Moonwar gt-7

by Ben Bova

  When he finished, the archbishop grinned at them and said in a strong voice, “There will be no collection.”

  The Catholics in the small crowd laughed.

  The married couple and their friends trooped out of Anson’s office, on their way to a reception in The Cave.

  “Some honeymoon they’re going to have,” Anson said, sounding a little wistful. “The Clippership lifts off tomorrow at ten hundred hours.”

  “Well, at least they were able to get married,” Clemens said. “I hope that makes them happy.”

  Doug had already turned his attention to his mother’s image on the wall screen.

  “Any progress with Faure?” he asked.

  After three seconds she shook her head gravely. “He’s making the maximum media noise about this so-called mercy flight. Otherwise, he’s stonewalling me.”

  “Any indications of preparations by the Peacekeepers?”

  Doug asked, standing before his mother’s larger-then-life image.

  Brudnoy, standing slightly behind her, answered, “No indications at all. They seem to be doing nothing at present. Of course, they could be getting ready for another assault in secrecy.”

  “That’s what I’d do, I suppose,” Doug agreed. “No sense letting your enemy see you coming.”

  “The board meeting is tomorrow,” Joanna said. “I’ve got to turn Rashid around and get him to support you.”

  “Tamara Bonai got no place with the President,” Doug muttered.

  Once she heard his words, Joanna raised a finger. “Don’t be too sure of that. The ambassador to Japan just flew back unexpectedly to Washington on a Clippership. Something’s stirring, I think.”

  Doug thought about that for a moment, then said, “Mom, this may be off the wall—but have you considered talking directly to Yamagata?”

  The delay was much more than three seconds this time. “You mean the old man himself? Seigo Yamagata?”

  “If he’ll see you.”

  Her expression hardened. “He’ll see me. I’ll make certain of that!”

  It took an effort of will for Nick to pull his gummy eyelids open. The party had been glorious, but now it was morning and the fun was over. Claire had to pack her few belongings tnd get aboard the Clippership.

  She was curled next to him in the bunk, sleeping soundly with a beatific smile on her lips.

  Nick struggled up on one elbow and squinted at the digital clock.

  “It’s nine-twenty!” he yelped. “Good lord, Claire, you’ve gotta dash!”

  She opened one eye and snaked a bare arm around his neck. “Married hardly more than eighteen hours and you’re already giving me orders.”

  “But the time—”

  “Relax,” Claire said dreamily. “I’m not going anyplace.”

  “Not going? What do you mean not going?”

  “I’m staying right here with you,” she said, opening both eyes at last.

  “But you can’t do that!”

  “I gave my boarding papers to Ellen Berson,” Claire said. “Last night, while the rest of you were getting blotto on rocket juice.”

  “You what?”

  “Ellen’s got a boyfriend in Philadelphia. My boyfriend is right here.”

  “You can’t do that,” he repeated, his voice high, panicky. “They’ll stop her at the rocket port.”

  “No they won’t. And even if they do, I decided I’m staying right here with you.”

  “But they’ll force you—”

  “Nobody’s going to force anybody,” Claire said, quite firmly. “And if they send some goons from security I’ll put up such a battle they’ll be afraid of harming the baby.”

  “You’re crazy!”

  “Over you, sweet-face.”

  “But you can’t have the baby here. It’s not allowed.”

  She smiled knowingly. “Nick, there’s a first time for everything.”

  “But…” He ran out of steam and sank back on the pillow, defeated. Yet delighted.

  “It was during the wedding,” Claire said. “When the archbishop said that bit about cleaving together. I made up my mind then that I’m not going Earthside until you can go with me.”

  Staring up at the low ceiling, Nick said, “There’s going to be hell to pay over this.”

  But he was grinning from ear to ear.

  DAY THIRTY-NINE

  Joanna deliberately took the seat at the end of the long conference table, where she could look directly at Rashid, up at the head. Every member of the board was present in person, even old McGruder in his powered wheelchair and its bulky life-support system. The old man was still waiting for a heart donor; he was more heavily wired up than an astronaut, Joanna thought.

  Rashid and Tamara Bonai came in together, not exactly holding hands, but obviously happy to be in each other’s company. Joanna seethed. If that little tramp has gone over to Rashid’s side I’ll…

  She stopped, not knowing what she’d do. Or what she could do. She had told Doug to woo Bonai and win her over. It looked as if Rashid had done it, instead, and there was nothing Joanna could do to counter that.

  The conference table was buzzing with whispered conversations, board members catching up with the latest news and gossip among themselves. No one spoke to Joanna. She sat as if in an isolation ward down at the foot of the table.

  The murmurs died away as Rashid sat down and smiled brightly at the board members.

  “I’m delighted that all of you could manage to make it here in person to this special meeting,” Rashid said in his slightly reedy tenor voice. “Including you, Mac.”

  From behind his oxygen mask McGruder rasped, “Couldn’t keep me away from this one if you tried, my boy. When all this nonsense with the U.N. is over, I’m going to Moonbase and get some of those nanomachines to fix my heart.”

  He broke into a cackling laughter; the other board members joined with him, politely. All except Rashid, Joanna noticed, who sat with his original smile frozen on his face. Mac’s on our side, Joanna knew. She had been feeding him information on nanotherapy for months now.

  “There’s only one item on the agenda,” Rashid said, “and we should be able to take care of it fairly quickly.”

  All the heads along the table swivelled to Joanna.

  “Since you called for this meeting,” Rashid said to her, “and it’s your resolution that we’re here to discuss, why don’t you give us the formal reading, for the minutes, Joanna?”

  She didn’t bother even glancing at the display screen set into the table before her. Joanna said in a clear, strong voice:

  “Resolved: That Masterson Corporation exert its best efforts to support the political independence of Moonbase.”

  A dead silence fell upon the board room.

  Finally, one of the white-haired men halfway up the table asked, “You mean we don’t support Moonbase’s independence?”

  “Why should we?” a woman board member asked.

  “Because if we don’t,” Joanna answered before anyone else could reply, “we stand to lose the Clippership manufacturing to Japan.”

  “Japan?”

  “That’s not entirely fair, Joanna,” said Rashid.

  “The Clippership product line belongs to our Kiribati subsidiary, doesn’t it?”

  “How’s Japan going to get it? I assume you mean Yamagata Industries, not the Japanese government.”

  “They’re pretty close to being the same thing,” Joanna said.

  “I don’t understand how Yamagata can take the Clippership manufacturing away from us.”

  “But we don’t manufacture them; Kiribati does.”

  “We get the profits, don’t we?”

  “Wait, wait,” Rashid called out, motioning them to silence with both hands. “Let’s go through this calmly and logically.”

  Joanna immediately said, “We set up Kiribati Corporation to get out from under the nanotechnology treaty.”

  “Yes, and then the damned islanders signed the treaty anywa
y,” said one of the men. Suddenly he realized that Tamara Bonai was sitting across the table from him, and his face reddened. “Ah, sorry,” he mumbled. “No offense intended.”

  Bonai looked directly at him as she said, “Kiribati was forced to sign the nanotech treaty by unbearable pressure from the United Nations. We never expected the U.N. to try to extend the treaty to Moonbase, however.”

  “Where do you stand on Moonbase’s independence?” asked the woman sitting next to Bonai.

  “We have been assured that Moonbase’s political independence will not interfere in any way with their contractual agreements with Kiribati Corporation. Therefore, we support their independence.”

  Several people along the table nodded.

  Bonai added, “What we fear is that the U.N. will turn over all Clippership manufacturing to Yamagata once they have thrown us out of Moonbase.”

  Rashid’s face clouded. “There’s more to it than that,” he said. “Much more.”

  “The core of this issue,” said Joanna, “is that the U.N.’s fervor to force the nanotech treaty on Moonbase is a sham—a coverup for turning the base and all its operations over to Yamagata.”

  “And that includes manufacturing Clipperships with nano-machines?”

  “Yes. Certainly.”

  McGruder swivelled his wheelchair slightly toward Rashid. “You knew about this?”

  “I found out about it,” Rashid answered.

  “And what are you doing about it?”

  Rashid took a deep breath. “I am trying to lead this corporation to a new level of profitability. And to a new product line, while we make a greater profit than ever from the Clipperships.”

  He had their full attention now, Joanna saw.

  Leaning forward intently, Rashid said, “I want to negotiate a partnership between us and Yamagata to produce nuclear fusion power plants—”

  “We went over this ten years ago,” McGruder rasped.

  “It was eight years ago and we made a mistake then,” Rashid said hotly. “Let’s not repeat the same mistake. Fusion power will be a multi-trillion dollar business. This corporation has a chance to get in on it; one chance, take it or leave it.”

  Forcing her voice to remain cool, Joanna said, “So you’re offering Yamagata the Clippership product line in exchange for a partnership in their fusion program.”

  “Fusion can be profitable if it can be fueled by helium-three, which can be mined on the Moon,” Rashid said.

  “Then why don’t we mine it ourselves?” Joanna asked. “With nanomachines we can produce helium-three at a fraction of Yamagata’s costs.”

  “Joanna, it’s time you stopped clinging to Moonbase as if it’s your personal nursery!” Rashid snapped.

  She felt his words like a slap across her face. “You’ve been carrying a grudge for eight years now, Omar; ever since this board voted to back Moonbase in preference to your ideas about fusion.”

  “That was a mistake and we have a chance to correct it.”

  “By giving up Moonbase and allowing Yamagata to take the Clippership line away from us.”

  “We own the patents,” Rashid countered. “Yamagata will pay us royalties while our costs go down to zero.”

  One of the women muttered, “Yamagata will pay us royalties until they figure out how to reverse engineer the Clipperships and come up with a manufacturing system that’s different enough from ours to break our patents.”

  “Which will take a year or two, at most,” another board member said.

  “Not if we merge with Yamagata,” Rashid said.

  Silence again. They all looked stunned, Joanna thought.

  “A merger makes perfect sense,” Rashid went on, more calmly. “Our combined corporation will be the world’s leader in aerospace transportation and fusion power. Your stock will be worth ten times what it’s going for now. Even more.”

  “I will never vote to merge with Yamagata Industries,” Joanna said, her voice venomously low.

  “And why not?” Rashid taunted. “Are you afraid that your son will have to come back to Earth and live with the rest of us?”

  “That is unforgivable,” Joanna said.

  “It is out of line, Mr Chairman,” said the bald, portly man sitting at her right. Others muttered and nodded.

  Rashid closed his eyes briefly, then said softly, “You’re right. I went too far. Joanna, I apologize. The heat of the moment…”

  She glared directly into his eyes. The silence around the table stretched painfully.

  Tamara Bonai broke the spell. “I move that we vote on the resolution presented by Mrs Brudnoy.”

  “Second,” said the man across the table from her.

  The resolution passed by one vote: Bonai’s. Joanna sighed with relief. She’s not in his camp, she realized. Maybe in his bed, but not in his camp.

  Then she thought, But the resolution doesn’t mean much, not compared to this issue of merging with Yamagata.

  Rashid was saying,’… each board member should express our support for Moonbase with his or her senators, I imagine. And I will appoint a committee to meet with the President in support of this resolution. Joanna, I suppose you should chair that committee.”

  He seemed to be taking his defeat graciously enough. Why not? Joanna asked herself. He’s got every member of the board dreaming of a ten-fold increase in the worth of their stock.

  “I think we should set up another committee, as well,” Joanna heard herself saying, not realizing where she was going until the words formed in her mouth,’to work with our board chairman in his negotiations with Yamagata.”

  “That’s not on our agenda,” Rashid snapped.

  “Call it new business,” said Joanna. “Yes, I want to be on the Yamagata committee,” said the oldest member of the board.

  “And so do I,” Joanna added sweetly.

  DAY FORTY

  Tamara Bonai cancelled her plans to return to Kiribati and extended her stay in Savannah for twenty-four hours—at Rashid’s request.

  As the board meeting had broken up, he had asked her to remain an extra day. “Now that the pressure is off, I’d like to take you sailing.”

  She saw something in his eyes that surprised her: not anger or worry over Joanna Brudnoy’s intransigence, but relief, almost satisfaction. So she thought it over for a few moments, then smiled and agreed. There is something going on in his mind that he didn’t tell us at the board meeting, she thought. It could be simple lust, she realized. Alone together on a boat, it would be difficult to evade his ardor. But what she saw in his eyes was more than that. Tamara saw triumph in Rashid’s pleased expression.

  He was happy, carefree, as he guided the power cruiser down the river, past Fort Pulaski and the Clippership port on Tybee Island, and out onto the deep swells of the blue-gray Atlantic.

  “It’s going to be a beautiful day,” Rashid said cheerfully as he sat in the pilot’s chair, one bare leg hooked over its armrest. “And a lovely, starry night,” he added.

  He was barefoot, wearing nothing but blue swim trunks and a tee-shirt with a Masterson Corporation logo on its breast. Bonai wore a sunshine yellow bikini with a gauzy, see-through, hip-length robe over it.

  “Not a cloud in sight,” Rashid enthused.

  Bonai was not worried about the weather. She was disappointed that Rashid hadn’t taken out a sailboat, which would have been more fun than chugging along on power. At least the boat’s electric motor was quiet and clean; no diesel fumes to assault her sense of smell.

  The day passed uneventfully. By lunchtime they were out of sight of land. The sun set and the stars came out, as promised, different from the constellations she knew in Kiribati’s skies, but just as beautiful.

  There was no Moon in the night sky.

  All day long Rashid’s conversation had been innocuous, as if the last thing he wanted to talk about was the board meeting and Moonbase. Over dinner, though, he spoke of his long struggle to reach the top of Masterson Corporation.

&n
bsp; “It hasn’t been easy for a Moslem to move forward in corporate America, even a Moslem born and raised in Baltimore,” he said, with growing bitterness. “But I’ve worked harder than any of the others. When they called me Omar I let it pass. And they’ve called me worse, behind my back, I know. Towel-head. Camel humper.”

  Tamara offered sympathetic noises as they made their way through the prepackaged veal and salad.

  Dessert was figs and dates, and champagne. Tamara knew what was coming next, and almost welcomed it. Soon enough they were together in the bunk up at the boat’s prow, heaving in rhythm to the ocean waves. Rashid was a well-versed lover, Bonai discovered; he made pleasure pleasurable for her as well as himself.

  It was afterward, as they lay sweaty and spent with the curved overhead less than an arm’s length above them, that Tamara gently, slowly got Rashid to tell her more about himself. Of his rise to Masterson’s board of directors. Of his victory in the battle to be chairman. Of his ambition to bring efficient, clean, economical fusion power to an energy-hungry Earth.

  “That’s what I’ll be known for, after I’m gone,” he said quietly in the darkness. “Future generations will remember that I made fusion power practical.”

  For long moments Bonai said nothing. She listened to the creaking groan of the boat as it rose and fell in the endless ocean waves, thinking that it was Yamagata’s researchers who had doggedly worked to make fusion practical.

  “That’s a magnificent achievement,” she said at last.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “Magnificent.”

  “But if Mrs Brudnoy prevents the merger with Yamagata … what then?”

  He chuckled softly and turned toward her. “There’s nothing she can do to prevent it. You saw how the board members reacted when I showed them how much their stock will increase in value.”

  “Mrs Brudnoy is a very determined woman. Very powerful.”

  “Not for much longer. In a month or so Moonbase will belong to Yamagata Industries, and her power base will be gone.”