Matt Kord, coordinator of the Lunar Consortium, decreed that, on arrival, at first their visitor from Earth would be held at the quarantine facility at Port Tranquility, where his shuttle from orbit was to land. Jeorg North was an irregular arrival, after all, with permissions apparently obtained for this visit by irregular means: probably through buddies, even hero-worshippers, in the Earth-Moon ferry pool. So Kord decreed North was not to be allowed any further than decontamination until he was satisfied North intended no harm to the Consortium and its facilities.
But as he and Doria Bohm, his restless, troublesome, rebellious assistant, rode the surface transport to the port, and then endured the mandatory fifteen minutes’ surface-to-surface quarantine checks before being allowed into the decon centre, Doria did nothing but argue.
‘Look,’ Doria said, ‘this man, Jeorg North, is one of the Earth’s most prominent spacecraft commanders. His mission to Ceres—’
‘We all know about Ceres. That is why I’m coming out to meet him in person, you know. Even though he smuggled his way out aboard an empty cargo scow from the space elevator …’ As Doria well knew, Kord suspected. She had her own sources.
‘And,’ Doria said, ‘we do know that North isn’t just some other pilot. In recent times North has had the ear of the ruling councils down there, including President Mason and her science adviser, Elizabeth Vasta. Something to do with the Planet Nine business, we think. And now he’s turned his back on all that and has come to us – all the way out here to the Moon from Earth. Just think what he might have to offer!’
Kord eyed her critically.
Doria Bohm had long been a high-up in a loose association of rebellious factions, here on the Moon – rebellious against Earth’s control. Which was why, after the immediate fall-out of the extraordinary events at Planet Nine, Kord had recruited her as a sort of vice-coordinator. Sooner that than have her outside, throwing criticism in.
And, as it happened, she had turned out to be surprisingly competent. Bohm was full of energy, super intelligent, and dedicated to the cause which he supported himself: economic and legal freedom for off-Earth communities, starting with the Moon. But—
But she had different methods from Kord’s. And now, today, she had the look of one of her loose-cannon days. Deep breaths, Matt …
‘Doria,’ he said, ‘you just don’t get people.’
That shut her down. She fingered the disc of black lunar obsidian at her neck, visibly calming herself. ‘I don’t? How so?’
‘We need to take this cautiously. I know what you’re thinking. You see an opportunity. I think he sees an opportunity. We could attach this very competent man to the mission of the Aquila – well, the proposed mission … But it would be a risk.’
And she seemed surprised that he cut to the core of it so quickly.
They had discussed this before, however. If Earth developed a helium-3 drive, and was thus able to get a ship out to Planet Nine and its wonders soon – meaning within a few years rather than decades – then, it seemed to most thinking people, the planetary authorities would be likely to be able to dominate the Solar System for centuries to come. It would be a home run – in the jargon of an old sport that had adapted surprisingly well to lunar conditions, Kord sometimes thought.
But if the lunar engineers could modify their own fastest ship, the Aquila, meant for Earth-Moon transits – and give it the capability to get to Saturn, almost as quickly as the Cronus on its loop out …
The argument was simply that by having a presence there, the Lunar Consortium could present itself as a significant player, now and in the future. There was no intent to attack, or disrupt, either Cronus or the operations at Saturn. And the fact that Cronus would have to be re-equipped with fusion technology and refuelled at Saturn, before going on to Nine, made some kind of intercept mission all the more plausible in terms of timing.
All this was tentatively planned; already modifications to Aquila were underway. It was the Consortium’s most covert operation just now, and the most audacious – or foolhardy. A mission breaking all interplanetary flight protocols. All to get a piece of the action of the outer planets, even Planet Nine, perhaps. It was, in Kord’s eyes, a mission full of risks, technical, political and human. But, he knew, it was also a mission which might just about achieve its technical and political objectives, a break-out from the legal and technological framework that contained the Consortium.
However, they needed a top pilot to handle the mission.
But— Jeorg North?
‘This is already a huge gamble, isn’t it? Every way you look at it. And now you want to involve this man, North, this rogue?’
Doria was frowning. ‘Rogue? All that matters is his utility. All that matters is that he’s the best qualified deep-space commander there is, as was proved by—’
‘The Ceres mission, yeah, yeah. Not to mention his huge experience of the Earth-Moon-Mars circuit. But why is he here? What does he want … ?’
She seemed confused by the question.
You are so naive about people, Doria. Maybe all the generations brought up in the tiny human community of the Moon are like this. Socially – deprived.
He sighed. ‘Look – you see this man, Jeorg North, purely as an asset. What could he offer us, offer you? But he’s not just an asset; he is a human being following his own life trajectory, his own goals. Just a few months ago he was working closely with the World President’s own science adviser, wasn’t he? And now he’s betraying his own world, his own culture. So why should we trust him? What does he want here?’
‘Well, it might be a noble motive for all we know—’
Kord shook his head. ‘For all we know, it might be something to do with the messy divorce he’s going through. Ha! You didn’t know about that, did you? You ought to try to cultivate people, contacts, if you really want to make a difference, Doria. North’s husband is a hot shot pilot too … So what’s the intersection of our goals with the goals of a super-pilot from Earth who’s maybe been thwarted in his ambitions by his own spouse? Is he really in the right mindset for something like this?’
She looked at him sceptically. ‘And that’s why you’ve kept him stuck in quarantine for so long?’
‘Only a few hours—’
‘Several hours longer than the minimum set-aside …’
That was true enough. But that had at least bought Kord some time to try to find out for himself through various channels, public and otherwise, why this Earth hero should suddenly become a rebel.
He shook his head. ‘Too damn much going on, and too fast. Look, Doria – this is a strange time, a fragile time for all of us. Especially given the quasar heating.’
She grunted. ‘There is no “us” as far as we and Earth are concerned about that. We’re dug down in the regolith; they have a wide-open unprotected biosphere.’ She peered out at the bare, dead lunar ground, the black sky, the sharp shadows cast by a rising Sun. ‘Their oceans might boil. We can just spin off a few more reflective sheets from all our lunar aluminium stock—’
‘That’s callous. And don’t be naive. We still depend on Earth for vitals. If Earth went down, we would follow pretty quickly.’
‘Well, even so. We can’t let ourselves be intimidated by that kind of possibility.’
‘But you have to look at the wider context. In terms of the human factor too. Jeorg North isn’t just a pilot, he’s not just an asset to be controlled. He’s a human being who’s hurting, evidently. And something has brought him out here. Some kind of angle that has come out of the wider picture. Nothing to do with our own goals, that’s for sure. And that’s what we have to figure out before we make any kind of recruit of him.’
She snorted. ‘And then what, we give him a counselling session and send him home?’
‘If necessary, yes …’
‘So I’m to treat this as a learning experience in the art of politics?’
He said nothing more. Just stood there, holding her in his stare.
‘I’ll follow your lead,’ Doria said at length, submitting.
‘Thank you. Although I have a feeling we may both end up following Jeorg North’s lead.’
She grinned. ‘All the way to Saturn? Or beyond? I’d take that trip.’
‘One step at a time, Doria. One step at a time … I believe he’s going through decon. Let’s go see him.’
The Tranquility base’s main decon facility was a roomy but self-contained habitat, situated not by chance at the heart of the nearest thing the Lunar Consortium had to a tourist destination. From here there were daily tours to the historic Apollo 11 site, where you could also see modern history being made with the tremendous helium-3 regolith-scraping machines in action – the regolith of historic Tranquility being, by chance, a comparatively rich lode.
In the onsite hotel there was even a bit of luxury, though that wasn’t saying much, Kord reflected. The Moon was a world of sparse treasure and monumental labour. Indeed the colonists couldn’t afford much more luxury than this, thanks to the economic vice Earth had on them. Tranquility was just one, very visible, symptom of that vice, and maybe that was appropriate. Symbolic.
Anyhow, they had nowhere else to keep an ambiguous visitor like Jeorg North, deserter from Earth.
Kord and Bohm found him, alone, still in the main decon tank. There were no staff on duty with him; the facility was fully automatic.
He was doing some kind of calisthenics, it seemed, lying on his back, folding his body into a ball with arms wrapped around the knees, and then opening out to a stretch, legs straight out. Over and over. North was a short, stocky man – well built for the confines of spaceflight and off-planet living, Kord thought. Strong, though, that was evident. His skin, dark, was slick with sweat.
All this before panoramic windows that showed a panoply of stars, and illuminated crater rims on the horizon that gave a hint of the sunlight of the long lunar morning to come.
Now he noticed them. He rolled to his feet, grabbed a towel, and grinned confidently at the visitors.
Kord, glancing over, found it easy to read Doria’s expression. Look at him. Think what he’s already done. We need a person like this if we’re going to take a semi-experimental craft to the outer Solar System – and to deal with rivals from Earth on the way.
But Kord remained to be convinced. And so, he suspected, on some deep level, did Doria. All that in a sharp glance. In some ways they were learning to work together, the old fart administrator and the clear-eyed young rebel.
As two of them entered the room, North relaxed his posture, reached out for a wall rail, grabbed a towel to mop his face and neck.
Doria made the introductions. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, Jeorg. This is the coordinator of the Lunar Consortium—’
‘Matt Kord. Sure. I’ll eschew a sweaty-palm introduction. And, nice to meet you too, Doria, in person. I like your pendant.’
That disc of lunar obsidian at her neck. Doria touched it, self-conscious.
‘Elizabeth Vasta has one similar. Different stone, I think. Wears it all the time. Funny coincidence! Name-dropping, I know. And I also like your rebellious spirit. Read some of your articles back home. About pushing ahead with lunar independence, bending the old space treaties?’
She shrugged, apparently embarrassed. ‘I do what I can—’
‘You do have sympathisers on Earth, you know. Is she your local-hero rebel, Matt? Keeping her close to your politico chest?’
Kord tried not to react to that. ‘We don’t all play such games, pilot North. I’m an employee of the Lunar Consortium. A coordinator. A manager, not an Earth-style President, still less a monarch. There are few of us on the Moon—’
‘And probably as many opinions as there are people,’ Doria put in.
Kord said, ‘We believe in cooperating, here. Creative conflicts only.’
North grinned. ‘And I wonder how true that is. In my experience people are people, wherever you go.’
‘Well, we’re here to listen to your opinions, Captain North—’
‘Call me Jeorg. Let me gather up my gear.’ He did so, stuffing a bag with quick, brisk movements. ‘You know, I came up on one of your cargo boats, returning from cislunar. Asked what they were carrying.’
Kord knew. It was no secret. The ship had been accepting a cargo of liquid nitrogen for the Moon bases, in exchange for a much less valuable load of helium-3 destined for Earth.
‘Sums up the basics of Earth-Moon economics, doesn’t it?’ North said, with a goading tone. ‘Helium-3 for nitrogen. Helium-3, the lifeblood of this rocky world of yours – your most precious commodity, laboriously scraped out of the lunar ground. But you have to give it away in exchange for a scrap of what every one of the Earthbound breathes in and out, for free. If there were any justice—’
Kord cut him off with a gesture. He thought there was nothing subtle about the way North had picked up that cue and run with it. ‘We know all this, and we don’t need to be reminded of it. And whatever went before, the situation is changing, isn’t it? Because of Planet Nine—’
‘And the quasar,’ Doria said.
‘Which is what I’m here to discuss,’ North said. He hefted his bag. ‘Shall we get out of here?’
Kord led them out of the decon area and through a more public zone in this tourist-friendly spot, a meet-and-greet area with a corner set out with tables and chairs. The furniture was all very lightweight, to show off the Moon’s low gravity to new arrivals – or to visibly remind them of it.
A small serving bot slid silently over the floor towards them.
North slowed, sniffing the air. ‘Is that coffee? And I’m hoping not the tepid slop they serve you on the translunar flight.’
Kord grinned. ‘You want to stop here? We can talk as well here as anywhere. Sooner that than to bundle you off one vehicle straight onto another.’
‘But, security?’
‘You’ve already been passed. The place is swept daily,’ Doria said. ‘Mostly for reasons of commercial confidentiality. This, Tranquility, is a port, legally and in practice. A lot of deals are done right here, you can imagine. Or signed at any rate.’
‘Ah. This is where the oligarchs of Earth put the final squeeze on you innocent lunar folk, before they head straight back for the shuttle home.’
‘Something like that,’ Kord said dryly. ‘Come. Sit. Dump your bag. And tell the bot what you want …’
North asked for coffee, but Doria made a side order for him of a glass of pure water.
‘Lunar water,’ she said when the order arrived. ‘Or rather, comet debris, collected from the permanent shadow at Shackleton crater. It’s less scarce than helium-3 at least – we have a gigatonne of the stuff.’
North nodded, as if impressed. ‘Cheers.’ He raised the glass, sipped. ‘Good enough. And I guess I’ll be returning the gift through the recycler later on. So, to business. You know why I’m here. The prime cause anyhow.’
Kord said, ‘You mean the anomalies at Planet Nine.’
‘Right.’ North ticked off items on his fingers. ‘The – artefact – that Nine itself turned out to be. The creature they found, Feathers. Probably now the single most famous entity across all the worlds of mankind. And, not least, whether it’s all related, or not, the quasar event at the heart of the Galaxy. OK.
‘And from the beginning of this new phase of our lives I’ve been troubled by the way you people are being shut out of the argument. I’m serious. I’m from Earth, but I’m closer in spirit to pioneers like you.’ He swigged more water. ‘Of course Earth has a lot on its plate just now, other than business as usual. The global heating – I presume you see the data from the Earth governments?’
‘Also our own observatories,’ Kord said. ‘The big farside telescope farms. We do share it all, especially given the critical nature of all this – for all of us. But that may be more significant for Earth than it is out here, actually. At any location on the Moon we’re used to living with huge, unshielded swings in the sunlight intensity. No atmosphere, you see. But Earth has all those elaborate cycles of mass and energy, circulations of air and water and heat, those elaborate seasonal changes, all driven to a fine degree by the Sun’s heat. So that extra fraction already makes a difference. And that may be just the start, as far as we know.’
Doria nodded, with what looked to Kord like genuine sympathy for the hapless Earth dwellers. ‘You’ve just come from Earth, Jeorg. How bad is it so far?’
North shrugged. ‘I only follow the news. There are already fears that the big farming areas are drying out. In parts of North America, you know, it’s still the case that much of the water for arable land is drawn from aquifers. All over there’s been water rationing: in China …’
Doria nodded again. ‘It’s like the climate-crisis generations all over again. My family had some tales to tell about that. I guess most people did. Here, we could just dig in for a while, Matt is right. But we aren’t safe here. Not fully independent, not yet. Everything leaks, on the long term. If support from Earth folded – well, we wouldn’t last long.’ She glanced at Kord. ‘I do understand that, you know. And Earth knows it, of course, and it’s always been a lever.’
North smiled, encouraging her to speak, to say more.
Kord was becoming more and more wary of this man. He still couldn’t spot North’s true motives.
But Doria seemed oblivious to such subtleties. She said now, ‘There’s also the question of the humanoid on Nine.’
‘Feathers,’ said Jeorg North. ‘You should have been down on Earth when the news broke about that. Among other things, it’s our first encounter with extraterrestrial intelligence – indeed, extraterrestrial life. She’s an enigma from beak to feathery ass. Nice open questions, and there are plenty down on Earth rushing to provide answers, of one kind or another. Usually not too scientific, though.’
Kord nodded. ‘I heard about this. Religious reactions too? I mean, a birth without parents? Even Jesus had a biological mother …’
‘You’ve not had that here?’
Kord considered. ‘I think people here, those born here and immigrants too, are less – religiously inclined – than folk on Earth. That’s my personal impression. On Earth you are standing on a world that wasn’t made by humans, and even now has been little modified by humans, save for the worse: all those extinctions, the fouling up of the environment. Here, it was different. Here we didn’t start with a living world and trash it; here we are taking a dead world, if you like, and making it live. We don’t need to believe any god made this world.’
Kord smiled. ‘She’s right. Nobody here is praying to Feathers yet.’
Jeorg nodded. ‘Nobody on Earth either. But they are sending out a ship, right? The Cronus. And if they win that undeclared race, if they get there first – if they can capture this exotic technology, whatever it is, and this religious icon, Earth may have made a decisive move. Never mind squabbles over duties on a race of helium-3, or an embargo on nitrogen exports to the Moon. A move that could cut off the extraterrestrial future for good.’ He looked hard at them both. ‘Don’t you see the threat? Don’t you see the opportunity, if you can get out there and at least match them in the race?’ He sneered. ‘Or you could always go join the Conservers, and live off scraps for all eternity.’
Kord saw that he was becoming aggressive, forceful, so carried away was he with his own argument. Kord found this manner repulsive, in fact. Which wasn’t to say he mightn’t be right.
But Doria was scowling, intense. North’s arguments did mirror the views of many lunar colonists – especially the young. North had got through to her, and he knew it, Kord saw. He had recognised the half-tamed rebel in her, and was now reaching out to that rebel.
And Kord wondered, not for the first time, if, in bringing her into his own minuscule administration, he had made a strategic error.
But still, it couldn’t be denied that everything was in flux. What did he want himself? What did he see as the way forward?
Play for time. He sensed that generations of bewildered politicians and managers and administrators were whispering in his ears. Bluff. Keep them talking.
Ask him what he wants.
‘So,’ Kord said at length. ‘Jeorg North, you are here on a mission. Evidently. But why come here?’
North grinned. ‘I think you know. Because you have one ship here that I believe is capable of catching, even overhauling, the Cronus. At least as far as Saturn. Even now you’re fitting it out for the trip.’
Kord had been expecting that. He played for time. ‘You mean the Aquila – you know about that? How?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m a top pilot. Pilots talk. I know about ships, Earth’s or otherwise.’ He grinned again. ‘I always fancied taking the Aquila for a trial run … Look, you have a ship that will at least get you into the game of – well, whatever follows when Cronus reaches Saturn. So I believe. It’s always served as a cislunar freighter but is capable of much more than that. Your pilots, too, probably never go further than the Lagrange points. But in me, you have an experienced commander capable of getting you out there. Because I’ve been out there. All the way to Ceres, remember.’ He leaned forward. ‘This is the pitch I made to your colleagues, like Doria here, but I do understand it’s your decision to make.
‘You need to get a ship to Saturn. You have the ship. Let me fly it.’
Doria turned to Kord. ‘He’s got me halfway convinced, Matt. Why not? Show him the Aquila. See if he can live up to his promises.’
‘Or his boasting,’ Kord said.
He considered North again. He found it hard to believe that a man like this gave a damn about the political future of the Solar System, still less that of the Lunar Consortium, which must seem to a denizen of Earth to be a small, scruffy operation. If that wasn’t his motive, though, then what?
But on the other hand Kord had no other way he could see of involving the Consortium in the events at Saturn, and whatever might unfold from here.
‘I’ll make a deal,’ he said at last. Or play a gamble, he thought.
The way North looked at him, sharply, eagerly, convinced Kord he had made the right play. Still in control.
‘What kind of deal?’
‘If we show you the Aquila – and if you still honestly think you can handle such a mission as we’ve discussed – then you have to answer me, truthfully and fully, one question. Is that acceptable?’
‘What question?’
‘You’ll find out.’
North grinned widely. ‘Acceptable and accepted. Now show me your treasure.’
The Aquila was an experimental ship, Kord knew. Its purpose was to demonstrate a relatively independent means of transport and communication – independent of Earth, at least. A craft built of and fuelled by lunar materials almost entirely, both for structure and propulsion, and constructed by lunar industries.
And it worked. It had made a few runs in the environs of the near-Earth asteroids, camouflaged as much as possible. Earth probably knew about the existence of this ship, but, he was confident, didn’t know its capabilities.
Test runs over, for the time being it had been returned to a dry dock, a grave-like pit dug deep into the substance of the Moon – only a short journey from the Tranquility public area. So that was where they took North now.
And when they delivered him to the dock, North was clearly transfixed.
The bay was spacious, deep, and brilliantly lit, with the Aquila lying at rest in a cradle. A conveyor belt took them slowly along a pressurised, glass-walled corridor, paralleling the length of the Aquila, with North peering at the craft, barking out technical questions at Doria.
The main body was a hundred metres long, around fifty wide, aside from fold-out radiator panels that would extend past that limit once in space. The lightness of the ship’s framing and inner supports, and the lack of a solid hull, made it easy to see the detail. It had a roughly cylindrical arrangement, with major components of different diameters connected by struts. At the centre was a gleaming sphere, at the rear a cluster of nozzles.
‘That small compartment at the nose is the control room,’ Doria said softly. ‘You can see rocket clusters for braking, around the nose. They make a hell of a racket in the cabin when they fire, by the way, the noise passing through the frame. Behind that, electricity storage cells, then that big section contains the propellant tanks—’
‘What propellant?’
‘Hydrogen. From Shackleton water. The main crew quarters are inside the tank cluster—’
‘For radiation shielding?’ North asked.
‘Correct.’
‘That big sphere is the fission engine?’
‘Correct again. Behind that you have the drive units, basically hydrogen rockets. Fusion fuels, like helium-3, deuterium, are scarce on the Moon – and Earth buys all it can. But what we do have are heavy metals in the same relative abundances as Earth. That includes a hundred million tonnes of uranium – not that Earth will buy any of that any more. But we figure we have the uranium to support hundreds of thousands of missions of this scale.’ She grinned again. ‘We aren’t as rich as Earth, or its colonies, such as Saturn—’
‘But you’re pretty smart at making use of what you’ve got. I get it. And this baby would take us to Saturn—?’
‘In six years, by minimum-energy trajectories,’ Doria said. ‘Easily matching Cronus. She has already launched, but we’re confident Aquila can overhaul her. “Aquila” means “eagle”, my friend, and this eagle will fly straight and true.
‘And once we’re there, the Consortium will have a presence as far as Saturn at least, and then … Well, we’ll see. Plenty of time to figure it out from there. At the very least they’ll know we’re coming.’
North nodded, looked around once more. ‘You know what you’re doing. And this is a fine ship.’ He extended a gloved hand to Kord. ‘If you’ll have me, I’m in.’
Kord shook his head, withholding his own hand. ‘Not yet. Now you have to answer me that one question, truthfully.’
North frowned, dropped his hand. But he nodded.
Slowly, Doria led them out of the bay.
‘One question,’ North prompted Kord as they walked.
‘Tell me, then – why do you want this? To leave Earth, your home, your world – to betray it, in a sense, in this way? We know you have pretty senior contacts. And no more guff about the Lunar Consortium’s relative economic disadvantage and whatever. Why does it matter to you that you should be on this ship?’
North hesitated, sighed. ‘OK. Because I had a tentative posting on the bridge of the Cronus, when its six-year mission was hastily put together. Cronus to Saturn, and then beyond to Planet Nine. I say tentative. The posting was promised to me by the World President’s science advisor herself. And I didn’t get it. The posting. I didn’t get the gig. My husband did. Now my ex-husband. Bheki Molewa. He had better contacts, frankly. And he used them to cut my heart out. Look him up. Bheki Molewa. Is that enough for you?’
There was a stony silence.
Doria frowned. ‘That’s all?’
Kord believed him implicitly. He laughed. ‘On such details, the destinies of billions depend.’
Doria looked bewildered. ‘This is why I’ll never understand people, for all your tuition, Matt. So. OK. You’re in. Shall we take a look at the specifications …?’