The Tranquillity Alternative

by Allen Steele

  “Gyros green,” Lewitt replies. “All onboard systems check out and we’re green for go. Ready to load targeting instructions.”

  “Roger that.” Now comes the tricky part: inserting the flight parameters and trajectories into the onboard guidance computers of the six missiles. Parnell types a set of commands on his keyboard; the screen changes to display the empty grid for the targeting system. He turns the pages of his notebook until he finds the list of numbers which, once entered into the computer, will send the Minutemen straight toward the Sun.

  As he begins to carefully type the figures into the computer, he notices that Dooley’s right hand has innocuously moved to the keyboard of his laptop. Trying not to appear as if he’s doing anything, Dooley is quietly entering his own commands into the computer.

  The rat has sniffed the bait.

  Parnell doesn’t say anything. Lewitt hasn’t noticed what’s going on behind his back; he is too busy making certain that the missiles are ready for launch.

  Parnell glances at the chronometer. T-minus nine minutes, thirty-two seconds and counting.

  He finishes entering the codes into the computer, but before he transmits them to the missiles, he sneaks another glance at Dooley. The other man’s right hand is lingering near the ENTER button on his own computer; he appears to be waiting for Parnell to finish the job, so he can …

  “Gene? Are you ready?”

  Lewitt’s waiting for him. Everyone is waiting for him. Especially Dooley, who is prepared to secretly alter the trajectory of one or more of the missiles with a touch of a button.

  “Sure.” Parnell tries to sound relaxed. He raises his hand to his keyboard. “Targeting instructions entered and loaded …”

  He pretends to hit his own ENTER key. At that instant, Dooley taps his keyboard.

  The numbers on Parnell’s screen subtly change of their own accord.

  The trap has been sprung.

  Parnell leaps to his feet, his right hand diving into the pocket of his jumpsuit. He whips the gun out of the pocket; kicking the chair aside, he brings the Colt into two-handed firing position, aiming straight at Dooley.

  “Freeze!” he shouts.

  Startled, Dooley jumps back from his computer, his eyes wide with astonishment. Lewitt’s mouth falls open as he sees the weapon in Parnell’s hand.

  Behind him, he hears Ryer moving. Pivoting on his hips, Parnell points the automatic at her; the barrel is only a couple of feet from her face.

  “You too!” he shouts. “Back off! Keep your hands in sight!”

  She can’t say anything, although her face has gone pale. She stands still, her hands half-raised above her waist.

  Behind her, Bromleigh is just beginning to react. He points the camera in their direction, trying to get everything on film.

  Rhodes is the first to say anything. “What the hell is going … ?”

  “Shut up!” Parnell takes a deep breath. “I’ll tell you in a minute. Ryer, move back … way back.” He jerks the gun back toward Dooley. “You, too. Keep your hands where I can see ’em …”

  Dooley slowly raises his hands to shoulder level. “What the fuck is going on here?” he demands, his voice high and quavering. “I haven’t …”

  “Just keep your hands in sight.” Parnell carefully steps away from the console. Blood jackhammers in his ears; he quickly points the gun at Ryer again. “Over there, kiddo. Next to your buddy.”

  Hands still half-raised, Ryer begins to slowly move backward on leaden feet. “Gene …”

  “Shut up.”

  “Gene.” Her voice is soft; she’s trying to reason with him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but this is …”

  “Shut up. Put your hands on top of your head. Both of you.” He inches past the camera tripod, careful not to stumble over its legs. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Talsbach standing frozen against the wall.

  Lewitt rises from his chair. “What did he do, Gene?” he asks, his eyes darting toward Dooley. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t keep my eye on him.”

  Ryer is almost next to Dooley now; both of them have their hands clasped on top of their heads. “Just what I thought he was going to do,” Parnell murmurs, keeping the gun trained on the pair. “He entered new coordinates in the targeting system. I caught him doing it a second ago.”

  Dooley’s entire body seems to tremble. “That’s … that’s a bunch of shit!” he stammers. “I didn’t do a goddamn thing!” He glances helplessly at Lewitt. “He’s out of his fucking mind, man!”

  “Gene,” Ryer says, “I’ve got nothing to do with this, I swear …”

  “Shut up.” Parnell keeps walking toward Dooley and Ryer, marching them backward at gunpoint. He’s past the camera now, but there’s some cold comfort to be had in the fact that Bromleigh has captured the entire scene on film. “You’re in it with him. I didn’t figure it out until …”

  He stops, taking another breath. The situation is under control. “We’ll get it straightened out later. Right now, I want both of you on the floor, facedown.”

  “Commander, what the … ?” Rhodes gets hold of herself. “What’s going on here? What are these people being charged with?”

  Ryer is already clumsily bending to her knees, hands still laced together above her head. “Commander, this is nuts …”

  Dooley is on the verge of panic; his Adam’s apple bobs as his eyes shift left and right. “Holy fuckin’ Jesus … he’s gone crazy!” He glances at Bromleigh. “Are you getting this, for chrissakes?”

  “We’ve got everything,” Bromleigh says from behind the camera. “Oh my God, Berk …”

  “Keep shooting, Alex.” Rhodes has regained her professional composure. “Commander Parnell, why have you stopped the countdown? Why are you holding these people at gunpoint?”

  Calm down, calm down. Everything’s under control. You’re on camera; when this tape is transmitted back to Mission Control, you can’t afford to look like a lunatic.

  “Mr. Dooley and Captain Rhodes are part of a conspiracy to take control of the missiles,” he begins. “They’re—”

  At that instant, he feels the hard muzzle of a gun press against the back of his head.

  “Drop your weapon,” Talsbach says from behind him, “or I shall shoot.”

  Parnell feels his blood turn to ice water.

  His finger involuntarily relaxes inside the trigger guard. Even then, the cold sensation of the gun at his head isn’t half as bad as what he feels a moment later when Lewitt steps forward, lays his hand atop the Colt, and removes it from his grasp.

  “Actually,” Jay says without a trace of irony, “you’re only half-right.”

  From The Associated Press (Le Matrix on-line news service); February 19, 1995, 6:00 A.M. EST

  WASHINGTON D.C.—President Bill Clinton will give a live televised address today from the Oval Office at the White House, scheduled for 7:00 A.M. Eastern time, during which he will issue the final launch-and-destruct order for the six Minuteman II nuclear missiles stored inside a crater in the Sea of Tranquillity on the Moon.

  The six missiles were placed on the Moon in 1969, prior to the United States signing of the United Nations Space Treaty of 1992, which outlawed the use of such weapons. All six missiles will be launched on a trajectory that will send them into the Sun.

  An eight-member international expedition, comprising American, German, and English astronauts, landed on the Moon earlier today at 2:01 A.M. Eastern time. A spokesman at NASA’s Von Braun Space Center in Houston, Texas, reports that the astronauts have already entered the once-secret launch bunker, code-named Teal Falcon, inside Sabine Crater nine miles from the closed-down United States moonbase.

  The expedition is being led by Commander Eugene Parnell, who was in charge of the U.S. Space Force’s Luna Two mission which placed the missiles on the Moon in 1969.

  After the missiles are launched, the astronauts will journey back to Tranquillity Base, where they will prepare to hand over the base
to the German space corporation Koenig Selenen GmbH. The corporation intends to use the site for industrial operations; the abandoned Teal Falcon silos are expected to be turned into a disposal site for high-level nuclear wastes.

  “This marks the final end of the Cold War,” says Presidential advisor George Stepenopolous. “When the Minutemen have been destroyed, our friends in the global community will have certain proof that the United States does not intend to wage nuclear war without provocation.”

  President Clinton’s remarks will be carried live on CNN and ATS. Following the successful launch of the missiles, ATS will broadcast a live report from the Teal Falcon launch bunker.

  NINETEEN

  2/19/95 • 1152 GMT

  “MIND IF I ASK why?” Parnell asked.

  Lewitt calmly nodded. Unlike Talsbach, who had a smug grin on his face, at least he refrained from gloating. While the German astronaut kept everyone in the firing room at gunpoint, Lewitt quickly checked the Colt’s six-round clip; satisfied that it was fully loaded, he looked past Parnell at Bromleigh and Rhodes.

  “Turn off your camera,” he said. “In fact, unplug it from the communications board … carefully, please.” As Bromleigh switched off the Sony, Rhodes walked to the communications panel and, under Talsbach’s watchful eye, yanked the cable free.

  “Thanks,” Lewitt said. He stepped away from Parnell, still keeping the gun leveled at him. He looked at Dooley and silently cocked his head toward the left console; Dooley slipped around Parnell and sat down in the chair the commander had just vacated. “Now everyone just stay calm,” Lewitt continued. “If you cooperate, no one gets hurt and everything’s going to be okay.”

  Parnell sincerely doubted he was telling the truth, but it wouldn’t do anyone much good to raise the issue. “You haven’t answered my question,” he said, ignoring Dooley as he kept his eye on Lewitt.

  Lewitt looked at him askance. “C’mon, Gene. You don’t really expect me to tell you, do you?” He smiled and shook his head. “We’re after the nukes. That’s all you need to know right now.”

  Which was exactly the reason why Parnell didn’t believe Lewitt’s assertion that no one would be hurt if they cooperated. The stakes were much too high for witnesses to be left alive. For the moment, though, he wanted to keep Lewitt talking, if only to buy them a little more time.

  “That’s not what I meant,” he said. “What I want to know is why you’re involved.” He nodded toward Ryer, who was still crouched on her knees, her hands on her head. “After all, I thought Cris here was the mole. You’re a surprise.”

  “That explains a lot,” Ryer murmured. It was difficult to tell who angered her more, Lewitt or Parnell.

  “Oh, I see.” Lewitt shrugged slightly. “Well, let’s put it this way … if you hadn’t screwed things up just now, I’d be several million dollars richer and no one would have been the wiser. Now I’ll just have to settle for a million bucks. Put your hands on top of your head.”

  Despite fear, Parnell managed a smile of his own. “Gosh, Jay,” he said as he slowly raised his hands and folded them atop his head, “that’s disappointing. If you’re going to be a traitor, you might as well be a good traitor and do it for political reasons. Selling out for cash is pretty lame, don’t you think?”

  The smile disappeared from Lewitt’s face, replaced by a dark scowl. “Don’t push your luck, Gene,” he said softly.

  “What’s going on here?” Rhodes demanded. She was standing next to Bromleigh again; although Talsbach hadn’t ordered the reporters to do so, they had also placed their hands on top of their heads. Talsbach stood in front of them, his back to Dooley. “If you’re going to issue some sort of ultimatum, we’ll need to reconnect the camera and …”

  “There’s not going to be any ultimatum,” Lewitt said, his eyes darting toward Rhodes. “That’s not what’s going on here … and don’t even think about turning on the camera.”

  “But …”

  “Just shut up, okay? All of you.” Parnell and Ryer fell silent, both avoiding each other’s eyes, as Lewitt glanced toward Dooley. “Cecil? Time?”

  “T-minus six minutes, twenty-three seconds.” Dooley, or whoever he really was, had pulled on the headset and was watching the screens. “The new trajectory for number six is loaded. We’re ready to …”

  He stopped, raising his right hand to cup the headset more firmly against his ear. He listened intently for a moment, then looked up at Lewitt. “Houston’s back on the line. They want a status check.”

  “Shit …”

  “Plan beginning to unravel a little, huh, Jay?” Parnell shrugged offhandedly. “Put me on, old buddy. I’ll tell ’em everything’s okay.”

  “Fuck off.” For the first time since he had taken the gun away from him, Lewitt was beginning to sweat. He carefully stepped sideways to the right-hand console, his left hand feeling for his headset. “Hang on, I’ll take …”

  At that moment, the lights went out.

  As the control room was plunged into darkness, it seemed as if everyone shouted mindlessly at once. Parnell instinctively froze for a moment … then he ducked and simultaneously dived through the blackness straight for where Lewitt had been standing a moment earlier.

  A gun fired somewhere just above his head; the muzzle flash dazzled him. For an instant, he thought he’d been hit …

  A woman screamed, then Parnell slammed headfirst into a body that cushioned his impact with the hard mooncrete floor.

  Ryer gasped beneath him, the breath punched out of her lungs. Parnell rolled off her at the same moment Lewitt fired again, his second shot ricocheting with a spang! off something metallic.

  In the second flash, Parnell caught the briefest glimpse of Rhodes sagging against the far wall …

  Talsbach howled something in German and fired his own gun in some wild direction. Parnell couldn’t see where it hit, but from somewhere close to his left he heard Lewitt:

  “Goddammit, stop … !”

  Parnell lashed out with his right leg, kicking blindly in the direction of Lewitt’s voice. His foot connected with soft flesh; he heard a harsh grunt, but as he pulled his leg back for another kick, Lewitt fired once more, again at close range.

  Miraculously, the bullet missed him; it whizzed as it split the air somewhere just past his right ear. Dooley was yelling incoherently at the top of his lungs; there was a loud crash as the TV camera toppled over.

  “There!” Talsbach shouted. “He’s there, in front of—!”

  Another gunshot, then a loud crash which sprayed glass across the room: a TV monitor had been shot out. At that same instant, a hand grabbed Parnell’s arm and wrested him aside.

  His head slammed against the bottom of a chair; without thinking, he grabbed it with both hands and hurled it as hard as he could in Lewitt’s direction.

  He heard a grunt as the chair connected with someone; something metallic clattered to the floor about six feet away. Thinking it was the pistol, Parnell clawed for it …

  “Fuck, stop shooting!” Dooley shouted.

  A gun roared, this time from the other side of the room. Parnell reflexively ducked; as he did, he felt Ryer’s hands grabbing at his shoulders.

  “The hatch!” she gasped in his ear. “Get to the hatch!”

  The hatch? What the hell was she … ?

  Right. The ceiling hatch. The ladder was only a few feet away. Forgetting about the dropped gun, Parnell struggled to his hands and knees and began scrambling across the cold floor toward a dim oval of light. Ryer was directly in front of him, making for the same target.

  “Goddammit!” Dooley yelled. “Fuck! Fuck, shit, fuck. I’ve got somebody bleeding on—!”

  “Shut up!” Talsbach shouted. “Uwe! Where are you?”

  Ryer reached the bottom of the ladder, but instead of grabbing the rungs, she crouched and leaped straight up. For a moment, it seemed to Parnell that she had learned how to fly; the last thing he saw of her was her legs and feet disappearing through the hatch.r />
  “Fuck him!” Lewitt hollered from somewhere back in the darkness. “They’re getting away—!”

  “Don’t shoot!” Dooley yelled. “Don’t shoot! You’ll hit—!”

  Parnell didn’t wait for them to make up their minds. He grasped the ladder, crouched low, then sprang upwards as fast as he could, letting the lunar one-sixth gravity do the rest. There was another gunshot as he soared upwards, bypassing the ladder as he hurtled out of the control room.

  The sudden glare of the overhead lights made him wince, but he barely had time to raise his hands to his eyes before someone grabbed his arms and yanked him the rest of the way out of the hatch …

  “C’mon, goddammit! Move your silly arse!”

  Then he was shoved away from the hatch by a pair of strong arms. As he sprawled painfully across the floor, a gun was fired from somewhere above him.

  Blinking furiously, he managed to clear his vision enough to see James Leamore crouched above the hatch, firing a Glock 17 down into the control room. As Parnell fought to get up, Leamore kicked the hatch cover into place.

  “You?” Parnell gasped. “What the hell is—?”

  “No time for that!” Leamore backed away from the hatch, reaching down to pull Ryer to her feet. “They’ll have those lights back on in a second! Now up the ladder, both of you! Move!”

  As Parnell got to his feet, Ryer grabbed the bottom rung of the ladder leading up to the airlock deck. Suddenly, she seemed to think better of it. “Just a sec,” she said, then dropped off the ladder and dashed across the compartment to a computer terminal near the far wall.

  There was a dull pounding against the bottom of the control room hatch. “We haven’t got time for that, you silly bitch!” Leamore shouted, close to panic. “They’re going to be up here in—!”

  “Where’s Aachener?” Parnell demanded.

  “Out cold and trussed up like a Christmas goose.” Leamore was still watching the hatch. “Where do you think I got this gun? Ryer, dammit—!”