Lunar Descent (48 page)

(
CUT TO LIVE FOOTAGE of Garrett Logan, standing in front of Skycorp's corporate headquarters in Huntsville.
)

LOGAN:
At this time, the Pentagon has announced that Operation Shady Grove is over and that the Marines will be withdrawn from the Moon, in light of the peaceful—if wildly unexpected—resolution of the crisis. Back to you, Don …

(
CUT TO studio shot of Don Houston. Garrett Logan shrinks into a WINDOW in the upper-right corner of the screen.
)

HOUSTON:
Garrett, there's still a nagging question. If Lunar Associates Ltd. is largely backed by the miners themselves … or actually, I understand, by investment firms that handle funds for the lunar workers …

LOGAN:
That is correct. Those investments count for just over fifty-five percent of the total stock, which gives the miners a controlling interest.…

HOUSTON:
If that is the case, then why didn't Lunar Associates simply make their bid for the purchase of the base without going on strike first? Wouldn't it have been easier for them to hammer out this agreement with Skycorp without first taking the drastic measure of going on strike?

LOGAN (coming back into full-frame):
You're right, Logan. This is still an open question, and one which the Federal Trade Commission will undoubtedly investigate before it makes final approval of the deal between Lunar Associates and Skycorp. At this point, there is a general theory that there were two factions among the workers on the Moon … one which openly went on strike, in opposition to Skycorp's plans to sell the base to Uchu-Hiko, and one which was quietly working behind the scenes to use financial leverage in negotiating with the company. Again, the government will be investigating, yet FTC officials with whom I've spoken privately say that there's no hard evidence so far to suggest unfair trade. Since neither Skycorp nor Uchu-Hiko have objected to the agreement, the deal will probably go through. Everyone's interested in keeping that base in operation.

HOUSTON (V.O.):
And the miners themselves? What have they had to say about all this?

LOGAN:
As usual, Don, the workers at Descartes Station aren't saying anything. They're a quarter of a million miles away, after all, so it's a little difficult for them to hold press conferences. This is Garrett Logan, live from Skycorp headquarters in Huntsville, Alabama.

HOUSTON (full-screen):
Thank you, Garrett. Next up … new concerns over genetic engineering among New York City preschool children. Is it ever too early to learn quantum physics? And Mindy Oliver at the Great Neck Chicken Ranch, where the hens are being taught a new song to cluck.…

(
THEME UP. FILM CUP of a farmer with a baton leading chickens through “The Star-Spangled Banner.” FADE OUT.
)

24. The Last General Manager

Descartes Traffic, this is the
Collins, Alli James' voice reported.
We're standing by for tank pressurization and final countdown. If you can … ah, remind our last passenger that we've got a schedule to meet here, we'll load
'
em up and be on our way
.

Casey Engel looked over his shoulder at Lester. The former general manager was standing at the window of the traffic control cupola; he was wearing a headset, but he was apparently lost in thought, staring out at the lunar landscape. The
Collins'
lander was squatting on Pad Two, with the launch crew standing nearby, ready to connect the fuel lines and disconnect the umbilicals. Another group of pad rats were gathered around the
Beautiful Dreamer
, unloading the last of the Spam-cans which the tug had ferried down from the orbiting LTV late yesterday. But Lester wasn't watching the activity on the pads; Casey could tell that his gaze was fixed on the distant slopes of Stone Mountain, apparently lost in his own thoughts.

Engel was about to clear his throat when Riddell touched his headset lobe, as if he had been paying attention the whole time. “We copy that, Alli. I just need to go grab my bags from the office and we're out of here.”

Take your time
, Alli replied.
Just don't take too much of it, know what I mean? I got two other people out here who want to go home. Over
.

“Affirmatory on that, ace. I'll be out on the pad before you finish your checks. I'll give you back to Casey now. Over and out.” Lester pulled the headset off, disconnected it from his belt unit, and dropped it on the counter. He gazed down at it for a moment. “Guess I won't be needing that anymore, huh?”

“Not where you're going, you won't.” Casey switched off his comlink for a moment and swiveled around in his chair. This time, he did clear his throat before speaking. “Listen, boss, before you skedaddle out of here, I just want to tell you …”

Riddell smiled, shaking his head and holding up his hand. “Aw, save it, willya please? I've been going through this long goodbye stuff all day.” He looked away from Casey and grinned. “I mean, thanks for whatever you were going to say, but enough is enough already.…”

Engel pretended to be affronted. “I was just going to tell you that you're a heartless son of a bitch and we're really glad to be getting rid of you so we can start having fun again. That's all.”

Lester shot a baffled look at the traffic control manager. Casey managed to keep a sour expression on his face for another second before he cracked a grin. “Or words to that effect,” he added.

Lester grimaced and shook his head again. “And fuck you, too,” he said. Engel laughed and put out his hand; Riddell grabbed it in a thumbs-up shake. “Take it easy, sport. Don't let any of these assholes crash, okay?”

“Not on my shift, at least.” Engel released Lester's hand and watched as he turned and walked to the exit hatch. Just as Lester bent to climb down the ladder into the access tunnel, Engel said, “Hey, one more thing …”

Lester stopped, his feet on the top rung, and looked up. “Are you going to miss this place?” Casey asked.

“Are you kidding?” Lester continued climbing down the ladder. “I can't wait to get out of here. See you …”

“See ya.” Casey waited until Lester had disappeared before quietly adding, “You lying bastard.”

This time he meant it. And if Lester had heard him at all, there was no comeback.

Lester made the trip through the tunnels to Subcomp A as quickly as he could without jogging. He had heard Casey's last remark, and he had been right; like it or not, he was going to miss this place. And for that very reason, he wanted to make it out to the
Collins
as fast as he could. He was leaving the Moon for the last and final time; no sense in farming it out any longer than he needed.

There was hardly anyone in the tunnels or the corridors for him to encounter. An off-shift moondog here and there slapped his arms, wished him farewell, good luck, godspeed, and all the usual platitudes, but the second shift was out in the regolith field or in the Dirt Factory or at the mass-driver plant; first-shift was catching zee's in the dorms and a large group of volunteers from the third shift were on EVA on the roof of Subcomp A, repairing the damage to the MainOps tower.

It would still be weeks before the windows were completely replaced and the equipment repaired or replaced. Only then could the operations center be brought back to life. Still, he found it hard to believe that persons from each off-shift were working—on their own time—to restore MainOps from the beating it had taken from the
Delaware
's strafing run. Only three weeks ago he would have had to offer the same people triple-time pay, and not without a lot of cussing and griping even then. Descartes Station was changing.…

Right, he thought as he climbed the spiral stairs up through Subcomp A's atrium to Level One and walked down the corridor to his former office. And that was one more good reason to be getting out. Arnie Moss had told him that Descartes needed a mean son of a bitch to ramrod the place for Skycorp. But Skycorp was no longer in charge, and a ramrod was no longer necessary. If Lunar Associates Ltd. was successful in operating the base at a profit … if they didn't fail to show a profit for the earthbound investors, if they managed to meet their supply-and-demand agreement with Skycorp, and a thousand other
ifs
after that … then pretty soon they'd be needing someone who could manage day-care services for the kids of the permanent settlers.

And you know they're coming
, he thought.
It's inevitable
. Lester imagined himself trying to diaper a squalling baby and winced as he reached the office door.
Screw that. I'd rather be a mean sumbitch any day.

He was about to push open the door when he once again glimpsed the white duct-tape pasted across the screw holes which had once held a plastic plaque reading
GENERAL MANAGER
. Written out firmly with a black marker was the new sign:
PRESIDENT, LUNAR ASSOCIATES LTD
. The tabs had been there for a few days now, but Riddell still couldn't get used to it: I don't care who's sitting in here now; he thought as he rapped on the door and pushed it open, it's still
my
office.…

Jeremy Schneider was working at his terminal when Lester stepped in. “Hang on,” he murmured without looking away from his screen. “Be with you in a just a …”

Then he glanced up and saw Riddell in the doorway, “Les,” he said, his look of intense concentration relaxing into a smile. He hurriedly tapped the
HOLD
key on the computer and stood up behind his desk, tucking his hands into the pockets of his shorts. Schneider looked uncomfortable; maybe he, too, felt that he was sitting in someone else's office. His eyes flitted to the airtight duffel bag and attaché case resting against the wall near the door. “You're … uh, here to pick up your stuff.…”

“My stuff, yeah. Sorry to bother you.” Lester sauntered into the office, gazing around at the walls. Nothing had been changed since he had informally turned over his workplace to the new president of Lunar Associates. Same pictures of the first outpost; same framed newspaper clipping of the original Moondog. There had been almost nothing for him to clean out of his desk. At least there wasn't a spittoon behind the desk; Schneider refrained from chewing tobacco, thank God.

“You ought to get a real sign for that door,” he murmured, his eyes absently fixed on the photo of the original base. “Lend some dignity to the place.”

“Yeah, yeah …” Schneider grinned wryly and scratched at his blond beard. His eyes followed Riddell's gaze to the framed photo. “You want to take it with you?” he asked. “I mean, that or anything else on the walls, it's all yours. Take it.”

Lester slowly shook his head. He wasn't even tempted. “Uh-uh. They belong right here. Permanent keepsakes of this office. I've got plenty at home.”

“Sure. Sure.” Schneider nodded and shuffled his feet, looking down at the top of his desk, which was already stacked with mounds of printout, operations manuals, and logbooks. Good luck, chump, Lester thought. You're going to need it if you're going to run this operation. Another thought occurred to him; something that had been in the back of his mind since the end of the strike, yet which up to now he had not been able to articulate. He looked straight at Schneider. “Let me ask you something, Jeremy …” he began.

Schneider's eyes darted back to him. Lester held his gaze for a couple of moments, long enough to begin to make Schneider sweat; then he cocked his head to his side. “How did you do it?” he asked quietly. “Really.”

“Well …” Schneider reached up and scratched at an imaginary itch under his chin as his eyes traveled to the wall again, running across the pictures to the ceiling and then to the window. “It's kind of a long story, y'know, and …”

“And I've got to catch the
Collins
. Right.” Lester sighed, grabbed the strap of his duffel bag, hoisted it over his shoulder, then bent to pick up the handle of his attaché case. “Listen, let me give you a single word of advice.…”

“And that is …?”

“Honesty,” Lester finished. Schneider visibly flinched at the word. Almost everything Riddell suspected about Jeremy Schneider was confirmed right then.

“That's my single word of advice,” he continued. “I don't know how you managed this score, and I don't know if I even give a shit. But from here on out, you're going to have to play by a different set of rules if you want to keep this place. You may have been able to screw Wall Street and Skycorp, but if you ever try to screw the people who work here …” He tugged at the strap of the duffel bag. “You're going out of here
in
a bag, not carrying one. Y'got me on that?”

“Sure, sure …”

“Right.” Lester turned toward the door. “Good luck, You're going to …”

“Need it,” Butch Peterson said from behind him. “Les, don't you ever come up with any new lines?”

She was standing in the corridor outside the office; she had probably been there a for several minutes without his being aware of it. Mighty Joe Young and Monk Walker were standing behind her but for the moment he hardly noticed them. Riddell closed the door on Schneider and turned directly toward Her. “Excuse me, guys,” he said as he took Butch's arm and gently pulled her into the science lab. “Give us a minute alone, okay?”

“Okay,” Mighty Joe settled against the corridor wall, his arms folded. “But if we hear her screaming …”

Lester slammed the lab door against the rest of it. He dropped the duffel bag from his shoulder and put down the attaché case. “Last chance,” he said softly, looking straight into her eyes. “We've been through this before, but this is my last try, so just listen to me.”

“Go on.” Her face and voice were as bland as a sample of ilmenite. “Let's hear it.”

He took a deep breath: “I can stall the lander for a few more minutes. The
Collins
won't launch without me … without us on it. There's one more couch available in the mid-deck. Grab your stuff, put it in a bag, and let's get out of here together. We can settle the paperwork when we get home. I'm not making any long, messy goodbyes and neither should you.”