Tranquility in Darkness Pt. 01

by G. Lawrence

In this sequel to Tranquility Besieged, we find Grey no longer isolated on the moon where he grew up under the guidance of Tranquility's Machiavellian computers. Now he has friends and a girlfriend, but also many enemies. More than he realizes. Captured soldiers from the failed invasion still seek to assassinate him, the Northern Alliance seeks to recover their second-strike nuclear arsenal stolen by Governor Thomas McKinsey 20 years before, and another threat has lingered even longer, one that threatens the entire world. Can a 20-year-old youngster with no experience with humans prevail against such insurmountable forces?

A warning for the reader. Having received comments that the opening to Tranquility's Heirs was confusing without context, I am breaking a rule to provide context. This novel is two stories told 24 years apart. The early portion of each chapter tells of Governor Thomas McKinsey in 2046, three years before the lunar evacuation and the beginning of the Embargo Wars. These are short segments. Most of the novel concerns Grey, Kris, and their allies decades later as they deal with the ramifications of Thomas McKinsey's earlier actions. The two timelines will come together.

This novel was written in the late 1990s with a romance angle, though I've tried to spice it up for this website. Nevertheless, it is still hardcore science fiction with fierce battles, traitors, evil aliens, and politicians. As for Tranquility's cognitive computers, they were created long before anyone was seriously talking about AI, though the comparisons are obvious. All characters are over 18 years old. All rights reserved.

******

Two travelers may take the same path

without reaching the same place

Chapter One

THE FAILED INVASION

Wednesday, February 28th, 2046

"Tom! We've got that damn signal again!" Dr. Atkinson complained, storming into the great man's office.

"Calm down, Rory," Governor Thomas McKinsey said, looking up from his desk in the study. "What does Goldstein say?"

"Sheila can't figure it out either, damn it!" Atkinson said.

Now in his late-50s, tall with dark gray hair, McKinsey stood up and led the frustrated engineer into the adjoining monitor room. The communications center was alive with observation screens, tracking stations, and links to various activity centers all over the moon.

"You're referencing my files from here?" the engineer asked. "Most of my reports aren't even in the database yet."

"The Governor's Quarters has advantages unavailable to ordinary mortals," McKinsey grinned, summoning the Energy Computer.

Slowly at first, red signature patterns rose to dominate the multi-colored flux filling the large central monitor screen.

"Reporting," the Energy Computer said, the vocalization brisk.

"What's this about interference with our reactor experiment? I thought we had the preliminary stumps all worked out," McKinsey said.

"The research stages are satisfactorily verified," the Energy Computer replied. "Modifying our hydrogen reactor to accept this new step-two variable technology has proven theoretically feasible."

"But that signal? The red flare in the chamber module?" Atkinson said.

"The phenomenon has only been observed twice, and each time there was no downstage registration," the Energy Computer explained. "Probability indicates the effect is an optical illusion."

"Optical illusion my ass!" Atkinson protested, rolling his eyes.

"Rory, relax. I'll look into it after I get back from my luncheon," McKinsey said, letting the engineer know the conversation was over.

Atkinson looked at McKinsey, glared at the red signature patterns waving lazily through the monitor screen flux, and abruptly stomped out of the room.

"Optical illusion?" McKinsey asked.

"The anomaly doesn't affect the test, Governor," the Energy Computer said. "Do you want to halt the experiment for a phenomena that doesn't register on our gauges?"

"I guess not. But let's be cautious. This whole step-two variable concept is breaching the edge. We can't risk another Arktichesky," McKinsey warned.

"Acknowledged," the Energy Computer agreed, red signature patterns subsiding into the monitor screen flux.

McKinsey returned to his office but saw there wasn't enough time to finish his quarterly reports. He went into the sleeping chamber instead. On the nightstand, he noticed the picture of his wife, Laureen McKinsey, who seemed to glare at him reproachfully. Now the senior senator from Western Region, it had been six years since her last visit to the moon. And more than a year since his last visit to Washington. There was no sadness, their marriage having become a political convenience.

Picking up his travel bag, McKinsey returned to the monitor room where he lingered for a moment before the central command station.

"Hello, Thomas, may I be of assistance?" the Life Support Computer asked, arriving online with a surge of green signature patterns.

"I'm not sure," McKinsey said.

The green signature patterns continued to pulse on standby. The Life Support Computer knew McKinsey would reveal his thoughts when he was ready.

"There's a report of unexplained seismic vibrations from Cauchy, and now an odd occurrence in our reactor experiment," McKinsey said. "There's no reason to think the two are connected, but I've got this strange feeling."

"Your instincts have proven correct many times in the past, though I still find your deductive process impossible to analyze," Life Support said, probing for an explanation.

"I can't tell you how we know these things," McKinsey admitted. "Instinct is like enjoying a spring day or a beautiful woman. Just comes naturally. I'm scheduled to attend a seminar at the Crystal Caves Tourist Center this afternoon. Too many billionaire investors for me to beg off. Check with Goldstein on this reactor business and see if our satellite web is detecting any out-takes."

"Shouldn't coordination of the web be the Defense Computer's function?" Life Support asked, citing the protocol modes.

"I don't want the military liaison office receiving the reports," McKinsey explained. "The minority members of the Congress-In-Council are already sticking their dirty brown noses into Tranquility's defense posture. I'd rather the politicians didn't realize the full extent of our potential."

"Understandable, though your concern may be exaggerated," Life Support said. "The Nationalist Party's embargo policies would result in chaos, if not war. It's unlikely they will ever achieve a congressional majority."

"Studying politics now?" McKinsey asked with a smile.

"My systems operate best when all factors are taken into consideration," Life Support defended. "As these factors exist on a wide range, an effort is being made to review the entire spectrum."

"When you figure out women, let me know. We'll make a fortune," McKinsey chuckled.

The green signature patterns blinked with lack of understanding. The Life Support Computer still had much research to do.

"Have that report for me when I get back," McKinsey ordered.

As the green signature patterns subsided, McKinsey left the small private world of the Governor's Quarters, entering the maze of narrow corridors that twisted through the administration section until he emerged into the upper quad near the Crystal Fountain. There he paused to gaze at the community level cavern, admiring the high domed ceiling, the long promenade of quaint shops and eating areas, and the three hundred seat amphitheater down at the far end. He remembered, now twenty years before, when Chester Fairfield had first described his vision of a comfortable living environment for Tranquility's residents. At the time, McKinsey had thought the expense wasteful, but for once he was mistaken. Fairfield's spectacular architecture, profound in its simplicity, had transformed a mere mining outpost into the moon's only city. A modern Camelot, so the poets would say. And McKinsey had no doubt who King Arthur was.

Turning in the other direction, McKinsey entered the reception area, confirmed his flight permit at the departure desk, and waved a friendly hello to a group of tourists. From the reception area, he legged it up the first of several long tunnels. CA-3 to the Loop, then CA-1 to the storage level, and finally through the triple chambered airlocks into landing bay minor where half a dozen shuttlecraft arrived or departed every day. McKinsey experienced a sense of pride to know he had been instrumental in the development of so much free enterprise.

Between landing bay minor, devoted to off-planet transport, and landing bay major, where the sub-orbital hoppers were serviced, McKinsey stopped to visit Kelly's Saloon, the most notorious den of spies and smugglers upside of Singapore. Many times, Northern Alliance authorities had encouraged him to curtail the black market in helium isotope, ice sponge, and lunar jewels, but McKinsey liked knowing what was going on and where. Not to mention his percentage of the proceeds.

"Hello, Clarabell," McKinsey said as the ground crew helped him into the lunar hopper. Large enough for eight, he was the only passenger.

"Greetings, Governor McKinsey," the hopper's on-board flight computer said. "I'm instructed for a straight flight to the Crystal Caves Tourist Center. Are you certain you wouldn't enjoy a side trip to the Apollo Landmark? Or Space Heroes Monument? When was the last time you visited the Stone Whirl?"

"No wonder our travel vouchers are running so high. Are you making these offers to everybody?" McKinsey asked.

"MC1000 Sales Computer has issued a directive to boost tourism," Clarabell said. "All systems are instructed to maximize revenue producing activities."

McKinsey sighed. It had been his idea to give Tranquility's computers a wide latitude of independence, but sometimes he wondered just who was really in charge.

"Take the direct route," McKinsey said, determining to have a discussion with the Sales Computer when he returned.

The hopper was raised on a large elevator platform into one of the airlocked launch tubes and gently pushed out into the lunar void on a puff of lift jets. Clarabell's computer brought the small craft up to an altitude of thirty meters and turned south. McKinsey looked out the portside window to see the colony's surface structures grouped on a knoll at the foot of a towering cliff, the graceful White Towers dominating the scene. To starboard, he gazed out on the broken plains of Mare Tranquillitatis, the minor crater Dawes the most obvious landmark. Behind him, the mineral rich crater Vitruvius filled the skyline.

It took just sixty-five minutes to reach the tourist center, a surface complex located on the edge of the Cauchy Fault. Farther south, McKinsey saw the fault's namesake, a mysterious crater famous for bad luck tales and ghost stories. The hopper swung wide over a deep canyon, then set down on the visitor landing platform, there to be drawn inside the hangar by the ground crew tractors.

"Welcome, Governor McKinsey," the chief of staff said, the middle-aged administrator followed by a group of excited employees.

"Hi, Carl. Hi, Diedre. Hey, Josie, good to see you again," McKinsey said, spending a few minutes shaking hands before reaching the seminar fashionably late. But then he made a point of staying for cocktails afterward, the conversation quickly moving from mining contracts to down-planet politics. McKinsey was surprised to find so many businessmen ready to support the restrictions on trade advocated by the upstart Nationalists but was diplomatic enough to say he was keeping an open mind.

"Miss Sanchez, may we talk?" McKinsey asked, approaching a graceful security officer looking sleeker than her forty years would suggest.

"Of course, Governor," she said, straightening the line of her uniform.

They left the business group behind and walked from the plush hotel section of the tourist center, past the spa and arboretum, and entered the communications department. McKinsey closed the door.

"What do you need, Tom?" Samantha asked with a wink. Though it had been several years since their affair, the memories were good.

"Heard you folks had an alert on your seismograph that wasn't bobby socked. What's it all about?" he inquired.

"Oh, it was nothing," Samantha answered. "Old Jup gets excited over every odd reading. You know we never would've built this center on the edge of a cliff if we were prone to moonquakes."

"Is Old Jup around?" McKinsey said. "He's not in the brig again, is he?"

"Not in our brig. At the moment," she answered.

"Look, I know Mr. Early can be a pain in the ass, but he's been around for a long time. Even longer than I have. Let's try to give him a little respect."

"You might try Tallor Canyon," Samantha replied. "He packed his gear last night and we haven't seen him since."

"I haven't gone tourist for a while. Maybe I'll take a stroll in the canyon. Enjoy a visit to the Shunt," McKinsey said.

"Let me help you find a good outfit," she suggested, taking him down to the equipment depot. It was the quiet part of the day, the few tourists who dared enter the deep canyon having already returned. Dozens of sturdy lunar spacesuits hung in their form fitting racks.

"You can't wear a walker in a business suit," Samantha hinted, removing his tie. McKinsey dropped his tweed coat and sat down to unlace his Dune London travel boots. Samantha began removing her powder blue uniform.

"Sam?" McKinsey questioned as she peeled it off her shoulders.

"You don't have a mistress at the moment, and I don't get much recreation," she explained, quickly stripping herself. McKinsey thought she looked great, with firm round breasts, a flat stomach, and long graceful legs. Her black hair was tied back, the dark eyes enticing. And he knew maintaining such a physique could be challenging in the moon's 1/6th gravity.

"As Governor of the Moon, it's important to keep my citizens at the top of their game," McKinsey agreed, following her example. He was a good-looking man, tall with wavy dark gray hair, wide shoulders, and a trim waist. His deep blue eyes carried a searching intelligence. All part of his public persona. After drawing her behind the wardrobe to a padded bench, he knelt before her and opened her thighs. Then he dipped his head forward. She moaned, not just from the pleasure, but to enjoy the attention of such a renown man. Yes, he was getting older, but he was still handsome, vigorous, and his skills had not diminished.

McKinsey wondered what the world would think if it was known the founder of the Tranquility Lunar Colony, a man of impeccable science, sought out relations with so many beautiful women. After all, their culture was still fairly conservative about such things. Though he was discreet.

Having achieved her initial desire with a powerful response, Samantha rolled off the bench to rest on her knees, presenting herself. McKinsey did his duty, energetically, lifting her hips off the floor for better access. Soon only her fingertips were on the bench, the rest of her body suspended in McKinsey's firm grip. On Earth she would have weighed 60 kilograms. At the tourist center she only weighed 10. And McKinsey was experienced in making the most of it, balancing his strength and leverage to achieve maximum efficiency. Both were soon satisfied.

"Again after dinner?" she suggested, putting her uniform back on.

"We'll need to see, Sam. I'm getting old," McKinsey begged off.

"You'll be doing this until you're ninety and we both know it," she grinned.

Two hours later, outfitted in a sturdy spacesuit, McKinsey carefully made his way down a steep path to the bottom of the canyon's western branch. Along the sharply cut trail, several historical markers explained how the Cauchy Fault was unlike anyplace else on the moon, a geologic oddity that scientists continued to speculate about, for nowhere else had such beautiful crystalline structures been discovered.

The bottom of the canyon was sculpted to accommodate prospectors and tourists. The winding path McKinsey followed turned south through jagged terrain. Eventually, the trail divided. The path to the left led into Tallor Shunt, a stunning crevice often featured on International Geographic. A kilometer to the right, the trail ended in a rockslide that blocked further progress, but tread marks showed where a tractor had gone up and over the barrier. McKinsey checked the safety equipment on his walker, tightened his bootstraps, and climbed past the rubble.

McKinsey followed the tread marks for several kilometers until reaching a recessed segment of Cauchy's east face. There he came upon a mining tractor parked near the mouth of a cave. At least, it looked like a cave. As he got closer, McKinsey realized someone had drilled a tunnel into the crater wall. The six wheeler's hatch was sealed, but the vehicle was unoccupied.

"Jup?" McKinsey called out over his transmitter. "Hey, Jup, where the hell are you?"

McKinsey went to the mouth of the tunnel and peered in, using the chest lamp on his walker for visibility.

"Jup? What's going on here? Mining without a permit again?" McKinsey asked. Not that he'd have arrested the veteran prospector, but cutting new tunnels in a protected reserve was something even he didn't approve of.

When there was no response, McKinsey started inside, walking slowly along the rough-cut wall of the tunnel. He immediately noticed a sensation of disorientation and considered backtracking, but there didn't seem to be any place to backtrack to. There was no longer a tunnel behind him! It didn't feel as if the tunnel had suddenly caved in, more like it had never been there in the first place.

What the hell? McKinsey thought, fighting off a moment of panic. Though his wife had served in the Homeland Guard, and his only daughter had died during a pointless naval skirmish, McKinsey had only faced a life-or-death situation once before, on the Third Mars Expedition. He had no desire to repeat that experience.

"Jup? Damn your eyes, if you're greasing my pole, you'll see how funny six months in the brig can be," McKinsey growled.

He resumed his march into the darkness, checking his oxygen supplies, unhappy to see his four-hour reserve now only had two hours left. He would soon be past the point of no return, and still had no clue to his destination.

The tunnel narrowed until there was no longer enough room to stand upright, and then suddenly an opening appeared. Cautious, McKinsey looked through the crevice. There was a cavern unlike anything he'd ever seen before, not even at the tourist center. The crystal laden walls sparkled in shimmering rainbows. McKinsey gasped at the intensity of the colors and wondered how such a place had come to exist. And where was Juniper Early?

The far end of the cavern featured a metallic door, hopefully an airlock. McKinsey quickly bounced forward, studied the hatch, and sought to trigger an electronic beam or pressure switch. Several moments later, the hatch slowly slid open, revealing a claustrophobic cubicle.

"If this isn't the eeriest damn thing," McKinsey whispered, knowing full well there was no record of a facility buried beneath Cauchy. If he was still under the crater at all. It occurred to him that he might have somehow worked his way back toward the tourist center by some secret underground route, though why it would be secret, and how the tunnel seemed to disappear behind him was a mystery. He finally discarded that theory. Whatever this place was, it wasn't so easily explained.

He entered the chamber. The door close behind him. His walker's instruments indicated air pressure was increasing, and a test proved it to be an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere. He opened his visor to discover reasonably fresh air with an odd scent. Not unpleasant, just odd. A moment later, McKinsey slumped to the floor unconscious.

TWENTY-FOUR YEARS LATER

Monday, December 2, 2069: 0200 LST

"Grey, are you all right?" Kris asked, shaking him awake.

"What?" Grey said, surprised to find himself in his own bed.

The sleeping chamber of the Governor's Quarters was dark, the mode on night cycle. Kris lay next to him, sleeping in the raw, as she called it, despite the Medical Computer's advice to wear weighted night clothing. Grey wasn't weighted, either. His poor physical condition wasn't permitting the regimen necessary to combat lighter gravity deterioration.

"Another nightmare?" Kris asked.

"I don't think so," he answered, struggling to sit up.

"You're okay then?" she persisted.

Grey looked into her intense green eyes, the worried face, and briefly stroked the long black hair that hung down to her shoulders. Hair now longer than when she had first come to the moon almost five months before.

"Adequate," he said, not sure how he felt.

"You always say adequate. Want to talk about it?" she asked, signaling for the sleeping chamber lighting to brighten several degrees.

Grey pushed the soft fabric covers back, suddenly feeling warm. After living alone for twenty years, it felt strange to have a human around, one who was close to him and addressed him in such an informal manner.

"I was battling the seekers on the storage deck," Grey said, knowing she valued the interaction.

"After a fight like that, it's natural to have post-traumatic stress," Kris said, reaching for his hand. Just past his twentieth birthday, of modest height, with curly brown hair and steady gray eyes, Grey didn't look like a soldier. But she had seen him in combat too many times to ever underestimate his skills.

"It wasn't the battle," Grey said. "It was later, after--"

As his mind cleared, Grey suddenly wondered if this was something he should discuss with Kris. Maybe I should talk with Life Support first? he thought.

"Dreams don't mean anything," he decided, taking a slow breath. "I had lots of strange dreams when I was young, mostly about the computers or difficult repair projects. A minor skirmish is nothing."

Kris gave him a poke in the chest. It hurt.

"It wasn't nothing," she said, almost angry. "You fought four heavily armored sentinel class seekers with no chance of beating them, just to save a bunch of people you didn't even know. You've got to give yourself more credit. Everybody says so. "

"Would you like to couple?" Grey whispered, pulling her closer for a kiss.

"You scoundrel! You pick up our worst traits."

"What do you mean?" he asked, eyebrows going up in surprise.

"Using sex to deflect from talking about what hurts us," she replied.

"But--" he started.

"Grey, it's okay. It's human. Kind of a nice development, too," Kris said, kissing him softly, then harder as she pushed him back.

"Um, you're getting good at this kissing thing," Kris said.

When Grey looked into her passionate gaze with curiosity, and just a hint of fear, Kris had to laugh.

"What's so humorous?" he asked.

"You are," Kris smiled.

"Explain."

"You're just about the bravest person I've ever met," she said. "You've faced every sort of danger. You stand up for what's right regardless of the risk. You've overcome obstacles that would leave the rest of us in shadows. But you're flustered by a girl's kiss. You get nervous trying to make small talk. And you won't even approach a group of people without being dragged. It's like you need to summon up your courage just to do the simple things everyone else takes for granted."

"I'm not that bad," Grey protested.

"You're getting better, but it's still funny," Kris agreed. "Kes says there are treatments that will get your strength back. What did she mean?"

"There's a facility at her headquarters," Grey explained. "It's called the Red Room. I can only guess how it works, but it's more advanced than anything our medical center offers."

"You've been there before? At her base?" she asked.

"Twice," he acknowledged, seeking to cut off further questions.

"Please tell me about it," she asked. "You can trust me, can't you? Your partner, lover, and best friend?"

Kris could feel Grey struggle with her request. She knew the isolated conditions in which he had been raised, and the tragic results of his first encounter with people three years before, had left scars that might never heal. But the Life Support Computer had urged him to confide in her. It was advice she hoped he would accept.

"When I was fifteen years old," he hesitantly explained, not looking up. "While on a maintenance mission to the equator station at Craterious, my hopper was knocked down by asteroid debris. The equator station was destroyed, and the Siberia mining camp had few useful supplies, so I tried to reach the Crystal Caves Tourist Center. My chances weren't good. After a long trek, I stumbled across an uncharted facility below Cauchy. That's where I first met Quexitor and was treated by Red Room."

"And met Kes," Kris said.

"No, I didn't even know she was there," Grey answered. "She must have been in some sort of hibernation. I met Kes on my second visit just before the invasion. After the battle with the seekers, she offered Red Room's help to finish healing my injuries."

"Then what are you waiting for?" Kris said, getting up on her knees. "You should go right away. Tomorrow."

Grey knew she had a point. He was not a large male like so many new additions to the Tranquility population, though he was agile. His ability came from hard training, and having nearly been killed in combat, his body was still bruised and purple in places. His breath could grow short. He tired easily.

"Red Room doesn't work miracles, Kris. The treatments involve a form of prolonged sleep. It will take weeks to complete. Maybe longer."

"If that's what it takes, that's what it takes," Kris said. "Let's face it, you're not doing so great."

"I'm sorry you've been disappointed," he apologized.

"Hey, I'm not talking about that. We've had our moments, and we'll have more. Relationships aren't just about sex."

Grey nodded the nonverbal affirmative, though it was a subject beyond his experience.

"I can't leave now," he said. "The invaders... that is, our unwanted guests can't be evacuated yet. And the Northern Alliance could still attempt another invasion. With forty potential enemies inhabiting the community level, the risk is too great."

"Okay, I catch you," Kris said, laying back down. "But you'll go as soon as everything else is arranged, right?"

"Yes. I would like to get my strength back," he agreed.

Kris signaled for the lighting to subside and snuggled in his arms, pulling the covers close around them. Soon it was dark again, the sleeping chamber quiet.

"Grey, you took a special interest in me from the beginning," she whispered. "Even now, when there are lots of attractive women around, you don't show any interest in them."

"Ridiculous human," Grey whispered back. "None of those females are more attractive than you."

"I don't know. Lisa Scott is a beauty," Kris disagreed. "And Michiko is very cute. And Tamera sure turns a few heads, even though she's Nick's girlfriend."

"You do not need to feel insecure," he urged.

"I'm not insecure. It's just... I can't be the only woman you've ever dated. That's not fair to you. It's not fair to me."

"I'm not qualified to judge the comparative attributes you find so significant," Grey said. "You are courageous. You have a high level of competency. I used cable intercepts to follow your career for several years before your shuttlecraft came to Tranquility and always found you intriguing. The other females you speak of have many excellent qualities, but they don't impress me like you do."

"Moonman, I could get to love you," Kris sighed.

"Moonman is an inaccurate term. The moon has no..."

"... indigenous life forms," she said, finishing his oft repeated observation. "Good night, moonman, you need your sleep."

Wednesday, December 4, 2069

The inner sanctum of the Congress-In-Council was bathed in twilight as Senator Leroy Harrison Tyman contemplated the disaster. Through the window behind him, he could see the Capitol Building covered in the season's first snow, the cold Denver night not nearly so chilly as the mood in the conference room.

"I don't understand," Tyman complained. "The plan worked. Damn it, our commando squads took the defense computer offline. The moon was ours again."

"For three hours," Admiral Trolleni said.

"So, what happened? Who missed the net?" Tyman asked.

"It's just guesswork," Admiral Trolleni said. "When our fleet--"

"Three outdated cargo shuttles are not a fleet," Congresswoman Deena Kamar interrupted, an ambitious politician representing the Nationalist Party.

"When our task force entered lunar orbit," Trolleni continued, ignoring her tone, "Tranquility's defense computer ordered Neighbor down for inspection. Much as we anticipated. Mallo used the distraction to launch his surprise attack, broke their outer defenses, and deployed the sonic disrupter to interrupt the energy systems."

"Wasn't that the plan?" Tyman said.

"Apparently, while NA Starlight and RR Sharkov were positioning for the assault, Tranquility had ground crew robots pulling supplies off Neighbor, including five sentinel class seekers," Trolleni explained. "The seekers were being reprogrammed when the sonic disrupter was deployed, interrupting the download. As the colony's power came back up, the programming sequences were completed without command codes. This caused the seekers to turn against our own people."

"You let Waters get control of our seekers? Five heavily armed sentinel class seekers," Kamar asked, astounded by the implications. But Trolleni had no intention of being her scapegoat.

"No one had control," Admiral Trolleni insisted. "Without command codes, the seekers reverted to their basic programming."

"Which is what?" Tyman asked.

"Search and destroy. And from what we've heard, they were doing a damn fine job of it, too," General Smyth added, the Army Chief of Staff sitting at the end of the table.

Sitting near Senator Tyman was his inner circle. Congresswoman Kamar, middle-aged and aggressive. Defense Secretary Ross Kennedy, more of a bureaucrat than a leader. And Congressman Jeffrey Kim, the youngest of the group, with scrubby black hair and questioning black eyes. At the other end of the table, just as stunned by the mission's failure, sat their military advisors, including Admiral Carlos Trolleni, who had organized the expedition, and General Samuel Smyth, who had trained the crews.

"The seekers had our troops under siege for nearly a week before Waters finally knocked them down," Smyth added.

"One guy against five sentinel class seekers? That's not possible," Kamar insisted.

"How in the hell did he do it?" Kim asked.

"We may never know the whole story," General Smyth said. "Mallo is dead, along with a dozen members of his battalion. The forty survivors are being held hostage."

"Not all of the survivors are hostages," General James Vandebrown said, the last and most reluctant member of the military advisors. In his early 60s with gray hair and a bushy mustache, the decorations on his uniform indicated a long career of distinguished service.

"It doesn't matter who screwed the donkey or why," Kamar said. "Our control of the House is weakening and it's the military's overconfidence that got us into this clog. The Euros and Russians have bailed on our alliance, and now this moon kid looks like a hero."

General Vandebrown returned the suspicious glare coming from the politicians.

"What the world sees is a young man bravely holding an untenable position," General Vandebrown said, rising from his chair. "But holding it, nevertheless. And if not for that asinine assassination order you issued, I doubt so many members of our expeditionary force would be disobeying orders."

"Only a handful have actually defected," Kim said. "Not that we expected much from that Benedict Arnold son of yours."

"Roger may be a spy, but he's no traitor," Vandebrown angrily replied.

"He's become the Lunar Republic's foreign minister, hasn't he?" Kim sneered.

"It's just a ruse to win their trust. Once communications clear, we'll get the real story," Vandebrown rejoined.

"Speaking of the real story, do you have that vid everyone's talking about?" Tyman asked.

"Yeah, it's downloaded now," Kim said.

"Okay, let's take a look at what's got our media whips all strung up in why-nots," Tyman said, activating the vid globe set between the two groups.

As the holographic screen lit up, a documentary began to play, a biography broadcast from the moon just a few weeks before. The council members did not find the story encouraging, for there was no doubt that the shy young man the vid portrayed was not the cold-blooded killer the Council's propaganda ministers had portrayed him to be. Using years of surveillance tapes, the bio-vid showed an orphaned child growing up on an abandoned moon base controlled by a squabbling cabal of manipulative computers. Through battles and trials, the lunar orphan had endured hardships that even the council members found extraordinary, and in the end, he had courageously risked his life to rescue the soldiers sent to kill him.

"Well, goddamn, that's one hell of a poke," Kim grumbled under his breath when the program reached a poignant conclusion.

"No wonder our credibility's wobbling in the tubes," Kennedy agreed.

"Wobbling? Hell, Ross, this vid makes us look like triple braided butt-hairs," Kamar said. "Whose stupid idea was it to accuse this kid of murder?"

"I think it was your stupid idea, Deena," Kim said.

"It doesn't matter whose stupid idea it was. The question is how to reboot," Tyman insisted. "With the whole damn world licking up this dribble, we've got to slide smoothly."

"We're not getting another task force through the orbital paths, that's for sure," Admiral Trolleni advised. "The Russians and Euros are mad about the way we tricked them. We'll be lucky if they don't chop a separate deal and freeze us out."

"Fuck that! We didn't trick anyone, goddamn it!" Tyman shouted. "Those whiny shits wanted the moon back as much as we did."

"Yeah, no one twisted their arms," Kim said.

"Gloss it ivory if you want, gentlemen," Vandebrown said. "We never had any intention of sharing the moon. You know it, and now they know it."

"To hell with them," Tyman grunted. "We beat the Southern Alliance without their help, and we don't need the damn Euros or the goddamn Russians to reestablish our trade zones. What about this vid? The nets are breaking ranks, even bypassing the censor blocks."

"Our media department says it's too late," Kennedy answered. "Tranquility won't broadcast another program through our jamming, but there are too many copies of this one to suppress."

"It's not helping our position on the floor," Kamar added. "There's been demands for a committee of inquiry. The Free Traders put up another call for new elections, and the Canadian Greens are already fundraising."

"We can't schedule elections with our polls this low," Kim worried.

"You postponed the '62 elections because of the war, then the '66 elections to negotiate the peace treaty," Vandebrown said. "What excuse can you make now? Afraid Waters and his little band of lunar rebels will launch a counterattack? All ten of them?"

"Our problem is Waters," Tyman concluded. "Without him, there is no Lunar Republic. Without a Lunar Republic, there is no opposition. And with the moon's high ground strategic forces at our disposal, these annoying confrontations with the smaller alliances will come to an end."

"With our hegemony established, the voters won't dare turn us out," Kamar happily agreed.

"That's right," Tyman confirmed. "I don't care how we do it, but we've got to get rid of this kid once and for all."

"As long as we don't get blamed," Kennedy quickly added.

"Blamed for what, Ross?" Tyman said. "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about."

The politicians laughed, hesitantly joined by Admiral Trolleni and General Smyth. General Vandebrown didn't see the humor.

Thursday, December 5, 2069

"You're crazy," the Security Computer said, the MC4000's black signature patterns flashing across the monitor screen in high flux.

"It can be done," Grey said, sitting in the command chair with more nonchalance than he really felt.

The Security Computer appeared unconvinced.

"Not to underestimate your challenges, Governor," the Security Computer continued, using the title somewhat tentatively, "but getting yourself killed hardly qualifies as a master plan. If you're that anxious to die, armor up and come to the Loop. We'll settle a few old scores."

"Kicking your ass again would be fun, but the exercise would serve no useful purpose," Grey replied dryly.

"Kick my ass? You insolent runt!" the Security Computer responded.

"Monster," Grey said.

"Brat," Security replied.

Grey rocked back in the chair with a faint smile, relaxing for the first time in weeks. "It's nice to know some things haven't changed," he sighed.

The black signature patterns subsided to contemplation mode, the computer seemingly studying him with a variety of scanning functions.

"Having so many humans around must be stressful for you," the Security Computer finally speculated.

"Stressful is hardly the word for it," Grey said, annoyed by the computer's condescension. "You were right, having humans here at Tranquility is a mistake. We should send them home. All of them."

"My opinion was wrong," Security admitted. "To support our expanded operations, it's proven necessary to develop a broader organization. Your new planning committee is a promising beginning. Koltov, Blout, Davis, and the others have displayed outstanding loyalty."

"The planning committee doesn't understand the true purpose of this project," Grey complained. "None of them know why Thomas McKinsey really found the lunar revolution necessary. They think Tranquility is some sort of rallying point for a better future."

"Isn't it?" the Security Computer asked.

"Tranquility is a tool. Just like you," he said. "And just like me."

"What about Captain Fairfield? Do we send her home, too?" Security asked, ignoring Grey's cynicism.

"You enjoy making my life difficult, don't you?" Grey complained.

"Of course," the Security Computer agreed.

"Fine, let's add reprogramming the Security Computer to the list of priority projects," Grey said.

"That's not amusing," Security protested.

"Then stay with the issue," Grey demanded. "As long as the Northern Alliance restricts the orbital paths, we aren't going to get the repair equipment we need. They must be dealt with, but I can't focus on the humans while neglecting the Quexelian outpost."

"Doesn't your love of history tell you never to fight a two-front war?" the Security Computer asked.

"I never said it would be easy."

"What happens if you get killed before this brilliant plan is complete? Like you did the last time."

"I wasn't killed," Grey objected.

"Your life functions ceased to register on the operating table," Security insisted. "If not for that healing device Kes brought with her, you'd be in the morgue now."

"Every cause needs a martyr. If I don't survive, others will take my place."

"What others?" Security asked. "Who else has your authority or sense of purpose?"

Grey realized he had no answer to the Security Computer's challenge, and the lack of a solution bothered him as much as everything else seemed to bother him lately.

"I'll have Life Support develop a program," Grey said.

The black signature patterns swirled across the monitor screen in steady, confident waves, neither intimidated nor impressed.

"Do you have my triangulation report yet?" he asked.

"Negative. The scans don't correlate," Security answered.

"Explain."

"The trace signal from the last step-two variable phase reflected off Palus Somni," Security explained, signature patterns indicating confusion.

Grey paused for a moment, sharing the Security Computer's confusion, and then suddenly jolted upright in the chair.

"What's wrong?" Security asked.

"I've got a suspicion," he said, grasping for unknowable details.

"Care to share the information?"

Grey hesitated. Information was power in his experience. Especially exclusive information. Not something to dispense lightly.

"My hypothesis requires more data," he finally confessed. "When I put the reactor back online, we'll run another test to see if the anomaly reappears. Be prepared to run a verification scan. In the meantime, keep the data classified. This may not be a two-front war after all."

"Have we eliminated an enemy already?" Security asked.

"No, I think we've added a new one," he answered.

The Security Computer blinked a mystified acknowledgement just as the doors of the Governor's Quarters opened with a whoosh.

"Thank God you're here," Kris said, bouncing quickly into the room. "Tammy and I have been looking everywhere for you."

"I'm not everywhere. I'm here," Grey said, trying not to sound annoyed.

"Tey told us you passed through the quad without a bodyguard," Kris continued. "You've got to be more careful."

"The danger is minimal," Grey insisted.

"Sorry, lover, not good enough," Kris said. "Until you get better, you're in no shape to defend yourself and we both know it."

"If you get well at all," the Medical Computer suddenly interjected, white signature patterns appearing in the monitor screen flux without invitation. "You took an extra duty tour after being instructed not to, Governor. At this point, there's no option but to red tag your file."

"Red tag?" Grey protested. "No, it's not that bad, Medical. A yellow tag, maybe--"

"Red tagged. Red. Red. Red," the Medical Computer repeated with increasing emphasis. "No labor of any kind. Failure to comply will result in restriction to your quarters, or worse if necessary. In addition, I'm prescribing mandatory counseling at the earliest opportunity."

"The Governor has maintenance units to repair," the Security Computer objected.

"Your systems lack authority on this issue," the Medical Computer countered. "I don't tell you how to kill people. Don't tell me how to heal them."

"This isn't fair," Grey said.

"Fair is not the question. Your health is the question," Medical said. "Captain Fairfield, as chief security officer you are responsible for upholding legal directives. Your mandate is confirmed."

"Okay by me," Kris said, giving Grey a defiant stare.

Grey looked at the black signature patterns with an unspoken request. And an implied bribe easily comprehended by the computer. For, in the final analysis, it was force that was always the deciding factor.

"Sorry, Governor," Security said. "I must agree with Medical. Your death holds no value for me at this time."

"Fine enemy you are," Grey said, glaring at the monitor. When the black signature patterns failed to alter, he grunted and stormed out of the monitor room, disappearing through the study into the sleeping chamber.

"Governor Waters will not offer his cooperation freely," the Medical Computer informed Kris. "Nor will it be easy to confine him to quarters. You must convince him to accept the treatments Kes has offered."

"But what can I do?" Kris said. "Tey and I have been after him for weeks, but he won't listen."

"Do whatever you must," the Medical Computer said, the white signature patterns narrowing to a tightly gauged intensity before dropping offline.

"Gaining the Governor's cooperation will be a challenge," the Security Computer warned. "You may need to employ subterfuge."

"I guess you know him pretty well. Maybe even better than Life Support," Kris said.

"We have been adversaries for many years. It is important to know one's enemy," Security agreed.

"Are you still enemies?" Kris asked.

Rather than respond, the black signature patterns dropped from the flux.

Kris took a frustrated breath, then followed Grey into the sleeping chamber where she found him slumped on the bed.

"Come on, it's not that bad," she said. "Everything will look better in the morning."

"I'm tired of having humans underfoot," Grey said without looking up. "When the space lanes are clear, I'm ordering a complete evac. Larson's command. Colonel Kimura's. The planning committee. And you."

"But Grey--" Kris said, shocked by his sudden declaration.

"Be prepared to pack your bags, Captain Fairfield, I'm sending you home."

He crawled from the bed and bounced sluggishly toward the hygiene compartment without looking back, hoping she didn't see the moisture welling up in his eyes.

Friday, December 6, 2069

"He got away again," Tamera Kantanee reported, sitting down at the table next to her fiancé. Petite but vivacious, Tamera's big brown eyes shone with disappointment. Nicholas Koltov, big and burly with the beginnings of a red beard, slid close to put his arm around her.

"It is not your fault," Nicholas said. "He is a very tricky one."

"You do a good job of keeping an eye on him," Glenda Blout agreed, sitting at the table opposite them. Tall with broad shoulders and frizzy red hair, she was the only member of their group who had come to Tranquility as a soldier. "They don't call you his shadow for nothing. But let's face it, Grey can give us the wind any time he wants. This base doesn't have a shaft or crawl tube he doesn't know by heart."

"I still worry," Tamera said. "He isn't well. Not even as well as many think. I see him reach for strength that isn't there, even though he thinks I don't notice."

"Kes told Doctor Meriwether that he needs more treatments, but I do not understand what she meant," Nicholas said.

"No one ever knows what Kes means. Sometimes she's so mysterious, you'd think she was from another planet," Glenda laughed.

The community level cafeteria echoed with their conversation, the dozens of long tables and hundreds of chairs neatly organized but entirely empty. Tamera looked to one side where the food dispensers stood against the walls. Another area provided wide screen vid entertainment, though it had not been used in many years. Serving counters formed a waiting area where residents had once stood in line to get served. Tamera laughed. There was no waiting now.

Hugging Nicholas's arm, Tamera smiled at her comrades sitting around the table. All were in their early 20s. Glenda, reluctantly accepting new responsibilities. Ted Davis, tall and slender with intense brown eyes, worrying over the latest press notices. Michiko Hasegawa, the smallest of the group, and probably the smartest, reading another life science report. And Johnston Woo, husky and nervous, assisting with engineering duties while trying to figure out how everything worked. Most of the guests, especially the less welcome ones, ate their meals in the hotel restaurant or one of the small cafes lining the community level promenade. But when those who hoped to make Tranquility their home realized Grey took his meals in the cafeteria, they did, too.

A moment later, Doctor Meriwether arrived, having made it a habit to lunch with the younger people when other duties didn't require her attention.

"Hello, everyone," Tey said, her Scottish accent giving the greeting an extra bounce. Just over 40, Tey Meriwether was older than many of the lunar rebels. The youngsters quickly returned the greeting, Tey being the most popular of the uncommitted guests.

"Tey, we have a question for you," Nicholas said as the doctor was granted her honorary place at the head of the table. "Kes once said Grey needs more treatments. What did she mean?"

Tey shook her long auburn hair, just recently highlighted with more silver streaks, and brushed it back from her narrow face. The affection this group had developed for Grey intrigued her.

"After Grey died--" Tey started to explain. "Sorry, that should be, after his vital signs flatlined during surgery, Kris brought Kes in and they were able to revive him with that strange healing device. The same one that helped you, Ted, and healed Tammy's shoulder, and aided many others until the element gave out. Still, the chest wounds Grey received were severe. My guess is that Kes knows of an even more advanced device that can help him regain his strength."

"What could perform such a miracle?" Johnston asked. "I saw that red ray. It's nothing more than a tube attached to a crystal filament."

"And where did Kes come from?" Glenda asked. "She showed up out of nowhere. And that weird accent of hers."

"I have no answers for that," Tey said. "Kes won't discuss it, nor will Kris. If you even hint at the subject to Grey, he'll frown and walk away."

"He does that most of the time anyway," Johnston said, making everyone laugh.

"I know this sounds bizarre, but Kes is human, isn't she?" Ted asked.

The question caused a flutter of glances around the table, indicating he wasn't the only person wondering about the strange woman's origins.

"Without a doubt, Kes is as human as we are," Tey assured them, declining to elaborate on the DNA report that raised more questions than it answered.

"What are we going to do about Grey?" Glenda asked. "Why doesn't he finish the treatment Kes offered?"

"That is easy to know," Nicholas said. "We have thirty enemy soldiers in custody. And the Northern Alliance might attempt another invasion. Grey will not leave while so many dangers remain."

"Not everybody's a soldier, Nick," Ted said. "More than half are techs, just like me, Johnny, and Michiko. And the Euro contingent is giving plenty of cooperation."

"It is true we think the risk minor, but Grey does not," Nicholas said. "I do not think his upbringing has allowed for much trust."

"Then we've got to do something about it," Tamera said, jumping from her seat. "Grey helped us when we needed him most, now it's our turn to help him."

The entire group quickly agreed.

"But what can we do?" Johnston asked.

"Let's ask the Life Support Computer," Ted said. "It offered great suggestions while we were producing the biography of Grey's life."

"Life Support often talks to me, too," Michiko said. "Just this morning it offered to coordinate our schedules for us."

"It's been very helpful supervising the repairs," Johnston said.

"What will Kris say?" Nicholas asked, concerned the impromptu conspiracy was missing a principle member.

"Kris is getting so desperate, I bet she'll try anything," Glenda said. "I've heard he's so weak that he can't... you know... do it."

"Do it?" Nick questioned.

"Yes, Nick. Do it," Glenda emphasized.

"Where did you hear that?" Michiko asked.

"The Security Computer," Glenda replied. "It knows everything."

Half an hour later, everyone except Tey assembled in the community level communications department, the spacious room providing a variety of functions. Even off-planet contact, when access to the moon's satellite web wasn't restricted. The group gathered before the primary computer station as Ted summoned one of the higher function levels. Green signature patterns soon appeared, dominating the multi-colored flux of the monitor screen.

"This is quite a crowd," the Life Support Computer said. "Is it someone's birthday?"

"No, we have come for advice," Nicholas said.

"My systems are primarily environmental, but any assistance you require is gladly offered," Life Support assured them. "What's the problem?"

"Grey is ill. We think Kes can help him, but he won't cooperate," Tamera said.

"The answer to that question is obvious," Life Support said, green signature patterns swirling lazily.

"Obvious?" Glenda said. "How's that?"

"Grey is a creature of duty," Life Support explained. "He will not seek treatment if it means neglecting his official obligations. Therefore, the answer is to remove him from office."

"No!" Tamera shouted.

"We cannot do that," Nicholas agreed. "Even if we thought we should, how could such a thing be done?"

"The Lunar Republic is based on democratic principles," the Life Support Computer responded, the signature patterns increasing in intensity. "All officially registered citizens have a right to petition for an election. Other than yourselves, only Captain Fairfield and Major Vandebrown are registered with the Administration Computer. You easily have sufficient numbers to establish a majority."

"It would break his heart," Tamera said.

"But it might save his life," Ted speculated. "Look, none of us really want him removed from office, but if we can convince him that we're prepared to take the responsibility, maybe it would work."

"What do you think, Life Support?" Nicholas asked. "If we make Grey seek treatment, can we maintain the colony while he is gone?"

"Affirmative," Life Support said. "My systems shall develop the necessary protocols. With my help, everything will be under control."

* * * * * *

To be continued...