"Thank God," said Charlie. He was relieved, not only because no one would be left behind, but because he already foresaw the political impact if people died while he escaped.
BBC WORLDNET. 10:01 A.M.
"A spokesman at Moonbase International headquarters in Boston revealed today that a general evacuation of Moonbase has begun. The spokesman stressed there is no danger to base personnel or to visitors. The evacuation has been prompted by the impending collision with Comet Tomiko early Sunday morning, Greenwich mean time. The collision will not be visible from London.
"In a related development, astronomers at the Royal Observatory are speculating that the object is not strictly a comet, as the term is traditionally understood. "Comets are members of the Sun's family," said Wilfred Hodge, a staff member and well-known science writer. "Tomiko is an interstellar object, probably a cometary body that was expelled from another star system, and has been traveling for millions and perhaps billions of years." Moonbase, Grissom Country. 10:17 A.M.
Evelyn Hampton found herself, in the supreme operational crisis of her life, with little to do. Jack Chandler was organizing the evacuation, and the last thing Moonbase needed was a second boss. So she'd withdrawn into the role of Visiting Dignitary Who Had To Be Rescued.
This status gave her a perspective similar to Charlie's. Consequently, it seemed almost in the natural order of things that the two of them arranged to meet in the private dining room of the Huntress, a bistro set back in a grove of trees in Main Plaza, where (while the agents watched) they exchanged condolences and words of encouragement. "No blame should attach to either of us," said Evelyn, "but it will. It's Hampton's Law."
"What's Hampton's Law?" asked Charlie. The vice president looked dazed, as if he hadn't quite caught up with events.
"When things go wrong, whatever the circumstances, it's always somebody's fault."
As a rule, Evelyn disapproved of politicians. They tended to break down into two categories: the completely unprincipled, who composed the vast majority; and those who lived by their principles no matter who suffered. Her early impression of Charlie was that he did not fit easily into either category. It was almost as if he'd somehow wandered in off the street and gotten into the wrong profession. He embodied a kind of casual, we're-all-in-this-together approach to business relationships that she wouldn't have believed for a minute coming from the other seekers-after-power whom she had known. And even with Charlie she was mildly skeptical. For one thing, they weren't all in it together. Charlie might have to face some political fallout, but Evelyn stood to lose everything-the corporation, her holdings, her career. Her reputation.
"So what will you do now?" Charlie asked. "Do you see a way to salvage any of this?"
She shrugged. "It doesn't look hopeful."
They were having coffee and toast. About half the tables in the main dining area were occupied. People strolled casually along the walkways, and somebody was riding a hang glider down from the top of the dome. "How about the evacuation?" he said. "Any problems?"
"I don't think so. The LTA says they'll cooperate and get the planes out here forthwith. It'll be tight; some of us leaving on the last flight Saturday will have a damned good view of the fireworks. But everybody will be off. Barring glitches." She bit into her toast. "We always assumed the most likely emergency would be an upturn in the solar flare cycle. Something like that. That all we'd have to do would be to get people under cover. I don't think it ever occurred to anybody we'd have to evacuate the entire complex. We're talking about the Moon, for God's sake." She was having a hard time keeping her voice steady. "We've already shipped off the first load of people to L1."
Opposite them, a virtual mountain brook ran through a tank. There were rocks in the water, and a broken cupola stood off to one side, half-submerged in the stream. Evelyn glanced at it, watched the image change and dissolve into a USA Today headline:
COSMIC BULLET TO STRIKE MOON
Narrow Miss For Earth, But Other Objects Have Come Closer
The headline was replaced by an image of the comet. All comet heads-at least, all the ones whose pictures she'd seen- looked alike. Below the golden halos they were dark fissured chunks of ice and dirt, occasionally cratered, irregularly shaped. They were singularly uninteresting, and she never quite understood why anyone would care about them. This one was no exception. It had a couple of craters, and some long parallel rifts, as if someone had taken a scraper to it. "It looks pretty ordinary," she said.
Charlie shook his head. "It's wider than New Jersey. We don't want to be here when it shows up."
Evelyn felt thoroughly beaten. Had the comet given her a few years, allowed Moonbase to prove its value and develop a cash flow, the corporation might have survived even this kind of catastrophic hit. But not now. This was the critical moment, and she could not escape the sense that the comet's appearance was somehow deliberate, as if the universe were out to get her. "You know what else?" she said. "When this is over, L1 won't be worth a damn anymore either."
"Why not?"
She looked at Charlie, surprised. "Because it's the mutual attraction of Earth and Moon that keeps it in place. You won't be able to maintain a satellite there if the Moon goes south. There won't be a Lagrangian point."
"Oh."
"So we'll be confined to low earth-orbit, and there won't be a convenient short-range target left in the sky. Charlie, we had a window when the technology, the money, and the will were all there. Briefly. But I think the window is closing."
3.
Moonbase, Grissom Country. 10:55 A.M.
The newscasts were now beginning to run simulations and comparisons. There was enough rock and ice in the comet head to fill the Grand Canyon a hundred and fifty times. Or to construct a covering fifty feet high completely around the Earth.
Here's what it'll look like Saturday night. Viewers could watch an animated graphic of the comet crossing the orbit of Venus, arrowing toward the Moon, and finally blending with it. A little cloud appeared at the point of impact.
People were packing. There was what one might describe as a sense of calm urgency. Jack Chandler's staff put together a departure schedule and copies were posted everywhere. Visitors would leave first, followed by all those deemed nonessentiaclass="underline" astronomers, mathematicians, chemists, hydroponics experts, entrepreneurs, recreation directors, general maintenance workers, and everyone else not needed to launch spacecraft or keep the power on. They did need the life support technicians, the spaceport people, the communicators and systems analysts. And, Chandler decreed, senior managers. Even if they couldn't help directly.
Personnel from outlying stations were recalled. The issue of whether there should be an attempt to salvage equipment was raised and quickly discarded. Whatever we can't put on a disk, Chandler told his people, we'll forget about. A modest luggage allowance was announced and a duty officer was made available to receive suggestions or complaints, and to assist with problems.
Rick Hailey read the document on his wallscreen and noted that the Micro, which was to have carried the vice presidential party off at lunchtime, was preparing to leave momentarily with a different set of passengers. He'd gone to bed last night in a sedate facility that was looking forward to a long period of prosperity and discovery. This morning he'd awakened to chaos. In physics, he realized, as in politics, things can turn around in a hurry. And without warning.
His phone rang. "Hailey," he said quietly.
"Rick." It was the vice president. "Things have been happening. If you've got a few minutes, we need to talk."