Writers of the Future, Volume 27 Read online

  It was a lie. No, not everything. The explosion, the deaths and the grieving, those were real. Even before the Lunar Republic took control of Luna City, the Moon was as politically charged as any place on Earth. Six years earlier, twenty Chinese scientists died in their Tycho Crater research facility. Shuttle flyovers of the abandoned buildings revealed high levels of radiation, indicating a failure in the Chinese nuclear power plant. The Chinese government claimed the deaths were caused by a faulty carbon dioxide scrubber. But none of the twenty manned Chinese missions since the accident had ever revisited the site. Further, the Chinese government claimed that the buildings themselves were their sovereign property and refused to allow any other government to approach them.

  Luna City, the only large-scale permanent habitat on the Moon, wasn’t apolitical either. The Lunar Republic had staged a bloodless coup d’état two months after Habitat Fourteen was destroyed, set up a parliamentary government and threatened to refuse Earth transports landing if the Earth Consortium didn’t grant them their independence. After months of negotiation, Luna City became an independent entity, with only five token Earth representatives retaining seats in the parliament—one from each of the original founding countries.

  It was almost exactly what the terrorists had demanded. The five Earth representatives, when united, were still a minority against the sixteen other parliament members from the Lunar Republic. Luna City was, essentially, its own political entity.

  A woman’s voice behind her said, “Tragic, isn’t it?”

  Marianne turned to see the woman who resembled Susan P. Rubner. Her blood turned cold. Branson had told her it wasn’t safe to talk to this woman. But that urge to discover her secret kept Marianne there.

  “Yes,” Marianne said, never taking her eyes off the woman. She fought the desire to ask this woman if she was really Thomas Rubner’s wife and asked a more innocuous question instead. “Were you in Luna City when it happened?”

  “My boyfriend, Alex, he was one of the negotiators.” She stroked the polycarbonate window. “I didn’t see a lot of him during that week. He would come back to our quarters at night and fall off to sleep immediately. Then, he would be gone before I woke the next morning. He never said a lot to me about it, but I could tell the stress on him was incredible.”

  She turned to Marianne and said, “They didn’t get enough credit, the negotiators. Alex and the rest of them did their best, but all everyone ever said afterwards was that they failed.” She looked back out the window. “Alex did everything he could, but he couldn’t win. The people who took those people hostage never planned to release them. No matter what Alex and the others did. They always intended to blow up the habitat.

  “The explosion woke us both. I remember us holding each other, staring out at the smoking rubble all afternoon. He was a different man after that. He carried the guilt of all those deaths around with him. He didn’t eat, didn’t laugh. He slept most of the time. Alone. He was almost . . . Have you ever heard of Alex Murray?”

  Marianne shook her head.

  “Councilwoman Solomon. Everyone remembers her name. Major Young, Lieutenant Molina, Technician Williams and . . .” She swallowed. “You hear about them because they died in that explosion. But never Alex Murray. To the press, he was just an impotent negotiator who failed to save six thousand people. But that explosion killed him too. It just took him four months longer to die.”

  “How?” Marianne asked, almost whispering. “How did Alex die?”

  The woman clenched her eyes shut, and a tear escaped and ran down her cheek. She stood that way a moment, then took a breath and stared out at the ruins. “He put on a pressure suit, walked out to the plaque out there and cracked the quick release ring on his helmet.” Her voice had an eerie calm that people have when they recount the tragedies in their lives. Marianne had heard it hundreds of times in her career.

  “I’m so sorry,” Marianne said.

  Another tear fell. “I didn’t realize he was missing for twelve hours. When they found him, he was completely frozen. I’ll never forget how he looked.” Her expression changed and the woman pounded on the window. “I hate that place! I’ve lost so much because of it! More than anyone can understand.”

  Two Luna City guards appeared in the hallway behind the woman. A knot formed in Marianne’s stomach as they walked toward them. “Is everything all right, Mrs. Hail?”

  Mrs. Hail turned on the guard. “No, everything is not all right!”

  A voice behind Marianne called, “Jenny!” She turned to see Captain Hail standing a few meters behind her and fought the urge to flee.

  Jenny yelled at Captain Hail, “How many more people have to die because of this lie? It’s not worth it anymore! First Alex, now Tommy! Who’s next? How many more is the Republic going to take from me?”

  “That is enough,” Captain Hail said, taking a step toward her. He wiped away her tear. “It’s been an emotional couple of days. You’re tired. Go back to our room.” He kissed her gently, then nodded to the guard who had spoken to her earlier. The guard took her arm and escorted her down the hallway.

  Captain Hail sighed and jerked his head toward Marianne. The guards immediately handcuffed her. Captain Hail said, “You’d better come with me.”

  Marianne had a new appreciation for the minor wear and tear on the rest of Luna City after sitting in one of its jail cells for a few hours. The creases in the walls were filthy black stains and the room smelled of human sweat and stale urine. It added to her dark, depressed mood.

  Adrenaline forced her to get up from the bunk. The exercise from pacing the three-meter wide cell wasn’t enough to satiate her fear. She finally had all of the pieces of this story. Her skin crawled with the idea of what Luna City Security might do to keep her from telling it.

  Unsatisfied with pacing, she lay back on the stained mattress, breathing slowly through her mouth because of the smell. She tried to calm her spring-tight nerves. Nobody knew she was in the jail. Roy knew she was in Luna City, but she couldn’t depend on him to seek her out and make sure she was okay. The ticketing agent that she had returned her ticket to, the curator at the museum, as well as some people working or visiting the cafeteria had seen her around Luna City. But she was a nobody to them. She suddenly remembered Magistrate Melle. Their conversation together had been friendly, and he knew who she was. He would certainly remember her.

  Her spirits brightened. She stood and called repeatedly for the jailer until an outer door hissed open and he walked down the hallway that led to her cell.

  “I need to make a call!” Marianne demanded.

  The jailer turned and said, “I bet you do.”

  “I have rights, even here on the Moon!”

  The jailer ignored her comment and left. The outer door hissed closed behind him and she was alone again.

  She collapsed back on the mattress and covered her eyes with the crook of her arm. The realization that she was going to die here on the Moon monopolized her thoughts. Nobody who cared about her knew that she was here. She had gotten on the wrong side of Luna City Security, and they were going to silence her story. Her throat closed off.

  She heard the outside door hiss open and stood again. Jenny Hail walked to her cell and stared past the old-fashioned stainless-steel bars at Marianne before speaking. When she finally spoke, she said, “I never wanted anything bad to happen to Tommy.”

  Despite the dozens of questions that pounded in her mind, Marianne forced herself to stay silent.

  “That’s why Alex and I decided to fake my death.” She looked to Marianne, as if asking to be understood. “Tommy was a good man. Really he was. He just lacked . . . passion. Passion in his work, passion in life, passion for me. Alex—he made me feel . . . alive.”

  Marianne finally said, “What Tommy did out there was pretty passionate.”

  A small laugh esc
aped through her tears. “It was the last thing I would have expected. I started to think that maybe I was wrong about him. Started questioning every move I’d made for the last five years.”

  A tear rolled down her cheek and she looked at the floor. “It’s my fault Tommy’s dead. We were watching the memorial, Gerald and me, when Tommy started talking about the conspiracy. Gerald got upset. He doesn’t let that part of himself show in public, but he’s got kind of a temper. I was trying to calm him down. When Tommy demanded he speak to me, I told Gerald that maybe I should.

  “He lost it.” She looked at Marianne and both eyes were heavy with tears. She rubbed her forearm, and a bruised piece of skin showed under her sleeve for a brief moment. “He never . . . not once before. . . .”

  While she was talking, Marianne decided to ask, “Is there a conspiracy?”

  “I had nothing to do with that. I didn’t even know about it until. . . .” Susan whispered, “I was married to Gerald for a year before I found out. I didn’t know about it before. Neither did Alex.”

  “Tommy knew. Gerald killed him to keep him quiet.”

  Susan shook her head. “No, it’s my fault Tommy is dead. Gerald’s really a good man. Really—”

  “Good men don’t murder innocent people, Susan.” Susan flinched when Marianne mentioned her name. “He’s going to do the same thing to me that he did to Tommy. Unless you help me.”

  Susan backed away from the cell door, her eyes wide in terror. She rubbed her bruised arm. “Oh, no. I couldn’t. I couldn’t.”

  “Susan, please.”

  “No. Don’t ask that!” She turned and darted down the hallway and through the outer door.

  “Susan! You’ve got to help me!” There was no answer except the echo of her words in the small cell.

  Marianne was unaware of how much time had passed before two guards in steel-gray pressure suits opened the outer door and walked down the hallway to her cell. They didn’t have helmets on and she recognized one of them as the same guard that she had seen at the observation window with Susan. He unlocked her cell and said, “Come with us.”

  The words turned her cold. She swallowed, then set her chin, trying to look strong. “First Thomas Rubner, then me? People know I’m here. They’ll realize something happened. You won’t get away with it.”

  The other guard grabbed her forearm, dragged her off the mattress and thrust her through the cell door. She turned on them and the guard drew his needlegun. The other guard put his hand on his arm and said, “No. The captain wants her alive.”

  A chill consumed her. Before, her death had been a nagging fear, now it blossomed into fully realized terror. “You can’t do this!”

  A guard grabbed her shoulder and forced her against the wall.

  Her hands shook and she made no effort to hide then. “No, please,” she begged. “This is a mistake. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  A guard handcuffed her, then the two led her through the hallway, out the outer door, through the security office and into the hallways of Luna City.

  Marianne didn’t remember the hallways of Luna City being busy, but she remembered seeing a person or two wandering around every time she was out. This time, the hallways were deserted, and the eerie quiet of ventilation recycling gnawed at her nerves. As much as she wanted to believe the guards were taking her back to her room or the shuttle, she realized that wasn’t going to happen.

  One of the guards behind her pushed her along. She caught herself from falling and walked, taking small steps, buying time. Time for one of the guards to come to his senses and stop this. Time for someone to realize what was happening and rescue her.

  The time to appear strong had passed. These men in steel-gray pressure suits were taking her to be killed, and she needed to do whatever she could to stop them. She screamed, pleading for help, but her words echoed in the empty halls of Luna City.

  They turned down a hallway to the utilities spur, the most deserted part of Luna City. She stopped, and her body took an instinctive step backward. A guard pushed her forward and she let herself tumble to the polycarbonate floor. She grabbed her knee, faking pain, stealing precious time for somebody, anybody, to appear and save her. One of the guards lifted her to her feet—an action that was much easier to do in the one-sixth gravity on the Moon. He pushed her along and said, “Just a little further.”

  Marianne searched for someone to help. The guards must have noticed because each grabbed one of her arms and walked her past the archway to the air lock.

  Her heart sank when she realized the room was as deserted as the hallways were. The only exception was a stern-looking Captain Gerald Hail who stood in front of the door bearing a sign that read “Air lock U-4.”

  Marianne tried to squirm away, but the guards’ grip tightened.

  “Now, now,” Captain Hail said. “Struggling will only make this take longer.” The large inner door of the air lock stood open, and Marianne knew that the black maw inside was where her life would end. She tried to backpedal but the guards held her firm.

  “My producer knows I’m here. Roy Hinkley,” she said. “So does my cameraman headed back to Earth.” Chang wasn’t her cameraman, but she hoped the lie might fool him. “If anything happens to me, they’ll know it was you. Me and Tommy dying while on the same assignment is going to look very suspicious.”

  Captain Hail took her and ordered the guards to put their helmets on.

  Marianne yelled, “You won’t get away with this! Tommy wasn’t some nobody, and neither am I! Someone will figure out what you’re doing! You won’t get away with it.”

  The guards fastened their helmet rings and nodded to their captain, who said, “Put her inside.”

  Marianne thrashed, but she wasn’t used to the reduced gravity of the Moon and Captain Hail’s grip was too strong. The guards took her, hauled her into the air lock and secured the door behind her.

  A moment later, a klaxon sounded. Then, a hissing sound flooded the chamber. Marianne felt pressure build on her ears. Terror flooded over her as she realized they were pumping out the air. She bolted to the door, but the guards pulled her away. Panic crawled over her as she remembered Tommy’s bruised eyes and the trickle of dried blood from his nose and ears. She was going to end up just like him—covered with an insubstantial white sheet on the cold stainless-steel morgue table. She struggled, shouting, “Let me out! I won’t tell anyone! I swear!” The sound of her voice already sounded weak.

  Her breath came in short gasps as she fought for air. The strength in her legs left her, and she collapsed on the dust-covered floor. As the hissing echoed in the small chamber, darkness first flooded her peripheral vision, then consumed her.

  Her lungs burned. Gasping for air yielded meager returns at first, but eventually satisfied most of her body’s cravings for oxygen. Through her hazy vision, she recognized Branson leaning over her.

  “Thank God,” he said. “I thought I was too late. Are you okay?”

  Marianne tried to answer, but her throat burned. She tasted blood. After managing a painful swallow, she was finally able to croak, “What . . . happened?”

  He helped her sit up and offered her a glass of water, which she swallowed with care. Everything hurt. She wondered what kind of permanent damage she would suffer from the air lock.

  “They were trying to silence you, just like they did with Thomas Rubner.” Her foggy gaze followed his gesturing hand, which held a needlegun. She could make out Captain Hail lying on his back. Blood flowed from a needle wound just behind his left ear. Branson was a good shot.

  “Can you stand?” he asked.

  Branson pulled her up. Even in the reduced gravity, her legs refused to sustain her. They burned as if she had run a marathon. If it had not been for Branson holding her up, she would have collapsed.

  “Gimme . . . minute.” Her
voice sounded rough and gravely. Panic crawled over her skin. She had heard that people could survive a short duration of high vacuum, but anything over a minute and a half was usually fatal.

  Branson propped her against a piece of machinery and dragged Captain Hail’s body into the air lock. She saw the two other guards inside, most likely dead like their captain. If she had the energy, she would have spit on them all.

  Branson closed the inner door and said, “We have to get out of here. We can hide out in my quarters for a while. You can recover there.”

  With all her effort, she raised her hand and pointed toward the air lock. “No . . . Captain’s . . . quarters.”

  “The captain’s dead.”

  “Susan. Tommy’s wife . . . is there. She knows.”

  Branson lifted her up and swung one of her arms behind his neck. Supporting her weight, they walked into the hallways, which, thankfully, were still deserted. He carried her past empty hub corridors and through the executive hallway to Habitat Ten. He seemed to know exactly where Captain Hail lived and before she realized, they were standing in front of a black, polycarbonate door to room 10-42.

  Susan answered the chime immediately. Her hand went to her mouth and she stepped backwards when she saw Branson and Marianne standing there. “Oh, my God! Is she all right?”

  Branson pulled her inside and set Marianne into a chair.

  “They put her in the air lock without a pressure suit,” Branson said.

  “No,” Susan said softly. “No. No. No.” She started yelling. “How many more? How many more!”

  “You . . . can . . . stop it,” Marianne gasped. She hoped that Susan was starting to see the cost of keeping this conspiracy alive.

  “No,” Susan begged, backing away. “Gerald will kill me.”

  “He’s dead. I killed him,” Branson said.

  Susan looked from Marianne to Branson. “No. How could you!”

  Branson pointed to Marianne. “Look at her. He tried to kill her. I had no choice.”