Orphan's Triumph

THIRTY-SIX

ORD’S FUNERAL PYRE had burned out by the time the White Moon set and the sun rose. Recent events considered, a wagering man could have cleaned up last night simply by betting that the sun would rise.

Bassin had returned to the Summer Palace in the old city to show the flag of stability and, I supposed, to figure out how to explain the disappearance of the moon-disappearance of the moon!-to his subjects, before his enemies blamed it on him.

As commander in chief, the last thing I could do under the circumstances was act like the sky had fallen, even though it had, in reverse. So I sat at the head of my conference table in my conference room, with my staff plus Howard and Jude, and conducted my daily staff meeting.

When we arrived at new business, I turned to Howard. “What happened?”

He removed his old-fashioned glasses and rubbed his eyes. “It took us years to figure out how to achieve a controlled breach in the containment of the Red Moon’s Cavorite. The difficulty and scope of the task was more complex to us at this state of human knowledge than the Manhattan Project, to develop nuclear fission bombs, was last century. It could have taken the Pseudocephalopod far longer to develop the process, for all we know. What we do know is that the Pseudocephalopod implemented the process within weeks of its occupation of the Red Moon.”

Tierney, whom I had brevet promoted to sergeant major, asked, “Did they blow the Red Moon up?”

Howard shook his head. “The Pseudocephalopod achieved a controlled breach of the Red Moon’s Cavorite. It harnessed the moon’s own ability to be pulled in one direction by the gravity of half of this universe. In effect, it made the Red Moon into a starship, a hot-rod engine of planetary proportions.”

Somebody said, “Then the Slugs drove the hot rod off the lot at two-thirds the speed of light.”

Tierney said, “The frigging moon just disappeared, Colonel Hibble. Why are things still so normal?”

Howard said, “If Earth lost its moon overnight, the tidal consequences alone would be catastrophic. But the very property, disobedience to the so-called law of gravity, that makes the Red Moon able to act as its own power plant renders its departure an astrophysical nonevent.”

I said, “No problems for Bren?”

Howard shook his head. “Physically, no. Without the Red Moon to reflect sunlight, nights on Bren will be a little darker from now on. That’s about it.”

My indigenous population liaison officer said, “But socioeconomically, it’s a handful. Bassin’s still a brand-new king, by Bren standards, and the first male monarch in six hundred years. His enemies are saying the moon’s disappearance is a bad omen. That abolition and personal freedom and toadying to us motherworlders are bringing Armageddon.”

I set my jaw. “Without us, Bren would still be part of the Pseudocephalopod Hegemony, and their kids would still be dying of smallpox.”

“Sir, we hear that Bassin’s cabinet is advising him to crack down on his dissenters. And they want us to do the dirty work. And take the blame.”

I nodded. “He asked me to meet him at the palace in an hour. Let’s see what he wants.” I turned to Howard, again. “Okay. Let’s address our new situation. Obviously, we can’t retake the Red Moon the way we planned. Can we chase it down?”

Howard shook his head. “With a head start, and a screen of protective spacecraft, all of which it’s willing to expend to keep us from following, the Red Moon’s effectively gotten away clean.”

“To where?”

“I dunno.”

“What are the Slugs gonna do with it?”

“I dunno.”

“But the Red Moon could be used to reverse the course of the war, against us?”

Howard shrugged. “By sabotaging Silver Bullet, it already has. But you mean, could the Pseudocephalopod use the Red Moon offensively? In some unimagined capacity? Yes, it could.”

“Howard, are we out of options?”

“Only the good ones.”