Tranquility in Darkness Pt. 05

by G. Lawrence

No longer isolated on the moon where he grew up under the guidance of Tranquility's Machiavellian computers, Grey now has friends and a girlfriend, but also many enemies.

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. The novel is presented in 12 parts. All rights reserved.

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Chapter 5

TERRIBLE MISTAKES

Saturday, March 3rd, 2046

"Hi, Jup, how's everything?" McKinsey asked, appearing through a sudden opening in the wall.

"Jesus Christ, Tom, where the hell did you come from?" the startled prospector said. Still wearing his mining walker, but with no place to go, Juniper was simply waiting in an empty chamber.

"Not so hard to get around, long as you're not trying to get anywhere too specific," McKinsey said with a grin. "Just stand before a spot in the wall where you know there's a door and sort of think about it. Bam! There you are."

"Are you yanking my stem?" Juniper asked.

"I don't know exactly how it works," McKinsey confessed. "Maybe a sensor reads our expressions or body language. I've been through several sections so far. Even found the airlock and a garden. Eventually I'll figure out how to go exactly where I want, but for now, it's nice to move around."

"Don't know that I like machines readin' my thoughts," Juniper said. "Those computers you got at Tranquility, they're creepy enough already. Always anticipating people's needs and all. Some of us like living a normal life."

"Normal life? On the moon?" McKinsey laughed.

"No different than living under the ocean, only here if you screw up, you die a lot quicker. Gives the place character," Juniper said.

"I'd sure like to know more about this complex," McKinsey whispered. "They've got techniques we should be taking back home. But it's vital that one of us gets to the tourist center. Tell our security teams what's happened."

"Like they'd believe anything I say. More likely they'll lock me up on suspicion of murdering you," Juniper said.

"Don't tell Escobar about all the hocus pocus. Just say there's a foreign outpost spying on our operations. He'll have Vandebrown's space rangers hitting this place from all sides within an hour."

"Jaime's boys are regular buzz-cutters, that's for sure," Juniper said. "But my credibility with the 101st isn't all that high. Not after that brawl at Kelly's."

"If Escobar doesn't believe you, tell the Security Computer this is a code 4000," McKinsey said more grimly.

"Security is the worst of the lot," Juniper said, though he didn't seem unhappy about the instruction. "Any idea what these too-fars are looking for?"

"Not exactly. I've spoken with several of the locals, but one thing they've made clear is that they won't let us leave. Not until they decide what to do with us."

"You damn politicians, always talkin', talkin', talkin'," Juniper said. "Let me catch'em sideways, I'll show 'em what I think of claim jumpers. And just when I found something really special, too. Did you see those crystal formations? Denser than anything anyone's ever seen before. Could make me rich. Nothin' this deep is registered, either. Isn't that right?"

"It's not part of the reserve," McKinsey agreed. And he had no doubt Juniper could fulfill his boast about teaching the kidnappers a lesson, the burly prospector having earned enough time in Tranquility's brig for excessive rough housing. McKinsey was about to suggest Juniper take a more cautious approach when the wall shimmered. It was Loam carrying a small device that looked like a weapon. Before McKinsey or Juniper reacted, Loam raised the device and fired at Juniper, shooting him with some sort of electrical bolt. Juniper dropped unconscious to the floor.

"Come, we shall speak with you," Loam instructed.

McKinsey knelt next to Juniper. His vital signs were steady, but the blast effect appeared to have been painful, his legs and arms still twitching.

"That one is not your concern," Loam said, pointing the weapon.

McKinsey reluctantly allowed himself to be led back through the opening into a shallow corridor, eventually emerging in the control center where he had first spoken with Quexitor.

Crystal was there, still dressed in her short skirt. Lord Stater stood nearby. Only Kes was absent.

"We'll hear your proposal," Quexitor said, the voice apparently originating from the largest of the many visual screens.

McKinsey had no proposal. Not yet.

"I wanted to hear your proposition first," McKinsey said, neither too bold nor too meekly.

"We are not prepared to offer what you need," Quexitor said. "But we might reconsider if you can prove the strength of your weapon."

McKinsey smiled to himself. These guys have squat, he thought. They don't know what they're looking for any more than I do.

"Tranquility's new technologies ride the top of the wave," McKinsey bragged. "We've got the best laboratories, the best researchers anywhere. Now we've made a major breakthrough, but I don't see an advantage in sharing it with you."

"Let me twist his tongue, master!" Loam said, taking a step forward.

For a moment, McKinsey thought his words were addressed to Lord Stater, but suddenly it occurred to him that maybe they weren't. He looked at the visual screen where a faint image, almost a light, showed in the depths. The image fluctuated when Quexitor spoke.

"That may not prove availing with this one," Quexitor advised. "Stirwin's investigation will reveal the source of the phenomenon."

"The search parties are farther out on the plain now," Lord Stater said. "With our shroud in place, there is little chance of discovery. We can arrange for the bodies to be found under a rockslide or in a crevice."

"If we are to fulfill our mission, what does it matter where the bodies are found?" Loam said. "Let's initiate and go home."

"It takes four days to initiate, and our energy readings will be rising throughout the process," Quexitor warned. "It might cause the search parties to return, and many of the security personnel carry formidable arms."

Loam and Lord Stater seemed to acknowledge the statement, though McKinsey suspected they were already looking for new arguments. But all through the process, McKinsey noticed Crystal had said nothing. He wondered what sort of society these people had in which women were kept barefoot and discouraged from expressing their opinions. Certainly a primitive one. It gave him hope that he would find an edge to exploit.

"My security forces won't need their small arms," McKinsey said, taking a more aggressive stance. "We've already found your base once, and we weren't even looking for it then. Tranquility has a satellite web, and North Point is stocked with nuclear-tipped vacuum launched missiles. We can put up a guardian screen and smash this place flat. And don't think the search parties will be fooled for long. My administrator knows where I was going and the range of Juniper's tractor. They'll be back, and they'll be suspicious."

"All he says is true," Lord Stater agreed.

"Sadly," Quexitor agreed. "Place the prisoners in the blind chambers and initiate the procedure."

"Procedure? What procedure?" McKinsey asked.

"Our energy generator shall be escalated to overload. The subsequent implosion will rend the face of this crater into fragments," Loam said, showing pleasure with the decision.

"The waves of cascading debris striking the planet will be greater than that which struck your world sixty million years ago," Lord Stater elaborated. "Earth will be worthless as a staging platform for our enemies."

"That's genocide!" McKinsey protested, angry he had overplayed his hand. "We can find another solution. Let's talk about it."

Loam raised his weapon, and with a malicious grin, jolted McKinsey into unconsciousness.

Thursday, January 2, 2070

"Hopper's almost ready, Grey," Roger said, entering Kelly's Saloon with Kris at his side. "Another few minutes and you're go."

Sitting at the bar with Grey were Nicholas and Tamera. Grey's travel bag lay on the floor.

"Kes will be along soon," Kris said. "She's spending a little more time on her goodbyes than Grey did." She looked at him with a scrunch of her eyebrows. He ignored the provocation.

"It's important we speak with Kes absent," Grey confided. "While I'm gone, the base must be kept at full alert. All personnel are to stay armed, and if you encounter anything unusual, retreat to the community level and seal the meteor hatches. The mining tunnels form a formidable refuge and are well-stocked with emergency supplies. Security has been instructed with escape procedures should they prove necessary."

"There's not much chance the NA will launch another invasion," Roger said.

"Even if they did, their shuttles would be naked as Jay birds on approach. The Defense Computer would destroy them easily," Nicholas added.

"An explanation of my concerns would strain your credibility modes," Grey said. "When I return, the reasons for these precautions will be clear."

Noise from the outside corridor indicated new arrivals, and a moment later, Kes entered accompanied by Tey. Roger jumped up to help Kes with her flight bag.

"One for the road?" Roger suggested. "A Mars Goodbye?"

"A Mars Goodbye?" Tamera asked.

"When the oxygen supply of the First Mars Expedition was almost gone, and the relief ship crashed, the survivors toasted a final time," Roger explained. "Borzov, Barton, Kiruakov, and Saito died comrades, having fought the good fight. We drink the Mars Good-bye in memory of all those who venture forth to unknown and dangerous worlds."

The bartender unit appeared carrying a tray with seven glasses and a bottle of Old Kentucky whiskey.

"To good health, a safe journey, and many new adventures," Roger said, looking at Grey, Kes, the youngsters, and finally Tey.

"And to a safe return," Kris said, pushing close to Grey.

"For my friends, though we be far apart," Kes said.

Grey said nothing, which struck Kris as rather strange. She had seen him make a toast when Silent Wind had departed, and on several other occasions. His silence gave her an uncomfortable feeling.

"That's your signal," Roger said when a light began flashing above the bar.

The group moved down the ramp into the landing bay where Kes shared hugs and sad smiles with everyone. Grey merely gave Kris a quick squeeze and boarded a medium-size mineral hopper, then waited for Kes to climb in next to him. A moment later, they were towed to the westside elevator and raised up to the launch tube.

"Goodbye, lover," Kris whispered as the hatch closed behind them.

"Don't worry, he'll be back," Tamera said, holding her hand.

"I sure hope so," Kris answered.

Twenty minutes later, the mineral hopper Groundhog jumped from the magnetic launch track with a burst of thruster jets, turning south toward the plains of Mare Tranquillitatis. Grey stared out the portside of the cockpit toward the cliffs of Tranquility Ridge. Kes looked to starboard at the gradually descending terrain, contemplating Plinius off in the distance.

"You're even quieter than usual," Kes finally said. "Don't worry, I'm sure Kris and her friends will prove worthy."

"The humans manage well enough," Grey agreed.

"The humans? Are we regressing?" she asked.

"I'll never be one of them. Even you have made that clear," he replied.

"I am Kes, Guild of Astronomers, Clan of Atelle. You are Grey Waters, son of Crystal of the Blue Waters, Guild of Geologists, also Clan of Atelle. Everyone is different. Everyone is the same. During your recuperation, we shall talk of our adopted homeworld, of your clan, and of our family. There are twenty-three hundred years of history you'll want to learn about."

"So I'll return to Quexel with you?" Grey asked.

"No. I realize now you have a duty here, one that may benefit my people as much as yours. But there may come a day when you'll be free to follow your heart," Kes suggested.

"I have no people. I have no heart to follow. I've been programmed to serve this project, and that allows only one destiny. A human would fail. I won't."

Kes laughed softly. "I've forgotten the illusions that young people feel so deeply. I suppose time will reveal which of us has the clearer vision."

____________

Observing the hopper's departure from an obscure crevice in the minor crater Franz, two weary scouts activated their scanners.

"Again, the harvest flees," Ryndari said, his long black tongue clicking with tones of despair.

"No. This craft turns south," Mordari said. "Quickly, we must follow. Implement the mask."

The scout craft lifted from the niche in which it was hiding, dropped low among a series of jagged hills, and turned down a valley well to the east of Vitruvius. Offering no heat signatures, the flying disk skirted Lyell and emerged from the foothills on a flat northern pond of Mare Tranquillitatis.

"There!" Ryndari shouted as the scout craft gained enough altitude to scan the southern horizon. "The fault. The long fault."

"Yes, my mate," Mordari agreed with relief. "The lair of our enemy must be near."

"Shall we attack now while they abide in ignorance?" Ryndari asked.

"The strength of our enemy is unknown. And they have their tricks of light," Mordari said. "Wise will it be to hide near the abandoned cliff dwelling and alert the Leader. Zendar will know how to best accept the challenge."

"If one grows careless, can we feed?" Ryndari asked.

"In stealth must we abide," Mordari warned. "But if an opportunity occurs, we will take what we need."

____________

"Okay, here we are, in charge of the moon all by ourselves," Ted said, grinning as he downloaded notes for the meeting.

"Let's hope so," Kris said.

"You should sit at the head of the table, Kris," Nicholas said, pulling out the chair for her. The long conference table, large enough to accommodate twenty people, was hardly a third full. The big room felt even emptier.

"No, Nick, you're chief of staff. It's your job to chair the meeting," Kris disagreed, taking a seat to his right.

"Unless Vandebrown demands the seat," Michiko jeered.

"He's not so bad," Kris protested.

"Not so good, either," Michiko said. "I don't know why Grey keeps insisting he be a member of this committee."

"He's probably up in the com center right now plotting some new scheme," Glenda warned.

"Well, he's not here now, so it's just the eight of us," Ted countered, trying to get the meeting on track.

"Seven. I'm only a guest, remember?" Lisa corrected.

"But we love you anyway," Johnston teased.

"You wish," Lisa replied, throwing back her long strawberry blonde hair.

"We have a chart of projects," Nicholas began. "Each department has guidelines provided by the computers which coordinate those areas."

"Who's doing the supervising, us or them?" Tamera asked, her angry question receiving nods of agreement.

"We are in charge, but we will also be doing most of the work," Nicholas answered.

"The computers don't have enough robotic support," Kris said. "This shipment Roger's trying to negotiate will help, but even then, we've got a long way to go."

"I'd sure like to get this place anchored before Grey gets back," Johnston said. "It's a chance to finally earn some respect."

"Grey respects us. He respects us a lot!" Tamera protested.

"You maybe," Johnston said. "But I've been with him on a dozen work assignments. Every time I try to make a connection, he always gives me the slide."

Several people around the table laughed.

"Okay, what's so funny?" Johnston said.

"On these projects, did Grey let you help him, or did he tell you to find some another task?" Michiko asked.

"He let me help," Johnston said.

"Did he explain how the systems work?" Ted asked.

"Did he sometimes ask for input even though you could tell he didn't need it?" Glenda added.

"Yeah," Johnston said, growing mystified.

"When you were working with him, did you ever tell him straight out you wanted to be friends?" Tamera asked.

"Of course not," Johnston said.

Again, people laughed, and Johnston knew they were laughing at him.

"Johnny, you've been making way too many assumptions," Kris explained. "If Grey didn't respect you, you'd never have been invited on those work details in the first place."

"What Kris says is true," Nicholas agreed. "Grey has no patience for fools. He would not share his time if there was no respect."

"Grey isn't good at small talk, Johnny," Michiko said. "If you want conversation, you need to initiate it. He'll listen, maybe make an occasional comment, and when he's tired of talking, he'll let you know."

"Silence, human!" Kris and Tamera chanted while everyone enjoyed the joke.

"Seriously, Johnny," Michiko said. "Grey's not unfriendly, or even cold like he seems sometimes. Even when he gets mad, it doesn't last very long. He just needs more practice."

"Practice?" Johnston asked.

"At being one of us humans," Tamera said.

____________

The mineral hopper turned southeast, jetting at a low altitude over the broken landscape highlighted by deep shadows.

"Groundhog, flight report," Grey requested as the hopper reached a series of particularly jagged rills.

"On schedule," the hopper's flight computer responded. "Crystal Caves Tourist Center ETA six minutes."

"Swing around to the rear of the complex, then drop us into the trench. Suppress our tracking signals, then release the controls to manual," Grey instructed.

"Acknowledged," Groundhog said.

Before long the tourist center appeared at the nexus of two rough-cut gravel roads, a large domed complex surrounded by half a dozen extending branch structures. The combination research center and health resort rested on the very edge of a deep chasm, an extension of the Cauchy Fault that ran south toward the crater on the horizon. The hopper floated on hover jets over the loading dock, then gently drifted wide of the platform and dropped into the canyon instead.

Grey took control, following the wall of the canyon as it grew deeper and narrower.

"Just a few hundred meters more," Kes instructed when the familiar walls of the crater loomed ahead.

Grey could not see an opening in the wall, nor did an opening appear on instruments, but he took it on faith that it was there. Then, without warning, a gap appeared in the rock, the entrance to a dark tunnel leading steeply below the crater. Grey felt control of the hopper slip away as a powerful force took hold of the craft, and within minutes they came to a gliding halt on a glowing spot of blue light. The canopy opened.

"Welcome," Grey heard an unfamiliar voice say, a sound that seemed to come from the deepest shadows.

He climbed from the cockpit, helped Kes down the side of the hopper, and stopped to see what a Quexelian spaceport looked like.

It didn't look like anything. The walls and roof were dark. No ground crew units appeared. The air was good. The temperature cool but not uncomfortable.

"It's nice to be home, Stirwin," Kes said.

"Stirwin?" Grey asked.

"You've met Quexitor, our coordinator, and Roman, who enjoys the pseudonym Red Room," Kes explained. "Stirwin is our regulator, the third part of our guiding triumvirate."

"Greetings, Grey Waters," the baritone voice said.

"Thank you, Stirwin," Grey replied. "Are you what might be called the environmental support system?"

"Environmental maintenance is among my duties," the entity replied. "Roman has prepared facilities for your comfort. I understand Quexitor and Kes have much to discuss."

Grey thought the last comment somewhat ominous, as if someone were displeased.

"I shall visit you later," Kes said, disappearing though a door that quickly ceased to be a door at all. Grey suspected that the Quexelian parlor tricks involved sophisticated holographic imagery but didn't dismiss the possibility of a more advanced technology.

Grey opened Groundhog's rear cargo compartment to check the shipping container inside. It held the remains of his mother. As per Kes's instruction, the body was still frozen. Grey thought it especially ironic that with Crystal Waters and the others now gone from the morgue, only Thomas McKinsey's body remained, awaiting the special tomb that Life Support was planning. Of all the bodies the cold storage vault had once contained, Grey thought, the much-resented McKinsey would have been his first choice to go.

Taking his travel bag from the hopper, Grey tucked an old-fashioned Lassiter in his belt and went in search of an exit. He was not surprised when a new door materialized just where Kes had departed, but now the hallway appeared different. This corridor was white and brightly lit with no doors, windows, cabinets, or ornamentation of any kind. Grey enjoyed the Spartan appearance while admitting it could get tiresome.

The hall terminated in a red glow as he entered the familiar confines of the Red Room. A padded bench was surrounded by circular walls, a full-length mirror, and off to one side, a recessed hygiene stall.

"Hello, Roman," Grey said, setting his bag down near the entrance.

"Greetings Grey Waters Governor of the Moon," Red Room replied. "It's nice to have you back again."

Red Room's enthusiastic voice was distinctly cheerful.

"Just call me Grey," he answered. "Roman, are you female?"

"What makes you ask? You've never asked before."

"The subject of gender held no relevance for me before."

"And now it does?" Red Room asked.

"I'm not sure what it means. I'm just curious."

"My species thrives on multiple sexes, but a gender comparison to your female homo sapiens would not be inaccurate," Red Room explained.

"Then you are a species? A life form?" Grey asked.

"That was long ago," Red Room responded without sadness. "I've heard of your incident with the flying weapons. You really should avoid being killed."

"I was not killed," he replied with irritation.

"Please take off your clothing and stand before the mirror, then we shall see," Red Room ordered.

Grey walked to the designated area and slowly stripped off his flight uniform with some hesitance. Having never been self-conscious until humans started showing up, he felt silly to be embarrassed.

Once undressed, he took the designated position. The reflected image was poor indeed. The aftermath of the battle on the storage level combined with the continuing deterioration of his health had left him weak and underweight. His skin tone, usually pale unless he picked up color from the light managers in the biosphere, was now bordering on gray. Grey wondered how Kris could maintain interest in such a pathetic specimen when there were so many preferable males to choose from.

"Your brain scans well. Good essential structuring," Red Room said as Grey felt a wave of warm energy run through his body. "I'm afraid to report your life functions were seriously interrupted, though no permanent damage was sustained. It would seem that Kes arrived with the instrument of restoration at a crucial moment."

"So I've been told," Grey said, starting to step back.

"Be patient," Red Room cautioned.

Grey sighed and returned to his original position, shoulders drooping as the excitement of the journey gave way to weariness. The sudden loss of energy registered in some strange way with the room, the walls shimmering with curiosity. With no warning, Grey suddenly felt his knees grow weak and he slumped unconscious to the floor.

Not very far away, Kes reclined on a comfortable divan munching a leafy green salad when the room around her came alive. She glanced with casual interest at the half dozen observation screens surrounding her, images of the lunar surface, Earth orbit, and a network tracking the twenty-six light years of deep space between Sol and Vega.

"Harmony, my friends," Kes said, straightening up.

"And purpose," Quexitor responded.

"How is Grey doing, Roman?" she asked.

"His physical restructuring will take time," Red Room said. "But we know from his previous visits that he responds well to our technology."

"There is no reason why he shouldn't," Kes reminded them. "He is, after all, a product of Quexel as much as Earth. He has a rich Helenian heritage."

"Then his prognosis is favorable?" Quexitor asked.

"Physically, yes, but his stress levels are extraordinarily high for such a young male," Red Room said. "If not addressed, the condition could prove destabilizing."

"I have worried about him, too. He assumes responsibilities beyond his years," Kes agreed. "And it doesn't help that our assignment could destroy all that he strives to protect."

"We have our duty," Quexitor specified.

"It's a duty we must examine in a broader context," Kes argued, her voice growing stronger.

"We have postponed our initiative twice already," Quexitor said. "To prevent the invaders from discovering Homeworld, a scorched earth policy has always been deemed necessary. Our options are limited."

"Our enemy may already suspect Quexel's location," Kes interrupted.

"How?" Quexitor asked.

"I'm not sure, but Grey believes it."

"What has he said?" Quexitor inquired.

"Nothing of value," Kes admitted. "For the moment, he's reserving his options. But I know he's fathomed something we've overlooked."

"It's true he displays much intuition, yet it's difficult to delay action for such a reason," Quexitor said.

"Such a consideration is premature," Kes protested. "A delay provides only temporary relief. If the invaders are to be stopped, they must be stopped here."

"How is that possible?" Quexitor inquired. "If organized worlds such as Kellis and Gorthan fell, what chance does Earth have?"

"From my experience these last two months, I'd say the people of Earth are far more tenacious than anything the Arikhan have encountered before. And the most tenacious of all is our young Grey," Kes said with pride. "If he can't stop the invaders, there's not much chance we'll stop them when our time comes."

"We had hoped Thomas McKinsey would exercise the qualities you speak of. That decision was a mistake," Quexitor decided.

"Grey is a far different personality than Thomas," Kes replied.

"What are you suggesting?" Quexitor asked.

"I'm recommending an alliance with the Lunar Republic," Kes said.

"An alliance has serious ramifications," Quexitor hedged.

"Earth has a minimum of eight years left before the invasion arrives," Kes explained. "If the invaders suspect Quexel's location, we may encounter the same fate in a mere generation. We share a mutual interest."

"Even in the ancient days, we declined to establish formal ties with Terran civilizations. Such a step may not be permissible," Quexitor warned.

"Our alliance would only be with the Lunar Republic," Kes firmly replied. "Perhaps that's a technicality, but an important one. And there is something else to consider. You know the history of my family. If we are able to return to Quexel someday, do you really wish to tell the Duke that you killed his grandson?"

Friday, January 10, 2070

"These repair schedules are absurd!" Johnston complained.

"It is the same with this administrative backlog," Nicholas said, chairing the planning committee meeting. "I had no idea how many programs require monitoring."

"We're not making much headway with the food supply, either," Michiko said. "The crop we planted isn't thriving, and the old foodstuffs are hard to reconstitute. The quality of our diet may start declining fast."

"We're getting clocked," Glenda said. "Kris, you've got to talk to that Security Computer again. The damn machine's issuing so many orders Ronnie and I are scraped. And this training schedule! We could be headed for the Black Sash games and not work half this hard."

"The Communications Computer is demanding, too," Ted said. "You wouldn't believe some of the instructions coming down from the com department. We've got six relay satellites on our work benches and two more about to be added."

"You'd think we were building a new global web with all the rehabs going on," Jona griped.

"The Energy Computer's worse," Dr. Polanski insisted. "Orders, mandates, directives. Everything is life or death."

"Let's face it, we're losing control," Tamera said. "We thought this would be easy because Grey did most of the work and took care of us, too. Well, it's not easy."

"Tammy's right," Kris said. "If we're going to succeed, we've got to get our butts flying on one wing."

The conference room in which the fourteen lunar residents sat was filled with graphs, charts, and schedules, many of which indicated a steady loss of progress. On the computer monitors, only the general flux showed at first, indicating none of the higher function levels were online, but gradually green signature patterns filtered into the monitor screen to take dominance.

"Excuse me for interrupting," the Life Support Computer said, drawing a mixture of reactions. "May I offer advice?"

"Sure, Life Support, what's up?" Kris allowed.

"It's necessary to point out that teamwork alone will not resolve your dilemma," Life Support reported. "Grey achieved success by coordinating his activities with the minor function levels and initiating projects over an extended period of time. Grey also developed efficient methods of cannibalizing repair units, thereby multiplying the work force. He often delegated his administrative duties to several subsystems, reserving final decisions to a weekly review session. As for the crops, they would grow better if you would stop over-watering them. You'd be surprised what a little neglect can accomplish."

Many of the committee members appeared embarrassed, realizing how poorly they were managing their resources.

"You should recognize that the damage from the invasion is too extensive even for Grey to have repaired quickly," Life Support continued. "I strongly suggest you recruit additional workers to assist the rebuilding process."

"Recruit? Recruit who?" Kris asked.

"Colonists from Earth," Life Support urged. "The Commonwealth has C-8 Juno standing by at St. Valiant Field. The Russian Republic owns a B-class transport shuttle in launch condition. The Immigration Computer has compiled a list of acceptable candidates. Following final background checks, the notifications shouldn't take more than a week."

"How do you know all this?" Tamera asked in astonishment.

"Contingency plans have been in place for many years," the Life Support Computer explained. "Had there been an unfortunate accident--"

"If Grey became expendable, is what you mean," Kris said.

"At one level or another, we are all expendable, Captain Fairfield," Life Support said. "Grey learned this from his earliest childhood. If anyone in this room can't accept that, perhaps you're working for the wrong project."

"We're in charge now!" Kris shouted, jumping to her feet. "And if anyone becomes expendable, that's a decision we'll make. You're not in authority here anymore, and if you can't accept that, maybe some reprogramming is in order."

The newcomers watched the confrontation in silence. After a moment of contemplation, the green signature patterns resumed a regular pulse.

"You are quite correct, Captain Fairfield," the Life Support Computer said. "Please call upon me if you require assistance."

The green signature patterns abruptly disappeared from the flux.

"That was creepy," Glenda said.

"What now, Kris?" Nicholas asked.

"Roger, is Life Support's plan even possible?" Kris asked.

"The NA has a supply embargo in place, but there's nothing forbidding immigration," Roger said. "Diplomatically, I think a shuttle of civilians would be hard for the Council to veto."

"We could sure use the help," Glenda urged.

"I know, I know," Kris said. "It's just that Grey was so jumpy before he left. I wish we could talk with him first."

"How about our first official vote?" Ted said. "All in favor raise your hand."

Eleven hands went up, only Kris, Roger, and Tey abstaining.

"Okay then, we'll take the computer's advice," Kris said. "Nick, you and Glenda check out this list of colonists Life Support was talking about."

"I can coordinate with the Defense Computer to find a safe orbital path," Roger offered.

"Isn't there any way to get another supply shipment?" Nicholas asked.

"I doubt it," Roger said.

"Perhaps I could issue a request for medical robots?" Tey suggested. "We don't really need them, but the units are programmable for a variety of tasks, and they can also be used for spare parts."

"That's a great idea, and I'm pretty sure the NA won't object," Roger said.

"Yeah, that's good," Kris agreed. "Johnny, you and Jona sit down with the Maintenance Computer and get a priority supply list. Let's see how many extra units we need to get things going."

"Michiko and I will quit watering the plants so much," Lisa said.

"I'll have a talk with Security about the immigration issue," Glenda contributed.

"We've got a lot to do, and we've got to start doing it a lot better," Kris said, still standing at the head of the table.

"Your wish is our command, Governor Fairfield," Nicholas said with a smile.

The others laughed as Kris flushed with embarrassment.

Monday, January 13, 2070

"Good news," Senator Tyman reported, pulling together the innermost circle of the Congress-In-Council.

Behind him, through the lofty windows overlooking the Capitol Building, they saw large crowds gathering to greet the newly returned Northern Alliance space heroes despite the cold Rocky Mountain winter.

"What is it, Roy?" Congresswoman Kamar asked. "Larson may be an insubordinate son of a bitch, but I still want a vid with him on the podium."

"Plant your pan, Deena," Tyman insisted. "We just got news that Tranquility's inviting fifty new colonists to the moon. We should sow an agent in there easy. Maybe two."

"How many of these colonists are NA?" Secretary Kennedy asked.

"Only six, but we have opportunities among the Euro, Southern Alliance, and Russian candidates, too," Tyman replied.

"Come on, Roy, this can wait. I don't want to miss the parade," Congressman Kim protested, edging toward the door. "Why don't we get Larson's report first? If we're caught planting an assassin after that last disaster--"

"Damn it, Jeffrey, we might not get another chance like this. We won't get caught," Tyman insisted.

"We already have one resource in place," Admiral Trolleni whispered to Kim loud enough for the others to hear. "All we need is backup."

"And later, when Waters is dead?" Kamar asked.

"This is an excellent resource. There won't be any ramifications for this committee," Trolleni promised.

"Okay, then," Kim said as he turned to leave.

"Be delicate," Kamar warned, racing to catch Kim at the door. "What about Smyth and Vandebrown? What do they say about all this?"

"The fewer who know, the less chance of a security leak," Tyman insisted.

The politicians smiled and bolted for their waiting limousines, leaving Tyman and Trolleni to arrange the details.

Tuesday, January 14, 2070

Grey stirred from a long sleep. The surroundings were strange at first, the featureless room and plain sleeping platform not the quaintly decorated Governor's Quarters that was home. Other than a red tint, there were no colors, no windows, no doors.

"Red Room?" Grey asked as he glanced around for a robe.

The room activated, the red hues shifting into contrasting shades, and gradually a more common lighting was introduced. The translucent walls became visible. And the hygiene stall. Grey swung his legs over to stand up, but fell down instead.

"Careful, Grey," Red Room cautioned. "Your physical conditioning is much improved, but it will take practice to regain full coordination."

"How long have I been sleeping?"

"Nearly ten days."

"That's a long time," he complained.

"Between the cardiovascular damage and advanced lighter gravity deterioration, it's been quite a challenge to restructure your body," Red Room persisted. "It's remarkable that you've survived at all."

"Everyone always says that," he growled, refusing to be impressed.

"When you first visited this facility, I warned you to be cautious. Even then you suffered from residual radiation exposure. Since then, you have suffered numerous combat injuries, burns, broken bones, and much worse."

"If you don't have a point to make, I'd like to use the latrine."

"I do have a point," Red Room said.

"Well, I don't want to hear it," Grey responded, making another attempt to stand.

"As you can't leave this facility until I release you, you shall hear what must be said," Red Room insisted.

"Think you can keep me a prisoner?" Grey said, his brows furrowing.

"You are twenty years old now. The moon is no longer deserted. The Tranquility Colony is slowly returning to its former status. You have friends, followers, and a beloved. You owe it to them, as well as yourself, to cease your dangerous activities and live a normal life."

Grey started to laugh, thought the remark over more carefully, then laughed even harder. He needed a deep breath to calm down.

"You're funny," he sighed, wiping tears from his eyes. "Now I really have to use the latrine."

The lighting flickered, and when Grey looked behind him, there was a table where no table had been before with a white robe. Grey walked over to get dressed, but felt his coordination was off. He expected as much. What he didn't expect was to feel so strong.

"Modifications?" Grey asked.

"Your conditioning is being brought up to full Earth gravity standard."

"I've never been at Earth standard before. Not in my whole life."

"You will be now," Red Room said. "It's a strength you're going to need."

"Thank you. I guess maybe there are a lot of things I should thank you for. I hope I haven't been remiss."

"You've not been remiss, Grey Waters. Your visits here bring much joy," Red Room assured him.

"If I ask a question, could it be kept confidential?" he asked.

"Yes," Red Room said, the hues changing to a darker intensity.

"When you off-loaded my maternal parent's body from the hopper, did you discover the poisonous agent in her blood that caused her death? Can it be synthesized?"

"That is a most unusual request," Red Room questioned.

Suddenly the wall opened. Grey saw Kes silhouetted in the light.

"Thanks, Red Room. We'll talk more later," he decided.

"Have a pleasant afternoon," Red Room thoughtfully replied.

Grey straightened his shoulders and walked toward the control room realizing that he and Quexitor had much to discuss.

* * * * * * * *

To be continued ...