by Allen Steele
She looked better than she did the last time I'd seen her. She'd cleaned up a bit and combed her hair, and someone had given her a fresh change of clothes. Now I recognized her as being the First Daughter, but perhaps only because she'd been introduced as such. Until we'd arrived at Apollo, she'd been just another scared teenager on the run.
Hannah hesitated, as if unsure of herself. When she spoke, though, her voice was steady. "I'm Hannah Wilford, and my father is President Wilford, and I'm here to tell you that Lina Shapar is lying. My father wasn't assassinated...he died of natural causes."
She took a second to catch her breath, but it may have also been to emphasize what she'd just said. If so, it had the desired effect. Ms. Lagler gasped and raised her hand to her mouth, and Mr. Lagler bent a little closer. My father had hinted at this when we'd heard the news of President Wilford's death, but nonetheless I was surprised as they were.
"The truth of the matter is that my father was ill," Hannah continued. "In fact, he'd been ill for quite some time. Only a handful of people knew that he was suffering from a heart condition...atrial fibrillation...that put him at increased risk for a stroke. He'd managed to keep this secret while he was running for office, and after he was elected the only people who were aware of his condition were my mother and me, his private physicians, the Secret Service, and the few persons in his administration who needed to know."
"That explains a lot," Mr. Lagler said, darting a glance at his wife. "Like why he refused to release his medical records."
"Why is that?"
"During the campaign, Wilford's opponent demanded that he release the results of his most recent medical exam. Wilford said that he'd be happy to do so, but only if the other candidate did, too. His opponent declined...it later turned out that he had health problems of his own...and so Wilford refused to divulge his medical records as well." A grim smile. "That must have been a lucky break for Wilford. It gave him an excuse to avoid admitting that he had a heart condition."
"My father had medicine that allowed him to live and work normally," Hannah was saying, "but he had to make sure that he took it on time every day and that he avoided stressful situations. Both of these things became very hard to do, and on one occasion his doctors had to be rushed in for emergency treatment. But the public was not made aware of the fact that he wasn't well or that his condition was getting worse."
Hannah paused again, this time to raise a hand and quickly wipe away a tear that threatened to reveal itself. When she continued speaking, her voice quavered, but just a little. "Vice President Shapar was one of those people who knew my father was ill, and I suspect...I believe...that one of the reasons why she publicly opposed him on so many issues was that she wanted to increase the stress of his job as much as she could. But even if she didn't, she and her staff were preparing to seize control of the White House the moment he suffered a stroke. My father never trusted her...he told me so himself...but there was little he could do about this that wouldn't involve going public with his medical condition."
Hannah took another deep breath; I could tell that she was struggling to remain calm. "So, when my father had the stroke that killed him, Lina Shapar was ready to put the blame on the PCU and claim that an assassin was responsible. She and her people were also ready to issue orders calling for the arrest of anyone they believed would oppose their agenda. This includes the American ISC officials who signed the petition protesting their plans to lay claim to lunar helium-3. They believe that if the US can take possession of the helium-3 supply, then it will be able to control much of the world's energy."
"They're right." Mr. Lagler's face was grim. "If America is able to do this, then..."
"Hush," Ms. Lagler murmured. "Listen."
"My mother was detained as soon as my father died, and I don't know what has become of her." Hannah's voice was shaking by then; Mr. Porter stepped closer to lay a comforting hand on her arm, but she barely seemed to notice him. "Secret Service agents loyal to my father managed to get me out of the White House, and acting on instructions he'd secretly given them in advance, they got me to Wallops Island, where I boarded a shuttle along with the children of ISC officials who'd also learned of the plot." She paused to wipe a tear from her face. "One of those kids had to stay behind so that I'd be able to get away, and I...and I..."
She was talking about Jan. No wonder she hadn't said much to me. She felt guilty about what had happened, even though it wasn't her fault. Hannah was openly weeping by then. When she couldn't go on, Mr. Porter gently pushed her away from the podium.
"Thank you, Ms. Wilford," he said. "I'm sure I speak for everyone when I say that I appreciate your courage and along with that of your late father."
Hannah nodded, then she turned and walked away from the podium. Mr. Porter waited until she'd vanished from sight, then he turned to look straight at the camera. "This address is being simulcast to the global net on Earth," he said, "and it's being seen in the US as well as other countries belonging to the ICU. So I will take the opportunity to read a public statement of my own."
He gazed down at the podium again. "A little more than an hour ago, following a private meeting with Ms. Wilford during which she explained the situation just as you've heard it, the Apollo town council convened in executive session during which we also conferred with senior ISC representatives both on Earth and here on the Moon. It is our decision that, until President Shapar and her administration offer a full public accounting for the circumstances of President Wilford's death, along with the arrest of American ISC officials and various other individuals, all shipments of helium-3 and other lunar resources to the United States will be suspended. This embargo will go into effect immediately and will continue until further notice."
Mr. Porter looked up at the camera. "We hope that this crisis will be resolved soon, and to our satisfaction. Thank you for your attention, and good night."
I went to bed shortly after that. I might have stayed up a little longer with Mr. and Ms. Lagler to discuss what Mr. Porter and Hannah had said, but exhaustion finally caught up with me, so I excused myself and went to my room. Melissa was sound asleep when I came in; she didn't stir while I got undressed and climbed into bed.
I was out cold almost as soon as my head touched the pillow. As I slept, events continued to unfold.
Mr. Porter's speech, along with Hannah's remarks, were transmitted back to Earth, where they were received by ground stations. Less than a minute after Mr. Porter started talking, though, the American netcasts were suddenly terminated; comp screens went blank and were replaced by error codes. The National Security Agency apparently had been ready to cut the lunar transmission before it reached US-based service providers. When pushed for an explanation, an NSA spokesman said that the transmission had been censored in the interest of national security, then punted the matter to the White House...which, in turn, offered no comment.
However, neither the NSA nor the White House were able to do anything about the rest of world. European and South American ground stations also received the transmission, and they immediately relayed it to overseas service providers. So everything said by Apollo's general manager and President Wilford's daughter was heard by hundreds of millions of people outside the United States, who called or emailed friends and associates in America to make them aware of what their government didn't want them to know. Within hours, mirror sites in the United States were echoing the speech from their European counterparts; the NSA did its best to shut them down, too, but the battle was already lost. By the end of the day, almost everyone in America had heard what Hannah said.
The White House went into damage control mode. The press secretary, Andreas Sullivan, claimed that the transmission was a hoax. Hannah Wilford's image had been computer-generated, he said, and to prove this the White House released footage of the First Daughter calmly reading a book at the undisclosed location where she and her mother had been taken for their own safety. This was debunked almost immediately, when a British ne
ws agency released an identical vid taken fifteen months earlier while the late president's family was on vacation in France.
Just as incendiary was Mr. Porter's announcement that Apollo would curtail helium-3 shipments to the United States until the Shapar administration provided candid explanations for President Wilford's death and the detainment of various officials. Press Secretary Sullivan was utterly livid when asked if it was true that the late president had been killed by a stroke instead of a Chinese assassin, but he couldn't provide a reason why Mr. Porter would lie about such a serious matter. He said that the He3 embargo didn't matter very much because American nuclear fusion plants already had ample fuel reserves, and then stated that President Shapar was communicating with Ronald Voss, the ISC general director, in an effort to settle the dispute.
I was still in bed when Voss held his own press conference in Geneva. Speaking before a lightning storm of camera flashes, the general director said that President Shapar had threatened to withdraw the United States from the ISC unless shipments of helium-3 and other materials were immediately resumed, and that her administration would also consider taking other, as-yet unspecified actions against ISC countries unless Hannah Wilford was returned to Earth at once.
The White House dropped its line that Hannah's presence on the Moon was a fraud. Shortly after Voss spoke, Andreas Sullivan called another press conference, this time to claim that the First Daughter had been abducted by agents of the Pacific Socialist Coalition, which in turn were secretly conspiring with the ISC to shut off American access to vital lunar resources. No one believed him, and Sullivan left the room without answering the obvious questions shouted at him by the White House press corps.
No one knew it then, but that was the last time the Shapar administration would hold a press conference. It wouldn't be long before reporters were barred from the White House; after that, all presidential statements were either anonymous press releases or prerecorded vids. The Shapar administration had been caught in a bald-faced lie; they wouldn't make the same mistake again if they could help it.
I didn't hear about any of this until after I got up. The Laglers knew how tired Melissa and I were, so they'd let us sleep in. It was late morning, Apollo time, when I finally pried open my eyes. MeeMee was still snoring softly when I put on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Clamping on my ankle bracelets so I wouldn't bounce around like I was on a trampoline, I slipped out of the room. Neither Mr. nor Ms. Lagler were around, but there was a plate of fresh muffins and a carafe of hot coffee on the dining nook table, along with a note asking us to make ourselves at home.
I wasn't ready for breakfast yet; the first thing I needed to do was take a shower. The bathroom was next to the Laglers' bedroom, and they'd laid out fresh towels for Melissa and me. Recalling Mr. Lagler's admonition against showers lasting more than five minutes, I kept my watch on, but that turned out to be unnecessary. The stall had a built-in timer and thermostat, and both were preset. Two minutes of lukewarm water at low pressure, just enough to get wet and soak my hair before the showerhead went dry. I soaped up and squirted some shampoo in my hair, then touched the button marked RINSE and received three minutes of hot water at high pressure which ended exactly thirty seconds after a warning chime. I didn't quite get all the shampoo out of my hair, but the stall wouldn't give me a second chance; I rinsed out remaining suds in the sink, using the five-second spurts of warm water the facet would allow me. Water conservation was apparently taken seriously on Apollo; I'd have to get used to taking showers in a hurry, and not every day.
I barely noticed. I was too busy enjoying being able to take a shower without having to prop myself up with a pair of support rails. Most of my life, I'd taken baths simply because they were less hassle. Now, for the first time, I could stand on my own two legs and watch water swim down the drain between my feet. Unless you've been stuck in a mobil for as long as you can remember, you'll never know just how happy this simple pleasure made me.
I came out of the bathroom to find that Melissa had just woken up. She was still half-asleep and her eyes barely open, but at least she'd remembered to put on her ankle weights. She scowled at me as she shuffled into the bathroom, slamming the door shut before I had a chance to tell her about the timer. She was in for a rude surprise; MeeMee loved a long, hot shower in the morning.
Figuring that she was on her own, I took the opportunity to get dressed; she and I would both have to make adjustments so long as we shared a room. In my bag were the jeans, sweatshirt, and moccasins I'd been wearing before changing into the ISC jumpsuit I'd been given on Wallops Island. Unfortunately, these were the only warm clothes I had; everything else I'd brought with me was more suitable for the beach than Apollo. I'd have to find something else to wear before long. But I laughed out loud when I discovered my trunks and swim fins in the bottom of the bag. Maybe I could use the fins as a wall decoration; they were probably the only pair on the Moon.
When I emerged from the bedroom, I found Mr. Lagler waiting for me. He'd used his lunch hour to come home and check on Melissa and me. We'd just said good morning to each other when there was an outraged shriek from the other side of the bathroom door, followed by an ear-blistering string of obscenities. I winced in embarrassment, but Mr. Lagler seemed to be more amused than offended.
"I take it your sister has discovered the shower," he said quietly.
"I tried to warn her, but..." I shrugged helplessly.
"It takes some getting used to." Getting up from the couch, Mr. Lagler walked into the dining nook. "Have you had breakfast yet? Don't waste the coffee...it's not scarce, but it is expensive."
"Thank you. I won't." Running a hand through my damp hair, I walked over to the dining nook and picked up the carafe. It was self-heating, so the coffee was still hot; I poured some in a mug and was about to ask for milk before realizing that this was an absurd request--the closest cow was nearly a quarter of a million miles away--and resigned myself to taking it black from now on.
Mr. Lagler put a muffin on a plate and handed it to me, then sat down at the nook table. "Have you seen the news yet?" he asked, then shook his head. "No, of course you haven't...you just got up."
"Sorry. Didn't mean to sleep late."
Shaking his head again, he pulled a pad from a shirt pocket. "You need to read this," he said as he ran a finger across its screen to open something he'd bookmarked. "Three or four news stories I've saved for you...mainly from British sites, since the American press appears to be either parroting the government line or avoiding it altogether." Another frustrated scream from the bathroom, and he pushed the pad across the table to me. "I'll knock on the door, see if she needs any help," he added as he got up. "Read."
I went through the stories Mr. Lagler had bookmarked, skimming them at first, then going back to read them more closely. I'd just gotten to Andreas Sullivan's stupid claim that Hannah had been abducted by the Chinese when a red light blinked in the pad's upper right margin, alerting me that a related news story had just appeared.
I tapped my finger against the light and a window opened on the screen: vid footage of a large mob of protesters running away from a dense white cloud billowing in their midst. The caption stated that this was a demonstration in Lafayette Park across the street from the White House; it had been broken up by Washington police and National Guard soldiers, with at least twenty protestors taken into custody. The attached news story said that anti-government demonstrations--peaceful for the most part, but violent at a few--were spontaneously occurring in cities all over the country, with many also being squashed by local and federal authorities.
By then, Melissa had stomped her way back across the apartment, wrapped in damp towels and angry as a wet cat. I ignored her as she slammed the bedroom door and instead looked up at Mr. Lagler as he returned to the table. "This is because of what Hannah said last night, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is...although her speech was heard early yesterday afternoon in Washington. Apollo is on Greenwich Mean Time, so
there's a five-hour difference in time zones." I glanced at the time stamp at the top of his pad, then took off my watch and reset it. "The White House must have been expecting something like this, because they were ready to shut down the feed to the ISPs. But they couldn't do anything about European sites, which is how it was leaked to the US."
I glanced again at the Lafayette Park demonstrators being dispersed by tear gas, and suddenly lost my appetite for the muffin in front of me. "So...what happens now? Are you going to send Hannah home? They'll probably want the rest of us, too."
Mr. Lagler shook his head. "I've spoken with Loren about that, and he's against it. So far as he and the town council are concerned, all six of you have sanctuary here for as long as you want. But it's not entirely up to him. Something as important as this had to go before the town. Apollo has a democratic government, and all major decisions are made with the consent of the residents."
"You're going to have a vote?"
"A town meeting is scheduled for this evening, at which time a formal resolution will be submitted." He paused. "Since you're not an Apollo citizen...not yet, at least...you won't be able to vote. So you don't have to be there...but it may help if people can see you and your friends."
I slowly nodded, understanding what he was telling me. If Hannah, the other kids, and I were going to remain on the Moon, the majority of Apollo's inhabitants would have to agree to let us stay. And that meant defying the president of the United States. Mr. Porter would have to make a case for us, but showing up for the town meeting would be in our own best interests, whether we wanted to be there or not. "I'll talk to the others and let them know what's happening. Can you tell me how to find them?"
"That reminds me." Mr. Lagler reached into his pocket, pulled out a pair of wristbands, and handed one to me. "You need to wear this at all times. The other is for your sister."
