Moonwar

by Ben Bova

  “Nonsense!” spat the colonel. “We have enough weaponry to blast through your tunnels whenever we choose to.”

  Glancing at Anson and the others crowding around him, Doug said darkly, “And we have the weapons of your first wave soldiers now. We can shoot back. And men in spacesuits are extremely vulnerable. We won’t need sharpshooters.”

  Giap sputtered something unintelligible.

  “We have no desire to harm anyone,” Doug said. “All we want is for you to withdraw and leave us alone.”

  After several heartbeats, Giap said, “This situation is beyond my authority. I will have to discuss this with my superiors.”

  “Fine,” Doug replied. “I’ll call again in exactly one hour. Until then, your suit-to-suit frequencies will be jammed again.”

  The nerve-shattering screech of the jamming pierced Giap’s skull like a pair of icepicks driven into his eardrums. He banged on his wrist keypad to shut off his suit radio. As he got to his feet he saw that the other officers were doing the same.

  Stomping angrily to the tractor that he had commandeered to be his command center, Giap clambered up into its cab. His communications sergeant was nowhere in sight; he would have to work the laptop himself. Worse still, he would have to face Faure.

  No, he realized. There was something even worse. The insufferable Sacred Seven. Their young Japanese leader was waiting for him in the tractor’s cab, sitting in the rear seat. Giap recognized the shoulder patch symbol on his spacesuit: a fist holding a lightning bolt.

  And the volunteer was holding the end of a communications wire that was already plugged into his own helmet.

  Reluctantly, Giap took the proffered wire and inserted it into his own helmet’s comm port.

  “Your attack failed,” said the young Japanese. He sounded almost pleased.

  “That was merely the first wave—”

  “It failed,” the volunteer said. “And I heard what the Stavenger person said to you. Now they have your first wave’s weapons to repel your second wave;”

  Giap pulled the laptop communicator from the shelf under the tractor’s dashboard. “I must contact the secretary-general.”

  “No need,” said the volunteer. “Let us go in. We will destroy Moonbase and turn your defeat into a victory.”

  “I am not defeated!” Giap snarled. “Not yet!”

  The volunteer leaned forward and rested his arms on the back of Giap’s seat. The colonel could sense the young man’s tolerant, insufferable smile.

  “Why wait?” he said calmly, softly. “You have the means to destroy Moonbase at hand. Why not use it now, without asking permission from your superiors?”

  Giap took several long breaths before replying, trying to calm himself. At last he answered, “I am a soldier, sir, not a savage or a madman. I fight to achieve a political goal, not merely to destroy.”

  “But you cannot fight without killing, without destruction, can you?”

  “Death and destruction are the constant companions of soldiers, that is true,” Giap admitted. “But they are not our purpose! They are not our goal! We fight because the politicians have failed to keep the peace. We do not fight for the love of killing, for the delight of destruction!”

  “Admirable,” said the young volunteer. “I am almost convinced that you truly believe that.”

  Giap’s hands clenched into fists. For a burning moment he was ready, anxious, to give this young fanatic the death he was seeking. But the moment passed and he flipped his laptop open.

  “I must speak with the secretary-general,” he muttered, yanking the comm wire out of his helmet before he could hear the volunteer’s sneering reply.

  UNITED NATIONS HEADQUARTERS

  It had been a hot, humid, hazy summer day in New York City. The kind of day when, in earlier times, before the Urban Corps, children would have turned fire hydrants into neighborhood sprinklers.

  Now an early evening thunderstorm was booming across Manhattan, sending people scurrying indoors, slowing traffic on the streets and throughways, washing the city better than its maintenance workers ever did.

  In his climate-controlled office George Faure was not bothered by the weather. Indeed, he had not even glanced out the dramatic ceiling-high windows since the Peacekeeper assault force had started its trek across Alphonsus’ ringwall mountains.

  The assault had not started well and Faure had been spitting with helpless rage as the Peacekeeper colonel reported being stalled in the pass across the mountains. But events had progressed better as the hours wore on.

  The frustrating thing was that Faure had to watch the progress of the battle on Global News television, narrated by that turncoat slut Edie Elgin. But then her broadcast had been abruptly cut off, and Faure celebrated with a little dance across his office carpeting from his desk to the built-in bar, where he poured himself a stiff Pernod and water.

  Now, slumped in his desk chair, he realized that his celebration had been premature. Colonel Giap was on his wallscreen, reporting in morose detail the defeat of his attack on Moonbase.

  “In the tunnels my troops were blind and cut off from all radio communications. They ceased to be a cohesive military unit and were reduced to helpless individuals.”

  Faure stared at the faceless image of the spacesuited colonel, his chin sinking to his collar. He could hear his pulse thundering in his ears; burning fury seethed inside him like lava bubbling up from the depths of hell.

  But he kept his silence. Mustache twitching, face glowering red, eyes narrowed to slits, he stared at the wallscreen until Colonel Giap finished his report.

  “And what are your options?” Faure asked once he realized the colonel was waiting for him to say something.

  For three long seconds the secretary-general stared at the image of the Peacekeeper officer.

  At last Giap replied, “I can send in the second and third waves, but I believe the results would be the same. Once in Moonbase’s tunnels, my troops are at the mercy of the rebels.”

  “And you did not foresee this?” Faure snapped.

  Again the interminable wait. Then, “I did not foresee that the enemy would be able to blind my troops. I had considered the possibility that they might jam our suit radios, but the blinding was a surprise.”

  “So what do you recommend, mon colonel?”

  The gold-tinted visor of Giap’s spacesuit might as well have been a blank piece of modernistic sculpture, Faure thought. He would get no brilliance from this man, no military genius.

  Giap said, “I recommend that we sever the electrical lines from their solar cell arrays into the base itself. That will cut off their electrical power and force them to surrender.”

  “No.” Faure was surprised to hear his own response.

  He realized that he had made his decision before he consciously recognized it. Yamagata wants Moonbase intact, so he can take it over and use it for his own purposes. I want Moonbase destroyed, Faure finally understood. Utterly destroyed. Its inhabitants killed. I want it levelled the way the Romans razed Carthage. And then salt strewn across the ruins to assure that nothing will grow there again.

  Moonbase has defied me, and for that they must be punished. Why should I allow Yamagata to have it as a gift? He will continue to use nanotechnology and show all the world that I am merely his puppet. But that is not the case, no, not at all. Georges Henri Faure is no one’s puppet! I am secretary-general of the United Nations and Moonbase must bow to my will or be destroyed. And Yamagata must understand that I do not serve him; he serves me.

  Giap was asking, “You don’t want me to cut off their electrical power?”

  “No,” Faure repeated, realizing that it was all playing into his hands. Everything was going to be exactly as he wanted it. “Use the volunteers.”

  It was all falling perfectly into place, after all, Faure thought. Instead of accepting Moonbase’s surrender, I will annihilate them. The nanotechnology treaty will be enforced; Yamagata will not be allowed to make a mockery of it.
Or of me.

  “Sir, I want to be certain that I have understood you correctly,” Giap said. “Are you ordering me to use the volunteers?”

  “Yes, mon colonel, that is an order.”

  The delay from Giap seemed to take longer than three seconds this time. “They will destroy Moonbase,” he said, his voice hushed. “There will be many casualties.”

  “So be it,” Faure replied. Better to destroy Moonbase than to allow Yamagata or anyone else to make a farce of my power, he told himself.

  “Their hour’s almost up,” Anson pointed out.

  Doug had been pacing around the control center, getting some circulation back in his legs, working out the stiffness of his back and shoulders.

  The center had been in a state of suspended animation since Doug’s discussion with Colonel Giap. Is it over? Have we won? Or will there be another attack, something new, something we haven’t thought of, something we’re not prepared to meet?

  Why haven’t they tried to cut the lines from the solar farms? Doug asked himself. Is it because they thought their nuke would do that job for them? We’re still vulnerable, still hanging by a thread.

  Unbidden, a line from a literature class came to him: The ides of March are come, Caesar says to the soothsayer, as he goes into the Senate, deriding the old man’s warning. Ay, Caesar, says the soothsayer; but not gone.

  We’ve stopped them, Doug told himself. But for how long?

  They were all watching him: Jinny, Falcone, even Gordette, standing alone off by the wall. Every technician and specialist in the control center had his eyes on Doug. I wonder where Edith is? he asked himself. Did she go to our quarters for a nap? Bet not.

  Edith was napping, but not in the quarters she shared with Doug.

  She had tottered back to the university’s studio, dog tired now that the adrenaline of being on the air had drained out of her, but intent on getting a camera and recording the doings in the control center.

  She looked into the editing booth, still hot and sweaty from her hours in it, feeling slightly nettled that she didn’t know for certain how many hours she’d spent broadcasting to Global News and, through Global, to the world.

  She started for one of the hand-sized cameras resting in its rack, but Zimmerman’s big plush couch looked too inviting to resist. Just a few minutes’ snooze, she told herself. Stretching out on it, she was asleep within seconds.

  “You heard the secretary-general’s orders,” said the volunteer. “We will bring you victory.”

  Giap turned to the leader of the self-styled Sacred Seven, sitting beside him on the tractor’s bench.

  “Not victory,” he snarled. “Annihilation.”

  The young Japanese must have smiled behind his helmet visor. “As the secretary-general said, so be it.”

  The colonel had no reply. Yet he was thinking, I could still cut their electrical power lines. How long could they hold out then? A few hours, at most. They would have to surrender to me. That would be better than allowing these insane suicide bombers to kill everyone.

  “I suggest,” the volunteer said, “that you reestablish negotiations with the Moonbase commander, while your troopers help us to break into the plasma vent tunnels, as per our plan.”

  Giap noticed a slight but definite stress on the word our.

  Precisely one hour after his conversation with the Peacekeeper commander ended, Doug sat at his console again and reopened the communications link.

  “Have you spoken with your superiors, Colonel?” he asked.

  “Yes. They are reluctant to admit that we have reached a stalemate here,” came the colonel’s voice.

  Doug wished he could see the man’s face. He sensed a tone he hadn’t heard in their first discussion.

  “What are you trying to say?” he asked.

  “I am responsible directly to the secretary-general of the United Nations,” Giap said. “My orders come directly from him.”

  Doug leaned forward anxiously in his chair. “And what are those orders?”

  “He expects me to accept your surrender.”

  Doug heard Anson mutter behind him, “When he can breathe vacuum, that’s when we’ll surrender.”

  He said mildly to the blank screen, “Your first wave had to surrender to us, colonel.”

  Giap seemed to hesitate. Then he replied, “It would be quite easy for us to cut off your electrical power supply.”

  There it was, at last. Doug almost felt relieved. “Not as easy as you may think, Colonel,” he replied. “We’ve buried secondary lines to take over if the primaries are cut.”

  “We have sensors that will find all the lines.”

  “And we have your first wave’s weapons,” said Doug, putting some steel into his voice. “Don’t force us to use them.”

  “So we will have a firefight? I believe my troops have more guns—and more ammunition for them.”

  “How much oxygen do they have?” Doug asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “How long can you remain out on the crater floor, colonel? Remember, we have some of your shoulder-fired missiles now. We can hit your tractors.”

  “We have all the logistics we need. You should surrender to me and avoid useless bloodshed.”

  Before Doug could reply, Gordette leaned over his shoulder and pointed to the screen showing the floor of the crater. “There’s some activity out there.”

  Doug glanced at the screen. “Wait a moment, Colonel,” he said. “I’ll be back with you in a few minutes.”

  Cutting the connection to the Peacekeepers, Doug punched up a request to rerun the outside camera view.

  “Look,” Gordette pointed. “Over there.”

  A dozen spacesuited figures marched purposefully toward the main airlock. As they approached they walked out of the camera’s field of view.

  “What do the cameras inside the garage show?”

  Checking on them, Doug and Gordette saw that the view from inside the garage did not show the dozen troopers at all.

  “They stopped outside, off to one side of the main airlock,” Doug said.

  “Why?” asked Gordette.

  “I’ll try to find out,” said Doug.

  Colonel Giap was alone in the tractor’s cab now. Through his binoculars he could see a squad of his troopers helping the Sacred Seven up an aluminum ladder they had placed against the face of the mountain, just to the side of Moonbase’s main airlock. They were struggling to open the square hatch that led into the old plasma vents.

  Giap had studied Moonbase’s layout until he knew it as well as the face of his beloved mother. The plasma vents were from Moonbase’s earliest days, when the builders were excavating tunnels by boiling away the rock with high-temperature plasma torches. The vents let the ultrahot vapors blow out into the vacuum outside. The vents had not been used, as far as Giap knew, in years. Yet they threaded through the rock above the main corridors of Moonbase. Crawling through them, a man could reach every critical part of the base.

  The volunteers will penetrate the base before the rebels know they are being infiltrated. Their first warning will be when the fanatics begin to blow themselves up. Themselves, and every crucial part of Moonbase.

  “Colonel Giap?” Stavenger’s voice sounded in his earphones.

  “I am still here,” he answered.

  “We saw a dozen or so of your troops move off to one side of the main airlock. Now they’re out of our camera’s view. What’s going on?”

  Giap was prepared for the question. “They are setting up a maintenance station to repair the spacesuits your dust has fouled. They are trying to remove the dust from their faceplates and joints.”

  Stavenger did not reply immediately. Does he believe my lie? Giap wondered.

  “Let’s get back to the main point,” the Moonbase commander said at last. “Are you willing to withdraw and leave us in peace?”

  “I am not allowed to do so,” Giap stalled. “My orders do not permit it.”

  “I
f you try to cut off our electricity, we’ll be forced to fire on you.”

  Giap thought the man’s voice sounded very reluctant;

  “Then I suggest you surrender, now. While you have the chance.”

  * * *

  “… While you have the chance.” Giap’s voice had an urgency to it that made alarm bells ring in Doug’s head.

  “What do you mean?” he asked. “You won’t accept a surrender if you’re able to cut off our electricity?”

  No answer for several long moments. Then the colonel replied, “If you fire upon my troopers, if a firefight is started, who knows what will happen next? A battle is not a predictable thing. There will be many deaths.”

  Doug got the distinct feeling that there was a hidden subtext in the colonel’s words. He wants me to read between the lines, Doug thought. What’s he trying to say?

  “Colonel, I wonder what—”

  The control center shook so abruptly that Doug nearly toppled off his chair. A low rumble echoed through the rock chamber. The lights flickered.

  “What was that?”

  “A quake?”

  “An explosion!”

  Doug scanned his screens with newfound intensity. The solar farms seemed intact; no was even near them.

  “The water factory!” a technician yelped. “We’ve lost contact with the water factory.”

  “The bastards have blown up the water factory!”

  CONTROL CENTER

  “Give me a view of the water factory!” Doug yelled.

  “Cameras are out,” a technician hollered back.

  Doug saw a blank screen where the view of the factory should have been.

  “Jinny, get a repair team in there!”

  “Already on their way,” Anson yelled over her shoulder, halfway to the door.

  “How did it happen?”

  “Rerun the security camera.”

  With Gordette grasping both his shoulders from behind him, Doug saw the camera’s view of the automated water factory. A blur of a figure dropped out of the top of the picture; a flash and then the camera went dead.