Tranquility Down

Part Eight

by G. Lawrence

In this sequel to Tranquility in Darkness, we find Grey, Kris, and their allies struggling to establish the Lunar Republic as a legitimate nation. This old-style science fiction novel is presented in 11 parts.

Recap: Following the crash of his spaceship, Grey found work on a small California farm using the alias Ben Brown. When he discovered the farmers were being threatened by local gangsters, he warned them off. When they attacked a nearby household, he intervened. Now he is seeking a reckoning. Or is he? All characters are over 18 years old. All rights reserved.

* * * * * *

Chapter 8

CITY DWELLERS

They started their journey early Monday morning, setting out for the big city in John's truck. With the security precautions surrounding the coastal military installations making the beach highway too slow, they chose an inland route instead, going up a steep hill and through several heavily populated valleys before cresting a low mountain range.

Grey was amazed. The suburbs were crowded enough, but the Metropolis of Los Angeles was bigger than anything he had ever imagined. He had seen the city through telescopes dozens of times, even studied it after the Olvera Earthquake, but from the ground it was simply immense.

John parked the truck in a storage facility called the Universal Foothills and they walked to the entrance of the public transit system.

"This is the edge of the municipal transport zone," John said. "No private vehicles past here. We'll need to take the train the rest of the way."

"We can meet back here later," Grey said as they approached the train station, hefting his shoulder bag up to a more comfortable position.

"There are hundreds of routes and sub routes. I'll feel better to know you're on track," John insisted

"The maps are clear," Grey replied.

"No map ever programmed will help you solve the L.A. transit system," John warned. "Let's take the main downtown and transfer at the hub. It's not the most direct route but it's easy to understand."

Without allowing debate, John proceeded into the train station and ordered two day passes. Grey followed slowly, seeing thousands of humans running to and from the transport platforms with grim determination. The trains themselves came in different sizes and models, some only going short distances with small loads, others more elaborate. Suspecting what Grey would enjoy most, John had gotten them tickets for the scenic deck on one of the big magno-liners.

The train began on elevated tracks, dropped underground through a strangely decorated tunnel, and rose back up to another elevated section. As the downtown grew closer, Grey saw a vast intermingling of new buildings designed with the latest earthquake resistant applications and older buildings, some going back more than a century. He had expected to see a seething urban cesspool of blight and vice, like in the entertainment vids he had watched such as Death Zoning and So-Cal Meltdown, but most of the city actually looked quite civilized. Clean avenues, numerous green spaces, and a park featuring historic dwellings. Even a tree-lined river walk. John looked at Grey seeming to read his mind.

"Not bad during the day, but keep that bag of yours nearby if you're on the streets at night," John warned.

As they approached the train station east of the downtown area, Grey was able to get a close look at the city's most famous landmark, the Twelve Sisters, built where much of the original city had stood thirty years before. Linked by an intricate series of elevated walkways and monorails, the skyscrapers were considered by many to be the tenth wonder of the modern world. Grey could not disagree. They were taller than anything he had ever seen, and the way the sun played off the glass shielding made them sparkle in clever patterns.

"The McNair complex is east of here, up Police Academy Road near Sports World," John said, noticing Grey's eyebrows go up. "What? You think it's strange that a criminal organization should be located near the police academy? This is L.A., Ben. They define strange."

Grey nodded as if he understood, which he didn't. All humans seemed strange to him, the differences were mere technicalities.

At the bustling hub, they switched to a commuter train which was largely empty at the moment, and passed a string of entertainment complexes as they approached the nearby foothills. Grey had visited Lunar Stadium many times, the open environment arena located at the foot of Tranquility Ridge capable of seating two-hundred spectators, but these complexes were far larger, designed for tens of thousands of humans. Grey wondered how many days it took to seat everyone.

From the train station that served the largest stadium, Grey and John walked a mere kilometer up the hill to the McNair headquarters, stopping before an unmarked iron gate flanked by ivy covered walls. There were no guards posted, nor evidence of security devices.

"Thank you for your assistance," Grey said, reaching to shake John's hand as custom required.

"What? No, I'm going in with you," John said.

"No, you aren't," Grey replied.

"But ...?"

"I owe your wife and children too great a debt already," Grey said.

John had heard that voice of authority before.

"I'll wait for you at the train station," John said. "The City View Bar."

"This should not take long," Grey concluded.

Grey opened his shoulder bag to take out his leather holster, strapping it around his hips like he had done thousands of times before. Then he holstered the fully charged Lassiter, drew it quick draw style to test the reach, then drew a second time even faster.

"I haven't come looking for a fight, but they should know I won't back away, either," Grey said.

"I'm beginning to realize that," John acknowledged. "Ben, are you an enforcer? Were you paid to come to Hope Valley?"

"No, John, I'm not an enforcer," Grey said. "I'm an engineer. And if I was looking to be paid, Hope Valley wouldn't be my first destination."

"There can't be any doubt about that," John said with a cautious smile.

Without warning, a portal in the gate opened. It was no surprise to Grey they were being monitored. He squared his shoulders and stepped through. When the door closed just as suddenly, John walked back down the road alone.

The interior courtyard was like a park. Fruit trees, flower gardens, an old Roman style fountain, and an elegant brick mansion with long white balconies and colonnades. To one side, Grey spied a carefully weeded tomato patch, but the tomatoes weren't thriving. Insufficient nitrogen, he guessed by the brownish leaves.

Two thirds of the way across the courtyard, positioned before the main house, was a tall black man dressed in full body armor with a racked energy shield. An enforcer, fully equipped, just like in the simulations Grey had challenged in training.

Grey walked to within ten meters of the enforcer and stopped, standing casually but still in the ready position.

"So, you're Billy the Kid," the enforcer said, the tone more curious than mocking. "They say you're good."

The enforcer appeared to be well into his thirties, strong and alert. The cool brown eyes indicated professional interest.

"I have no quarrel with any member of your profession," Grey said, glancing for threats to his flanks. "Nor will I harm Mister McNair unless it becomes necessary."

"No one walks in here and threatens my client," the enforcer said. "My name is Simon Davidson Gott, enforcer first degree, twice braided and winner of the golden sash. Who are you to walk in here alone, unarmored, and make any kind of demands?"

"No more than I have to be," Grey said, finding the human's boasting irritating.

"What is spring, but a new day;

What is summer, but a long afternoon;

What is fall, but a time to come;

Then fear not winter, for all need sleep."

"A regular troubadour, aren't you?" Gott said, less angry than annoyed. Apparently enforcers were expected to inspire more fear than Grey felt, not that he wasn't concerned. But in Grey's opinion, the enforcer would have done better by dispensing with the full body armor. Or at least have kept his visor closed.

"I would rather not harm you," Grey said.

"That's a laugh," Gott said with a huff, shifting just slightly.

Grey drew his Lassiter so swiftly the enforcer could hardly follow the motion. A quick shot from the hip on tight beam burned off the right pivot of Gott's helmet that would have allowed the protective visor to close. As bits of shattered metal sprayed his cheek, Gott saw Grey reholster the Lassiter, then suddenly draw and fire again, cutting through the left shoulder sensor on his armor and exploding the circuit only a few centimeters from his face. A second shot blew away the right shoulder sensor. Grey performed a double turning sidestep to strike any threats to his rear, of which there were none, then holstered his sidearm again and reset. The enforcer hadn't made a move yet, but Grey knew that if the human reached for his weapon, he'd have to kill him.

Gott wasn't laughing now. A seasoned veteran, he had rarely witnessed such a combination of speed and marksmanship. There was no doubt in Gott's mind that his opponent could have fired into his open visor had he wanted to. And still could. But more than that, there was something in the young farmer's technique that was very familiar. A style he had recently studied. Seen on a vid transmission. Something in the last few months...

"My God, I know who you are," the enforcer said, relaxing his shoulders into the stand down position.

"Then you know I'm not here to interfere with the petty quarrels of you Earth humans," Grey said.

"You won't target Mister McNair?" Gott required.

"It's not my intention nor in my interest," Grey assured him.

"This way," Gott said, latching his sidearm and motioning for Grey to follow.

They entered the mansion through the front door, discovering an ornate reception hall overlooked by wide balconies and an impressive grand staircase, the floor made of polished marble. Grey remembered the Sales Computer mentioning that such architecture was often designed to overawe and create a psychological advantage. He decided to enjoy the beauty of the dwelling without letting it affect his judgment.

After passing through massive oak doors, they entered an outer office where three female assistants were at work. All of the women were young and, by contemporary standards, could be described as voluptuous. Grey tried to observe the environment as the Life Support Computer had taught him, the workers appearance certainly a reflection of their employer's character. The females were all on their feet watching as Gott escorted Grey through to the executive offices, their expressions distrustful. Grey easily ignored them.

McNair's office was a spacious room filled with graceful sculptures and colorful multi-dimensional artwork. The man Grey assumed was Raleigh McNair was sitting behind a long glass desk, a flower garden visible through the window just beyond him. Standing at McNair's elbow was the young man he had seen at Old Sam's farm. To his right, Grey noticed Mason and Terril leaning against the wall, Mason with his arm in a sling.

Grey stopped a few meters short of the desk as Gott moved around to stand behind his employer.

"So? What the goddamn hell is this all about?" McNair said, standing up as he appraised his visitor. "Why are you interfering in my business? Who shoots up Mason's boys and gets away with it?" A big man, and much overweight, McNair's voice boomed even in the large room.

"I can tell you that, uncle," the young man said, seeming to gain great satisfaction from the situation.

"You do that, Georgie," McNair said.

"This is Grey Waters," the nephew announced.

"And I'm Shirley Temple the Third," McNair replied angrily. Then he looked at Grey carefully. The ready stance. The neutral expression. The firm gaze that searched with deep curiosity.

"Damn, it is you, isn't it?" McNair said, slowly drifting back into his chair. "That kid who grew up on the moon."

"I watched the fight at the old rancher's place," George said. "Same moves as on the bio vid. Same technique. Complete indifference to the odds."

"I am not indifferent to the odds," Grey corrected. "I simply don't find cowards especially challenging."

Terril jumped forward at the remark but McNair waved him back.

"You'll pardon me if I don't understand what this is all about?" McNair said.

"It's not necessary that you understand," Grey responded, stepping up to the edge of the desk.

Grey looked McNair over, studying the older man with a coldness that would have made Life Support proud. McNair felt himself positively unnerved by the scrawny young man, suddenly sensing a presence about him that inspired foreboding.

"You provide services I require," Grey revealed. "You also have interests that conflict with mine. We will resolve these differences to our mutual satisfaction."

"And if we can't?" McNair asked.

"Then I will resolve them to my satisfaction," Grey answered.

"Let me deal with this punk, Mister McNair," Mason said, stepping forward and reaching for his gun.

Grey turned and drew his sidearm in one swift motion, shooting Mason through the forehead. The gang leader staggered backward and collapsed dead on the floor, the quiet room suddenly splashed in bright red blood.

Then Grey looked at Terril, the human who had been so anxious for a fight at the pumping station. The same human who had no problem attacking an old man and setting fire to his ranch. The villainous human didn't look so anxious for a fight now, but Grey wasn't in a lenient mood. Terril quickly grasped the situation and reached for his gun, but Grey shot him through the chest before the human even had a chance to draw, killing him instantly.

"Fucking hell!" McNair shouted, jumping to his feet.

To his credit, McNair made no effort to back away. Simon Gott straightened up but made no move to interfere. George looked shocked by the sudden explosion of brutality.

"Your support units are inefficient," Grey said, casually re-holstering his blaster as if nothing unusual had happened.

"George, get the man a chair," McNair said, retaking his seat.

George quickly pulled a chair up to the opposite side of the desk. Grey noticed the chair was lower than McNair's, another attempt to achieve a psychological edge, and declined to make use of it.

"We should make our respective positions clear," Grey said. "I warned your units to leave Hope Valley alone. They failed to follow instructions. Now they no longer function. I require services unavailable through conventional commercial channels. If you wish to provide these services, you will make a profit. If you decline, I'll seek the services elsewhere. If you choose to interfere, you will be eliminated."

"Eliminated?" George gasped.

Grey huffed impatiently and took out his transmitter.

"Traveler to Little Helper," Grey summoned.

"Acknowledged, Traveler," the Security Computer said. "But if you don't change that code name, I'll fry your ass and do things my way."

"Acknowledged, Overlord," Grey teased, a small smile breaking out. "Have you target acquisition?"

"Affirmative," Security said.

"Strategic update," Grey requested.

"Your location contains eleven persons," Security reported. "The site is owned by Raleigh Ireland McNair, an urban hoodlum speculating in bookmaking, black markets and real estate manipulation. The complex can be destroyed on fourteen minutes notice. McNair's family and known associates are downloaded into our database. They can be targeted and destroyed over a forty-eight-hour period, however, in destroying portions of the city and a small town, there will be significant collateral damage. Our orbitals have a limited capacity for target discrimination."

"Estimated casualties?" Grey asked.

"Thirty-five, mostly in McNair's hometown of Ralston, Nevada," Security concluded.

"Thank you, Overlord. Standby for instructions," Grey said as he looked at McNair. "Contrary to appearances, this is not a threat. Just as you have resources to defend your interests, I have resources to protect mine. You humans respect the potential for violence. Tranquility has that potential."

McNair swiveled his chair around to look out the window toward the gardens, contemplating his options. Grey waited patiently, much to Gott's relief. George looked on with curiosity.

"I like your style kid," McNair said as he slowly turned back. "And I never much cared for Mason. Son of a bitch even scared me sometimes. So? Are you saying I don't have a choice?"

"Negative," Grey said, remembering Life Support's advice not to back the human into a corner. "You are free to reject my offer of a business relationship. Nothing more needs to be said."

McNair waved to George, motioned for Grey to follow, and they moved from the office to the adjoining room, a library featuring walnut bookcases, padded easy chairs and a leather couch. McNair opened a box of Cuban cigars, gave one to Grey, and kept another for himself.

"Gott, get rid of that tin suit and find a cleaning crew," McNair ordered. "George, sit here with us."

Grey took a chair with his back to the wall and George sat in the chair next to him. McNair sat in the middle of the couch.

"My nephew here has a business degree from Stanford," McNair explained. "Doesn't care much for our methods, as I guess you've learned."

"I'm glad to meet you, Governor Waters. Really glad," George said with an eager smile.

Grey could see the admiration in young George's expression. It was a phenomenon he still didn't understand but knew it had its uses.

"I'm in your debt," Grey answered with full sincerity, shaking the offered hand with a firm grip.

"You mentioned a business relationship. What's that all about?" McNair said, lighting Grey's cigar before lighting his own.

"Tranquility requires a wide range of robotic units and chemical bases that the Northern Alliance has refused to export," Grey explained. "To be candid, I don't want your government knowing the extent of our shortages. I also need accurate manufacturer's data on the equipment we order. Too many products are fraudulently graded."

"Everyone complains about that," George said. "By the time the politicians take their cut off the top, the corporations don't have enough profit left to produce good products."

"How much exchange are we discussing?" McNair asked.

"Approximately two billion credits spread over the next five years," Grey replied.

"Billion?" McNair asked, almost choking on his cigar.

"If the relationship proves rewarding, there may be additional opportunities. Can your organization handle such volume?" Grey asked.

"I won't pretend it's easy," McNair said. "But for that kind of money, you bet your ass we'll handle it."

"I am betting my ass, and a lot more," Grey said.

"We'll have to expand our international operations, find new shipping routes," George said, already excited by the challenge. "A foreign space port, too. Maybe Free Quebec or Panama."

"It will be necessary to create a network of legitimate fronts," Grey added, recalling the notes provided to him by the Administration Computer. "The new corporations will need a public figurehead capable of assuming managerial control. George would be an acceptable nominee. And no humans are to be threatened or killed unless absolutely necessary."

"This is a substantial proposal, Mister Waters," McNair said. "What is with the small potatoes in Hope Valley? What have they got to do with this?"

"I have my own designs for this region," Grey said. "Speaking of which, I understand you control assets throughout Ventura County. It would be a favor to me if I could purchase options on your agricultural holdings."

"My holdings are somewhat extensive," McNair warned, puffing his cigar. "Not just Ventura, but throughout the San Joaquin."

"That's not a problem. I've always wanted to operate a large farm," Grey said.

"California?" George asked.

"From where I live, it's just a green streak on the globe," Grey explained, a bit of mischief in his expression.

"Can I offer you a drink?" McNair said, energized by the young man's audacity.

"Only if we have a deal," Grey replied.

McNair went to his bar, took out a bottle of whiskey, and started to pour three drinks. When Gott suddenly returned, now wearing civilian attire, McNair smiled and made it four drinks.

"Sit down with us, Gott," McNair said, handing the enforcer a drink, then giving one to George. He kept one for himself and put the last glass on the table before Grey.

"Times are changing," McNair said. "We're not the same country we were before the war, and that's a shame. My father always said that when times change, change with them. Best advice he ever gave me." McNair grinned and held up his drink. "Never let it be said that Raleigh McNair ever stood in the way of progress."

"Do we have an agreement?" Grey asked, preferring a more specific response.

"Yes, we have an agreement," McNair confirmed. "Gentlemen, to our new client, the Governor of the Moon."

"To a profitable future," Grey said, joining the toast with a brief taste of the vintage rye whiskey.

George had trouble with the strong drink but eked out a grin, while Gott easily emptied the entire glass. Grey exchanged a look with Gott, one of respect from one professional to another, and hoped this would not be the last drink they shared. Gott smiled, thinking the same thing. McNair beamed, unwilling to question how he became so lucky.

Grey soon finished his drink and allowed himself a moment to relax, but he knew something the others didn't. Life may be full of accidental meetings, but this wasn't one of them.

____________

"We've almost got him," Trolleni announced, racing into Tyman's office with a monitor pad in hand.

"He's alive then?" Tyman asked.

"Almost certainly. Pod went down north of Los Angeles. No evidence of a crash or explosion," Trolleni reported. "We're putting our resources into civilian clothes and investigating on the skip."

"This kid's sharp," Tyman said. "First he places those satellites while everyone's watching the meteor shower, then lands right here in our own back yard. Any clue what he's up to?"

"No, nothing. If the Greens or the International Trade Association was behind him, our sources would have heard by now."

"And that Jenny Oliver bitch wouldn't be shooting her mouth off if she knew the full story," Tyman added, getting up to pace. "He's probably laying low somewhere, waiting for the dogs to die. Let's keep an eye on the orbital paths. Have someone watch Point Mugu and Treasure Island. No place else for him to get a ride home."

"We have fifty agents in the field, and the home guard is on security alert," Trolleni said.

"We'd better get someone over to watch M.I.S.T.," Tyman said. "Fairfield and Zopek have strong ties to this kid. Wouldn't surprise me if they're in on this somehow."

"If Waters is hiding at the institute, taking him is going to be tough. M.I.S.T. has the best security this side of Denver," Trolleni warned. "And there's the popular slant, too. They say Fairfield might run for McKinsey's old senate seat. Passing the torch and all that."

"I'm not interested in a preemptive strike, if that's what you're suggesting," Tyman said. "Fairfield's green. Couldn't filibuster her way out of the capitol latrine. It's Waters I want. And goddamn it, Carlos, I'm expecting you to find him."

____________

John was on his second beer, drinking very slowly and studying the mid-afternoon cityscape when Grey suddenly took the seat next to him at the bar.

"Ben? How?" John blurted, the beer dribbling down his chin. He wiped the spill away and gazed at Grey in astonishment.

"You amuse me," Grey said. "I have another stop to make before we return. Would that be all right?"

"Of course. What about McNair?"

"Mister McNair and I have resolved our differences," Grey said. "He has agreed to leave agricultural initiatives to more qualified decision makers."

"Like you?" John asked.

"I hope to provide some input," Grey said. "It will not be in a supervisory role, however. My time on your farm has been among the best days I'll ever have."

"Then you'll be leaving soon?" John asked.

Grey nodded with a sigh, then looked at the metropolis spread out down below them. It was immense, lively and magnificent. It was also the last time he ever expected to see it.

Up the street, in the mansion on the hill, McNair poured the last of the old scotch and rocked back in his chair. Gott sat to his left, George near the window. Two accountants sat opposite them entering purchase orders from the list they'd been given. The bodies from the adjoining office were gone, unreported to any authority, but it would take time to replace the bloodstained carpeting.

"You were right, Georgie," McNair said. "When we were watching that kid's vid last fall, you said he would change the world forever. But I never thought he was going to change my world."

"I said what he represents will change the world," George corrected, feeling a buzz. "We've had twenty years of war, and for what? Trade routes that don't exist. A democracy that's become a joke. Then we learned about Tranquility, saw his biography, and we knew there are still things worth fighting for. This can be a better world. He taught us that, not with platitudes, but with blood. Now that I've met him, I'm more convinced of that than ever."

"He didn't seem to be recruiting followers, George," Gott said.

"That's the point. Don't you see?" George nearly shouted. "Oh, never mind. Just forget it."

"No, George," McNair said, leaning forward in earnest. "Go on, tell us what you think."

"Governor Waters grew up alone. Alone as you can possibly get," George explained. "But when Black Raven landed, and later when New Ranger arrived, he put it all on the line for them. Not because he owed them anything, but because it was the right thing to do. That's all that mattered. He doesn't say, follow me. He doesn't claim to know the future. He doesn't make promises. It's not about him, Uncle Raleigh, it's about us. You and me, those farmers, our world. Do we have the courage to take a stand for what's right? What about you, Mister Gott?"

"I'm a professional," Gott said, downing his glass. "I have the courage to do my job. But I'll say this with all due respect, Mister McNair, I felt like an antique today, and I don't think you fared any better."

"I'm no antique," McNair said, slamming down his glass. "I'm a businessman, a damn good one, and a good businessman knows how to recognize an opportunity. What I saw today scared the bloody hell out of me, and I like that, because if I'm scared, you can bet our competitors will feel worse." McNair studied his associates and slowed to catch his breath.

"Except for our black-market operations, we're going legit," McNair announced. "Start the conversion immediately. George, you are now a C.E.O. Start setting up new corporations to convert our assets. Gott, call in Philger to reorganize our security personnel. With Mason out of the picture, that shouldn't be hard. There's profit to be made, and we're going to position ourselves to take advantage of it. Not just with the moon, but with a whole new future."

"Maintaining your black markets will leave a vulnerability," one of the accountants said.

"Waters wants those markets," McNair said with a sly smile. "Woe to him who says he can't have them. What do you think, George?"

"I think that if our government wasn't so corrupt, we wouldn't need black markets," George said.

____________

John and Grey took the commuter train back to the eastern hub, spent part of the afternoon visiting historic sites in the downtown area, and then returned to the Universal Foothills where John recovered his truck.

"We can take the Mulholland Tunnel," John said. "Not as pretty as the mountain road but a lot faster this late in the day."

"The tunnel will be interesting. Sometimes I get a little homesick," Grey mentioned.

"Homesick?" John wondered.

"A small joke. I understand Malibu is near the ocean," Grey questioned.

"Well, yeah. The whole place is one long beach," John said.

They entered the tunnel and worked through rush hour traffic before emerging from the final exit a dozen kilometers from the ocean. The exit ramp took them down to the ancient coast highway and they turned north, passing a wide variety of eccentric dwellings, small businesses, and several large hotels. To their left, the blue Pacific reached out across the horizon.

Before long, Grey noticed a series of heavily guarded off-ramps and knew they were approaching the M.I.S.T. security zone, an area that included the science institute and many associated facilities. Some of the most prominent tech complexes were operated by McKinsey Industries, said to be among the world's richest corporations. The late Dr. Laureen McKinsey, and Governor Thomas McKinsey before her, had not been shy about advocating peace while making a fortune from defense contracts.

"I've heard the McKinsey Foundation owns substantial assets on the moon," Grey said.

"Maybe, not that it counts for much," John replied. "As long as the Congress-In-Council refuses to recognize the Lunar Republic, there isn't going to be any space trade."

"The Lunar Republic isn't a legitimate government, is it?" Grey asked. "Just a handful of rebels."

"How legitimate is our government?" John countered.

Grey shrugged.

"Where are we going?" John nervously inquired as they got closer to the institute's primary entrance. Grey pointed to the main gate. "This is a restricted zone, Ben. M.I.S.T. even has its own security force. Rough, too. A law unto themselves, from what I've heard."

"I've traveled a long way. Maybe they'll let a couple of simple farmers stop in to say hello," Grey hoped.

Hardly halfway up the road, a security team stopped the truck and examined it with a scanner, then directed them to a waiting area outside the gate. The security team didn't ask questions or permit any.

"Out," a sentry ordered, backed up by three others with drawn weapons. Guard towers on either side of the road also contained armed lookouts.

John kept his hands in full sight and jumped out of the truck. Grey reluctantly left the Lassiter under the seat and studied the security team's methods.

"What can we do for you?" the sergeant on duty finally asked.

"I would like to speak with Doctor Valerie Fairfield and Colonel Michael Zopek," Grey said.

The guards almost laughed, but John was astonished. Grey had the impression that if John had known his intention, he would never have cooperated.

"Who should we say is calling?" the sergeant asked, on the edge of being sarcastic.

"Ben Brown," Grey said at the same moment a guard bluntly motioned for his identification.

The sergeant took out his communicator to summon the front office, stepping out of earshot. The guards kept alert with their weapons leveled.

"Colonel Zopek says he doesn't know a Ben Brown," the sergeant said when he returned a few minutes later. This information did not bode well with the guards, who eyed them with even greater suspicion.

John looked at the ring of grim troopers and thought for a moment that Ben must have gone mad. Grey showed no anxiety.

"Please remind Colonel Zopek that we once attended a poetry reading together, and that I enjoyed his rendition of Casey at the Bat," Grey requested very politely.

The sergeant huffed impatiently and backed away to deliver the message. His posture quickly changed.

"Stand down," the sergeant ordered his squad, pushing the weapons aside. "Sorry, Mister Brown. These are dangerous times."

"Your diligence is appreciated," Grey said.

The guards exchanged glances of curiosity as they escorted Grey and John to a utility cart. One guard drove while another seated the guests and took a position on the rear platform. The gate opened and they went up a long road past large grass fields and impressive brick buildings. The campus was quiet, nearly deserted during the summer recess, and quite impressive in the twilight of the setting sun. Grey took a deep breath of the ocean air and tried to compose his thoughts.

After passing through the main campus, they went down a hill, crossed underneath the coast highway, and entered a highly secured complex of apartments and private houses close to the beach. One particularly grand house, the President's Residence, was well lit with a guard post at the mouth of the driveway. Grey and John disembarked just inside the gate and started walking up the hill as two people, a man and woman, could be seen running toward them from the house.

"Thank God you're all right. We were so worried," Valerie Fairfield said, hugging Grey in her arms.

"Good to see you, kid. Sure had us scared," Michael Zopek said, shaking Grey's hand before picking him up and squeezing him like a long-lost little brother.

John couldn't believe he was meeting two of the most famous people in the world, the subject of more tabloid stories than any other American couple. Tall, blonde, beautiful, and just over thirty years old, he knew Valerie Fairfield had first made her mark entertaining troops during the war. Not to mention her service at London General after the bombing. Having assumed her late godmother's post as institute president since returning from the moon, she was also inheriting McKinsey's legacy. And Michael Zopek, the former U.C.L.A. football star, had quite a combat record as a pilot in Africa. A good-natured man but well-known for his unequivocal attitudes. And here they were treating Ben like a celebrity of their own rank.

But why hadn't Zopek recognized Ben's name while they were at the gate? John wondered.

"This is John Farmer," Grey introduced. "I've been working for him on his farm in Hope Valley."

"Farmer? Hope Valley?" Michael asked. "Not the Farmer?"

"Jacob Farmer was my father," John clarified, shaking Michael's hand.

"Brave man. Brave family," Michael said with admiration. "Thanks for helping..."

"Ben," Valerie suddenly interrupted.

"Ben, yeah," Michael finished.

"Yes, thank you very much," Valerie said, giving John a peck on the cheek. "Let's go inside where we can talk. Hungry? Need a place to stay?"

A few minutes later, on a jammer screened patio overlooking the ocean, Michael served tea while Valerie held Grey's hand and studied him. John tried to take the surroundings in stride, struggling against the strange thoughts creeping into the back of his mind.

"You look good. Real good," Valerie said with surprise. "You even have a tan."

"I've always enjoyed farm work," Grey said, sipping his tea. "John has an excellent farm with rich soil."

"Even richer now that we have enough water," John said. "Ben got our old pumping station going again."

Valerie and Michael exchanged smiles as if the information was not a surprise.

"Heard you had some trouble up there the other night," Michael said. "Some of Boss McNair's boys ran afoul of a vigilante or something?"

"Or something," John said, looking at Grey for a reaction.

"Mr. McNair's employees disobeyed my instructions. Their error was corrected," Grey said.

"It was you? By yourself?" Michael guessed.

"They were poorly trained and of inferior character," Grey elaborated, motioning for more tea. "Nevertheless, the activity was unpleasant."

John was shocked that Ben would confess so casually, and it reinforced his feeling that he maintained a relationship of extreme trust with Fairfield and Zopek. He looked at Ben in an attempt to completely reappraise him, trying to remove all of his initial preconceptions from that night almost a month before when he'd picked up a disheveled vagabond from the roadside. Grey noticed John's expression and felt guilty that he had maintained the pretense for so long.

"I owe you an apology, John," Grey said. "It was important that I not draw too much attention."

"I'll be a son of a bitch," John said in a whisper. "You really are him. The Governor."

"Grey," Grey introduced, offering his hand and hoping John wouldn't refuse it.

"I'll be a son of a bitch," John said again, shaking Grey's hand.

"Am I forgiven?" Grey asked.

"Forgiven? Hell, you don't owe me an apology," John said. "No, sir, I appreciate everything you've done for us. Everything."

"Grey. My name is Grey," the Governor of the Moon repeated with emphasis.

"Sure, Grey it is," John said, everything starting to make sense. He looked at Valerie and Mike, realizing now why they had been so anxious. Then the big question occurred to him.

"What are you doing here? On Earth? In the Northern Alliance?" John asked. John saw that Valerie and Michael were equally curious.

"It's a complicated story," Grey said, tensing up. "In recent months, I've discovered there are certain objectives that I would never be able to achieve from Tranquility, so the Life Support Computer suggested I seek my objectives at the source. This mission has also given me a chance to meet some real humans. A vacation of sorts."

"Real humans?" John asked.

"I haven't met many humans," Grey said a little sadly. "The humans who have come to the moon are soldiers and technicians. Those who have joined the Lunar Republic are deferential. If I'm to accomplish my goals, I need to understand ordinary people. It's not the only reason I'm here, but it's an important one."

Grey finished the tea and turned to watch the sun set into the blue waters of the Pacific, then went to the edge of the balcony for a better view of the beach, pausing at the top of a cliff.

"Let's go for a walk," Valerie suggested, taking Grey by the arm.

They went down a long flight of steps past a secluded hot tub, emerging on the sand not far from the surf. Grey could hear the crash of the waves and smell the strong salt air. As the sunset faded to a pale orange glow, he took off his boots and ran to put his bare feet in the water. That's when Valerie realized he'd probably never been on a beach before.

Back in the President's Residence, Michael found the scotch bottle and poured two glasses.

"What did he mean by all that?" John asked. "Deferential treatment and all, like it's something bad? He's a hero."

"The kid doesn't think of himself as a hero," Michael said. "Never has. Just a guy doing his job."

"After what he's done for my family and our community, he's certainly a hero to us. And I've heard what he's done for others, like that asteroid he destroyed, and those soldiers he saved on the moon," John said. "Doesn't that make him a hero?"

"What can I say? The kid's always been kind of bended," Michael said, raising his glass in a salute.

Michael could see John still wasn't satisfied with the explanation and walked to the edge of the balcony where he could look down at the beach. Valerie and Grey were standing near the surf in the waning light.

"I don't know what he's really doing here, but it must be important," Michael said. "When we were up there last year, we asked him to come visit Earth someday. Only time I ever saw him laugh. Any clues?"

"He showed up out of nowhere. Looked like just another bewildered vet wandering the countryside," John recalled, joining Michael at the railing. "You know the type I mean. A bit shell shocked. Before I knew it, everything started changing. My farm. My family. My town. Suddenly life's looking good again, for the first time in a long time."

"Wouldn't it be great if he could do that for the rest of the country?" Michael said.

John laughed, but after thinking about it for a moment, he wondered if the idea was really all that foolish.

As Valerie and Grey walked along the beach, Valerie attempted to strike up a conversation while Grey sought to postpone one. Finally, she forced a confrontation, just like she'd been compelled to do once before under far grimmer circumstances.

"There are an awful lot of people worried about you," Valerie said. "Why didn't you tell Kris?"

"I only recently discovered she thinks I'm missing," Grey answered, feeling badly.

"Confidentiality mode activated, Grey," Valerie said with a smile. "What are you really doing here?"

He sat down in the wet sand, slapping at the waves each time they rolled up within reach. Valerie sat down next to him, keeping a little farther from the surf.

"Life Support and I discussed this project several months ago," Grey explained. "Tranquility can't get the supplies we need through the orbital paths, and the assassination attempts are bound to continue. I felt something must be done to break the deadlock with the Congress-In-Council."

"By coming to Earth? Why not tell anybody?"

"Mining the String provided an opportunity. As for the secrecy, Life Support insisted it was necessary to avoid interference with the mission. Tamera, Nicholas and the others are a very protective group."

"And Kris?"

"I assumed Kris would be briefed if the cover story broke down. My planning was inadequate."

"I should think so," Valerie agreed. "But remember, we know about your Life Support Computer's schemes, too. What is that computer up to this time?"

"Even I can't always guess what Life Support is planning," Grey admitted, the truth sadder than anyone could know. "This could be some form of test, or it could be part of a larger plan. We've had a number of disagreements lately, the system may have decided I'm expendable. Whatever the motives, now that I'm here and seen the problems you humans are facing, I'm hoping to do something about it."

Grey gazed at the rolling surf and the way the waves turned white as they crashed against the beach. The motion had a dark, eternal feeling that gave him comfort and fear at the same time.

"Is there anything Mike and I can do?" Valerie asked, moving close and holding his arm.

"It would help to send Tranquility a coded message," he said. "Let Kris know not to worry."

"Kris is going to worry regardless of what I tell her. It's not like the Congress-In-Council holds you in high regard," Valerie warned.

Grey shrugged, as she had seen him do before when there was no good answer.

"John seems like a nice man. Have you made some friends here?"

"Friends may be too strong a term, but I have met many interesting humans," Grey replied. "It disturbs me, however, that so many industrious people are being restrained by parasitical forces."

"Parasitical forces?"

"A government devoted to self-interest cannot build a future," Grey said. "I have witnessed bureaucracies and criminal organizations suppressing productivity. Many humans are being hurt or killed while the authorities ignore fundamental problems. If Tranquility were managed this way, we would have failed years ago."

"We needed a strong government to survive the Embargo Wars," Valerie explained. "At least, that's what we were told. Laureen expected our expedition to undermine the Congress-In-Council and force new elections. Which, as we all learned later, she planned to win and install her own government. With Laureen gone, it's hard to say what's going to happen."

"If new elections are held, will you run for office?" Grey asked.

"I've been thinking about it. Mike hates the idea, but even he's sick of the way things are."

"Many humans look to you. Often have I heard their hopes mentioned in conjunction with your name."

"Not nearly as many as look to you," Valerie said just as seriously.

"I'm not a citizen of your alliance, or even your planet," Grey said. "And I don't have any solutions for your problems. I make agreements where I can, fight when I have to. But my world is smaller. This world needs people like you and Colonel Zopek. John Farmer. His neighbors. I'm only a symbol, you are the solution."

"You're right. If we don't stand up, why should anyone else?" Valerie understood. "But for now, the Council has the power. Even if I wanted to run, new elections could be years away."

"I'm sure your view of that is better than mine," Grey seemed to agree. "Tranquility's democratic traditions are based on who won the last battle."

"What should I tell Kris?" Valerie asked.

"Caution must be maintained," Grey warned. "Perhaps you can communicate in one of your obscure female dialects?"

"I get the idea," she laughed. "It's so good to see you again, Grey. Sometimes, late at night, I remember our trip to Tranquility. Not the crash landing or the battles. Or when Laureen died. But later, when you showed us your world, and shared your dreams with us. It's a time I'll never forget."

"That was a simple era," Grey recalled. "The moon felt so crowded with four of you there."

"I know this trip will be good for you," Valerie said.

"If I get home, I will look back on these days with fondness," Grey mused. "As much as I feel reassured to meet with you and Colonel Zopek, this isn't a social visit. There are favors I need to request, if it wouldn't be too forward."

"Whatever you need," Valerie said, honored to be asked.

"I require two hundred thousand credits to initiate some important projects," Grey said. "It will be repaid with interest, of course. I could also use a tactical scanner and combat equipment. Your planet is a dangerous place."

"It will take a day or two to raise that many credits, but we can do it," Valerie said. "The equipment is easy. Our security forces have all the latest gadgets. Anything else?"

"I need some of the funds set aside to assist Mister Samuel Aslym and his family. Perhaps in the form of an anonymous donation," he answered.

"That's the family who was attacked the other night?" Valerie said. "We can do that. If you don't mind, Mike and I would like to help, too."

Grey nodded. "There is another request. A female graduate student named Judith Den at the local university. I would like her admitted to the McKinsey scholarship program."

"Wow, I didn't expect that," Valerie replied.

"Is it beyond your power?"

"No, not at all. If she has your recommendation, that's good enough for me."

"She has much talent. Her potential should not be wasted," Grey explained, not wanting Valerie to think the request frivolous.

"A community reborn, a gang boss subdued, a student given a chance. You're building quite a legacy here," Valerie said. "Are all your vacations like this?"

"I don't know, I've never had a vacation," Grey sighed. "But it would be more fun if Kris were here."

Valerie felt her heart beat faster, and wondered if Kris realized how much she meant to him.

Back at the President's Residence, Michael and John were going through one of the old U.C.L.A. scrapbooks when Valerie and Grey returned.

"Anything decided?" Michael asked.

"We're going to put Silent Wind in preflight so Grey can go home, secretly of course," Valerie said. "In the meantime, he thinks it's best to remain in Hope Valley. Fewer questions to interfere with the launch preparations."

"Makes sense, but don't let your guard down, kid," Michael warned.

"He'll be fine with us," John said. "Not many strangers come up our way without plenty of people knowing about it."

"I also have intel from Security," Grey said. "The system tracks all movements within twenty kilometers of my position."

"How'd you manage that?" Michael asked.

"Not all of the debris in orbit is really debris," Grey said. "We have a string of high ground observers and eight new low orbit coms. By tying the new satellites in with the lunar web, Tranquility has been able to reestablish a global communications network."

"You mean anyone can access it?" John asked.

"From what I understand, many already have," Grey said. "Even a primitive antenna is sufficient."

"That means the censorship will come to an end," Valerie said, bouncing on the couch in excitement.

John looked at Grey in amazement. So did Valerie and Michael. Again, there was that strange sense of admiration that Grey thought so misplaced.

"I didn't build the satellites," he protested. "Well, not all of them. And the Defense Computer coordinated the placement. Life Support developed the original strategy and the Communications Computer is supervising linkage. All I did was provide a distraction."

"Grey, were you or were you not instrumental in placing those satellites?" Valerie asked.

"Eventually..." Grey tried to explain.

"Answer the question," Valerie insisted.

"Yes," he reluctantly conceded.

"Do you realize what lifting the censorship will mean?" John asked. "Real news. Free exchange. Truth."

"Truth is a relative equation," Grey dismissed. "But the sharing of information should provide social and economic benefits. Such progress is inevitable with the subsidence of hostilities, but Tranquility's high ground network will help speed the process."

"No wonder the Northern Alliance invaded the moon," John said. "If they suspected half of what you can do, you'd be the most dangerous enemy they ever had."

"I bear no ill-will against the Northern Alliance," Grey said. "As a former colony, Tranquility's traditions are forever linked to this region. It's the political leadership that presents an obstacle. In time, that will change."

"Amen," John and Michael said at the same time, then laughed.

"Had dinner yet?" Valerie asked.

"Not yet," John said when Grey was slow to respond.

"Well, you're definitely having dinner with us," Michael said. "Hope you like lobster, we've got a tank full of the crusty things."

As Michael went to notify the cook and get a bottle of wine from the cabinet, Valerie suggested to John that they stay the night.

____________

"Hello, little sister," Valerie greeted on a coded com channel.

"Hi, Val," Kris replied, her image on the monitor screen showing a woman worn from weeks of stress.

"Cheer up, honey. Life on the moon may be hard, but life down here isn't a blue crown, either," Valerie said. "Our friend Ben Brown was here last night, and he said that given a choice, he'd rather be on the moon."

"Ben Brown?" Kris said.

"Ben Brown, the poet," Valerie emphasized.

"How is Ben?" Kris asked.

"Better than ever. On a voyage of discovery, so to speak."

"I'd like to talk to him. Is he available?" Kris requested.

"No, honey. He had to go back to work this morning, but he did express an interest in seeing you again," Valerie said with a smile. "Didn't General Larson invite you down for the Black Sash games?"

"He sure did," Kris remembered. "Promised a safe conduct and V.I.P. status. I've decided to accept his offer."

"That's fabulous, honey. It will be so nice to see you again. It's been almost a year, you know."

"Yeah, it will be great," Kris said. "I can hardly wait."

* * * * * *

Three parts to go.