Moonfall

C-SPAN SUNDAY JOURNAL 1:07 P.M.

Host: Cleveland Somers; Guest: Senator Audrey Belmont (R-NJ). Somers: Go ahead, Caller. First Caller: I live in Kokomo. North of Indianapolis. And I have a question for Senator Belmont. Somers: Okay. First Caller They were saying on the television this morning that the damage in your state, Senator, is going to be up in the billions. Belmont: That appears to be true, Caller. First Caller: And that's only New Jersey. The whole East Coast is wrecked. For that matter, most of both coasts is wrecked. Did you see California? It's just a bunch of islands. Somers: I saw California. My understanding is that the water will go away on its own. First Caller Well, the damage sure as hell isn't going to go away on its own. We're talking about rebuilding. My question is, where's the money going to come from? Because I can just see what's going to happen. The president's going to declare both coasts emergency areas and the government's going to pay for it. Which is to say, the taxpayers will pick up the tab. Like always. Somers: Okay, Caller. We've got the question. Thanks. Senator? Belmont: I think the caller means the stricken areas will be declared disaster areas. But yes, of course, federal funds will be used to help stave off the worst effects of what happened last night. I'm sure the caller doesn't think we should just leave several million people on the road with no place to turn for help. Somers: We have another caller. Go ahead, please. Second Caller: Hello? Somers: Yes? You're on. Second Caller: Am I on? Somers: Yes, you are. Second Caller: I was listening to the last caller. And he's absolutely right. I live in Grand Island. In Nebraska. Why should my taxes go up to rebuild New York and Miami? I think we should secede, that's what I think. It's the only way to save the country. Somers: Senator? Belmont: I don't want to offend anyone, Cleveland, but if there's an attitude that guarantees this nation will go down the drain, I think we've just heard it. Micro Passenger Cabin. 1:32 P.M.

The passengers heard the PA system click on, and heard their pilot's voice. "This is Saber. We are now at our closest approach to Earth, traveling at 11.7 kilometers per second. The Lowell is ahead of us, gradually accelerating to our velocity. We will rendezvous with them at about four." 109th Airlift Group, Scotia, New York. 1:31 P.M.

The big army chopper that had brought them from Manhattan skirted the airfield and descended on a bare field behind a hangar. It blew up a cloud of dust and the pilot cut the engine. The blades slowed and drooped. Marilyn, who'd never been in a helicopter before and didn't like planes all that much anyhow, was grateful they were on the ground.

Almost all of the people on the aircraft were from Louise's party. They looked sodden and tired and lost. Larry sat beside her and squeezed her hand while they waited for the hatch to open. "When do you think we'll get home again?" she asked him.

He shrugged. "Probably only a few days. The water should go down pretty quick. And our stuff'll be okay, as long as they keep the looters out. That's what worries me."

Louise was sitting directly across from them. She'd changed into a woolen shirt and jeans, and had contributed clothes to several of the women. "I doubt there are many live looters left," she said. "But I don't think we'll be going back for a while. Place like Manhattan…" She shook her head. "I don't want to be downbeat or anything, but there're going to be major health problems. We'll be lucky if we're home by the fourth of July."

"Goddam, Louise," said a balding little economist near the door, "you sure know how to give a party."

That brought some hollow laughs. Marilyn didn't join in.

She'd changed. She wondered what the little boy's name was. What his mother had thought when Marilyn closed the door.

Something else had happened: She felt closer to Larry than she had at any time during, or before, their marriage. He'd been taking her for granted for a long time, but that had stopped last night. Maybe it wouldn't last, but she felt as if she had her husband-her old boyfriend-back again.

The hatch opened to reveal two female soldiers in neatly pressed khakis. Marilyn looked past them and saw crowds of dazed people being shepherded between vehicles and buildings. Some were sitting on the ground.

One of the women wore a sergeant's stripes and carried a clipboard. The other was barely eighteen.

"Welcome to Scotia," said the sergeant. "The pilot tells us that nobody here has any injuries. Is that correct? Anybody hurt? No? Good.

"We'll start unloading over here on my left. Please be careful; it's a long step down. And I'd appreciate it if you'd give your card to Private Turner here." The pilot had distributed yellow data cards on which they'd printed their names and other personal information. "Please note the long gray building behind me. We'll go over there. You'll be able to get a sandwich and some soft drinks or coffee. 1 wish we could provide a hot meal but we just don't have the capability. Not for so many people.

"You've got about an hour before your next flight leaves. We'll make an announcement. This is the seven-fourteen group. Can you remember that?"

"Excuse me," one of the passengers broke in. "You're putting us on another plane?"

Several people now began to talk at once. The sergeant held up a hand and waited. When they'd quieted, she continued: "I'm sorry, folks. Truth is, we're a little crowded here right now. We're asking for your cooperation. And your patience. We'll move you out and get you to a permanent relocation facility as quickly as we can."

"Where's that?" asked one of the women. "Where are we going?"

She consulted her clipboard. "Bismarck."

"Bismarck?" whispered Larry. "Where's Bismarck?"

"North Dakota," said Marilyn. She got up and started for the exit. "That might not be so bad. It's a long way from the ocean."