Avengers of the Moon

by Allen Steele

  “Oh, for the luvva…” The aphrodite reached forward to yank Eek away.

  Grag broke his nose. When his partner reacted by pulling out his PBP, Grag broke first the gun, then his nose as well. The robot did all this in less than three seconds and with one hand, keeping Eek securely clasped against its chest the entire time.

  Grag decided that playing the dumb, lost robot no longer served a purpose, so it began marching down the corridor, leaving behind two bleeding, cursing goons. But before Grag left them, it got in touch with the Comet, letting Otho know what had just happened.

  “You moron!” Otho responded. “You did that just to save a puppy?”

  “It’s a very nice puppy,” Grag replied.

  “But … oh, never mind.” There was a hint of exasperation in Otho’s voice. “Just find Curt. He needs you right now.”

  IX

  “Hello, Inspector Randall. A pleasure to see you again.”

  Curt didn’t have to lie about that, at least. Even with sleep-tousled hair and a gun in hand, the woman he’d met earlier was the most beautiful he’d ever seen. That she looked as if she’d just fallen out of bed made her even more attractive. It took an effort to keep his gaze above her neck; her angry eyes were less inviting than her long, bare legs.

  “My eyes are up here, not on my knees.” She glared back at him, red-faced and unsmiling. “Ezra, can I shoot him? Please?”

  “Not until after I’ve questioned him.” Marshal Gurney also had his gun trained on him. “So your name is Rab Cain?” Curt nodded and the old lawman shook his head. “Wrong answer. Ain’t no one by that name in the SolCol database of registered citizens … we checked. I’d say it’s a good bet it’s a fake identity. Who are you, really?”

  Before Curt could respond, bright light burst all around them, instantly transforming night into day. Someone had apparently reoriented the craterhab’s solar mirrors, allowing them to reflect the sun through the ceiling skylight. Everyone squinted and some cursed in surprise, but while most people instinctively covered their eyes with their hands, Curt kept his folded on top of his head. Almost a half-dozen guns were pointed at him just then; he didn’t want to become a corpse just because of a misunderstanding.

  When his vision cleared, he saw two more people approaching from the mansion. Victor Corvo and James Carthew, escorted by two more IPF officers. Marshal Gurney’s mouth twisted beneath his mustache when he saw them, then he lowered his gun.

  “Senator Corvo, Mr. President … you shouldn’t be here. The premises are under lockdown, and we need to have you—”

  “The emergency is over, Ezra,” Carthew replied, “and I’m not inclined to cower in the basement.” He marched past Ezra Gurney—Curt now knew the marshal’s full name—and didn’t stop until he reached the body lying prone on the lawn. “Is this him, Joan? Is this fellow the reason why you knocked me down?”

  “No, he’s not, Mr. President,” Agent Randall said, and now Curt knew her first name as well. Apparently the president liked to be on a first-name basis with his security team. Such a lovely name, and appropriate, too; he was reminded of Joan of Arc. “This is the individual I spotted from the porch,” she continued, gesturing at Curt with her gun. “I spotted him when he stepped out from behind the toolshed—”

  “To open fire on the man who was aiming at you, Mr. President.” Curt kept his voice calm and unhurried, just as the Brain instructed. “Joan … Agent Randall, I mean … couldn’t see him because he was camouflaged and hiding behind a bush, but I saw him clearly from where I was standing.” He looked at Joan. “I’m sorry, Inspector, but there was no time to warn you. If I hadn’t fired first, he might have hit the president.”

  “Or me,” Corvo added.

  Curt didn’t say anything. He wasn’t about to defend Victor Corvo, not even with words.

  “Is this true?” Carthew asked Joan. “Was this gentleman aiming away from the house when you saw him?”

  Joan hesitated. “Yes, he was, Mr. President,” she said, reluctantly but truthfully. “When I looked up again, he’d exchanged fire with the deceased and was pursuing him across the lawn.”

  “I’d just arrived on the scene when I saw both of them.” Gurney lowered his gun, although he kept it unholstered and ready to point at Curt again. “I chased both suspects on foot until this one”—he nodded toward Curt—“caught up with the other guy. They knocked each other around a bit, then the shooter got hold of his gun again and tried to shoot this young buck. That’s when I stepped in.”

  “And I greatly appreciate it, Marshal Gurney.” Curt cast him a grateful smile. “I only wish we could’ve taken the assassin alive to question him further about what he’d said just before you shot him, but—”

  “You still haven’t answered his question.” Joan had lowered neither her gun nor her guard. “Who are you?”

  “You can call me Captain Future.”

  She stared at him. “Whaaaa—?”

  “That’s the stupidest damn thing I’ve ever heard,” Ezra muttered.

  Curt felt his face becoming warm. It seemed as if everyone surrounding him—the other IPF officers, Victor Corvo, even President Carthew—were grinning in agreement with Ezra Gurney, with one or two on the verge of breaking up. He cursed Simon for telling him to say this, but it was too late to take it back. And with Corvo present, he had no choice; the last thing he could do was reveal his real name.

  “I know it sounds—” He stopped himself. “I use that name for a reason.” He turned to Carthew. “I’m what you might call a freelance troubleshooter, Mr. President … a paladin, if you will. I have a proper name, of course, but I prefer to keep it a secret in order to protect myself and my loved ones.”

  “Your … ‘loved ones’?” Ezra’s eyes flickered upward in disbelief. The other IPF agents quietly snickered.

  “Companions, that is.” Curt was beginning to think that repeating everything Simon told him to say verbatim was probably a bad idea.

  Joan slowly nodded. She seemed tentatively willing to accept what he had to say, at least until she heard more. “So what brings you here, Captain Future?”

  “Some time ago, I became aware that someone might mean the president harm while he was making a state visit to the Moon. Little more than a rumor, but credible enough to take seriously. I didn’t know exactly who was responsible, but the trail led me to today’s dedication ceremony at the Straight Wall—”

  “This is where Marshal Gurney and I first saw him,” Joan said, speaking to the president. “He and another person were there, standing near the stage. They were acting in a suspicious manner, and Ezra and I briefly questioned them.”

  “One of my companions,” Curt said. “He’s not here, but as I’m sure you’ve already discovered, his identity is also false, for the same reason mine is.” He forced a smile. “I apologize, Agent Randall, for being less than forthcoming … but really, would you have released me if I’d told you that I prefer the name Captain Future?”

  “I would’ve called for a straitjacket,” Ezra said quietly.

  “So what were you doing at the ceremony, anyway?” Corvo had been quiet during all this, but now he stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back. “If you knew an assassin was stalking the president, why didn’t you inform Marshal Gurney and Inspector Randall when they questioned you?”

  “Because there’s no profit in that.” Curt avoided looking at Corvo as he spoke, and hoped there was nothing in his voice to betray the animosity he felt for him. “This is my business. When I take someone down I expect professional compensation. How would I receive that if I blabbed my best lead to the first IPF officer who questioned me?”

  “And when you disappeared over Tycho?” Joan asked. “How did you make that happen?”

  “Pardon me?” Curt pretended to be baffled. He shook his head slightly. “I don’t understand what you’re saying. My associate and I flew over Tycho on our way home after the ceremony, but we didn’t disappear.” He gave Joan a querulous
look. “Why, were you following us?”

  Joan’s face darkened. She glared at him but didn’t say anything.

  —Very good, Curtis. It appears that they’re willing to believe you.

  Simon had been quietly eavesdropping the entire time, using Curt’s ring to monitor the conversation. He’d told Curt that he’d step in and help him through the conversation if he ran into trouble with the cover story Simon had concocted, but this was the first time the Brain had spoken up.

  Curt took this as a positive indication that everything was going smoothly. Indeed, he noticed a certain look Joan and Ezra exchanged, along with the quiet nod the marshal gave his junior officer. “You can put your hands down,” Ezra said. “Just keep ’em away from your iron.” He squinted at Curt’s gun. “What is that, anyway? Never seen a piece quite like that.”

  “I call it a plasmar. It’s my own invention.” Curt slowly lowered his hands from his head, surreptitiously twisting the ring’s band so that the jeweled setting still faced the people standing around him. “Thank you. My arms were getting tired.”

  “A troubleshooter, huh?” Ezra holstered his gun, and gestured for Joan and his other men to do the same. “Well, Cap’n Future, I appreciate what you’ve done this evening, particularly since you’ve made up for the failure of my security team.” Another meaningful look was traded between him and Joan; this time she bit her lip and turned red. “But we really don’t have need of adventurers, so it would probably be best if—”

  He stopped all of a sudden, and the faraway look that appeared on his face told Curt that he was listening to something over his Anni. Then he focused on Curt again. “Did you come here with a robot?”

  —Grag has located you. It’s just entered the crater floor through the same entrance you used. The president’s security team is going on alert again. You need to let Marshal Gurney know that it belongs to you.

  As Simon spoke, the two IPF officers who’d followed Joan turned and began to trot away, heading toward the shed. Looking in the direction they were running toward, Curt saw Grag marching slowly toward him. The robot appeared to be holding something in its arms, but he couldn’t see what it was.

  “Yes, that’s my robot,” Curt said. “It helped me to enter the crater through the garage, and I left it down there. I assure you, it’s harmless.”

  “How did you do that?” Joan asked.

  “I hid on top of a truck that made a delivery just a little while ago. My robot stopped it on the road and I climbed aboard while the drivers were distracted.” There was no point in hiding this, although he was careful not to mention the fantome generator. Like his true name, that was something he needed to keep secret.

  Ezra scowled. “I’ve received a report that your ’bot attacked two of my men and broke their noses.”

  Curt heard a small, canine yip. He watched as Grag paused to bend over and release the object in its arms. To his surprise, it appeared to be the same moonpup he’d seen being chased by two men. The last time he’d seen them, they were running down the corridor, heading in the general direction of where he’d left Grag.

  “Did you lose a moonpup just a little while ago?” he asked, and Joan reluctantly nodded. “That’s probably the same one. Looks like my companion found him. If it attacked your men, then it was probably protecting the dog, although it may have overstepped its—”

  “Two of our officers left their posts to chase a dog?” Ezra stared at him in disbelief.

  Joan sighed. “Afraid so. They were on duty when a puppy the senator was attempting to give the president bit him and ran away.”

  “I don’t think he likes me very much.” President Carthew glared at the moonpup as it happily scampered around Grag’s feet, barking with delight at its new friend and protector. “If your robot wants him, he can keep him.”

  “I’ll happily give him to you as a gift,” Corvo said to Curt. “With compliments for saving the president’s life.” There was little warmth in his voice as he said this.

  “Thank you, Senator,” Curt said, his own voice just as cool. He held up a hand for Grag to stop, and the robot halted at once. No sense in having it come closer if it was making Carthew’s security detail nervous, especially when they were just beginning to trust him.

  “Those idiots left the president’s side to chase a puppy?” Ezra was incredulous. He turned to Joan. “I apologize … this ain’t your fault at all. Tell those damn fool bodyguards to turn in their badges. They’re fired.” He shook his head in disgust. “Morons. Can’t even trust ’em to take care of a puppy.”

  “Perhaps we owe you a greater debt than we thought.” President Carthew walked over to Curt and extended his hand. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate the service you’ve done.”

  —Now is your chance! Take it!

  “Thank you, Mr. President. It’s an honor.” As Curt stepped forward to accept the president’s handshake, he dropped his voice to a whisper. “May I meet with you in private, sir? It concerns something you ought to know about Senator Corvo.”

  Carthew hesitated. From the corner of his eye, Curt saw that Joan was listening. Judging from her expression, she’d heard everything. Carthew studied him for a moment, as if taking his measure, then slowly nodded.

  “Yes … yes, we can do that,” he said softly, then turned to Joan. “Would you find us a place where we may have some privacy, Joan? I think I’d like to have a word alone with … Captain Future.”

  X

  The library of Corvo’s mansion was a large room whose walls were lined with oak bookcases that looked real enough until someone actually tried to take a book off the shelves; the cases were nothing more than lenticular holograms, and there probably wasn’t a real book in the room. But the brass table lamps, polished basalt-tile floor, crystal chandelier, and carved cherubim holding up the ceiling gave the library an air of Old South gentility, which the senator clearly wished to cultivate. He was fascinated with the plantation culture of the nineteenth century, and didn’t mind its association with a time when wealthy men owned other human beings.

  Because the library was located on the ground floor just off the entrance hall, it was the closest place Joan could find for Curt to privately meet with President Carthew. Corvo himself invited them to use it before excusing himself to take care of household matters. It was kind of the senator to provide them with this room, but before anyone went in, Joan nonetheless had the security team sweep the library with an anti-surveillance scanner to make sure that it hadn’t been wired for sound.

  Once Joan was satisfied that the room hadn’t been bugged, she led everyone in, then quietly excused herself. Ezra posted a man outside the door and another on the other side of French windows opening onto the porch before accompanying Curt and the president into the library. Once he’d closed the door behind him, he stood off to one side. Curt noticed that his eyes never strayed from him, and that his right hand stayed close to his pistol.

  “Now then, Captain Future,” President Carthew said, “what is it that you’d like to discuss with me?”

  Curt smiled, trying to make the president relax. “First, Mr. President, I apologize for not revealing my true name. Captain Future is … well, it’s not my first choice for a pseudonym, but my associates seem to believe it’s appropriate.”

  “I could honestly care less what you call yourself.” Carthew’s voice became stern. He was not a man who enjoyed having his time wasted. “I appreciate the fact that you risked your life to save mine, but like Marshal Gurney here, I’m not sure I entirely accept your story that you’re a … a troubleshooter who just happened to stumble upon the fact that someone intended to assassinate me.”

  “Nor should you, because it’s not true. Not completely, anyway.”

  —Careful, my boy! Ezra can still arrest you and charge you with being an accessory!

  Curt refrained from nodding or giving any other sign that he’d heard the Brain. It was fortunate that Joan had neglected to have her security team scan him as we
ll as the room; otherwise they would have discovered his ring. And just now, he was glad to have Simon telling him how to respond.

  “I told you this,” Curt replied, “only because the senator was present and I don’t want him to know the truth. The fact of the matter is that, while I am indeed pursuing a criminal, I wasn’t expecting to find an assassin here. The person I’m hunting is Victor Corvo himself.”

  Carthew didn’t respond at once. He glanced at Ezra Gurney, who said nothing but continued to study Curt. Then he turned to him again. “Go on.”

  Curt took a deep breath, but before he could speak, there was a soft knock at the door. It opened and Joan came in, this time in uniform; she had obviously gone upstairs to change into something less revealing than her nightshirt. She said nothing to either Curt or the president as she walked over to stand beside Ezra. Carthew gave Curt an encouraging nod, and he started again.

  “My name is Curt Newton, Mr. President. My parents were Roger and Elaine Newton, a pair of scientists from New York Province, North America, and when I was an infant, they…” Curt suddenly found his throat becoming tight. “They were murdered by Corvo.”

  President Carthew’s eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch, yet there were no indications of shock or disbelief. “Please continue. I’m listening.”

  Over the next few minutes, Curt told the president the story of his parents’ murder, both what he’d known since he was a child and the details he’d learned only earlier today. Carthew listened quietly, as did Ezra and Joan. No one else in the room spoke until he was done, and when he was finished, all three were silent for a few moments. Then the president cleared his throat.

  “I see,” he said. “And so you’ve come here to…?”

  “To bring Victor Corvo to justice.” Curt decided to omit one detail: his intent to kill Corvo. He’d been fortunate enough so far not to find himself in a jail cell, but such an admission would have pushed his luck past the breaking point.

  “So finding the assassin—” Joan began.