Tranquility in Darkness Pt. 03

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 computers. Now he has friends and a girlfriend, but also many enemies. More than he realizes.

A reminder, these are two stories. Governor Thomas McKinsey in 2046, and the lunar rebels in 2070 dealing with McKinsey's earlier actions. But the two stories will come together. This novel was written in the late 1990s with a romance angle but is still hardcore science fiction. All characters are over 18 years old. All rights reserved.

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Chapter 3

DARK JOURNEYS

Saturday, March 3rd, 2046

"Damn it, Tom! They got you, too?" Juniper Early said, jumping off the cold metallic floor. Husky with a shaggy brown beard turning gray, the prospector flexed his massive biceps as he reached to shake McKinsey's hand.

"Jup? What have you gotten us into this time?" McKinsey said.

Escorted back to what he thought would be the airlock and his walker, McKinsey had suddenly found himself alone in a maze of featureless corridors. That had been eight hours ago.

"Didn't do nothin'," Juniper said. "Felt that little quaker and started looking for blue spots. Suddenly the whole damn canyon kind of shimmered and went out of focus. Stopped my truck in the mouth of a cave and got to lookin' around. Next thing I knew, was stuck in a tunnel and couldn't get out."

"What did they say to you?" McKinsey asked.

"Who?" Juniper asked.

"Them. You know," McKinsey said.

"Ain't talked to no one since I left my truck, but I've got this feelin' like I'm being watched. Screamed bloody hell, but here I sit just the same."

"You must be hungry," McKinsey said. He saw Juniper's extra-large walker and tool bag stacked against the wall, but spacesuits rarely include a picnic lunch.

"Naw. Weirdest thing. Every few hours or so, a salad shows up. Just shows up. No waiter or even a noise. Some kind of weird juice, too. I swear, if those little snots from the tourist center are winding my stem, I'm kicking their goddamn fucking butts high-ground."

"I'm sure there's a good explanation for all of this," McKinsey hedged, having eaten several of the ghostly salads himself. "How about putting your walker on and getting out of here?"

"Can't say that too many times," Juniper said, letting McKinsey help him back into the bulky surface suit. "Hey, what happened to your walker? Don't tell me you've gone prospecting in your long johns?"

"It's becoming a long story," McKinsey said, checking Juniper's seals and seeing he still had several hours of oxygen left.

They turned to go back out the door where McKinsey had entered, but the door was no longer there.

"Damn it! I'm growing very impatient with this," McKinsey said in a loud voice. "Do you hear? Very impatient!"

"Satan's dick, Tom boy, you don't have to shout," Juniper complained.

McKinsey went to the wall, sure the missing door must be an illusion, but his hands felt substance. He didn't care. He pushed and pressed, sensing the wall was not quite so solid as it appeared, and suddenly he fell through, finding himself in another chamber entirely. He turned to wave Juniper on, but the room behind him had vanished.

"We're very sorry about this," a woman said.

McKinsey looked up to see Crystal standing alone in the middle of the chamber. He quickly jumped to his feet, adjusted the underlining so it wouldn't look so rumpled, and instinctively straightened his shoulders. Unlike many of the other chambers, this one was warmly lit, carpeted in a style he didn't recognize, and strewn with large pillows. The walls were decorated with scenes of exotic landscapes. Green rolling hills. Thick forests. Flowered pastures. Are these sleeping quarters? McKinsey wondered.

He looked at Crystal for clues to her thoughts. Now attired in a white linen dress with bare shoulders and a short skirt, McKinsey could not help thinking how attractive she looked. He guessed her to be in her mid-twenties, northern Mediterranean in origin. Greece? In another time and place, it would have taken little encouragement for him to make a move on her. Maybe I will anyway, he thought.

"Lord Stater has no wish to be cruel, but these times are difficult," the woman continued, a plea for understanding in her big blue eyes.

"We haven't been formally introduced," McKinsey said, approaching to shake hands. "I'm Dr. Thomas Sullivan McKinsey, Governor of the Moon."

"My name is Crystal of the Blue Waters, Guild of Geologists, Clan of Atelle," she responded with a bit of shyness. "We've heard much of you since our awakening. You are quite the pioneer."

"I had a dream and didn't let anything stop me," McKinsey said. "Twenty years later, I've built a city on the moon and whole industries devoted to progress and free trade. I'm happy to think I'll leave this world a better place than when I entered."

"A fine aspiration," Crystal said, sitting down among the cushions on a low platform.

McKinsey kneeled near her, noticing she smelled of a subtle perfume. They touched fingers briefly, McKinsey thinking her delicate hand seemed especially warm. Her eyes were filled with curiosity.

"I'm sure we can reach an understanding," McKinsey said. "Even though you've built this facility without permits, there are ways to circumvent the bureaucracy. As for your information gathering, I don't see the need for such a clandestine operation. There aren't that many secrets on the moon."

"Our secrets are not like yours," she said.

"Enlighten me," McKinsey questioned.

"You shouldn't be here," Crystal warned, dropping her eyes.

"It hardly matters if I'm to be thrown off a cliff," McKinsey said lightly enough not to put her on guard. "You've gone to a great deal of trouble building this facility, and how you did it without my Defense Computer knowing is amazing. This isn't Russian or Southern Alliance technology, so you must be working independently. Is your equipment Japanese? Australian Federation?"

"Farther away than that," she replied. "Quexitor tells us you're quite respected among your people. A man of peace, but practical in how your principles are applied."

"No secret there," McKinsey said, wondering how his reputation had eluded her. "And just what is this Quexitor? My MC Thousand systems are among the most advanced computers anywhere. Is Quexitor based on one of my patents?"

"No, I'm sure Quexitor is different than what you're accustomed to," Crystal said, looking into McKinsey's strong green eyes. His gaze never wavered, causing her to blush.

"What are you doing here?" McKinsey asked.

"We are observers," Crystal said.

"No, I mean, what are you doing here. In this room. With me," he pursued.

"You intrigue me," Crystal confessed. "The men I know are not so... flamboyant. I would like to help you if I can."

McKinsey smiled, and without asking, took hold of her shoulders and drew her forward for a kiss. He quickly let go and saw that Crystal was surprised. More than surprised. She slid backward and jumped up.

"Sorry, didn't mean to offend you," McKinsey said, rising slowly. "But you're a beautiful woman. This can't be the first time someone's stolen a kiss."

Saying nothing, Crystal turned and fled through an opening that seemed to appear by magic. McKinsey knew he would see her again, probably soon, then turned to discover his flirtation had been witnessed.

"Your biography does say you're a bit of a scoundrel," Kes said, her expression amused. Dressed in a long white robe, she stood a touch taller than Crystal and held her head higher. "Too bad you waste so much charm on someone who can't appreciate it."

"Jealous?" McKinsey asked.

"My, aren't you sophisticated. As you're fond of formal introductions, allow me to say I am Kes of the Low Valley, Guild of Astronomers, Clan of Atelle. If you're through trying to seduce my sister, perhaps we can talk."

McKinsey liked this woman. Bold and straightforward, with an air of mystery. His interest quickly ran through the spectrum of possibilities.

"You are a dog," Kes laughed. "Though I fear you may need to lower your expectations."

"I've built my career on public relations. Liking people and getting them to like me is an essential quality of my profession," McKinsey confessed.

"You won't find my sister much of a challenge, I'm afraid. Nor will you keep her interest long," Kes warned.

Kes entered the room, sat down on a pillow, and produced a basket of food.

"We shall break bread, share a vessel of wine, and speak of what must be done," Kes said, indicating for McKinsey to sit.

"Is someone finally going to tell me what this is all about?" McKinsey asked.

"Some of it," Kes said, passing him a bowl of green leaves mixed with vegetables, then pouring him a cup of wine in a delicate glass goblet.

"Why not all of it?"

"You wouldn't understand all of it, and you won't like much of what you will understand."

"More riddles? Are you sure this isn't one of those psych cells I've heard the Ostat operate?" he questioned.

"We are observers from another culture," Kes replied, ignoring his attempt at humor. "Our culture is threatened by a terrible enemy. An enemy that may someday threaten your culture. If our presence here were known, we would be investigated. Scrutiny of this sort is unacceptable. Our administrator is supposed to protect our secrecy through the use of a shroud, but a technical error allowed your friend to discover our location. You followed him before the error could be corrected. Now we have two problems that would normally call for only one solution, but your prominence makes that solution very delicate. Do you understand me so far?"

"Almost all of it," McKinsey said.

"Lord Stater hasn't made a decision, nor has Quexitor provided insight into the problem," she continued. "Loam would have you killed. Crystal disagrees."

"And you?" McKinsey asked.

"I want what's best for my people," Kes answered.

"I have no wish to harm your people," he insisted. "What can I do to prove it?"

"What you wish is unimportant," Kes said. "The protection of our people is not your responsibility. We will do what must be done."

"Perhaps I can speak with your leaders?" he suggested. "I've worked with popes, premiers, and presidents. It's often possible to reach accommodations based on mutual interest."

"That won't be possible," Kes said, sipping her wine.

"And why won't it be possible?" McKinsey asked.

"Because our leaders live many light years away, in a solar system my sister and I left long ago," Kes answered, looking him directly in the eye.

"My God, Mikel was right," McKinsey whispered.

"Mikel?" Kes asked.

"Professor Mikel Strenskovy," McKinsey explained. "An old friend. He once theorized that intelligent alien life was living in the Vega star group and possibly coming in our direction. When his evidence didn't pan out, everyone thought he was a crackpot. Even I've had my doubts."

"We are not from the Vega star system, and strictly speaking, we are not aliens," Kes replied.

"But you said--"

"I said our leaders live many light years away, but not in the direction of Vega. And though I was born on another world, my ancestors were not. They immigrated from an island in your Aegean Sea twenty-three hundred years ago."

"I guess I'm confused after all," McKinsey admitted. "If you're not from Vega, and not even aliens, then what's this all about?"

"It's about sacrificing one world in order to save another," Kes said. "And the world that may be sacrificed is yours."

Friday, December 20, 2069

"You tried this once before, Billy, all it got you was a punch in the mouth," Trooper Leesberg said, pushing her stool back from the bar.

Above her, the Lucky Clover sign was blinking, indicating the six-hour night cycle would soon begin. Most of the nightclub crowd had already left for the hotel, leaving a handful of Northern Alliance soldiers behind to finish their drinks.

"I never got to try it, Shell," Trooper Dawson said. "Just before Waters came by, I explained my plan to those Benedict Arnolds. How was I to know they'd switched sides?"

"Glenda and Nick hadn't changed sides yet," Leesberg said. "Waters saved their lives. They were grateful. Then you said, hey, let's jump the runt and wring his neck. What did you expect?"

"It's still a good plan," Dawson said. "Waters keeps his holster latched whenever he's on the community level. If the two of you distract him, I'll take the punk down. That shadow bitch won't help him much."

"What does Colonel Larson think?" Captain Wyman asked.

"This should be need to know only. You know, give Larson plausible deniability," Dawson suggested.

"What we should do is ask for orders," Wyman insisted. "Run your idea past Larson, but keep it tight."

"Thanks, Captain," Dawson said, downing the last of his beer before running off.

The Lucky Clover sign blinked a final time, indicating the saloon was now closed. All lighting throughout the community level began to dim.

"What do you really think?" Leesberg asked as they walked across the promenade toward the hotel, passing the quiet retail shops.

"I don't know, Shelley," Wyman said. "Waters does seem careless, and he's weak as a puppy since that battle with the seekers."

"If we jump him, does it mean we have to kill him?" Leesberg asked.

"I don't know that either," Wyman said. "Is it a problem?"

"I'll do my duty," Leesberg said, her tone hard.

"Famous last words?" Wyman asked, stopping in the hotel lobby in front of the St. Petersburg poster.

"What do you mean?" Leesberg asked.

"It was on that vid we saw. When the Russian expedition was planning to take Waters off-guard, Colonel Koltov asked Catarina if she could carry out her part of the deception. Kantanee said she'd do her duty."

"And all four of them died. What's your point?" Leesberg asked.

"I hope Larson laughs in Dawson's face," Wyman said.

____________

For the third week in a row, Grey slipped away from the observation of his shadow, escaped the community level without notice, and made his way up CA-3 to the Loop, up CA-1 to 100W, and entered landing bay minor from the easily accessed pedestrian airlock. The smaller bay was busy with preflight preparations on the cargo shuttle C-6 Toppas.

Grey crossed through the middle of the landing bay, pausing to check on the ground crew units, then went up the ramp to the hospitality complex located between the two bays, entering Kelly's Saloon, once the most notorious gathering place of smugglers and industrial spies in the solar system. The bar, decorated with pictures of famous pilots and antique aircraft, still held a ghostly presence of its past, especially the area near the piano where the pilots would sing their rowdy off-color songs. Tonight, only one person sat at the piano, softly tapping out an old Irish tune on the tired keys.

"Greetings, Colonel," Grey said, entering with his sidearm securely holstered.

"Yes, hello, Governor Waters," Colonel Wes Larson said, rising to shake his hand. "I look forward to these clandestine meetings of ours."

"The diversion is enjoyable," Grey agreed, taking a seat in a small booth under a photograph of Yuri Gagarin. The bounce up from the community level, though not especially difficult, had left him winded. Larson noticed but was discreet enough not to mention it.

"Thanks again for your confidence. Were the situation reversed, I don't think I'd trust your parole as you've trusted mine."

"Most wise," Grey said, taking a bottle and two whisky glasses from his carrying pack.

"What have you got for us tonight? Mormon Scotch? And fifty years old," Larson observed, inspecting the bottle and pouring them each a drink. "My boy, there may be a lot of things you don't know about, but hospitality isn't one of them. A toast."

"And what do we salute tonight?" Grey asked, studying the old veteran.

Larson smiled and endured the inspection well, for there was no suspicion in Grey's expression. No resentment. Only the curiosity of a young soldier.

"The first time we snuck off for one of these meetings, we toasted the stand down," Larson said. "Last week, we welcomed our increasing dialogue. What do you think is appropriate?"

Now it was Larson's turn to study Grey. The intelligent gaze. The modest awkwardness. Larson couldn't help feeling a growing admiration and wasn't fooled by Grey's casual demeanor. He knew Grey valued the bond they were forging as much as he did.

"To new opportunities," Grey said, raising his glass. The scotch had a hardy flavor.

"Marvelous," Larson exclaimed, finishing his glass quickly and pouring another. He was surprised to see Grey gulp his down and hold out his glass for a second round. He didn't seem like the hard drinking type.

"And what new opportunities are we discussing?" Larson asked.

"That depends on you, sir," Grey said, getting up and walking toward the rear of the bar.

Larson wasn't surprised to see Grey getting out the box of darts. Ever since Larson had suggested playing at their first meeting, Grey had seemed interested in the game. He handed Larson the blue darts and kept the red ones for himself.

"My Administration Computer is preparing a list of immigrants to support Tranquility's future operations," Grey continued. "The roster primarily consists of personnel from the Commonwealth and Russia. Eventually, other alliances may be invited as well. I don't wish to see the Northern Alliance excluded from such a promising enterprise."

"Nor do I," Larson said, pleased by Grey's attitude.

"By scheduling me for termination, your Congress-In-Council has made it difficult for my opinions to prevail," Grey explained. "Tranquility's computers and the planning committee believe me too naïve to comprehend the risks."

Grey raised his arm to throw a dart, paused as Larson helped correct the angle of his elbow, then tossed it close to the bull's eye. Larson threw next, striking just a little closer.

"Thanks for not holding a grudge," Larson said.

"A grudge?" Grey asked.

"Not holding what we did against us. We were only doing our duty," Larson explained. Grey nodded as he had seen many humans do.

"As I understand your command structure, the Congress-In-Council issues the policies that your military must execute. If there's a grudge to be held, then certainly the political leadership should bear that responsibility," Grey surmised.

"Nevertheless, I find your lack of animosity generous," Larson responded. "As anxious as I am to get my command home, I wouldn't have missed these last six weeks for anything."

"If your government agrees to our revised terms, Toppas might be flight ready sooner than expected," Grey hinted.

"The Council is reluctant to appear weak," Larson reminded him.

"I don't believe that requesting the supplies we originally agreed upon is unreasonable compensation. It will take years to repair the damage your forces caused to this facility. Such an exchange could also lay the groundwork for future dialogue."

Larson paused, noticing Grey's last dart had struck the bull's eye.

"You've picked up on this game fast," Larson observed.

Grey poured each of them another drink, then sat on one of the tall stools at the bar.

"I've noticed that in your society, soldiers begin their training in young adulthood," Grey recalled. "Those who have talent and capable instructors survive to new challenges. The best even get a chance to participate in the Black Sash games. I became a soldier when I was nine years old. My instructor was a computer. Many of the exercises were live fire. If I'd lacked the ability to learn quickly, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Larson took the stool next to him and finished his drink slowly, just beginning to guess where Grey was going.

"The Congress-In-Council has staked an interest in retaking the moon," Larson said. "Negotiating a trade agreement will be difficult."

"That's what my advisors keep telling me," Grey agreed. "But priorities change. And where there is change, there is opportunity."

Grey sipped his drink and looked at Larson nonchalantly.

"By the way, I've transmitted a message to your superiors indicating the insult I feel at being forced to negotiate local issues with a mere colonel," he revealed.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Larson responded, surprised rather than angry. Such a sentiment seemed out of character.

"No reason to be sorry," Grey said, swirling the whiskey in his glass to see the colors change. "Your superiors have agreed to raise your rank to brigadier general. The promotion will be coming through tomorrow."

For a moment, Larson was speechless. He watched Grey continue to play with his whisky and take another sip as if he was entirely indifferent to the situation. Larson wasn't fooled.

"Do you know why they never gave me a star before?" Larson asked.

"Something about questioning orders," Grey said. "I understand General Mallo liked that about you. Valued someone who would point out alternatives for him."

"Grey, you may think they did this to please you, but I'm afraid it's more complicated than that," Larson hinted.

"They did not do this to please me," Grey said. "It's a message that they expect you to carry out the assassination order. What you humans call an incentive."

"Then why did you--"

"General Larson, your superiors have their agenda, I have mine. Either way, you now have the rank to which you are rightfully entitled. By the way, the Commonwealth has agreed to make Major Kimura a colonel."

Grey finished his drink and freshened Larson's glass.

"I suppose I should thank you," Larson said, wondering if he would ever understand the strange code by which the young governor conducted himself.

"Expressions of gratitude are uncalled for. But if you wish to show appreciation, can you play another ballad on the piano?"

"My pleasure," Larson agreed, quickly going to the grand piano in the corner as Grey followed with the bottle of scotch.

"And what would you like to hear?" Larson asked, stretching his fingers.

"Do you know the Warrior's Song?" Grey inquired. "J.T. Recht?"

"Of course. It was all the pop when I was a greenie at West Point," Larson said, playing the first few bars. Suddenly Grey started chanting the words, softly and not very well, but with reverence. Larson added his own deep voice, singing;

"In tradition true the warrior stands,

Honor has but one command,

Of Viking ax and Zulu spears,

Armored knights and Cavaliers,

Valor fighting through the years,

In this we find our story.

Fire fights and high command,

Bombardiers and one last stands,

Duty, country, family, faith,

The sacrifice we all must face,

To destiny we cast our fate,

In everlasting glory!"

Larson laughed and turned to see Grey smiling. Suddenly it occurred to him that it was the first time he'd ever seen Grey truly enjoying himself.

"I know quite a few ballads. Like to try another?" Larson asked.

"Yes, sir, I would like that," Grey agreed.

Saturday, December 21, 2069

Three tired workers in jeans and overalls finished planting the large plot. Above them, the biosphere stretched from fruit orchards on the east end of a hill down a gradual slope to the water reclamation pits two hundred yards away. Movable panels in the domed ceiling controlled how much light reached the gardens. Thousands of stars flickered through the thick transparent shielding.

"I wish those robots were more help," Michiko complained, shaking mud off her boots.

"Their tracks clog when the soil is damp," Kris explained.

"No, that's not it. They just don't want to get dirty," Lisa disagreed, throwing her rake on the tool cart. "Aren't there more efficient ways of growing food?"

"The hydroponic farms on the lower deck do okay," Kris said. "Grey cannibalized most of the biosphere robots for spare parts over the years. And I think he likes doing this himself."

"Why?" Lisa asked. "Let's face it, farming was fun the first few times. Now it's just a lot of work."

"That's not so hard to figure," Michiko said. "This moonbase is all tech. Machines, equipment, computers. Grey can come out here where there's life. Flowers in the Hexagon Tower. Trees at the top of the hill. Crops that need to be nurtured and harvested. He can be a person here, not another one of the colony robots."

"When Grey was growing up, the computers treated him like their slave," Kris recalled. "Assigning him repair duties. Long maintenance schedules. Scrubbing out clogged channels. After my sister and the others left last August, I had a hard time getting him to lighten up."

"Except for the Russian Expedition, he had never met other people before you arrived?" Lisa asked.

"None. And the Russians were only here a few days before it all went south," Kris explained. "And even when New Ranger first arrived, he didn't want to meet us. He wore that strange bulky walker and pretended to be a robot guarding the base."

"A robot?" Lisa said.

"That's weird," Michiko said. "What got him to change his mind?"

"There was a fight, and he got hurt," Kris answered. "I found him bleeding on the floor of the Governor's Quarters reciting poetry."

"Okay, that's extra weird," Michiko added with a laugh. "It does explain why he's so strange at times."

"He's coming around. When he tries," Kris said. "I'll feel better when our unwanted guests are gone. He needs the treatments Kes promised."

"Too bad that red ray thing gave out," Lisa sighed. "Where did Kes get it? And where did you find her?"

"Sorry, guys, I can't really talk about that. Not yet," Kris apologized.

Having completed their checklist, the women pushed the tool cart back up the slope toward the barn, passing a corn crop, wheat, oats, potatoes, and barley. The biosphere looked longer than two football fields and twice as wide. The harsh lunar landscape was visible through the reinforced windows.

"Take a swim?" Kris asked.

"That would be fun," Michiko agreed.

After cleaning their tools, they walked down a spiral rock ramp and briefly paused to study the hydroponics deck.

"I'm getting hungry," Lisa said, seeing tomatoes, broccoli, strawberries, and a huge rice paddy.

"We have a lot of folks to feed, that's for sure," Kris sighed. "Even in the old days when Tranquility had a full staff, they still imported most of their food. That's why the warehouses are so full of frozen packages."

"Which are old and terrible," Lisa said, wrinkling her nose.

"Grey likes them," Michiko mentioned.

"Grey likes quite a few things you really don't want to eat," Kris warned.

"Well, good food is life. We'll just need to educate him, won't we?" Michiko insisted. Her small round face lit up with a smile, her dark eyes twinkling. Kris couldn't dismiss how cute she was, and wondered if Grey had noticed.

They descended another level to the Cove, a giant reservoir with waterfalls, picnic tables, and swampy plants growing along the embankment.

"This is so gorgeous," Lisa said, stripping down to nothing and jumping in. The other women followed, skinny-dipping in the cool water. The temperature seemed perfect, the pool kept blue by regulated filters and solar radiation.

"This is where Grey brought the fish, isn't it?" Lisa asked. "I saw it in the bio-vid."

"Yes. The first living creature he ever saw," Kris remembered. "He was nine years old and discovered the fish in the research lab. When he learned it was scheduled for termination, he launched a midnight raid to save it. The computers were very unhappy with him. He was taken to the medical center and harshly examined until the Medical Computer discovered he'd used proper safety protocols. Here in the Cove, the fish was safe. They stayed friends for years until it finally passed away."

"Rescuing is kind of what he does, isn't it?" Lisa said. "The fish. You and your shipmates. Us."

"He has an exaggerated sense of responsibility, that's for sure," Kris agreed.

"Thank God for that," Michiko said.

____________

Kes finished her observations and put the sensor array back on automatic. Though she found Tranquility's Southside Observatory an excellent facility, the moon's North Pole Observatory would have served her needs better. Still, there were worse places for an astronomer to be than Tranquility.

Descending the observatory's steep corridor, Kes left the rugged eastern ridge of Vitruvius for the main access tunnel two hundred meters below the lunar surface. The lower hatch to 100E was easily reached, and she paused to enjoy the long, cool tunnel that connected the colony proper to the biosphere where much of the population's food was grown.

"Look! It's Kes!" she heard a voice shout.

Kes turned to see Lisa, Michiko, and Kris coming from the direction of the biosphere, the young women looking jaunty in their damp farming outfits. Lisa was guiding a motorized cart filled with fresh vegetables.

"Good morning, my dears," Kes said. "Bringing in a bountiful crop?"

"Trying to," Michiko said.

"It's not easy, not even with the help of the farming robots," Lisa complained.

"Grey seems to do well," Kes observed, trying not to sound critical.

"Grey only had one person to feed," Michiko mentioned. "We have fifty."

"It's going to be okay. We just need more patience," Kris quickly added.

"I am sure you shall prevail," Kes smiled.

"You're funny," Michiko said. "Where did you say you're from?"

Everyone laughed because they knew Kes wouldn't answer the question.

"I'll catch up, guys," Kris said, letting Lisa and Michiko move on.

"Are we getting confidential again, dear heart?" Kes asked, taking Kris by the elbow.

"Nothing too personal," Kris said, hoping to match Kes's carefree tone. "I'm not going to ask how old you are or anything like that."

"Just as well. It would be a difficult question to answer," Kes said. "Still worried about Grey?"

"Yeah. Are you sure you can cure him with that red room thing?"

"His condition may be mended," Kes confirmed. "Try not to worry so, my beloved. Grey will seek treatment when he finds it necessary. He comes of a resilient lineage."

"Beloved?" Kris questioned.

"Our cultures are different in many ways but similar in ways that are significant," she answered. "Grey is my sister's son. If you mate someday, and I believe you will, your children will be my great nieces and nephews. That is a sacred bond in my society. That will make us family."

"What was Grey's mother like?" Kris asked.

"Crystal? Oh, she could be quite headstrong. Perhaps not in the same manner that your Grey is. Our cultures are much different, you understand. You might have liked her."

"I'm sure I would have, if she was anything like you," Kris said.

Kes laughed in her soft, mysterious way. "Crystal and I differed in nearly everything, except our devotion to duty. My family has a heritage of noble service. A heritage we would gladly die to preserve."

"Dying for a cause isn't so hard," Kris responded. "I knew some real kamikazes on the USS Independence during the Arabian Excursion. My boyfriend was one of them, until he died trying one stunt too many. I think it's more important to know what you'd live for."

"What do you mean, dear?" Kes asked.

"Nothing. Never mind," Kris said, watching for her reaction. The older woman remained calm, but her face betrayed a rare trace of curiosity. "The moment we get rid of our unwanted visitors, I want Grey on his way. No delays, no excuses. And afterwards, I want him back."

Kes smiled, pulled Kris a little closer, and quickened their pace toward the research level.

____________

Grey bounced up the ramp to the second floor of the community level, paused briefly to look down into the amphitheater dominating the east end of the cavern, then reluctantly turned into the medical center.

"Governor Waters, what a surprise," the Medical Computer greeted from the reception desk terminal.

"Have I ever been late for an appointment?" Grey asked.

"As a rule, you're very punctual," the Medical Computer observed.

"Then stop complaining," he said. "I'm here to get the red tag off my file, not listen to your sarcasm."

A young, dark-haired woman wearing a doctor's frock emerged from the rear corridor.

"Hello, Governor," she greeted.

"Hello, Dr. Gately," Grey said, his voice cautious.

"Charleen," she said with a hint. "Remember? My name is Charleen."

"Of course," he acknowledged, glancing away from the Medical Computer's impertinent white signature patterns to follow Gately down the hall.

"I've applied for a visa," Charleen said, pausing in the hallway. "I wouldn't want to give up my Euro citizenship, but it would be nice to stay here at Tranquility for a year or two. What are my chances?"

"Immigration issues are yet to be decided," Grey said, suddenly finding himself backed against the wall.

"But you'll use your influence for me, won't you?" she asked, hemming him in.

"Your skills are adequate," Grey confirmed. A moment later, a door opened down the hall. Dr. Meriwether emerged from her temporary office.

"See you later, sir," Charleen hinted.

"Grey, pleased you could make it," Tey greeted, guiding him to a chair in her sitting room.

"I don't recall having a choice," he said.

"You're long overdue for a session on my couch," she answered.

Grey looked around the large office filled with antique medical charts and old-fashioned books, but he did not see a couch. Afraid to inquire further, he let the subject drop.

"For the record, this is my first session with Grey Waters, 21 December, 2069," Tey said, activating her journal recorder. "Though Doctor Gately is better qualified to perform these evaluations, I'm conducting this preliminary review based on my personal relationship with the subject. Is this arrangement acceptable, Grey?"

"Do I have to tell the truth?" Grey asked.

"I realize you're reluctant to cooperate," she assured him. "Are you ready?"

"I don't hate my father or my mother," Grey said. "I only use drugs on prescription, have an adequate sex life when health permits, and I've learned to interact with a wide variety of humans despite their annoying personality quirks. Can I leave now?"

"We do seem to have covered a lot of ground," Tey said with a laugh. "But since we have some time left, maybe we can just talk."

"About what?" he asked.

"Well, is it true you've been depressed lately?"

"Compared to what?"

"Okay, without a case history, I suppose you have a point," she conceded. "You and Kris seem to be doing well?"

"As well as can be expected."

"And you have several close friends. Nicholas, Glenda, Michiko," she continued. "And Tammy, of course."

"I have several comrades with mutual interests. I wouldn't go so far as to call them friends," Grey said, unsure what she was seeking.

"Do you think you'll ever make any friends?"

"No," he quickly responded.

"Why is that?" Tey asked.

"I lack the necessary programming. I've been trained by machines. I think like a machine. My only goal is to perform my function. Everything else is irrelevant."

"Is that why you have a death wish?" Tey asked.

"I have no such wish," he quietly objected, turning to look out the window. Down in the retail district, he watched a number of humans looking in the big display windows as they shopped for clothing. Several of them were laughing. They looked happy.

"You were seventeen when you met people for the first time. How did you feel about that?" Tey asked.

"Frightened," he said.

"And when they died?"

"Angry."

"Are you still angry?"

"There's nothing I can do about it, so what does it matter?"

"Anything that affects our thoughts and emotions matters," Tey explained.

"Yes, I'm still angry," he said.

"These last six months have been busy for you," Tey continued without pause. "In July, when New Ranger arrived, you met Kris, Valerie, Michael Zopek, and Major Vandebrown."

"And allowed Laureen McKinsey to be murdered."

"That's not what the security vids show," Tey said.

Grey glanced away. Tey sensed he wasn't embellishing the facts.

"Then in November, the Northan Alliance launched a surprise attack," Tey said.

"You should know," Grey rebuked.

"How do you feel about that?" Tey persisted.

"How do I feel about a dozen soldiers dying needlessly? About letting Kris be captured? How do you think I feel about it?" Grey said, pushing out of the chair.

"You saved fifty lives at the risk of your own. Certainly, that counts for something?"

"The episode has been exaggerated," he protested, resuming his seat.

"Listen to me, young man," Tey said, barely holding her temper. "I was in the trauma room looking at the holes in your chest. Watching the robots desperately trying to keep you alive. And I saw your readings flatline. Don't tell me it's an exaggeration."

"Is that why you humans claim to be my friends? Because you owe me something?" Grey said, looking out the window. "You don't. Nobody owes me anything."

"People tend to idolize their heroes, Grey."

"It doesn't grant anyone proprietary rights."

"Of course not, but isn't your prominent status a reality you'll need to deal with?"

"I've spent my whole life fighting for freedom. I won't give up now," Grey said. "Not to the computers, and certainly not to ridiculous humans."

"Is that what's troubling you? Losing the freedom you've fought so hard for?"

"I haven't won anything yet," he answered.

"What is it you hope to win?" Tey asked.

Grey mumbled a response.

"Dark shadow, bright hopes;

In mystery do we strive.

Heaven's gate is but a pause;

The spirit never dies."

Tey paused to observe him closely. Whatever was troubling him still eluded her, but she realized it wasn't his interaction with other people as she'd originally suspected.

"I guess that's enough for today, but I think we should talk again soon," she advised.

Grey quickly jumped up, heading out the door with a relieved bounce.

"Journal report," Tey said the moment he was gone. "The subject displays a sophisticated façade, presenting minor grievances to mask his true thoughts. Despite his protests to think like a computer, he's capable of great compassion. And great recklessness. Recommend continued observation."

Tey glanced over her notes with a sigh, then added them to the files she'd been compiling for the last six weeks.

____________

Later that afternoon, Grey took the long elevator ride up to the communications center near the crest of Tranquility Ridge. Though no longer state-of-the-art, he knew the facility had once connected the lunar satellite web with a vast ring of satellites orbiting Earth. Earth's satellites were mostly gone now, destroyed in the war. And from what Grey had learned, the new webs being established by the alliances were designed to prevent their populations from receiving uncensored broadcasts.

Someday Tranquility is going to change that, he thought.

From the elevator lobby, Grey bounced into a short hallway accessing the main complex, then paused on a balcony overlooking the spacious working area. In the past, he would have made a daring leap to the ground floor, but today he was forced to walk down the ramp instead.

Bypassing a spectacular holographic map of Earth and its orbital paths dominating the center floor area, he wandered through several individual workstations until discovering Major Vandebrown sitting at the master com console.

"Good afternoon, Uncle Roger," Grey said, joining him near a large window overlooking Mare Tranquillitatis.

Far below them, many of the colony's surface structures could be seen, as well as the network of roads connecting Tranquility to various mining stations to the south and west. The industrial outposts were closed now. Had been for twenty years. That's going to change, too, Grey thought.

Roger's face lit up, as it always did when Grey acknowledged their family relationship.

"Hi, Grey," Roger said, rising to shake his hand. "I've been following up on your suggestion about going straight to High Command with our requests. I think it's going to work."

"It's become necessary to accelerate the process," Grey said. "Offer concessions on the supplies. Most of the repair equipment we need can be bought from the Australians or Japanese once the orbital paths are cleared."

"I'll contact Smyth and glide a new proposal by him," Roger said, curious about the sudden change in strategy.

Grey went to the windows overlooking the northern plains of Mare Tranquillitatis, peering down at the shadowed surface now bathed in lunar night. Roger noticed he seemed particularly subdued.

"Do I owe you an apology?" Grey asked.

"For what?"

"Letting the humans think you're playing a double game. Kris seems to think our arrangement is dishonorable," he explained.

"Grey, this whole plan was my idea," Roger said. "We've got to go downfield with the NA or Tranquility won't survive. The world will respond to a hero, and that's you. It's got to be. That means someone has to trample the foul lines, and that's me. I'm born for the role. But if the politicians ever learn you're my nephew, they won't believe anything I say."

"I may not be qualified to judge, but the way some of the guests have treated you doesn't strike me as friendly," Grey said.

Roger was surprised he had noticed. He never seemed to notice anything beyond his maintenance projects.

"No, son, you don't owe me any apologies," Roger said, coming up next to him at the window. "I'm just about as happy now as I've been in my whole life."

"Just about?" Grey asked.

"Just about," Roger said, declining to elaborate.

"Inform General Smyth that we're prepared to keep our arrangements confidential," Grey advised. "And let's avoid discussing details with the planning committee. Not until we know if the approach will be successful."

"Sure, of course," Roger said, studying Grey for clues. As usual, the youngster was hard to read. Raised in such strange conditions, the boy often didn't react as expected. And from what Roger had gleaned, Grey may have practiced misleading expressions over the years to fool his computer masters.

"Are you going to the funerals tomorrow?" Roger asked.

"I have more important duties," Grey said.

"Kris and Koltov think you're angry about emptying the morgue, but it's been years since most of those people died. It's time to bring closure to the families," Roger suggested.

"I understand the necessity of the process," Grey said, his expression sad. "Angry is not the correct term, but it suits my purposes to have them believe me resentful."

"Suits your purposes? Is that why Kris has been so upset lately? You guys aren't having problems, are you?"

Grey looked at Roger's mystified expression, wondering how much he could confide. Trust was not something he had learned from the computers.

"There's a difficult situation that requires investigation, and it may be best if my true motives remain obscure," Grey finally confessed.

"You're going on a dangerous mission, and you don't want anyone interfering," Roger summarized, much to Grey's surprise. "Grey, I'm in the dirty blanket business, remember? I read this like a scorecard."

"This conversation must be kept in confidence," Grey said, unhappy to be so transparent.

"Of course," Roger agreed. Grey took a deep breath.

"Kris is upset because I've told her she's being sent back to Earth along with everyone else when the space lanes clear," he explained.

"Everybody? Grey, I'm sorry to tell you this, but events have evolved beyond a point where you can send everyone home. Tranquility is reopened now whether you accept it or not."

"I'm aware of that," Grey acknowledged. "It's been my intention all along to set Tranquility on a stable path. In this respect, the planning committee has exceeded my most hopeful expectations."

"Okay, I'm completely lost," Roger said, throwing up his hands.

"I would rather this isn't repeated," Grey warned.

"Grey, we're not just friends. We're family," Roger said. "I loved my brother. Jaime was brave, principled, and always wanted the best for everyone. I know you're still learning what that means, but trust me when I say obligations are understood."

Grey sighed again. Clearly this was difficult for him.

"I've been growing fond of these humans, especially Kris," Grey said, his voice trembling ever so slightly. "The emotions impair my efficiency. When I'm forced to confront the coming situation, I can't allow any distractions. It would be best if Kris finds someone else... that is, if the planning committee looks elsewhere for leadership."

"Do you have a plan for this coming situation?" Roger asked.

Grey gazed back out the window at the growing darkness.

"I wouldn't go so far as to call it a plan," he said.

____________

"Now that everybody is here, it is time to start the meeting," Nicholas announced.

"Where's Grey? And Kris?" Ted asked.

"Kris said Grey will not attend," Nicholas reported.

"Why is that?" Glenda asked.

"She did not explain," Nicholas replied.

"So? Have we decided who's staying?" Roger asked, moving from his chair to take precedence at the head of the table. The other five committee members observed his action without comment. Or enthusiasm.

"We are making final recommendations now," Nicholas said. He glanced toward Glenda, chairwoman of the personnel committee.

"Certainly, Larson's command has to go," Glenda said. "And I think most of Kimura's people should be bounced, too. Without knowing who's on the Council's payroll, we've got to be careful."

"I think everyone's grateful, at one level or another, for what Grey's done," Ted said. "But Glendy's right, as much as we need help with maintenance, security should come first."

"I'd like to keep Doctor Polanski," Johnston said, seeking support for the engineering department. "Michiko, too, of course. And Jona Comedia, if that's not too many."

"Lisa Scott and Ronnie Perez would be helpful," Glenda said. "If they wanted Grey dead, they could have killed him in the operating room."

"Kimura and Larson each want to leave a liaison officer," Roger mentioned. "It would make foreign policy easier."

"My feeling is that only those with a personal loyalty to Grey should stay, at least for now," Nicholas disagreed. "We need to build on a stable base."

"That's why they want him dead," Tamera said. "Without Grey, all of this would fall apart."

"Worse than that," Roger said. "The Northern Alliance would try to retake the moon. The other alliances would do everything they could to stop them. Tyranny on one hand, global war on the other."

"The Defense Computer can repel an invasion," Ted said, giving Roger a cold look. "Maybe we should worry more about protecting Grey than considering what will happen if he dies?"

"Of course. I didn't mean to imply anything different," Roger said.

"What about Doctor Meriwether?" Nicholas asked. "We could use a medical director, and she is certainly above reproach."

"Tey isn't sure about staying," Glenda said. "She may forfeit her chair at Edinburgh if she's not back by spring."

"The world has a thousand universities," Tamera said.

"Everyone's free to talk to her," Glenda replied. "But don't stick it down too flat. She doesn't like having her butt bent."

"Is everyone going to the burials?" Ted asked. "What about Grey? Has he changed his mind?"

"No," Nicholas said. "He did not want the bodies cremated in the first place. He was very angered by the decision to empty the morgue."

"Kris will get him to calm down," Tamera said hopefully.

"Has he agreed to the treatments?" Glenda asked. "The ones Kes spoke of?"

"Not yet," Tamera revealed.

"I hope it doesn't come to a vote," Ted said.

"A vote?" Roger asked, sensing he was out of the loop on something.

"Life Support has suggested we vote Grey out of office if he refuses the treatments Kes offered," Nicholas explained.

"Vote him out of office?" Roger said, jumping to his feet. But after a moment of reflection, he regained composure.

"It's for his own good," Tamera said without enthusiasm.

"Does he know about this? Or Kris?" Roger asked.

"Not yet," Ted sighed.

"Better talk to Kris first," Roger suggested. "You can vote all you want, but without the Security Computer to back you up, it won't mean a thing."

The youngsters at the table nodded with sudden understanding. It had never occurred to them that, like most governments, Tranquility was ruled by force first and democracy as an afterthought.

* * * * * * * *

To be continued...