Moonrise

“You were flown to Basel and operated on by Dr. Wilhehn Zimmerman, one of the few doctors left who still deals with nanotherapy.”

“That’s not so!”

With a patient sigh, Eldridge asked, “Do you want me to recite the flight number to you? Your room number at the Basel Marriott? The date and hour on which Zimmerman operated on you?”

Underwood growled, “You have no proof of that.”

“What further proof do we need? The people who leaked this information to us will be happy to speak to the news media — anonymously, of course.”

Underwood could feel his insides sinking.

Leaning forward, Eldridge said, “You had nanomachines injected into your body. They repaired your damaged heart muscle and scrubbed out the plaque in your coronary arteries. Very likely you also had some cosmetic touches done, didn’t you?”

The Congressman said nothing.

“You used your position of influence and power to cover up the fact that you obtained for yourself nanotherapy that is illegal in the United States.”

“It’s not illegal in Switzerland.”

“It will be soon,” said Eldridge flatly. “But that isn’t the point. The point is that you availed yourself of nanotherapy that your constituents can’t have.”

“I told you I’m not against nanotechnology. That’s a matter of public record.”

“Yes, but you’re about to change your position. On this crucial issue of outlawing all nanotechnology, you are going to vote on the side of the angels.”

“Meaning your side.”

“You’re damned right!” snapped Carter Eldridge.

MOONBASE

As soon as Greg reached Anson’s office she scooted around from behind her desk and led him on a half-run back to the control center. She soared along the tu

Too much happening now to pipe through my desktop,” she called over her shoulder as they hurried along the tu

Greg was puffing as he skidded to a stop at the control center’s airtight door. Anson slid it open and went through without waiting for him.

She rousted one of the comm techs out of his seat, then took in all the working screens in a swift scan of the U-shaped console assembly.

Tower holding steady?” she asked, punching up a multicolored graph on the screen directly in front of her.

The woman seated in the middle chair nodded, headset clipped across her close-cropped hair. “Fading slowly, but within allowable limits. Power team’s already brought the nuke on-line, just in case solar cell degradation exceeds allowable.”

“Good,” snapped Anson, her attention already turning elsewhere.

Greg had forgotten that there was a standby nuclear power generator buried halfway across Alphonsus. With the high-energy protons of the radiation storm beating up on the solar cells spread across the crater floor, the nuke had to be able to provide electricity without fail or they’d all quickly choke to death.

“All right now,” Anson was saying, “where’s that freakin’ Yamagata lobber?”

The chief tech tapped on her keyboard and Anson’s main screen suddenly showed an image of the Moon with a single red dot winking, slightly northwest of Alphonsus’s position.

“That’s the radar plot from L-l,” said the comm tech. “She’s got a nice bright beacon on her.”

Anson gri

A thin yellow circle appeared on the Moon’s image, centered on Alphonsus. The blinking red dot was well within it.

“Hot spit!” Anson yelped. “We can get the big’scope on her.”

“The telescopes are all working on preprogrammed routines—”

“Screw the astronomers! This is important. I’ve got to see if that lobber’s crewed or not.”

With a sigh of reluctance the chief tech began tapping on her keyboard again.

“Humpin’ astronomers’re all down in The Cave, anyway,” Anson said, to no one in particular. “They can complain to me tomorrow.”

“Here it is,” said the technician.

Greg bent over Anson’s chair to see her main screen better. It showed a smear of streaks, then slowly the streaks settled down into the pinpoint lights of stars. And at the center of the image was the big metal spider of a ballistic rocket, a lobber.

The image enlarged. Greg saw bulbous tanks and other shapes wrapped in reflecting foil. And a single bubble of what looked liked plastiglass glinting in the sunlight.

“Crew module,” Anson said. “I knew it! Yamagata’s sending a team to the pole.”

“In this radiation storm?” Greg couldn’t quite believe it.

Without turning toward him Anson bobbed her head. “In this storm. They’re probably wearing specially armored suits. Yamagata’s people are smart, not suicidal.”

“Maybe the radiation level’s gone down,” Greg thought out loud.

With a short, sharp laugh, Anson said, “I don’t think so.”

And she pointed to one of the screens on the far side of the U.

Greg saw an image of the Earth, half day lit, half in shadow. But something was wrong with the picture: flickering streaks of pale colors were messing up the image of the northern hemisphere.

“That’s the northern lights you’re seeing,” Anson explained.

Shifting glowing pale greens and reds, Greg saw. “It can’t be the aurorae,” he objected. “They’re too far south — almost in Florida, for God’s sake.”

Anson looked up at him smugly. “Still think the radiation level’s gone down?”

Greg stared at the screen. Northern lights glowing all the way down to Florida, just about. It must be a monstrous flare, he realized.

Anson yanked a telephone handset from the console desktop and punched a single number. “Security?” she said into the phone. “Pull Harry Clemens out of The Cave right away and tell him to bring his best team with him. Meet me in my office in three minutes.”

She slammed the phone down and fairly leaped out of her chair. “We’ve got to get a comm link with Bre

She made a dive for the door, calling over her shoulder, “Come on, Greg! We don’t have a second to spare!”

Working out on the frontier is nothing more than inventing new ways to get killed. Bre

“Question is,” Bre

And he turned his spacesuited figure toward Doug.

Stalling for time to think, Doug said, “You’re assuming that Yamagata’s going to try to dispute our claim, is that it?”

“Of course,” said Bre

Doug saw the reflection of his own helmeted figure in the blank visor of Bre

“Sov young Mr. Stavenger,” Bre

“If we could set up some kind of solar cells,” Doug mused, “and co

Bre

“Well, Greenie, what about it? Can we jigger your nanobugs to produce solar cells without the rest of the power tower to hold them up?”

“Sure,” answered Greenberg, “if I had a laboratory and a couple weeks to reprogram them. Not here, though.”