“Sweetheart—”
“I will destroy—If they wanted judgment day, I will oblige.” His breathing was harsh. “Keep going. I’m taking notes.”
I wet my lips and wished I were home right now. I’d seen him get fired up and he was a force of nature when that happened. His pupils widened and his shoulders seemed to broaden out to fill doorframes. We always had excellent sex when he got like this. I swallowed and cleared my throat. “All right. There was also an overt sabotage attempt—”
The phone made a spring sound.
Naturally. Right when I got to the clearest example. I cursed internally and lightened my voice. “—at The Garden Club. You know how ruthless the ladies get about their roses. So, apparently, Mrs. Smith went to deadhead—”
“I heard it too.” Kenneth’s voice was deep and resonant and about as erotic as I could ask for. Yes, I’m attracted to powerful men. “Keep talking. My people will deal with it.”
I hesitated. His staff was very good, and if it were just a matter of getting ahead of the news, I would not worry, but the FBI was also investigating Kenneth about the rat poison. At the moment, that was still backstage. It hadn’t gone public. If we stirred up the flames with Icarus, they would almost certainly arrange to leak the story to the news, which would damage his run for president.
“Nicole.” Kenneth’s voice softened a little. “Let me do my job. Please.”
Goddamn it. We would have had such good sex if I were home.
And this is why I keep a vibrator on the Moon.
THIRTY-THREE
PICKETING BY CORE STIRS RIOT IN CLEVELAND
CLEVELAND, Ohio, May 8, 1963—Several thousand jeering white persons, primarily teenagers, pelted pickets of the Congress of Racial Equality with rocks, eggs, and tomatoes early this morning outside a White Castle drive-in restaurant in Cleveland. A riot call brought 60 policemen to the scene. At least two of the picketers were injured and taken to the hospital. One was identified as Robert Waldron, a Negro. The other was an unidentified white man. The police said that Mr. Waldron had been knocked down and kicked by white youths.
After talking to Kenneth, I did not go back to my bunk. Alas. Instead I conferred with my crewmates. Eugene and I were the only ones who got spring sounds, although at different points in the conversation. To me, this said they had tried flipping lines, which seemed to indicate a single listening post. There was very little we could do about that, besides trying to let Clemons know.
I was a little frustrated, in more than one way, by the time I found Danika and Ruben walking slowly around the running track in Midtown. Danika had been one of the lucky ones who got a fever, some aches, and then recovered as if it were just the flu. The infirmary had only had two canes, so Ruben leaned on a piece of conduit, bent to have a cane handle and padded with layers of cloth and tape. It had a broad, flat base cut from a packing crate to give it traction in 1/6 g.
His left leg dragged behind him. Ruben had his jaw set and was fighting his way around the track.
I nodded and fell into step beside them. Now all I had to do was wait for Eugene’s announcement, which would provide a nice jumping-off point for our conversation. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” Danika’s hair was in a simple plait around her head, with none of her usual fancy braiding. “I … I was so sorry to hear about Captain Terrazas.”
I had not forgotten, but I had managed to keep that knowledge to the side. Nodding, I ducked my head. “Thank you.” Ahead of us, the relocated rabbit pen from the biology lab in the SciMod was set up by the side of the track. “Have you seen the bunnies?”
She nodded and let me change the subject. “We stop by them on each circuit. So adorable.”
Ruben thumped the track with his cane. “Also, by the chickens. By the Gallery. By any available bench.”
“It looks like you’re doing well, though.” Considering that he’d been flat on his back a week ago, being up and around was fantastic. In truth, as bad as the “rain day” had been, moving the patients into Midtown had been good for them. There was no way they could get up to the lounge in the SciMod, and the centrifuge room had been out of the question as a way for them to exercise.
Ruben grimaced. “There is some question of if I will be able to walk on Earth.”
Until that moment, it had honestly not occurred to me that he was able to support himself because his body only weighed one-sixth of what it would at home.
“Of course you will.” Danika rose on her toes to kiss her husband on the cheek. She dropped back to her heels and pointed. “Look! The bunnies are so silly.”
Rabbits on the Moon. They were here to see if they might make a good protein source for the colony’s long-term future as well as to look at how gestation happened in lower gravity. Today, though, they had a small group of people gathered to watch them frolic. The rabbits who had been born here moved with a springy economy of motion. One or two soaring hops to cross their enclosure. The ones they’d taken back down to Earth had apparently been miserable and lay on the bottom of their cage, pushing themselves across the woodchips.
Three chimes sounded over the loudspeaker and everyone tensed, orienting to face it as Eugene spoke, “Good morning. This is Major Eugene Lindholm, acting administrator for Artemis Base. Yesterday was hard for our family of lunar-dwellers after two already stressful weeks. I spoke to many of you and I want to say how very proud I am of the spirit and compassion you displayed while grieving the loss of Estevan Terrazas.”
While other people watched the speaker, as if they could see him, I studied my targets. Danika put her arm around Ruben and carefully leaned into him. He tightened his grip on his cane, resting his cheek against her head.
“One of the things I heard time and again was that the quarantine has made you feel frustrated because you want to work. You are here on the Moon because you want to be of service to humanity. Further, because of the separation between modules, you feel isolated. I am instituting morning announcements.” You could hear a smile in his voice as he changed tone. “Yes, as though we were in high school again.”
People chuckled and the tension began to bleed away.
“Let’s begin with Lost and Found. Found: A red Swiss Army knife with an F monogrammed on it. If this is yours, you may claim it by notifying my secretary, Mrs. Wargin, in the admin office. Lost … Faustino Albino Rios. Please report to your supervisor in Midtown. All personnel, I’d like to take this opportunity to remind you that the quarantine has not been lifted. Please do not go between modules without prior authorization.”
I rolled my eyes, pretending that this was news to me, and turned to Danika. “I swear, Faustino is like my annoying kid brother.”
Danika crouched to stick her fingers between the mesh of the cage and scratch a soft gray bunny. “I guess.”
“What mischief do you think he’s up to this time?” I turned to Ruben as Eugene was announcing Halim’s incoming flight, which was due to land tomorrow.
Ruben grimaced, pressing his fist into his leg, and looked toward the library. “I don’t know where Faustino is.”
That was a much firmer denial than my casual question should have merited. “Any guesses?”
“No.” He shook his head, turning away from the bunnies. “No, none at all.”
“I hope he’s okay.” I gestured toward the dome, where the sun still shone at noon. “There’s a lot that can go wrong here.”
“I told you I don’t know where he is. I—” Ruben’s hand slipped off his makeshift cane and he tumbled down in slow motion.
In the light gravity, I was able to snare his arm. We danced for a moment as I tried to steady him. Danika jumped up, too fast, and bounded into us.
All three of us went down. I cracked my left elbow against the floor and felt the jolt light up the break in my arm. Closing my eyes for a minute, I waited for the pain to dissipate. It didn’t, but I rolled to my side to sit up. Would I have liked to have lain on my back and get my breath
back? Yes. But even if I weren’t a pilot, as a lady astronaut, I couldn’t let the guys have any reason to think I was weak.
Danika knelt next to Ruben. “Are you all right?”
The uncharitable, suspicious part of me was nearly certain he’d fallen on purpose. I got to my knees as other people crowded around us. Someone offered a hand to help me up and I waved him off. “Help Ruben.”
I got myself to my feet, dusting off my rump. My arm was still sending distress beacons as a dull throb in time with my pulse.
“Nicole?” Birgit stood next to me, leaning on a pair of lunar crutches engineered with a broad, weighted base. “That Swiss Army knife? I think it’s Curt’s.”
“Oh?” I rubbed the area where my cast brushed my arm and left her a silence to fill.
“I remember him having it in training, because it reminded me of home.” She shifted her weight on her crutches. “And he’s missing it.”
“Is he?” I smiled at her as if everything she said was helpful and not just a frustrating mass of possible lies. “Well, I’ll certainly ask him about it.”
* * *
When I walked away from Birgit, I’ll admit that my actual impulse was to throw the lot of them into an airlock until we could send them back to Earth. And if a “conversation” happened with some emphasis on the effects of decompression on the human body?
It was not my best moment. Not that I’d had many of them recently. I focused instead on the order of operations rather than things I couldn’t fix.
I needed to talk to Curt and to Frisch, but I opted for the easier conversation. Not, mind you, that “Who poisoned you?” is an easy conversation.
I opened the door to the gallery and stepped into the dim shelter of art. They had positioned Frisch’s bed so he was facing Bean’s landscape of the Taurus mountains. The ground stretched away in burnt ochres and umber, with the occasional vivid spot of hunter green.
Frisch was on his back, propped up a little. Ana Teresa had juggled things so the LCA had an actual hospital bed instead of a makeshift cot.
The light from the gallery lamps shone on the bare patches of his scalp. “Nicole…” I think he thought he was speaking English, but the rest of what he said was in Swiss German. “Have you a status update for me?”
I answered in kind. “Several people are getting leg function back, which is good to see. How are you?”
“I meant about Icarus.”
“Ah…” I drew a breath, looking at the lesions at the corners of his mouth. If he had poisoned himself, he had misjudged badly. Even if he had been involved, at this point the man was not a threat. “Curtis Frye, Faustino Albino Rios, and Birgit Furst. Any thoughts on them?”
“Faustino is always working an angle.” He shook his head. “The other two are new hires … I’m not sure I even met Fräulein Furst, although I must have during your arrival.”
“Maybe not, given the chaos around the crash.”
He nodded, eyes drooping. “Mm … perhaps. And you? I heard you were electrocuted? Are you all right?”
I kept the definition of “electrocution” inside my head. “It’s the latest exercise fad.” I did not mention my trouble sleeping or the fact that I wasn’t eating and knew I wasn’t. “I have a question about the sugar cubes.”
“Where did I get them?” He sighed and it turned into a long, racking cough. Frisch curled into a tight ball, one hand pressed against his mouth, the other outstretched to stop me. I froze, on my toes, watching until he caught his breath and uncurled. “Apologies. Thank you for the Prussian blue.”
I opened my mouth and the nonsense words of a politician’s wife floated into the room. “Your bravery is a credit to you. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“From Earth. I import them with my tea.” Frisch’s smile was sad as he shook his head. “These are from the last ship up. I had not felt well, but thought it simple stress. Now … I am lying here asking the dark: Have I been slowly poisoned this entire time, or did someone exchange the sugar cubes?”
I had no idea how to answer that.
* * *
In the library, the radio in the corner was tuned to a station playing “Ring of Fire.” Guillermo had the table with the radio pulled up to the edge of his bed and was gesturing at Kadyn. “France is your pick for the International Games? I mean, they’ve been good in the past but are a disaster this year. Are you a masochist?”
“I have to…” Kadyn saw me and his voice trailed away. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
I inclined my head and took refuge in the old mask of concern and empathy. “Thank you. Estevan is a loss for all of us.”
At Curt’s bed, the chess game was still set up, king tipped over on the side. Curt was lying on his back, with a fist balled in the covers and his breath a little more jagged than it should be. His smile looked tight with pain. “It sounds like I should talk to you about my pocketknife.”
I had been thinking about how I would have played it in his situation. Denial would always be the first, immediate impulse, but … if someone had seen him with it, then claiming he’d lost it was the next best step.
“I was wondering who that belonged to.” I kept my voice light and breezy as I sat down on the edge of his bed. Mentally, I was noting that Birgit hadn’t lied about it being his. “I’m surprised you didn’t report it missing.”
“Oh, well—” He broke off and closed his eyes for a second. Swallowing, he opened them again and smiled. “Well. It wasn’t missing.”
“Are you all right?”
“Just stayed out too late dancing.”
Here’s one of the many cruel things about polio. It takes your ability to move, but not to feel. This does not sound like cruelty until you watch people whose legs are cramping and they cannot stretch them to relieve the pain. We’d skipped physical therapy yesterday. When the news of Terrazas had rolled in, it was all anyone thought about.
Pursing my lips, I stood, and grabbed my rubber glove from the supply cart. “Dancing, huh?”
He blanched. “Oh—I didn’t mean … Shit. Sorry—I was just joking. I didn’t mean to make light about Captain Terrazas’s passing.”
“I understand. And he loved dancing, so probably would have been delighted if that’s what we had done in his honor.” I pulled the glove on and threw back the covers. “But for dancers, you should have seen Ruby Donaldson. She was a competitive dancer before she joined the First Mars Expedition.”
“Yeah?” He stiffened a little as I took his foot in my right hand. “I’m an off-nominal dancer. I mean … even on the best day.”
Would he get another one of those? I moved his knee up toward his chest, using my cast as a guide. The entire time, I kept thinking about what I would have done if I were Icarus in that bed. Try for sympathy? Let my weakness show a little more? Say that I’d loaned the knife to someone else? “So, what did you mean when you said your knife wasn’t missing?”
“I knew where it was—I thought I did, at any rate. I’d loaned it to Faustino.”
Now that was an interesting choice. “Did he say why he wanted it?”
Curt shook his head. “No idea.”
The song on the radio cut off mid-note. “We interrupt this program to bring you a special bulletin from ABC Radio. Here is a special bulletin from Kansas City. Four shots were fired on the steps of the United States Capitol today as Governor Wargin entered the building.”
I dropped Curt’s leg and turned to the radio. “No.”
“This is ABC Radio in Kansas City. To repeat. Four shots were fired on the United States Capitol today at Governor Wargin. We’re going to stand by for more details on the incident from Kansas City. Stay tuned for more from your ABC station. We now return you to your regular program.”
And Doris Day started to sing.
THIRTY-FOUR
U.S. TELLS AIDES IN HAITI TO SEND FAMILIES HOME
Airlift of 220 Begins Today to Flee Hurricane
Other Americans There
Receive Offer of Help
KANSAS CITY, May 8, 1963—The United States ordered today that dependents of its personnel in Haiti leave that country as Hurricane Flora bears down. It also offered to assist in the evacuation of other U.S. citizens from the island. Chartered Pan American World Airways planes will fly to Port-au-Prince, the Haitian capital, tomorrow to begin an airlift of the 220 dependents to the United States. About 1,100 other Americans also may participate. The State Department announced the plans for the evacuation of dependents after receiving advance warning from the Lunetta orbital station.
I ran through the colony, skidding around corners, and all I could think was Please, please, please, please, please. I slammed into the comms module. “I need a phone.”
The receptionist looked up with her stupid patient smile, “Mrs. Wargin—”
“My husband was just shot. I need a phone.”
Her face changed immediately. She pushed the chair back and moved toward the door. “Follow me.”
At the conference call booth, she opened the door and gestured me in. “Do you need … anything?”
“No.” I pushed inside and grabbed the phone, pulling it across the Formica surface of the table. “Wait— Yes. A radio. Please.”
She was still closing the door as I snatched the receiver. On the other end of the line, a young woman in orbit on Lunetta answered, “Operator.”
Was this the spy who had been listening to us? I was still standing, cast pressed against the surface of the table. My voice did not shake. “Earth, Kansas long distance, please.”
“Surely.” In my ear, the sound changed subtly, as if my voice were falling down the gravity well of Earth. My throat hurt with the effort of not screaming. A different woman said, “Long distance.”
“Operator, I’d like to place a call to Topeka: Main one-five-two-five-zero.”
There was a pause, as my voice transmitted across space to her, and I knew the delay was not her fault. “Surely.” I waited for the connection to Kenneth’s office in Topeka. They would know what was happening. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the line is busy.”
The Relentless Moon Page 31
