Test of Fire (1982)

by Ben Bova

  Alec said, "But that's so far in the future . . ."

  "Then what about medicines?"

  "We synthesize all the medicines we need."

  "Oh sure you do. Certainly," Douglas sneered.

  "But how many people in the settlement are too brittle-boned to make the trip to Earth? How many of your own men are going to suffer sunstroke because they don't have enough melanin pigmentation in their skin? That's a beautiful burn you've got on the back of your neck, by the way."

  Alec was starting to feel confused. "But those are hereditary traits. Medicine can't . . ."

  "Exactly!" Douglas pounced. "What about the four or five people each year who die of cancer in the settlement? Huh?"

  Bewildered, Alec replied, "Cancer's unavoidable . . . everybody knows that."

  "Oh it is, is it?" Douglas glanced over at Will, then turned back to Alec. "It happens that cancer arresting drugs were being manufactured on Earth before the sky burned."

  "They were?"

  Douglas nodded. "And the incidence of cancer in the settlement is rising at a rate of five percent a year. In another generation or two . . . pfft!" He snapped his fingers.

  "No!"

  "I calculated it out myself. Cancer, birth defects, other genetic diseases—they're all on the rise in the settlement. Because of inbreeding. Before the sky burned, the inbreeding effect was masked because there was a constant flow of people coming and going from Earthside. But among the people who had lived on the Moon for years and intermarried, the hereditary effects were already starting to show up. Now that you've cut yourselves off from Earth, the genetic pool of the lunar community just isn't big enough to be viable."

  "That can't be true."

  "Can't it be? Do you think the computers tell lies? They don't. They have no pity. They don't care what you want the answer to be, they simply chug away at the problem and tell you what the answer is."

  "I can't believe that," Alec said. "The answer you get depends on the data you put in . . ."

  Douglas shrugged ponderously. "The data I put in was the medical records of the long-term lunar residents. The settlement is dying. It's too small and inbred to survive. Oh sure, maybe you'll get along for another generation or so . . . say, about fifty years. But I doubt it. There were already a lot of visible strains when I left. I'll bet there's a lot more tension in the air now. Nobody knows how to build new equipment; you've got some smart engineers and technicians, but no scientists to speak of. A few astronomers. And the genetic diseases are being quietly brushed under the rug because nobody knows how to handle them or what to do to get rid of them."

  "He's right," Will said gently. "I was a physician up there, you know. What Douglas is saying is absolutely right."

  Alec glared at the two of them. "So you decided to let the settlement die. You left with no intention of coming back."

  "That's just about one hundred percent wrong,"

  Douglas said. "The settlement will certainly die — if it stays alone. I'm trying to save it by forcing you people to reconnect with the rest of the human race, with Mother Earth. And to do that, I've got to build a viable civilization here On Earth. Right?"

  A boiling tide of rage was rising in Alec's guts.

  "That's a fancy way of saying that you're carving out a nice little empire for yourself down here, and you want to force the settlement to become part of it."

  Smiling sadly, Douglas replied, "I can see that your mother's been educating you." He spread his big, thick-fingered hands. "Call it an empire, a renaissance, an attempt to hold back the complete annihilation of the human race as a species—call it any goddamned thing you want to! But I'm going to bring the threads of civilization back together again, one way or the other. And I want you to work with me. You're my son and . . ."

  "And someday I'll inherit all this?" Alec shouted at him. "The heir-apparent? The crown prince?"

  "Something like that," Douglas muttered.

  "Then you're a fool! Don't you know that crown princes spend their lives planning the king's murder?"

  Douglas said nothing. He simply sat there on the dusty floor and stared at his son. Then, slowly, he struggled to his feet and walked out of the room.

  Alec watched him, unmoving.

  Will Russo shook his head. "I shouldn't stick my nose into this damned thing . . . father and son, after all. But, by golly, that was a lousy thing you just did to him. He's been waiting twenty years to see you."

  "So he saw me," Alec said, suddenly weary of the whole thing. "What was he expecting? Congratulations for running out on us? A hero's medal for turning his back on the whole lunar settlement so he could play emperor down here?"

  "There's a lot to this that you don't understand."

  "No," Alec said, getting to his feet. "I under* stand him perfectly. He can rationalize all he wants to, but the simple fact is that he's a king down here instead of a responsible citizen of the settlement. And he's trying to make us submit to him by holding the fissionables. He knows we can't survive without them."

  "You won't survive even with them," Will said gently. "That's the point he's trying to make."

  The afternoon seemed infinitely long. Alec paced alone through the dead streets of the town, kicking up dust, watching the weeds and a few straggling flowers tossing in the warm wind.

  Trees grew tall and dark in all directions around the town, but for some reason the trees planted along the streets were nothing but dead bare skeletons.

  It took him several hours to calm down, to regain enough self-control so that he could face his own men without being afraid that his hands would tremble or his voice would crack. My father's convinced himself that he's right, Alec thought. And he's convinced Will and the others, too. Everything mother told me about him is true.

  He's able to rationalize anything, everything: leaving us, not caring if we live or die. And he claims it's for our own good. The bastard!

  The flaming beauty of sunset went unnoticed.

  Only when it started getting dark enough to worry him did Alec return to the trucks. He lost his way several times among the empty diverging streets, but finally he found the Post Office and his men.

  They were eating with Will's people, gathered around an open fire in front of the Post Office building.

  "There you are," Jameson said as Alec stepped out of the shadows cast by one of the trucks. "I was starting to think I ought to send a couple of scouts out to find you."

  "No need," Alec said.

  His own men and Will's people were intermingling freely. The girls were laughing and charming the men. Angela was not in sight, though. Alec sat on the ground by the fire and shared their communal dinner. He didn't bother asking what was in the pot. It was tasteless—at least, he tasted nothing.

  Angela showed up as he finished eating.

  "Dad wants to see you," she said tightly.

  He rose and started walking off with her.

  Despite her small size she kept pace with him.

  She's tough, Alec couldn't help thinking. Battle-hardened.

  "Hey, chief, where you going?" Gianelli's voice called through the flickering shadows cast by the campfire. "Don't do anything we wouldn't do!"

  The laughter of several men followed them.

  "He's not your father," Alec said grimly as they walked around toward the rear of the Post Office.

  Her eyes flashed and she snapped, "More than ..." Then she seemed to catch herself, think better of it. "That's right. He's not really my father."

  "And you're not my sister."

  "So?"

  "So just remember that."

  Her voice was brittle. "I'll keep it in mind."

  Douglas was sitting in the jeep; it was still parked behind the building. The only light was from the stars; the Moon had not risen yet.

  "Thank you, Angela," Douglas said softly. "If you don't mind, I'd like to talk to Alec alone."

  "I don't mind . . . Dad." She put special emphasis on the last word, Alec thought. />
  "Well?" Alec asked, standing beside the jeep. He could barely make out the expression on his father's face, in the darkness.

  "What are your plans?" Douglas asked.

  Alec hesitated, then lied. "I'm not sure yet. I have to talk to mother and the Council."

  "She's still on the Council?"

  "She chairs It."

  Douglas grunted. "I might have guessed. Matriarchal societies need a queen bee."

  Alec clenched his fists but said nothing.

  "Listen to me," Douglas commanded. "In the next few days you and your men are going to come down with dysentery. It's not fatal . . ."

  "We have pills for that."

  "Bull-hickey! The pills won't do a damned thing for you, take my word for it. Once you start eating the local flora and fauna your gut bugs change and you get dysentery. It's inevitable. And although it won't kill you, it'll make you wish you were dead. You'll be in no condition to defend yourselves. Unless you're safely in the shuttles, you'll be helpless here. And I can't afford to have my people sitting around here for days on end, protecting you."

  "So take off," Alec snapped. "We don't need your protection."

  "You could come with us."

  "And help you to build your empire?"

  "Help save your mother and everyone else in the settlement!"

  "I'll save them—by getting those fissionables."

  Douglas shook his head, a ponderous negative motion. "No. That's something you can't do. They're too far from here, and too well protected. You'd be dead long before you got to within a hundred kilometers."

  "I came here for the fissionables."

  "You'll get yourself killed."

  "You're going to kill me?"

  "I won't have to lift a finger!" Douglas was starting to sound exasperated. "There are a thousand ways of getting yourself killed here: raider bands, injuries . . . hell, you could even starve to death, if you know as little about survival as I think you do."

  "I'm going to get those fissionables, one way or the other."

  Douglas suddenly turned sarcastic. "Oh are you? Well, you're going to find that that's just a leetle tough to accomplish. In the first place, when you talk to your mother, she's going to order you back home. I know her, and she won't have her precious son running around here in the open where he might stub his toe."

  "You might have known her," Alec flashed, white-hot, "but you don't know me."

  "That's true. Arid it's a shame I never will. Because you're either returning to the settlement or you're going to be killed inside of a week."

  "We'll see."

  "Indeed we will. It's a shame your education is going to prove fatal. You might have eventually turned out to be somebody worth knowing. You're stubborn enough to be my son, I'll give you that much."

  With that, Douglas reached for the jeep's dashboard and twisted the ignition key. The motor purred to life. An electric motor! Alec realized, taken aback with surprise. Without another word Douglas put the jeep in reverse, backed smoothly out of the parking lot, and disappeared silently into the night.

  Alec stood there for some moments, fingering the pistol at his side, before he realized that he might have killed Douglas then and there.

  Chapter 18

  Alec expected an argument from his mother the next morning, but he got none.

  He sat buttoned into the armored cab of his truck, alone and isolated from the others. He reported everything that had happened so far, ending with his decision to head north and find the fissionables. His mother's voice sounded strangely faraway, much colder and more distant than the quarter-million miles between them.

  "You must do what needs to be done," she said, metalically, icily, amid the cracklings and hisses of Sun-static.

  "When I locate the fissionables you can send reinforcements to me."

  He could sense other pressures, other emotions working in her mind. "Very well, Alec. The Council will accept your plan. I'll see to that."

  "And Kobol?"

  The hesitation in her voice was more than the lag of lightspeed. "There are ways of handling Kobol. He won't stop you."

  "You'll need to bring out the other shuttles and make supply drops for us. We're going to need medicine and ammunition, fuel for the truck generators ..."

  She said, "That will take time. Several days, at least. Probably longer."

  "All right. I'll keep in touch through the satellite. It might be a good idea to activate one of the automatic relay satellites in synchronous orbit, if you can. Then we can keep a communications line open all the time."

  Her voice was fading, the satellite was passing out of range. "I'll try, Alec. I'll try."

  "Take care, Mother. Be careful."

  "And you, Alec. Do what needs to be done. Find him and do what needs ..." her voice dimmed to an inaudible hiss.

  Alec sat alone in the truck's cab for several minutes, feeling flushed and weak. Got to get a grip on myself, he thought. I'm responsible for fifteen lives. He reached for the door handle and a sudden stab of pain seared through his middle.

  His head swam.

  Dizzily, he stumbled out of the truck. It was cooler in the morning air. He took several deep racking breaths and forced the pain down.

  "You," he called to the nearest man, who was poking into the truck's fuel cell, behind the cab and under the laser mounting. He looked up. Alec recognized him but couldn't recall his name.

  "Find the medical tapes and read out the information on dysentery. Remind Gianelli to get all the available data on the subject when the satellite's in range again."

  The man looked blankly at him. "The satellite won't be in range again for twelve hours, will it?"

  Alec nodded, bringing up the dizziness again.

  "Right. Do it."

  "Yeah, okay. Dysentery?" He started to look scared, rather than puzzled.

  Slowly, fighting against the nausea that was gripping him, Alec made his way along the line of trucks, looking for Ron Jameson. He found him calmly sitting on the ground with his back against a truck's wheel, cleaning his automatic rifle. The weapon was spread on a plastic sheet in front of him, broken down into its many glittering metallic parts. Jameson was deftly oiling the firing mechanism.

  Ferret stood about ten meters away, watching Jameson with gleaming eyes.

  "I don't trust him," Jameson said, as Alec's shadow fell over the rifle parts. Then he looked up and saw Alec's face. "You've got it too."

  "And you?" Alec sagged to a sitting position against the balloon tire.

  Jameson nodded, keeping one eye on Ferret.

  "Had a siege last night. Not much fun."

  "We're all going to come down with it. And Douglas is pulling his people out."

  "I know. Will Russo was around here looking for you. He was pretty shame-faced about it, but they're all leaving before noon."

  Leaning his head against the truck's cool metal fender, Alec closed his eyes. "That means we'll be on our own."

  "With diarrhea and vomiting as our constant companions." Jameson said it flatly, with neither humor nor malice.

  "What can we do?"

  "They're not sending a shuttle for us?"

  "No . . ."

  Another cramp made Alec gasp and fight for self-control. "We're going north to find the fissionables. As soon as we're able."

  Jameson was silent for a long while. Through pain-blurred eyes, Alec watched him. He was scanning the streets around them, his hawk's eyes registering every detail of the buildings and intersections, his mind obviously working at top speed.

  "Well then," he said at last, "I guess we'd better get these trucks inside of some of the buildings, where they won't be spotted so easily. And we'd better pick buildings that are set so that the trucks can support each other with crossfire, in case we are attacked. We've got to defend ourselves with a troop of sick pups."

  He glanced at Ferret again. "And I wouldn't trust him further than I can spit."

  "We've got the advantage of firepow
er," Alec said.

  Jameson gave him a pitying look. "Won't do much good if the gunners are crapping their guts out when it comes time to pull the triggers."

  Alec couldn't stand any more. He lurched to his feet and staggered off to find some privacy where he could be thoroughly sick.

  The Sun was almost straight overhead when he forced himself back to the street where the Post Office stood. He was drenched with sweat, yet shivering. He stank. His knees were trembling with the mere effort of keeping himself on his feet.

  A pair of strong arms grabbed him from behind.

  "My God, you really do have it, don't you?" Will Russo said. His usually carefree face was dead serious now.

  "I'll be . . . all right" Alec managed.

  Will led him in to the Post Office and sat him down on the floor. Squatting on his heels next to Alec, he said, "Look, we've got to leave. There's a lot of going on further north that needs our attention . . ."

  "Then go." Alec fluttered a weak hand at him.

  "Let me finish, doggone it! I know you feel like you're going to die, but you won't. You'll be okay in a few days. The thing to avoid is fever ... it weakens you to other infectious diseases. Now, do you have any anti-fever medicines—aspirin, anything like that?"

  "Yes . . . but nothing much more."

  "You don't need it. Gobble aspirin and use water baths to keep your temperature down. Same for everybody."

  "All right." Far back in his mind Alec shrank from the idea of using water for bathing. Water's too precious.

  "Okay," Russo said. "Now, I see that some of your men are still strong enough to start moving your trucks inside garages and store fronts and such. That's good. Keep out of sight and maybe nobody will bother you."

  Alec said nothing.

  "Now, the raider bands we tangled with have apparently scattered across the countryside. But they haven't left the territory, you can be sure. I've asked a couple of the local farmers to sort of watch out for you, warn you if any packs come into the area. The locals don't like the raiders and they've always worked with us pretty fairly. So they'll at least try to warn you, if they can."

  "Good."