

### Expelled

Clay Spann

Copyright 2009 Clayton Spann

Smashwords Edition

(Expelled is the final volume of the Roger Ward trilogy)

Discover other titles by Clayton Spann at Smashwords.com:

Exchange Rate

The Line of Eyes

Lord Protector*

Restorer of the World*

Day Nine

Two Timed

*Roger Ward Trilogy

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, place and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons (except for historical figures), living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

To astronauts and cosmonauts,

those daring doers,

_past, present, and future_.

The proof of gold is fire;

the proof of woman, gold;

the proof of man, a woman.

Ben Franklin

Prolog

April, 2015

Reaching from the grave, they called it. Roger Ward stared at the manila envelope on his desk as if it were a skeletal hand.

That the manila envelope came from Margaret Beaufort he had no doubt. The cramped Gothic penmanship spelling his name and address belonged to no one else. And, as usual, a wad of green and white wax—the livery colors of Tudor—sealed the envelope flap.

He reached for the envelope, then hesitated. His breath shortened as he wondered if this woman were about to inflict more pain on him.

Hopefully she was just giving him more money. Let her, as much as her conscience dictated. Her bequests through the years totaled over five billion dollars, but even in this socialist era the Good Guys needed ever more.

Ward tore open the envelope.

He pulled out a stiff piece of paper, an index card. He had it upside down. He was relived to see she had written only a single sentence, one that probably stated the amount and delivery date of funds.

He had thought the letter last year was her final communication. He had received it a month before her death. Teardrops actually stained the paper. She poured out grief over the recent death of her son Henry VII, sorrow over her own impending end, regret at the anguish she had caused him, and in closing, proclaimed that for years now she considered Ward her second son. He had burned the letter.

Ward turned the index card right side up and read. No money. Instead a ridiculous statement. He snorted a laugh.

You and Anne Hollingsworth Lynn must be off earth on July 10, 2021.

When he eventually turned the card over his amusement died. For the sentence scrawled there yanked the first sentence from the realm of absurdity.

Yes, by all means, go ahead with your interview tomorrow evening.

### Part One

Jesus loves me! This I know,

For the Bible tells me so.

Anna Bartlett Warner

1

July 5, 2021

Powered flight ended. In the Soyuz capsule zero gravity prevailed.

Ward did not want to start puking. Both times in the Russian version of the Vomit Comet he had barfed after several cycles of weightlessness.

"Can I take the helmet off?" he asked.

In the center seat Sergei Lomerov nodded. "Da."

"Are you feeling alright?" asked Anne.

"So far," said Ward. "How about you?"

She smiled. "Fantastic."

Ward forced a smile back at the lovely face to the right of Lomerov. Then he released the helmet and it began to float in the cramped confines.

"Roger, look." Anne pointed to the starboard porthole. Ward craned his head and could see the curvature of the earth. Below the curve spread a vastness of baby blue. At the edge of the curve lay the translucent film of the atmosphere, and above it ranged the blackest of blacks.

It was hard to believe. After all these years, after all the planning and plotting, he was in space. And now he would see.

With his helmet off Ward felt less cramped, even though—as they had too often reminded them during training—less room existed in the capsule than in a compact car. Thankfully during the two day ride to the Bigelow Space Station they would spend most of their time in the roomier habitation module.

"Roger, I think that's Hawaii."

"Da," said Lomerov.

Ward looked over. That was the fiftieth state, all right. Ward wondered if Hawaii would be a safe place. If what was coming was coming.

At least five minutes had passed since the third stage shut down. No sign of nausea. He welcomed that, even though plenty of anxiety still churned in his gut.

That ride up had unnerved him. Ward had been quite aware that each second hundreds of gallons of explosive propellant burned underneath him. He hoped he had hidden his anxiety as the rocket rattled and jolted and the acceleration grew.

Anne had not needed to hide anything. As they soared spaceward she had exclaimed like a kid on a roller coaster. Even the dour Lomerov had caught her enthusiasm, and given her a thumbs up.

She had been like that all through training, too. Nothing fazed her during the arduous fortnight. The Vomit Comet, the 6 g's in the centrifuge, the underwater EVA simulation, the interminable briefings and medical tests, and—AND—the sexual innuendo from males on the Russian staff.

Ward had hated the innuendo, but he could certainly understand. The looks of some women peaked in their teens, while other women reached maximum allure in their thirties. Anne belonged to the latter category. Her creamy complexion glowed brighter than ever, and dropping three kids had not marred her voluptuous figure one bit. Ward doubted the boys at Star City outside Moscow had seen a more attractive space adventurer, whether astronaut, cosmonaut, or tourist.

Lomerov said something in Russian to mission control. From training Ward knew he was announcing the solar panels had deployed outside the service module. Lomerov received a laconic reply, then a more animated voice—in English—came on. It was a Bigelow Aerospace rep congratulating Ward and Anne on attaining orbit and wishing them an enjoyable ride to the station. Anne replied she was having a wonderful time. Ward said it was all he expected.

For the next couple of hours Lomerov was occupied with system tests and communications with the ground. As per training Ward and Anne stayed quiet so as not to distract him. Instead they looked out the portholes.

Anne's porthole faced earthward and she remained transfixed by the sights below, even as the Soyuz twice passed into night. Ward faced ink black and the stars. They did not transfix him. He could not remove his focus from the fact that only five days remained. The long countdown was fast approaching its end.

When Lomerov and the ground had decided everything was A Okay, the veteran cosmonaut rose from his seat. He opened the hatch above, then led them into the habitation module.

From a porthole sunshine flooded into the module like a spotlight. The porthole lay between two bulky projections housing equipment and stores. Above one projection purred a small fan, and above the other was the toilet equipment.

As they got out of their pressure suits, Ward eyed the collage of hoses, funnel, vacuum pump and bucket that comprised their outhouse in space. He prayed to God none of them would need to use the bucket. They had been on a low fiber diet the past few days and had their colons voided just this morning. Ward debated not eating a thing until they reached the BSS.

Urination they could probably not avoid. He had practiced with the funnel, while Anne would use a sanitary napkin like pad. Of course that had been in gravity and in private. Ward hoped Lomerov would be polite enough return to the capsule or at least turn his head away when the time came.

Free of their suits, Lomerov handed Anne a headband. He pointed to her hair, the auburn strands of which floated in disarray. "Please secure," he said.

Then the Russian broke out refreshments. Now he smiled as he handed Ward and Anne tapered cups containing a clear liquid. The liquid climbed the sides but stayed in even when Ward inadvertently tipped his cup.

Lomerov raised his own cup. " _Budem zdorovy_."

Ward and Anne parroted the Russian phrase meaning "let's stay healthy", and both downed the shot of vodka—it had to be 100 plus proof—without blanching. Not for nothing had they spent time at Shep's bar in Star City.

Lomerov then began to open up. They had met the Soyuz pilot only a couple of days ago, at the launch site in Kazakhstan, and the taciturn man had stuck to polite and professional demeanor since. They knew little beyond his having been in the Russian space program a long time.

As a second shot of vodka brought more animation to the cosmonaut, his ice blue eyes fixed more and more on Anne. Ward began to care less that this square faced man with the graying blond hair had actually been on the Mir space station back in the nineties. Or that he had logged an incredible one thousand days in space. Or that he was one of the few men to have spent time on all three stations now in orbit.

Get your beady eyes off my girl, Ward wanted to scream. But of course he couldn't, as their lives depended on him. Ward would have to settle for knowing the man would not be staying on the BSS; Lomerov would return to the steppes of Kazakhstan with the pair of tourists currently on the station.

The Russian broke out pouches and tins of food. Ward was now hungry, so he ate despite fears of motion sickness. He washed down morsels of fruit and stew with more vodka.

Lomerov continued with tales of his adventures in space. Though still annoyed, Ward found some of it compelling. Lomerov had cheated death several times while in orbit, and once on descent. The wayward descent—caused by a computer glitch—involved 12 g's, a crash landing, and four months afterward in the hospital.

At last the combination of the vodka, food, and spent adrenaline put Ward near under. Anne was fading, too. Lomerov helped them into their sleeping bags and tied the bags to the bulkhead. Ward drifted quickly into unconsciousness.

"Soyuz TMAT-68 arriving," a formal voice announced.

Those were the first words that Ward heard after the airlock door was opened to the BSS. Led by Lomerov, they pushed themselves out of the Soyuz into the starboard module of the station.

In a cavernous cylinder five floating people awaited them. The three men and two women smiled broadly. Ward had no trouble telling which were the space tourists, although everyone was dressed in Lincoln green coveralls emblazoned with the logo of Bigelow Aerospace.

The man on the left and the woman on the right were older and overweight. They also gripped hand bars on the wall, while the three trim corporation employees maintained midair positions with ease. Ward saw all five wore swim like flippers.

Then one of the employees, an Asian male, pulled on a cord. Four chimes rang out.

"Welcome, Roger and Anne," said the younger of the two women. She spoke with a French accent and was quite fetching. "And welcome back, Sergei. Welcome all to the Bigelow Space Station, the finest accommodation on or off earth. "

The five then propelled themselves forward, and hugs and names were exchanged.

Of course, Ward was even more of a novice dealing with zero gravity than the two tourists that he and Anne would replace. He soon found himself foundering in the much larger volume of this module. After one vigorous hug he was drifting away helplessly toward the opposite end.

The French woman effortlessly came after him. Lucette caught up halfway down the cylinder and gave him a winning smile. "Roger, you will quickly get used to traversing." She pointed to her flippers. "I will teach you myself."

He knew the raven-haired French hottie smiled not just out of professional courtesy. Nor did his wealth have bearing. To everyone except Anne he was Roger Caldwell, just another lottery winner. Lucette's eager eyes confirmed he still had his looks. So had the eyes of women at Star City.

Ward glanced down the cylinder at Anne. She was watching with an amused smile. As she had at Star City. No need for her to worry; she knew how badly she had him hooked.

Then he noticed Lomerov eyeballing Anne. Ward shrugged it off; the burly Russian would be gone in three hours.

Yes, it was good to know he retained his appeal to the opposite sex. During the six years of exile in the mountains of southern Virginia he wondered if it had expired.

The crew gathered everyone back near the airlock for a toast. This time, with champagne. Ward noticed the bubbles in his tapered cup did not rise, and instead just rolled around in the liquid. After two days of vodka the champagne didn't have much kick.

The Asian—the American, Sam Wong—nodded at the departing guests. "Paul and Denise, it has been a pleasure to have you with us the past ten days. I hope you will take back memories for a lifetime."

They gushed they would. Then Sam announced he had a surprise; Yuri, the third member of the crew, would be returning with them in the Soyuz. Lomerov would stay on the BSS for the current hosting, possibly longer.

Ward almost spit out his champagne. What the fuck was this?

Later, after the tourists left, it was explained. Though hardly to Ward's satisfaction. Yuri had supposedly pleaded with Lomerov to exchange places. An urgent family matter had supposedly arisen. Mission Control didn't have a problem with it, since all BSS crew members were trained to pilot the Soyuz for its short journey back to earth.

Ward had wanted to protest. But how could he? He could have pulled rank—his capital kept both Bigelow Aerospace and the Russian space agency Roscosmos afloat—but that would mean revealing his identity. Which could not leak out. Those Iranian assholes could well send up a missile to get him before the 10th.

He told himself he shouldn't be upset at all. Anne loved him. She sure wouldn't be giving more than politeness to this graying Ruskie with the yellowed teeth and coarse complexion who spoke fractured English and drank too much and smiled too little. And who had acted with absolute correctness toward him and Anne since meeting.

Yet how correct would Lomerov remain after the 10th? If everything below was thrown into chaos, and them isolated up here? Lomerov might try to claim with his hands what his eyes said he so badly wanted. And the advantage would all be with the veteran, who had skillfully survived in space so long.

The abandon ship drill yanked Ward from his worry. As a siren wailed, Lomerov led Ward and Anne from the starboard module into the center node. A hatch was opened, and the trio hurried into the BSS lifeboat—another Soyuz craft.

In the Soyuz habitation module they donned another set of white pressure suits, then descended into the capsule and strapped into their seats. Bound in his seat Ward had to fight off the same claustrophobia he felt before launch in Kazakhstan. Then the drill ended.

As they pulled off their pressure suits, Ward had a question. The same question he had on the ground. Three out of five onboard could evacuate. What about the other two?

On the ground they had explained the most probable cause for evacuation would be a meteoroid strike that breached the hull. In the thirty-five years since Mir and its descendant stations orbited, only one puncture had occurred, and that caused by a wayward supply vessel. Nevertheless, meteoroids remained the top hazard. Man made space debris could be tracked and dodged. Nature's little missiles could not.

Ward got pretty much the same answer from Lomerov that he had received on the ground.

"Not to worry," said Lomerov. "Likely only one module damaged. Other modules survive on own. Sam and Lucy stay in undamaged one until rescue Soyuz comes up."

But Ward decided to worry anyway.

2

Lomerov watched as Lucy helped Anya, then Caldwell, onto the Rotational Gravity Generator. The meter wide track that ran around the circumference of the starboard module had been installed only last fall. It had proved a hit with the tourists. Most of them, that was.

From speakers pulsated the song "Spinning Wheel", performed by a last century rock group. Anya had no trouble keeping her balance on the moving blue track. Caldwell stumbled and landed on his back.

Lomerov suppressed a grin. Fortunately for Caldwell only one-sixth g was being generated.

"Roger, are you okay?" asked Anya.

Caldwell muttered he was. He rose, but only to his hands and knees.

Anya was a natural. She was handling the revolving section of floor as calmly and quickly as she had zero gravity. She would have made a first-rate cosmonaut, Lomerov decided. The fumbling bundle of nerves named Caldwell would have washed out the first week. Most tourists struggled with weightlessness, but Caldwell was turning the struggle into an art form.

It had been hilarious, really, to observe Caldwell this morning as he tried to chase down popcorn. As part of training tourists to maneuver with flippers, the crew released freshly cooked popcorn in the module. The tourists were supposed to use only their mouths and legs to clear the air of the white blizzard. After a few false starts, Anya did great. Caldwell failed miserably and was reduced to a heavily sweating, muttering mess.

The black haired man rose. Now Lucy gripped him by the arm and elbow, as one would a doddering elder. Together they stepped at increasing pace, in direction opposite to RGG spin. Finally they walked fast enough to maintain a stationary position relative to the non rotating part of the module.

Perhaps a couple hours each day on the RGG would shut Caldwell up. In addition to bumbling, he was a complainer. Lomerov knew both tourists had been briefed on the discomforts they might face due to weightlessness. Back pain and clogged sinuses were hard to avoid. The RGG would momentarily alleviate both, along with keeping muscles toned.

With distaste Lomerov had listened as Caldwell let everyone know yesterday and today how much he was suffering. It had bothered Lomerov even more how Anya soothed him. A man did not complain. It was the man who soothed the woman, not the other way around.

Having lapped Caldwell, pony tailed Anya came up from behind and took his other arm. She beamed with joy. She beamed at Caldwell. That made Lomerov want to yell.

Lomerov had not been sure at first. But now he was.

After two days on the BSS it could not be denied. The Americans were lovers. That stabbed, because he increasingly viewed Anya Lynn as under his protection. Of course, each tourist was under his protection. But this was something more.

This warm and playful woman, in just the week since they met at the Cosmodrome in Kazakhstan, she had put an arrow through his heart.

He never had a daughter, and he badly wanted one. With pride and joy he fathered two sons. After that his wife failed to conceive. As the years went by he hungered for a baby girl. He even proposed adoption, but Elena refused.

Lomerov wished Anya could have been the daughter. He would have cherished and pampered her. And she with her sunny spirit would have returned the love in full.

This Roger Caldwell, her lover, resented the attention he was paying Anya. That was not important. Anya did not mind. He would continue with his attention until she said otherwise. And if he were fortunate, before return to earth he might drive a wedge between Anya and Caldwell.

Caldwell did not like that he called her "Anya". Lomerov had of course asked her permission before doing so. She had gladly agreed. He took great satisfaction in Caldwell's stifled anger. Let him choke on it.

The man was a phony, from his hair dyed jet black to his forced bonhomie. Lomerov supposed he saw some of what Anya saw in Caldwell. For his age, the man was attractive and well proportioned, and he was witty. On the other hand, the man had not distinguished himself professionally; his dossier said he held a middling position in the US Department of Labor.

Lomerov knew Caldwell thought him sexually interested in Anya. Not hard to understand why, she possessed splendid curves. Her auburn hair was thick and lustrous. She had wonderful cheekbones and her unlined complexion glowed. And her laugh grabbed the soul. Any man not a homosexual would want to bed her many times.

But there was that divide. The divide between wanting and doing. Men did not bed their daughters, however attractive they might be. Anne, Anya, was twenty-four years younger than him—and twenty-two years younger than Caldwell. A generation separated both men from her.

He had always despised men who bedded women a generation younger. To him, it smacked of incest. Freud and his ilk might put the blame on the female, but the man, the elder in the situation, was the one ultimately responsible. That Anya was married and Caldwell not, that made no difference.

Two days now on station and Lomerov was finding it difficult to remain civil to Caldwell. He would love to grab this fraud by the throat, shake him, make him swear to never again touch Anya.

Lomerov caught himself. What was he doing?

Since his first days in training, it had been drilled into him that in space a cosmonaut must absolutely avoid negative emotion. Negative emotion destroyed the coolness and calmness key to surviving such a lethal environment. A cosmonaut loathed nothing, and tolerated everything. Save ill will for the ground.

So let himself think coolly and calmly.

Remaining civil was his duty. He was a host. He was not paid to like the tourists, only to treat them well. And beyond hosting, the very lives of those on station were his responsibility.

What could he do about these visitors anyway? He should be under no illusions that he could split them. The light in Anya's eyes for Caldwell blazed too strongly. She would recoil at any warning that Lomerov tried to give. She would just think him envious, instead of concerned for her.

Cold fact said that in less than two weeks Caldwell and Anya would be out of his life forever. They would return to their land of decay and decadence and carry on with their sinning. Eventually Anya would tell her husband she was leaving him, or the husband would find out on his own about the betrayal. The only suspense lay in what the husband would do to Caldwell.

Therefore what the two tourists did in the port module should be of no concern to him. It did not put the BSS in peril. If their couplings made their stay more pleasant, that is all that should matter to him as host.

He should also accept that Anya was a grown woman. In this sordid business she was equal partner with Caldwell. Lomerov might like to think her the innocent, the one being deceived and used. She was not. This thirty-four year old woman, so obviously sane and competent, knew exactly what she was doing.

Still, he could not help but adore her.

From the RGG laughter erupted. Now the trio on the spinning track had broken into a slow jog. They bounded over the padded blue surface like moon walkers. Lomerov swallowed a scowl.

Lomerov watched with satisfaction as Caldwell struggled to spoon lamb stew to his mouth. Caldwell still managed to send fragments of stew floating. One would think the fumbler would have the technique down after three days on station. Anya had mastered it the first day.

"There is some danger, no?" asked Caldwell, referring to an Extra Vehicular Activity walk.

The five of them hovered around the dinning table in the starboard module. Feet in loops on the curved floor held the diners in place. Despite instruction Caldwell tried to assume a sitting position, which was hell on the abdominal muscles. Everyone else at the table had yielded to the to the semi-crouch position that a relaxed body assumed in weightlessness

Sam waved his hand. "An EVA walk is very safe, Roger." Sam, though American born and bred, was using chopsticks to ferry spheres of both food and drink to his mouth.

Worry creased the brow of Caldwell. "I just don't know."

Lomerov wanted to smack him. Be a man! One could almost smell the shit in Caldwell's pants. What did Anya see in him? Anya was not a dreamy schoolgirl. Why then was she so enraptured with this man who increasingly revealed his lack of substance?

"You will enjoy it," said Lucy. "You both will."

Lucy was smiling at Caldwell. However she no longer regarded this fussy, whining man with calf eyes. All illusion was gone. She would remain pleasant to the tourist, do her duty, then likely sigh in relief with his departure.

Now the entire spoon slipped from Caldwell's grasp. Beside him Anya quickly retrieved the utensil. My lord, Lomerov had never seen a more jittery man. Why had Caldwell come into space if he were so unnerved by it?

So few got to come. Caldwell should embrace his ten days in orbit, as Anya was. Inwardly she must be disappointed in him. Though she was certainly not acting like it.

Lomerov finally spoke. "Roger, little danger. EVA suits now made of nanotubes. Make kelvar look like tissue paper. If get hit, may sting. No puncture." Of course, that was for micro-meteoroids smaller than the tip of a pencil. Something larger would go through and impact like a bullet. But in fifty years of EVA walks that had not happened, even with the old suits.

Caldwell now looked like a cornered rabbit. Yes, this man was a coward. Did not Anya see it? Love could not be that blind.

Lomerov pressed the issue home. "I take you both outside. It will be fun. I promise. You are completely safe."

Anya smiled her wonderful smile. "Roger, let's do it."

"I don't want anything to happen to you."

It took all of Lomerov's will to hide his disgust. Hiding behind his woman's skirt.

"Please, Roger. I want to go."

Good girl. Now the coward would have to decide which he most feared: hazarding meteoroids or losing the respect of his woman.

Caldwell sighed. "Sure, if you want to. But I don't think we should stay too long."

"We limit tourists to twenty minutes," said Sam. "Though I bet you'll be begging Sergei for longer. I can never get enough of outside."

Lomerov looked right at Caldwell. If the coward did beg, it would be for immediate return.

He finished his wine and smiled. "Please eat up. Then we go."

Lomerov led the two Americans from the center node airlock into the vacuum of space. Handrails, and magnets on his boot heels, countered zero g as he stepped along the lattice of the catwalk. Below him lay the silver cylinder housing the BBS propulsion unit, and below that stretched the vast blue and white carpet of the earth.

He turned to face his fellow spacewalkers.

"Watch me, please. Do same to attach your tethers."

Anya of course locked hers the first try. Caldwell of course managed it only the third time. Lomerov had never seen such a butterfingers.

"Now you can let go of rail. Boots will keep you on catwalk."

Lomerov walked backward as he gestured them forward. Both Americans moved gingerly. After four steps Caldwell was right behind Anya. Their hips were only centimeters apart, even though Lomerov had instructed they keep a meter's spacing.

"Keep distance." He spoke curtly. Then more than annoyance arose as he realized Caldwell had not bunched up by accident. The man, the pathetic coward, was using the body of Anya to shield himself.

Under his glare Caldwell separated from Anya.

For the first time in decades Lomerov grew nauseous in space. And not from inner ear imbalance. Oh, how this Caldwell sickened him.

Still facing them, Lomerov backed to the end of the catwalk. Then he pushed with his toes and he was floating free of the BSS. He saw the eyes of Caldwell widen.

"Come. We will exhaust time."

Anya came and Caldwell's voice chased her.

"Anne, please stay on the catwalk. He's the professional, we aren't."

"It's perfectly safe, Roger." For the first time since liftoff Lomerov heard exasperation in her voice when addressing Caldwell. That was good.

Anya did not look back. A few more steps and she was at the end of the catwalk.

"Push off with toes," said Lomerov.

Anya drifted from the catwalk. Shortly she floated beside him. They were both at the end of their tethers.

The eyes of Caldwell were ready to pop. Lomerov wagered the man would not leave the catwalk. Which would be very good. Caldwell would stand shamed before his woman, exposed for what he really was.

Anya would refuse his embrace the rest of their stay. When they returned to earth, she would end the relationship. Lomerov would have done her a great service.

Anya laughed gently. "Come on, Roger. Don't be chicken."

Unfortunately the taunt spurred the man forward. Still, Caldwell hesitated at the end of the catwalk as he stared at the slender tethers holding Lomerov and Anya.

Lomerov conceded that the tethers looked too thin, like they could snap at any second. But the carbon fibrils composing a tether could hold the mass of a hundred men.

In addition Lomerov wore a jet pack that would let him effect rescue if Anya or Caldwell did break free.

Finally Caldwell toed off the catwalk. He flapped his arms a few times before reaching them. He stayed silent.

They floated with nothing between them and the earth two hundred seventy miles below. Lomerov's spine tingled. As always, he battled the sensation he was falling into the blue and white.

Of course, the three of them _were_ in free fall. At a velocity of 27,000 kilometers per hour. Thankfully hurtling around the planet instead of at it.

"This is incredible," said Anya.

"Da."

Caldwell's silence continued. Perhaps he had actually shitted himself.

Lomerov checked his watch. Twelve minutes left.

"Turn heads with me. Keep eyes away from moon and sun."

They followed suit as his head swiveled to peer into the blackness of deep space.

"Let eyes adjust a moment."

This was when terror could seize the novice. Or even old hands. For now one felt as though falling into a bottomless void.

Many tourists began to hyperventilate after Lomerov brought them face to face with this glimpse into oblivion. One had screamed. But others, after the uneasiness passed, began to embrace it. Some even proclaimed themselves merged with the Universe...or God.

Lomerov had never surrendered to that illusion. He settled for mere exhilaration. In the truest sense, he fell free—utterly free. Unshackled from all responsibility, even to himself. He would fall unfettered forever, immortal.

The time was almost up. He let the pair stare into the void a few minutes more, then herded back them toward the airlock. Both protested. Lomerov knew only Anya was sincere.

In the airlock they sat silently while vacuum was replaced by oxygen and nitrogen. Anya smiled at Caldwell, and he smiled weakly back.

Why was Anya showing him cordiality at all? Lomerov knew a woman could accept much fault in a man, even infidelity or abuse. What a woman could not tolerate was a man without guts.

Anya, Anya, wake up. If I were your father, I would end this relationship. No matter what your age.

Lomerov was seething by the time he removed his EVA gear. Anya unsuited shortly afterward, while Caldwell of course lagged. Lomerov barely kept from screaming at the man.

Anya excused herself for a call of nature, and swam into the port module. Lomerov and Caldwell were left alone in deafening silence.

Caldwell had to know by now that Lomerov detested him. But Caldwell revealed his innate weakness by attempting conversation. Lomerov answered only with grunts.

Finally Caldwell pushed him too far. Caldwell voiced thanks that the crew insisted he and Anne do the EVA walk. The last ten minutes of the venture he would treasure.

Lomerov glared. Coldly he said, "You scared shitless outside. Admit."

"Sergei—"

"Do not lie. Though you are liar."

He had never spoken to a tourist like this. And he had endured some obnoxious ones. Caldwell would probably report the insult. He did not care.

"That's uncalled for, Sergei."

Caldwell met Lomerov's eyes. Yet the man blinked rapidly.

Lomerov waved his hand. "We do not speak rest of your stay. Sam will take you back down. Not me."

Caldwell looked wounded. Good, if Lomerov's opinion of him mattered so much. Let that opinion sting.

"Hurry now. Get out of suit. So you can go back to fuck with girlfriend. _Married_ girlfriend."

The eyes of Caldwell went flat. His fists balled. And blood drained from his face.

All of a sudden Lomerov realized he faced danger. The white face of Caldwell did not signal fear. A coward would bluster and turn red. From experience Lomerov knew the paleness meant Caldwell was readying for combat. The jitters of the past five days had disappeared.

Of course, in a fight the advantage would lie with Lomerov. Caldwell was new to weightlessness. Even in the tight confines of the airlock, Lomerov should be able to parry an attack. But a man aroused in this manner would persist until incapacitated.

It was plain that every fiber of Caldwell yearned to strike. Like a rocket on a launching pad, his engines had gained full thrust. But like during the ignition sequence, restraints held Caldwell on the pad. And the restraints were not labeled fear.

They were named calculation. Behind those icy gray eyes practical cost/benefit analysis was taking place. Very similar to the calm evaluation Lomerov made in crisis.

Caldwell remained on the pad. His body uncoiled. Then he resumed removing the EVA suit. He quickly finished.

Before Caldwell left the airlock he spoke with a voice flat as his eyes.

"You are right. We will not speak again."

Lomerov remained in the airlock some minutes. It was he who found his cheeks warm. He had misread Caldwell. Obviously Caldwell possessed a degree of substance.

Then, like a punch to the gut, it hit him. Outside Caldwell had not stayed close to Anya to protect himself. Caldwell had been trying to shield her. Most if not all of Caldwell's apprehension before and during EVA centered on the welfare of his woman—who he must love very much.

Lomerov still did not like the man. There was something about him that did not ring true.

But, yes, he was ashamed of how he had treated Caldwell this day.

3

Ward nestled against Anne's backside. She was still in post coital sleep.

Outside his cabin porthole, an ocean of the earth drifted by. Which ocean he did not know or care. Clouds hid much of it.

He wanted to brood over Lomerov, but it was hard. He had bigger fish to fry.

Today was July 9th. Tomorrow was the day, his Ides of March.

Tomorrow! Tomorrow!

For six years he had awaited tomorrow. Six years that passed more like six decades. All of them spent in agonized speculation.

He was still very angry that Jesus had been of no help. The enigmatic replies, which boiled down to "can neither confirm nor deny", had driven Ward berserk. The Son of God was a prick, Ward had decided. Except for healing Ward's wounds—and saving Nancy—Jesus had caused him only turmoil since they met that day in 2007 on the plaza outside the Hyatt.

_The sun'll come out Tomorrow_.

The sun sure would come out, sixteen times. And set as much.

What would transpire by the final sunset? Armageddon or nothing? God, did he pray for the latter. Let the 11th of July arrive with only the usual madness below having occurred. That could well mean losing Anne, but he could hardly want to keep her at the price of billions of lives.

So ya gotta hang on 'til Tomorrow, come what may.

Yeah, that remained the great question. What form would "come what may" take?

The agent of destruction that had worried him most was now off the table. The Spaceguard program had put their first vessel into orbit last October. The nuke laden ship could theoretically intercept any rogue asteroid or comet headed for earth. That is, if the rogue were detected in time.

Earlier this week Ward had expected to learn—via hysterical announcement—about the discovery of a rogue too close and too fast for the ship to react. Now, a day before the 10th, that danger had passed. Any rogue big enough to cause continental or even provincial wide damage would have been detected if tomorrow were its impact date.

That left the terrestrial threats.

The possibility of global nuclear war was remote. The nations with hydrogen bombs—the planet killers—were currently led by responsible governments. The half dozen irresponsible regimes with mere fission bombs could cause only regional devastation.

Some of the latter also possessed chemical and biological weapons. But again, deployment would cause limited devastation. Even if a biological agent slipped beyond a region, the first world countries now had massive quarantine and treatment procedures ready. The terrorist attack with cholera four years ago in Britain had spurred such preparation, expense be damned.

Earthquakes, hurricanes, tsunamis were also regional in scope. Of natural terrestrial disasters, only volcanic eruption posed a worldwide threat. And that would take a hell of a blast. A blast far exceeding the two major eruptions of the nineteenth century. Those, in the Indonesian islands, had killed thousands of people and even managed to lower temperatures globally. Still, the world had hardly come to a halt.

A volcanic eruption of the magnitude that could cripple or destroy civilization had not occurred for seventy-five thousand years. That eruption, the Toba event, had spewed enough ash to severely reduce sunlight for a decade or more. The fossil record showed many species wiped out, and surviving species suffered what scientists euphemistically termed a "bottleneck".

Three similar blasts had occurred in Wyoming. They occurred in intervals of approximately six hundred fifty thousand years, and the last one was six hundred forty thousand years ago. In geological time the next blast was due—now.

He had kept very much abreast on what was called the Yellowstone Caldera. In the past six years no suspicious activity had been detected. The geologists did advise that since so little was known about super eruptions, a warning sign might escape notice.

Ward did not want to wake tomorrow and see Wyoming blown away and cubic _miles_ of ash spreading eastward. The prevailing winds would take it across the Atlantic to Europe, then Asia, and eventually over all the surface of the Earth. Mankind would definitely face a bottleneck.

Even if an eruption were only a tenth the size of Toba, it could cause havoc. When Toba blew, humans probably numbered less than a million and subsisted as hunter-gatherers. Their technology was already at the low as you can go stage. If their societies were disrupted, there was not much to disrupt.

Ward had written an article in his days when he was striving for a tenured position at university. It was titled "The Black Death: Then and Now". His colleagues called it junk history; he called it objective speculation. He supposed both parties were right. The style was junk, the content valid.

The bubonic plague in the 1300's killed off nearly half of Europe's population. Yet European civilization not only survived, it actually got a boost. Twice the resources as before were available to survivors. This spurred the medieval economy much as would a fifty percent tax cut stimulate the modern one.

Ward acknowledged that, but he also argued another reason existed for Western civilization not faltering: its technological base remained intact. Subsistence farming required brutal labor but minimal skill. Vocations such as butcher, baker, candlestick maker did not ask a whole lot more. In any shop the apprentice and journeyman could take over if the master dropped dead. They might not produce goods as fine, but they could produce them.

In his article Ward asked what would happen if a similar plague struck in the late twentieth century. What if half the population died in the course of a year? Would civilization bounce back—or collapse? He predicted it would collapse.

By the 1990's everything in the developed world, including agriculture, was highly specialized. Everything relied on everything else. Take away half the producers and maintainers, throw in not enough redundancy, and utter chaos would result.

A super volcano could exceed the effects of a great plague. A plague would not directly destroy crops and industry, only its workers. A super eruption could do both. Mankind would stand naked before its destruction and disruption.

Anne stirred, but did not wake. Ward luxuriated in the warmth and taste of her bare skin, pressed against his front side. At least if the horror did come tomorrow, she would be safe.

Ward watched the world drift by. Shortly the BSS crossed over Palestine. Where eight years ago horror did occur. That disaster however was entirely man made.

The Sons of Hitler had finally won. Israel existed no more. The bones of five million Jews now lay sun bleached in the Negev desert, where the victorious pawns of Iran had dumped the bodies. No matter that the VX nerve gas had also killed twelve million Moslems. Celebration in the lands of Allah continued to this day. And the rest of the world still shrugged.

Ward shoved that from his mind. He wished he could just float here forever with Anne. For so long she had been the only thing that mattered in his life. But one way or the other, this idyll would shortly end.

He went back to humming the show tune.

Tomorrow! Tomorrow! I love ya Tomorrow! You're always A day A way!

Anne Hollingsworth Lynn. Ward had known this beguiling lass sixteen years now. Most of it, unfortunately, with "Lynn" her legal surname.

This woman he loved so much had savaged his soul, and he had always come back for more. Perhaps a month's worth of days were spent in ecstasy. The rest of the sixteen years he suffered the psychological equivalent of being hung, drawn, and quartered. The torment followed him into sleep. The ecstasy never did.

He had asked Jesus if this were payback for all the pain he had caused other women. Jesus said no. The Father stayed out of the war between the sexes. The combatants were even more capable than He in dispensing reward or punishment.

Ward should hate this woman he adored. Anne appeared not the introspective type, so he wondered if she ever reflected on her playing yo-yo with his heart. Anne was a warm, wonderful person. But behind that lay the mindset of her way or the highway.

After their brief meeting in 2007, he thought to never see her again. She was eight months plus pregnant with her first child. A child by her husband Dennis. Ward was big into the teachings of Christ then, and he vowed not to put asunder their marriage.

He kept the pledge. It was Anne who first made contact, fourteen months later. At the time they both lived in Northern Virginia. She invited him to lunch at Ballston Mall in Arlington. He tried to refuse, but she pleaded. She just wanted to talk, she promised, nothing more.

Nothing more happened. She brought along her infant daughter, he supposed, as insurance one thing would not lead to another.

It was an emotional meeting nonetheless. She confessed she hadn't gotten over him. She loved Dennis, he was such a good husband and father, she could never cheat on him, but she wanted Ward to know he was always in her thoughts. Always.

Ward didn't know what was expected of him. She held out no hope. He fought down suspicion—and resentment—that she called this meeting to indulge in catharsis.

Then she asked how he was doing. Her hand slipped over to touch his, and that nearly unglued him. He knew his voice was husky as he replied he was busy, doing fine. She asked if he were seeing anyone special. He said no one special.

What a lie. Or maybe not such a lie, he thought afterward, for that moment was revelation.

During the past year he had forced himself to date. At first he found himself just going through the motions. He progressed to second dates, then multi week relationships. One, at long last, involved sex. Finally he met a woman he really liked. He was dating her now. He knew she badly wanted to marry, and he had seriously considered proposing.

As he sat across from Anne, Ward knew he would not be making that proposal. Anne was still embedded within him. He had not ejected her one bit. If Anne had come to lunch and said she was leaving Dennis, Ward would have jettisoned any other relationship. He would have put any and all asunder.

Ward ended up looking between Anne and her cooing daughter. A daughter which had the same smile as Anne. If things had worked out differently—if they hadn't needed him to save Christianity's bacon—the child would have been his. He, Anne, and little Christine would be living happily ever after.

Outside the restaurant they embraced, and Anne planted a kiss on his cheek. Her eyes misted. Then they parted, she back to her life, and Ward to one again jolted.

It took another year or so—and the loss of the woman he almost married—but he recovered. Though he didn't know how many therapists would recommend his switch to procuring women via an escort service. Well, he recommended it to himself. For time being he definitely did not want emotional entanglement with the opposite sex.

The service worked out well. He had plenty of money to get the best available. The women were all beautiful, discrete, and skilled at making a man feel at ease. Some were even quite intelligent. Best of all, nobody had to worry about hurting anybody else.

He stayed busier than ever, especially after he learned Anne was pregnant again. He wondered if this were her way of saying to him, and to herself, that she was locked in for good with Dennis. Neither Ward nor she should remotely think she would abandon her marriage. Never, ever.

After the birth of her second child, a boy, Ward began to withdraw from his ministry. He remained active in Good Guys LLC behind the scenes, but he was finding it difficult to preach with sincerity. He turned that over to Brian. His faith was eroding, driven both by the loss of Anne and the deteriorating world situation. He had sacrificed much to thwart Islam and it was winning anyway.

In the summer of 2011 his spirits lifted when Jesus joined the Good Guys. Fresh from high school, the intense young man with the dirty blond hair and burning aqua marine eyes fast became a friend. A friend who of course thoroughly knew his history and understood what he had been through.

Ward's faith took another nosedive when Israel went down for the count. Jesus had little to say about the matter, other than "the Father knows what he is doing". Ward didn't see how this second Holocaust advanced anything but the followers of Muhammad.

He asked Jesus if it bothered him that the Moslems claimed him as a prophet. Jesus laughed (one of the few times Ward heard him laugh). Jesus said it was so ridiculous, that anyone should be able to see through such an utter falsehood. His teachings and those of Muhammad were polar opposites.

From time to time Jesus chided Ward on his use of escort services. Ward should be looking for a wife. It was his duty to marry, and to father children. The fornication he was committing was not nearly as bad as would be adultery, but he should step away from that and step up to matrimony.

The following year Ward ran into Anne at of all places, a grocery store. It was just after ten in the morning. Anne did not have children with her. She explained the girl was now in kindergarten and the boy in morning day care.

They stood awkwardly in the aisle long minutes. They made the most trivial small talk. He at last ventured to ask if she would like lunch. She said it would have to be an early one, she had to pick up her son Robert by noon. Then she dropped her head.

When she raised that sweet oval face, a face so cute it was attracting the eyes of everyone else passing in the aisle, Ward's breath stopped. He knew what she was going to propose. And she did. She asked if he would take her to a motel or hotel room. Instead he drove her to his modest house in Falls Church.

It had taken them almost nine years, but they finally made love. They had mated almost instantly after crossing his threshold. Then in his exhausted moment of bliss, the happiest moment of his life, Anne balled into a fetal position and started wailing. What have I done, she cried, what have I done? Oh God, help me, what have I done?

Ward soothed her and the keening at last stopped. But she still asked the question. Quietly now, with a lot less remorse. Then she went silent as her eyes explored his. Her fingers reached to trace over his face.

She again exposed her body to him. A body Michelangelo could have chiseled, if Mike had been into women. This time they made love slowly, deliberately, with constant protestation of love. Their climax was even more violent than the first. Ward passed out.

When he awoke, she was gone. She left a note saying she would call him. She never did. At least not until years later, after Islam declared war on him.

Ward tried to contact her. Anne would not respond. Once, after her husband left for work, he waited in a parked car outside her house. From a second floor window she vigorously gestured he leave. Then venetian blinds snapped shut.

For the coup de grace Anne became pregnant. Delivery took place eleven months after their fling, so that shattered his last hope, that the child was his. The name of the child even more emphatically declared that what had occurred was indeed just a fling. Or a grander version of catharsis. Anne's third child was called Dennis, after guess who.

With that, what he believed her final rejection, the world around him became midnight black. He began to do very stupid things.

4

Ward woke fitfully on the 10th. Anne was not beside him. His face flew to the porthole, and all he saw were the blues, whites and tans of the planet looking back benignly. No stain in the atmosphere.

He sagged in relief. Yes, only part of the planet was visible. Yes, an eruption could have occurred on the other side. Yes, something could be coming later today. Ward recalled the lines from _Julius Caesar_ : "The Ides of March have come—Aye, but they have not passed. "

But in his bones it felt good. Margaret Beaufort had raised a false alarm.

Someone tapped on his cabin door. It was Anne's tap.

"Are you decent?" she asked.

He laughed. "No. But come on in anyway."

The door opened and he faced a beaming woman. She wore a baggy T-shirt with the BSS emblem that failed to hide the delightful swell of her chest. The tighter fitting red shorts were just too much to bear. Even if he didn't love this woman, he would have the irresistible hots for her.

He only wore shorts. He was unshaven and needed a shower. That did not stop her from entering the cabin and kissing him passionately.

Then she smiled. "I have some interesting news for you."

"Yes?"

"I think it will meet with your approval, but I'm not sure."

For a hopeful second Ward thought she had decided to join him in his compound in southern Virginia. Where they could live out their days far from the maddening crowd. But he knew better.

Instead he joked, "Don't tell me you are pregnant."

Her smile vanished. Her eyes widened. "How did you know?"

"What?"

"I am pregnant. With your child."

Ward could say nothing. They had been making love ever since arriving in Moscow four weeks ago, but he had assumed she would be taking contraceptive measures.

"Are you upset with me?"

"No...it's just such a surprise."

"You don't look very pleased."

"I am pleased. Very, very pleased. It's wonderful."

"I've always wanted a child by you."

"And I with you."

"I wanted a part of you to always be with me."

And how about the reciprocal? Ward wanted to ask. Instead he said, "I'm glad."

"I guess I should have asked you first. I truly hope this is okay."

"It is, Anne. I'm very grateful."

"You know this doesn't change anything. I mean, about after here."

"I know."

"I wish it could. But it can't."

"I know."

All through the long battle of getting her to accompany him into space, she never wavered from her pledge this would be their last liaison. That remained non-negotiable. She would be going back to Dennis. For life.

Ward had agreed, but he did not give up hope. Twice he had been her first love, her true love. The two of them deserved to live together. And to together raise _their_ child.

He bet the pledge would look a lot different once the children by Dennis entered college. Divorce would not wreck the household then. That fear had undoubtedly kept the marriage together, not devotion to Dennis. Eight years remained until his last kid left the nest. A good stretch of days, but not forever.

"So nine months from now," he said.

"Or sooner." She smiled. "I'm sure your virile little guys got the job done our first night."

He hugged her. "Thank you, Anne. This is a great gift."

She kissed him. It was a wet kiss. It stirred him, though she had come close to wearing him out since arrival on the BSS.

"I am going to name him after you."

"Thank you." Ward could see Dennis asking, why Roger? We don't know any Roger. Wait a minute, wasn't that other tourist a Roger? Are you naming after him? I want a DNA test to see if I am the father. Ward hoped it would go like that, raise irreconcilable conflict.

Not so long ago such train of thought would have caused Ward hours of self reproach. And Jesus would have been all over him for it. Now guilt barely stirred. The Father and the Son would have to settle for Ward not putting out a contract on Dennis.

"If it's a girl," said Anne, "I'm not sure of the name."

"How about Rogera?"

She laughed. "Maybe. I've always liked Clarissa."

No, no, thought Ward. "Would you name her Karen? After my sister?"

Anne nodded. "But I'm feeling it's a boy. And someday I'll tell him who his real father is. What a fine, good man."

They would tell him together, Ward vowed.

She kissed him again. "This has been the most wonderful time of my life."

"Best for me, too." Nothing else came close. Which was pretty sad, considering his fifty-six years of life.

"I hate to think of you having to go back to that place in the mountains. It's not fair."

Actually Ward did not mind that much. He had found some serenity there. Given free choice, he would remain there except for short periods. He lacked for only Anne. Getting her to live at the compound would complete this little patch of paradise in a world drifting evermore toward the opposite.

He and Anne had six days left on the BSS, assuming this one passed without incident. The next day they took a fiery ride in the Soyuz to Kazakhstan. Another day for post flight physicals. Then by plane back to Moscow, where Anne would meet husband and kids. They would stay on to vacation. Ward would fly back to the States and resume exile.

Ward would see how long Anne stuck to her pledge of no more contact. Anne had always come back to him, even if limited to video link, as it had been the past three years. When the time came, Anne would toss this Dennis for good. The only question was if she resumed the video "conferences" before then.

Oh, how these video trysts had driven Jesus bananas. How he at first tried to calmly admonish, how then he yielded to raging. Ward supposed it did look pretty depraved. Ward and Anne quickly became addicted to undressing, then running hands over each other's image on 3D HD television, then masturbating. They became quite good, achieving simultaneous climax most every time.

Anne had managed to convince herself video sex wasn't really adultery. How could it be, if flesh did not touch flesh? Ward was under no illusions. Nor was Jesus, who in his fury threatened to never lift a finger for Ward again.

Good thing Jesus had not meant it, for otherwise today Anne would be on earth. Anne might willingly make video love, but she had balked at their becoming space tourists.

For three years Ward tried to convince Anne it was a perfect way to spend a month together. Her husband would not suspect a thing, since the lottery supposedly threw strangers together. Only a few people knew that Ward bankrolled the BSS lottery and could have it manipulated at will.

Anne still resisted. Ward suspected she feared she might be able to leave Dennis after the experience. She and Ward had spent what, just a dozen hours in actual proximity since his return from Judea. Anne could do lunch or spend an afternoon screwing, but she dared not risk a month of full time with Ward.

With only six months to go Ward had despaired. Then Jesus intervened. The two had maintained their relationship, however contentious, since Ward's retreat to the compound. Jesus was now a handsome young man of twenty-seven. Jesus exacted a terrible price for his assistance.

Last January, on the widescreen TV, the aquamarine eyes had triumphantly fixed Ward. Eyes that said, I've got you now.

"If you return to earth, you and Anne are to never see each other naked again. In the flesh or on a screen."

Ward said nothing. He instead glared.

"And you will keep this agreement. Not like after I spared Nancy Burrows."

"You could let us live together if you wanted." How many times before had Ward futilely put that to Jesus?

"Do you agree to the terms? Remember they are binding and final."

"So it's the Lake of Fire if I break them?"

"The Father will have no choice."

"What if we don't return to earth?"

"I have no terms for that."

"Tell me! Are we coming back or not?"

"That is out of my hands, and even the Father's. I do not know if you will return."

"Odds, then."

Jesus shook his head. "Do you agree with the terms?"

Ward had wanted to reach into the screen and throttle the Son. But that would probably get Ward thrown in the Lake, too.

"If I must."

"You have free will. There is nothing 'must' in this."

"I agree then. Under protest."

"Very good. She will be joining you on the Bigelow station. And however angry you are, consider I did not ask you keep from adultery in the month you will be together. I should have, but I owe you for past services. That debt is now settled."

Two days later Anne—during a very steamy video link—informed Ward she would be going up with him. She said a great weight had been lifted once she made her decision. A great weight also lifted off Ward.

That had been then. Now the weight of the world was back on him.

Anne took his hand and put it against her belly. She smiled. "Feel him? He's growing."

"I feel you."

"I love you, Roger."

"I love you."

Then she pulled away. She had always pulled away, after firmly reeling him in. "I'll let you get cleaned up. Come and get me for breakfast when you are ready."

"Will do."

She left his cabin.

Ward shook his head. That woman disoriented him more than space ever would. Yes, he was thrilled she had decided to carry his child. And yes, he was bitter how she would be contentedly living with another man after contentedly fucking a storm up with him.

Anne Hollingsworth Lynn was a piece of work. Warm and brutal.

It had been brutal, really, how she shut him out after they made love that one afternoon eight years ago. That about killed him.

Then, just two years later, she makes contact again. When it was entirely safe with him driven into a remote compound. No chance of putting her marriage in danger. She could have her cake and eat it too.

Ward had debated dumping her ass. Let her taste some of his pain. Let her endure nightly nightmares similar to those in which he pursued but never her caught her, when she always escaped on some other man's arm. Was anybody on the planet worth such heartache?

This woman had him, and had him good. Only for her would he wait years more. She possessed absolute power over him. He feared Anne as much as he adored her. She, not the Father or the Son, had the final say in his welfare.

Lunchtime arrived with nothing wayward reported below. Ward told himself not to get too comfortable, they still had to get to 2400 Greenwich Mean Time.

Lomerov had not come to the dinning table.

Ward had seen him only once since they exchanged words in the airlock. Lomerov and Sam were conducting systems tests at the starboard module control station. Lomerov's stark hazel eyes, more yellow than green, more snake than human, had met Ward's without hesitation. The square headed man nodded curtly. As if to say, I'll get you.

Just as steadily Ward had stared back. When he got to Moscow he would have Lomerov's ass fired. Once upon a time Ward would have sought the understanding and mercy to forgive Lomerov. No more.

Lucette thankfully pulled him from thought about the Russian.

"Roger, how are the sinuses today?"

Ward smiled at the brunette cutie that pronounced his name "row-jair". He loved her accent and charm and twenties youth. If Anne weren't here, he'd gone ahead and bedded her. Didn't matter if her contract strictly forbade sexual relations with the tourists. From day one her inviting eyes said that was no obstacle.

"It gets better each day."

"As I told you." Her slender hand came over to pat his. "You did not believe."

Ward was pleased to see Anne's back arch. Let her worry a little.

"The RGG helps a lot," said Ward.

They should award its inventor the Nobel prize. The rotational gravity generator reduced this place from hell to purgatory. He exaggerated, but the device made life aboard much more tolerable.

Sam grinned. His pearly teeth contrasted sharply with the tawny yellow of his skin. For some reason the yellow teeth of Lomerov popped into Ward's mind. Ward ordered himself to stop thinking of Sergei Lomerov.

"In the old days—nine months ago—we had some tourists upchucking their entire stay," said Sam. "Even with phenergan saturating them."

Ward could believe it. Some lucky people like Anne could adapt almost instantly to zero gravity, but most struggled. Their bodies would not be fooled. With no gravity to pull blood and other fluids downward, the head got very congested. The second day on the Soyuz and the first two on the BSS Ward felt as if his own head would explode.

Eating was no picnic either. Food in the stomach didn't know it was supposed to head south. North up the esophagus was just as much an option. Ward didn't throw up, but the urge to plagued him.

Lack of gravity also went to work on his spine, causing it to lengthen. By his third day of zero g he swore he'd endured a preliminary bout on the rack. His arm and leg joints joined in the suffering.

Enter the RGG. Two or three hours on it cut discomfort markedly. Six hours, which Ward did yesterday, nearly restored him. Too bad he couldn't spend 24-7 on it.

At breakfast this morning they had laughed off his suggestion they take meals on the RGG. Surely he had to admit half the fun on the BSS was playing with your food—fun like Sam had, so dexterous with his chopsticks. Ward just wanted a meal where food, drink and utensils stayed put.

Take Anne out of the equation, and Ward was ready to go home. People got so excited when they won the BSS lottery. When they returned they swore it was the greatest adventure of their life. Yes, surviving a trip up on a Roman candle was super duper, as was surviving the fireball back down.

But the BSS, which he had paid so much money to keep operational, didn't cut it for him. Looking at beautiful Earth got boring after a couple of days. Likewise "swimming" and doing somersaults in zero g. Copulating in free fall wasn't really any better than doing it on a bed—the partner mattered a lot more than the state of gravity.

After breakfast Lucette had tried to amuse them with a water show. Anne was entertained. Ward had seen most of the tricks via video. So water could make spheres as big as a beach ball in zero g. And you could spin them, color them, concentric them, even turn them into jello. Big deal. Ward liked Lucette, so he acted interested.

Ward did get a genuine chuckle out of the one trick he hadn't seen, when Lucette pushed fizz tablets into a huge sphere. Bubbles grew wildly inside. Finally the quivering orb exploded into a zillion little ones. Everybody got doused. That was the best part of the show, seeing Anne and Lucette in wet T-shirts.

With his chopsticks Sam effortlessly lifted a ball of tea to his mouth. Ward knew if he tried that he'd get the fizz tablet effect.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lomerov. Ward hated himself for flinching. As the grim faced man swam by, Sam and Lucette—and Anne—called for him to have lunch.

"Cannot. Busy." Lomerov did not look their way as he replied.

The man built like a linebacker disappeared into the center node.

Sam shrugged. "He gets let way at times."

Lucette dropped her voice. "I kind of wish he weren't staying. You are much better company, Sam."

Ward had privately requested to Bigelow control that Sam pilot the Soyuz back to earth. They got Roscosmos to agree. Ward absolutely wanted his and Anne's lives out of the hands of Lomerov for the flight down.

"Not if something goes wrong here," said Sam. "He's the guy we'll all want around."

"I like him," said Anne.

"I don't dislike him," said Lucette.

"Sergei is solid," said Sam. "I have all the respect in the world for him."

Ward kept his mouth clamped shut. Lomerov was solid, all right, solid as a frozen ball of shit.

Lucette turned a friendly face to Ward. "Well, what would you like to do this afternoon?"

Anne looped her arm through Ward's. She smiled sweetly at Lucette.

"We have plans."

Dinner passed without contrary news from the planet below. That was aside from a suicide bombing in Holland and an early hurricane approaching the Caribbean.

After the meal Ward had trouble staying awake. The combination of pasta, wine, and intense love making earlier left him done in. Nonetheless he hopped on the RGG to help the meal get a good start toward his intestines. Anne joined him.

Ward hoped Anne would not want an evening encore. He had always been proud of his ability to perform. Even in his forties he could outlast any woman. But now the same spring was no longer in his step. He hoped Anne would understand.

He was starting to wonder if she were a quasi nymphomaniac. He chided himself as he remembered the sexist definition of a nymphomaniac: any woman with more sex urge than the man. Anne was twenty-two years younger, in her prime. She was bound to be friskier.

She chatted happily as they walked side by side. She clasped his hand. Her face was radiant. It was obvious Anne still loved him deeply. To look now at this woman, one would never guess only a week remained until she must give up the love of her life.

Anne Hollingsworth could certainly compartmentalize. Ward supposed it a great asset—though not necessarily a virtue. Anne could live almost completely in the now. Boy, would that banish a lot of anxiety. Ward dwelled in past and future too much, to the detriment of simply enjoying the present.

He would live in the now when he and Anne wed.

Shortly Sam swam over to tell them of disturbing news out of Britain. He knew Anne's parents and brother lived there. It looked liked terrorists had again struck with cholera.

Anne paled. Then she was somewhat relieved to hear the outbreak was in Manchester, far from her parents' home in Kent. Ward soothed her with reminder that Britain had top notch containment ready, having gone through this before. And Ward said this could just be emergence of a latent case. Not a terrorist attack at all.

Ward urged they turn in. She told him to go ahead, she would follow news coverage with Sam awhile longer. Ward was grateful Anne would thus be occupied. Not a very empathetic attitude, but he needed respite and a load of sleep.

He got neither.

5

Lomerov shook his head. "That is not answer."

Sam was understandably furious, but to act like Vladimir Putin had in the early years of the century would solve nothing. The descendants of those slaughtered in Chetnia still made war on Russia.

Sam had summoned him from sleep around midnight. Anya, her face full of worry, and Caldwell now stood with them before the video screen. They were tuned to the BBC. An early dawn was breaking in Britain this midsummer day.

Lucy joined them. She was back from grabbing a couple hours sleep. "How is it going?" she asked.

"Cases have just been reported in London," said Sam.

"Oh, shit."

"How can it move that fast?" asked Anne.

"Has to be multiple hits by the terrorists," said Sam. He turned to them with twisted face. "Where is Hitler when you need him? We should have killed all the donkey fuckers long ago."

"Sam, stop it!" Anya dug fingers into his shoulder and he jerked as if shot. He stared incredulously at this always agreeable and apparently docile woman.

"Anne—"

"You're not helping."

"Da," said Lomerov. Everyone, especially staff, needed to remain under control. There was nothing to do from here anyway.

Sam at last fell quiet. Like Caldwell, who had spoken few words during the night. Caldwell had an arm draped around Anya.

Lomerov shook his head. It was obviously the terrorists' intent to overwhelm medical counter measures. He wondered how many locations they had targeted beyond the three already affected. As usual these animals did not care about casualties inflicted upon their own people. Large Moslem populations existed in all three cities.

Would the terrorists succeed? So far no deaths were reported. The terrorists would also be impeded by the frantic campaign to produce sufficient vaccine, which the commentators said to date had allowed inoculation of three-quarters of the population.

Lomerov must say Britain's response fourteen hours into the crisis was impressive. The nation was under full martial law with all non-official transport prohibited. Throughout the length of the islands the water supply, the suspected vector for pathogen delivery, had been shut down.

Bottled water from secure government stocks was being distributed. From other stocks hundreds of thousands of portable toilets were on their way to neighborhoods. Along with hospitals, hastily converted schools and arenas were readying to receive and treat what everyone hoped would not be a flood of cases.

Cholera was a horrible disease. Lomerov remembered accounts of the deaths—thankfully limited in number—from the last time. A person essentially vomited and shitted themselves to death. He prayed the Brits had enough antibiotics and intravenous packs on hand.

What he feared was that the terrorists had studied the response plan. Enough details had certainly been published. These people were evil but not stupid. They would adapt and try to overcome all countermeasures. What he feared above all was development of a cholera strain resistant to both prevention and treatment.

Anya gave a little wail. "Oh, no."

The BBC had just announced cases were appearing in Portsmouth and Brighton.

Lomerov saw Anya trembling. This was bad news for her. Her parents' town lay between London and the southern coast.

"Did they say what the incubation period is?" asked Lucy.

"Da. On average between two and three days."

"So, if they infected enough reservoirs, it could show up everywhere."

"Da," Lomerov said reluctantly.

"They are supposed to monitor the water supply. Constantly. How could this slip by?"

"The agencies are riddled with Moslems," said Sam. "What do you expect?"

Caldwell finally spoke. "Or maybe—"

They all looked at him as he paused. The black haired man was chewing his lip.

"What?" asked Lomerov. He spoke more sharply than intended. He did not want to stir things up again with Caldwell.

"The bastards could have spiked beverages going to grocery marts. Bottled water, sports drinks, soda pop. It would be a perfect way."

Anya turned. "I have to warn my parents."

Caldwell went with her toward the video phones.

Lucy shivered. "Do you think this can get across the Channel?"

Lomerov didn't know. They had grounded flights in and out of Britain. Their navy was halting all sea traffic. The Chunnel was closed. Necessary measures, but useless if the terrorists had decided to punish more than Britain.

In a way Sam had a valid point. Allowing Moslems into Europe had been a great mistake. They and the West mixed like water and oil. Each culture was quite alien to the other. And Moslems, at least certain elements, were out to turn the entire continent into their fiefdom.

Did they think this would help attain their goal? If so, they were more than mad.

The cholera attacks three years ago had greatly strengthened the British National Party. Sam probably admired these Hitlerites. This current attack might well bring them to power. Blood would then flow as their thugs were let loose upon Moslem communities.

His own country had problems with Moslems, and not just those living in Chetnia. Too many of them had seeped into Mother Russia from Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan. The Moslems bred like rabbits while the whites of Russia could not produce children at even replacement rate. His proud, formerly great nation was on path to become first in Europe to attain a Moslem majority.

The morning wore on. City after city reported outbreaks. Just before 1100 GMT the BBC suspended broadcasting and the Internet went dead in Britain. Fortunately Anya had twice reached her parents before telephone service was also severed. Her parents were okay, but increasingly frightened. There were rumors of a case in a nearby town.

After 1100 GMT only amateur short wave radio got out, despite government warning this was now illegal. The government threatened such broadcasts would be met with deadly force. Panic mongering would not be tolerated. The word "treason" was ominously thrown about.

One short waver reported people dying at the hospital—in Manchester—where he had just got off shift. Antibiotics had not worked, nor had intravenous intervention. Worse, hospital staff were coming down with the disease, even though cholera was not supposed to be contagious. The broadcast ended in mid sentence.

In the BSS Lomerov could hear only the purring of the ventilation system. The four people about him were wide eyed. As he must have been himself. It looked like the terrorists had adapted well. Britain was in for a very rough time. He hoped Anya's parents and brother made it.

They turned to television coverage from France and the Low Countries to get snippets of news. Lucy translated. The stations reported mobilization of these countries' own security forces. Nothing from Britain would be allowed on their soils. Preparations to battle an epidemic were underway—just in case. The stations said little about the immediate situation across the North Sea. Either they didn't know, or weren't saying.

Lomerov felt for Anya. This had to be horrible for her. Especially now, with all word cut off.

Dark circles ringed her eyes. She sagged. She had been awake since the start of this and her body must be begging for sleep. But Anya continued to refuse Caldwell's pleas she take rest.

Lomerov turned to her. "Anya, sleep. Please."

"I can't."

"You must. We wake you if we hear new news."

Her red eyes were very moist.

"Come, Anne," said Caldwell, "I'll take you back to your cabin."

She looked between Caldwell and himself, and finally she nodded. Caldwell led her off.

Lomerov then suggested the three staffers set up a staggered sleep schedule. Why didn't Sam go first? He had been up the longest.

Sam gestured to Lucy. "Beauty before age."

"No, I'm fine. Sergei, why don't you go ahead? If it's okay with Sam."

"Yeah, go on. I'm too keyed up."

"Very well. But allow me only four hours. Promise"

They agreed, and Lomerov was unconscious soon as he slipped into his sleeping net in the command module.

It seemed like only ten minutes before Sam was shaking him. If an Asian could have an alabaster face, Sam would qualify.

"What is it?"

For a moment Sam could not speak. There was real fright in his eyes.

"What?"

"It's on the Continent. And in New York City."

"Holy Mother of God."

Lomerov struggled out of the netting, then checked the clock above his porthole. It was 1420 GMT.

"When?"

"Both reports in the last fifteen minutes."

"This is very bad."

"It's looking more than bad. Some more short wave has come through. They are dying in the streets in London."

"Is nothing working?"

"Seems not. Not even against a full spectrum of antibiotics. Some are saying it's a virus, not cholera at all."

"Ebola?"

"They say symptoms are not hemorrhagic. Not like smallpox either. A lot of fever and dehydration. But no defecation, no skin discoloration. And people die fast, within hours of getting it. It also appears very contagious."

Lomerov wanted to sit down, lie down. But in zero g you were already supine. Yes, how did one collapse while weightless?

"Any word from Bigelow Control? Or Roscosmos?"

"Nothing. I imagine their main concern now is if it's going to reach them."

"Have you woken Anya?"

"No. What good would it do?"

"Da. Let her rest."

Suddenly Lomerov gave thanks he was two hundred seventy miles up in space.

At 2030 GMT they gathered around the dinning table. Nobody ate. His companions were numb, Lomerov observed, punch drunk from the battery of unbelievable news from below. That is, all except Caldwell.

Caldwell continued to surprise him. For one so jumpy earlier, the man had stayed unflappable throughout the past twenty-four hours that grew worse and worse. If Caldwell was shaken, he masked it well.

Lomerov did not want to give him too much credit. Caldwell had less at stake than the rest of them. His dossier said he was divorced and childless. His parents were dead and he had no siblings. Anya was safe at his side. Caldwell could afford to coolly wait this out.

The others on the BSS had loved ones at risk. Anya's parents could already be dead. After the first cases surfaced in Paris Lucy's people had fled to the countryside. Sam's wife and two children were at the moment safe in Texas, but the disease had already penetrated far inland as Ohio.

Lomerov feared by tomorrow or the next day the disease would leap to California. Elena and their two sons lived in Sacramento. He also worried for his mother and sister in Rostov, even though no cases were yet reported beyond the Rhine.

He wished Elena and the boys lived in America's South. They would have a chance to reach Caldwell's summer dacha in Virginia, to which Anya's husband and children were now en route. But air travel had been suspended. And getting there by ground from California was not a viable option, with law and order likely to break down soon.

A great pity. From what Anya said, the dacha sounded an excellent place to weather this terrible storm. It was situated atop a high hill. Caldwell had apparently stocked it well with food and survival gear, including weapons. A generator was available as well as a two-way radio.

Lomerov wondered if Caldwell had volunteered this assistance. Perhaps. More likely, Anya demanded it. To keep her Caldwell would have to agree no matter how much aiding his rival chafed. Did Caldwell to some degree hope the disease caught the husband before reaching the dacha?

Though moot, another question could be asked. Would Caldwell have allowed Elena and the boys entry there? Lomerov had badly insulted him. Lomerov would have begged, though he had never done so in his life. If that failed he could have appealed to Anya. She seemed to like him and she had a strong grip on Caldwell. Caldwell would not have refused her.

Everyone loitered at the dinning table. No one wanted to leave to get more bad news. No more body blows.

Lomerov was exhausted. He could usually endure little sleep when necessary, and he had gone seventy-two hours straight in emergencies. Nothing in his three decades in space had drained him like this. In an orbital emergency he could react; in this affair he was helpless. He could contribute nothing.

Sam groaned. He was pushing his hands, no grinding them, against his ears. He mouthed something. Then he bent and wedged head between his arms.

Lomerov eyed him. Sam, not Caldwell, was the one now a worry. Sam might mutter and twitch, but it was the growing hysteria in his eyes that gave pause. A crew member near the edge was a great danger. Sam's access to and knowledge of station systems gave him the ability to kill them all.

He would give Sam another twelve hours to snap out of it. Sam should, he was a professional. He had never shown difficulty working in a tough situation. And Sam had been through careful psychological screening and vigorous training before assignment here.

But if Sam did not shake off the trauma of this day, Lomerov must act. Unknown to tourists, multiple safeguards were in place to prevent them from sabotaging the BSS. They also did not know that one cabin could convert to a brig, and that the crew possessed tasers if the need arose to subdue anyone.

Unfortunately Sam knew. When Sam slept—hopefully soon, he had not slept for a day and a half—Lomerov would alert Lucy. Lomerov would give only her and himself access to module control stations. He would also sequester the tasers. He would keep two, and give one to her. If Sam did not improve, they would stun him and put him in the brig. What a show that would be for Anya and Caldwell.

"Sam, go to sleep. That is order." Sam was nominally station commander, but Lomerov had vastly more seniority.

"I can't. I am too wound up."

"Take something."

"I want to stay alert."

Fool. "Take something and sleep. Is order."

Anya and Caldwell were watching the exchange warily.

Lomerov put on his sternest face. Sam's tormented eyes looked from him to Lucy. She gave Sam no help.

Sam sighed. "Okay."

"Good. You feel much better after."

"I doubt it. They're fucked down there. You know it."

"No, we do not. Situation still developing. We must wait to see."

"This is the second flood."

Lomerov wondered if he would have to put Sam away right now. He repeated his order. He told Lucy to go with Sam to make sure he took a sedative.

Sam and Lucy swam away, to his cabin near the aft of the module.

"He just need sleep," Lomerov told Anya and Caldwell. Anya nodded, while Caldwell looked doubtful as Lomerov felt.

Lomerov excused himself. He left to void Sam's access to the command module and to the control stations of the other two modules. He would also pick up the tasers.

In the command module Lomerov again contacted his former wife. Usually her eyes were stone cold when she consented to speak with him. Earlier today her sky blue eyes held unease. Now they held fright.

Elena told him the disease had now appeared in Los Angeles. How could it move that fast, she asked.

The answer was obvious, though he did not state it. Airline passengers had carried the pathogen out of England. Likely from Heathrow airport, to God knew how many points of the globe. The dispersal may have beaten the British shutdown only by hours, but now the devil was loose.

He wanted to scream with despair. If he had not driven her away, if she lived with him at the Baikonur Cosmodrome, she would face better odds. He knew people of power there he trusted. They probably had access to secure sites and might agree to take along Elena and the boys. The vast empty steppes of Kazakhstan would provide protection of themselves.

He and Elena stared at each other. At forty-six she was still attractive. When he married her twenty-four years ago, Elena Ivanova had been a very beautiful woman, with a perfect figure and flaxen fair halfway down her back. She had many suitors. Most looked better than he, but only he was a cosmonaut. She regarded him as a god.

This god treated her as an adjunct. Ever since he won his cosmonaut wings a decade before, women had thrown themselves onto beds for him. Many approached Elena's outstanding looks. Lomerov married her because he finally took heed of his father's counsel: he was in a dangerous business and should sire children—with a suitable woman—while he could.

He was married to Elena for fifteen years. During the marriage he took little interest in knowing the person behind the beauty. She served to heighten his standing among other cosmonauts and to bear him sturdy sons. He had wanted nothing more than a Russian version of the Stepford Wife. Someone to worship him as he then worshiped himself.

When they lost their first child through miscarriage, he displayed he sensitivity of an ogre. Their first "launch" had failed, he jocularly advised. As might be expected in the test of new equipment. That was the first time Lomerov saw her eyes of stone.

She bore him two fine sons. After that there were no more births. Later he learned she underwent tubal ligation while he was in space. He had been furious at this betrayal. He wanted to beat her to a pulp. But he stayed his hand, because he remembered his father's words that a man who struck a woman was no man at all.

Elena's brother had wrangled a work visa to the United States in the Yeltsin years. It took Mikhail until 2010 to get American citizenship, but when he did he was able to bring Elena and the boys into America. Elena simultaneously divorced Lomerov. Who was once again in orbit.

It was a miracle she had not left him earlier. How blind he had been. Why could he see his great shortcomings now and not at all then? He did give thanks she had never cheated on him. At least there was no evidence. If she had, he could hardly blame her.

She had not remarried. Lomerov wondered if her experience with him had hardened her against the male sex. That would be a terrible shame, as she was a very decent person.

Elena let him talk as much as he wanted to the boys. Their own conversations rarely went beyond a few sentences. She always shut off the videophone if he tried to apologize. Lomerov came to fear the eyes of stone beyond anything he encountered in space.

Lomerov had finally got it through his dense skull that for her to hate him so much, she once must have loved him so much. How could he have ignored that love? He would have needed to return only a tenth the love back, and even that would have lifted her. He had given nothing. How he deserved the nothing he had now.

He and Elena said goodbye. Which might be their final goodbye, depending on the course of the disease. The only advice he had been able to give was to stockpile as much food and water as possible, then hunker in her home. Avoid all contact until this thing swept past. Arm the boys, who were now almost grown men, with knives in case anyone tried to break in.

As Lomerov left the command module iron fingers dug into his throat. This all had to be an incredible nightmare. If only he could soon wake, and find nothing amiss. If only.

The next day Sam snapped back. As Lomerov hoped, sleep had cleared his head. No more apocalyptic ravings. But Sam's restricted access would remain. Sam must have realized the concern he raised, for no objection was made.

Now it was Lucy losing composure. She at least had good excuse. Communications were still open in France, and midday she learned her father was dead. Her sister, an aunt, and three cousins had contracted the disease. So far her mother was well, but badly shaken. Many of Lucy's friends were also sick. Lucy had taken a sedative to force some sleep.

Anya had held up fairly well. Knowledge that her husband and children had arrived safely at Caldwell's refuge bolstered her. She still had to deal with the news blackout in Britain. The fate of her parents and brother were unknown. Clandestine sources reported mass death throughout the British Isles.

It was ironic that Lomerov now considered Caldwell more reliable than the others. In the late afternoon, as Sam and Anya tramped on the RGG and with Lucy out cold, he took Caldwell aside. They went into the center node.

As constitutionally hard as it was for him to apologize to anyone, he did so to Caldwell for his former comments.

Caldwell waved his hand. "Water under the bridge."

"I want you to keep eye on Sam when I sleep. You agree?"

"Yeah." Caldwell smiled thinly. "I am surprised you trust me."

Lomerov smiled thinly back. "No choice." He handed Caldwell a taser. "Keep in back pocket out of sight. Has safety. Instructions how to use on handle."

Caldwell took the black weapon, then puffed his cheeks.

"I think I know what the disease is."

"How you know? You are not pathogen expert."

"Said I _thought_. No disrespect Sergei, but you might want to work on your diplomatic skills."

"Did not mean like sounded."

"Okay. From the description of symptoms it sounds like what was called the sweating sickness."

"Am not familiar with that."

"I'm not surprised. This was a disease that struck mainly England. In the fourteen and fifteen hundreds. It has not been seen since."

Lomerov stared at him. How would terrorists get hold of a pathogen centuries old? Why was Caldwell talking this nonsense? Lomerov began to regret taking him into his confidence.

"I know it sounds far fetched. But the course of this disease closely matches what occurred back then. The disease could have lain dormant all these years and now come back to life."

"Very difficult to believe."

"Back then it appeared out of nowhere. Just like now."

"How did terrorists get it?"

"I don't think they did. I think this is an act of nature."

As the day before, Lomerov had the urge to sit down. Or maybe just run away. It could not be happening.

"This is guessing," said Lomerov. "I do not mean rudeness. But this has no scientific proof."

"I agree. But it is speculated that the sweating sickness was a virus. Like the disease now. It started in England, like now. It swept like the wind. People got sick quickly and died quickly. They sweated heavily and became delirious. There were no lesions on their bodies. All like now."

"But you said it stayed in England. This one spreads."

"There were six outbreaks. The one in 1528 did jump to the Continent."

"How did you think of connection? You are not historian."

"I took a course in Medieval England at university."

Lomerov rubbed his forehead. This was still all conjecture, though now sounding more reasonable.

"How much did the sickness kill?"

"In 1528 there was great mortality. Some communities suffered a fifty percent death rate. The good news is that in any particular place it was over after two weeks. And children were supposedly the least affected."

That was the first hopeful news Lomerov had heard.

"We must tell them below."

"If I am right."

He would certainly tell Elena. If she and the boys could escape the next two weeks, they would live. They must absolutely stay inside, admit no one to their home.

"It is good you sent Anya's people to your refuge."

"Let's hope that works. It's no guarantee. The sweating sickness reached most everywhere in England. Nobody knows how it actually spread. Obviously it was very contagious between people, but insect and animal transmission could also be involved."

Now Caldwell was telling him more than he wanted to hear. And the man was stating this in near clinical fashion, as if unfeeling of the great tragedy unfolding down below. Lomerov fought to keep his initial distaste for Caldwell from coming back.

"Sergei!" Sam's voice called from the starboard module.

Lomerov, with Caldwell behind, propelled himself into the module. Sam and Anya were at a transceiver. That look of prey facing predator was back in Sam's eyes.

"What?"

"I can't raise Bigelow Control."

6

They said Jesus saves, Moses invests. Well, the man from Nazareth was not living up to his part. Moses was nowhere to be found either.

"So you didn't see this coming?" Ward asked the handsome face on the videophone. Jesus' good looks were as usual marred by the intensity of his eyes—eyes that too closely resembled those of Rasputin.

"I never lie, Roger."

"No. You just throw out triple entendre." Jesus could deploy words like a smokescreen.

"I regret what is happening."

"Do you?"

"Yes. But this has happened to humanity before."

"One of our people called this the second Flood. Is it?"

"The conflagration will do what it will do. The end result even the Father does not know."

Bullshit, Ward wanted to shout. If Margaret Beaufort had access to the future, so did the Master of the Universe. Nor could Ward believe Jesus really bought into the Father's explanation, that He just didn't want to know. Jesus said why would the Father go to the trouble of Creation if He already knew the outcome? How boring.

"At least tell me what has happened to Anne's parents and brother."

"No."

"For her sake, not mine."

"Ask the hantavirus."

"So it is sweating sickness?"

"Yes. An excellent deduction on your part."

"How—"

But he had a damned good idea how the disease resurfaced in England after five centuries. The time span was no coincidence. The virus had not lain dormant all these years; it was quite fresh. Yes, it must have leapt across the passage in Wales. The same portal through time that had fatefully taken him to Tudor England to and Roman Judea.

Ward had wondered if animals, such as squirrels, could negotiate the passage. The patch of woods near Haverfordwest abounded with squirrels in summer. The odds favored one of those creatures eventually running a straight path between the two boundary stones and emerging five hundred years distant.

One might say that was no cause for worry. Human beings crossing the passage could and had affected history. Certainly squirrels could not. Until now.

As he had told Lomerov, epidemiologists could only speculate how sweating sickness had been transmitted. Ward bet an animal, or an insect on an animal, carried the disease. Like ticks on deer with Lyme disease—or fleas on rats with bubonic plague. What made the plague so dangerous was the secondary route of human to human infection. Just how sweating sickness seemed to act.

"You could spare Anne's parents if you wanted," said Ward.

"You have had your one."

Yes, with Nancy. What a struggle to get even that. They had nearly come to blows. That was seven years ago, when Jesus was furious with Ward after his and Anne's first bout of adultery.

Nancy, with her increasingly useless morphine drip, was days away from death. Her husband Brian camped all hours at her bedside. His face was a sea of anguish.

Since Ward's return from Judea they had become family to him. His only family, with his own sister Karen dead from cancer and his mother catatonic from clinical depression and his father long dead in a traffic accident.

Ward had begged Jesus. He would have prostrated himself. He knew Jesus in an instant could kill every cancer cell in Nancy. Whether this uptight young man was truly the Son or not, Ward had experienced with his own body the curing power of Jesus.

"It is not yet my time," the Son had said.

"You healed my wounds."

"Payment of a debt."

"Please do this one thing for me."

"If you do one for me." The lips of Jesus hinted a smile—a Cheshire cat smile.

"No." Ward knew what was coming.

"I will save Nancy if you never talk to or touch Anne Lynn again."

"One has nothing to do with the other."

"You will receive no better deal."

"I can't give up Anne. I might as well be dead myself."

"Has she not caused you endless heartache? Be free of her and choose another woman. The Father will forgive your adultery."

Ward was trapped. He could not let Nancy die. He was extremely fond of her. And Brian, his best friend ever, was being gutted bit by bit. They had such a wonderful marriage. Brian would be a shell of himself if she died.

"I will hate you forever if you do this," said Ward.

"Hate me. As I save her body and your soul."

Ward had lost it then.

"You know what your trouble is?" Ward snarled the question.

"Take it or leave it."

"You need to get laid. Real bad."

The Son had whitened. His lips curled and the blue-green eyes blazed. Ward expected any second to turn into a pillar of salt.

Jesus was twenty then, a junior at Georgetown University. That had tickled Ward—Jesus among the Jesuits. If they only knew. They did know firsthand of his debating skills. On any point of theological contention he trounced them. Ward could only dream of ruffling egos as well as young Jesus did.

The whiz student was also very good looking. Which stood to reason. Ward had on authority Mary was attractive, and on gossip that a Greek hunk was the father. Ward thought Jesus a bit on the pretty boy side, but the Son did turn the female head.

At GT women swarmed Jesus. Just like they had in biblical accounts. Now, as then, he was not linked sexually to any. No evidence either he harbored homosexual longings. Jesus was apparently one of those rare asexual beings.

Nonetheless Ward's words were a stinging taunt. Jesus glared and glared.

"Burn then," he finally said. "Continue to sin with Anne Lynn. Condemn both your souls."

"Save Nancy. I will never ask another thing of you." But he had, needing help to get Anne to come to the BSS.

Jesus at last relented. "Her only. I will spare no one else at your request, even you."

"Fair enough. And thank you."

Later that day Jesus visited the hospital and discretely applied saliva to Nancy's forehead. That evening her march to death ceased. By morning she was up and walking, and within a week she was discharged.

Her doctors were astounded. Her case made prominent journals, in which the reversal was tentatively credited to a hyper immune response. Nancy and Brian were convinced she escaped by the hand of God. Which was true, since the Son held a third of the shares in Trinity LLC.

It was axiomatic that Jesus could save whomever he wished. Ward wanted to hurl the accusation that Jesus was guilty of mass murder by allowing the sweating sickness to run rampant. But the Son would just kick responsibility upstairs to the Father.

Instead Ward said, "Yes, you gave me my one by saving Nancy. Now give Anne her one."

Jesus went on the counterattack. As he usually did so effectively with Ward.

"Roger, why aren't you asking I spare her husband?"

Ward sputtered.

"Do you want him dead?" asked Jesus.

"Of course not!"

"I think you do."

"I was the one who suggested he and his brats go to my compound. Anne was too overcome with worry to suggest anything."

"His death would solve so much."

God damn Jesus. No wonder people had wanted to string him up.

Ward would not grieve if Dennis Lynn bit the dust. But he did not actively want him dead. Even if that would indeed solve much. In Judea he had not wanted Anne at the price of Thomas. Nor now at the price of her husband.

Jesus was just taunting him anyway. Dennis was hardly doomed. In the compound he stood a good chance of making it, and the children even better.

"Then don't spare anyone. But get word to Anne about her parents."

"No more favors."

"Not for me. For Anne."

"No. But I will keep from her ears that you referred to her children as brats."

Ward wanted to loose a flood of invective. But that would only make Jesus more intransigent. He would have to hope that Jesus' conscience got the better of him in the coming days.

"I suppose you are immune to the virus," Ward said.

"If the Father so chooses."

"You just have to wipe spit on yourself."

"I leave my fate in the hands of the Father."

"Are you going to stay in Washington?" Reports had the metro area nearly deserted as the populace fled in all directions.

Sadness clouded the face of Jesus. "I will not see you again, Roger."

Ward blinked. He hoped he had not heard correctly. The prospect stabbed deeply. Through the years he and Jesus were often at odds, but Ward had always looked on him as a sort of a son. Not that Jesus ever needed any parenting. When he came to Ward in his early teens Jesus was already completely self reliant.

Jesus was now twenty-seven. The gospels had him beginning his work around thirty. Jesus had always been vague what he would do upon reaching that age.

"What do you mean?"

"From here I will go into the wilderness, as it is written I did before. I will stay forty months. There Satan will tempt me and the Father sustain me. Then I will begin."

Ward had never determined if Jesus were the real thing or just supremely delusional.

"We'll never speak again?"

"No. I am sorry. I will remember you fondly."

Ward felt his throat constrict.

"You are a good man, Roger, even if you do not always act goodly. May the peace and wisdom of the Father always be with you. Goodbye."

"Wait—"

The videophone went dead.

By July 13, four days after the outbreak, word came from the Cosmodrome in Baikonur that the next flight to the BBS was scrubbed. The sickness had not reached Kazakhstan but the Cosmodrome was being evacuated anyway. The crew and tourists aboard the BSS were to hang tight until the all clear was given. As a footnote they passed on that the next tourists had died of the disease at Star City.

The Russian government was trying to restrict reports, but word leaked out that Moscow had taken a major hit. The number of dead approached one hundred thousand. As elsewhere on the panicked continent, city dwellers were flooding into the countryside.

Ward listened as Lomerov broke the news at breakfast. Anne huddled closer to Ward, and he could feel her trembling.

Lomerov had kin in Saint Petersburg. Like Anne with her parents, he didn't know their fate. Lomerov had to be hurting, but you'd never know it.

The Russian addressed Ward and Anne. Lomerov said the BSS contained enough supplies to sustain five people for a couple months. That should be more than enough time for the disease to pass—if it even reached Baikonur—and for launches to resume.

If a launch was delayed, he said, the station still had the emergency Soyuz attached.

"No need for you to worry. You two go down with Lucy if necessary. Sam and I stay."

Ward checked out Sam's response. Sam was nodding. Ward wondered how agreeable Sam really was.

But he did not hear anyone lobbying to go down now, or a week from now. They all had their eyes on the disease. It was burning like a horrible forest fire. Let it sweep past, burn out, and then they could get back. Back maybe to smoking ruins, but back.

Bigelow Mission Control, north of Las Vegas, was still offline. They had suffered heavy casualties, as had Vegas. As had the United States, just three days after the first cases on its soil.

If the sweating sickness ran to form, the country would have to endure almost two weeks more of assault. The Grim Reaper was going to have a field day. According to unofficial count his scythe had already claimed three million victims. The United States had not lost that many people in all the wars of its history.

Worldwide the death toll had supposedly reached an unbelievable fifty million. India and China had been hit very hard. They possessed high population densities, even in rural areas. In India especially there was nowhere to run. On the subcontinent a death rate of fifty percent might be a gross underestimate.

Every continent except Antarctica was now infected. On each the disease ran rampant. On each the urban dwellers—where the majority of humankind now resided—sought refuge in the wilderness. Unlike Jesus, they were not going there to commune with their souls.

One developed nation had so far avoided the sweating sickness. A nation that for seventy-six years had swallowed their congenital ferocity and brutality. A nation that Ward knew America should give thanks it fought in the 1940's rather than the 1980's.

Their embassy in Britain must have sounded the alarm immediately. Twelve hours before the British news blackout, the Land of the Rising Sun forbade entry to any and all. Fighter jets diverted a BOA flight on approach to Tokyo, even though the airliner was low on fuel. It barely made Seoul.

Their navy joined the air force in preventing breach of Nippon. There were reports of boats fired on, with one possibly sunk. The Japs weren't screwing around. They had the good fortune to be surrounded by water and a leadership that did not moralize. Ward was proud of them.

He did not condemn them in any way, as he would have a decade ago. They had acted decisively to protect themselves. As the now exterminated Israelis had not. Ward and Jesus would have enjoyed a good row debating the Japanese response.

Jesus, Jesus. The Son championed such a wonderful philosophy. He erred only in expecting Homo sapiens to render more than lip service. Turning the cheek to this species bought only contempt and exploitation, as did generosity. Jesus had been right about one thing. Givers were lucky to get gratitude from one of ten recipients. Great truth lay in the adage that no good deed went unpunished.

Ward had reluctantly concluded that acting in self interest was the only viable philosophy. Self interest was the engine of evolution, and it guided successful people, groups, and nations. Embrace what strengthens and reject what weakens. Well before this plague struck, Europe and the United States were already diseased due to adopting the opposite tack.

Late in the afternoon they learned that Lomerov's former wife had died. His two sons were sick. Lomerov shook off everyone's attempt to console and he retreated to his cabin in the command module.

Anne began to cry. She had held her tears through the torment of the past four days, but now she buried her head in Ward's chest and let loose. Still no word about her parents and brother. Thankfully Dennis and the kids were okay.

Ward had tragedy of his own to deal with. Brian had died, along with his two children. Nancy was devastated. She had come down with the disease, but survived.

As Ward conversed with her via video link, she was barely coherent. In her grief she did not look like she wanted to go on. Nancy described the indescribable conditions in the blocks around the Arlington hospital where she and Brian had volunteered to assist as the crisis began. It sounded like the scene out of Gone With The Wind where on the streets of Atlanta the Confederate dead and wounded lay together in a vast multitude.

Ward had begged Brian and Nancy to race to his compound. But true to their Christian faith, which they walked as good as they talked, they stayed in the death zone to give what help they could. Mark another one up to punishment of good deeds.

Anne eventually cried herself out. She wanted him to return with her to the port module. Mindful of his agreement with Lomerov, Ward sent her off alone. He stayed to covertly keep watch on Sam.

Ward felt beat to hell and had to struggle to keep awake. Once he did find himself floating asleep. But only once. He held on until Lomerov returned. Lomerov's face and voice were absolutely devoid of emotion as the Russian told Ward to go rest.

Cheek to cheek, Ward and Anne looked out the porthole window of his cabin. After a dozen days on the BSS, Ward should have tired of sunsets. This was one display he still found entertaining. And diverting. Boy, did they need diversion.

As the BBS moved eastward over the earth, at a clip of five miles per second, the sun drifted toward the western horizon. The sun shone with dazzling white light. Then the sun began to slide below the curve of the earth, and the film of atmosphere at the horizon acted like a giant prism. Sunlight split into the colors of the spectrum, each color from red to purple far more intense and rich than ever seen on earth.

The spectrum formed a great arc in the manner of a rainbow. As the BSS receded from the arc, it slowly shrank along the horizon toward the place of sunset. The colors faded, until only a whisker of indigo was left. Then the rainbow was completely gone as the BSS was engulfed by the blackness of the earth's shadow.

During sunlight the black of space was just that, uniform black with no stars visible. Sunlight obliterated starlight. In the shadow of the earth the stars jumped out. This was also a sight to savor. Ward had thought the view of the heavens in the night sky of Judean Jericho the best he would ever see. That was little league compared to this.

The stars of the Milky Way were so thick they looked like white smoke. On either side of the Milky Way the swarm of single stars did not twinkle as they did on earth, they instead glowed steadily. Star color from earth was usually a dull white, with a few like Betelgeuse or Rigel showing a watery red or blue. In this black, black shadow the stars blazed their colors royally. Strong blue, red, yellow, orange, white.

Ward had been too preoccupied during the early days on the BSS to fully appreciate these views from orbit. Now, with the roof falling in down below, he was strangely relaxed. He knew he should not be. What the future held for himself or humanity was very much up in the air.

He saw another light, a streak of white. By now he knew he was not witnessing a meteor entering the atmosphere. These flashes startled him at first, at times jolting him from sleep. They were stark reminder of the hazardous environment he and Anne now inhabited.

Lucette explained this was "merely" a cosmic ray striking his optic nerve. Glad she could be casual about it, but from briefings at Star City Ward recalled cosmic rays were not rays at all. They were high velocity atomic nuclei. Every flash meant hundreds other of the things were tearing into the rest of his body.

The official term had been galactic cosmic ray, or GCR. Earth's envelope of air kept the great majority of GCRs from reaching the ground. Up here people got the full brunt. The briefing said adequate protection would require a meter of lead.

On the BSS they faced additional radiation. Fortunately only thin shielding was needed to block the ultraviolet light that would otherwise fry the unprotected. Earth's magnetic field diverted most of the electron and proton stream that was called the solar wind. Radiation levels were still a lot higher than down below.

Which raised a worrisome point. Ten days or even three months up here did not allow enough accumulation to be dangerous. At least for non pregnant adults. Neither Bigelow Aerospace nor the International Space Agency, of which NASA was now part, let knocked up women into space.

Anne had passed all qualifying physicals prior to arriving in Star City. Ward guessed none of the exams there during training bothered checking for pregnancy. He didn't know if it was even possible to detect conception a week or two after the event. Officials could hardly be blamed for not anticipating a tourist would willingly conceive just before launch.

That was reckless of Anne, to be sure, no matter how much she wanted to give him a child. The fetus was now getting battered by GCRs. Ward had to pray she didn't deliver a monster. He grabbed at one silver lining, that her egg and his sperm and start of the embryo all developed on earth. Perhaps that would save the child—if they could get back to earth before too long.

Anne turned her creamy face to his. A face that usually wore a smile. Ward had not seen one since the outbreak.

"Roger—"

Her big brown eyes fixed his, then turned away.

"Yes?"

The chocolate eyes came back. "I don't know how to ask this."

"What is it? I know you are very worried."

"Did you possibly have any inkling of this?"

"Of what?" Though he knew exactly what she meant. Fortunately Ward was prepared for the question. It was inevitable Anne would arrive at it, once she got rest and a chance to reflect.

"Of the disease. I mean you wanted me here so badly. At this time."

Yes, it sure was one hell of a coincidence.

Ward feigned disbelief, saying that was the craziest question he ever heard. How could he know anything about this horrible disaster? It was just pure good luck they were on the BSS now.

Her eyes probed, then she nodded. Her cheek came back to rest against his. Ward hoped she could not detect the increase in his heartbeat.

She squeezed his hand. "Thank you again for letting Dennis and the children come to your compound. I would be out of my mind if they weren't there."

"I'm glad I had the place."

"They'll be okay there, won't they?"

"Nothing is guaranteed concerning this disease. They do stand a much better chance than most people."

"I wish I were with them."

That stung, but he was sure the children motivated her statement much more than Dennis. Maternal instinct had to trump any other instinct, including the one for survival.

Things were getting interesting at the compound. Trespassers had been driven off by his security team firing rifles into the air. Outsiders were stumbling onto the complex even though it was located in one of the most remote areas of the East. The hilltop tower had to be a beacon.

The diaspora from cities and suburbs had in turn exploded human presence in the far reaches of southwestern Virginia. Blummer, head of his security and a former Navy SEAL, told Ward these immigrants were increasingly desperate. They were running out of food. Some of the tenderfoots were trying to catch game with spears fashioned from knives tied to poles.

Blummer said water was going to be their biggest problem. Not that the refugees would die of thirst. Rather the threat was contamination of the water source. From the tower they could see people relieving themselves only yards from the stream in the valley. The hard bitten SEAL had given a mirthless smile as he ruminated on the irony of people fleeing one type epidemic only to generate another.

Refuges must face similar situations all the across the country. There were reports of gunfights over food. Gunplay too had erupted as refuges drove off other refuges, fearing they brought the disease with them. People were beginning to die from causes besides sweating sickness.

Ward yanked his thoughts from that. There was nothing he could do about what happened below. Nothing.

Instead he let his hand slip to where skin met cloth on Anne's thigh. They had not made love since word came of the outbreak. Desire had died.

Anne tensed as his hand stroked. He removed the hand. Perfectly understandable if it was too soon for her.

She put the hand back.

"Anne, don't feel obligated. Only when you are willing."

Her lips found his and she turned to press her chest against him. Oh yes, kisses were sweeter than wine. As was the rest of her.

They were almost undressed when a tremor passed through the cabin.

Their eyes flew to each other's as they wondered if the BSS had been struck. Ward braced, waiting for the wail of the alarm signaling a hull breach.

Instead they heard only the white noise of ventilation.

"What was that?" asked Anne.

"Let's go check. Be ready to evacuate just in case."

"Oh, God."

"I don't think it's anything serious. The crew would be on the intercom. But let's see."

They threw on clothes and flippers, and pushed into the central cavity of the port module. No warning lights had flashed in his cabin and none were flashing here. Lucette had not appeared with wide eyes from her cabin. Everything seemed, as these space guys liked to say, nominal.

Ward rapped on Lucette's door. No response. Either she was in deep sleep or in another module.

They entered the center node. Ward pressed the intercom button on the hatch securing the command module. No response. If Lomerov wasn't inside, he would be on watch in the starboard module.

They floated into the cavernous module and to their shock found it empty. Strangely the door to the command station was wide open. For a week now Lomerov had kept it closed except when he worked there.

"Anybody here?" Ward shouted. Ward did not like what he was starting to think. That vibration was probably the Soyuz departing the station. The bastards had abandoned them.

No answer. Then they heard something from the direction of Sam's cabin. It sounded like a muffled voice.

They swam toward the cabin and opened its door.

Ward would never forget the sight that greeted them. Lomerov, his mouth taped shut, was struggling furiously in the cocoon of Sam's sleeping net. More duct tape bound him in the net. The eyes of Lomerov were lasers, set on incinerate.

They pulled tape from his mouth gently as they could. The removal still tore some skin and blood formed.

Lomerov was so enraged he probably didn't feel anything. "They have betrayed!" were the first foam specked words from his mouth. "I kill them."

When they got Lomerov completely free and he cooled some, he told them what had happened.

Sam and Lucette waited until Ward and Anne were on the other side of the station. In the starboard module Sam waited until Lomerov turned his back. Then Sam hit him on the side of the head with a wrench.

The blow stunned Lomerov, but didn't put him out. It however let Lucette grab one of his tasers. With that they fully incapacitated him. He was numb as they bundled him into the sleeping restraint.

They were gone into the Soyuz before Lomerov could get his tongue to work. He rained curses onto them anyway. When the station trembled he knew they had gotten away clean.

Or maybe not so clean, he told Ward and Anne. "I talk to Baikonur. Arrest when traitors land. They, as you say, swing."

Ward doubted Sam and Lucette would face execution. Though in these times who could say. The two would certainly be fired and maybe do jail time. What they better hope was Lomerov never got near them.

He wanted to say "we're fucked", but kept silent. That would do no good, and only upset Anne beyond where she was already.

"What's going to become of us?" asked Anne. Her eyes now held the same foreboding as had Sam's.

An excellent question, my love.

Ward flinched as another GCR hit his optic nerve.

### Part Two

If they gave me a fortune

My treasure would be small

I could lose it all tomorrow

And never mind at all

But if I should lose your love, dear

I don't know what I'll do

For I know I'll never find another you

Tom Springfield

7

July 28, 2021

"You've worked with Sergei Lomerov, haven't you?"

James Peck nodded. "Good man. The Agency should have held onto him."

"He's a cancer bomb."

Peck laughed. "He's not radioactive." Though Sergei should be with all the radiation he'd absorbed. Three decades as a cosmonaut had put Sergei way over the lifetime rem limit.

He and Harper had the Tranquility module to themselves. They floated in the cupola, whose six perimeter windows allowed inspection of the underbelly of the station. What drew people in here of course was the large circular window at the apex of the dome. Through it the earth drifted by serenely; the spectacular view gave no hint of the disaster raging below.

The station commander pursed his lips. "Well, we've got a decision to make."

No, thought Peck, _you've_ got a decision to make. It amazed him how the Peter Principle operated even when staffing the International Space Station. Like turds in water, mediocrity rose to the top.

Thank God Harper had only pro forma authority over him and Todd. Peck would choke on saying "sir" to this Agency hack. William Harper would not have lasted a week on a carrier as the CAG. The pilots would have laughed him out of the position.

Yeah, Harper did have to make an important decision, a critical one, and here he was polling the other seven onboard. Command and consensus were polar opposites. This was not a democracy.

"It's three more people to maintain," said Harper.

"True." Peck wasn't going to help him out. But the math should.

The BSS had food reserves like the ISS. After desertion of two hands, their reserves per person surely exceeded this station's. Bringing over the three and their cache would actually improve the situation here.

Even if the reverse were true, Harper would not maroon the three on the BSS. He didn't have it in him. Nor did the rest of the crew. Everyone except Todd was an academic or an ISA bureaucrat. They were soft. Peck doubted in the old days any would have made the astronaut corps.

The last hardened people in space nowadays were ones like himself, Todd and Sergei Lomerov. The Chinese astronauts probably qualified, since they sent up only former test pilots. Peck also had to include the current crop of moon walkers. All personnel on the four lunar expeditions had undergone training that gave even Peck pause.

"And I don't like bringing aboard this Ward," said Harper. His clipped limey accent grated.

"Well, we can hardly save the other two and leave him behind."

Peck definitely wanted the fucker aboard. They had some third degree questions waiting. Ward aka Caldwell had to be tied in someway to what was going on below.

The station commander made a display of thoughtfully rubbing his knobby chin. "If we do decide in their favor, we still have the problem of getting them here. The TVs don't have the range."

"They sure don't." Not even for a one way trip. The differences between the station orbits were just too much.

"And using Spaceguard would be dangerous," said Harper. He glanced out the cupola at the behemoth vessel positioned two kilometers aft of the station. Then Harper looked to Peck for affirmation.

Peck knew it galled Harper that the vessel was solely under American control. Under Peck's control.

"We won't light up the 'Guard." He had a better solution. He would see if any of the scientists aboard could come up with it.

Harper gave a great, theatrical sigh. "This is hell, having to play God."

Peck repressed a snicker. No one will confuse you with a deity, commander.

The horse faced man went on with lamentation. "Baikonur should have gotten them off station right away. They had a vehicle on the pad."

The three on the BSS should be glad a Soyuz was not launched. Good chance they'd be dead now. Yesterday the plague reached Kazakhstan. The deserters would get a rude welcoming.

Lucky too that the Cape had not sent up an Orion the first week. Those departing the ISS would have had a first class ticket to their graves. Both the disease and anarchy ran rampant in Florida.

"We are where we are," said Peck.

"Marooned ourselves."

"We'll make it." Peck smiled and put a hand on Harper's shoulder. "Things will normalize down there. They'll get us off."

He believed neither would happen, but that was a matter for another day. Right now both the Cape and Houston were non-functional, with most ISA personnel either dead or fled.

"Lomerov I don't mind bringing over," said Harper. "But the civilians will be thorns in our side."

"They have some training. And experience in orbit now."

"Rubbish, Jim. They are virgins."

"You know you aren't going to leave them there."

"Perhaps."

"We have time to mull it."

If the situation required, Peck would not only let them starve, but raid the BSS to steal their food. If required. But Sergei was too valuable to let die. The BSS also harbored a person even more precious—a woman with child bearing years to go.

Harper thanked him for his counsel and the two propelled themselves out of the Tranquility module. The commander headed aft for Zvezda, while Peck went forward toward the Guard module. Time for the second dose of exercise for the day.

In the cylindrical module Todd was already on a treadmill. The visiting Jap who smiled too much ran on the adjacent machine. Peck could not pronounce his first or last name and did not want to. Peck's maternal grandfather had been a B-29 pilot shot down over Japan. The Japs used him as slave labor, and other POWs said he was skeletal at the end. Peck bet the guards smiled the same as they worked him to death.

Peck greeted tow-shi-mini-ass or whatever without rancor. In space one did not make enemies for sport. Cordial teamwork helped staying alive. But if the day came to decide who got rations and who did not, mini-ass would be going boo-hoo.

As his legs churned Todd waved at Peck. The wiry young man was breathing hard. His T-shirt was soaked. A slab of sweat that covered his shaved skull quivered like jelly. His feet kept pace with the speeding belt, and the shoulder restraints holding him in place were set to high tension.

"How many miles today?" asked Peck.

Todd held up three fingers.

"Go for four. Done the ARED?" Peck glanced over to the resistance machine.

His copilot gave the thumbs up.

"Good". Todd the rookie had not believed warnings how fast conditioning could deteriorate in weightlessness. He came up here fit and cocky, and just two weeks were needed to strip him of both. A month later now, he was again ripped and sassy.

Todd reminded Peck of himself at the same age. Todd had only one real flaw, though it was hardly disqualification for flying Spaceguard. He loved to leap before looking.

Peck moved to the ARED. As he readied for squat lifts, he was pleased to see Todd had the setting at max. Todd hadn't slacked a bit. His copilot would be able to function in seven g's right up to the moment of detonation. Just right he signed up for, right?

Too-shi left, smiling back at them as he exited the module. Good riddance.

Todd finished his fourth mile. He unhooked from the machine, then with a towel blotted away the sweat on head and limbs that had nowhere to go in weightlessness. He floated over to Peck. Peck was now doing bench presses.

"What's the word from Harper?" asked Todd. "Those people coming or not?"

"I'd say so."

"Woman's a hottie. Kurt got a look when Harper was on the horn with them."

"Put your dong back, Todd. She's married."

"So?"

"So hands off."

"She's not married to that other guy."

"No, but hands off. Non fraternization is even more important up here than on a carrier." Not fucking in space went right along with not making enemies. Emotions had to stay bagged.

"She's a civilian."

"Todd, did you hear me?"

Todd grinned. "It's easy to be celibate with the dogs we got on board. A real looker is going to make it hard."

Peck smiled and shook his head. Todd was spoiled. The three females weren't dogs. Plain Jane Susan still rated a five, blondie Kata a six point five, and the Indian woman an eight. The Indian, whose first and last names had all a's for vowels, almost met his specs. Too bad she was so black you could barely see her.

Then the fresh, unlined face of his copilot clouded. "I sure hope they're not going to extend us."

"Real good chance."

"I mean, I love serving as fodder. But three months on this jumble of cans is enough."

Todd should know extension was almost certain. Peck did not see how they could send up replacements before October. Even year's end was probably optimistic.

Like everyone else on board except Kurt, Todd was in denial. Half the people at Kennedy and Johnson had died or were MIA. Half the next ISS crew was gone. Their Orion was rotting on the launch pad, when it should have been rolled back to the VAB.

Peck had discussed where this was headed with Kurt. After beating around the bush, they found each had arrived at the same conclusion. Earth was not going to be able to save the inhabitants of the ISS.

Kurt had been right, Peck thought, she was a piece of ass. Her green coveralls could not hide the hourglass figure beneath.

Peck checked for the confirming gold band on her left ring finger. Bingo. Game on.

The woman with pony tailed auburn hair and the flawless complexion stood beside Sergei and Roger Ward. In turn Peck and Kurt were arrayed on either side of Harper before the video screen.

The station commander was in negotiation with Sergei. The Russian displayed the same poker face Peck remembered from their training at the Johnson Space Center. Later they had served together on the ISS. It would be good to again share time with this man who could out steady and out drink anyone.

Harper was being an asshole. He wanted Sergei to squirm some before Harper magnanimously let the three on the ISS.

"You would have to provide all your own food. And as much water as possible. And your medical supplies. Plus all items for personal hygiene, including toilet wipes. We have none to spare."

Not even a tube of toothpaste. Show them you're tough, Harper.

The Russian did not bat an eye. "We comply." Peck detected a hint of amusement in that eye.

Harper was momentarily speechless. He had to expect some plea or protest. Forget the former from Sergei Lomerov. The latter would not come verbally.

Sergei might not be concerned, but the two tourists flanking him were. The black haired imposter tried to hide it. The lovely lady looked ready to gag.

She should gag, as the BSS was doomed. The Baikonur Cosmodrome had suffered as badly as the Cape. No Soyuz would be launching in time. Like the other two space stations, the BSS lost thirty meters a day in altitude. Sergei said the BSS had propellant enough to maintain orbit for two more months. After that the station would die a fiery death as it tumbled into the atmosphere.

Running out of oxygen might finish them before that. Hydrolyzing water would generate O2 after reserves ran out, but you were just trading death by asphyxiation for a more tortuous one by dehydration. Either fate the ISS crew could avoid thanks to the tons of liquid oxygen and hydrogen available on Spaceguard.

Anne Lynn did not have to fret. If no other option was available, Peck would indeed fire up Spaceguard to save this delicious damsel. For he had vowed to score with her. She would have the honor of being his first conquest in space.

Harper located his voice. "You must submit to ISA authority. All of you would be under this command. No ifs, ands, or buts about taking orders from me and the rest of the crew."

"We comply."

Harper rubbed his knob of a chin.

"There are still technical aspects to solve. We are against employing the Spaceguard vessel to rendezvous with you. We will need all its propellants to maintain our own altitude. They are also our water and oxygen reserve."

Bullshit, and Sergei had to know it was bullshit. The crew would starve to death long before using up that reserve, and it would take only a fraction of Spaceguard's fuel to get to the BSS and back. Harper was worried that its main engines, never fired in orbit, might blow up. And take out the ISS.

Harper better get over that. Spaceguard would eventually need to ignite main engines to keep the ISS up. That would be a tricky maneuver. The vessel was designed to blast and haul ass, not nudge like a tugboat. Thrust would have to be kept below way design minimums to avoid Spaceguard acting like an icebreaker, with the ISS the ice.

Peck had no doubt however that he and Todd could bring it off. They had hundreds of hours of training with the Spaceguard simulator. More importantly they had even more hours flying jets. Both had experienced the ultimate in nerve and skill, landing on an aircraft carrier in heavy seas. Peck had once done so at night. After that adventure everything was a piece of cake.

Sergei had flown fighter jets, too. Long ago in the skies over Afghanistan, dodging US Stinger missiles. Peck would concede that rivaled semi-suicidal carrier landings. And Harper expected the man opposite him on the screen to sweat.

The Russian answered simply, "I have alternative."

Peck smiled. He bet Sergei did. The best solution for rendezvous was uncomplicated, though on the ISS only Peck and Kurt had arrived at it.

Harper had nearly dismissed the proposal. Fighter jocks were dumb jocks, weren't they? But Harper yielded to the numbers Peck put together. Especially after Kurt gave his stamp of approval. Bravo for Sergei if he had matched Peck.

Then it was Peck's turn to disbelieve as Sergei pointed to the man beside him.

"I let Roger Caldwell explain. This his idea. I then do calculations. They work barely, but work."

Peck listened amazed as "Caldwell" addressed them.

"Greetings, gentlemen. We hope to greet you in person within the month. Colonel Lomerov is too generous, we developed this together. I am not a mathematician, so—"

"Get on with it," Harper barked.

Peck knew Harper had hoped to triumphantly reveal the solution, thus demonstrating Agency superiority. Undoubtedly Harper was annoyed a mere tourist might negate that.

"Very well," said Ward. He had a deep, authoritative voice. "The BSS has an orbit fifty miles higher than the ISS and an tilt to the equator twenty-two degrees less. Neither of your transfer vehicles has the fuel capacity to manage that difference. Your Spaceguard vehicle could, but it is not made for the precise maneuvering required."

"We know that," snapped Harper.

"Sorry. We feel the best plan is to bring the BSS to the ISS. Part of it, that is. We can greatly reduce our fuel requirements by detaching our port and starboard modules. Fortunately our primary thruster is connected to the command module. We will then use most of our fuel to change our inclination to match yours. After that we will mainly count on orbit decay to come down to your altitude. We should have just enough fuel left to put us within a mile or two of you. The whole thing should take about four weeks. We have triple checked our calculations."

Peck resisted a laugh. That was right on the money. Where had Ward come up with this? He had no scientific background. Orbital mechanics would be utterly alien to the former medieval historian.

Unless...

Ward went on. "We are fortunate we can detach our wing modules. Otherwise the delta v requirements would have been too great."

Delta v? Was Ward trying to impress them with his grasp of technical terms? See how impressed they were when he was under the hot lights.

If Ward were really smart, he'd kept his mouth shut and insisted Sergei take all the credit. Ward obviously had no idea this just put him deeper in the hole. Who was going to believe Ward had not arrived on the BSS with this solution already worked out?

Harper grunted. "Send us your data. We will quadruple check. Your method sounds feasible. However do not implement anything until we give the go ahead."

"Da." Sergei fixed Harper with steely eyes. Eyes that said we come whether you give us go ahead or not.

Peck's attention returned full force to Anne Lynn. God, was she a dish. A month would be a long time to wait for her.

While Ward spoke Peck had noticed admiration, more than admiration, crossing this woman's face. Could something be afoot between them? Could a romance have developed on the BSS, aided by the dire situation? There was no evidence they knew each other on earth.

Well, Roger Ward, get ready to move over. James Peck was going to take your place.

Unless in a bind, Peck screwed only married women.

A married woman twice his age had initiated him just past his fourteenth birthday. That summer she had fucked him half to death, but he thrilled to every minute of it. She forever hooked him on wedded women.

The woman moved away in the fall. He was heart broken, believing himself in love. He was only in love with the excitement and overwhelming pleasure. At the time he did not realize it, but he was also in love with the danger. Intimacy with another man's wife challenged death.

In high school and at the Naval Academy he dated to keep up appearances. Young women actually thought him a gentleman because of his sexual forbearance. Jimmy Peck must appreciate them for themselves. Which was laughable, for teenaged women had nothing to offer but their prime time anatomies. Teenaged women possessed the brains and the herd instinct of cows.

During his high school years Peck hunted the mothers of his friends. He had B looks but an A body, the body a testament to the varsity wrestler he was. To all the moms he was polite and helpful. After some practice, he learned which mothers were susceptible.

Some were appalled when they realized what lay behind his courtesy. Their faces hardened and he was never let in their residences again. Some never divined his intentions or pretended they did not. But some—roughly one in ten—welcomed his attention. In their homes and in motels their welcome played out.

At Annapolis Peck hunted faculty wives. A midshipman's free time was limited, but Peck enjoyed some of his greatest successes there. That certainly pushed it to the limit, banging wives of men who could have ruined entry to the career he wanted most. If they didn't shotgun him to death first.

When he finished flight school he changed tactics. Don't foul your nest became his guiding rule. The nest being his Navy career. He was now addicted to flying high performance jets. Outside the military he would not again soar behind their controls. If he were caught with a Navy wife, goodbye.

He expanded the rule to include all married women connected to a base. The wives of civil servants, contractors, even visitors were forbidden. The separation must be complete. He would have to cast his net elsewhere.

Bars were out. He had never trolled there anyway. The challenge was low and the quality of prey poor. His ideal target did not give off vibes of desperation. His ideal had not committed adultery before, had some class and intelligence, had children, and of course had kept her figure.

Peck prided himself on the solution. He became a coach in an off base kid's soccer league. At afternoon practices mothers would hang around to observe their children. At the same time they could not fail to notice Peck in T-shirt and shorts as he with good humor coached. The shirt advertised both his muscled torso and his graduation from the Naval Academy. Further inquiry revealed he flew F-14 Tomcats.

Legend held that women folded in the presence of a fighter jock. That was not true with women above the slut level, yet the profession did bestow advantages. Women not otherwise disposed now took you under consideration. You still needed to supply the rest of the package.

Soccer moms were not easy, even if disposed. Most just window shopped him. He was sure they settled for visualizing James Peck on top while they performed their wifely duties. Soccer moms were solid citizens, upstanding women that did not yield easily to temptation. Which only magnified the triumph of bagging one.

High Nooner. That should have been his pilot call sign. For lunchtime was his preferred period of operation. At that hour he attained his highest thrill, mating with a woman in her house in her bedroom. To make her writhe in ecstasy, to have her cries rebound from the same walls where her husband fucked her, that was the Everest of fornication.

With a single woman how could he even reach the foothills of Everest? Where was the danger except in getting her pregnant? Where was the pride in conquest? Where was the violation of a great taboo? The questions answered themselves.

When Peck deployed to sea, he kept his rule. No fraternization period. On a carrier who needed sex anyway? He had scores of catapults and landings to make. And sorties over Iraq and Afghanistan to fly—one of which involved strafing insurgents while they fired back. Watching tracers rise toward him while simultaneously fragmenting bodies with 20mm fire substituted quite well for sexual climax.

He was accepted into NASA on his first application. He came in too late to fly the shuttle, which ended operations in 2011. The Ares/Orion system would not fly until the middle teens. So he mainly trained and waited. And stuck to his prime rule. All his life he dreamed of going into space, with Mars his ultimate goal. He laid off any woman remotely associated with NASA. Or the International Space Agency, formed in 2016 when NASA merged with a half dozen other space agencies.

Instead he sought an entirely new type of prey. Previously he had avoided trophy wives. He rated them lessor challenge because money rather than love had attracted them to their mates. Peck could take no pride in subduing these opportunists. They were essentially whores, just exorbitantly priced.

These whores did however involve exorbitant danger. Their men had not attainted their wealth by playing patty cake. They possessed outsized egos backed by ruthless natures. To dare to cuckold such beasts presented a worthy challenge.

Once Peck was confronted by such a creature. The husband broke into the master bedroom of his garish mansion. The chunky, graying man clutched a 9 millimeter pistol. His wife, a golden haired beauty, shrieked and shrieked. Peck had stared back calmly at the barrel of the Glock. If you weren't willing to face the consequences of courting mortal danger, you didn't belong on the playing field.

The enraged man brought the pistol to within a yard of Peck's face while his naked wife in her panic slipped twice getting out of the bedroom.

Peck had smiled whimsically and said, "No jury will convict you."

The man did not pull the trigger. Instead he went after his wife. Peck grabbed his trousers and also fled, out the second story window. He got to his car parked a block away without incident. In his departure he glimpsed the husband pistol whipping the hysterical wife on a side patio. Peck hoped she had access to a good divorce lawyer and to an even better plastic surgeon.

Peck piloted the third Orion into orbit, on the spacecraft's final test flight. Afterward he regularly ferried crew to the ISS, and served one three month rotation on the station. Mostly, as astronauts mostly did, he trained or provided support in Mission Control. Then, two years ago, he was selected for the first class of Spaceguard pilots.

Spaceguard was supposedly the pinnacle for a pilot. The position put every woman on earth in play. Such pilots were combination white knight slaying the dragon and holy martyr sacrificing his life for all mankind. Everyone understood an interception mission would be one way, regardless of ISA propaganda that every effort would follow to save the pilots.

The problem was that intercepting an asteroid or comet meant Spaceguard had to get there quickly. Most of the fuel would be expended to reach the offending object in time. Which would leave no way to halt the vessel.

Peck and Todd had decided they would not die in the depths of space as they raced away from earth. Procedure called for launching the 400 megaton payload from a safe distance. Well, hell with that. They would bore in detonate the nukes just before impact.

Of course, the odds were remote Spaceguard would be used. At least while he lived. Killer asteroids and comets struck the planet at intervals of millennia, not decades.

Peck thought the Spaceguard program an enormous waste of money. The media had grossly overreacted to the approach of an asteroid three years ago. The asteroid, which could have taken out France or Texas if it hit, came no closer than half the distance of the moon from the earth. The media's hysterical reaction stirred the masses, who stirred the politicians, who voted billions of dollars, Euros, rupees and yen they did not have to fund the program.

For Peck Spaceguard was just another stepping stone to Mars. To first land a descent vehicle on the Martian surface, that would be the ultimate feat for a pilot. Maximum danger, maximum glory. More so if he stayed on to help found a permanent colony. Even before the disease, there had been little to hold him on earth.

If the disease was defeated, he planned to serve two or three more years in the Spaceguard program. A very grateful ISA had already promised his selection in the first class of Mars astronauts. Missions would not begin until at least 2030, when Peck would be pushing fifty, but they gave their word he would stay eligible until sixty.

But the conflagration raging on earth put all timetables in jeopardy. The tables themselves could well perish. Peck was steeling himself that he might never get to the Martian surface. Glory would have to be found elsewhere.

8

When the hatch of the transfer vehicle opened, Lomerov saw the beaming face of James Peck. Behind him floated another man. A young one, with head shaved. Jimmy had said his Spaceguard mate would accompany him.

"Communist tyrant Lomerov."

"Enemy of people Peck."

They laughed at their old jibes, jibes first traded eight years ago when training together in Houston. Those had been some of Lomerov's best times on earth. Jimmy was a thorough professional who also knew how to keep spirits dancing. He was also one of the few men able to match Lomerov drink for drink.

They embraced and patted backs.

"Good to see you, old man."

"Who say old? I still outperform all."

"Bet you do. Let me introduce Lieutenant Todd Whittier. He's almost as crazy as us."

"Certifiable," said the lieutenant. "Honored to meet you. Jim can't stop singing your praises."

They shook hands. Lomerov liked how firmly the young man gripped and looked him right in the eye. This Todd might be slight of build, but Lomerov sensed plenty of substance. As one would expect from a former carrier pilot and a graduate of the American naval university. Like Jimmy.

"He very kind. He speak well of you also."

Then Lomerov saw two men shift focus beyond him, from the airlock to the command module.

"Where are your guests?" asked Jimmy.

His lift in mood evaporated. "Bad news today. Anya learn one of children died. Already lost husband. She in cabin now. Roger Caldwell with her."

Lomerov saw the two men trade a quick look.

"What is matter?"

"We'll talk later, Sergei. When we have everything and everyone aboard the ISS. It's nothing that can't wait. We should start loading the TV real soon."

"Da. I am ready."

For the next hour they moved food and other supplies into the transfer vehicle. Jimmy stopped when the small craft neared capacity.

"We'd like to leave room to bring over the tourists and their personal effects."

"Cannot wait? Until later trip? Anya in bad way."

"We feel it best to get them aboard now."

"Why, Jimmy?"

Another traded look.

"Classified. I cannot say at this time."

"Classified ? What is happening?"

"Old friend, you'll just have to trust me on this. We need to get them over."

Another man Lomerov would press. Jimmy he did trust, with his life. Still, what could be classified about either of these harmless people? The background investigation would have revealed anything out of the ordinary.

Lomerov wondered if the hush had to do with Anya. From the start, when Russia sent up Valentina Tereshkova, no woman in orbit had been pregnant. The space agencies—including the Chinese, who violated everything else—prohibited it without reservation. Any woman so detected prior to launch was removed from flight status. Any woman detected in space was to be returned soon as possible, even if that meant using an emergency escape vehicle.

Such strictness was not imposed out of sexism, but to preserve the life of both mother and child. The consequences of microgravity and space radiation on pregnancy were not known, and no one wanted to find out. They would surely be very negative.

Lomerov was well acquainted with the hazards of space. In orbit everyone lost muscle mass and bone density. The immune system deteriorated. DNA took a beating. Hormonal controls were thrown off. Stamina and alertness decreased, sleeplessness and depression increased. Bad enough in a normal person, in a pregnant woman these changes invited disaster.

Anya was healthy, strong, and good natured. But in this environment that guaranteed nothing. If complications arose Anya was far from the expert medical help needed. It was not cruel to hope the woman he had grown so fond of would miscarry, and do so quickly.

The question begged how could the ISS know she was pregnant. Roger had told him only a few days ago, when Anya began to vomit. That jolting news had not left this makeshift vessel.

Anya must have conceived just before launch. Her last physical must have revealed her state only after she was on the BSS. Star City or Las Vegas could have ordered her immediate return, but instead decided to ignore it. She would be earthside shortly. Let her deal then with the ramifications of her folly—especially since she like every tourist had signed an all absolving waiver.

Word of the pregnancy could have easily leaked. Many of the personnel at Star City and Bigelow Aerospace had ties to people at ISA. The word would get around, and eventually up to the ISS. Which now had the problem placed in their totally unprepared hands.

Lomerov had been angry with both Roger and Anya when he learned of her state. What they had allowed to happen was the height of folly. They had been duly briefed on the hazards of even a short stay in space.

He had exchanged harsh words with Roger Caldwell. No, not exchanged. Roger had just taken the invective, nodding his head as Lomerov's words pelted him. Afterwards Lomerov reflected that Roger had taken the criticism like a man; he did not try to weasel out of his part in the tragedy to unfold.

Yet in the end—as always—pregnancy belonged to a woman. Sweet and formerly joyful Anya, now tormented Anya, she bore the ultimate responsibility. She was the one who had put herself and her child in mortal danger.

It was the woman who decided whether to grant or refuse her favors. If she granted, then she alone determined whether she would conceive. The modern woman had easily obtained and highly effective contraceptives available, including those for after the act. Anya had failed herself badly.

"I talk to them," Lomerov told Jimmy and Todd.

When he brought them out of the cabin, he could see the men wince at Anya's appearance. Not that her body had yet ballooned. Rather the abject misery written on her crumpled face had to hit like a fist. Her eyes, red and swollen and pooled with tears, were in particular a window into her suffering.

The Spaceguard pilots voiced condolences. They solemnly shook hands with Roger. They asked if they could help with transferring personal items. They acted with complete correctness.

Jimmy stayed with Lomerov on the BSS. Todd took Anya and Roger across the one kilometer distance to the ISS. Once the TV was underway Jimmy informed him that when the vessel reached the station, Roger would immediately be placed in detention.

Lomerov protested. "Cannot do that. Have no right. Roger—"

"The name Roger is correct. Caldwell is not."

"What mean?"

"I mean you have had an imposter for company. This man is Roger Ward."

The name faintly rang a bell. Lomerov could not connect it.

"Who is Ward?"

"A multi-billionaire who has secretly supported the Bigelow tourist program for the past six years."

"No."

"Yes. Not a crime itself, but we have evidence he is connected to the pandemic."

Lomerov's mouth fell open.

"That insane."

"You will see the evidence soon."

"Insane. He is good man."

"And how long have you known him?"

Lomerov liked Jimmy very much. Among his attributes he possessed a wonderful wit. But at times the wit could bite, especially when delivered with superior air. Fortunately, for both of them, Lomerov was rarely the target.

"Do not mock."

"Didn't mean to. But forget what you think you know about 'Caldwell'. He is a great plotter and deceiver."

Lomerov stared at his old friend. This sounded incredible. But Jimmy had never misled him. And what reason would he have to do so?

He gritted his teeth. Perhaps his initial impression of Caldwell—Ward—had been correct. Then he pegged the man as a fraud. Later his gut still sensed something did not quite add up, even after the start of friendship. In the crisis his doubts were submerged, especially as Roger seemingly proved himself reliable.

"I will judge when I see evidence."

Jimmy patted his shoulder. "Fair enough. Now I hope you have some of your rotgut vodka aboard. I think we could both use a drink."

Lomerov tapped his comrade's shoulder in turn.

"Da."

Jimmy also left it to him to judge the station commander. As they departed the BSS for good, Lomerov asked what kind of man was Harper.

"You tell me," answered Jimmy. "I want a bias free opinion."

They had not spoken of this ass in the two days since. But Lomerov was pretty sure he and Jimmy's opinions matched. Harper should not be in a command position.

They had not gotten off to a good start. Harper had greeted Lomerov coolly. Worse, the man again demanded Lomerov submit to his authority. Harper even produced a document for Lomerov to sign in affirmation.

"Not sign," Lomerov had said. "My word is good. Is gold. Ask Jimmy Peck."

Harper had flushed, then said something about don't make him put Lomerov in detention too. Jimmy had stepped in to smooth things over.

Jimmy proposed they form a ruling council. With Harper the chairman. Harper would represent the ISS crew, Jimmy the Spaceguard pilots, and Lomerov the former BSS inhabitants. The chairman would have final say so on all policy matters. That is, after fully considering the advice of the other two council members.

Harper had agreed, almost with relief. His initial bluster and quick retreat did not fill Lomerov with confidence. Jimmy and he would keep tight rein on Harper. If the man ever insisted on a foolhardy action, they would depose him. For now Lomerov would follow Jimmy's tactic of manipulation.

The first formal council meeting, held yesterday, dealt with the interrogation of Roger Ward. The man had admitted to his false identity only when confronted with biometric proof. He denied any link to the epidemic. Plausible if circumstantial evidence did indicate he had prior knowledge of the great disaster now consuming country after country. Through the questioning Ward seemed less concerned whether they thought him culpable than with when they would let him see Anya.

They ordered put Ward back in detention, fittingly in the Guard module. Under watch and with hands secured behind his back. Ward had appealed to Lomerov, especially in the matter of Anya. Lomerov had said he could do nothing. Ward had lied to him, betrayed his confidence.

The council also gave strict orders that no hand be laid upon Ward. Feelings were running high against this person who may have contributed to the deaths of loved ones below. There were mutterings about throwing him out an airlock.

Today the council met to review the situation of the ISS. Lomerov learned that four and a half months of food supply remained, if daily consumption was kept at 2000 calories per man and 1500 per woman. Food was the limiting factor for survival. Due to fuel available from the Spaceguard vessel, oxygen and water would not become a problem for at least two years.

Of the three space stations only the Chinese had evacuated their people when the crisis began. ISA and Roscosmos had delayed critical days, hoping the disease would sweep by and leave little harm. After the first fortnight, all launch ability was gone. Those unfortunates on the BSS and ISS were stuck in orbit.

Unfortunate, though, was a relative term. At no point during the seven weeks of the crisis would Lomerov have chosen to return to the planet surface. Sam and Lucy were likely dead, as well as the Chinese evacuees. The eleven people on the ISS owed their lives to their altitude.

They still had to get back to earth before the four and a half months expired. Which brought Harper to mentioning the one vessel that could bring them safely through earth's atmosphere. The vessel, an Orion craft, currently circled the moon.

The Orion was unoccupied. But four other people had prior claim to its use. These three men and one woman were also trying to wait out the storm on the home planet. They were the ISA astronauts currently stationed at the lunar Base Alpha, comprising the second long term expedition. They were halfway through their six month stay on the moon.

In the tumult of the past weeks these four had almost been forgotten. ISA had given them the option of deciding when they would return to earth. They wisely decided to linger where they were.

It sounded like they could afford to wait. Jimmy said they had a six month's food reserve. With careful rationing that could probably be stretched to a year. They possessed a nearly closed recycling system, centered on algae, which meant they needed no outside supply of water or oxygen. Their location near the lunar south pole provided almost continuous sunlight to generate electricity, and fuel cells existed as backup. They even had some construction equipment. And of course the Archives, the ultimate survival handbook.

Moreover Jimmy said they were the elite of the astronaut corps. The four had undergone unprecedented screening. They were probably brightest, the fittest, and the most psychologically adaptable individuals ever sent into space. Their training had even involved a winter-over in Antarctica, in a mock up of the lunar base. They had taken everything thrown at them without stumble.

Lomerov knew these four would have no trouble remaining professional the coming months. He wished he could be so sure about the mix they now had aboard the ISS. The ruling council would have to rule well.

They had two problems right off the mark. Ward and Anya were going to be major distractions. Both were fostering an excess of emotion, the enemy of staying alive in space. Ward caused hate, Anya and her pregnancy aroused profound concern.

Harper's voice brought Lomerov back to the lunar astronauts. His British accent, far less pleasant on the ear than Anya's, irritated. "We should contact Base Alpha. See if joint use of their Orion is possible."

"Da." For once Harper said something he agreed with completely.

But Jimmy shook his head. "The Orion is designed for six occupants maximum. They could take only two of our people back to earth."

"Could not the interior be modified?" asked Harper. "I know there is enough sheer volume to hold fifteen people."

"Eleven extra adds at least a ton more mass. That and imprecise distribution of bodies could easily compromise reentry. Remember, you are pulling five, six g's coming down."

"We can at least propose."

"Da, Jimmy."

"Go ahead. They will say no."

Harper looked cornered. He cast eyes from Jimmy to Lomerov and back.

"What if—"

"Yes, Commander?" asked Jimmy. Lomerov had yet to use the man's title. Which was just an ISA designation anyway; Harper had never served in the military. Jimmy was the one who held the true rank of Commander.

Harper took a deep breath. "What if we seize the vessel? I don't think they have long range radar. We could get Spaceguard beside the Orion before they knew it."

"No!" said Lomerov. "Dishonorable." He glared at the man. They should remove him right now.

"I'm agreeing with Sergei, Commander. It's the wrong thing to do. We might need access codes anyway. Even if we could bring it off, we'd still have eleven people for a six person vessel."

The pinch faced Briton moved his Adam's apple. "We could draw lots to chose the six."

"Say what?"

"Jim, that would be the fairest way. Otherwise we all die."

"William—and I believe Sergei will agree—if lots were ever drawn, it would only be among those left after giving our four women seats. And after those on the council removed themselves from the draw."

"Jim—"

"Da!" This man disgraced himself. A captain was always last off the ship. Lomerov sneered as if something smelled rank.

Harper however was not through with schemes to save his skin.

"You have said we can't use Spaceguard to get home. Are you absolutely sure? If we don't take the Orion, Spaceguard is the only way down."

The man was grabbing at straws. Spaceguard operated in the vacuum of space. The vessel was not in any way aerodynamic, and had no reentry heat shield like Orion.

"We could get Kurt to program a simulation," said Jimmy. "But I am sure putting Spaceguard to such use would be suicide. A spectacular one."

"Then put Kurt on it. The vessel surely has ample propellant."

"Going up, maybe. Going down, I doubt it. You can't just run things in reverse."

"Run the simulation."

"We will, William. Don't think you will like the results."

"It's our only way out."

Lomerov was disgusted at how the man looked cornered. A real leader never showed fear, even if his innards had turned to jelly.

"Not necessarily," said Jimmy. "I can land Spaceguard on the moon."

Lomerov was not sure he had heard correctly. Apparently neither did Harper. Both men gaped at Jimmy, who wore a well satisfied smile. Lomerov wondered if the stress were also getting to him.

"I don't understand," Harper finally said. "What does landing on the moon have to do with anything?"

"It will buy us at least a stay of execution."

Lomerov shook his head. "Jimmy, you make no sense."

"We land the vehicle. The four lunar astronauts and two of our women go up in their ascent vehicle to the Orion, then head for home. A lot of their food reserve will be left and we can bring ours on Spaceguard. Tightening our belts we could probably go nine months to a year on the combination. A year left to live is better than the four months we have now. We might even be able to raise some crops"

Harper reddened. "What, tomatoes and scallions? I want you to concentrate on using Spaceguard to take us down to earth. Colonel Lomerov, I need your backing on this."

Lomerov nodded. "Jimmy, the moon is foolishness."

"Okay, I will huddle with Kurt on the simulation. We'll run the numbers a score times and they'll come out the same. As a no go. But I will concentrate on it."

"We are not landing on the moon. Period."

"I thought you Brits were supposed to say 'full stop'."

Harper got even more crimson.

"Jimmy, that enough. Let us stop. All cool off."

"Yes, bloody good idea."

Jimmy nodded. "Sorry, Commander. I was just throwing out options. We can't lock ourselves into anything. We must remain flexible."

Harper grunted.

The meeting broke up. Lomerov accepted that the station commander was right to be upset. And frightened, even if he should hide it. If the Spaceguard vessel could not land on earth, Harper faced an almost certain death. Only two ISS people would be accepted on the Orion. He would not be one of them.

Two of the four women aboard would go. Lomerov resolved Anya would be one of them.

The next day Lomerov finally yielded to Ward's plea for an audience. Lomerov was in a very foul mood. He had slept poorly during his short stay on the station. He had also eaten little. He was fighting hard to keep his morale from plummeting. Even during his worst situations in space, he never felt trapped like this.

He should have refused to see Ward. Talking with the betrayer could only make him feel worse. Unless, that is, he released his worry and frustration by pounding Ward's body.

They had Ward under around the clock watch. People were getting tired of watching him. Some wanted to instead bind him head to toe in a sleeping restraint, as Lomerov had been that fateful day on the BSS.

Lomerov pushed into the Guard module, the newest and most plush of the station. Lomerov told the Japanese fellow to take a break, he would be fine alone with Ward.

"Hi, Sergei." Ward attempted a smile. The man floated in one of the four module cabins—cabins a third the size of those on the BSS—with arms handcuffed in front and legs tied at the ankles. He looked miserable.

"What you want with me?"

"I need to talk to Anne."

"Forbidden."

"You could do it. You're on the council."

"She not want to talk to you anyway."

"This is totally unfair, what they are doing to me."

"You still alive. Be grateful."

"I have done nothing wrong!"

"Decision made. You stay in confinement."

Ward stiffened his full length. The restricted body vibrated with anger. When the anger abated, Ward spoke quietly.

"I did not cause the epidemic, Sergei."

"You have reason. And means." Some onboard said Ward was striking back at the Islamists, which had forced him into hiding. Lomerov had been disturbed to learn Ward hated the Moslems even more than Sam. "You want to destroy Islam."

"Only the ideology. Not the people."

"I see interview you did six years ago. We have vid aboard. You say terrible things about Islam."

"I made a valid analysis. And at no point did I advocate violence."

"Your hate unbalance you."

"Like I said, I detest the ideology. Not the ordinary people who go to a mosque. I wouldn't kill them, and certainly not anyone else. Do you think I would put Anne's children in danger?"

"That what she thinks."

"Do you?"

"If you crazy enough." Jimmy had dug up an old journal article of Ward's. In it Ward speculated how a modern plague might decimate mankind. Ward had the idea a long time. All he needed was the money obtained later to pay for a suitable pathogen.

Ward smiled. Just a little.

"What amusing? Little to amuse you now."

"Maybe I am crazy. You know what really stung about coming aboard? Even more than getting put in cuffs?"

"What?"

"No bells. I got four chimes when we arrived at the BSS. Here nothing."

Lomerov shook his head. "Glad you can joke. You in deep shit."

"I've been deeper. I've been dodging death sixteen years now."

Nothing in the intelligence report suggested his life was at risk before the interview. But there were big gaps in his record. Including no adequate explanation how he obtained his billions of dollars.

"I've never lied to you, Sergei."

"What you mean? You pretend to be Caldwell."

"That had nothing to do with you. I needed the cover to prevent assassination."

"You say you not know ahead about epidemic. Maybe you not start, but you know." What other explanation was available? Ward had reserved his BSS visit for the exact time when the epidemic began, and the reservation was made four years in advance. Ward had declined any other time slot.

"I did not know. I had a premonition."

"Premonition? In interrogation you say just incredible coincidence you on BSS when epidemic start."

"Who would believe me about a premonition?"

Lomerov brought his face centimeters from Ward's. He bore into the gray eyes.

"Tell me now, man to man, if you know ahead. This between us."

Ward did not avert his eyes.

"You will not accept what I say."

"Tell, yes, no."

"Someone told me."

"Who?"

"She is dead now. Years dead."

"Who?"

"Her first name is Margaret. By holy oath I am pledged not to reveal her identity."

"Is lies."

"No. The truth. I did not completely believe, but I could not chance she was wrong."

"Why believe at all?"

"Because she could see into the future. She had proved it to me before. She was as a duplicitous person who has ever lived, but about the future she was right."

"Is she why you are rich?"

Ward laughed. "You're catching on, Sergei. Yes, she gave me all I have. In return for saving her and her heirs twice over."

He backed from the man. Was Ward toying with him? Lomerov did not sense it. He sensed Ward spoke without falsehood.

"She psychic?"

"I only know what she told me what was going to happen on several occasions happened. I could hardly ignore her about this one."

"What did she say? Exact."

Ward hesitated.

"Tell me."

"'You and Anne Hollingsworth Lynn must be off earth on July 10, 2021.'"

Lomerov floated around the man. His heart was thumping in his ears. This was madness. No one knew the future.

"Why did you not go to authorities with this?"

"You've got to be kidding. They'd thought me nuts."

"Quarantine measures could have started."

"Sergei, I didn't know what form the disaster—the implied disaster—would take. My best guess was a massive volcanic explosion, a super Vesuvius. And I didn't know something was really, truly going to happen. Right up to the end I was praying I had overreacted to her message."

"No wonder you so jumpy when first on BSS."

"You believe me now?"

"Not sure."

"I haven't got many others on my side."

"Did she—Margaret—say how this ends?"

"No. I can only assume Anne and I are meant to survive. If not, why get us off earth?"

"She may only see disaster. Not what happens to you."

"I think she saw more. But you may be right. She may have only warned to give me a chance, nothing guaranteed."

Lomerov allowed himself a smile. "I prefer former."

"Me, too. The months ahead will tell."

Lomerov sighed. "What do we do with you, Roger Ward? The others still want your head."

"Get me out of these handcuffs. Have them put me under your personal custody."

"They not agree."

"Try, please."

"Maybe."

"And bring Anne here. I've got to explain to her."

"She hate you now."

Pain distorted Ward's face. "I suspected that. All the more reason I must see her."

"Not for moment."

"Sergei—"

"Listen. She in difficulty now, throwing up, mourning, hating. Worrying if we survive at all. She not need confrontation with you. If you love her, let her be for moment."

Ward's head bent into his chest. When he raised it, his eyes were far away.

"Look after her, will you?"

"I am."

"Thank you."

The Japanese astronaut, Toshimini, reappeared.

"I must go," said Lomerov. "I see what I can do about custody. Be back later."

"Okay."

Lomerov nodded at the Japanese man, who smiled broadly. In microgravity Caucasians assumed a slightly oriental appearance due to flesh around the eyes rising. Asians became a caricature of themselves. Like this one.

Leaving the module, Lomerov began the hundred meter swim toward the aft end of the station to again check on Anya.

9

Late the next day they put him in custody of Sergei, James Peck, and Todd Whittier. While awake Ward was to stick like glue to at least one of them. He would sleep when they slept, and in handcuffs. At all times he was restricted to the front end of the station.

Ward was very thankful. Constraints he would have vehemently protested a week ago he now welcomed as salvation. Full use of his hands during waking hours was reason enough for jubilation.

In the following days Ward did not mind at all the alternating presence of Sergei, Whittier and Peck. Too many others on the station still regarded him with hostility. More than one probably wanted to stick a knife in his ribs. In addition to dispensing "justice", they would extend their own survival with his food consumption removed.

Beyond those three, only the Japanese astronaut came around to join him at meals. Toshimini Askourma—who Peck referred to as "Happy Jappy"—seemed to bear Ward no ill will. Toshi certainly smiled enough, which was a bit disconcerting considering the situation they faced.

Toshi should not be happy. Not now, as Japan at last succumbed. The Japanese had shot down planes and sunk boats to keep out refuges. They had even killed those making their beaches—and burning the bodies immediately afterward.

Some refuges must have made it through the defenses. The Koreans in particular kept coming. Two weeks ago the sweating sickness had appeared at Nagasaki of all places. Despite frantic and occasionally murderous quarantine efforts, the disease spread through the island of Honshu as fast as it had Great Britain.

Toshi acknowledged he had lost his parents. That was the limit of lost loved ones. He had not yet married. And in the degenerate manner of so many first world countries, he did not have siblings, cousins, aunts or uncles.

At their first encounter Toshi had grinned as he asked Ward: "So you try to kill everyone?"

Ward had no idea how to react. Was the man taunting him? Was Toshi mischievously showing he regarded the charges against Ward as baseless? Was he demented? Ward eventually determined Toshi thought him innocent. Demented might be a possibility, though two advanced degrees in the life sciences indicated Toshi was not intellectually impaired.

Jim Peck he was uncertain of. The slur on Toshi gave pause. Ward also remembered how intently Peck had eyed Anne during communication between the two stations. On the other hand, Sergei said Peck strongly supported Ward's partial release. And during the interrogations Peck was the least obnoxious of the council members.

Peck belonged on the council. He and Sergei were the ones least rattled by the precarious situation of the ISS. Ward had yet to see his spirits drag. Yesterday he had even bucked up Sergei. Peck was certainly preferable to that asshole William Harper.

His biggest question about Peck concerned the Spaceguard pilot's insistence they make for the moon. Especially when Kurt's study showed Spaceguard could make it to within ten miles of the earth's surface before running out of fuel.

A week after his release Ward decided to cross-examine him. Diplomatically of course—even if Toshi had told Ward that Peck was spending a lot of time with Anne. Ward needed to keep this council member on his side.

They were sharing lunch alone in the galley of the Guard module. Sergei usually lunched with the majority of the crew in the Zvezda module. Todd and Toshi also had not stopped by.

Peck injected Texas Pete hot sauce into his dish of beef brisket. He handed the bottle of sauce to Ward, who did the same to his lamb stew. At his first meal on the BSS Ward had been surprised to see Sam douse an entrée with Tabasco sauce, but after a few days he understood why. In weightlessness taste buds somehow didn't function as well. Without a boost from potent condiments meals were often bland as hell.

It didn't help either that aromas quickly dissipated. His stew was just a couple minutes out of the microwave and already the mouth watering smell had diminished markedly. That he did know the cause; ventilation currents carried scents away quickly and the air filtration system removed all organic molecules.

Ward didn't wince a bit as he downed a sauce coated morsel of lamb that would have had him begging for water on earth.

"Sergei says you are very skilled as a pilot," said Ward, "and you probably can land safely on the moon. But what's the point? We'd all be dead within a year. Our best chance is earth."

"From ten miles up?"

"Toshi said there's talk of rigging solar panels and struts to build a glider. We deploy it at twelve miles while the last of Spaceguard's fuel lets us hover. From there pressure suits will keep us breathing till we get below Everest height."

"You'll make solar panels aerodynamic?"

"We can try."

"And die."

"At least it's a chance. The moon is sure death."

"Hardly."

"You know it is. We can't live on tomatoes and strawberries."

On the ISS they were hydroponically growing several vegetables. None of them were capable of sustaining life. At the moon base they didn't have anything except some ornamental plants. The next lunar mission, Expedition V, was to have included a module dedicated to raising staple crops.

Peck smiled. "The answer to surviving on the moon is right in front everyone. Failure to imagine is why people miss it. You were the one person—with your imagination which some call wacky but I call inspired—that I expected would see the solution. A solution hiding in plain sight."

Ward shook his head. There was no way to feed themselves on the moon other than importing Jesus, so he could pull the same magic he did with the two fish and five loaves.

But he had to admit the glider idea sounded pretty desperate. It would have to be put together with what amounted to bailing wire, as they had no welding equipment onboard. There was no way to test it, either. The contraption would probably rip apart even before reaching Everest height.

He voiced that opinion, then said: "We're screwed, Jim."

"Yes. If we use Spaceguard that way. But if you use it my way, you live."

Ward wracked his brain, but he didn't see how they could survive on the moon. When canned and freeze dried reserves ran out, that was that. Tomatoes, scallions, cabbage, strawberries weren't going to cut it. They also had seeds from apples, oranges, plums, peaches, and cherries brought up as fresh fruit. Years would be required to produce new fruit, and all the fruit combined still couldn't support humans.

"You've got me stumped, Jim. I can only picture starvation. Maybe real slow, but just as terminal."

Peck smiled. "People just don't want to see, they're so intent on getting back to earth. I promise you this—you will be embarrassed when it comes to you."

"How are you even going to grow tomatoes? Toshi says we can't use hydroponics. We have only a couple month's worth of the chemicals needed."

"The old fashioned way."

Ward shook his head. "Toshi says lunar soil is sterile. No nutrients. And he says it is real nasty stuff to work with."

"True." Peck continued to smile.

"Jim, you're not helping your case."

"We mix regolith—that's the technical name for moon dust—with human excrement. That will be our growth medium."

"Has that ever been tried?"

"Not exactly. But they've mixed regolith recently brought back from the moon with commercial fertilizer and soil bacteria. The mix supported wheat. We'll substitute poop for fertilizer. And we can get the bacteria from the ivy and spider plants they have at Base Alpha."

"Can we—I mean, won't it take a lot of poop?"

Peck laughed. "Damn right. But that's no problem. The first three expeditions could not recycle their excrement, so they just piled it out in the open. So we'll have plenty, and it's been sterilized thanks to the radiation."

"Wouldn't it take a lot of land to feed us all? Won't you have to create facilities from scratch?"

Peck chuckled again. "I like what you're doing. Probing me, pushing me. That's what we are going to need in the years to come—agile, questioning minds. Plus you've got the blessing of creativity. I've read everything you've written."

Ward didn't know if he were flattered or not.

"You're dead on, Roger. We have to shelter the plants, water them, pollinate them, provide the proper amount of light and carbon dioxide, nurse them through everything. And we will."

Peck went on to outline his plan. Once on the moon they would turn the Spaceguard fuel tanks, which were big mothers, into farm modules. They would split each tank to form two Quonset huts. Inside the huts they would rig lighting, irrigation and ventilation, and prepare the soil. They would use Base Alpha's fuel cells to convert Spaceguard's liquid hydrogen and oxygen to water. Peck projected it would take two months to get the farm online, and another three or four to bring in the first harvest.

Peck appeared supremely confident.

"Well, you've got me some on your side. If a staple crop really is available."

Peck smiled. "Just some?"

"Not bad, considering I was totally against going to the moon this morning. I thought you reckless and arrogant in holding to it."

Peck laughed. "I like you, Roger. Not a bit of kiss ass in you, even though I could have you back in cuffs before dinner."

"Can't say exactly how I feel about you. I know you're after Anne."

"Who wouldn't be?"

"She's in a very vulnerable state now."

"Look, one thing we don't need in space is two men fighting over a woman. Not that you're in any position to fight. For the record, I think—I know—you did the right thing bringing her to the BSS."

"Glad to hear it." Ward bit off the words. He bet Peck wasn't singing that tune to Anne.

Peck's eyes narrowed. "I will leave it to Anne to make her own decisions regarding which man she prefers. Do you have any problem with that?"

"None—if I could get to see her."

"It's her choice to avoid you. Not mine or anyone else's."

"Yeah, I know." Her continued refusal to come to the Guard module was eviscerating Ward.

Peck was nearly finished with his lunch. With turn of the conversation to Anne, Ward had lost all appetite. He offered Peck his desert, a cup of tapioca pudding.

"We should be conserving this stuff," said Peck. "I'm going to push we really stick to the calorie limits. People have been indulging because they thought we'd be going down to earth soon."

They still could be. Peck was going to have to provide something concrete to change people's minds.

Either Peck was on the level or full of the same shit he wanted to use as fertilizer. Ward wanted badly to believe Peck could save their asses. But Ward knew from bitter experience that believing in what you wanted to believe, without examining reality, always led to disaster.

After lunch Peck turned Ward over to Todd. Both men hopped on the treadmills, and Peck left the module to see Anne. As he made the long swim back to the Zvezda module, he started to laugh. That was rich, Ward calling him reckless and arrogant. Ward was the poster boy for that.

Ward's academic career had been a disaster because of those traits. Indications were he failed in many relationships with women, certainly due to the same. For several years he looked like he had grown up, ably running a ministry and doing good works. But he reverted to form with that wild interview on 20/20 six years ago.

That was about as reckless as it got. Ward said Islam made the Mafia look like little league. He proclaimed Islam was the original Cosa Nostra, and that Muhammad was their first Don. Just like the Mafia they thrived on extortion, assassination, and subjugation. Like the Mafia, once they got you in you could never get out.

The interviewer tried to change the subject, but Ward continued his banzai charge. He went on to inform that Islam was the preferred religion of Hitler. The Fuhrer had admired Islam because the god of Muhammad was unrestrained by any code of ethics. Allah could do as he pleased, however good or wicked the action. Allah was the supreme Don. Allah was Lucifer.

The interview was terminated after ten minutes. The network never aired it. But within a week the damning minutes leaked onto YouTube and Ward instantly became world famous. And he had to run for his life as a billion Moslems swore vengeance.

Yeah, Ward had been nuts to get caught on tape saying those things. But he sure had the ragheads pegged. Peck did not disagree with one word of his rant.

The fuckers were absolutely ruthless. And determined. And definitely unconstrained by any notion of morality. They were going to win. At least they had been on their way to victory before the plague started. Europe would have been theirs in a generation. At home America accommodated them more and more. It had been a shock to see one of them named to the Supreme Court.

Peck feared them as much as Ward did, but he also had to hand it to the Islamists. They were like the Borg: "You will be assimilated". They utterly believed in their ideology. They gladly died for it. How many in the West utterly believed in much besides sports, pop music, or pussy? How many would die for anything?

He was still not convinced that Ward played no hand in the plague. What better way to stop Islam in its tracks, even if massive collateral damage resulted? But there was no hard proof, and anyway, the horse was out the barn.

Ward was a strange duck. Peck both admired and despised him. Peck considered academians the lowest order of life, and Ward had certainly been one of them. Peck also detested evangelicals, and Ward had been there. Ward was also full of himself, a first class prima donna—though he had tried to keep that under wraps here on the ISS.

On the plus side Ward had some steel in him. He would probably be dangerous if cornered. Peck liked his wry sense of humor. Ward possessed a fertile if weird imagination. And he must have something special in him to have kept the likes of Anne Lynn enthralled for so long.

When Peck reached the Zvezda module, Kata and Susan put a finger to their lips. They inclined their heads towards one of the telephone booth sized sleep compartments. Anne was out cold in a sleeping cocoon. Her head bobbed slightly and her arms floated extended at chest level.

He had wanted to talk with her, really just hear the sound of her delightful voice, but he was glad she slept. She needed all the rest she could get. Yesterday had been pretty rough on her; she had thrown up around the clock. She was paying in spades for being pregnant.

He decided to just hang around and watch her. A man could never get tired of looking at that creamy cherubic face. With her face in repose she looked closer to age twenty than thirty-four. Which made him want to protect her even more.

It was funny, or not so funny, that when he had first seen Anne she caused his loins to ache. Now she caused ache in the heart and gut as he worried about her. He wished he could offer her more than commiseration as she battled morning sickness and grief.

He was determined more than ever that she would not return to earth. That was one thing big he could do for her. The planet below was going down for the count.

No doubt about it now, civilization as they knew it was done. Peck supposed the tipping point came about a month ago. The remnants of governments were frantically trying to rally the remnants of their societies. But the damage of the prior weeks had screwed things up too much. At least half the population of most countries was already lost, and the survivors were too dispersed and demoralized.

The fate of the world may have hung in the balance for a critical week. Peck suspected recovery could have been possible if the survivors promptly returned to their places of work, if they had picked up where they left off in producing goods and services. The standard of living would of course fall, probably pretty badly. But society could go on in a recognizable form.

Hitting the reset button might have been manageable if everyone had stayed put from day one. Let the disease sweep through. Bury the dead, and go on as before. But the panicked dispersal had caused more disruption than the disease itself. The populace fleeing hundreds of miles from urban areas, and the prolonged downtime that resulted, had wrecked the central nervous system of 21st Century civilization.

On the ISS Peck had watched that nervous system sputter and go out. Before July 10, the electrical grids of the world glittered on the night side of the earth. In the days afterwards, the grids began to falter. Individual ones would wink out. Parts would come back, only to later die for good. Each night the total of electricity produced in the world shrank. By the time the BSS reached the ISS, few grids were left.

Lights of a different nature replaced them. The old source of man made illumination. From the vantage point of 230 miles up, the ISS could see thousands of fires. Some were vast conflagrations destroying forests. Others burned towns and cities. Most were much smaller, the campfires of the dispersed.

The carrying capacity of the planet had to be dropping rapidly. Millions of farmers and farm workers were dead from disease, starvation, or by the hand of plunderers. Also gone were production of fertilizers and pesticides, and power for tractors, combines and irrigation pumps. All of which were necessary to get crop yields ten to a hundred times greater than subsistence farmers could achieve.

Throw in the slaughter of farm animals in the frenzy to fend off starvation. The loss of horses in particular would hobble food production. Horses would be needed to plow and help harvest. Without them even subsistence farmers would be reduced to the most primitive level, that of one man guiding a plow or harrow while another one pulled it.

Next year the formerly high tech farmlands of the world would produce vastly less food. There would be a second culling of mankind. If half the world's population had survived to date, would even a tenth make it past next summer? The population could easily drop from seven billion to one hundred million—the number that Ward had written would result.

The whole thing was turning out a lot like Ward predicted in his article of twenty-five years earlier. Another suspicion that he was in some way involved in the disaster. Well, let Ward live among the consequences of what he divined—whether he helped cause them or not. Ward would go to earth, and Anne stay with Peck.

Anne stirred, but did not wake. She was like a warming fire. And he was coming in from the bitter cold. He had been in the cold a very long time, and he had not realized it.

That night, with Peck and Whittier snoozing in cabins on either side of him, it came to Ward. Peck had been right. Ward was embarrassed. He assured himself he eventually would have seen the obvious. He would have, wouldn't he?

The remainder of the night he could not sleep. His heart pounded on and off. There was actually some real hope. When it looked like the noose was drawing tighter for sure.

Popcorn.

He remembered that exercise in humiliation, when he so awkwardly tried to catch popcorn in his mouth on the BSS. And freshly microwaved popcorn had been one of the first smells he encountered when coming aboard the ISS via the Zvezda module.

Impatiently he waited for Peck to wake. He cursed the restraints holding him in sleeping cocoon. If out, he would have gone over and roused the Spaceguard pilot.

At 0600, as usual, Peck awoke. And as Peck freed him Ward said:"Corn!"

Peck grinned. "Bingo, Roger."

"But can the kernels still act as seeds? They've been up here in the radiation awhile. And do we have enough of them?"

"I just brought some to germination. Plus we have plenty. It'll work."

Ward's fought to contain his excitement.

"Why haven't you made this known?"

"Looking to see who else came up with it. Only you have been able overcome the mental inertia afflicting everyone else."

"You had to really prod me."

"Not that much. I had every faith in you."

How comforting.

"People are still going to resist going to the moon. Harper especially."

"Harper doesn't count."

"Maybe. But you've got a hell of a sales job ahead with the rest."

"Kurt's with me. I'll have Sergei onboard shortly. Todd will buy it. You're close with Toshi, so work on him. The four women could go either way. Sexist dog that I am, I don't count on common sense trumping emotion with them. But in the end, we'll have the votes to go."

Suddenly Ward had a disturbing thought. He frowned.

"What is it?" asked Peck.

"Uh—eleven more will overwhelm a base meant to support only four. The lunar astronauts are not going to want that at all. What if they deny us access?"

Peck smiled. It was a disconcerting smile. "Oh, they won't."

Nearly a month passed before Anne finally agreed to speak with Ward. A month which saw much activity.

The crew at last settled on going to the moon. Harper resigned from the council in protest, and nobody asked him to return. Kurt took his place and Sergei became the new chairman. Negotiations were opened with Base Alpha, which quickly turned contentious. Peck and Todd successfully tested the Spaceguard engines. Then the third stage of Spaceguard was vented of fuel and converted to a hold. Later the vessel took five of the crew, including Ward, to the abandoned Chinese Space Station and relieved it of stores and equipment. Peck said the Chinks could bill them. Through it all Ward agonizingly waited for Anne to thaw.

He was disappointed she did not want to converse face to face. She instead chose video link. With him in the bow area, her in the aft. Mere disappointment would turn out the high point of the encounter.

On the screen hard eyes in a harder face greeted him. He had never seen Anne with that set to her countenance. Anne with the ready smile and laugh, who even in her grief on the BSS retained that aura of softness and sweetness.

Ward could not deny what he now saw. Sergei had been right. He looked into hate. Enmity radiated from she who had loved him for so long. Ward wanted to back away from the screen.

She didn't speak. Anne just kept glaring. Her eyes poured out wrath.

"How are you?" he asked. A stupid question. She was still enduring morning sickness and probably continued great sorrow.

"Anne, I'm so sorry. I know you feel I betrayed you. I was only trying to save your life."

"You did betray me." Her voice rasped. Like a saw.

"I—"

"You took me from my children. Christy died without either parent there. Do you ever think how horrible it must have been for her?"

"I know. But there's no guarantee it would have been any different if you stayed. You could have been dead alongside Dennis. Adults are more vulnerable to the disease than children. You are alive. You still have the chance to be with your boys again."

Robert and Dennis, Jr. had been alive and well at the compound when Ward and Blummer last spoke, just before the BSS reached the ISS.

That was likely the final communication with Blummer. Gas for the generators had run out, and Blummer did not know how much longer batteries for the radio would last.

Blummer said they had plenty of ammo left. Ammo that was keeping them alive. He and the other survivors on the security team were one shot killers, Blummer boasted. As both human predators and animal prey had found out.

During the communication the boys and Anne attempted stiff upper lips, lips which quickly trembled. Denny Jr., six, had pleaded for Anne to come to the compound. Anne had choked back sobs as she said she would soon as possible. Before Blummer signed off he promised he would look after her sons as if his own.

Sergei said they had not been able to raise Blummer since.

On the screen Anne's eyes had now closed to slits. Like a snake's. It was a terrible thing to see. "What right did you have to take me away from them? How could you?"

"I had to. You would be dead now."

"You should have given me the choice. They say you suspected five years ago. You should have told me, and let me decide if I would come."

"You wouldn't have."

"Of course I wouldn't have. You vile, vile person! I wish I could tear out this child of yours in me."

Her words lashed worse than any whip.

"You had no right! None at all."

"I guess I didn't."

"You guess?"

"I did not. If love is not a good enough excuse."

"A selfish love. You wanted me for yourself. I know you are glad Dennis is dead. You probably always wanted him dead."

"I never wished him harm."

"You're a liar."

"No. I—"

"Liar! Just like when you lied when I asked if you had any warning of the epidemic."

"I didn't know it would be an epidemic. Or if anything would really happen. I was just taking precautions."

"Billions of dollars worth? That's what they say."

"Billions for you. Every penny if I'd had to."

"Horrible, selfish person."

"We'll get you back, Anne. Sergei says he's told you about the extra seats on the Orion. You'll get one of them."

"Maybe. And that's Sergei's doing. Not yours."

"You have my full support. Even though it means I'd never see you again."

"You won't anyway."

"Don't say that, Anne."

"To think I let you sleep with me." Anne crossed arms over her chest as if warding off violation.

"I'd still bring you up here. Even if the price is your hating me. I'll pay that price a hundred times to save you."

"To save me for yourself. Horrible, terrible person."

He saw her arm reach. The screen went off.

Now Ward had his own morning sickness. Nausea racked him, but he managed to hold down his stomach.

He drifted away from the videophone. He felt like someone had worked him over with a truncheon. Which she had.

It was dawning on him Anne had not once addressed him as "Roger". Just horrible person. Throw in vile, selfish, terrible.

Part of him had wanted to shout "You thankless bitch! I saved your ass, and probably two of your kids. Take your ridiculous attitude and shove it".

But she was also dead right. He had lied to her, tricked her, and taken her away from the three people she loved most in the world—her children. In the hour they most needed their mother it was Roger Ward responsible for her absence.

He remembered Anne's scream when Blummer told her Christine had died. The earlier loss of Dennis had shaken her, but she was not incapacitated. Christine's death nuked her. It was frightening to see Anne in that state of grief. Words of comfort, embraces, petting were all useless. A part of Anne died that day.

So was this where it would end, finis to all the years of desperately loving her? Not to speak to or see her again before she stepped into the Orion and exited his life forever? Is this what Margaret Beaufort sent that message for, she who knew what he had suffered in loving Anne Hollingsworth?

That he could not believe. There had to be another fate for him and Anne. Not this vile, terrible, horrible one.

10

November 2, 2021

"All systems are go," said Todd.

Peck nodded and spoke into the intercom. "We are go for Trans Lunar Injection. Stay strapped in until the end of the burn."

"Godspeed to us," said Todd.

Over the intercom a babble of voices seconded the sentiment. Peck tuned out the noise from the deck below. He wasn't interested.

Nine Apollo and four Orion crews had initiated TLI. Being number fourteen wasn't particularly historic.

Peck had wanted to be the first to announce: "We are go for Trans Martian Injection." He would never say that now.

"T minus two minutes," Todd said.

Peck spoke to the intercom. "Remember to relax as the engine fires. Ignition will feel like quite a jolt after zero gravity, but don't fight it. At no point during the burn will we top a half g acceleration."

He knew those below were worried about more than a jolt. Harper especially. Worried whether the engine would fire at all. Worried that if the engine fired, it might explode. Harper should take comfort that they were going to use only one of the six engines on the first stage.

Todd gestured toward the image of the ISS on the far right monitor. "She was a good home."

"She was."

The ISS now resembled a butterfly with a wing missing. The portside solar arrays were gone. Also absent were the aft arrays, and all the radiator panels. The body of the station might look intact, but its innards were gutted. Miles of wiring, the computers and communication equipment, lighting, fans, foods and pharmaceuticals, tools, hydroponics, and sundry other items had been ripped out. All crammed into the third stage, the bomb bay above it, and part of the mid deck. In exchange Spaceguard bequeathed the ISS its nuclear bombs.

"T minus sixty seconds," said Todd.

The mortally wounded station possessed one last capability, that of committing suicide. Once Spaceguard's TLI was done, Peck would radio the command for the ISS altitude boosters to retrofire. Tomorrow the station would flame in the skies of the southern hemisphere. Shortly afterward a rain of scorched debris, including the bombs, would splash into the Pacific Ocean far to the east of New Zealand.

Thus endeth the International Space Station. The ungainly collection of modules, arrays, and trusses was not quite the majestic spinning wheel envisioned by Willy Ley and others. But Peck gave it homage. From November 2000 on it had housed a continuous human presence in space. And it had provided haven for eleven of mankind while the world below took a giant leap backward.

"T minus twenty seconds," said Todd. "All systems still go. We are go for ignition."

"Roger," said Peck.

"T minus ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Valves open." The craft shivered as liquid hydrogen and liquid oxygen started to flow toward the engine chamber. "Two. One. Ignition!"

A sumo wrestler slammed Peck back into his seat. It was sobering to realize this was application of only one-fifth g, which would build over the next several minutes to a half g.

The hull of Spaceguard rumbled as the engine built to a fraction of its full power. Peck wondered how the craft would shake if all six engines were thrusting to intercept an incoming asteroid. That would be quite a ride.

Now Earth was on its own regarding asteroids.

After three minutes a half g of acceleration was reached. All status lights glowed green.

"Everything is right down the middle," said Todd.

"Roger." To the intercom: "How's everything going back there?"

Harper said his neck hurt.

Good. Maybe they could break it if Peck opened up the throttle.

The burn continued smoothly. No reason to think otherwise. This craft might look like a stack of cans with a bunch of pencils attached, but no better vessel existed in the solar system. The engineers had outdone themselves.

This vessel could have reached Mars, orbited, and landed. For a week on the station Peck had excitedly crunched the numbers. The results, and calm reflection, told him anyone who landed would not survive. The pioneers would lack too many essentials.

So would the Spaceguard crew if it tried to make a go on the moon anywhere except at Lunar Base Alpha. Currently Alpha could not survive without earth resupply, but it had roughly half what needed. Spaceguard could provide other half. Which made for a perfect shotgun wedding.

Peck gave particular thanks that the base contained the Archives. This holographic database had come up with the third lunar expedition, as an adjunct to the Spaceguard program. Digital representation of almost every work of literature, science, art, technology, etc. existed in its memory banks. The Archives were intended as insurance that the sum of mankind's knowledge would not be lost due to an earth wide disaster.

"Coming up on engine cutoff," said Todd.

"Roger. Great burn."

Todd grinned. "This is the easy part."

"Yeah, the fun is just beginning."

They had two major burns to go. The first, for lunar orbit insertion, would be much like this one. The other was the perilous descent to the lunar surface. Great craft this might be, Spaceguard was not designed for that.

It would be fun.

"Engine cutoff ten seconds."

"Roger."

"Cutoff."

Familiar weightlessness instantly resumed. The seat back stopped pushing.

Through the flight deck windows they could see their destination. Half in silver, half in black, the moon awaited them.

"You can unstrap now," Peck said to the intercom. "Please stay below for the time being. We still have work to do up here. Anne, how are you feeling?"

Peck was worried the jolt of ignition and the press of acceleration might induce a miscarriage. They had all been praying for miscarriage, but that was on the ISS. Decent medical facilities existed there. In the cramped, very cramped quarters of the Spaceguard mid deck, treating her would be a lot more difficult.

"So far, so good, Jimmy."

He was pleased to hear perk in her voice. Sergei said Anne was still a good ways from her old self, but she had been coming around these last weeks—especially since the morning sickness ended.

God, did he love her British accent. Soft and posh at the same time, so much melody. What a contrast to the fingernails on chalkboard of Harper.

Peck wasn't going to let her go. Whatever was required, subterfuge, sabotage, insurrection, he would make sure Anne did not get a seat on the Orion. She stayed with him on the moon.

The time would come, hopefully before this year was out, when the Orion left moon orbit. By agreement the four lunar astronauts had first option on the ride back to earth. If they went, two spaces remained. Peck wanted those slots filled by Harper and Ward.

Anne had to be talked out of taking one of those seats. That meant convincing her of the futility of a return to earth. Very, very little chance existed she would see her children again. Peck and Sergei must get Anne to acknowledge this hard truth.

Besides Anne only Harper had expressed a raging desire to return as soon as possible. Harper was certain this moon venture was doomed. The others were willing to give it a chance, especially since matters weren't improving on earth. No one would miss Harper if he exited. He brought nothing positive to the table.

Ward would be tougher to get out. But out Peck would have him. The chance—hell, the likelihood—remained that he and Anne would reconcile. Anne's accusations aside, Ward had not done her any dirt. Though it might take a couple years, eventually Anne would realize Ward had gone to enormous trouble to save her. Only someone fanatically in love would have bothered.

Peck intended to marry her. After Ward's child, who would probably be deformed, she would bear Peck healthy ones. He and she would be happy together. His hands would touch no other woman.

Four months ago Anne Lynn was only a notch waiting to be put on his belt. Peck could not pinpoint when the transformation of emotions began. Maybe from the moment he first saw her in person, that day he and Todd boarded the BSS command module. She was in such pain. He instantly wanted to comfort and protect her. Those feelings had only strengthened as the months passed.

So far Anne seemed drawn to him, but there was no guarantee she would develop serious feelings. She also liked Todd, and Happy Jappy, and of course Sergei. For the first time in his life he would have to win a woman.

Fortunately for the time being the love of her life was out of the picture. Women had eyed Peck with animosity, yet never with the vehemence that Anne regarded poor Ward. If looks could kill.

No skin off Peck's ass, but Anne was being brutally unfair to Ward. Ward had only done what needed to be done to save her. Loss of her daughter was a tragedy, but she could have another. Loss of her husband couldn't have hurt that much or she wouldn't have cheated on him all those years.

Peck had never trusted women. They had too much power. He had seen them break otherwise indomitable men. Not to call Ward indomitable, but look at what was happening to him.

After the first passion of his life, and the wrenching heartbreak that followed, Peck swore no woman would savage him again. He would conquer, never be the conquered.

So he had thought.

"Halfway, aren't we?" asked Anne.

Above the entrance to the flight deck the split screen displayed the earth and the moon. The unmagnified images were the same size.

"No," said Lomerov, "remember moon is much smaller than earth. Now over two-thirds way there."

"Oh."

Lomerov saw that her eyes remained glued to the screen. They had done so since she woke a half hour ago. She slept a long time, which was good. Her child, now kicking, had robbed her lately of rest.

"How long before we reach orbit?" she asked.

"Twenty hours. Not long."

"It seems forever."

Lomerov agreed. Not even in a Soyuz had he felt so cramped. In this mid deck jammed with both people and ISS equipment time crawled. The one hour out of every give allowed in the flight deck every was paradise.

He stared at the two worlds. Up until now earth had been the larger. From this moment forward the moon would dominate. The earth would shrink. The moon, Luna, would swell until it took up all the sky.

"How is baby today?"

"Behaving."

"Good. You look rested. Good."

A smile flickered on her face. Which warmed Lomerov. Smiles were appearing more frequently. During the last weeks on the ISS she even laughed a couple times. What music that had been.

"How about you, Sergei?"

"Old man feels fine."

Another smile. "Not old. Mature. Wise. My best friend."

"Anya, those words better than vodka."

Which, alas, was long gone. He would probably not taste alcohol again.

Roger floated a few bodies away. He was turned sideways to them as he talked with Toshi. Lomerov knew Roger was dividing attention in attempt to pick up every word that passed from Anya's lips.

It was remarkable how in such close quarters Anya managed to completely avoid the man she used to love so passionately. She refused eye contact and presented her back much as possible. When once they came face to face, she just looked through him.

Over the past month Lomerov tried to talk sense to Anya. He said it was time to forgive Roger—as if saving her life had been a capital offense. She did not have to love him anymore, he advised, but at least treat him civilly. They were facing an arduous situation on the moon. Tension between her and Roger would only add to the difficulties.

He had given up after her eyes hardened on the third attempt. The eyes of stone she reserved for Roger flashed at Lomerov. Little frightened him, but that did. Anya's affection was very important. Vital, really. He would not jeopardize it.

Lomerov agreed with Jimmy that every effort must be made to keep Anya from choosing to return to earth. She would end badly if she did. He had a horrible vision of Anya waylaid on her desperate trek to Virginia. Gang raped by marauders, then killed or forced to become a sex slave.

Anya's voice yanked him from his thoughts.

"They don't want us at all, do they?"

"People at Base?"

"Yes."

"They cannot survive without what we bring."

"After they get it, aren't you afraid they might kill us?"

"Anya, where you get such thoughts?"

The council had privately discussed such a possibility. The negotiations had turned very ugly, before common sense intervened.

"Just—there has been talk."

That was not good. Especially since the council had not heard others so speculating. The council should be aware of everything. Good leadership depended on it.

"Harper say this?"

"No. Others. I don't think the base people would hurt us. I mean, aren't they supposed to be the best of the best?"

"Yes. No need to worry."

"But you had to threaten them."

"Only negotiating tactic."

Jimmy had played what they called the "bad cop". Even the lunar four had probably been unnerved as Jimmy smiled over the video link. Quietly Jimmy laid out what might happen if the ISS refugees were refused entry to Base Alpha.

"Spaceguard could overshoot on descent," Jimmy had said. "It could land right on top of you. We don't carry nukes anymore, but five hundred tons of liquid hydrogen and oxygen detonates with quite a bang. Or—we could land safely, but in our temporary insanity we could sever your link with the solar arrays. Need I go on?"

Jimmy just kept smiling. Jimmy was cold bloodedly convincing, even though beforehand he and Lomerov agreed this was all bluff. A breakthrough in negotiations shortly followed.

Base Alpha, particularly their Japanese commander, had put up every objection. Such as they could not generate enough power to support fifteen people. They could not expand the algae to handle the load on the recycling system. The crowding would be grossly detrimental. And they had no capability at all to handle delivery and preservation of a newborn.

That last objection had infuriated Lomerov. He had thought need to get a pregnant woman out of radiation would soften their hearts. These "best of the best" had balked in particular at receiving Anya. For awhile Lomerov considered upgrading Jimmy's bluff to real threat.

It was well the lunar four found their humanity.

"When do you think they will return to earth?" asked Anya.

"They debate. But not soon, I guess. You must wait anyway until baby born."

"I can travel easier with it still inside."

"Anya, transportation systems gone. You probably must walk. Hundreds of kilometers."

The Orion, like the Soyuz, required a treeless, flat expanse to safely land. All previous Orions had landed in west Texas.

"I can."

"You returning from low gravity. Muscles not strong enough."

"I can walk into the eighth month of pregnancy. This isn't my first child."

Lomerov wanted to shake her.

"Anya, be winter soon."

"I am going, Sergei."

"Is foolish."

"I appreciate your concern. I do. But I am going. I will push them to leave as soon as possible."

Anya jerked as the voice of Roger Ward intruded. He had moved behind her.

"You can't, Anne. It will be suicide."

She did not turn to face him.

"Go away."

"You don't know if the children are still there. Blummer could be moving south to a warmer place."

"Sergei, tell him to go."

He wanted to say Roger was giving excellent advice. Instead he waved for him to back off.

"Only cause trouble, Roger. Go."

Roger's lip curled. His body tautened. For a moment Lomerov thought physical confrontation was coming.

He knew Roger must feel extreme frustration. The entire time on the ISS Anya had stayed away from him. Here cheek to cheek on Spaceguard she would not acknowledge his existence.

"Roger, stay calm."

"I am. Even if she is hard headed, foolish, and cruel."

Lomerov hardened his voice. "Go, Roger. Now."

"Yes, go," said Anya.

The face of Roger Ward twisted as if someone were knifing his guts. The tormented man turned away.

"Thank you, Sergei."

"Anya, you not listen to him. But please to me."

She patted his shoulder. "I do. I know you care." She raised her voice, so everyone on the mid deck could hear. "You do not lie. Or betray."

Peck came over the intercom. "Anne and Susie. You are up next on the flight deck."

Anya smiled. "A whole extra cubic yard to myself."

Lomerov smiled back. "Trade meal for your hour."

"No way. See you later." She floated away.

His eyes returned to Roger. Roger faced a bulkhead, almost fused with it.

No use going over to him, thought Lomerov. What words of comfort could he give? Better to let him have some privacy.

Lomerov wished he as chairman could command Anne to remain on the moon. Jimmy had in jest—or perhaps not in jest—said they should hold her in preventive detention. For all that Lomerov feared for Anne, that he would never do. She must have free choice in the matter.

He was starting to wonder if he were going to have problems with Jimmy. During the negotiations with Base Alpha, he and Jimmy had harshly argued—thankfully in private. Lomerov had never seen Jimmy get red in the face before. Jimmy remained angry with him a whole week, though Jimmy did not let it show to anyone else.

Jimmy had wanted to land Spaceguard in the crater where Base Alpha was located. It was not a big crater, only a kilometer wide. In addition to the habitation modules, the crater also contained the Altair lander, storage tanks, fuel cells, vehicles and construction equipment. There was not all that much open space.

Even if equipment could be moved, descending into the crater was out of the question. This was one issue that Lomerov and the base completely agreed about. The risk far outweighed the legitimate benefits Jimmy advocated.

Spaceguard was a monster craft. One propellant tank had been vented, but nine remained. Each loaded with tons of liquid hydrogen and oxygen. The craft also had six solid fuel boosters. These were attached to the first stage, and were supposed to act as landing struts. The whole combination was highly explosive, and a massive detonation would result if the landing went awry.

An explosion in the crater would destroy everything on the surface. It could also rupture the hulls of the three habitation modules, buried in the regolith. Those who survived the blast would be doomed.

The base commander had wanted the craft to set down in a larger crater on the mountain, one a ridiculous thirty kilometers away. Colonel Togura said that would allow enough distance to prevent an explosion from harming the base or the solar cell arrays further to the east. Lomerov said no go. He and the Colonel finally agreed on a distance of ten kilometers.

Jimmy accepted the decision with tight lips. He told Lomerov he was making a potentially fatal mistake. Landing outside the base crater, especially ten kilometers away, would seriously delay getting a staple crop established. It would be on Lomerov's hands if anyone died if crops were not harvested in time.

They should tell the base astronauts to go to hell, Jimmy said, and land in the crater anyway. What could they do about it then? If they didn't like it, they could jump into the Altair ascent vehicle and head up to the Orion for the ride to earth. The ISS crew wanted them out of there anyway.

Lomerov had difficulty believing his ears. From the standpoint of responsibility descending into that small crater would be a great wrong. They had no right to jeopardize the base and the people in it to get a jump on starting a corn crop. And Lomerov had given his word. That he would never violate, no matter how tempting expediency.

The amount of work required would be the same, whether inside or outside of the crater. The only real difference would be travel time to the work site. Yes, outside the crater they would be far more exposed to the solar wind, but they could put up simple shielding. It only took a couple inches of material to stop the wind. In or out of the crater there was no protection from cosmic rays unless underground.

Lomerov had gone over this with Jimmy until blue in the face. At the end Jimmy accepted, and returned to his backslapping ways. But Lomerov sensed continuing disgruntlement behind Jimmy's bonhomie. In the final weeks on the ISS Jimmy did not share as many meals as before with Lomerov, and what conversations they had were shorter.

Well, it was set. They were coming down on the western side of the plateau atop Mons Malapert. Lomerov knew Jimmy believed himself the best space pilot alive, and maybe he was, but even Jimmy must be grateful for the sixteen square kilometer triangle available to land this big craft. A lot better than trying to thread the needle with a crater landing.

In a way Lomerov was excited. He had never expected to get to the moon. This would be a great adventure. A fitting finale to his long career in space.

It would be up to him to get the people remaining at Base Alpha through the years ahead, until a rescue mission could be mounted from earth. Earlier he had thought rescue possible within five years. Now he realized craft could probably not come from earth sooner than a generation distant.

He must continue to work on Anya. So that she and her child would be among those watching that distant day when the craft from earth descended.

Ward could not say he was enjoying his hour on the flight deck. He gazed down on a world only Satan could have created. The forbidding lunar surface rolled by sixty miles below. If Dante had attained moon orbit, he would have included these battered vistas in his circles of hell.

What a lie, "by the light of the slivery moon". Ward saw a dirty gray realm of soulless stone. It reeked hostility. In comparison the worst badlands of earth were oases. This airless, waterless, radiation blasted world simply said: "Die, motherfucker".

The last burn had put Spaceguard in polar orbit. An hour ago they passed over the southern end of the moon. It was an incredibly rugged region, the ultimate in twisted terrain.

Spaceguard would be landing eighty miles from the south pole, on a massive rise called Mons Malapert. The long mountain resembled a knife's edge. It looked a tricky place to land. Four ISA expeditions had managed to do so, but that was in craft expressly designed for the purpose. The one Chinese expedition had ended in tragedy.

Ward was not comforted by remembrance of the Chinese mission, whose lander had crashed near the summit of Mons Malapert with loss of all hands. The Chinese blamed the crash on the gravitational anomalies called mascons. Mascons could change the course and speed of a lander. But everyone knew that the Chinese, in their rush to beat ISA to the moon, failed because they did not adequately test their craft.

Over the intercom Peck announced they were approaching the north pole.

"Peary crater dead ahead. You should see it now at the top of the screens."

On the flight deck Ward had a direct view. The area was less rugged than the southern lands.

Peary lay on the north pole. On the rim of the crater were high points termed "peaks of eternal light". A perfect spot for a second moon base, the residents of the Base Alpha had counseled during negotiations.

Oh, those pricks. Base Beta was the obvious answer, they had tried to convince the ISS eleven. You will be bringing everything you need—solar arrays, plenty of oxygen and water, your recycling system, hydroponics, and seeds for crops. We will provide technical advice to get you started. So you see, no need to overwhelm our base with your intrusion. You agree, don't you?

The moon wasn't the only one saying die, motherfuckers. Sergei had been coldly furious and Peck just laughed at them

Peck had called the fusing of the eleven with the lunar four a shotgun wedding. It was also going to be musical chairs. If the corn crop didn't work out, seats on the Orion meant survival. Yes, agreement was the lunar four had first dibs. Did they or anyone believe the agreement would hold in the face of starvation? Force would determine who got off the moon.

Ward was not all that confident the Base could avoid starvation. Peck's scheme sounded great in theory. But the timetable for getting in a crop could slip, or the crop might not grow well. The unavoidable fact was that this had never been attempted. Their lives were going to depend on a biological experiment.

The crop would either come in or it would not. His main concern remained Anne. She was clinging with death grip to getting earthside. Which, if the crop failed, was the correct choice. Trouble was, they would not know for months the outcome. If the crop made it, Anne should stay. But if she waited to find out, and starvation was certain, a violent scramble to get on the Orion would likely leave her out. Quite the conundrum.

Harper was also on the flight deck. He also stared out appalled at the terrain. Ward bet Harper was already plotting how to get a place on the Orion. Harper would probably start by ingratiating himself with the lunar astronauts. Harper could truthfully say he had opposed coming to the moon. He could also impress them that he tried to reduce those coming by one.

During the final days on the ISS, Harper proposed leaving Ward on the station. He had no technical skills. Harper also argued that it had never been proved Ward wasn't involved in the disaster on earth. Harper probably counted on Peck's support, since it was obvious to everyone by then Peck was courting Anne. Sergei icily said if they left anyone behind, it would be Harper. Peck mouthed not a word pro or con.

In the old days Ward would have afterwards broken bread with Harper. He would have talked things over, sought common ground, tried to bring out the good will supposedly existing in every man. Ward would forgive Harper for wishing death on him. He would have tried to turn this sinner to Christ.

Those days were long gone. Now, if possessing the power, he would have Harper terminated. Without remorse. Do unto the evil ones before they do unto you was Ward's new Golden Rule. Sergei and Peck believed themselves hard men, but Ward would show them the true meaning of hard.

He wondered what Anne would think of this side of him, which he had kept so well from her. Killing would be the last thing Anne capable of—though these days she might be willing to make an exception for Ward. Anne was a life giver, a nurturer. She saw good in almost everyone. No person, save Ward, was beyond redemption.

As Spaceguard passed over the north pole, it entered the night side of the moon. Through the windows it was hard to tell sky from moon. The stars made the only delineation.

Abruptly a disk rose from the blackness. A blue disk streaked with white. Earth emerged from the black horizon and began to reveal the lands of Lucifer below. The earthlight cast long shadows, and it illuminated ghostly crater rims and mountain peaks. The moon became even more alien.

Ward was resigned that the wasteland below was where he would spend the rest of his life. Sergei talked of a possible rescue in one or two decades, but that was a pipe dream.

Here he stayed. His last breaths would occur here, whether months or years hence. He, born and bred on the same world as all prior humanity, would be among the first to expire on another.

Tomorrow Peck and Todd attempted to land this beast of a craft. On top of one of the highest mountains on the moon. Miscalculation or malfunction would make Ward's last breath a day hence. Tomorrow at least he wished good fortune to Peck, his rival for the heart of Anne Hollingsworth.

After that let the devil take him, and Harper too.

### Part Three

If you want to write a song about the moon

Walk along the craters of the afternoon

When the shadows are deep

And the light is alien

And gravity leaps like a knife

Paul Simon

11

November 6, 2021

"Contact!"

"Engine stop."

Peck leaned toward the intercom. A force strangely helped him bend. It was gravity.

Mimicking Neil Armstrong he announced: "Malapert Base here...the Spaceguard has landed."

Relieved cheers erupted over the intercom. He and Todd exchanged a vigorous handshake.

"Great job, Jim."

"You were the one guiding me in."

"I think we overshot a bit."

"No problem. I had to skirt that boulder field."

Through the flight deck windows he could see only blackness. Of course, he and Todd were now looking straight up.

"Everyone be careful after you unbuckle," said Peck. "You are once again under the command of gravity. Stand up carefully. You are going to feel unbalanced and uncoordinated for a couple days."

Above them sunlight slanted in horizontally through the portside window. Peck checked the screens before him. The televised view to the north showed a few illuminated crater rims, but most everything else was in pitch black. To the east he could see the rim of the crater housing Base Alpha. Kilometers beyond the rim, at the summit of Mons Malapert, stood the solar array complex. To the south, in full sunlight, lay Shackleton and De Gerlache craters. The lunar south pole was located on the rim of Shackleton.

Static crackled, then Togura's voice came over the radio.

"Congratulations, Commander Peck, on your successful landing." Peck wanted to laugh. It didn't take ESP to get the insincerity behind those words. He knew he and Togura were going to have a fun time before the Colonel departed the moon.

"Thank you, Colonel." Peck waited for the other shoe to fall. That is, if the loonies had yet noticed it.

They had. "It is fortunate we withheld permission to land in the crater," said Togura. "For I am told you have missed your mark. By a considerable margin."

Peck had set down fifty meters of where he intended. "We did? There was a lot of dust kicked up. How far off are we?"

"Captain Perez-Noya informs me your vessel is five kilometers east of the agreed position."

"Our apologies."

Togura should be grateful Spaceguard was still outside the crater. On descent Peck had barely kept from taking the ship right in. He wished he had done it. Todd at the copilot controls would have raised holy hell, but not dared risk a crash to stop him.

"I look forward to discussing this point—and others—with you and Colonel Lomerov."

Up your ass, nip. "No problem. First we have to get off the vessel. We could use your assistance. The crew cabin is a hundred fifty meters up."

"We are dispatching the crane. It should arrive within the hour."

"Thank you."

Peck wondered if the loonies had debated letting the intruders try to get down on their own. That would make for a perilous descent, even in gravity one-sixth the earth's. Peck was sure Togura would not mind if the ISS crew broke some necks.

Of course, that was small potatoes strategy. Right now the ISS crew was at maximum vulnerability. The base possessed explosives, for excavation purposes. A blast right now in proximity of Spaceguard would ignite its remaining tons of propellant and probably atomize its occupants.

That possibility—which Sergei had told him was a ridiculous supposition—was the main reason Peck had landed away from the planned site. Peck didn't think the loonies would collectively plot mass murder, but one of them sure could. And what better candidate than Crappy Jappy to secretly plant a bomb?

Eventually the loonies moved their crane into position. Using a basket they lowered the EVA suited immigrants four at a time to the surface.

Peck made sure Anne was in the first bunch, and he requested she be immediately taken into the base. Where after four months she could at last escape space radiation. Sometime in March they would find if that saved the baby.

Todd left in the second group, and Sergei immediately climbed to the flight deck.

"Good job, Jimmy. Not many pilots able."

Peck smiled. "Piece of cake."

Sergei did not smile back. He spoke with voice lowered so those remaining on the deck below could not hear.

"I hear what Colonel Togura say. You land five kilometers off. Did you do deliberate?"

Peck could claim navigational error. He could claim the influence of mascons. He could say, why ask at all, he and Todd had done damn well landing in one piece, never mind exactly where. Instead he said, "Yes. It was deliberate."

Sergei shook his head. "You harm relations between us and base."

"We are five klics closer. It will speed up construction of the farm. Which I hardly need remind you, determines whether we live or die."

"They not trust us now. That too determine if we live."

"We were lucky I could land at all on this plateau. Half of it is strewn with boulders. We tell the loonies we did the best we could. Let it go at that."

"Not let go. You disobey."

"Sergei, if I had wanted to disobey you, I would have brought the vessel into the crater."

"That be betrayal."

"Well, I didn't. Much as I wanted."

Sergei brought his yellow green eyes close. "You cannot disobey again. I remove from all responsibility if you do."

Peck's mouth dropped open.

"Never again, Jimmy. You be relieved. I mean this."

"Come on. You are overreacting. I did us a big favor landing where I did."

"Also no more say Jappy, or loonie. Or Gargoyle Greaser, like you refer to Maria Perez-Noya. No more at all."

"That was in private. And never to anyone's face."

"You will say this no more, to anyone, anywhere."

Peck felt heat on his face. But he kept from flaring. He merely nodded and feigned submission. "It won't happen again."

"I need you, Jimmy. Base needs you. You very capable man. Do not give cause to lose trust again."

"I won't." Peck offered his hand. Sergei took it, then went back down below.

Peck unclenched his left fist, which he had kept hidden. Sergei would not know how close the fist came to ramming into his block of a head.

He forced himself to take a deep breath. Any fury should be directed at James Peck, who took pride in acting courageously and decisively. Why hadn't he just gone ahead and landed in the crater? If he should be relieved, it should be for not doing that.

Once on the ground Peck stepped cautiously. After his last tour in space, he almost fell on his face as he tried to walk. That of course had been in earth gravity; here in moon gravity he kept his balance pretty well.

Beside him Sergei also had no trouble. Ward stumbled and cursed. Harper took a header into the moon dust, which flew up surprisingly high on his impact and then fell in slow motion back to ground.

A rover shortly returned from Base Alpha. The female loonie, Perez-Noya, drove the white and silver vehicle..

"Hop in, gentlemen." Her unfeminine voice boomed in his headset.

She lifted her gold tinted visor to reveal a beaming face. The face, with the big flat nose and heavy cheekbones, contained too much of her Aztec ancestry. Peck believed her welcome sincere—the arrival of more men might include one desperate enough to want her. Hey, Harper, we have just the babe for you.

They climbed into the canopied vehicle and were off. It would be a seven klic ride to the to the base. The two additional kilometers were due to having to go around the crater to reach its eastern side, where a descending ramp was located. Which meant four extra kilometers per round trip to the Spaceguard site.

Peck ground his teeth. Again he wished he had landed in the crater. It was going to be touch and go whether lives were lost because he had not.

The Aztec was chatting merrily away, pointing out this and that. She was quite the tour guide. She proudly called attention to peaks M1 through M5, some of the highest on the moon, which were part of the long Leibnitz range. The range in turn was part of the Aitken basin complex, the largest impact crater on the moon—an astounding 2500 kilometers across. The exploration possibilities were limitless, she said.

Peck refrained from laughing. Exploration would be lowest on their priority list.

He wondered how Perez-Noya could be so animated. Eleven strangers had just been dumped on her and her colleagues. Her standard of living was going to take a brutal plunge. And even though she had a ticket out of here, she had to know she faced a lousy future. Earth was not improving as a haven.

Well, animation was probably her way of dealing with this mess. Better than the opposite.

Peck had studied the dossiers of the lunar four. Her story was perhaps the most interesting. Maria Perez-Noya had certainly made the longest journey. Born in a Los Angeles barrio to illegal immigrants who died before her sixth birthday and raised by an aunt who was in and out of the slammer, she had escaped the impoverished fate seemingly ordained for her. She was one of those who would not be defeated.

It didn't hurt she possessed plenty of brains in addition to grit. She had skipped two grades in elementary school. She attended one of the top charter schools in the nation, Pacific Collegiate Charter in Santa Cruz. She had won a competitive appointment to West Point, where she graduated fourth in her class. At MIT she concurrently earned two masters degrees in engineering. After distinguished service in the Army Corps of Engineers, she was selected by NASA as an astronaut on her first application. She was also the youngest person—at age twenty-eight—to yet set foot on the moon.

Peck bet Perez-Noya had planned her path to the moon from high school days. It was no secret that highly achieving military officers still had the inside track to enter the astronaut corps. They innately possessed the discipline and fortitude to succeed in the harsh environment above the earth's atmosphere. Many civilian scientists had also proved themselves capable, but for the most difficult missions NASA, and now ISA, fell back on the military.

Once in the military, Perez-Noya had chosen to specialize in civil engineering. That had taken some foresight and guts. When she was a member of the Long Gray Line it was greatly in doubt whether the United States would attempt a moon landing. Civil engineering would not be an advantage in securing a tour on the already completed International Space Station, or being selected as an astronaut at all.

It was not until the formation of ISA in 2016 that the commitment to a moon base was irrevocably made. Skeptics abounded, but the member nations swiftly put money where their mouths were. Development of the Altair moon lander and unmanned supply craft went on the fast track. As did design of a lunar base. An elite lunar astronaut corps was created, which of necessity included construction specialists. Perez-Noya was admitted to the corps in 2018.

As they rolled toward the base Perez-Noya drew their attention to the sun and the earth. To the south the sun grazed the quite detectable curve of the saw toothed horizon, while to the north the much larger earth hung higher in the blackness. The earth was always visible from Mons Malapert, she said. The sun was visible from the summit ninety percent of the year.

She informed them that the base had just come out of polar winter. Over the past four months the sun had dipped below the horizon several times, for periods up to five days. During those periods the base had to rely on fuel cells for electrical power. The ISS crew had providentially arrived at the start of five months of continuous sunlight. Which, she said enthusiastically, coincided with the amount of time needed to bring in the first crop of corn.

Peck was finding he could not help but like her, dog though she might be. This Maria Perez-Noya was lifting his queasy spirits. She was a peppy tonic after all his frustrating arguments with both Togura and Sergei. He began to wonder if she could be persuaded to stay at the base.

They approached the crater rim. Its steeply sloped wall, perhaps forty meters high, loomed above them. Maria steered leftward to skirt the rim and abruptly entered its long sun cast shadow. But headlights were not needed to navigate, because a nearly full earth illuminated the terrain adequately. She happily said that even a quarter earth gave enough light to drive by.

They rounded the rim and came back into sunlight. Peck saw a gap in the rim ahead. When Maria turned into the gap, cut all the way to the base of the rim, she stopped the rover. They had direct view into the crater.

Peck had been to Meteor Crater in Arizona. This one was similar, if a bit bigger. Of course the colors here were not rusty tans, but varying shades of gray. All but the northern rim lay in sun shadow; again earthlight allowed Peck to clearly see the rest of the interior.

Before them a ramp descended at a forty-five degree angle to the crater floor. The rim walls fell at a much steeper angle, in some places they were nearly sheer. The vast crater floor lay a couple hundred meters below and was slightly concave. On the floor stood numerous objects.

His eyes were drawn immediately to the Altair lander, resting on its long struts, situated almost in the center of the crater. Its silver and gold colors contrasted vividly with the dull gray of the floor. The ascent stage at the top appeared in excellent condition.

Peck noticed that Harper also had his gaze fixed on the Altair. Don't worry, thought Peck, I'll do my best to get you on it.

Scattered about the southern end of the floor were various pieces of equipment, sheds and tanks. In the hard vacuum the objects stood out in sharp relief. Maria pointed to what looked like a small hut in their midst.

"That's the entrance to the base. Which, as I am sure you know, is all underground."

"That's your doing, isn't it?" asked Peck. Which must have been a hell of a task, burying three modules twenty meters below the surface.

"It was a team effort by the Expedition."

"Nonetheless, you were the one in charge."

"Good, good job," said Sergei.

"Thank you. But this ramp was the real engineering feat. And Expedition III did it in a lot more primitive conditions than we've faced."

Peck didn't know whether her modesty was calculated or real. He bet on the latter. He could usually tell within seconds whether a person didn't add up. Like he had with Harper.

Maria took them down the ramp. As they descended, the crater walls grew ever higher around them. At the bottom the sun was gone, and they could see only the top half of earth. Many stars now blazed in the blackness above them. Peck felt like he was at the bottom of a giant bowl—which he was.

Once on the floor the rover made directly for the base entrance. They passed another Altair lander, one with only the descent stage remaining. Maria said it was from Expedition III. She went on to say the Altairs from the first two Expeditions had landed outside this crater, up towards the summit of the Mons.

From the rover they entered the spherical entrance hut. Immediately they descended into the main airlock, where Maria instructed them how to remove regolith from their EVA suits. We call this the mud room, she cheerily informed them.

Out of direct sunlight the moon dust was almost black. Fortunately the acrid smelling material came off fairly easily. It reminded him of the toner in laser printers. Regolith was certainly just as dirty and messy, in addition to being electrostatic.

Peck could see why the powdery substance had been such a bane on Apollo missions, worming its way into every crevice of equipment and causing respiratory problems for the astronauts. Fortunately fifty years had allowed development of the device he held now—a vacuum cleaner with magnetic roller—that left his suit spotlessly white.

With their suits off, Peck viewed Maria Perez-Noya in all her glory. Man, her dossier photos had not lied. She was one ugly broad. However the body underneath her tight orange coveralls did advertise a respectable figure. Perhaps Harper would have some competition.

They stowed the EVA suits, then descended to another airlock. "This is Node 1," she said. "The habitation module is just beyond."

From diagrams and photos Peck knew the layout of his new home quite well. The three modules—habitation, environmental, and logistics—were arranged in a triangle, with a connecting node at each point of the triangle. Node 2 housed the toilet and shower facilities. Node 3 had been turned into additional sleeping quarters.

The layout provided adequate space and some privacy for four people. Not fifteen. Thankfully in a couple months the number would be down to nine.

She hit a button and the module hatch swung open. Peck's nostrils widened in surprise as pine scented air struck his nose. He knew they didn't have a pine forest within, so the scent had to be artificial. Still, it was welcome.

In the semi-cylindrical module waited eleven other people. The three closest were clad in the same orange coveralls as Maria. Those beyond, except Sergei, Anne and Ward in BSS green, wore the ISA dark blue.

From photos he recognized the other members of Expedition IV. Offering his hand to Sergei was Colonel Togura, who looked every inch the stiff backed samurai. Beside him stood a smiling Indian, Darpan Agarwal, about half as dark as Vanaja. His mirthless eyes belied the smile. On Togura's other flank stood physician Jacob Lekota. The South African, the lunar corps token spade, also smiled.

After handshakes were exchanged, everyone in the jammed module intermingled. Most tried to act like life long buddies. Peck would settle for them just acting like adults in the difficult days ahead. He bet Harper would be the first to go off script.

12

As hot water sprayed from the showerhead, Ward belted out "Singing in the Rain". He rejoiced in his first shower since leaving earth. On both the BSS and ISS he had to settle for cleansing with wet wipes. Which never completely did the job, no matter how vigorously applied.

This was great. It was the best feeling in the world. He was going to enjoy every moment of the four minutes he was allowed. Ward raised his voice even louder. Anyone overhearing would think him nuts, but so what?

He washed away the last of the soap just before the spray cut off. He felt totally renewed. Yes, this was the best thing ever.

Except for the privilege of again taking a dump on a regular toilet. One where your turd went straight down as the Good Lord intended. On even the BSS—which boasted the best space toilets—feces sometimes failed to take the proper direction despite strong suction.

The Lord's greatest creation was not heaven and earth. It was the glue that held them together, gravity. How wonderful to be under its influence again. Gravity, even at one-sixth strength, deserved fanatical homage. In addition to showering and shitting, a person could properly sit, eat, sleep, walk, digest, and everything else. There was only one up, one down. Life in gravity was a bowl of cherries.

As Ward dried himself, he broke into "Happy Days Are Here Again". Now anyone listening would think him truly insane. For what did he really have to be happy about?

A week at Base Alpha and Anne still ignored him. He was sleeping on a metal floor—Anne and three other women got the bunks available. Ten hours a day he was exposed to GCRs and solar radiation at the Spaceguard site. He was getting more and more hungry as the physical labor of first building the solar storm bunker and now unloading equipment off Spaceguard butted up against a daily ration of two thousand calories. He was getting more and more antsy living in a module populated wall to wall with people straining so hard to be nice to each other.

It would be a godsend when the population declined by six. That couldn't happen soon enough, though he understood the need to keep the Expedition IV astronauts around long enough to train the newcomers on running the base. The word was training should be complete in January.

Anne could not be among those leaving. It didn't matter if she never again gave him the time of day. She just could not go. She should be hog-tied to stop her. If worse came to worst, Ward would put his life on the line to keep her off the Altair.

Someone knocked on the shower stall door. It was Toshi.

"I'm done. I'll be right out."

Toshi laughed. "You sing well. We will book you for dinner tonight."

Ward had to hand it to Toshi. He never seemed to lose his good mood. A trait he shared with that ugly ducking Maria. Too bad they were the only upbeat ones in this otherwise grim crowd. Too bad it was Maria instead of Anne sneaking glances at him.

"You should have heard me on earth. I packed concert halls."

Toshi laughed again.

Ward exchanged places with him, and took a couple steps over to the toilet stall. He stepped in and urinated. It was so good to not have a suction cup biting his penis. He took delight in watching a yellow stream arc into the toilet bowl.

He launched into "Everything Is Coming Up Roses". From the shower stall Toshi joined him.

Ward tried to keep in the shadow of the sunscreens. The screens were supposed to block most of the solar wind, to which they were fully exposed here on the open plateau around Spaceguard. The ten percent of the wind that got through was still more than that had stuck the ISS. The screens did nothing to block GCRs.

Hell, he might as well face it. He was doomed to develop cancer.

"Roger!" Maria's voice, so unfortunately bass, burst into his helmet. "Help me, please."

Maria was wrestling with a section of the radiator panels just unloaded from Spaceguard. She was at the back of the flatbed rover.

Ward suspected she could easily hoist the section. She was a solidly built woman, and just a couple inches shorter than himself. This robust youngster probably had the strength of a stevedore. She sure sounded like one.

She had taken a fancy to him. God knows why, he was exactly twice her age. He would have thought Todd or Toshi more likely to catch her eye.

He saw Toshi and Peck looking down on them from their perch in the crane basket. Behind their visors they probably watched with amusement.

Ward walked gingerly toward her. Two weeks on the moon and he still felt somewhat as if he were treading on ice. He remembered clips of the Apollo astronauts hopping about just moments after setting foot on the surface. But they were coming from full gravity with only a couple days of weightlessness in between and were probably good athletes to boot.

"Roger, take the other side. Then we lift on my count."

Ward came around her, then bent to grip the corrugated panel of aluminum. His stomach muscles winced. He was still paying for not taking advantage of the exercise equipment on the ISS.

"We will want to put it down gently."

"No problem, Maria. On your count."

One, two, three, and they lifted. The panel felt like it weighed thirty earthside pounds. To give Maria benefit of the doubt, the section was bulky. They laid it carefully on the flatbed.

She raised her gold embossed visor and smiled. He wished she had kept it down. That big wedge of a nose particularly offended the eye. Ward wondered why with all the modern facial enhancements available, she had not upgraded herself.

Well, she did have attractive teeth.

She also had guts, and a sense of duty. Over the past two weeks she was the only one of the lunar four to consistently come outside. Sergei protectively didn't want her out at all, but he quickly found Maria did not easily bend to another's will. Plus they did need an experienced hand outside.

"Let's get another, Roger."

"Sure."

Then the flatbed would be full and they could return briefly to the base.

It would be good to arrive on the crater floor. Fully out of the stream of high speed protons and electrons. Not to mention UV and X-ray radiation. What a nasty mix Ole Sol handed out in addition to plain light.

He couldn't really blame the loonies for hunkering in the subterranean modules. There they received no more radiation than standing on earth. It made perfect sense to safely wait out the days before they decided to return to earth. Why court tumors?

With the flatbed loaded, she told him to take the driver's seat. She said she would let him drive all the way, even down the ramp.

After turning on the power, he cautiously tilted the steering wheel forward to engage the accelerator. Then they were off—at a crawl.

"You can go faster, Roger. It's perfectly safe until we get to the ramp."

Ward didn't feel safe. It was still hard for him to judge speed or distance. The clarity provided by the vacuum made all objects appear closer. The foreshortened horizon, and the plunge of terrain on either side of the narrow plateau didn't help his perception either.

He sped up to fifteen klics per hour. The low hanging sun, now in the north, cast the rover's shadow across to the southern edge of the plateau. There it was swallowed in the massive shadow cast by the Mons itself.

To the south, sunlight did catch the rim of Shackleton crater and many peaks of the Leibnitz range. But they were only islands in a sea of utter blackness. A sea where light from neither the sun nor earth reached. He wondered how alone a man would feel in that blackness.

They approached the crater. As always they swung around it to the north. With only minor coaching from Maria, Ward had no trouble steering along the curving path of compacted regolith.

When the gap came into sight, Maria asked him to stop.

He did. "Did I do something wrong?"

She laughed. Her laugh did not charm. It was too husky. The first time he heard Maria speak, he wondered if she were lesbian. He wondered until she started making eyes at him. He kind of wished she were gay, for otherwise he could only disappoint her.

"Roger, I want to discuss something. This is the first chance we've had to talk privately. Let's switch to channel C."

Uh oh.

But he followed her lead in turning his radio to the third of the local channels. Helmets could always receive the radio traffic of the main net. Three additional channels, with a range of several hundred meters, were provided for semi-private communication. At this spot no one else could hear them.

He knew what was coming. His mind desperately sought words to let her down gently.

She turned toward him. "First, I want to tell you that I have decided to stay at Base Alpha. I will give up my place on the Orion."

Oh God, this was probably in expectation of something happening with him.

"Maria, are you sure that's wise? There is no guarantee of survival here."

"I have every faith. The plan is sound."

That didn't mean it would work.

"You better take the ticket out of here."

"I've fallen in love with the moon. Before the disaster on earth, I was trying to get permission to stay and be part of Expedition V. They were going to do what you are, establish self sufficiency."

You had to love her positive attitude. But Ex V would have been preceded by unmanned delivery of a module specifically equipped for agricultural use. Potatoes and soybeans would constitute the main crops, grown hydroponically. No one at ISA had ever entertained planting popcorn kernels in a mixture of moon dust and human waste.

Ward shook his head. "Our crop could easily fail."

"Jimmy has already gotten shoots with test soil."

Yeah, but in a couple months would it all wilt?

"Have you discussed this with your colleagues?"

"No—I make my own decisions." She lifted her visor. Her eyes, dark brown, regarded him steadily. He saw pure determination. The same look he had seen on Anne's face too often.

"I think it's a mistake, Maria. Others would kill to have your ticket."

"Now they won't have to."

Ward wondered who would get the spot. It was still policy the ISS women had first option, but would that hold?

"Roger, I also wanted to talk about us."

"Us?"

"I think we would make a good pair."

"I am in love with someone else, Maria."

"I know. Anne."

"Yes."

"She is not worthy of you."

"What?"

"She isn't."

"And you are?"

"That only you can decide."

"Maria, this conversation ends. And don't ever denigrate Anne again."

"She treats you like a dog."

"That's my concern."

"You saved her, and she spits on you."

"Who have you been talking to? How do you know anything about her and me?"

"Women talk, Roger."

The temperature inside his suit had risen markedly.

"It's all none of your—"

His voice cracked before he could get out the final word. He took a deep breath, then spoke calmly as he could.

"It is her and my business alone. There is nothing more to be said on the subject."

"I know I am not a pretty woman. But I do have a good body. And I am younger than her. And a whole lot smarter."

He wanted to snap something about who was the dog. But that was not the way to handle this. He took another long breath.

"I love Anne. I always have. I always will. So you see, there is no hope for you with me. Return to earth."

"Wake up, Roger. All these years she has used you."

He had never smacked a woman. He sure was tempted now. "No more, Maria."

"I love you."

"That's crazy! You've only known me two weeks. You're just man hungry."

"I've read everything you've written and what's been written about you. I've seen all your video clips. The past two months I've checked you out pretty good. The time you've been here has only confirmed what I found."

He stared at the big nosed woman. He thought the loonies were the sanest of the sane. And here miss hyphenated had some schoolgirl crush on a stranger when all she should be thinking was when did she get the hell out of here.

"I am not deranged, Roger. Put aside feelings. I am being practical, too. We will have to pair off here. Anne will almost certainly go with James Peck—though she seems to have also won the hearts of Toshimini, Todd, and Sergei."

"I said no more."

"It is not necessary you love me. You are an expert on the medieval period, when people rarely wed for love. Marriages were arranged for practical reasons. That has probably been the way for the majority of human history. So will it be here."

Ward shook his head. "I pair with Anne. Or no one."

"Today you say that. But not a year from now."

"I—I don't mean to wound you." Or maybe he did. "But I'm not sure I even like you. Men don't care for forward broads. I certainly don't have any sex urge for you. And I haven't had sex in awhile."

Her eyes pulled away and her jaw tightened.

"So you see, Maria, I'm not quite the guy you expected. Forget me. Go to earth."

She kept her head turned.

"Drive, please," she said softly. There was no bass in her voice now.

Guilt swept him. But Goddammit, she had practically begged for a put down.

The guilt did not go away as he remembered how he had welcomed her attention the past fortnight. For the worst of reasons. He had hoped the attention would ignite jealously in Anne. Anne showed not the least concern.

Anne, like Scarlett O'Hara, had too many suitors to bother with Ward. Maria may have undercounted those vying for her affection. Despite her thickening form, she was still the most attractive woman here. And despite being stuck in this hellhole, her old cheery nature was beginning to shine through.

He guessed Peck had the inside track with her. Ward took consolation that he was pretty sure they weren't having sex. He didn't know how he would react if that came to pass.

It did look like some others were getting it on. The council had designated Node 3 a privacy zone during the day and early evening. A person could reserve thirty minutes, a couple an hour. Reservations were in the public domain. So far Vanaja and Agarwal, and Togura and Kata, had made use of joint reservations. Ward had used the node only to get away from it all.

When the rover reached the base, he and Maria silently unloaded the flatbed. They put the six radiators on the ground by the others.

Then Maria spoke, her visor now down. "I am going in for a break. You can drive back solo. You'll be fine as long as you take it easy up the ramp."

"Maria—"

"Nothing more to be said, Roger. You were candid. I appreciate candidness."

"I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm sorry. I have a lot of repressed anger, and I took it out on you."

"Drive carefully, Roger."

She headed toward the entrance.

He felt like an absolute shit.

As luck would have it, Anne was the first person Maria encountered in the habitation module. The only others in the module were Colonel Togura and Jacob. Both were at the command station. They were in discussion with the Spaceguard site.

Anne smiled at her. Maria did not smile back. Anne did treat Roger like a dog. This despicable woman could also get him to perform like a dog. And she knew it.

"Be careful of him," Anne said as Maria stepped past.

"What? Who?"

"Roger Ward is a liar. And a coward. He brings only pain to women."

"Speak for yourself."

Maria moved away, but Anne followed. Maria turned to confront her nemesis.

She was so glad she had several inches in height over this cruel creature. Maria also took delight that Anne's ear length hair displayed a two tone. The outer third was auburn, while the hair toward the roots was a mousy brown. Maria also enjoyed how pregnancy distorted what must have been a fine figure.

The two toned hair and the swelling midsection unfortunately had not stopped the men's fawning. All Maria's life she had hopelessly competed with the likes of this shallow woman. Women whose success rested on God given looks instead of character or achievement. The ones who had taken every man she wanted.

One swift slash with her nails would forever mar Anne's good looks. God, what the men would do if she did. Probably string her up.

Anne babbled on, her mousy brown eyes intense. "Roger told me he had made all his women miserable. He promised I would be different. But he lied."

"Roger saved you, you idiot."

"He saved me for sexual reasons only. He is selfish beyond comprehension."

"You are as stupid as they come. But that's to my advantage."

"Remember that he hurt me worst of all. And he claimed to love me most of all."

Togura's voice interrupted. "Ladies, continue in one of the nodes. You are making it difficult to hear."

Anne's voice dropped to a whisper. "You'll see. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Her nemesis turned away.

As Maria headed to the bathroom, she found herself quivering with anger. Oh, to give that self centered cretin a bloody nose. And two big black eyes to go with it.

When she entered Node 2, apprehension tempered the anger.

Maria did not want to admit it, but Anne looked like she was in turmoil. If Anne no longer cared for Roger, she would not harbor such intense feeling for him, however venomous. Deep down she had to know Roger had done her no ill. However hard she was trying to show otherwise, this woman had not closed the door on Roger.

Well, Maria would close the door for her. She would not let Anne Lynn take this fine man from her. Not this time, not on her planet, not this lackwit intruder who should have stayed on earth.

13

Lomerov would have preferred that Jimmy not be elected to the joint council. Though his behavior had been impeccable and inspiring since landing, Lomerov still did not fully trust him. Lomerov knew Jimmy was dissatisfied with his leadership. The man seemed to be smoldering beneath his gung-ho attitude that had him working to exhaustion every day.

But to the others of the ISS contingent, Jimmy Peck was a hero for successfully landing on Mons Malapert. He made the council in a landslide.

The structure of the council had been agreed upon prior to the landing: three members from the ISS group, two from the lunar astronauts. Each group would elect their respective members, and the council would choose its chairman. The council would decide policy by majority vote, and the chairman would act as chief executive officer to implement policy.

The election took place two days after arrival. Lomerov, Peck and Kurt—the ISS council—all made the new council. From the lunar side came Colonel Togura and Captain Perez-Noya. The election of the junior member of the base astronauts somewhat surprised Lomerov, though personally he had warmed to her.

The first several meetings of the council dealt largely with task scheduling. The elephant in the room remained ignored. In private Jimmy kept badgering Lomerov—chosen chairman without opposition—to bring it up. Lomerov refused. Why sow discord over a matter that would likely resolve itself?

Finally Jimmy threatened to raise the subject on his own. Lomerov forbade it. Lomerov then watched the Spaceguard pilot's eyes go completely flat, then snap back to neutrality. Lomerov did not startle easily, but the flash of menace and its quick concealment did the trick.

As the first month on the moon neared its end, Lomerov did feel the time had come to raise the matter of who would leave the moon and when. Delicately, of course. So far cooperation from the lunar astronauts had been quite good. The fissures he feared would develop had not formed. Even Colonel Togura had gone out of his way to maintain respectful relations. After the first meeting, the landing "error" remained unmentioned.

On the first day of December the council met in Node 3, which linked the habitation and logistics modules. The circular chamber was a bit cramped with the five members but no less so than when five people slept there. The node did provide absolute privacy. The double hatches on both sides assured no one could eavesdrop.

They conducted their business sitting on the makeshift bunks. After Kurt recited minutes from the last meeting, and Jimmy—who was now operations officer—outlined the coming week's schedule, Lomerov cleared his throat.

"I have serious matter to raise. Ask it not leave this room."

Lomerov saw Jimmy nod. The other three eyed Lomerov raptly.

"We must agree on time for Altair to leave. I hear talk of January, February, March. To plan use of food reserves we should have firm date. Now I ask your opinions."

Lomerov looked directly at Togura. The members of Expedition IV had primary say about an exit date. As per agreement they owned four of the six places on the Altair ascent stage. As per agreement they would depart when they chose.

The bronze faced Togura, who insisted he be addressed as Colonel, wore the same expression as when Lomerov first saw him. None at all. From the time they met over video link to today, the only muscles ever moving in his face were those that controlled the lips.

Matsui Togura, Jimmy had declared, was representative of his nation. Cold and calculating, ruthlessly efficient, despising all foreigners, and trying to mask it all behind a wall of quiet politeness. Lomerov didn't know about that, Toshi was an absolutely decent fellow. But Togura for sure had put up determined, almost lethal resistance to their coming to the base.

The Colonel smiled. Lomerov had never liked that smile, so chill—and condescending.

"As you know, Colonel Lomerov, the situation on earth is still fluid. We prefer to keep our departure options open."

"I understand. But more days you here, more food consumed. Less left behind for rest. Also departure will take burden off recycling systems." At the moment eighty-five percent of the environmental module was dedicated to the algae. And even that was not enough to generate the oxygen required for fifteen people. Reserve tanks had so far filled the gap.

"The earth situation is fluid," Togura repeated.

"I hear you are now considering Western Australia as a landing place," said Jimmy.

"Perhaps."

"A good choice. It was thinly populated to begin with and seems to have avoided the invasion of refugees that has ruined most everywhere else in the world. You should be able to make it there."

Another smile. "Perhaps."

Togura knew why Jimmy would endorse Western Australia. Lomerov favored it also. Australia was far from the state of Virginia. Even Anya in her stubbornness would have to acknowledge she had little chance to reach her children if the Orion came down a half a world away.

Lomerov smiled in turn, but cordially. "Colonel, you see predicament. We not able to support fifteen people until corn harvested. Sooner you leave, better for rest. Say you see this."

"I doubt we will remain beyond March."

"That's two months too long," said Jimmy.

"We will not leave before we are ready, Commander."

Lomerov continued to smile. "I ask you discuss with your people. Please."

"I shall. But I can not decide for them."

Jimmy turned to Captain Perez-Noya. "Maria, what are your thoughts? Feel free to be frank."

Lomerov wanted to tell Jimmy to shut up. This transparent bid to split the lunar astronauts could only backfire.

"I always am, Jimmy."

Lomerov couldn't help but focus on the Captain's flat triangle of a nose. He wondered why she had never opted for cosmetic surgery. She had a reasonable body. With a fixed nose she would be moderately appealing to the opposite sex. It could be she kept her nose as defiant declaration that people would have to take her as she was.

"I wasn't suggesting otherwise," said Jimmy. "Tell us, do you think a March exit is fair to the rest of us?"

"Well, I may be biased. Not the way you think. I've pretty much decided I will stay on at Base Alpha."

Rumor had it that at one point she was considering staying. But that was probably in hopes of snaring Roger. Roger had told Lomerov he had firmly rebuffed her.

"As Colonel Togura knows, I was trying to get permission to stay on here when Expedition V arrived."

The Colonel shook his head. "That was then, Maria. Now you would fare much better coming with us."

"I will stay. Which should be greeted as good news. Someone else gets to leave."

"When should they leave?" pressed Jimmy. "January or March?"

"In my opinion, January. But the six leaving have the right to chose when. We cannot override that."

"We move on," said Lomerov. "By end of month will know better on this subject."

"Sergei—"

"No, Jimmy, matter is for moment closed. We have much else to cover."

Jimmy thankfully did not make a fuss. Lomerov would have to say this for Jimmy, he had kept private all disagreements between the two of them. Except for the five kilometer deviation on landing, Jimmy had never publicly defied or embarrassed him. Jimmy had been the good soldier.

So why didn't Lomerov put full faith in him?

The meeting turned to discussion of use of the fuel cells. Togura was still adamant that only one of the devices be moved to the Spaceguard site. Jimmy wanted all four there. The Colonel again stated that safety considerations forbade removal of more. If power from the solar cell complex was interrupted for more than a day, and backup from fuel cells was unavailable, the base could lose the algae system. Which, to put it mildly, would doom them all.

Jimmy countered that the Colonel's fears were excessive. The fuels cells could be returned to the crater within a day. And at full strength, since the cells would not drained of any power. At the Spaceguard site the fuel cells would be used to combine the liquid oxygen and hydrogen in the propellant tanks to make water. Jimmy complained with barely repressed bitterness that the oxygen and hydrogen in one tank had already been vented and lost to keep construction of the corn farm on schedule.

Both men had valid concerns. It was Lomerov's job as chairman to find middle ground. After an hour of wrangling he engineered an agreement that permitted two cells at the site. Neither Jimmy nor Togura looked particularly pleased, but such were the wages of leadership.

The meeting did end on a harmonious note. Togura graciously agreed to push for no later than the middle of February as the exit date. Lomerov took heart that Jimmy immediately shook hands with the Colonel.

Peck could not sleep. It was not the hard floor of the habitation module that kept him awake. It was disgust.

He rose to a sitting position. He surveyed the four bodies lying beside him in the center of the now dimly lit habitation module. Sergei slept two over. Peck eyed him disdainfully.

Behind him Anne was thankfully sound asleep in one of the bunks. The other bunks held Susan, Vanaja, and Kata. The duty officer for the night, Toshi, sat slumped near the rear of the module. At the command station he faced a battery of monitors.

His attention returned to the lightly snoring Russian, the cosmonaut he formerly so admired. What a pathetic display of leadership that had been at the meeting this afternoon. Harper could have done better. Peck couldn't believe he had heard the word "please" pass Sergei's lips.

Sergei should have told Togura that six people would be leaving the Base right after January 1. Also that all four of the fuel cells would be at the farm site tomorrow. If necessary, compliance in both matters would be achieved by force.

That was the proper application of power. Not this suckup approach Sergei felt compelled to try. Instead of power emboldening Sergei, it was so far paralyzing him. He was proving himself unfit to lead.

The base was in a do or die situation. The corn farm would determine the verdict. Anything that slowed its successful completion could not be tolerated. Opposition, active or passive, should be treated as attempted murder.

Sergei should realize hints of reasonableness from Togura were just posturing. The loonies, except now for Maria, didn't really care if the ISS bunch made it. Togura, Agarwal, Lekota, they had the Orion lifeboat. They could afford to play it safe. They must be made to understand if the arrivals weren't going to survive, neither would they.

But that was the difference between himself and Sergei. Peck thought strategically; Sergei could not look beyond the tactical.

Sergei's decision to land outside the base crater had been a strategic blunder, one of the first order. That alone should have disqualified him for further command. But almost everyone, even Todd and Ward, bought into the delusion it was the responsible thing to do. Aside from Peck only Harper—of all people—had seen the folly of it.

The ISS crew had also agreed with Sergei that the first task at the Spaceguard site should be construction of a bunker to shield against solar flares. Yes, flares could emit lethal radiation. Yes, if one did come there would not be time to get back to the base. But the last solar maximum had come early, and was now waning as they approached 2022.

The bunker had taken a week to complete. That was a week lost that could never be gotten back. It was also a week lost because Spaceguard had not come down within the sheltering rim of the base crater.

Peck had urged Sergei that they get right to farm construction. Forget the bunker, they could substitute a quickly bulldozed wall of regolith. Sergei said that was too much of a gamble—just like Spaceguard in the crater risked too much.

They must be prudent, Sergei said. He would not roll dice with people's lives. Sergei did not realize, or want to realize, that lack of boldness was the biggest gamble of all. To make it here they must take chances. Playing it safe was the true rashness.

Sergei's behavior in the meeting today confirmed what Peck had been thinking for several weeks: Sergei was not going to play to win. For the base to survive, Peck was going to have to take matters into his own hands. If that meant deposing Sergei, and Togura, and whoever else, so be it.

14

Lomerov had been shocked this morning when Anya had actually said "Good morning" to Roger. She said it cold faced, but she said it, these first direct words to him since arriving on the moon six weeks ago.

Roger had been astounded too. He could only fumble a reply. Anya said nothing further to him, and she went to sit with Jimmy for breakfast.

Later Lomerov got Roger alone. He told him not to read too much into Anya's perfunctory greeting, and Roger said he had not. Roger said hating was hard work.

"I hated this Margaret with all my heart, for years on end after I found Anne had married Dennis Lynn. But hating takes a lot out of you. At times you need a break. I'm sure that's what happened with Anne. Tomorrow she'll be back to freezing me out."

But the following day Lomerov observed Anya repeat her good morning to Roger. It was less chilly this time. Lomerov could sense the half dozen other people in the habitation module cock their ears. Even the lunar four now knew the history between Roger and Anya. All pretended other interest as they breathlessly hoped to now witness the start of reconciliation. All except probably Maria and Jimmy.

Roger replied with an unfumbled good morning of his own. Then he dared more words as Anya again sat with Jimmy and avoided further eye contact. Both yesterday and today Jimmy looked totally unconcerned that Anya had at last addressed her former true love.

"How are you feeling?" asked Ward's deep voice.

"Fine."

"I imagine the low gravity makes it much easier to get around—in your condition."

"It does." She still wasn't looking at him. Her eyes were on her plate of breakfast, which Jimmy had fetched.

Lomerov wanted to tell Roger to quit while ahead. He imagined Anya was straining to remain polite. Don't get greedy, he wanted to whisper to Roger. You have to melt her animosity slowly, bit by bit.

"I am glad to hear that," said Roger. "I'll let you eat in peace. But thank you for greeting me these past two days. I appreciate it."

Anya shrugged. "Well, I don't hate you nearly as much now."

The habitation module grew quieter. She had said the words so matter of factly. Which Lomerov thought must be more upsetting to Roger than if spoken with spite.

Roger moved to stand directly across the table from Anya. He stood until Anya raised her eyes to him. Lomerov stepped close, ready to block Roger if he tried to get nearer. Jimmy had also tensed.

"You black hearted bitch."

Lomerov gripped Roger's arm. "Enough. Go back over near airlock."

"Apologize to her," rasped Jimmy. "Now."

"I don't want his apology," said Anya. "I don't want anything from him."

Her brown eyes flared as she put full focus on Roger. "That's the last good morning you get from me, ever. I tried to be civil. As everyone here has been urging me. But you can't handle even that."

Lomerov could feel Roger vibrating. Like a volcano about to blow. Lomerov put both arms on the man.

"Stay calm, Roger."

"I am calm. Who would want such a woman anyway? She is the one who is vile and horrible. I wasted sixteen years of my life on her."

Hurt flickered on Anya's creamy face. Lomerov suspected—no, he knew—that Roger had never before spoken an unkind world to this woman he worshipped. During their time on the BSS, Roger was solicitous in the extreme. Her comfort, her feelings, her safety always came first.

"Now everyone can see the person you really are," said Anya.

"You're right. I'm an utter bastard. So take your not hate me nearly so much and stick it up your ever widening bottom. You soulless, heartless, pitiless super bitch."

"No, Jimmy!" Anya jerked on Jimmy's sleeve as he started to rise. "He's nothing. But a liar and a coward and a cheat."

"I've loved you with all my being. I'd have died for you."

"You were in love with your love for me."

"What are you talking about? I sacrificed everything for you."

"If you had really loved me—me—you would have saved my children."

"I tried. I'm so sorry Christine died, but what more could I have done?"

"You could have brought them to the BSS."

He looked perplexed by her words.

"You could have. You know it."

"Children aren't allowed in space. Bringing them was never a possibility."

"You could have. With all your money. They say Bigelow couldn't have survived without you, maybe even the Russian space program. If you really wanted to, you could have."

"I never saw it as a possibility."

"There it is, Roger. If everything had been reversed, if I was the rich one and you with children, and I knew how precious they were to you, I would have moved heaven and earth and everything in between to get them on the BSS. Tell me if I am lying. Tell me!"

Roger's head snapped back as if hit by a strong jab. His mouth worked, but nothing came out.

"Tell me, Roger." Anya now spoke quietly in the dead silent module.

Lomerov was both dismayed and embarrassed, as he was sure everyone was at witnessing what should have been a very private exchange. But like those at a gruesome accident scene, no one could turn away.

Now Roger reeled backward. He kept going to the corner where Lomerov first told him to go. There he slid down the curved wall and sat—with knees drawn up to cover his face, and arms locked over his head. He sat motionless.

Everyone else eyed each other. No one knew what to say. Lomerov felt very badly for Roger. And this hardly helped overall spirits.

Maria broke the assembly of statues, as she went and knelt by Roger. She whispered in his ear. Roger did not move.

Lomerov stood over Anya.

"Come with me." With Anya he usually requested. Not this time. He put sternness in his voice.

Her eyes were defiant. "This is a personal matter, Sergei."

"No. Affects all. Come. We talk."

"Let it go," said Jimmy. "This has been on her chest a long time. Best to have it out."

"I chairman. Not you." He almost added "not yet". He knew Jimmy was increasingly dissatisfied with his leadership. "I responsible for morale, teamwork here. This hurt them. Anya, come. We discuss. Calmly."

"She's a pregnant woman, Sergei."

"No excuse."

"Oh, it's alright, Jimmy. Maybe I did speak out of turn."

She glanced over at the pathetic figure of Roger Ward. Lomerov was glad to see no hint of triumph on her face. He was not glad to see the hateful eyes Maria cast at Anya.

Anya rose and they went into Node 3. They sat facing each other.

"We not need this, Anya. Must keep people on even keel."

"He started it, Sergei. I was trying to be decent to him and see what happened."

"You no speak to him anymore."

"Not a problem." She bit off the words.

"You—" Lomerov knew he should follow Jimmy's advice, let it go.

"What, Sergei? You think I was unfair?"

"Yes. To degree."

"He could have saved my children if he really wanted to."

"Not possible. Despite what you say. My country absolutely not let children in orbit. Is law. Also international law."

Her eyes hardened. "He could have tried. Tried with everything he had."

"Maybe. But result same. And you, Anya, you not let children in space even if he could arrange. You know about radiation to them, damage to their development. You never allow."

"He could have tried."

"Now I do say you unfair."

"I can forgive his lying. Not that."

"It destroy him what you just said. Is that what you want?"

Her eyes lowered. "No."

"I never see man so committed to woman. If only I had been that way with my wife."

"I won't be made to feel guilty about him."

Lomerov drew a heavy breath as heaviness pressed on his shoulders. "I now speak as chairman. No more talk like today. We face difficult time ahead. Need all united."

"I will say nothing more to hurt him. But you make sure he says nothing to me. No one has ever talked to me like that."

He doubted anyone had. Save Roger Anya did not speak ill of others. She made people feel good. She brought sunshine to any group. If she stayed here, Anya would do much to keep up long term morale.

"I speak with Roger," said Lomerov.

"I know he is a good man. He always treated me wonderfully. But my children, my children. He took them away."

"Plague do that, Anya."

She stood. "We've had our talk, Sergei."

"Okay." Affection welled as he looked upon the rounding woman. "Let me say this—as man who feels he is now as father to you. Also as good friend. Please consider to stay at base if we succeed with corn. I terrified you die on earth. Child too. Stay here where be safe and so many love you."

She bent to kiss his cheek, then squeezed his hand. "I will consider."

"This best place for you."

"Maybe. But I cannot promise to stay. I can only say I am now undecided."

"Good. At least a chance."

"I want to go into the logistics module awhile. I don't want to have to look at Roger like that."

"Okay. I talk to him. Get him up. He strong man. He recover."

"Oh God, Sergei. I can't believe any of this is happening. I'm on the moon. My husband and my daughter are dead. The world is ruined. This is some horrible, horrible nightmare that will soon end."

"If only so, Anya."

"God help us."

Ward waited two days before approaching Anne. He approached bone dry, his innards now a wasteland.

Anne was alone by the pantry. She had lately taken it on herself to prepare the lunch and dinner meals. On the side she was taking paramedic training from Jacob Lekota.

Peck was out at the Spaceguard site with Sergei, Maria, and four other men. Toshi, Kata and Togura were in the environmental module tending to the algae. Susan, Vanaja and Agarwal were at monitoring stations here in the habitation module. This was as much privacy with Anne as he would get.

Ward eased over to her. She saw him coming and stopped removing items from the pantry. Worry creased her brow, and she eyed Agarwal as if seeking protection.

That did stir emotion in his drained body. It hurt that she would think him capable of harming her. Her rounded belly, which carried their child, evoked only desire to protect.

"I don't want any trouble, Roger." She spoke loudly enough so everyone turned heads their way. Ward saw Agarwal and Susan stand up.

He raised a palm and he also spoke so the others could hear. "No trouble, Anne. Just a word."

"I accept your apology, if that is what this is."

"I do apologize. But there is the other." His voice dropped so only she could hear. "I have tried hard the past two days, but I can't get around it—no matter what path I take. You were totally right. I should have done everything to bring your children to the BSS."

She just stared at him.

"You were right too about if things had been reversed. Say my sister Karen had been alive. You knew how much she meant to me. I know that you Anne, being the person you are and the love you had for me, would have done everything to get her into space. Everything."

Still she just looked at him.

"I failed you. You deserved better from me. I'm not seeking your absolution. That can't be given for such a failing. In the time you have left here I won't bother you again. If you are still here when the child comes, I will not use the child as excuse to get time with you. I will stay out of your way." He paused. "That's all I have to say."

He turned and walked away, towards Node 3. He avoided eye contact with Agarwal and the two women.

In the node he tried to throw off the iron hands digging into his throat. Always before, even during the darkest days on the ISS, a sliver of hope remained. Forgiveness might someday come.

Now he at last understood. Anne was lost forever. His crime of omission could not be overcome. Almost as damning, he had not even suspected the omission until she pointed it out. He despaired that such a void of awareness existed in him.

He stood alone, so truly alone, in the white upright cylinder of this cramped node. At no point in his life had he thought less of himself. He, who had once preached to multitudes about the path to righteousness.

It was very hard to accept that righteousness now meant staying away from Anne. He loved her so. But, like she said, his love was a selfish love. He had not cared enough about Anne the person to consider what was precious to her rather than to himself.

Long ago he vowed that he would never hurt this one woman. He had grown up, reached beyond himself, and become a giver rather than a taker. He would give Anne Hollingsworth only joy.

He ended up giving her supreme pain.

The time would come in a month, or three or six, when the collective decision was made concerning who would return to earth. For Anne's sake—not his—he prayed she would stay put.

The talk now focused on western Australia as landing site for the Orion capsule. That increased the odds Anne would remain at Base Alpha. Even in her desperation to find her sons, Anne knew getting across the Pacific to America would be nigh impossible.

The past week Ward heard less enthusiasm both among the loonies and the ISS women for returning to earth. The fragments of news weren't getting any better. And Australia, even if relatively safer, was far from home for all of them. The proposed date for departure kept slipping.

Already Vanaja, now intimate with Agarwal, had joined Maria in declaring she would stay on the moon. Other declarations were likely to follow; especially if prospects for the corn farm looked good. If a shortage of exit slots developed, Ward would volunteer for one.

His departure would aid in every way. One less mouth to feed, less waste to recycle, less cramped quarters. He had no technical skills, so his absence would not impact base maintenance. His departure would also give relief to Anne. That was the one positive thing he could do for her.

He had accomplished the mission set forth by Margaret Beaufort. He had gotten Anne off earth before its collapse. Impregnating her must have been an intended consequence. Lady Margaret must have seen the resulting child and its ancestors as essential to the future of this surviving speck of civilization.

Mission done. Now he could go home and die.

15

The damage to the Altair lander was discovered ten days into January. A pinhole puncture in its nitrogen tetroxide tank had allowed propellant to escape. Initially a micrometeorite was believed to have caused the puncture. Further examination of the thickly insulated tank revealed that the hand of man—or woman—was responsible.

Nitrogen tetroxide, or NTO, had a boiling point of 21 degrees Centigrade. Temperature in the shade in the crater was below the freezing point of NTO, or even oxygen, so any escaping propellant should have not vaporized. Indeed the NTO should have frozen at the point of puncture and sealed the leak.

But the location of the Altair in the center of the crater allowed sunlight to strike the tank during early January. Prior to this time the sun had not yet risen high enough from its winter depths to reach the ascent stage of the lander. Obviously the person committing sabotage had waited until the temperature on the NTO tank would be high enough to permit loss of the fuel.

And lost it was. Along with the vanished fuel went the possibility of leaving the moon. The fifteen inhabitants of Base Alpha were stuck there permanently.

For several days the inhabitants were so stunned that little work was attempted. It was completely unfathomable why damage would have been done to the Altair. No one's interest could be served by the dastardly act.

But somebody had done it. And covered their tracks well.

Suspicion first fell on Roger Ward. Everyone knew how despondent he had been over Anne's very public and very excruciating rebuke. It may have caused him to snap. What better way to punish Anne than ending hope she might see her children?

Second thoughts pulled some of the suspicion away. Whoever disabled the ascent stage had to know what they were doing. NTO was highly toxic in addition to being explosive. A technically deficient person such as Ward would have likely killed himself in attempt to puncture the tank. Of course, he could have gotten lucky.

Eyes next turned to Colonel Togura. As pilot for the Altair, and the one responsible for its maintenance, he above any at Base Alpha had the ability and opportunity to ground the Altair. He seemingly lacked the motivation, but he was an inscrutable man. And next to Harper, the least popular person at the base. With great indignation Togura swore he was innocent. He also declared he would fight to the death anyone directly accusing him of what he termed treason.

People then looked at Harper. This sullen and spiteful man may have wanted to get back at them all. Everyone certainly hoped him the one responsible. It didn't help his case that he snarled if they thought he did it, punish him with everything up to and including the death penalty. But everyone also knew that Harper had been angling hardest to get on the Altair.

The Spaceguard pilots were briefly considered. As was Lomerov. All were known to be sweet on Anne. All had pleaded with her to remain at Base Alpha. Grounding the Altair for good would insure that. But recently Anne had wavered in her insistence she return to earth.

Finally the inhabitants concluded that any of them could be guilty. Any except pregnant Anne, who had never left the underground since arrival. While Ward and Togura remained at the top of the list, people told each other the culprit was probably someone much lower down. The proverbial person no one would suspect.

Lomerov resigned from the council a week later. He fully believed in the dictum that a commander was responsible for everything that occurred on his watch. He should have insisted on continuous surveillance of the Altair, and even posted guards. No matter that would have meant less personnel available for other tasks; keeping the Altair safe should have been his top priority.

He accepted that he had failed as a leader. Apparently so did many others, for only Anya, Toshi and Roger pleaded he retain the chairmanship. When he refused, the three urged he at least stay on the council. They said he was a good, strong man who may just have had too much on his plate. If blame must be placed—other than on the saboteur—let the finger point at Togura. The Altair was his baby to keep alive.

People still treated Lomerov respectfully, and probably would not have demanded his resignation. But he knew he had lost enough of their confidence to impair leading them through the now desperate situation the base faced. Let them choose someone they truly believed in. From now on he would serve the base only as a foot soldier.

He took solace that he had tried his best. He did not think he had rendered one unfair decision or ever acted without honor. Yet men were judged by the consequences of their actions far more than by their intentions. It was right he step down as chairman.

Lomerov felt like an old man. He could blame it on the years of radiation exposure catching up with him, but the weight of failure was mostly responsible. Failure at what mattered most, previously as a husband and now as leader of those in peril.

The chairmanship had been put to open vote. Not to anyone's surprise, Jimmy won in near unanimous decision. Even Togura and Harper backed him. Lomerov had not voted for anyone.

Part of him said, let's see if Jimmy could do any better at the job. The other part wished Jimmy absolute success. For succeed Jimmy must, or people were going to die of starvation. They now had fifteen people to feed indefinitely, with another mouth on the way. More than half the combined rations of the base and the ISS were gone. If the corn did not come in on time, or yields were below prediction, they would have famine on their hands.

Again he debated whether he should have gotten six people off the moon before the New Year. Hindsight said he should have forced the issue, given Togura an ultimatum. But hindsight had been unavailable in December. Honor, and practicality, said he had no choice but to stick to their agreement. It would have been fatal to try to rule here by dictatorship. Again, his real mistake had been not to guard the lander.

At the evening meal on the day Jimmy was elected chairman, Lomerov announced he would volunteer to commit suicide if it looked like a sufficient crop would not come in. That shocked everyone. He shocked them more by adding they should eat his flesh to extend food reserves.

When people found their tongues, some like Anne protested tearfully. Others were angry, saying he was out of his mind. Some attempted to laugh off the absurd notion. He liked Toshi's response best. Toshi said that before committing suicide, Lomerov should intravenously receive saline solution—Toshi preferred his meat well salted.

Just as the tumult died down, Roger said he would be the second volunteer. Lomerov saw Maria pale, while Anya did not bat an eyelash. Lomerov was ashamed of her.

Jimmy snapped that would be the end of such talk. Jimmy told Lomerov and Ward to stop grandstanding, act like responsible men. The base didn't need two more babies in addition to the one on the way. Though stung, Lomerov did not rise to challenge the insults. Neither did Roger

Before Lomerov retired he took Roger aside. They talked in the environmental module. They stood in the open space before the myriad of transparent columns holding the blue-green algae. Above the columns LED lights blazed.

Lomerov forced a smile. "So you want to be hero, too? Only room for one."

"If the worst comes, let's hope two is enough."

"You needed here. Me not."

"You're needed more than I."

"I am oldest. Most expendable."

"I'm just two years behind. We two should go first if we can't stretch the food. And I really don't mind."

"You look younger than half of men. You have much life left. Not like me, full of radiation."

"I've picked up plenty the past half year. It's inevitable I'll get cancer. Just a question of when."

"If you get cancer, be far future. Right now Maria needs you. Cannot leave her in lurch."

Roger grimaced. "I like her. But I could never love her. Plus she's even younger than Anne. She belongs with someone of her own generation. She and Todd would be a good match."

Except for Todd having eyes for Anya.

"She loves you."

"No reason to."

"Plenty reason."

Roger shook his head. "No. I won't lead her on. We'll stay just friends."

Lomerov smiled. "Friend shapely." The longer a man was here, the easier it was to get past her face.

"Yeah, she is. I've imagined running hands over her. But I'd just be using her. I'm done doing that to women."

"You think you do that to Anya?"

"Private territory, Sergei."

"Mean no offense. But never saw you take advantage. Other way around, maybe."

Roger's eyes narrowed.

"Mean no offense. Only say you and Maria be good pair. Will have marriages sooner or later."

"I'm out of the running. If any one wants to carry my child, it will be through artificial insemination."

The same for Lomerov. If his GCR battered sperm could still sire. But storing sperm was a good idea, one he should have implemented. A forward looking step that Jimmy proposed when everyone else was moaning and groaning in the wake of the Altair disaster. Lomerov had to admit Jimmy would probably do fine as leader.

"Match-ups are going to be a problem, Sergei. We're now saddled with a two to one ratio of men to women. Even with you and me out, three guys will come up short."

Lomerov nodded. At the moment it looked like Lekota, Harper and Kurt would not get mates. And he couldn't be sure about Togura, as he and Kata weren't close as before. Jimmy and Anya, Agarwal and Vanaja, were probable couples. Maria was going to take no one but Roger. Todd would go with Susan, once he acknowledged he had no chance with Anya. Kata, who seemed to have a taste for Orientals, might go with Toshi if she ditched Togura. Toshi was definitely an acquired taste, but they were talking a lot lately.

When the dust cleared it could be himself, Lekota, Harper, Togura, and Kurt with no woman. How that would affect the stability of their little society he could not predict. The only alternative was two men sharing a woman, and the history of humanity said that would never work.

First things first. Get the food supply secure.

"We adjust," said Lomerov.

"Let's hope so."

"We not ordinary people here. We best of humanity. We skilled and smart and tested and of good will. If have to put fifteen on the moon to survive, who better than us?"

Roger chuckled. "Great stump speech. You should run next election. You'd get more than my vote."

"No. I am weary. Let younger lead."

"You were a good leader, Sergei. As a historian I've studied plenty of them."

"Thank you. But you friend. I judge myself more harshly."

"Don't."

Lomerov lowered his voice. "Tell me, Roger, who you think sabotage Altair?"

Roger smiled. "Thought I was the prime suspect."

"Never for me."

"My money is on Togura. I know, why would he give up a seat on the Orion? My answer is that he had decided to stay."

"But no one force him on Altair. Another take his place. He knows we have too many people here. Why stop six others from going?"

"In my humble opinion, there's only one answer. Actually two answers. I've thought a lot about it. Crazy answers that make perfect sense."

"Why you not say anything?"

"It's just conjecture. And it might make people think I'm trying to deflect suspicion from myself. Remember, some still think I had something to do with the plague."

"Tell me your craziness."

"Say it's Togura. He's very sharp. He could see enthusiasm for leaving the moon was waning. The sweating sickness is still killing people, even in Australia. And even in Australia, the survivors won't have high tolerance for newly arrived competitors."

"So? He just choose not to go."

"What if everyone, even Harper, comes to his conclusion? What if then a reverse lottery is needed, to determine who is forced to leave? Say we exempt the women from the lottery? Then he has a better than fifty-fifty chance of being driven out of here."

Lomerov rubbed his forehead. That made sense, in a way. "But if he damage Altair, he could die of starvation. We will make sure women survive first. He still at big risk."

"Not if he plans to kill off five of the men."

Lomerov gaped. Now that was craziness.

"Yeah, it sounds far fetched. You see why I didn't run around proclaiming my theory. But five would be the right number. Ten mouths to feed we can probably manage. And the ratio of men to women would be a perfect one to one."

Lomerov paced. "Like Jimmy say, you have wild imagination."

"Fits me to a T."

"What you propose we do? Not saying you right."

"I think asphyxiation is how the bad guy would go. It could be explained away as a ventilation failure. So we should keep the hatches between the nodes and modules open at all times. Five people sleeping in Node 3 would be the perfect target. I know such a policy would mean less privacy and really hinder those having sexual relations. But we ought to do it."

Lomerov nodded. "I go to Jimmy with this."

"If you trust him."

"I not trust him about follow orders. Not killing. And he first to insist about getting six out of here. He push to day Altair damaged."

"True." Then Roger grimaced.

"What?"

"We have to consider it could be one of the women."

"No."

"They can analyze too."

"Then we in real trouble. Cannot guard against everyone."

"We have to make the try. Yeah, go ahead and discuss this with Jimmy."

Lomerov hung his head. "This no good. My fault."

"Don't be the baby Jimmy accuses us of. This base needs you more than ever. This is no time to whine."

Anger flared in Lomerov. But he was glad Roger had spoken so to him. He needed a kick in his bottom.

"We get person responsible. Before he gets us."

"That's the spirit."

But who was this person? He had the terrible thought it could even be Roger.

In Node 1 another conversation was taking place.

"Are you upset with me?" asked Peck.

"Some," said Anne.

"I know you are fond of Sergei, but he was grandstanding."

"You shouldn't have embarrassed him like that in front of everybody."

"Well, maybe I shouldn't have." The hell he shouldn't have. It was long overdue.

By the ruse of offering to sacrifice himself, Lomerov was seeking to regain stature. His leadership deficiencies since taking over from Harper were now apparent to all. They were a whole month behind where they'd be if Peck had been in charge.

"Sergei means it," said Anne. "Not like Roger."

"I'd say Roger is the one who means it."

"No, he's just trying to make me feel guilty."

Christ, don't tell him she still cared what Ward thought about anything. Peck thought Anne over him for good.

Anne took his hand and brought her face close. "Promise you will never let either of them commit suicide."

"It'll never reach that point. The crop will come in. And if we have a shortfall, we can live off tomatoes awhile."

"Promise me!"

Peck was looking into deadly earnest eyes. So he promised. And he accepted with his coerced promise how firmly she had him hooked.

He had always considered men who let women hook them weaklings. To let the lesser sex hobble you revealed base character. A real man, especially one of the warrior class such as himself, would never let a woman in any way rule him.

In the beginning Ward's torment both amused and disgusted Peck. Ward must be a weakling indeed to let Anne inflict such pain. She was enchanting, yes, but so what? Despite their formidable powers of manipulation women were basically twits. Those shapely, delicious bundles of flesh existed to give men intense pleasure and to propagate the species. Otherwise they were not to be taken seriously.

Peck laughed at much, and now he laughed at himself. Anne had overcome all his will. Slowly, steadily, she had snared him. She owned him. She could lift James Peck into paradise, or consign him to the outer darkness as she had so ably done to Ward.

For Ward he now had sympathy. Peck appreciated fully the power this remarkable woman possessed to put a man under her spell. He was now Anne's helpless hostage. Woe to him if he incurred her displeasure.

"I'll post a suicide watch if necessary."

"Thank you." She squeezed his hand. The squeeze sent a thrill through him. This was her first serious touch. It was hard to believe he was so gone on her and they had never kissed.

"Anne, we have to start thinking of our future here."

"I know."

"I mean you and me."

"I know."

"You—we—I mean—" Christ, he was fumbling words like a virgin nerd. "Anne, I might as well come out and say it. I want to marry you."

Wouldn't a hundred women on earth faint—if they were still alive—to hear James Peck mouth those last five words? He had been certain they would never pass his lips.

She said nothing.

"Anne, I'm head over heels for you."

"I know you are."

This was a cocky little girl. He bet she didn't miss a thing where men's attention was concerned.

"We should of course wait until after you have the child."

"Jimmy, I'm very fond of you. But I'm not in love."

He knew that. Just give it time.

"I am with you. I've never let myself fall for a woman. I thought that was because I was above all that foolishness, but I see now that cowardice was the main reason. Me, the fearless pilot. I was terrified of becoming vulnerable."

"Jimmy—"

"You don't have to promise anything. You aren't obligated to marry me. Just say you will let time decide for you."

"I will. But are you sure you want me? Look how I have made Roger suffer. Look how I enjoyed it. Would you want a person capable of that?"

Her words slammed him like a two by four.

"I want you no matter what," he managed to say evenly.

"I put my foot on him and ground him into the dirt. I knew he was in agony and I kept grinding."

This remorse was bad, bad news. He chose his words carefully.

"I always thought you were somewhat unfair with him. But you had cause, too. He did lie to you. I know you were deeply in love with him, and the fact he deceived you about coming into space had to really wound. So don't judge yourself too harshly."

"That's what I tell myself."

"Look, things seem to be at equilibrium between you two. Just be decent to him, and let it go at that."

"Yes."

"Will you keep an open mind about you and me?"

She again squeezed his hand, this time with both her hands. "Yes. I promise."

"I'll always be there for you, no matter what."

"I know that."

Then her lovely face clouded. "Are we going to make it, Jimmy? Tell me truthfully. If you love me."

He spoke truthfully. "We will. You will live to see your grandchildren, and they to see theirs. Those aren't bombastic words. My bones tell me this, and they always tell good."

"Thank you."

They would make it, too. Oh, yes. Despite Lomerov's near fatal procrastinating, the base would survive this perilous first year. The base would continue unto the tenth generation, and beyond, because of the new sheriff in town.

Later, after most everyone had turned in, Peck sat at the command station. The only sound beyond an occasional snore came from the ventilation fans.

He tried to work on the coming week's schedule. But he could not focus as his innards roiled.

Peck sighed. He had wanted to spare Ward, he really had. They had a passel of smart people here, and Ward might be the smartest. Ward liked to say he had no scientific background, but the man was devouring technical manuals. Ward had chosen to major in fuel cells and minor in the solar arrays. With hands on experience he would be expert in both inside a year.

Moreover Peck admired his resilience. Ward had taken the worst psychological battering of any of them—but he just kept on ticking. He could have easily collapsed into a depressed funk, like Harper and Susan did on and off. Instead Ward gritted his teeth and strove to contribute.

Yes, he had planned to spare Ward. Peck thought him safely out of the competition for Anne. He thought Ward and Maria a sure couple now that Ward seemed to have given up on Anne for good.

But Anne had not given up on him.

### Part Four

Not half now,

But whole

Robert Merrill

16

January 25, 2022

Along with Lekota, Harper, and Togura, Lomerov stepped behind the sunscreen. A futile act on his part, really. He had absorbed so many rems over the past thirty years a few minutes' protection was not going to matter.

They waited as Roger in the bulldozer worked to deepen the trench. In the crane Todd also waited, ready to lift the propellant section that would serve as another farm module. Fully out in the sun stood Jimmy, hands on hips.

Lomerov had to give him that, his courage. Jimmy could be huddling here with them. But no, he always had to demonstrate his superior manliness, and his contempt for the less brave. Or better said, the less rash.

Over the past two weeks Lomerov had come more and more to believe Jimmy the one responsible for the damage to the Altair. He had no direct proof, not a shred of it. But more and more it made sense.

Lomerov remembered the tale of Hernando Cortes, the conqueror of Mexico. He had sailed from Cuba to Mexico with six hundred men. Cortes was worried about the constancy of his men in the face of what he knew would be an arduous campaign. So to assure that no one would falter, he burned the ships once ashore. Everyone knew from that point it was conquer or perish.

It was Jimmy who had burned their ship. With no hope of escape, all fifteen at the base must give maximum effort—the maximum effort Jimmy had always urged. Instead of working ten hours a day, now little complaint was heard about sixteen. Togura, Lekota, Agarwal—and that shirker Harper—now willingly toiled in the radiation at the farm site. No objections were heard about having all fuel cells there either.

Jimmy was shrewd. He must have anticipated Lomerov would step down from the chairmanship. He knew Lomerov well. Jimmy also knew that he as the heroic pilot and as the efficient operations officer would gain the post afterwards. A back door coup.

When he looked upon Jimmy now he saw a man supremely dangerous. Lomerov did not know if Jimmy planned murder to solve their overpopulation, or whether he would let the suicides of Lomerov, Roger, and Togura—who now also had made a pledge—do most of the work for him. Add Harper's death in an "accident" and someone else "expiring" during sleep, and the problem was solved.

Two days ago he had come so close to killing Jimmy. They had been the last ones in the mud room after return from the farm. Jimmy had his back to him, and a wrench was in easy reach. One blow on the base of the skull and the threat from Jimmy would be gone.

But Lomerov would not kill a man without facing him.

Afterward he wrestled mightily with his conscience. Would he have done it, even if face to face? Would he have introduced murder to the base, and set the horrible precedent? Biggest of all, would he have killed without absolute proof? Ninety-five percent certain was not one hundred. What if Jimmy was not guilty, and Lomerov left the real saboteur free to work more evil?

Yesterday Lomerov had gone to Anya, and asked she give careful consideration to her relationship with Jimmy. He broached the subject gently as he could. He expected a defiant reaction, but he wanted to plant the seed.

She had shocked him with her reply.

"I don't know what to do, Sergei." Her eyes probed his for help. "Jimmy has asked me to marry. I am fond of him, but I am of Todd too. I know each woman will now have to take a man here, and I will have to choose. But I don't know which one yet."

"Do not decide until have baby. Agree?"

"Yes."

Then she swallowed. "Maybe I shouldn't take either of them. Maybe I should crawl back to Roger."

He had been dumbfounded at the reference to Roger. He asked if she were serious.

"I—I won't decide anything until after the baby."

"Must not. And under no circumstance tell anyone thoughts about Roger. Especially not Jimmy. Agree?"

She nodded.

Later he brooded. If Anne did return to Roger—if Roger would have her—Lomerov could not predict Jimmy's reaction. Or maybe he could. Roger could end up the one in an "accident".

And what about Maria? She could also react violently, though she would probably be open about it. The woman adored Roger. Maria was so sound in every other way, but where Roger was concerned Lomerov must fear for the safety of Anne.

Jimmy's voice came through his headset.

"Everyone stand clear. Todd, whenever you are ready."

"Roger."

Lomerov stepped with the others back into the sun and walked well away from the trench. The crane began lifting the half section of propellant tank. Its metal surface glinted in the strong sunlight. Then the tank stopped moving.

"I am having trouble breathing," said Todd.

Lomerov saw Todd's hands fumbling at his oxygen controls.

Jimmy ran towards him. "Harper! Get a backup tank."

"What?"

"Backup tank. In the rover. Move your ass."

Harper took off. The rest of them joined in the rush toward Todd. Lomerov got ten meters before he stumbled. The next thing he saw was regolith against his visor.

He struggled to rise. He was also having trouble breathing.

"Jimmy, I in trouble too."

"You sure are, Sergei."

Lomerov managed to turn on his side. About him lay several other men. They were still and silent. And then he understood.

Same old story. While he debated himself to a draw, Jimmy had acted.

Peck looked down on his old friend.

"Ward's getting away," shouted Harper.

He turned to see Ward stumbling toward the southern edge of the plateau. Roger should have already fallen, but Peck attributed his flight to pure adrenaline. The lack of oxygen was obviously affecting his reasoning ability, or else he would not be headed toward a kilometers long plunge.

"Let him go. I doubt he'll get much further." Ward sure couldn't make the edge. It was two klics away.

Peck returned his attention to Sergei. Sergei now lay on his back, his chest heaving desperately.

"Sorry, Sergei. I thought it would be quicker. I didn't intend any suffering."

Sergei drilled eyes of hate. "Evil man," he rasped.

"Practical man."

"You enemy of people."

"Remember, you volunteered. You wanted to die for the common good, and now you are."

"How can kill Todd? He comrade."

"He is not practical. We need only practical people here."

"He rival for Anne."

"That too."

"God curse you."

"Die, Sergei."

"Base, Lomerov." Sergei's voice was now not much above a whisper. "Peck killing us."

"They can't hear you. Our transmissions are off the net now. Think I wouldn't take that precaution? Of course, you were never too good about thinking ahead. If you had been, you would not be lying here."

"Evil man."

Harper came up beside him. "All except Ward are dead."

Peck saw Ward still hopping toward the plateau edge. He had about four hundred meters to go. He did not appear to be slowing. Goddamn Harper.

"We don't want to lose his body," said Harper.

"Stop him. Run him down with the rover."

Harper hesitated,

"Get going. I bet he's still moving because you screwed up on the oxygen."

"I didn't. I triple checked."

"Well, something's keeping him up. And Sergei talking. Run him down!"

Harper rushed toward the rover.

"You take Harper as ally?" asked Sergei.

"Yeah. He's always been practical."

"Not get away with this. Others see."

"It will all be a horrible accident. I was the one in the crane, and the tank got away from me. It broke loose to crush those by the sunscreen. Fortunately Harper was out of the way when the tragedy occurred."

"They never believe."

Peck shrugged. "Oh, there may be suspicion. But no proof. And look how the situation improves for the base. After a couple weeks of grief, people will conclude they are much better off."

"You—"

Sergei's head slumped. His eyes and mouth were still open, but unmoving. He was gone.

Peck took a deep breath. Despite himself, he felt deep sorrow. Before the moon they had been friends a long time. Brutal circumstances here had forced them apart. Sergei was a good man, if not a good leader. Before the moon Sergei had led a storied life. He was certainly one of those with the right stuff, one of a dying breed. Peck would miss him.

He turned his attention back to Ward. But Ward had disappeared. And that fuckup Harper, slithering the rover as he drove over loose regolith, hadn't even made it halfway to the edge.

Ward fought terror as he waited for his oxygen to run out. He lay still in the blackness that clothed the steep slope. Moments before Harper had swept a flashlight beam into the darkness. The beam had come within yards of exposing him.

He should already be dead. He had watched with concern as Todd faltered at the controls of the crane. But he was sure a reserve tank could be gotten to Todd in time. Then Sergei had dropped to his knees, followed by Jacob and Togura. Seconds later all were on the ground.

Peck and Harper were still standing, both just observing. Then Ward understood. And he started running. Blindly and in full panic, he now had to admit.

In his headset he caught the exchange between Peck and the gasping Sergei. The exchange merely confirmed what his eyes told him. What his brain still did not want to believe.

Ward forced his breathing to slow. With each breath he waited for sign his lungs weren't getting enough oxygen. A sign which had to come soon. Peck and Harper surely hadn't allowed him any extra. Didn't Peck say he was running on adrenaline alone?

Peck was going to get away with this monstrous crime. He would be able to pass it off, like he said, as an accident with the crane. Like he said, people might have suspicions but nothing provable. Only the dead at the Spaceguard site could dispute him.

Then it hit Ward. He might soon be dead, but he could dispute. How were they going to explain his absence from the pile of crushed bodies? If they did not recover him, that would blow an enormous hole in their story.

He should get moving. Peck and Harper would be back in earnest to find him. And kill him, if asphyxiation hadn't already done the job.

The further away he got, the less chance they could locate him. This side of the Mons would remain in darkness another three days, and they had only hours to find him to make their lies stand up. Denying them his body was the only victory now available to him.

But there was another victory possible. He could wait where he was. When they came searching on this treacherous slope, he could try to stay concealed until they were close. With luck he could bowl them to their deaths. It was five miles to the bottom of this abyss, where the sun never reached. He would enjoy their screams in his headset.

He must not let himself be tempted. His oxygen could easily expire before they returned. He could not risk them finding his body. He had to put distance between himself and here.

His eyes were better adjusted to the ink darkness now. A little light was coming from the south, especially from the rims of Shackleton and de Gerlache craters. He could somewhat differentiate between the slope and the vacuum bordering it.

On all four limbs he scooted across the slope face. Fortunately the slope was mostly free of regolith and he had solid rock to work with. Nonetheless a foot slipped several times. Good handholds saved him. He did not want to end up at the bottom of the abyss, his body alone in eternal darkness and where the temperature hovered not far from absolute zero.

He had moved about fifty yards when flashlights probed again. Peck's voice came through the headset.

"Where is the fucker?"

"He can't have gotten far," said Harper.

"He wasn't supposed to get twenty meters. You screwed up."

"No. I'm sure his oxygen was same as the others."

"Then how do you explain this?"

"A chicken with his head cut off."

"Maybe."

"What else?"

"Well, if that's the case, our headless chicken took a header over the side."

"Then he's eight thousand meters below us."

Silence, as the flashlights probed and probed. The beams didn't come close to Ward.

"Fuck," said Peck.

Then they turned away.

Maria was duty officer when the call came through. It was Jimmy. She had never heard him before with shaken voice.

"There has been an accident. We have casualties."

"What?"

"I—we have multi casualties. Fatalities."

Gasps arose in the habitation module. Anne, who was laying out tableware for lunch, dropped a mug and waddled toward the command station. Kurt, Vanaja and Susan also hurried over. Everyone wore disbelieving expressions.

"Say again," said Maria.

"We—" Jimmy's voice broke. "We have dead. It's horrible. The crane—"

"Who's dead?" cried Anne.

Her head pushed past Maria's shoulder, right into the transceiver mike. Maria wanted to shove the bitch away. But she could hardly do that to a woman seven and a half months pregnant. The others also crowded in, their breaths hot on her neck.

"Jimmy, what has happened?" Maria asked. "We'll send assistance."

"The crane—Roger was lifting a tank section, but he lost control. The section—it swung into those by a sunscreen. It killed them all. They're all dead."

A chill swept Maria. She looked at the four huddled beside her. She knew her eyes must be wide as theirs.

Maria had trouble engaging her tongue. Amid her shock flashed the thankful thought that Roger was not among the victims. And she wondered what Roger was doing on the crane. He had minimal training on that piece of equipment.

"Are you sure they are all dead?"

"They're gone. Crushed. No doubt."

"Good God."

"Who died?" Anne half shrieked.

"Anne, it was Sergei. And Todd. The Colonel. And Lekota."

Anne began keening. Maria really wanted to smack her. This was no time for histrionics. Then Susan and Kata started in with sobs. Kurt didn't emit a sound, but he was ashen.

Maria tried to think clearly. She could give into emotion later, but right now she was duty officer. And also council member. She had to bring some order to this.

She'd head out to Spaceguard in the spare rover, while Vanaja and Toshi—now in the algae module—readied for emergency surgery. She held out hope some of the victims were alive. In his shock and grief Jimmy might not be seeing things correctly.

"I'm coming right out. Do what you can to stop any bleeding."

"No need, Maria. They are gone."

"I'm coming anyway. You and William are okay? And how about Roger? He must be beside himself with what has happened."

"He's gone too, Maria."

That did knock the breath out of her. It also silenced Anne, who stood with mouth frozen open.

"But he was in the crane, Jimmy. How could he be hurt? Did the section bounce back onto him?"

"No, he—he ran away after it happened. We tried to stop him, but he was out of his mind with what he had done. He ran to the south face and went over. There's no sign of him."

Maria fought dizziness. Beside her Anne slumped. Susan caught her before she reached the floor. Anne looked like she was being strangled. Which was how Maria felt.

"No..."

"We'll go back and look. But I'm afraid he's eight kilometers below. This is all so horrible."

"I'm coming out. I'll bring the rest of the men. We'll start searching down the slope."

"Maria, the south slope is a death trap. We're not going to lose anyone else."

"You don't know he went to the bottom. What if he's injured a couple hundred meters down? We've got to get to him before his oxygen runs out."

"We have been calling to him. No response."

"If you're too frightened to go down there, I will. I'm coming out."

"Hold on, Maria. No one's going down the slope without lifelines. Bring out all the number two cable you can. And I'll be the one descending."

She bit her tongue. She was ashamed she had in any way accused Jimmy of cowardice.

Now she felt fear for him. The cable was for running electricity, not securing men on a sixty degree slope. What if a line broke? Jimmy was right, they didn't need any more dead today.

But as long as there was a chance to find Roger, while there was still time, someone had to try. It might as well be her. She wasn't sure she wanted to be around anyway if he were lost.

"I'm going down, Jimmy. You're too valuable for us to lose."

"Negative. I used to do some climbing. I'll be right at home."

Anne came back to the transceiver. "Jimmy, you have to find him."

"If he's in reach, I will."

"I'll be out with the cable," said Maria. "I'll bring Kurt and Toshi to help with the lines." She took a deep breath. "And we can start bringing back the bodies."

"Roger. Best to get them in the cold soon as possible."

That struck her as an unfeeling statement. But, no, it was just a statement and Jimmy was under high stress even if he would never admit it.

Anne faced her with bugging eyes. "Bring him back, Maria. Please."

Maria pushed past her without reply. The words "maybe you should have shown him more concern before this, you prima donna asshole" stayed in her mouth.

17

They had just returned to the base when Ward's baritone came over the transceiver. The voice of the man he thought safely dead axed into Peck. His knees buckled, but he managed to remain upright. He fought panic at the threat of imminent exposure.

"Base Alpha, does anyone read me? I need help."

Peck moved toward Susan, who sat before the transceiver. This couldn't be. Five hours had passed since the others died. Silently he raged at Harper, who had obviously messed up with Ward's oxygen.

By the transceiver Susan had whitened. As had everyone in the habitation module. Peck wondered how many thought they were hearing a ghost.

"Roger—is that you? We thought—"

"I'm alive. But I'm exhausted. Please come and get me."

"Where are you?"

Peck thought furiously. He must be ready to convincingly refute Ward. And Harper must convincingly back him. Let the man for once be up to a challenge.

"I'm outside the south rim of our crater. Please hurry. I can feel my oxygen running short. I don't know how many minutes I've got left."

Peck turned. "I'll go get him." He spoke softly, and away from the direction of the transceiver.

But Ward heard him. "No! No Peck! He killed them all. Arrest him right now."

In a fit of feigned fury, fed by the real anger that Ward dared to still be alive, he exploded.

"You son of a bitch! You killed them. Then you bugged out and hid, and now you try to blame me. Yes, I was wrong to let you on the crane. But be a man now, own up to what you did."

"I'll kill you with my bare hands, Peck. Soon as I see you."

"He's delusional. I told you he'd lost his mind."

"You're a dead man, Peck. You too, Harper."

Eyes swung to Harper, who to his credit looked properly astounded.

"He has gone stark raving." The pinched faced Brit sadly shook his head.

Peck switched off the transceiver. Before the others could object he pointed to Kurt, Agarwal and Toshi. "Go get him. Take a spare oxygen tank. But put him the Altair. We can't chance him in here in this state."

"You can't put him there," said Maria. "It's completely exposed to GCRs. And no one has lived in there for seven months."

The ascent stage of the Altair had provided living quarters for Expedition IV until the base modules were buried. Its life support systems were still intact, even though a lot of electronic equipment had been removed for protection from radiation. Ward would have all he needed to survive. Peck wasn't sure if the chemical toilet would work, but this man who should be dead could use a bucket if it didn't.

"While you are fetching Roger, I'll go over and get the oxygen feed started."

"I don't want him out there."

"Where else are we going to stick him, Maria? It's obvious he's snapped. I can't even be sure what happened at the farm was fully accidental."

She scowled. "What kind of accusation is that?"

"Four men are dead because of him. And I don't know what was going through his mind before he swung the section. It was ninety degrees off from where the section should have gone. Yes, he probably overreacted trying to correct. But in any case, it's clear at the moment he's lost his marbles. You really want to chance him in here?"

Peck knew everyone was accessing the possible link between these deaths and the damage to the Altair.

Maria didn't say anything, then lowered her eyes.

"For the time being we keep him there," said Peck. "Until we can sort it out. Okay?"

Murmurs of assent arose.

"You guys get going. Make sure you take oxygen." Peck paused. "And take some duct tape. You might need it."

Late that evening Ward received a delegation. Except received wasn't quite the right word. As they entered from the airlock, they instructed he move to the other end of the horizontal cylinder. He saw Kurt carried a taser.

Ward did as instructed. Hours earlier, when it looked as if force would be needed to put him in the Altair, he had ceased resisting. Belatedly he had realized his desperate accusations and protestations were just confirming Peck's story.

At least Maria was among the delegation. Kurt, Kata, Toshi, and Agarwal made for the rest. They carried various items, including a bucket. No need to ask what the bucket was for. They all looked tense and drained.

Ward told himself to speak calmly as possible. No more rants about killing Peck and Harper. He had to appear completely rational. Otherwise who knew how long they would keep him here. Peck certainly intended this be a years' long exile.

Maria was the first to speak. There was sorrow in her eyes. But they all were sorrowful, for all the day's dead.

"Hi, Roger. How are you feeling now?"

He decided "just peachy keen" was not the right answer. He answered gravely. "I am better. Now that I have rested some."

"Good. We have brought you things. Food and water. Some blankets."

"And a bucket, I see."

"Sorry, Roger," said Agarwal. "This is the best we can do for now. We'll exchange it daily."

"No problem. A lot better than crapping in my EVA suit. Which I guess you found I did this afternoon."

"You had cause," said Kurt.

Ward wasn't sure if the comment was sympathy or insult. Kurt had always been so hard to read.

"Got any reading material?"

"No. Tomorrow we'll bring some you something."

"Thanks."

It went quiet. They stood staring at him. Like a troop of shrinks observing their mental patient. Waiting for him to display confirming signs of their diagnosis.

He would wait them out.

Finally Kurt said, "We have some questions."

"Certainly. Go ahead."

"Can you tell us now what exactly happened? With the crane?"

"Nothing. Like I said when you hauled me in here, Todd was on it when he keeled over."

The group looked at each other.

"Because his oxygen ran out?" asked Kurt, fighting hard to keep dubiousness from his voice.

"Yes."

"That facts don't support that, Roger."

"You mean Peck's facts don't."

"No. We examined Todd's tank. Only an hour of oxygen had been used. That's how long you were out there before the accident."

Before the mass murder, Ward wanted to snap. But he stayed calm.

"They obviously put a replacement tank on him. Don't you think they had this all worked out?"

"What about your own tank?" asked Maria. She spoke plaintively.

"I don't know. They must have mixed up which one to give me. That's the only thing that makes sense."

Again they looked at each other.

"Look," he said, "I know what I saw. And heard. Peck and Harper must have conspired for weeks to do this."

"They detest each other," said Kata.

"Perfect cover. For a perfect team, since neither of them has any scruples."

"That's absurd," said Kurt. "It's sick you would try to frame Jimmy and Harper for your own horrible mistake. If it was a mistake."

" _If it was a mistake_?"

"There is doubt it was an accident."

"Let me guess. Suggested by none other than James Peck."

"Harper, too."

"Well, case closed." Ward knew he should lay off the sarcasm, but he couldn't help it.

"I don't believe it was deliberate," said Maria. "But you have to stop denying you caused the accident."

"Or else I don't get out of here."

"Roger..."

"I stand exactly by what I said. Peck and Harper sabotaged the oxygen tanks. Set them so us five of would run out at the same time. Somehow they goofed on mine. Then they smashed the bodies. I got away so he shifts the blame to me. Now he's trying to say I planned it all along."

"He's not saying that," said blond Kata. Her eyes were red, and probably not just from fatigue. Ward had never really understood the relationship between her and Togura, but she must have felt some affection for that frosty man.

"They messed up," said Ward. "They gave me one of their alibi tanks by mistake. Check all the oxygen tanks. You'll find one with just an hour of air, the one meant for me. That'll be proof I'm telling the truth."

"We have, Roger. All the reserves are full."

Ward blinked. Peck must have covered that. He would. The man was many things, including cunning.

"Then good old Jimmy planned to let me get away, so it would look like I was fleeing from the 'accident'. That's the answer."

The five inquisitors once more exchanged looks. Too late Ward realized how his words sounded: an even more farfetched explanation by an increasingly cornered man.

Maria sighed. "We'll be back in the morning, Roger. Try to get some sleep."

"You're letting a mass murderer con you. That's what you've got over there. Try to sleep on that."

Kurt flushed. "He's a hundred times the man you are. You killed them, and you're too weak or twisted to admit it. You can stay here forever, as far as I'm concerned."

Well, the computer chip was capable of some emotion.

As they left Ward called, "Don't be strangers." He couldn't resist it.

A couple shook their heads in disgust. Maria cast him a distraught look. Then they were gone.

The five delayed returning to the base. Outside in the dimly lit crater they shifted on their feet.

Maria had hoped Roger would be out of his delusion. But maybe it was too early. Being responsible for four deaths, deaths of people you lived with, would overwhelm any mind.

"Well," said Kurt, "it's obvious he doesn't have a leg to stand on."

"Yes," said Kata. "He's guilty."

Despite her resolution to remain unbiased, Maria bridled. "Of what? Are you suggesting murder, Kata?"

"I—we can't be sure. We really don't know this guy."

"We know him well enough. He's never been anything but decent to people."

"He's not one of us," said Agarwal. "He was let into space only because of his money. He was never properly screened."

Kata nodded. "There's always been that cloud over him about the plague, too."

"Roger could never kill anyone," said Toshi.

"Thank you," said Maria.

"Maybe it was not deliberate," said Agarwal. "At least on the conscious level. But think how much strain he has been in over Anne. It was amazing he held up as well as he did for so long. Today may have been the breaking point."

Maria could not discount that. At least from the standpoint of his concentration. Why had they ever let him on complex equipment like the crane?

She sighed. "I agree with Toshi that Roger did not intentionally do harm. But it's pretty obvious we have to leave him in there. For God knows how long."

"I'm afraid so," said Kurt.

"I'm sorry, Maria," said Kata.

"It has to be done," said Maria. "I admit he's not leaving us any choice."

What Maria did not admit was that his isolation did not bother her as much as it should. Roger in the Altair would keep him away from Anne. The past two weeks Maria noticed Anne glancing at Roger. With unmistakable longing. It was becoming a given that the soul twisting bitch would approach him with a plea for reconciliation.

For the baby's sake Anne would not be allowed outside until after her pregnancy. That would take care of the next six weeks. After then Maria would try to block her visitation on security grounds. Maria would argue Roger was too unstable to be confronted by the person who probably caused his breakdown. Jimmy would be a fervent ally in that.

Maria would also go along with Jimmy's insistence that radio contact be denied Roger. Jimmy said the base did not need Roger haranguing them, distracting them. Roger's safety was not an issue, since a duty officer would be monitoring Altair life support systems at all times.

She would visit Roger every day. She doubted others would, except perhaps Toshi. Roger would be very grateful for her attention and support. Perhaps at last he would respond appropriately.

"What a horrible day," said Kata. Her voice broke.

"Yeah," said Kurt.

"I can't believe they are gone. They had become like brothers."

"Yeah."

"I miss Sergei the most," said Toshi.

Kata thrust a finger at him. "Dammit, don't rank them. They're all dead. They all hurt."

It had to hurt even more to lose a lover, thought Maria, even if Kata had confided that she did not love Colonel Togura.

Maria hurt for him too. She knew that the Colonel was not the base's favorite person. But she had always gotten along with him. He was stern but fair, and a dedicated professional to his core. She had never thought him the one responsible for damage to the Altair.

She had to at last accept it was Roger, the one most suspected, who punctured the NTO tank. Maria knew he had done it only to keep Anne at the base, not to injure anyone else. Anne, Anne, she had caused so much trouble here.

"Sorry," said Toshi. "They were fine men."

"Very fine," said Agarwal.

The group fell silent.

"Roger and Sergei were good friends," said Maria. "That's why I know it was purely an accident."

"They were good friends," said Kata.

"Best friends," said Toshi.

"Sergei was a rock," said Kurt. "Even if I didn't agree with all his decisions."

"Todd was great, too," said Toshi.

"Let's not rank!"

"Sorry, Kata."

"Let's just grieve," said Maria. "And then, hard as it is, we'll have to pick ourselves up and get going again. So we don't join them."

They all nodded.

18

Three days after the deaths Peck at last heard the words he had waited so long to hear.

"After the baby comes I'll marry you," said Anne. "It's for the best."

Hardly a passionate declaration, but he would take it.

In Node 3 the two of them were deep into discussion about Ward. Anne had been upset about his exile to the Altair. Today she was becoming resigned to it. That Ward was clinging to his accusations against Peck and Harper, in the face of all contrary evidence, she accepted as sad proof he remained unbalanced.

Anne had badly wanted to talk with Ward. She felt she had the best chance to break through to him. With the aid of Maria—who had been voted new chairman—Peck was able to block that. Anne could be determined in the extreme, but she did buy the argument she must not expose her baby to a dose of GCRs. It was going to be much harder to keep her from Ward once she delivered.

He would worry about that when the time came. By then she would be visiting as Mrs. Peck anyway.

"That's very good to hear. A ray of sunlight amid all this gloom."

"It's for the best. I don't have much right to Roger anymore. And Maria will be good for him."

"Don't beat yourself up over him."

"I don't like myself very much how I treated him."

"Don't beat yourself up."

"I feel I'm responsible for his breakdown. I was so cruel."

That you were. But Ward also seemed to masochistically embrace her blows. It had taken two to tango in that soap opera.

"I hurt him so."

"Roger is responsible for what happened at the work site. None of that is on you."

"I'm not entirely sure."

"Be sure."

"He wouldn't have done it on purpose. I know him."

"I now believe it was a complete accident. I was a bit out of my mind to suggest otherwise that day. Seeing people—people you know—mashed like bugs will do that."

"It still seems unreal. I still expect them to come through the airlock."

"I know how close you and Sergei were."

For the twentieth time since the deaths, tears welled in her eyes. Peck hugged her.

"I'm sorry, Anne. I should never have let Roger on the controls."

Peck had stepped down from the chairmanship in contrition for supposedly allowing Roger to man the crane. He knew such a gesture was required. Maria promptly instated him as deputy and as operations officer. Peck was sure at the next election, scheduled for year's end, he could regain the chairmanship.

"You couldn't predict what would happen. They say it was a freak accident."

"Yeah."

"Jimmy, if it's a boy, I'm going to name him Sergei."

"That would be very fitting."

"I eventually want to have a child by him."

Peck wanted to nix the idea. Instead he said, "If you wish."

"I know everyone thinks his sperm is no good. But we owe it to him to have his offspring here."

"No argument with that. I just worry about you having a miscarriage."

"I'll have your child first. Then try for Sergei's."

He nodded. Well before that time, Peck would spirit Sergei's—and Lekota's—seed outside to get terminally blasted by radiation. In Sergei's case to minimize risk for Anne, and in Lekota's case to keep black blood from degrading this new civilization.

"Do you think Roger and Maria have made love yet?" Her big brown eyes bore into his.

Christ, keep your nose out of that, he wanted to reply.

"Wouldn't be surprised. But I don't know."

"I mean before the accident. I know it will happen now."

If he puts a bag over her face. Of course, a man long deprived cared less and less what was above the neckline.

"I honestly don't know. I'm pretty sure she's not pregnant."

"There'll be plenty of that now, won't there?"

That had finally been agreed upon, during the base meeting last night. At least in theory. Everyone knew for the colony to go on, they had to produce children. Two per woman, and preferably more. But except for Anne none of the women had volunteered to get knocked up in the near term.

Alas, their biological clocks were ticking. At an ever faster pace, taking into consideration that they had received many times more radiation than the average woman. Susan was the oldest at thirty-seven. Anne would soon be thirty-five. Kata and Vanaja were thirty-three. Maria was in the best situation, just twenty-eight and with the least time in space.

If Peck could order pregnancies, he would have each woman pumping out a child per year. He wanted to expand the population as rapidly as possible. Staying static in numbers from generation to generation, especially early on, was a recipe for extinction. The colony was going to need skilled people by the score to stay viable.

"Yes," he said, "plenty of babies will be arriving over the next several years." So he hoped. He would push hard for the five women to do their duty.

"We need children. To turn this into a happy place."

"Yes, indeed."

He hugged her again and smiled.

They were going to make it now. With the culling, the base had gained enormous breathing room. Food and other resource exhaustion was averted. Morale would soar once grief faded. When Anne's child arrived in five or six weeks, the base should be ready for quite a celebration.

Peck already celebrated. He knew he had dodged a major bullet. What he first believed disastrous, the survival of Ward, proved the most fortuitous boon. The responsibility for the death, and any suspicion of foul play, had been shunted to Ward.

He had not wanted to kill Ward anyway. His imprisonment was much better, as it was inducing Maria to become a firm ally. Ward's high intelligence was still available to the colony, too. Though Peck had yet to determine how to put it to use.

Those he needed gone were gone. He had been fond of Todd, but Todd may have well beaten him out for Anne. His former copilot was becoming too assertive anyway, certainly no longer deferential. Sergei was turning into an adversary. Lekota was of pure Negro blood, reason enough for elimination. And Togura...Crappy Jappy was the one person Peck took pleasure in killing.

Anne pressed against him. Her warmth felt so good. It would feel even better a month and a half from now, when they for the first time mated.

He grinned. Once more he would bed a desirable married woman, only this time she would be his wife.

Roger did not look any worse for wear, thought Maria. He almost looked chipper. But that could be manifestation of his continuing delusion.

She handed him an updated reading tablet.

"I've included the complete works of Dickens," she said. "You're really going to work your way through them?" There were dozens of novels and short stories.

"Something I always wanted to do. Never got the time."

"Even when you—" Maria caught her tongue. She didn't know if it were a sore point with him, when he had been forced into hiding by the Islamists. She had learned of the compound from others, as he never mentioned the place.

"When I was in my other exile?" He laughed. "No. I still had a business empire to run."

She sat beside him on one of the foldout benches that also served as beds. She remembered, not fondly, living in this short cylinder for two months with three other people. Fortunately they had been so busy the time passed quickly until that blessed day the members of Expedition IV could move into the base. Of course, those relatively pleasant living conditions disappeared when the ISS refugees arrived.

The ascent stage had plenty of living space for one. Maybe that was why Roger did not seem to mind being in here so much. He had an abundance of that most precious commodity, privacy.

"Thanks for bringing the plant," said Roger. He nodded at the spider plant Maria had hung at the rear of the five meter long cylinder.

"You've welcome."

She dared to shift within an inch of him. Roger did not ease away, as he had last time. A most hopeful sign.

He was such a handsome man. He needed a haircut and a shave, but he still looked so scrumptious. It was hard to believe he was fifty-six. As with the first time, as with every time she saw him, the pit of her stomach dipped as if she were on a roller coaster.

"Tell me truthfully, Roger. How are you doing in here?"

"Not bad. Don't like using the bucket, but otherwise I can't complain."

"Really?"

"Oh. I wish I was over there, and Peck and his henchman were over here."

"Roger, you can't go on about that."

"I know. Doesn't show I'm coming to my senses."

"That's exactly right."

"Peck will never let me out anyway."

"That won't be his decision. It will be by vote of the base."

"Maybe. Look, I appreciate your coming over here so much. You and Toshi are about it."

"People like you, Roger. I think they just don't know what to say to you."

"I was always more tolerated than liked. Most never trusted me. That's why I'm such a good patsy."

"Roger..."

"Say one day I admit to the 'accident'. People will think I'm faking acknowledgement. Or if they did think me sincere, they will still wonder if I killed intentionally. They'll say for safety's sake we better keep Ward corralled."

In her gut Maria knew Roger was right. It would be a very long time before he was allowed out. Again guilt jabbed that she was heartened at the prospect of having him to herself for years ahead.

She was not going to let him remain exposed to radiation, though. When the final farm modules were in place, she would bring the crane back to the crater. They would lift the ascent stage off the rest of the Altair and place it on the crater floor. They would then bulldoze enough regolith around and over the ascent stage to provide Roger with adequate shielding. In the meantime they would get the chemical toilet working again.

Maria shifted to put her thigh against his. She wore her coveralls, while Roger was in T-shirt and shorts. Her eyes feasted on his muscular legs.

Now he did ease away.

Maria scooted to maintain contact. She put her hand on his.

"I can't help being ugly, Roger. But the rest of me is all woman."

"Maria, I..."

"Am I that repulsive?"

"No. I just don't have the right. I like you very much, but I am not in love with you. I won't take advantage."

Her hand slipped to his thigh.

"Take advantage."

"I can't."

She stifled anger. But she could see the beginning of an erection beneath his cloth.Maria smiled. "You leave me no choice." She stood and started removing her orange coveralls.

"Maria, don't."

"I'm not a particularly experienced woman, Roger. So you'll have to do most of the driving once I get the car out of the garage."

She had the coveralls off quickly. Her undergarments followed.

His eyes were running over her flesh. She had a good, young figure and Roger had been without a woman a long time. His shorts bulged fully now.

She would leave it up to him. She had been forward enough. If he didn't take her now, he never would. She didn't want to contemplate how much rejection would hurt.

Roger stood. His hands traced her arms and hips. Fire and ice played havoc on her skin. Her breaths became shorter and her heart rate accelerated.

With all her will she kept her own hands still.

"Maria..."

"Please. Don't think about anything else. Just now. Here."

Then he was undressed himself. He pulled her close. He kissed her as his hands cupped her breasts. Then ice was gone from her skin, leaving only flame.

Peck had known this was coming. And he really didn't know how to remedy it.

In the rover the two of them were moving east along the plateau. They were headed toward the solar array complex at the Mons summit. Ostensibly he and Harper were on an inspection run, a run Harper had demanded.

To their left hung the orb of the earth, waxing now towards full. To their right the much smaller sun hovered just above Shackleton Crater. A reminder that a month from now the sun's disk would begin to slip into the horizon and power generation from the arrays would drop.

But that was next month's problem.

Several hundred meters after emerging from the base's crater, Harper asked they switch to Channel B. He then started up. Harper had previously alluded to his situation in their few private moments since the deaths ten days ago. Peck had said to be patient, let time work for him.

Peck tried plying the same advice again.

"It's still too soon. People haven't recovered yet. You'll find the terrain much better a month from now."

"You said I would get Susan."

"I said that looked likely. I still do, if you give her time to grieve. Remember how sweet she was on Todd." That hadn't been reciprocated one bit, with Todd so focused on Anne.

"She looked at me like I was dung when I suggested us as a couple. Like dung."

As Peck drove he didn't look at Harper. But the acid in Harper's voice left no doubt fury played on his face.

Before the deaths Peck really hadn't given much thought to Susan's receptivity to Harper. Peck supposed he would have promised anything to seal Harper's support. With Ward projected out of the picture, Peck thought Harper would be left with whichever woman Kurt did not chose, Susan or Maria.

The problem now of course was that Maria had Ward available, and Susan seemed resigned to Kurt. Peck and Anne, Toshi and Kata, Agarwal and Vanaja were set couples—so tight assed Harper was left empty handed.

"Give her time. It's not a done deal between her and Kurt."

"It will be soon."

"Let me talk to Susan." Yeah, right, what was he going to ask her, to take one for the base and agree to periodically fuck Harper?

"You better do more than talk."

Despite Harper's threatening tone, Peck resisted flaring.

"You will have a woman. I promised then and I promise it now."

"Tell me how."

"First you promise to stay cool, calm, collected. Nothing is going to repel a woman more than you insinuating you have a right to her."

"Susan will never go with me. You should have seen that look."

Peck couldn't blame her. Harper had proved singularly unappealing ever since being ousted as commander on the ISS. Morose, complaining, unhelpful. Plus he had a face not far removed from a horse's. On a physical basis he and Maria would have been a natural couple.

"I will work something out," said Peck.

"You are lying. When it's all said and done, I'll be left alone."

Again Peck resisted anger. For the first time—for the first time seriously, that was—he considered how easily the base could do without this man.

"I will appeal to the women. Each might be willing to sleep with you on occasion."

Jesus, he couldn't believe he had just said that. But Harper was painting him into a corner. He to come up with something. He sure couldn't afford Harper turning on him.

"I would be a charity case, you mean."

Peck followed the well worn track to avoid a field of boulders dead ahead. Glinting in the distance and growing larger were the solar arrays.

"We play our cards right," said Peck, "we can swing it."

"I wanted a woman of my own. Someone to sleep beside every night."

"We'll see what we can do."

"If Ward were dead, that would make things easier."

Peck almost slammed on the brakes. What sort of shit was this?

"I don't want to hear talk like that."

"The air could fail in the Altair. Just long enough to take out Ward."

Peck felt as if his grip would snap the steering bar. Then his grip eased, as he realized he should be thankful Harper had not attempted the asphyxiation on his own.

"William, that would be the same as shouting we killed the others. It would be plain as day. You see that, don't you?"

"You promised me a woman. And now you intend to renege. That's what is plain."

Peck should kill Harper right here. Suspicions be damned. He would break this odious creature's neck and claim it was the result of a rollover.

"Don't try anything with me either," said Harper. "I know how you think. I have protection."

Peck brought the rover to a halt. At last he turned to face Harper.

"Such as?"

"I have put down testimony as to what happened that day. Laying out everything in detail. The testimony will display on every monitor and sound in every speaker if I don't enter a code every day."

"You're a maggot, Harper."

"No worse than you. Get me a woman, any way you have to. Kill someone besides Ward, it makes no difference to me."

"If I did—if—it would have to be untraceable."

"You are inventive."

"Yeah."

"I want this done in the next two weeks. I'll give you no longer. Otherwise I'll expose you."

"You'd go down with me."

"If I don't have a companion for the years to come, what do I care? Besides, I can say—truthfully—that you came to me with the plan. I'll add you threatened to include me in the victims unless I cooperated. I'll get off easier than you."

Peck sat back in the rover. He laughed. "Got me by the balls, William."

"This is not what I wanted. You keep your promise, you'll never have trouble from me again."

"So another person dies."

"It's what we planned anyway. Five dead men."

"That's true. But you fouled up with the oxygen tanks."

"I checked them all!"

"So you said. Well, I'll get us down to five men. Then I'll hold you to your promise of no more trouble. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

Harper put out his hand to shake on it. Peck nodded and shook. How instead Peck would have loved to yank the bugger from the rover and bury him alive in the regolith.

19

One of the advantages of being operations officer was that Peck could arrange to have people where he wanted when he wanted. This morning he and Kurt were alone in the third of the farm modules. Toshi and Maria were in the first, Agarwal and Harper in the second.

In T-shirts, shorts and boots Peck and Kurt were watering the twelve long rows of meter high corn by hand. It was time consuming and not easy on the back, but they lacked tubing to employ slow drip irrigation. Going from plant to plant also gave them a chance to shake each stalk to ensure pollination.

The corn was coming along fine. Here the plants faced no insect pests or competing weeds. The soil composed of moon regolith, sterile human waste, and earth soil bacteria had so far proved a sound growth medium. They should be getting their first ears of corn in eight weeks.

It was a strange smell he encountered in the farm modules. The acrid, sulphurous smell of the regolith battled with the almost heady scent of plant greenery. The bigger the corn got, the better the smell got in these humid confines. This was as close as he was going to get to feeling like he was back on earth.

When they were halfway through the watering Peck put down his can and moved over to Kurt. He faced him with hands on hips and a grim look.

"Something the matter, Jimmy?"

"I've got a problem. One only you can help with."

Kurt put his can down. "What do you mean?"

"This has to stay between you and me. Do you pledge that?"

Kurt looked befuddled, then worried. Worried that Peck might have uncovered a serious problem in a critical base system. Perhaps one with no apparent workaround.

"What's going on?"

"Do you pledge? Absolutely pledge?"

"Of course. Are we in trouble?"

"I could be. Harper is trying to get me to share Anne."

"What?"

"You know he's been lately. Susan had to fend him off."

Kurt's nostrils flared. "Yes. But why don't you just tell him to go to hell?"

"He's threatening to say Ward was right in accusing me and him in the deaths. He's saying I share Anne or he'll 'confess'. He says if he doesn't get Anne, or another woman, he doesn't care what happens to him. I don't think he's bluffing."

Kurt blew out air. "I always knew he was a shit, but this..."

"I know. I wanted to snap his neck, believe me I did. Maybe he saw that, because he said he has a confession hidden. I guess somewhere on the network, because he says it will display on the screens and through the intercom if he fails to enter some sort of code each day."

Kurt shook his head. "He's lost it."

"Sure has. That's where I need your help. Find his message and erase it."

"I should be able to—" Kurt looked at him sharply. "And then what?"

Peck met Kurt's Nordic blue eyes. "I will eliminate him."

"Kill him?"

"Yes."

"I don't know, Jimmy."

"If I let him live and he spews this stuff, what do you think will happen to the base? The distrust and discord will be overwhelming. Do you think we can afford that, after such a long struggle to get things running smoothly?"

"I loathe him, but..."

"He's got to go. You want him sniffing after Susan and the others? You want to bet against him one day resorting to rape? Or major sabotage? The man is a time bomb now."

Kurt ran a hand through his sandy hair. "I—I want no part in his death. I mean you'd have to do it on your own."

"Agreed. I'll take him down in a fair fight, out in the open. I'll say he pressed me on Anne and I exploded. I'll get some censure but I guarantee no tears will be shed."

"You're right on that."

"Will you look then?"

Kurt traced a boot toe through the blackish soil. Finally he nodded.

"I'll find it. But whatever happens afterward, I don't know anything about it."

"You won't."

"Jimmy—tell me you didn't have anything to do with the deaths."

"If you think that, go right to Maria and the others and tell them about our conversation."

"I'm just asking."

"I did not. And you examined the evidence."

"Yes. It all points to Ward."

"If you have doubts, go see Maria. Convene a tribunal. I'll put my word up against Harper's any day."

"That won't be necessary."

"With Harper gone, we have completely smooth sailing. He's useless and worse than useless."

Kurt nodded. "Even before hearing this, I've been worried he would do something irrational. There's that slow burn in his eyes."

"Find he message quickly as you can. Then we'll be done with it."

"I will."

Peck patted his shoulder. "Thanks. I owe you big time."

"You're the one we owe, Jimmy. If you hadn't gotten the base moving, I don't know where we'd be. The crop will come in just in time."

"We've got to act completely normal around Harper. Don't start being real friendly with him or anything. He'll smell a rat."

"God, let's hope this is the last death."

"It will be. Until some of us start hitting up against old age."

"Or cancer."

Yeah, that was the more likely route out. For the men especially, with all the outdoor work they were doing. Of course the women would face their traditional nemesis of breast cancer anyway. But what would come would come. And cancer was something Harper would not encounter.

On the sixteenth day of his confinement Ward had a new visitor. Except this one did not enter the module. He instead remained in the airlock and spoke via the intercom.

"How's it going, Roger?"

Ward moved to the speaker.

"Enemy of the people Peck, I presume."

"None other."

"Come on in, Jim."

"I'll pass. Know you'd like me to."

"I'd kill you."

"You'd try. I'm younger, stronger, quicker."

"But I have justice, truth, and the American way on my side."

Peck laughed. "Roger, I like you more each day. You don't believe that, but it's true."

"I hate you more each day. Also true."

"I am glad you are alive. True too."

"Why are we talking, Jimbo?"

"I have a proposal."

"You've got to be kidding."

"Not at all. We both know you aren't a crazy man. You want the colony to succeed as much as anyone."

Ward wished the hatch opened out instead of in. He'd have a chance of forcing it. Then they would see who could take who. He would use a technique Blummer said he had employed on a mission in Afghanistan: thrusting the index finger into a man's brain via his eyeball. Blummer said death followed quickly.

"I've been contemplating how you can contribute to the base. It's no good having a man of your intellectual abilities sitting on the bench."

"I can do laundry."

"May take you up on that. What I have in mind is your reviewing my plans to take the base to a fully sustaining state. And come up with some ideas of your own."

"I thought once the corn farm was completed, we'd be there."

"That's just step one. Out of a hundred."

"You jest."

"Hardly. Do you think in twenty years we'll have a single computer working? The solar cells will go a lot quicker, with micrometers and radiation taking their toll. And how about EVA suits? They are going to wear out."

Ward stepped back from the speaker. Now something besides hate and contempt competed for his thoughts. He hadn't remotely considered these potential problems. He wondered how many at the base had been able to look beyond overcoming the threat of starvation or who would end up with which mate.

"What would we do without you to keep us on track, James?"

"Be up the creek, my friend."

"You make it sound like we already are."

"No. But we must sustain ourselves as original equipment deteriorates. We have to find ways to manufacture substitutes. They will of course be less sophisticated. Less doesn't mean they can't do the job."

Ward snorted. "We can make computers?"

"Crude ones. There is no reason we can't produce vacuum tubes. Got plenty of vacuum. Transistors aren't beyond our reach either. And the Archives contain all the specs on how to build a computer from them."

"Solar cells?"

"Very doable. EVA suits will be much harder. But not impossible."

"The base has the Archives. And people with advanced degrees in the sciences. What do you need me for?"

"The rest of us have our day to day tasks, running us ragged. You have a surfeit of free time, plus you are bright and creative. I want you to be our think tank."

"You're a piece of work, Peck."

"Or do you want to sit in here and pout?"

"What I want is the old penalty for high treason. Hang you almost to point of death. Then remove your bowels while you scream your lungs out. Then we divide your body into four pieces. It all begins with castration."

Silence from the other side.

"You hear me, you utter vermin?"

"Boy, you do hold a grudge." Peck chuckled, but it was forced.

"You'll answer for what you did. I swear it."

"Maybe in the hereafter. Now we've got a base to make endure. You on board or not?"

Ward found his fists had balled to nearly breaking his own fingers.

He let out a big breath. "I'm on board."

"Good. When Maria next comes over, she'll bring a tablet containing all the info we have on solar cells, past and present. Devise how we can produce at least a primitive version. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

"Forget how you feel about me. Concentrate on this. Hell, I could die of a stroke next week. You'd still face keeping the base going."

"None of this was necessary, Jim. We could have muddled through."

"I beg to differ. We were going over the cliff. You can hate me, but your soon to be born child now has a good chance of surviving. Your contributions can help him or her thrive."

Despite having to hear it from Peck, he had to ask. "How is Anne doing?"

"Well. In good health and increasingly upbeat as the time nears."

"How—how could you kill Lekota? He was our only M.D. What if there are complications?"

"He wasn't an obstetrician. Don't worry, Vanaja is well prepared. She's been studying videos like crazy. And we've got plenty of type O blood if needed."

The thought of hemorrhage made Ward shiver. "If it comes to any choice, any at all, between Anne and the child, save Anne."

"We see eye to eye on that."

"Have you slept with her yet?"

"None of your business."

That was all his business. "Take care of her."

"Last thing you have to worry about."

"Thank you."

"Hey, I'll look after the child, too. And eventually we'll get him or her over here to see you."

"I'd appreciate that."

"I'd really like to let you out. But we both know that's not advisable."

"Take care of her."

"My word is gold on that. I'll be back from time to time to discuss projects. I may bring along Kurt too. He's got a mousetrap mind."

Peck departed and Ward was left alone in his prison on the moon.

He hunched on the bench. He wished Maria was beside him now. Every time she came over lately his spirits perked right up. He wasn't in love, but he sure liked the hell out of her.

Funny how he didn't see her face any more. He just saw a warm, vibrant person who cared for him. And she was very smart, too. No disloyalty to Anne, but conversation topics had always been somewhat limited with her. He could discuss anything with this brown skinned woman with the good bod, and at a high level.

But Anne was the one still entrenched in his heart. She'd been there about forever and would remain until he no longer breathed. To think of Peck's hands on her, Peck penetrating her, that he could not bear to consider.

So he wouldn't consider. Nothing he could do to alter the situation, anyway.

He resisted praying to God. The Father had never answered any of his pleas. Since summer hundreds of millions of those made in His image had raised their desperate voices for deliverance. And He ignored them, as their families and societies disintegrated.

Ward should beseech the Son. Jesus was tough, but He had a heart. He had previously given Ward succor. But Ward was on another world now.

He was far from Jesus. And Jesus had said that saving Nancy was the end of His interventions. Though He did later help with getting Anne to come to the BSS.

Give him one more bit of help. For old time's sake. Deliver him from this evil.

Of course, maybe Jesus already did.

Ward had had a lot of time to consider his escape that terrible day. Harper was not the most competent person alive, and he could have botched bleeding Ward's oxygen supply. But could he have botched it entirely? Unlikely. A hurried job should still have left Ward with no more than a couple hours of reserve.

There was the possibility they planned to let Ward live and make him the fall guy for the deaths. That would have been a great gamble. There was no way to know Ward would head for the south slope once the dying started. He could just as well run toward the base. Peck and Harper needed time to switch the oxygen tanks on the others. Ward's quick arrival at the base would have brought others out to the site too quickly.

Then there was the possibility that the Jesus extended his oxygen supply. No trouble for a man able to make wine from water. Jesus had said Ward would not see him again, but Jesus did not say He would not watch over him.

There was no way to know which was the explanation. He could only go by the probabilities. He put his money on the Son.

Maria stood before the graves. Someday the base would put up proper headstones. For now neat script on four cardboard squares named who lay where in the regolith. Each square bore a different year of birth, from 1962 for Sergei to 1989 for Todd. All had the same date of death.

Their bodies were buried less than half a meter deep. There were no animals around—other than the human kind—to dig them up. The bodies should stay preserved forever in their resting places of minus one hundred degrees centigrade. It did not look now as if they would be needed as emergency rations.

In the near distance rose the eastern rim of the crater. The sun was shining on it. Reflected light cast her shadow west, and the half earth behind her cast a shadow south. The former cast the darker silhouette. Even if reflected, the sun was still king.

Her mind fought to remain on the graves, on the sun and shadows, on anything but what had brought her outside. Her coming out would of course arouse no suspicion, as everyone stepped out occasionally. Only pregnant Anne had remained underground from day one. People needed to escape those confines, even at the price of a barrage of cosmic rays.

She was youngest at the base, but she believed that no impediment to exercising leadership. Nor had the others, else they would not have voted her in. She had never lacked confidence in her abilities, except than to sexually attract men. Maria knew she would bring energy and determination to the chairmanship, and she knew when and who to ask for advice.

The technological challenges before the base she could handle. People management she knew would be trickier. It helped that almost all her colleagues were seasoned pros, who so far were pulling together and avoiding backbiting. William Harper was the only malcontent.

But Harper could be contained. Or so she had thought.

An hour ago she had received a delayed email from Kurt. He had sent it last evening, and timed it not to appear in her inbox until this morning. Kurt was now with the other men and Susan at the farm.

The email described a conversation Kurt had with Jimmy three days ago. It also contained an attachment. The attachment was a video clip in which Harper accused Jimmy of killing the four men that lay before her. Maria's eyes had about popped as she read and watched.

Kurt said he had not told Jimmy he had found Harper's video. He said he would leave it up to Maria as how to proceed.

Thanks, Kurt.

But she had no real cause to admonish him. Kurt had done the right thing. Still, he must have felt great relief to dump this in her lap.

Her first instinct had been to disclose it when everyone gathered for lunch. Except that would be dumping it in their laps. Maria could imagine the chaos which would follow.

She had better think like she had never before. It was entirely possible this was as Jimmy stated to Kurt, a repugnant concoction by Harper to gain sexual favors. His character was well suited for such a ploy.

In any event, it was clear that Jimmy could not be permitted to kill Harper. Attempted extortion did not warrant death. And they could not afford to lose anymore manpower.

But what if Harper were telling the truth? Then everything blew apart. Not the least of consequences would be her losing Roger. As a free man he would run to Anne, and Maria had no doubt Anne would take him back.

Maria groaned.

What were the odds Harper lied? The physical evidence said Jimmy was innocent. That evidence could have been planted, but Roger's survival was the best proof Jimmy was innocent. Jimmy might like to pose as a carefree daredevil, but Jimmy was always precise and thorough. Maria had yet to see him commit any mistakes around the base.

If she brought Harper's accusation out in the open, what good could come of it? It still boiled down to his word against Jimmy's. Perhaps the solution was to sit down privately with each man. Tell Jimmy to leave Harper alone, and tell Harper he best forget his lies.

If they were lies.

Was there really any chance either man would obey her orders? Harper was close to unhinged, if not already. Jimmy would never trust Harper to keep his mouth shut, especially as Harper's frustrations mounted.

She shuddered at the solution that now popped into her brain. She would never have believed herself capable of such train of thought, she a graduate of West Point and member of the lunar astronaut corps.

But everything would be cleanly resolved if she kept her trap shut. Let Jimmy kill Harper. Harper was a severe threat to the harmony and operation of the base.

That course might not be the right thing to do. Yet it might be the wisest.

Maria stared at the graves. What would Sergei say to her now? She could hear his thick Russian accent. You dishonorable! You expedient! You partner in murder!

What would Roger say? More than anything, she wished she could go into the Altair and talk this over with him. Of course Roger would even more emphatically rebuke her than Sergei.

She was alone in this. She staggered as the full weight of leadership fell upon her.

20

Peck muttered curses as he stepped out the base entrance. He was a harried man. It had been a long day, which started with a radiator unit failing at the farm. Repairing the unit had taken well into the afternoon. Then as dinnertime approached a water line pump went on the blink in the logistics module. Fixing that took two hours. On top of all that Anne had false labor pains around noontime.

He had meant to get over to the Altair earlier to congratulate Ward. Roger had come up with a process to produce solar cells from moderately refined regolith using equipment on hand. The cells would probably produce only a hundredth the power of those shipped from earth, but it was a start. To have devised this in five days was quite an accomplishment.

In his hand he held another reading tablet. He was going to ask Ward to look into making cinderblocks from raw regolith. Such blocks would provide excellent building material for expansion of the base.

He slowed as he neared the Altair. All these minor crises were letting the big one pass without resolution. Only three days remained before Harper's deadline passed. Kurt still hadn't found that weasel's confession. Peck could probably get a short extension by telling Harper he planned to eliminate Agarwal. He just needed to set up the right opportunity.

What if Kurt couldn't find it? Then Peck might actually have to kill Agarwal. But the Indian was their expert in electrical engineering, a big part of why he spared him in the first place. Even if Agarwal were removed, no way was Vanaja going to couple with Harper.

Peck was beginning to suspect Harper had not planted a confession at all. Harper was no computer guru. He may have anticipated Peck would turn to the real guru for assistance in locating his message. What better way to thwart that than by planting nothing? What didn't exist, Kurt could never find. Peck didn't think Harper that clever or ballsy, but it was a perfect tactic.

He would give Kurt the three days to find the message. Then he would take out Harper regardless. As he told Kurt, he would do it in front of witnesses. He would push a screwdriver right through Harper's heart and take his chances. Even if the message turned up, there was no definitive proof it was anything other than fiction.

Peck arrived at the Altair. The craft that he had sabotaged five weeks earlier loomed above him. Because he had acted decisively that day, and in the days that followed, those still alive at the base would live. Furthermore, his decisiveness had won him the hand of Anne. If memories of Sergei and Todd sometimes tugged, that price he willingly paid.

He climbed the steep stairs to the ascent stage. He stopped before the outer hatch of its airlock. He felt better now that he had decided about Harper. He would put that from his mind, and explore with Ward methods to keep Base Alpha going long after memory of Harper faded into oblivion.

Using the control panel Peck cleared residual air from the lock. He stepped in and fully repressurized the white chamber. He made a mental note that they'd have to paint the interior of these locks a real color. Of course, that meant making paint. Another project for Ward.

Peck removed his helmet, then engaged the intercom.

"Hey, Roger. Hope I'm not disturbing you. I wanted to discuss a few items before Maria comes over."

Maria was spending almost every night over here. Guess there was no doubt the pair was going at it hot and heavy. Which was fine with him, though he'd never screw her. For Ward it had to be any port in a storm.

The Aztec over here helped with living space too. They had gotten to the point where each couple had fairly private quarters at night. Peck and Anne occupied Node 1. Susan and Kurt slept in the logistics module, Vanaja and Agarwal in the habitation module and Kata and Toshi in the environmental module. The weasel had Node 3 to himself. Soon they would have that space free.

"Roger, are you there?"

"I'm here. Where else?"

"You did a fine job with the solar cells. Agarwal gave it the thumbs up. The process can use some tweaking, but I'm impressed."

"I'm doing it for the base, not you."

Peck chuckled. "And I thought otherwise."

"You've patted me on the head. Now why don't you go away?"

"Will do soon. I'm leaving a tablet. I've got another project for you. Making structural glass from moondust."

"Sounds exciting."

"It's very important down the road."

"How's Anne?"

"Doing fine. Maria can fill you in on the details, but she had a few false labor pains around noon."

"She's okay?"

"I said she was. She has Vanaja close at all time. Anne's very excited the time is near."

"If she conceived when I think she did, it ought to be next week. I don't mind telling you I am scared to death."

"Then good thing you are over here. Don't need you making her anxious."

"There's plenty that could go wrong. I know Vanaja had a couple years of med school. But what if an emergency C-section is required? She'll be at sea."

That possibility had worried Peck too. "They've done a dry run on the procedure. But Vanaja tells me the odds are small it would come to that."

"She's never done surgery. Lekota had. You should have left him alive until the birth was done."

"Water under the bridge. She'll be fine."

"If you really cared for her, you would have spared Lekota."

"Fuck Lekota. He was an affirmative action doctor anyway. And don't tell me about caring for Anne. I'll never put her through what you did."

Peck's face was getting hot. Then he stopped from snapping more invective. No need to rub salt into Ward where Anne was concerned. If he got Roger pissed off enough, Roger would bag doing projects.

"Look, Anne will be fine. We'll keep you appraised moment by moment when the time comes."

"Got you, motherfucker."

"Say what?"

"Kiss your ass goodbye, you puke. I said you would swing for what you did."

"Hey, don't fuck with me. You can still buy it. There's plenty room out there for another grave."

"Goodbye, Peck."

"Yeah, you're right. That's it for tonight. Oh, have a good time banging Maria." He mimicked a dog barking.

Again Peck fought to cool himself. Then he understood why Ward was baiting him. Ward wanted him to boil over so he would barge into the module. Where they'd engage in combat to the death.

Peck snorted. Did Ward really think he would lose control to that extent? Maybe Ward figured why not give it a try. Peck would have to be more wary of the fucker. Ward was not yet resigned to defeat.

He put on his helmet. Then he evacuated air from the lock. He pulled the hatch release. It would not budge.

Jesus fucking Christ. This was all he needed. He was exhausted from the day.

He clicked on his radio. "Base, this is Jim. I've got a stuck outer hatch at the Altair. Send assistance, please."

"You've tried the emergency release?" It was Maria's voice.

What was she talking about? There was no emergency release for this airlock.

"Did you copy me, Maria? I'm at the Altair, not the mud room."

"Copy you loud and clear. Everyone has."

He must be getting punchy. She wasn't making sense.

"Maria, please send someone over to release the outer hatch."

"I'm right outside."

"Well, release it then." He didn't bother to apologize for the tone of his voice.

"I'm afraid the hatch is frozen."

"Get a team out here, then."

"I have four people with me. Who have been listening to your every word the last ten minutes. And so have the others at the base. We altered your suit radio to transmit even when you think it's turned off. Jimmy, how could you do it?"

And then he fully understood. His body jerked as fear tore through him like electricity.

"No," he wheezed.

"How could you? Todd was your best friend. And how long had you known Sergei?"

"This isn't what it seems."

"Let's ask your accomplice. William, if you want mitigating factors considered, only the truth now. Was your confession valid?"

A terrified voice came on. "He made me do it. Yes, it's all what I said."

Peck swallowed hard. That scum. But he could hardly expect else from the likes of him. And they had his own words about Lekota. Yes, Ward had baited him well.

"What do you have to say, Jimmy?"

"I did what was necessary."

Then Anne's voice shrilled into his headset. "You monster! Horrible monster! I want you to die."

A cacophony of raging voices followed. Nobody was saying long live Peck.

Maria's alto cut through them. "Stop it! Let me do the talking."

"What can I say? You got me good."

"You are a monster, Jimmy."

Another spasm of fear brought the taste of bile to the base of his throat. Yeah, he supposed he was frightened as Harper. But he wasn't going to show it.

"You can condemn me. You can kill me. But I've saved all your lives. Make sure when you talk of me to your kids, you tell both sides of the equation."

"You have disgraced the Navy and the astronaut corps. You have murdered those who trusted and depended on you. That is the legacy you will leave."

Peck snarled. "That's Sergei talk. His concept of honor would have you dead. You're all idiots if you believe otherwise."

Anne shrilled again. "Sergei was everything you're not. Thank God I never let you make love to me."

"I do love you, Anne. You're the only woman I ever did."

"Horrible monster! I'll spit on where they bury you."

Peck forced a smile. Now he would suffer the worst punishment possible, the Wrath of Anne.

"Please stop, Anne," said Maria. "That's not doing you any good."

"I want him dead."

"I believe that is the appropriate sentence. Does anyone think something lesser is in order?"

The silence was deafening.

"Jimmy, your oxygen has about three hours to go. You will find you can't bring air back into the lock. The outer hatch will remain closed. And you know you can't force the inner one."

He sure could not. With a vacuum on this side, the air pressure on the other side amounted to a force of several tons.

"So I go the same way as the guys I killed."

"Fitting, I would say."

"Unless you change your mind during the next three hours. Why not just switch me with Ward? You know I'm a valuable guy. You've got long range problems coming, and you could use my brain on them."

"William will go where Roger is."

"That shit? He couldn't come up with how to run a lemonade stand. Why let him use up food or space?"

"He stands higher in my estimation than you."

"You—" He stowed his combination ethnic and sexual insult.

"We'll leave you to die, Jimmy. Goodbye."

"Wait—"

But sound clicked off in his helmet. He shuddered as terror rose to grasp him.

He fought off the icy hands. That would be the true disgrace, yielding to fear of death. He had always faced it unflinchingly before. Of course, before there was some chance of beating the Reaper.

Peck shrugged. All men died. It was what one did between birth and death that mattered. He had lived well, accomplished much. He was ashamed of nothing.

He had saved Base Alpha. They could disparage him all they wanted. None of them had had the foresight and will to do what was required. Only he. In the back of their minds they would always know that, these people who thought themselves so morally superior.

Well, he had never intended to die on earth. He thought Mars, or even somewhere in the Jovian system, would be his final resting place. Old Luna would have to do.

Other men would make it to Mars and Jupiter. This century was out now, but they would get there. And they would come from this ball of stone and regolith, not earth. That would be his legacy.

Peck sat on the airlock floor and waited to die.

It took forever, but the hatch finally opened. He had heard nothing after his final words to Peck.

Maria stepped in. Under one arm she carried her helmet. The other arm held an EVA suit. Her eyes were wet. She looked like she had been through hell.

"He's dead?" asked Ward.

"Yes." She answered with a strangled voice.

"I'm sure it was awful. But we couldn't leave him alive."

"Put on the suit," she said. "There's someone waiting for you."

"Who?"

"Who do you think, Roger?"

"Oh."

He was ashamed he had misconstrued the reason for her anguish. She wasn't in turmoil about Peck's execution.

"Maria, we should talk."

"About what? You're going back to her. There's nothing to discuss."

"I don't want to see you like this."

"Then you don't have to. Here." Maria put down the EVA suit, then put on her helmet. She turned toward the airlock.

Ward cut before her. Maria pushed around him, then threw off his hands when he grabbed her arm. She went into the airlock and closed the hatch behind her.

He hustled into the suit, then went outside. She was gone from the scene. Several others were over near the graves, standing around Peck's body. They had removed his suit and he lay in the regolith in just blue coveralls. His corpse was probably already frozen solid.

Bathed in the earthlight Kata, Toshi, Kurt and Susan gave Ward a subdued greeting. Their eyes for the most part remained on the man that appeared to be sleeping on the dark gray dust. Even if it was Peck, no one could be happy to see another of the base's company go down.

Then there were ten.

The four accompanied Ward back to the base. But they didn't go beyond the mud room. Instead they took a bound Harper toward the Altair. Harper shuffled out the lock to his imprisonment, likely of the lifelong variety.

Often Ward had dreaded coming back to the cramped and noisy confines of the habitation module. Now he considered the place a palace. It was very good to be home.

He did not see Maria in the module. Agarwal and Vanaja greeted him with smiles and words of so glad to have you back. He hoped they meant those words, and weren't said as apology for having thought him a killer.

Then he saw Anne. She was standing near the dining table. There was one place setting on it, and a meal giving off vapor. For him probably. She gave him an uncertain smile.

God, she was round. To the point of bursting. It sure wouldn't be long now.

"Hi, Roger."

"Hi, Anne."

Ward went and stood before her. She eased against him. He put his arms around her and felt her wonderful warmth. It had been six months since he felt that warmth.

He would have waited longer. However long it took.

21

It was the worst of times, it was the best of times, as Ward watched the birth of his first child. It was brutal seeing the one you loved twist and cry in pain, but certainly not as tough as being the one in pain.

Anne was a great trooper through the fortunately few hours the delivery took. She had no epidural anesthesia available, as she had for her other times in labor. She looked upbeat all through it, which astounded Ward. He knew he would have been plenty afraid.

He was afraid enough. For Anne mainly, but also for the child. With great trepidation he waited the verdict as the baby emerged. The crown looked okay, but would the rest of him or her be something fit for only nightmares?

The child, smeared with various fluids, came out swiftly. Ward wanted to scream his relief as he saw no defects. Vanaja had the umbilical cord quickly severed and tied, then held the infant by its feet and smacked its bottom. The boy cried.

About Ward in the habitation module everyone cheered. And hugged and backslapped. All the women mixed tears with smiles, and some of the men did too. Ward felt as if he would soar.

Then they had the baby cleaned off and wrapped. They handed him to Anne. She beamed at her fourth child.

Ward knelt beside her.

"Sergei Hollingsworth," he said.

"Sergei Hollingsworth Ward," Anne answered.

Afterward Ward accepted congratulations from everyone. Even Maria gave him a hug. He knew she was dying inside, but you would never know it. The lady was, and always had been, a first class act. He swore he would always be there for her as a friend.

Later, when Ward and Anne were in their quarters in Node 3 with brand new Sergei, Anne turned to him. She wore a very grave expression.

"We have to talk," she said.

She had avoided meeting with Anne as long as she could. She was perfectly polite to the woman, and genuinely pleased both baby and mother were doing fine a week after the birth. But she did not want a private tete to tete with Anne.

Maria didn't need the woman's pity or sympathy. She knew that was what she would get, however well cloaked. Anne had won Roger, won him a long time ago. Maria never had a chance on a level playing field.

She would have to settle for carrying Roger's child. It had not been long enough yet for her to miss a period, but certainly she was pregnant by him. She hoped she would bear a son. She would name him Miguel after her father. Roger would be his middle name.

Anne finally got her into Node 3. Roger was out at the farm modules. They had just finished a trench for the seventeenth one, which should be in operation next week. Then only one would remain to complete.

Her victorious rival for Roger held her napping child. The boy was so tiny. A tuft of jet black hair, his father's hair, rose from his crown.

"I should come back later," Maria said.

"No, no. He'll sleep right through. I just fed him."

"Any trouble with your milk? If you don't mind me asking?"

"I have plenty. Thankfully."

"He's the first child born on another planet. Amazing."

"Let's pray there will be many more. Including yours."

"What did you want to see me about, Anne?" She hoped this wouldn't take too long. Or get too schmaltzy.

"I've had a long talk with Roger. It took some convincing, but he's agreed. I hope you will listen with an open mind."

Was this about naming their next child after Maria, if a daughter? If so, it stabbed that Roger would need convincing. This discussion wasn't starting out well.

"This may floor you. But it is what I want." Anne's eyes were getting huge.

"What on earth is it?"

"You and I are going to share Roger."

Maria was quite sure she had heard Anne incorrectly.

"Share what with Roger?"

The baby stirred, but did not wake.

"Maria, you are not going to be alone here. You deserve a companion and you are going to have a companion."

Her back stiffened. "You mean share Roger sexually?"

"I know it sounds crazy. But it will work."

"It is crazy." Maria's voice rose. "Are you mad?"

The baby woke, but did not cry. Its little eyes just looked out at them.

"I can't bear to think of you being alone all the years ahead. It's not like there are any other men available. William certainly does not count. And you deserve Roger. You nurtured him through probably the worst period of his life. A period caused by me."

Maria was absolutely flabbergasted. She wondered if Anne actually had lost her wits. Even if consumed by guilt over what she had done to Roger, this crossed the line.

She stood. "Anne, let's act as if this conversation never took place."

"Please don't leave. You deserve Roger more than me. But I have loved him since I was seventeen years old. I don't want to give him up. And I don't want you to give him up. Believe me, I know the terrible agony you have gone through the past two weeks."

Maria stared at Anne. There was no lunacy in her eyes. But the words were lunacy. Weren't they?

She began to cry. She turned for the node hatch.

"Don't go! We have to have this out now. We both want him, we both need him. And we are both here forever with no alternative to him. I know this sounds insane, but it isn't. It is the best way. For all three of us."

"He loves you, Anne."

"He is extremely, extremely fond of you. You should hear how he talks about you." She smiled. "I have never gotten such raves from him."

"It wouldn't work."

"Only if we don't make it work. And it won't be that hard. We both love and cherish him. He cares deeply about us. We both will have his children."

Maria grabbed the hatch handle for support. "Oh, God."

"We are in a unique situation here. On earth this might not have a chance, though a lot of societies have had men with two or more wives. But here it has every chance. You will be no problem for me. I guess the big question is whether I will be a problem for you. I know you don't like me very much."

Maria sat back down. "I won't lie. I haven't."

"I haven't liked myself much the past two months. I know what I put Roger through was horrible. I can only say I was in great pain myself. I held him responsible, and I wanted him to suffer like I was suffering."

"I would say you succeeded."

Anne lowered her head. "I know. I'm lucky he took me back. By all rights he should have stayed with you. Like I said, you deserve him more than I."

Maria sighed. "I don't know about that. I never saw you on the BSS, but Sergei said he had never seen a couple more in love."

"I know you care for him as much as I do. There's a lot to love in him."

"Yes."

"You're not going to lose him, Maria."

"You said you had to fight to convince him. I'm sure he wants you over me."

"He was mainly worried about the affect on me. Once I convinced him there was no need, he agreed. He wasn't at all sure you would."

"It would be so awkward. And what would the others say?"

"Probably hooray."

"I'd have to think very hard on this. And talk to Roger."

"Exactly what I would do."

"This is insane."

Then her waterworks opened in full. She tried to shut them down. She couldn't. She hid her face from Anne.

"It's alright," said Anne.

"I don't cry."

"It is perfectly okay. It's one of the benefits of being a woman."

For the last two weeks Maria had felt as if she couldn't breathe. She had slept and eaten poorly. She had thrown herself into her work, desperately trying to avoid the hard reality of all the days ahead without Roger.

Everything told her this didn't have a ghost of a chance of working. Humans were a monogamous species, despite Anne's reference to multi-wife societies.

But she didn't want to give up her darling.

Anne leaned over and kissed her cheek.

Now Maria really started bawling. She probably hadn't cried like this since she was a toddler. For the first time since meeting Anne, she felt an emotion toward her other than animosity, jealousy, resentment, disgust, or rage.

Epilog

Star City (Luna)

2040

Sergei was taller than Ward. All the grown children were taller than their parents, who had been born on earth. They were slighter, too. The one-sixth gravity caused both.

Ward walked with his first born about the crater floor. They approached the ramp. He knew Sergei badly wanted to climb the ramp, and finally see the moon beyond the home crater. But the elders—the eight—had decided long ago that a male must produce at least one child of both sexes before he could go outside the crater.

Hopefully in two months Sergei would. Sergei had already sired two daughters. His wife Diana had given birth to the daughters, and artificial insemination had impregnated Rhesma. Sergei had two more to go before fulfilling his quota of fathering five children.

Ward had four children, ranging from eighteen to twelve years old. All were born without defect. Three miscarriages stood on the other side of the ledger. To date he had seven grandchildren, with probably double that number to come. Only one of the seven was abnormal.

The elders had been religious about keeping offspring underground until age fourteen, and then only the males were permitted on the crater floor. It had been decided women would be allowed above ground only after reaching their quota.

"Dad, do you think Mom's going to be okay?"

"Yes. It looks benign."

Anne had given them quite a scare over the past month, when a lump had been detected in her breast. Vanaja had removed it. After microscopic examination Vanaja pronounced it not malignant. Through it all Anne remained her cheerful, optimistic self. She really didn't seem that worried.

Ward had been a wreck. If malignant, he knew Anne had little chance. The base had no chemotherapy available. They had radiation in abundance, but no way to properly harness it. Ward was so grateful when Vanaja pronounced. He wondered if once again Jesus had a hand in the outcome.

Eventually, though, one of the elders would contract cancer. It was inevitable. Ward was surprised he had not already. He was the oldest by a generation, and for two decades now he had taken a daily bath of GCRs and solar emissions.

Sergei stopped and looked up at the ramp that rose to the gap two hundred meters above. He put hands on hips. Ward knew his son regarded the crater walls as prison walls, and also as barrier to being considered a grown man. Ward wanted to tell him not to be in a hurry to accumulate rems.

"It won't be long, Sergei."

"What if it's a girl?"

"You have another bun in the oven with Juanita."

"That's six months away."

"You'll get over the rim. Don't worry. Meanwhile there's plenty of work to be done in the crater."

"I'm tired of digging."

Ward knew the younger generation was coming to consider themselves moles. From age ten at least four hours of their day was spent in underground expansion of Luna City. They removed regolith using shovel and pick and bucket. It was hot, backbreaking work, but absolutely necessary. The base now numbered forty-three souls with a bunch more coming.

"We dig at the farms too," said Ward.

"At least you get out of here. I'm sick of this place."

Ward wanted to tell him be thankful the base wasn't like in the beginning days, with the inhabitants jammed jowl to jowl, working around the clock, and completely uncertain they would survive. But that was ancient history to Sergei and his cohort. Sure, times were tough when maw and paw were young, but we don't have it so easy either and at least you had freedom to come and go as you pleased.

Sergei would get to go. An expedition was being planned for eventual descent of the south slope. The basin at the bottom had not received sunlight for eons. Earth scientists had theorized such places could act as cold traps for volatile elements and compounds that would otherwise escape the moon's low gravity.

An unmanned probe—a camera and strobe at the end of a miles long cable—had indicated the theory was right. Frozen pools were detected. The pools might even be remnants of a comet that long ago crashed into the area. That had excited everyone, because a comet could contain organic compounds in addition to gases like ammonia and methane. A colony that hoped to grow into the hundreds, then thousands, would need ample supply of both.

The expedition would give Sergei all the adventure he wanted. Anne was already fretting about the danger, but Ward knew his son would not be denied. Nor would any other of the second generation males. But first they must father their five children.

Some of the girls were making noises about going too. Especially his daughter by Maria. Karen was certainly her mother's child. An independent overachiever from the get go. He was so proud of her. She was first in her class in everything, destined someday to lead the colony like her mother had.

They saw two people walking toward them.

"Hey, Roger," called Toshi.

"Toshi-san. How's it going?"

"Excellent."

"Hi, Mr. Ward," said Toshi's son, Kenji. "Hey, Sergei."

"Hi Ken. Good morning, Mr. Askourma."

"Good morning, Sergei. Roger, when do you want to head out?"

"Another hour. If okay with you."

"Certainly."

The two boys exchanged wistful looks. How they would love to climb into a rover with their fathers and head toward the summit of Mons Malapert. All their lives they had seen it and the breathtaking view displayed only via picture and video display. Patience, boys, patience. You both will see a lot more of the moon from the ground than us.

Toshi and his son went on and Ward and Sergei strolled back toward the base. Shortly they approached the cemetery. Six headstones stood to one side, two to the other. Ward stepped into the graveyard and Sergei reluctantly followed.

Sergei, Todd, Togura, Lekota, Maria and Kata's daughter Ingrid lost to crib death lay on the right. Peck and Harper, who died in clinical depression after two years of imprisonment, lay to the left.

Ward had requested such placement of the bodies, guided by words from the Gospel of Matthew: "then the King will say to those at his right hand... 'inherit the kingdom prepared for you'...then he will say to those at his left hand, 'depart from me, you cursed, into the eternal fire'."

Sergei Lomerov, how Ward missed him. They had hated each other's guts to start, then become the fastest of friends. We miss you, Sergei. You are example for us all.

Ward lingered before the grave of Maria. As always his throat constricted. He wondered if in the end he had come to love her more than Anne. He certainly had not loved her any less.

That had been the most terrible day of his life when she died, even more so than when Sergei and the others fell to Peck. Maria had borne four other children. For the first generation women, that was the agreed upon limit. But Maria, being the youngest, volunteered for more. She believed it her duty, as the base could never have too many in the second generation.

Her fifth child arrived in perfect health, but Maria began to hemorrhage after delivery. The base had nearly lost Susan to hemorrhage the year before. This time the frantic efforts of Vanaja and Anne could not save the mother. Ward had held Maria's hand as she expired.

"Dad, can we go?"

Ward wanted to snap at his son to have more reverence. Especially before his namesake.

"They died so you could live, your children can, and their children can. Don't forget that, ever." He put more edge into his voice than intended, for Sergei's eyes widened.

"Sorry, Dad."

"It's okay. I just ask you remember them. At least these who lie here on the right. They are worthy of remembering."

"I will."

He put his hand on his son's shoulder and they walked back toward the base entrance.

Before them hung the eternal earth. It was full and large, and its light was bright though still ethereal. To Sergei earth was only a place of lore. To Ward his home planet was no longer the home planet. Only where he had lived the prelude to the real part of his life.

They occasionally picked up radio transmissions, though none were directed at them. Almost all were in Arabic. As Ward and Peck feared, Islam had come through the disaster in the best shape. Ward was thankful the moon was far from its reach.

Ward wondered how Jesus was faring, or if He was even alive. But of course Jesus lived. Jesus was I am that I am that I am.

Father and son headed to the base and shortly entered the old habitation module, now converted to offices and a conference room. From Node 3 they went into north wing.

Soon he saw Anne, in a room with a dozen children of the third generation. Her face was aglow, as it always was when surrounded by youngsters. His graying wife with the still cherubic face smiled and gave a wave, then went back to her tasks that Ward would take a year in the Altair to avoid.

Sergei joined some of his friends.

Ward went into his quarters. He sat at his desk, and turned on his laptop. It surprisingly still worked. Ninety percent of the computers still did. A hell of a testimonial to the quality control of the East Asian countries that produced them.

He began his diary entry for yesterday, the fourth day of April, in the nineteenth year of his presence on the moon.
