Thousand-Mile Charge To Be Available By '27
But New Units Are Expensive
Creator Of "Pat and Mary" May Have Been Pushed
Cartoonist Had Received Threats From Angry Readers
Accused Of Blasphemy, Racism, Anti-Elderly Attitudes
"It's Only A Reprieve," Says Michaelson
Collision With Earth Would Have "Killed Us All"
Moonbase To Be Evacuated
Cop Shows Distant Second
Preyed On Handicapped
4.
Moonbase Spaceport. 12:33 P.M.
They were just beginning to admit passengers onto the boarding ramp when Tony Casaway arrived. He had originally been scheduled to carry the vice presidential party on the Micro to L1. But the schedules were in chaos today. He understood that management was trying to move as many people as possible to L1. The comet was coming, and people were excited, the way they got on roller coaster rides when they knew they were in for a deliciously scary time but one that ultimately would be safe.
Tony wasn't so sure. He'd caught a sense of worry when Bigfoot had brought him in to tell him about his shuffled assignments. Not desperation, by any means. But there had been a tightness in the air. He'd assigned it to the simple fact that Moonbase was going to get blitzed. But it might have been more than that.
Tony Casaway was an old test pilot, which is the best kind. He was different from the other pilots, who'd come to the Moon for reasons he could never understand. They talked a lot about frontiers and going to Mars. Tony came because Gina had gone shopping one day at a supermarket and walked into a hail of gunfire when a couple of goons tried to knock the place over. She was buried in a green hillside outside her native Kansas City, and Tony had gotten as far from that hillside as he could.
The Spaceport, like the rest of the facility, was submerged in the regolith. The hangers and pads were designed to accommodate a multitude of vehicles: the buses that connected Moonbase to L1, and a variety of space trucks and moon-hopping cargo carriers called lobbers that could haul equipment and products between the central complex and outlying factories and research posts.
A group of evacuees were milling about in the passenger lounge while technicians ran preflight checks on the two vehicles-a bus and the Micro-that were scheduled to depart within the half hour for L1. Most were middle-aged movers and shakers, VIPs who'd come to Moonbase for the ceremony. These included an eminent historian, a world-famous sculptor, and two Hollywood types. Wolfgang Weller, the German foreign minister, and his three-person entourage were also here.
Weller was tall and imposing, with cold gray eyes and an imperious manner. He looked annoyed, and Tony wondered whether the source of his irritation was the impending destruction of Moonbase or the fact that he was being herded about with the commoners. He looked like an easy man to dislike. Curious quality in a diplomat.
Or maybe the trouble was in Tony's mind. He didn't like high-powered types. They always seemed to need special attention, and to expect people to fawn over them. He made it a point therefore to seem unaware of the rank of any such passenger.
The passengers parted to let Tony through. He strode up the ramp and was greeted inside by Shen Ka-tai, the flight attendant. "Saber's on board," he told Tony.
Tony nodded and passed into the snug passenger compartment. There were four seats on either side of the aisle, set in pairs. The nature of traffic between L1 and Moonbase dictated the need for a compact, fuel-efficient vehicle to transport small groups and occasionally single persons. That vehicle was the Micro. Two more microbuses were currently under construction and were to join the fleet within the month.
His passengers were coming in behind him. Weller and three aides, and a family with two kids. Eight people in all. The manifest described the family as tourists and indicated their final destination as London. The two kids, a freckled girl about ten and her slightly younger brother, looked excited.
The parents, however, were brusque and nervous. They issued sharp commands to their progeny to sit down, buckle in, and please don't make so much noise. Tony reassured them, explaining that they'd be safely home when the comet arrived, a state of affairs that clearly disappointed the kids. The mother began a lecture about how this was not funny and they were lucky to be on their way.
Tony climbed the ladder and slipped through the overhead hatch onto the flight deck.
Saber was going through the preflight routine. "Hello, Tony," she said, smiling at him over one shoulder. She was tall and lean, almost six feet, with a boyish build. She had black hair and luminous blue eyes, and despite her lack of dimensions, never seemed to want for male escorts. Her name was Alisa Rolnikaya, and she'd been born in Florence into a Russian diplomat's family. She'd learned to fly when she was fifteen, returned to her family's home in St. Petersburg for her education, learned to fly jets, and spent several years with a NATO squadron whose pilots had been mostly Italian. There she'd acquired the code name "Saber," which had followed her to the Moon. The name fit, Tony thought. There was an edge to her personality, and to her sense of humor. She'd been with the Lunar Transport Authority three months, and her assignment to the Micro was her first. So far she seemed competent enough.
"Have you seen the comet pictures?" she asked.
He nodded. He was already making retirement plans. Below, Shen was getting the passengers seated.
"Switch to internal power," said Saber.
"Micro." Moonbase Control on the circuit.
"Go ahead, Control."
"You are unplugged and ready for departure in six minutes."
The Micro was a sphere set on top of a pair of landing treads. The flight deck was located inside a blister at the top of the sphere. At that moment Tony was looking out across the bay, where he could see the power and fuel umbilicals dropping away. The indicator lamps on his status board blinked yellow. Depressurization in the bay had begun.
The pad clamps released.
Tony listened to the sounds in the cabin below: footsteps, voices, luggage being placed in the overhead bins. Then the closing of hatches, inner and outer. The air pumps picked up a notch.
Shen reported the passenger cabin ready for departure.
Control again: "Micro, your turnaround time at L1 is going to be as quick as they can make it. Sleep when you can. It doesn't look as if you're going to have any down time until Friday."
"That's what I hear. It's going to get rank in the old Micro."
Saber smiled and shook her head. They both knew there'd be a quick break while the vehicle was being serviced after each flight. Not a lot of time, but enough to get scrubbed off and change into a fresh uniform.
"It's always been rank in the old Micro," said a new voice, which Tony recognized as that of the operations supervisor, Bigfoot Caparatti.
"Hello, Bigfoot," he said.
"See you when you get back, Tony," said Caparatti. "Good flight."
The overhead doors began to open.
"Green board, Tony," said Saber.
"Countdown to ignition. On my mark. Ten…"
The Micro mounted a single General Electric 7RV engine, capable of providing a steady one-g acceleration. At zero, Tony started it. It roared into life. The flight deck trembled and the Micro began to rise. Then they were out of the illuminated bay, ascending into the night. White House, Truman Room. 1:27 P.M.