Moonfall

11.

Percival Lowell Main Deck. 4:38 P.M.

"It's a stall," said Evelyn. "He doesn't intend to do anything."

"I know."

Rachel's voice broke in over the PA: "Mr. President, we've laid in a course for the Possum. But we're going to need about thirteen hours to catch it."

Charlie nodded. "That's the best we can do, huh?"

"Yes, sir. It has a long start on us."

"Okay."

"By the way, we'll be arriving almost immediately after apogee."

Charlie frowned. "Inform Feinberg. Let him know when he can start expecting his data."

"Will do," she said.

"What about you?" asked Evelyn. "What are you going to do?"

"I've already done it. We'll seize the planes."

"Most of them are outside the United States."

"It complicates things. But we can get international cooperation. Especially in a case like this."

"Won't it take time?"

"Sure. And it's time we don't have. In case you have a better suggestion?" He knew she would.

• • • Indianapolis. 4:43 P.M.

Stratemeyer had just stepped out of the limo onto his gravel walkway when his cell phone sounded again. Not from Camp David this time, he saw, but from Moonbase corporate. That was odd. There was only one person there who had his private number.

"Stratemeyer," he said into the instrument. "Is that you, Evelyn?"

"Yes, Harold. Good to hear your voice again."

"You've been through something of an ordeal."

"We all have. Listen, time is short so I'll get right to the point. You can trust Charlie Haskell."

"Oh, I'm sure I can, Evelyn. I hope I didn't give him the idea I don't trust him. I'm just not free to do what he wants me to."

"Harold, it's your call and we both know it. The board will go along with whatever you decide."

"Unless the planes don't come back. And they won't. They aren't going to be happy with that, Evelyn." His front door had opened. His butler stood politely to one side. But Stratemeyer hesitated, standing on the third and fourth stone steps.

Evelyn also hesitated, and time seemed to stand still. A cool breeze lifted the flaps of his jacket. "I meant what I said about him," she said. "You can trust him. Not only to keep his word, but you can rely on his judgment. I've been close to what's happening. If we don't stop the rock, your planes won't be worth a damn anyhow. You've got a chance to use them and save everything we've ever worked for. Maybe everything anybody's worked for. Charlie says he'll see that you get reimbursed. Okay, that may be a promise he can't keep. But he'll try. And that's a better shot than you'll have if you just stand aside and let this thing happen."

"It's exaggerated," he said. "I've made phone calls, too. Everybody doesn't see this the way Haskell does."

"Come on, Harold. People like us can always find experts to tell us what we want to hear. It's the biggest problem we have. Everybody lies to us because they want things from us. Okay, the truth is, Feinberg thinks it'll kill millions if it impacts. It'll trigger a nuclear winter. It'll send us back into a dark age. You think there's a payoff for anybody in that?" Skyport, Mo's Restaurant. 6:00 P.M.

The passenger list for the lost plane was still unavailable. Relatives were being notified, according to the transportation office. Andrea tried calling her friends, but most of the calls simply returned the monotonic recording announcing that the number was unknown. Unknown. That could mean they'd been on the plane. Or they simply hadn't tied in yet with the Skyport relay center. It was possible they'd forgotten, hadn't bothered, whatever.

Some answered, had been relieved to hear her voice, and they'd talked, exchanging what information they had ("Yeah, I'm sorry, Hanlon was on the flight, he went with the others…"), indulging their mutual pleasure at finding each other alive. By late afternoon, Skyport had posted a list of persons from Moonbase to whom quarters had been assigned. She looked through the list and found a few more names. But most of the people she'd known and worked with over the last two years were gone.

She saw Tory Clark again at dinner. The astronomer was sitting with friends, and invited Andrea over. They were talking mostly about the Possum, about the effect it would have if it crashed. They were, to a person, furious with the politicians who had laughed at Skybolt and campaigned against it.

After dinner she and Tory wandered off together. They paused in one of the lobbies and looked at the Moon-cloud. It had flattened and begun to spread out along the orbital arc. "You doing okay?" asked Tory.

Andrea felt empty. Almost guilty. Survivor's guilt, she supposed. Well, what the hell, it had been luck of the draw, hadn't it? "I wonder how long it'll be before they let us go," she said.

"Go? You mean groundside?" Tory shook her head. "Not for a while, I don't think."

"They told us a day or two on the plane."

"Yeah. I just don't know. It's still pretty bad out there. I doubt they'll want to launch anything they don't have to." She looked at her watch. "Got to go. We're busy and the damned fools sent everyone home."

"Anything I can do?" Andrea asked. "I don't care much for just sitting around."

Tory shrugged. "I don't think so. The work's pretty technical. What's your specialty?"

"Communication. You must need somebody to handle traffic, right?"

Tory thought about it. "Sure," she said. "Maybe we could use you at that."

The Moon-cluster was passing out of sight, below the window. "Good. When can I start?"

"Why don't you come over and talk to Windy Cross? He's my boss. I can't make any promises, but who knows?" Camp David. 6:28 P.M.

Stratemeyer glared down from the screen. "Let me try it again, Al. Feinberg thinks there are ten planes. But one's in maintenance and can't be made ready in time to participate. We lost another coming back from the Moon. Or doesn't anybody remember? And we've got another one at Skyport that's too damaged to get home. So we're down to seven. That's what you're going to have to settle for."

"The president wanted eight or nine, minimum."

"They don't exist, Al."

• • •