Lunar Descent (42 page)

Riddell tried not to let his anger show. Arnie had been fired, no doubt because of their phone conversation two days ago. Skycorp had a knack for finding out what their execs did behind the company's back; the company's internal security division had probably tapped his telephone at home. In hindsight, Lester should have expected Skycorp to do something like that. Crespin must be enjoying this, he thought. It gets him one seat closer to the president's office. But he immediately tried to put Arnie out of his mind; it wouldn't do any good for Crespin to see that he was irritated.

“Sorry to hear that, Kenneth,” he said, absently juggling a pen between his fingers. “But I was rather expecting to be hearing from Rock. Will he be joining us on a conference line?”

Crespin smiled with irritating smugness.
No, he will not. Mr. Chapman has delegated the matter at hand to me. I'm to make sure that this nasty piece of business is brought to a satisfactory conclusion
. He paused, then added,
Without its getting nastier, of course
.

Lester wondered about that. Dallas Chapman was a former NASA astronaut; in fact, he had commanded the second lunar expedition, following the one that Riddell himself had piloted in '05. Lester knew “Rock” Chapman well; he was very much a hands-on sort of executive, who normally would not have relinquished the responsibility of an in-space crisis such as this to a desk jockey like Ken Crespin. Some sort of a power struggle might be taking place in Huntsville. The board of directors could have taken the matter out of Rock's hands and put Crespin in charge.

It made a certain kind of sense. Kenneth Crespin had been one of the few Skycorp senior executives who had weathered the Big Ear crisis of eight years ago without his reputation being tarnished, even though the spysat system had been largely his project. It was fairly common knowledge within the company that Crespin had survived because he had put lower-level associates on the front lines to take the bullets meant for himself. Perhaps the board was hoping that Crespin could handle the strike just as smoothly.

All of this was conjecture, though, and not doing Lester a damn bit of good right now. Below the dais, several people were clustered around the TRACFO and TELMU stations trying to track and identify the spacecraft which Descartes' long-range radar had picked up in cislunar space at the same time that Crespin had called. Riddell was careful not to look in their direction.

“Getting nasty?” he replied smoothly. “Going on strike is a fine old American tradition, Kenneth. It's not like a declaration of war, after all.”

You might just as well have hoisted the Jolly Roger
, Crespin replied.
Of course, some of your people are rather experienced at piracy, aren't they? I suppose you'll be taking hostages next
.

“Piracy?” Riddell blinked innocently. “Whatever are you talking about, Kenneth? And as far as hostages go, the few people here who did not vote in favor of the walkout are not being harassed or harmed in any way. That includes our chief physician and our security chief.”

Dr. Walker's religious convictions are a matter of record. As a Buddhist monk, he wouldn't participate in a tawdry little labor strike like this unless lives were at stake. His reserve is admirable. I would have expected it of you as well
.…

“Surprise, surprise,” Lester drawled, barely able to hide his smile.

As for Ms. McGraw
, Crespin continued,
her failure to contain this crisis
…
well, this affair might have led NASA to fire her on our recommendation if she had not acted first. She tendered her resignation in writing earlier this morning, in a letter faxed directly to us
.

This time, Lester was unable to conceal his shock. “QuickDraw … I mean, Tina resigned?” He shook his head. “I … she hadn't told me about this before.”

She quit before she was fired
, Crespin said haughtily.
Personally, that seems to be a prudent course of action. You and others up there might well consider doing the same thing before things get a little rough
.

Here we go … “Let's cut out the double-talk, okay?” Lester leaned back in his seat and clasped his hands together in his lap. “What have you got on your mind?”

Crespin glowered at him from the screen.
It wouldn't do much good for me to claim now that Skycorp isn't planning to sell Descartes to Uchu-Hiko
, he said.
I have to hand it to you, your ability to foresee coming events has been rather sharp. In fact, Rock is at this moment engaged in negotiations with the Japanese regarding the sale of the facilities
.…

“I figured as much. Go on.”

You should also know by now that ASWI is opposed to this illegal strike
, he continued.
And the AFL-CIO has just issued a statement that it won't support your strike either. However, our business partners in Tokyo are a little more understanding. They realize that there will be a need for certain in-place expertise once they've acquired Descartes. After all, you can put people through simulators until hell freezes over and you still won't have that necessary core of experience to
…

“I hear the Japanese make great simulators,” Lester said briskly. “What are you driving at?”

Leniency. If you and the other leaders of this strike will convince the rest to drop the action and resume work, management and foremen may be rehired by Uchu-Hiko once they've acquired the base. That is, your jobs will be continued without interruption
. Kenneth smiled.
Just as if this
…
well, let's call it a philosophical disagreement
…
never occurred in the first place. Not a bad deal, considering
.

“Considering,” Lester repeated. “But the key word here seems to be ‘maybe.'”

Crespin shook his head.
I can't speak for the Japanese. I can only repeat what Uchu-Hiko's chairman, Mr. Hiyakawa, told me on the phone this morning
.

“Hmm. Interesting.” Lester wasn't ready to trust Ken Crespin for a moment. Even if Uchu-Hiko's CEO had agreed to the outlined proposal, there was no way of knowing for sure. Not as long as Crespin was running the show. And this was even supposing that Riddell had the ability to stop the walkout all by himself, which he didn't. He was not about to confess to Crespin that a decision to strike had been put in motion while he himself had been passed-out on his office floor. It did tell him one more thing, though: Skycorp and Uchu-Hiko clearly believed that he was the chief instigator of the strike.

Pretending to be thinking things through, he casually looked away from the camera at the MainOps floor. The TELMU on duty, Doug Baker, seemed to perceive that the GM was looking his way. He looked over his shoulder, pointed at the blip on his screen, and nodded his head gravely. “Marines,” he said very quietly.

Riddell nodded back in acknowledgment, covering the gesture by coughing into his fist. He looked back at the camera. “And if we don't take up your offer?”

That's not a wise idea, Lester
. Riddell couldn't help but notice that this was the first time Crespin had addressed him by his first name.
There's good reasons why you should seriously consider our proposal
.

“I'm listening.”

It doesn't matter very much if you've delayed the Korean SPS project. That's the sort of thing which tends to be self-correcting. But you've also bottlenecked the shipment of oxygen supplies to other orbital operations
.

“Oh, really?”

Oh really. In fact, the U.S. government is rather upset with you and your little band of pirates. Losing a Spam-can or three is something which can be ignored over the long haul
…

“Excuse me?” Lester interrupted. “I think we've got a little static here on the line.…”

Crespin continued undeterred.
But shutting down the flow of a vital resource is more than a few persons in power can bear
. He pointed a finger at the screen.
Get this straight, once and for all. If you and your compatriots continue cutting off key consumables
…

“Wonderful alliteration,” Lester said, smiling. “Ever thought of working in dinner theater?”

…
an RDF squad from the 1st Space Infantry will be launched at 1200 hours GMT tomorrow from Phoenix Station
, Crespin went on.
They'll come down and swarm all over your gang like
…

He stopped and smiled gloatingly.
Well, I suppose you can imagine the results. I shouldn't have to remind you that you're unarmed and utterly defenseless
. He paused again.
Of course, if you're willing to negotiate a quick end to this strike
…

“Hmmm. Maybe we shouldn't rule out negotiation altogether.” Lester looked away again to buy a few precious seconds, contemplatively stroking his chin while he looked at the image which was displayed on the TRAFCO screen. Crespin was telling only half the truth. The
Valley Forge
wasn't about to launch—it was already on its way. Since the military moonship had the new GE Pegasus nuclear rocket as its AOMV, at constant thrust it would make the trip in little less than half the time lunar transit usually took. They could be here by tomorrow. Yet Crespin had obviously underestimated not only the base's ability to track spacecraft in cislunar space, but also Riddell's own knowledge of the 1st Space.

Crespin isn't interested in negotiation of terms, he suddenly realized. The only thing he or Skycorp will accept is complete surrender.

And it was obvious that he wasn't the only one at Descartes who had hit upon that realization. Around him, MainOps had gone quiet. The command crew had been eavesdropping on their conversation, but now their interest was not quite so subtle. They openly watched their general manager, apparently wondering if he was going to sell out, now that the Marines were on the way and amnesty had been offered to strike leaders who bowed to pressure from the company.

Good Lord, he thought, what am I going to have to do to earn these guys' trust? Put on a hardsuit and start walking around the outside of the base with a sign reading “On Strike”?

“Okay,” he said at last, looking back at the camera. “I'll take your proposal under advisement. Maybe we can … ah, reach some sort of accommodation.”

“Bastard,” he heard someone whisper.

Crespin's smile grew larger.
Very good. I take it you've seen my point
.

You son of a bitch, Lester thought. You think you've already won.… “Oh, you've made your point, all right,” he said.
You've made your point that you can't be trusted
, he added silently. “We have three demands.”

All right
. Crespin picked up a pen from his desk and prepared to write; more theatrics, since Riddell had no doubt that the entire conversation was being taped and monitored by others.
Fire away
.

From around the command center, Lester felt everyone's eyes upon him. “First,” he said, “I want amnesty extended to everyone participating in the strike, now and after the sale of the base. No firings, no layoffs, no reprisals in terms of salary or bonuses. We don't care if we work for Skycorp or for Uchu-Hiko, but everyone here keeps their job at the same rate of pay.”

Crespin raised an eyebrow and his pen stopped moving.
Come now. After all this you can't possibly expect the company to
… He sighed.
Oh, all right, if you must. I'll at least bring it to their attention. Next
?

“Second,” Lester continued, “an end to the embargo on nonessential supplies. We're not slave labor, and we don't like being treated as such. If we ask for something … books, films, underwear, chewing tobacco, a new Coke machine, whatever … we're going to get it as long as it doesn't violate company rules against contraband.”

Oh, certainly. Certainly
. Even as Crespin was writing, Riddell could tell from his face that there was no more chance of the second demand's being met than the first. Quarter of a million miles away, he reflected, and I can still tell the bastard's got his fingers crossed.

Crespin looked up from his notepad again.
Very well
, he said with a condescending smirk.
Your third demand
?

I'm going to enjoy this … “My third demand,” Lester said slowly and carefully, “is that I want you to come up here personally and kiss my ass.”

What
? The VP's smile vanished. He shook his held in bewilderment.
Pardon me, but I'm not quite sure I understood what
…

From the looks on the faces of the MainOps crew, it didn't seem as if they believed that they'd heard him correctly either. “The way I figure it,” Lester said, “you owe me a little something. You sent me up here, deliberately expecting me to run the base into the ground. I take that as a personal insult. Then you reneged on the terms of the six-week probation period and didn't give these guys their bonuses for meeting your own production quota, so that's an insult to them.”

Riddell shook his head. “That wasn't very nice of you. But since I'm a nice guy, I'm willing to forgive and forget.” He paused. “All that you have to do is to kiss … my … ass.”

Crespin glared out of the screen at him.
Really, Lester
, he said with infinite condescension.
There's no reason to be crude about this
.

“Crude?” Lester was already standing up. “Looky here, Kenneth. Let me show you crude.…”

He then turned around, unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly, pushed down his trousers and underwear, and bent over so that his buttocks were thrust straight at the camera lens.

As everyone in Main-Ops whistled and hooted, he added, “No pun intended, Mr. Crespin, but this is called a full moon. Get it?”

No reply. By the time Lester had straightened up and pulled up his pants, Kenneth Crespin had already switched off. Amid the applause and cheers, Lester smirked as he rebuckled his belt. “I think he got it,” he said to no one in particular.