The President’s daughter looked up. “Could I have one?”
“Only if you come and work here,” Rochester said, not unkindly. “Or if you manage to put down the rather large sum we’re demanding from anyone who won’t be working for us.”
Steve nodded. Heinlein Colony simply couldn’t afford freeloaders. People who could work anywhere — authors, artists, consulting technicians — could settle on the moon, even if they weren’t working for the colony. Or people who were prepared to pay the down sum. But someone who couldn’t work, or wouldn’t work… it was going to be a right little headache for quite some time to come.
“I will,” the President’s daughter said, firmly.
The President and Steve exchanged glances. Having the President’s daughter on the moon would be one hell of a publicity coup — and a practical nightmare. She was young enough to adapt, presumably bright enough to learn to live on the moon… but if it became public, it would be extremely difficult for her. If nothing else, she’d be yelled at by men and women who disliked her father’s politics.
“We shall see,” the President said.
We should slip a bug into that conversation, the mischievous part of Steve’s mind commented. And see precisely how that goes.
He pushed the thought aside as the President looked over at Mariko. “I understand that you will be leading the medical teams?”
“I will,” Mariko said. “Now the whining has come to an end, that is.”
Steve winced. Mariko had been quietly furious about the endless series of delays, caused by her fellow doctors. The American Medical Association had filed complaint after complaint, questioning everything from the true nature of alien technology to the credentials of Mariko and her fellow doctors, even though the alien technology did all of the work. In the end, the AMA had only relaxed its opposition after it became clear that it was costing them politically and public opinion was turning against them.
And that people were threatening to sue them, Steve thought, cynically. A terminally-ill rich man won’t hesitate to sue when he thinks the AMA is standing between him and healthcare he desperately needs.
“Politics,” the President said. “And will you be offering treatments to all?”
Mariko tossed Steve an annoyed look. “Adults who can pay and children will get priority,” she said. “Adults who can’t pay will have to wait in line.”
Steve winced, again. They’d come close to a screaming row after he’d insisted on taking paying customers first, even though the colony desperately needed the money. Mariko had objected, violently, to denying anyone medical care, even if they couldn’t pay. He’d eventually given in on treating children, knowing that Mariko would practically strangle him if she wasn’t allowed to help kids. It was necessary, he knew, but it didn’t make it any easier for either of them to handle it.
“There will be hundreds of rich men waiting in line too,” the President said. “People are funny that way.”
Steve couldn’t disagree.
“Here we are,” Mongo said, breaking into their thoughts. “Apollo 11.”
Steve stared out of the porthole as the sight came into view. The American flag was still standing, looking faintly uncanny; NASA had treated it to ensure it looked unfurled, even though there was no wind on the moon. Beyond it, the landing stage stood on the lunar surface, utterly unmarked by the passage of time. But then, there was no atmosphere on the moon either.
“We won’t be going any closer,” Mongo said, as the bus came to a halt. “I don’t want to risk damaging the landing site.”
The President said nothing. Beside him, his daughter was twitching with excitement as she stared at Apollo 11. Steve felt an odd lump in his throat as he took in the magnificent scene before him. Americans had done that, he knew. Americans had reached for the moon and landed on the surface of another world. But would Armstrong and his fellow moonwalkers have imagined that mankind would fumble the ball so badly? That no one would set foot on the moon again using purely human technology?
They didn’t know, Steve thought. They never thought that we would lose our nerve.
It was a purely human achievement, yet it was so trivial compared to what the Galactics had done. A single large starship, manned by competent aliens, could smash all three captured ships and overwhelm Earth’s defences in a moment. Earth’s teeming billions would vanish without trace amidst the trillions upon trillions who thronged through the galaxy, never sparing a moment to think of a primitive blue world called Earth.
“This is a mark of what humans can do,” he said, out loud. “We built this on our own; we cracked the secret of producing rockets, nuclear fission, steam engines and so much more on our own. The Horde did not. We have the basics of scientific enquiry; the Horde does not. They have no hope of duplicating Galactic technology for themselves, we can and we will. And we will reach for the stars.”
“Fine words,” the President said. “Do you plan to run for election?”
Steve gaped at him, then realised he was being teased. “I think we will be holding elections in two years,” he said. “That should give us a large enough population to make them meaningful, while giving us time to finalise the constitution and the legal code. I… don’t know if I will stand for election.”
The President leaned forward. “Who elected you now?”
It was an awkward question, Steve had to concede. But he had a rejoinder. “Who elected the leaders of over half the states with membership in the UN?”
“You need to hold yourself to higher standards,” the President said.
“There will be elections,” Steve said. “At that time, I will decide if I want to stand for office or gratefully retire to the moon. There’s a whole universe out there to explore, after all.”
He looked over at the back of Mongo’s head. “Can you take us back now?”
“Just a moment,” the President’s daughter said. She plucked a cell phone out of her pocket and started taking photos of everything from the bus’s interior to the view outside. Steve sighed as she took a photograph of him and the President seated together, then one of Mariko standing against the large porthole. “These will go on my facebook tonight.”
Steve rolled his eyes. He’d always disliked watching his children post their pictures on facebook — or anywhere else online for that matter. He was mildly surprised the President’s daughter was even allowed to use facebook. Quite apart from the threat of her being stalked, her posts and check-ins would pose a definite security risk. Terrorists would be able to follow the President and his daughter wherever they went.
“I’m sure you will get lots of likes,” he said, finally.
He waited until the bus had returned to the colony, then invited the President to join him in the secure room. “I need an update on weapons delivery,” he said. “Has the USAF thrown another fit?”
“Congress is making a fit instead,” the President said. “They’re not keen on transferring nuclear warheads to anyone.”
Steve snorted. Once, there had been a time when he would have adamantly opposed sending weapons to any country, at least unless it was a genuine ally. And nukes shouldn’t go anywhere outside American control. But now he needed those nukes. The plan to set up a breeder reactor on the moon — or even out in space — was going slower than he would have liked. Most of the people with experience in producing modern nuclear weapons were unable or unwilling to leave their home countries.