp was about half as big again as the two-seater Merlin, specially made for these bombs. A single pilot could fly it, like Collie had said. The Cusp was heavier than what I was used to, not nearly as nimble, but otherwise essentially the same.

  On its side and tail, the Harmony symbol with the scorpion at its centre had been painted out. A dove shielding the earth was in its place.

  Beyond the plane, a ghostly moon hung in the daytime sky.

  Black Moon. From nowhere, I recalled watching a lunar eclipse as a child with Collie and Hal, the three of us lying outside on the grass one warm summer night.

  Now an eclipse had forced Collie to betray the Resistance – had been instrumental in Pierce selecting this date for the nuclear attack – might even be the date of my own death. For a weird moment, as I stared up at it, the moon itself seemed my enemy.

  I shook the thoughts away. Another pilot wandered over – a fresh-faced guy who looked about seventeen. He stood beside me, studying the Cusp.

  “You stole my flight,” he said. “I was supposed to do it.”

  “Orders. Sorry.”

  I wondered if he was the one who’d destroyed Calgary. I decided I didn’t really want to know. I took another sip of coffee, suddenly deeply aware of the hangar’s other planes behind us. I’d spent half an hour earlier pretending to check them out – no one had questioned a visiting pilot’s interest. With luck, they wouldn’t realize what I’d done until it was too late.

  I’d deliberately not asked for any news of New Manhattan today, though I was desperate for it. My fingers tightened around the coffee cup.

  The other pilot and I were silent as we watched the workers load the bomb. They used a hydraulic platform to raise it into the plane’s open underbelly. The bomb was smaller than I remembered, oblong and bloated-looking, with fins.

  A chill swept me.

  “It’s okay,” the other pilot said finally. “Can’t say I’m sorry not to do it again.”

  At three o’clock, when the Cusp was ready, I walked out into the cool summer afternoon. The relief was fierce. I’d somehow made it through this day without detection. Sheridan had already wished me luck. We’d shaken hands.

  The engine had a low, throaty roar, a different key from the Merlin’s. I held up a leather bomber jacket I’d found in the airport to one of the fitters. “Okay if I borrow this?”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  I pulled it on and glanced towards the plant’s manufacturing section. I’d noticed earlier the scaffolding covering some of the buildings. Now the sound of construction floated over. Collie was right, they were rebuilding it.

  You bastards, I thought dully.

  “Heard the news from New Manhattan?” asked the fitter.

  I stiffened. Finally I swallowed and looked down, fastening the zip of the jacket. “No, what?”

  “Fighting’s been heavy as hell. They’ve lost two more squadron leaders.”

  I stopped mid-motion. I stared at him, my lips numb. “Are…are you sure?”

  “Yeah, they died in combat. One just this morning. Man something. Manson?”

  The world seemed to stop.

  “Manfred,” I whispered.

  “That’s it.” The fitter kept talking – telling me that Manfred had commandeered Henderson Square Garden for an airport before he died; that his fatal crash had been in Centre Park; that the new squadron leader was named Barton but the fighting there seemed to be over now, so maybe Barton, at least, wouldn’t kick it.

  The words beat dully at my brain. I realized that he’d stopped talking. I was still staring at him.

  Belatedly, I looked down again and fumbled to work the jacket’s zip. Its noise was faint against the sudden roaring in my ears.

  Ingo.

  “Miss Vancour? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” I got out. “Fine.”

  Alone in the cockpit, I wanted to curl into a ball and sob. I took a ragged breath and straightened, flicking switches, checking dials. I had to do this. Had to…though whether I lived or died didn’t feel very important any more.

  The fitter grabbed the chocks and signalled the all-clear. I violently shoved away my thoughts and started to taxi. The Cusp’s reaction was slower than I was used to, its movements heavier, but it started obediently across the runway.

  A flurry of motion in my mirrors. Glancing back, I saw Sheridan and a pair of armed guards running across the airfield. Sheridan’s mouth was moving and I couldn’t hear the words but I could see them.

  “Stop her! She’s under arrest! Stop her!”

  The fitter, his hair flattened by the Cusp’s propellers, looked back at Sheridan, startled.

  My pulse spiked. With a lurch of the engine, I opened it up, taxiing faster towards the runway. Glancing hurriedly back, I saw people racing for the hangars. Damn, damn! Sheridan had found out. My minor sabotage of the planes would be too easily fixed.

  Focus, I ordered myself.

  The long strip of the runway was clear. Wild roses grew to either side. It ran past me, faster and faster, a blur of grey. Finally I had speed and pulled back the throttle.

  Airborne.

  If I thought about Ingo, I’d shatter like glass.

  Numb, I spent the first half-hour of the short flight looking over and over in the mirrors, expecting to see Doves speeding after me. If Sheridan knew my flight order had been phoney, he might well have guessed where I’d be heading.

  No Doves appeared.

  Maybe I’d actually gotten away with it. I was at forty thousand feet, glad to have the leather jacket I’d borrowed. The Cusp was more spacious than I was used to. It felt oddly empty around me.

  It was just me and the bomb.

  I glanced back, hating this thing that had taken me from New Manhattan when I should have been there. It sat waiting on a cradle, bloated and complacent, the only one in existence now.

  The ghosts of th
e ancients must be laughing. We’d thought we were so enlightened.

  Far below, I knew train tracks sliced across the landscape in a thin, straight line. I kept mentally seeing the cattle car that had brought me to Harmony Five – its pungent smells, the taste of fear.

  Anguish stirred. I glanced down at my tattoo, recalling Ingo tracing its lines after we saw the camp’s liberation – how he’d kissed the tears from my face. And our goodbye only hours ago, when I’d known in my heart that I’d never see him again.

  I shuddered and closed my hand into a fist.

  With about ten minutes left to go, I put the Cusp on autopilot and made my way to the back. The bomb lay nestled in its cradle. I crouched beside it.

  Words had been painted on its blunt nose: Big Betty. I stared at them, my stomach turning a little. Had the bomb that destroyed Calgary been called something jaunty too?

  Collie had told me that there was a lid built into the nose, and that priming the bomb was as simple as turning a dial. I found the round lid and eased it open, the metal cool against my fingers.

  Sure enough, a dial lay inside. You could adjust the bomb to go off at a certain altitude, or on impact.

  I swallowed and rubbed my hand on my trousers. Very carefully, I turned the dial from Off to Impact. It clicked as it locked into place. Such a small change, but now Big Betty was ready.

  I made my way back to the cockpit. Harmony Five shouldn’t be far now. I began easing the Cusp down.

  Like Mac had said, the lower I got, the better my chances of hitting the mine…but I’d also have less chance of escaping the shock wave.

  I knew I should care.

  I emerged from the cloud cover into a slight headwind. Snowy mountains appeared below. I kept glancing at the altimeter. Twenty thousand feet. Fifteen. I’d planned to take it no lower than ten…but now I set my mouth and descended to five.

  Harmony Five glided into view: a cleared space between two mountains. Its buildings looked tiny and huddled. Staring down at them, I started my turn.

  An explosion rocked the plane.

  I yelped, thinking at first that the bomb had gone off. Then a familiar shape flashed in my mirrors. A Dove – no, two, with the WU emblems. They weren’t letting that mine go without a fight.

  Wind whistled through the Cusp. I was breathing hard. “Oh, you couldn’t hold off just five more minutes, could you?” I muttered. I half-turned in my seat and risked a glance.

  A hole gaped in the rear; they’d gotten part of the fuselage. Another Dove howled past and bullet holes scattered across the opposite wall of the cockpit. The whine of metal on metal pierced the air.

  I banked, trying to evade. Compared to the nimble Doves, my motions were lumbering.

  The Cusp rocked again. Part of my tail went with a metallic shriek. Red lights flashed hysterically from the control panel. Ignore it! I screamed at myself. Just hold it steady! The mine was coming up any moment.

  “Eye on the prize,” I muttered. This was my prize, all that was left to me – to finally do away for ever with what my father had put into place. I gritted my teeth, hanging onto the stick though the bomber was wobbling badly now. “Eye on the prize, Dad.”

  The woods through which I’d been forced to march appeared below. Forward motion, I remembered. Big Betty was travelling at three hundred miles per hour; she’d keep doing so even after she dropped.

  She, I thought wildly. Don’t name these things after women, thank you very much.

  As a Dove swooped in, I hit the button.

  I didn’t hear the bomb fall, but when I glanced behind me, it was gone. So was what looked like half my plane. I could see the sky through the mangled walls. Both Doves whipped past and shot off into the distance.

  Despite the cold, sweat dotted my brow. I faced forward again, struggling to keep the plane steady. Please, at least let me have gotten the mine, I thought. If I was going to die, let me at least have done that.

  Mountains and deep snowdrifts sped past below. Unbelievably, I still had an engine. If I could just keep going – if I could somehow keep on—

  Light erupted, brighter than the sun.

  I cried out and tried to take it faster, flying blindly through the brilliance. The engine howled in protest and then I was slammed forward, my straps biting at my shoulders. The stick tore from my grasp.

  The plane bucked, pummelled from all directions. A great rush of wind sent the Cusp tumbling. Sky and earth spun. My tail came off with a wrenching groan.

  Thoughts came quickly, vividly.

  Hal. You’re strong, little brother. You’ll be fine.

  Ma, singing us to sleep when we were sick.

  And as the plane tore to pieces around me, Ingo and I were back in the Grand, dancing to the low, hypnotic music.

  The feel of his lips on my neck.

  You were faster as a lock-picker.

  I smiled softly. I remembered all of it.

  All.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  June, 1943

  “Hi, Kay,” said Collis.

  His wife was in their bedroom at the Zodiac, packing clothes in a small leather bag. The telio set was on. She whirled around, her eyes wide and startled. “What the hell are you doing here?” she said hoarsely.

  Collis tossed the auto keys onto her dresser. He was exhausted from the long drive, tense with worry over whether Amity had managed to destroy the Harmony Five mine. On the auto’s wireless set he’d heard non-stop about the devastation in Calgary and Pierce’s refusal to corroborate Keaton’s surrender…but the news had stayed silent on the second nuke.

  Kay’s question hung in the air.

  Collis shrugged. “I guess you forgot to tell your staff that you want me dead. I’m your husband. They seemed to think you’d want to see me.”

  Kay’s expression was stony. Her hair was up in the stiff curls that he disliked on her. “I have a pistol, you know.”

  “Use it.”

  She gave a humourless laugh. “Yes, and bring everyone running in here, just when…” She glanced at the telio set suddenly, her voice trailing off.

  “…and here in Topeka, as crowds gather near the Zodiac, we await word from our glorious Madame President. Incredibly, she has still given no official reaction to the nuclear destruction of Calgary, with a bomb created by her own regime’s predecessor…”

  As crowds gather near the Zodiac.

  As the newscast continued, Collis sank onto a velvet-covered chair and studied her. He cleared his throat. “How long have those broadcasts been going on?”

  Kay had gone rigid, her fingers pressed to her mouth. She glared at him and let her hand fall.

  “Since the bomb,” she said shortly. She snapped the telio off and returned to her packing, flinging clothes in the bag. “So I guess your WU pals aren’t so trustworthy, are they? All those thousands of people dead.”

  Collis didn’t respond. Finally he glanced back out to the large sitting room. Through its windows, another dome of the Zodiac was visible.

  “I saw the crowds, you know,” he said.

  Kay gave him a swift look.

  “As I drove in.” He nodded at the sitting room. “If you look out, you can probably see them.”

  “And the Guns aren’t…” Kay didn’t finish.

  “No,” he said. “They don’t seem to care much.”

  Kay’s expression hardened as she gazed at him. She left her packing and strode to the sitting room, brushing past as if he wasn’t there. He followed. She stood at the window and craned to see to the west.

  The crowd was gathering near the Zodiac’s main entrance. Kay stared at the seething mass of people.

  In her heels, she came up to Collis’s shoulder. She wore a neat green skirt, a matching broad-shouldered jacket. Collis looked down at her instead of the crowds, taking in both her fear and the fierce jut of her chin.

  She slid the window open a crack and the sound of rhythmic shouts came.

  “Pierce must go! Hanging’s too goo
d! Pierce must go! Hanging’s too—”

  Kay banged the window shut, trembling visibly. “Never,” she muttered. “Oh, just let them try it.”

  She ran to the front door of the suite. He’d relocked it after he’d slipped inside. Her bodyguards had been nowhere in sight. Downstairs, half the staff were making a run for it.

  Kay checked the door, then gripped one side of a heavy bureau. “Help me!” she snapped.

  Collis walked slowly over and did. They dragged the bureau in front of the door.

  Kay raced back to the bedroom. “Is that why you’ve come?” she flung over her shoulder. “To gloat?”

  Collis swallowed. He leaned against the doorway, watching as she found her ephemeris and shoved it into the bag.

  “No,” he said.

  She gave him a hard, hounded look. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d show your face.”

  “What did Keaton say?” Collis asked after a pause.

  Kay grimaced, rolling up a pair of nylons. “That we’ve lost too much to have a chance. That we can’t control the populace with what’s happened to Calgary.”

  “He’s right. He’s probably sending troops here for you right now.”

  “I know!” She flung a brassiere into the bag. “But I will never surrender, Collis, do you hear me? I will never say the words.” In an undertone, she added, “I wouldn’t give Johnny the satisfaction.”

  Collis didn’t move. Finally he said softly, “Johnny’s dead, Kay.”

  She cinched the bag with a vicious jerk. She took off her jacket, then crossed to the mirror and started pulling hairpins out. Her hair tumbled down her back. She swiped off her make-up. She looked younger, her freckles more visible.

  Collis watched her face in the mirror. “Why didn’t you announce my execution order?”

  “Do you think I wanted the world to know what a fool I was to trust you?” Kay yanked off her silk blouse and hurled it onto a chair. In a sweet sing-song, she added, “Besides, if I’m going down, you are too, husband darling. I hope World United throws you to the wolves.”

  Collis didn’t respond. They would, if Amity had succeeded and his role came out. They might anyway. He was under no delusions that any of them were fond of him.