Moonrise

Then silence.

Arnold looked up and down the table. “Any other nominations?”

Melissa looked as if she wanted to speak, but before she could make up her mind Arnold said, “All right then, the nominations are closed. All in favour”

“Don’t the rules call for a secret ballot?” one of the board members asked.

A brief flicker of a

It was unanimous, Paul saw, although Melissa’s was the last hand raised.

“Congratulations, Joa

“Now then,” Arnold said once they were all seated again, “to the major business of this meeting: electing the new president and chief operating officer of Masterson Aerospace Corporation.”

Paul felt suddenly nervous. What Joa

“This great corporation was founded, as you all know, in the dark years of the Second World War by Elliot Masterson,” Arnold was droning in his sonorous, soporific voice. “His son, the first Gregory Masterson took over at Elliot’s retirement…”

In all his years as an astronaut and then a corporate executive, the idea of marriage had never entered Paul’s mind. Women were plentiful, and there was no time to get hung up over one. Paul was driven by the urge to succeed. Not merely to be the best, but to get the others to acknowledge that he was the best. To get to the Moon. To make Moonbase viable. To make a success where everyone else said it was impossible.

I never really thought about marriage, Paul was saying to himself. Maybe it’s time to settle down. Enough tail chasing. I haven’t really wanted to, anyway, since I met Joa

“Second the nomination.”

Paul swivelled his head. Melissa had seconded Greg’s nomination with the swiftness of an automaton. That was a surprise.

Gri

“I nominate,” said Joa

A shock wave flashed along the table. Greg’s face went white. He looked as if his mother had just slapped him. Arnold’s mouth dropped open.

“Second that,” said the man at Paul’s left, the corporation’s comptroller.

Arnold blinked several times, looking more like a perplexed frog than ever. Finally he said, in a low angry voice, “Any other nominations?”

None.

“Discussion?”

Joa

“That’s something of an overstatement!” Arnold sputtered.

Joa

Greg said nothing. He glowered at his mother in silent hatred.

Paul knew what was irking Arnold. Old frog-face thought that he could control Greg. With Greg as CEO, Arnold would effectively be ru

His face florid, Arnold said to Joa

Joa

Greg bolted up to his feet so hard he knocked his heavy padded chair over backwards. “Married!” he shouted. “To— to him.”

Before his mother could reply, Greg pushed past his overturned chair and stamped out of the meeting room, slamming the heavy door as he left.

Christ, Paul thought, she hadn’t told him anything about this. He’s just as shocked as the rest of them.

“I’m afraid,” Joa

Paul stared at her. She’s like an iceberg, he thought. Implacable, unmovable. And cold as ice.

The other board members were muttering to one another. Arnold rapped his knuckles on the table to restore order. Paul saw beads of perspiration on the chairman’s brow and upper lip. His hairpiece was slightly askew.

“I think, in light of this unexpected turn of events,” he said hesitantly, “that we should postpone the election of our new CEO until we have all had a chance to think and consider carefully—”

“I disagree,” interrupted the comptroller. He was older than Paul, not as old as Arnold; a trim little man, dapper, always impeccably dressed. With just a trace of an Irish accent he said, “We all know each other here, and we all know both young Greg and Paul Stavenger. I don’t see why we should wait at all.”

Arnold started to say, “But I—”

“Let’s vote,” said another board member.

“Call for the vote,” said still another.

Visibly defeated, Arnold said, “Very well, if that is the sense of the board. Shall we use the secret ballot?”

“I’m willing to let everyone see my hand raised,” the comptroller said.

“Then let us take a fifteen-minute recess before we vote,” said Arnold. “I want to make sure that Greg is with us when hands are raised.”

The tension eased a little as everyone got to their feet. The comptroller patted Paul’s shoulder and said loudly enough for all to hear, “I’m sure you’re going to make a grand CEO, my boy.”

Paul mumbled his thanks and made his way around the table toward Joa

Joa

“You didn’t tell Greg first?” he whispered urgently to her.

She looked up at him, her eyes tired, almost tearful. “I tried to,” she said. “He didn’t show up until just a few moments before the meeting began.”

“But… before the meeting. Christ, you two live in the same house!”

“Not any more. Greg took an apartment here in New York. Just after his father’s death. Didn’t you know?”

Paul shook his head. “Still… breaking it to him like that, in front of the rest of the board…”

Joa

“Never mind that. You should’ve told him! Warned him, at least.”

“I couldn’t,” she said, still staring out beyond the towers of Lower Manhattan, the harbor, the gray expanse of Brooklyn and Queens. “He hasn’t spoken to me in more than a month. Not since he found out about us.”

“He knows?”

Joa

“Then — his father must’ve known.” Paul was jolted by the thought.

“He probably did.”

“God almighty.”

Joa

“Do you think that’s why he killed himself?” Paul asked her.

Joa