"starsiders_2_bouncing_off_the_moon_by_david_gerrold_v05_unformatted" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gerrold David)
AFTER A WHILE, MICKEY WENT and got us some damp towels and we all wiped our faces clean and looked at each other and giggled in embarrassment a little bit. Maybe we'd all overreacted. Maybe it was the fear and the anger and the exhaustion all coming out at the same time. Maybe we had to test ourselves. And maybe we were just catching our breath for the second round. Mickey spoke first. "Look, you don't have to trust me anymore. But the way I see it, if Alexei's got the monkey now, then he doesn't need us anymore. And we're just sitting here waiting for the executioner to arrive. I think we need to get out of here." "Oh-?" said Douglas. "How?" Mickey laughed. "Come look at what I found." He led us up to Alexei's office and punched up a Lunar map on the big display. "This is a satellite photo," he said. "And this overlay shows where all the known settlements are. And this overlay shows suspected settlements are. And THIS overlay shows the RF cousins-" "RF?" "Rock Father. Alexei's tribe." "Where did you get all this information?" I asked. "Alexei isn't the only one with a cousin," Mickey reminded us. "Alexei knows who my cousins are, and I know who his cousins are. We've cooperated enough times in the past-but probably never again, so it doesn't matter. Anyway, look at this map. Where are we? Where's Brickner 43-AX92?"
Douglas and I took a moment to study the display, searching the labels of the different stations. Finally, we both gave up. "Where is it?" "There is no Brickner 43-AX92. That's a fictitious location. All the Brickner stations are false." He looked up at the ceiling and shouted. "Do you think you were fooling us, Alexei? We knew it all the time." Back to us, he said, "Just in case he's listening." "Do you think he is?" "If he's not on the phone, talking someone's ear off." "So are we on the map or not?" I asked, still searching the display. "Oh, we're here," Mickey rapped the image on the wall. "We're just not where Alexei said. Do you know why there are so many fictitious people and stations on the moon? The invisibles do that; it's the haystack in which they're hiding. False data. The more inaccuracies they can generate, the better. It drives even the intelligence engines crazy, so I'm told." "So where are we?" Douglas asked. "I'll show you. I'll show Alexei too. Here-look, here's Gagarin. Right here." He pointed. "And over here, this is the train line. This is Wonderland Jumble, and the line goes right straight across here-see this spot here? Wait, I'll enlarge it. See that? That's Route 66. See where it crosses the train line? Right there at Borgo Pass-and if you follow the road around here and here and here, you come to this Y- shaped junction here that Alexei called his turnoff. Now, do you remember the zigzag flight path we took? It sort of looked like we were heading over here toward the left, remember? That was what Alexei wanted us to think. And he kept the sun bouncing around in front of us, so we wouldn't be able to look and see where we were going. All that tacking back and forth, you thought we were going northeast, didn't you? The truth is, we went southeast first and then northeast and then finally due east, and when you take out all the zigs and zags, we mostly went east. And we came down here! This is where we are." Douglas and I both peered close. Douglas said it first. "We're at Gagarin!" "Not quite. It's just over the hill. We're walking distance." "And we didn't see it because the sun was in our eyes!" Douglas grinned. "Edgar Allan Poe's `Purloined Letter.' The safest place to hide something is in plain sight. Only what was Alexei hiding- us or Gagarin?" "Both," said Mickey. "Listen-Charles, Douglas? Can you trust me
for just a little while longer. I mean, I can get us out of here. I can get you to safety. And to a colony bid. After that, if you never want to see me again, I'll understand that too-what do you say?" Douglas looked to me. I could see he wanted me to say yes. "Chigger ?" "It's a fair deal. If he'll live up to it." Maybe I was still being too suspicious, but somebody had to be. "I don't want to hurt you any more," Mickey said to us, but mostly to Douglas. "I'll keep my word." "All right." Douglas offered his hands for a Lunar handshake. "Let's do it." Mickey grabbed both of Douglas's hands in both of his and the two of them looked at each other and shook hands. And then I put my hands on top of theirs and Stinky put his hands on top of mine, and we all shook together. And then we laughed and broke apart and Mickey snapped immediately into problem-solving mode. "All right, girls. Let's find our bubble suits. According to the map, there's a local road. See? It's less than a kilometer. It's all in shadow. We can be there in an hour. Grab some food and water, extra air tanks just in case. Reflective blankets. Headsets. Everything we had from the pod. I think Alexei packed them all in the blue case. Didn't we leave that one up by the hatch?" "Uh, Mickey-" I said softly. He glanced to me. I gestured toward the ceiling. What if he's listening? "Let him listen," he said, loudly enough for any hidden microphones to hear. "We'll be safe at Gagarin long before he can catch up with us." We found the bubble suits and other supplies exactly where Mickey had said. We unpacked them quickly, but Douglas held his up, frowning. "These suits have expired, Mickey. They're only good for one wearing or six hours, whichever comes first. And we went beyond both of those limits." Mickey snapped back, "I know what those suits are tested to, Douglas. Some of them have lasted as long as ten wearings and over six hundred hours. All we need is thirty minutes, maybe less. Do you have a better idea?" He didn't. We started dressing ourselves for a trip across the surface . I was already dreading this, but we were too busy going through
the separate drills of zipping and unzipping, checking air and water supplies, tightening the Velcro straps on the jumpsuit shoes, grabbing the inflatable airlock, all that stuff. But we didn't actually put on the bubble suits themselves until we were standing under the exit hatch. Mickey stood beneath it, happily punching at the controls, occasionally swearing, canceling things out, and going back to do it again. This wasn't the same airlock we'd entered through. This was a larger one, with multiple hatches. There was one hatch overhead and at least half a dozen more spaced around the walls. The hatch in the floor led back down to the living quarters. "All right," Mickey announced. "I've got it. Everybody get your suits on. Douglas, seal that floor hatch-" "Wait," I said. I went over to the hatch and sang down into it, "I would dance and be merry, life would be a ding-a-derry, if I only had a brain ..." All three of them stared at me, as if I'd suddenly gone crazy. "Chigger, what the hell are you doing?" He made as if to close the hatch. "Wait, dammit!" "We don't have time-" I sang down into the hatch again. This time louder. "I would dance and be merry, ding-a-derry-" That was as far as I got. The monkey came flying up out of the hatch like something out of an animated cartoon. "What the hell-?" That was Mickey. "My monkey!" Bobby shrieked. The monkey flew into his arms and hugged him excitedly. They still looked like long-lost twins. "Chigger-?" Douglas grabbed my arm. "I did it, yes. I told the monkey to hide and stay hidden and not come out until I called it. So Alexei wouldn't get it. Or anyone else-" Douglas gave me a look of exasperation and rage. He turned and dogged the hatch. His face was working furiously, while he tried to think of what to say. Finally, he turned around. "Your little brother hasn't stopped crying-" "I know, and I feel like a shit, okay?! I'm sorry, so no one could steal him-" "Everybody stop arguing!" Mickey shouted. "We've gotta go!" He armed the airlock. "Get into your suits now." Bobby gave the monkey one more hug, then bounced onto Doug-
las's back, the monkey jumped onto mine. We pulled on our suits quickly and zipped ourselves in. "You haven't heard the end of this, Chigger!" Douglas called across to me. "You told me you wanted me to be honest with you-and you didn't tell me the truth about the monkey?!" "I didn't want Mickey to know. I wanted to tell you first." "Yeah, you've always got an excuse." "Shut up, Douglas! Chigger did good. We're still alive right now because Alexei couldn't find the monkey!" "He should have told me!" "I was going to-I didn't get a chance." "It's all right, we've got it back now," said Bobby, trying ineffectively to be a peacemaker. "Shut up, all of you! I can't concentrate!" And as he said that, the hatch opposite us popped open. Not the hatch above! "Go!" Mickey shouted, pushing me toward it. "Come on!" "Huh?" But I was already moving. "You're not the only one who can keep a secret. Let's go, Douglas!" I bounced through into a horizontal tube that stretched ahead forever . It was the same stuff as the inflatable pressure tubes that linked one vehicle to another-a spiral coil with plastic walls; you extended it wherever you wanted it to go-only this one was longer. It stretched away like a tunnel. It had a collapsible mesh deck for a floor, with several pipes and tubes running along underneath it. Outside the plastic, I could sense more than see that the tube was half-buried in Lunar dust. Farther out, lay the dim outlines of a shadowy horizon. "How far does this go?" I called back. Mickey was sealing the hatch behind us. "At least a kilometer. I hope. Go as fast as you can, Chigger. We're right behind you." "But this isn't the road!" "I know it. But maybe Alexei won't. I cut all his visual monitors to the airlock. At least, I think I did. So he's going to think we took the road." "But how'd you know this tube was here?" "Call it a lucky guess. But I know Alexei better than you. Keep bouncing." I didn't look back, I could hear them pounding behind me. "See, you wouldn't have noticed it, Chigger. You're a terrie. Sorry, no offense. But I knew that the Brickner station wasn't working the minute we climbed down into it. It wasn't hot enough! You can't melt Lunar
ice without heat, and you've got to pump a lot of heat into the ground to get the ice to melt. And it wasn't hot enough! So where did all that water come from then?" "It was here from before-? When the station was working?" I offered. "Maybe. But remember, I know Alexei better than you! Why do you think I asked him to smuggle you up the Line? Why do you think I trusted him to smuggle us to Luna? Because Alexei Krislov is a brilliant scoundrel. Brickner station is a double-decoy. Yeah, he sells a little bit of water back to Gagarin. That's his cover-look down, you see those pipes under the deck? What do think is in them? Which way do you think it's flowing?" I was too busy bouncing to focus, and I didn't want to stop to look. "Um, the green one is breathable air?" I guessed. "The blue one is water?" "And the orange one? What do you think that is? "That's ammonia," said Douglas. "Remember what Alexei said about nitrogen and ammonia? You need nitrogen to make breathable gas. And for fertilizer. You need ammonia for refrigeration." "Right," said Mickey. "The key to Lunar technology isn't water. It's nitrogen. That's what everybody needs the most. Even more than water and electricity. Alexei isn't selling any of this! He's stealing it! Brickner isn't a water-production plant; it's a holding tank for water skimmed off Gagarin. And all the stuff in the other tanks as well. There were too many. There's too much storage there." We bounced a little farther down the tube, while I thought about that. The pipes below our feet weren't that thick. I guessed they didn't need to be. "Doesn't Gagarin know?" Douglas asked. "Can't they tell?" "Maybe Alexei is only siphoning off a few liters a day. With the number of people coming and going into Gagarin Station, with the scale of industrial processes they've got going, they could write it off as loss due to normal usage. But if he's siphoning off any more than that, then someone at Gagarin is covering it up. That's my guess, that this is how legal resources are being funneled to the tribes of invisible Luna. I wonder if they're doing the same with electricity. You heard him talking about factories and what they needed. Dammit. We knew they were moving ahead. We didn't realize this-" And then he trailed off into a string of muttered curses.
We concentrated on bouncing down the tube. We couldn't see very far ahead from any given point, because the tube snaked and wound its way over the Lunar terrain, up and down, around and over. Every so often we passed a joint where two sections of tube had been sealed together. Several times we had to pass through manually operated airlocks . We zipped our way through. "Bobby? Did you do something?" That was Douglas. They were in the same bubble suit again. "I didn't do anything." "What are you guys talking about?" Mickey asked. "It smells like piss in here," said Bobby. "I didn't do it!" "How bad?" asked Mickey. His voice sounded strange. "Not too bad," Douglas said. And then he got it. "Oh." "Would somebody explain it to me?" I asked. "Ammonia," Mickey said. "What's ammonia?" Bobby asked. "It's good for cleaning your glasses," I said. "I don't wear glasses," Bobby said. "Then don't worry about it." "Charles, please-" That was Mickey. "I'm trying to figure out how far we've come. I don't want to turn back." "I think we can make it," Douglas said. "I'll turn up my oxygen." "That'll help-a little bit." He added, "Alexei probably keeps the tube pressurized with ammonia to keep folks from wandering through it casually. Besides, it's another useful storage area. Do the math. A kilometer-long tube, nine meters in diameter, pressurized to two-thirds sea level, I'd guess. Can you figure it out, Douglas?" He was trying to distract Douglas, I was sure. And maybe me too. I was trying to figure out if there was anything else we could do. "Monkey , if you've got any ideas, now's the time to talk-" It didn't respond. "It really stinks in here!" wailed Bobby. "I don't like this!" "How are your eyes?" Mickey asked. "Watering-badly." Douglas coughed suddenly. Bobby was coughing even worse. The leak must have expanded- -and then I got it! "The inflatable! The portable airlock!" I could barely get the words out fast enough. Even as I stumbled to get the words out, Mickey was already pulling it from his pack! I bounced back to him and together, we pushed Douglas and Stinky through the first
zippered entrance. We zipped it behind them, unzipped the next, pushed them through, zipped it behind them- Douglas was already turning up the oxygen on his tank. Mickey pushed the gloves into the inflatable, and without worrying about proper procedures unzipped all three of the zippers on Douglas's bubble suit. Douglas and Bobby lay on the floor of the inflatable, coughing and choking, their eyes streaming. Douglas held the breather tube in front of Bobby's nose, then his own, then back to Bobby. It probably still smelled of ammonia in there, but at least they had a chance now. "Come on, Charles, I can't do this alone. I need your help." He rolled Bobby onto Douglas, and picked up Douglas by the head. I picked up Douglas by the feet and the two of us began carrying him forward. The inflatable bulged into unmanageable shapes, but we both had our hands pushed into its gloves and we held on to Douglas himself and tried to keep the bulges from dragging and scraping along the sides. We bounced through the tube as fast as we could manage. I could feel my heart pounding so hard I couldn't hear anything else. Mickey led the way, I followed. I couldn't see past him very well, so I couldn't see if the tube sloped up or down, right or left, so I was constantly bumping and jerking, trying to keep up. Bobby and Douglas were still coughing, but Bobby was crying, and that was always a good sign. If we could just make it to the end of this tube. How far was it anyway?! We had to stop then, while Mickey zipped us through another manual airlock. And then we pushed on again. I didn't know how much longer I could do this-I didn't care that we were in one-sixth gee. This was exhausting, and I was reaching the limits of my endurance. "We've gotta stop soon-" I managed to gasp. "You'd better pace yourselves." Douglas coughed. He waved the breathing tube back and forth between himself and Bobby. "All right, all right-" Mickey brought us to a halt. We lowered Douglas and Bobby to the deck and the two of us stood there, hands on knees, panting heavily. "Aren't we there yet? How far is it?" I asked. "We're halfway there. More than halfway. How are you doing, Douglas?" He was already shoving another air tank through the zipper locks. The last one. This was going to be close. "Turn it all the way up. Give yourselves as much pure oxygen as you can. And try not to strike any sparks. Ammonia is flammable, you know."
"If I turn it all the way up, the inflatable will fill the tube. We'll use the breathing mask. We'll be fine." "Douglas, look at your bubble suit. The plastic is supposed to change color around a rip or a puncture. Red or yellow, I think. If you can find the hole, there's emergency tape right there. Just pull off a strip and press it to the leak. Can you find it? Look around your feet. Turn over, maybe it's behind you. Charles and I will look. Do you see anything, Charles-?" "I'm still looking. It's hard to see through all these layers-" "Douglas?" "I don't see anything either." "Damn! Maybe it's in the foot pads or the gloves or someplace it doesn't show. All right-" He glanced up the length of the tube. "It's doable. You ready, Chigger?" "No," but I picked up Douglas by the feet anyway. This time, we held our panic in check. We moved fast, but we weren't running anymore. We were tired, but we weren't exhausting ourselves. And then, just to make it worse, we started up a long uphill slope. I could see the ceiling of the tube arcing away. "Gohvno!" It hurt, I ached, and I was beginning to imagine I could smell the ammonia piss-smell myself. It was enough to make my eyes water. I coughed. "Not you too!" Mickey said. "Keep going!" I shouted. And finally, the tube crested the hill. We passed through another manual airlock and started down the last long slope to Gagarin. And yes, I really could smell ammonia now. My suit had a leak too. But I could make it. I was certain of it. All we had to do was get to the bottom of this hill, that's all. Okay, the bottom of this hill then. If I could just hold my breath a little bit longer and not start coughing again- -the pain in my eyes and nose and chest was impossible, and somebody was trying to force a breathing tube in my mouth. I was trying to hack out my guts and somebody was telling me to inhale. And all I wanted to do was just get Douglas and Bobby to the other end of the pipeline. And then I finished retching and the tube was shoved into my mouth, and then the next thing I knew, somebody was sitting on me and somebody else was carrying me and we were bouncing down the birth canal of hell pushing into the light, and-
-and then we were in an airlock or just outside of it and somebody was stripping me out of my bubble suit and turning me on my back and standing on my stomach. Oh, flaming God, even CPR was different on the moon-
ZOMBIES
WAS ON MY SIDE. I was in the inflatable. Stinky was sitting next to me, rocking and hugging the monkey and crying. Douglas and Mickey were outside of the inflatable-leaning over me-how had that happened ? They were both in bubble suits. Douglas's had a strip of tape on it. I noticed that immediately. My eyes and lungs still burned, there was blood dripping from my nose, but the piss-smell of ammonia was more memory than real. We were still in the tube. Douglas waved at me. I waved back. He grinned. I wasn't sure what was happening. He picked up my feet, Mickey picked up my head; Bobby lay down on top of me, he didn't weigh enough to matter-and we were heading down the tube again. This time, I was the cargo. How had I gotten inside the inflatable? How had Douglas ended up outside again? It hurt too much to wonder about it. I concentrated on breathing. One desperate gulp at a time. My throat felt scorched. My nose still dripped. I wiped at it futilely. My arms were too weak to move. Stinky waved a breathing tube at me. I must have passed in and out of consciousness, because the next thing I knew, Douglas and Mickey were passing me through a hatch, and we were out of the tube inside another cargo-pod-shaped place. And then they were unzipping everything and pulling Stinky out and then me and I was full of questions, but I couldn't ask them because Mickey had a medikit and was wiping my face and shining a light in my eyes, telling me to watch his finger, asking me if I could talk.
I croaked something in response that sounded like "Kwaaact whaccked?" but really meant "What happened?" "Your suit tore. We pushed you into the inflatable. I was going to go for help, but Bobby found the hole in your suit and Douglas patched it. He put it on himself and the two of us carried you out. You should have said something-" "Waack tdiict!" "Don't talk," Mickey ordered. "Breathe this. It's going to smell funny-" He sprayed something into my throat. It was wet and cold, but in a few seconds, my throat stopped trying to climb out of my neck, and the pain subsided into a dull ache. That left only my lungs screaming for relief. Mickey pressed something cold and hissy against my arm. It didn't make the throbbing in my chest go away, it made me go away. I was still awake, I could even feel stuff, I just didn't care anymore . I saw Mickey turn to Bobby next and start making the same tests. Bobby was in better shape than me. So was Douglas. But he sedated them too. Douglas sat down cross-legged next to me, with a stupid look on his face. We must have looked like three happy zombies- And then there were some other people around us and Mickey stood up and started showing them his documents. "My name is Michael Gordon Partridge. I'm a licensed bounty hunter from the Line, and these people are my prisoners. Here's a copy of the warrant. Here's my license and my ID. They need immediate medical attention, and I need to arrange fast transport to Armstrong." I saw Douglas look up, blinking in confusion. "Huh-?" I wasn't sure what happened next. That's when I started passing in and out of consciousness. The next thing I knew, the room was vibrating loudly. And I was strapped down so I couldn't move. I couldn't see either. I turned my head and something wet fell away from my eyes. Douglas was lying on another cot across from me. I didn't see Stinky or the monkey, but there was another cot above me. Maybe he was on that. There was a signal I could whistle- -but there was an oxygen mask over my face. And then someone came and put the wet pad over my eyes again. Mickey's voice. "You're going to be all right, Charles. You took a few bad gulps, but there isn't going to be any permanent damage. Douglas and Bobby are all right. So is the monkey. Everybody's here. All you have to do is relax and
rest and let us get you to the hospital at Armstrong Station. We'll be there in another two hours." He leaned in close to put his lips next to my ear. "Everything is going to be all right, I promise." I couldn't speak. I didn't try. I didn't care. I didn't have any feelings left. Later on, I might have feelings again. But if they were going to hurt, I didn't want them. I'd had enough of feelings, thankewverymuchnext . But I wanted him to go away. I knew he wasn't good for us anymore, even if I couldn't remember why. I tried to tell him that. I struggled against the restraints and twisted my head back and forth, trying to shake the air mask loose, so I could speak, but that didn't accomplish anything, and a minute later I felt something cold on my arm and I went away again. This time when I came to, the room was silent and dark and I was all alone. I was still in a cargo pod. We'd spent our entire time on Luna going from one used cargo pod to another, missing sleep, missing meals, trying to breathe everything from vacuum to ammonia- At least the air smelled clean and wet here. It smelled like flowers. Hawaiian flowers. Plumeria, I think that's what they were called. That was nice. What was even nicer was that I could smell them at all. I couldn't open my eyes. Something moist was taped in place over them. I wondered if I'd been blinded. That was going to be a nuisance. But at least I could I still hear. The music was Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings, which struck some people as plaintive and annoying, or just plain desolate. I always liked it for its thoughtful quality. It was Dad's recording, and I think I knew which one. It was the first time I ever got to see him conduct. He conducted with his eyes closed. At least it looked that way from where I was sitting. He was lost in the music. And his hands were like living creatures-he didn't use a baton; he just stroked the air and the music poured forth. He coaxed the Adagio into life and let it fill the auditorium. I don't think I took a breath for the entire ten minutes. I'd never heard anything like that before in my life. I hadn't known such sounds were possible. And afterward, I kept playing it over and over again, always trying to recapture that same initial wunderstorm.... I wished I could tell him how much I loved his music. That would be nice. Somebody took my hand in his. It felt like Dad's hand. Large and warm and safely enveloping. I knew it had to be Douglas holding my hand, but it was nice to pretend it was Dad for a while. And then Dad spoke. "I was so scared, Chigger. For a while, I
thought I was going to lose you. All of you, forever. I didn't get a chance to say any of the stuff I wanted to say. And I was afraid that even if I could say it, you wouldn't want to hear it. And now that I have the chance to tell you, all I really need you to know is how important you are to me and how sorry I am everything got so screwed up. I wish I could have done better. The music-do you remember this? You were always asking to come see me conduct, and I was sure it would bore you to death, but I took you anyway, and you sat there totally entranced and captivated. You were listening to the music as deeply as anyone I've ever seen. I was so happy for you that day-because you'd discovered something all your own. And I was so glad it was something I could give to you. I remember the look in your eyes of total awe and admiration, and how proud I was to be your dad; the person who'd brought that look to your face. I wish I could have made that moment last forever." He kissed my hand and replaced it on the bed, and then he got up and went away, and the dream ended. But it was really a nice dream while it lasted. And then I had a dream about Mom too. Her and that Sykes woman. But I didn't remember what they said. And that bothered me for a while-because it didn't seem fair for Dad to have a whole vivid dream and not Mom too. But it was kind of like Mom had stepped out of my life for a while and I guess I wasn't ready to let her back in, not even in my dreams. That reminded me of something Douglas said once, about moms. He said that nothing gets in the way of a good fantasy like a mom. That's why most guys try to put Mom aside for a while-while they try to figure out who they are, I guess. It didn't matter anymore. We were all going to jail soon enough. If we weren't there already. And then, one morning, I opened my eyes to the smell of hot chocolate , eggs, toast, and strawberry jam. And I sat up in bed and looked around. Except for a slightly sleepy feeling of confusion, I felt better than I had in days. I could even talk. My voice was still dusky-scratchy like my throat was lined with cockleburs and foxtails, but I could actually make understandable words. "Hello? Is anyone there?" I was in a room that was not part of a cargo pod. It actually had a real floor and real walls and a real ceiling. It was spooky. Everything looked soft and gentle and flowery, that's how I knew it was a hospital; it smelled like a hospital too, with the air just a little too fresh and clean. "Oh, good, you're up. Right on schedule." The woman wore a
purple-gray dress and a thing like a pink apron over it. I guessed it was supposed to be cheery, and it wasn't too hard to look at, but I was never big on industrial cheerfulness before and as good as I felt, I wasn't ready to start now. She was just uncovering a tray of food-that was what I'd smelled. She put it across my bed and tied a bib around my neck. "Just in case," she said. "You might still be a little weak." "What is this place?" "Tranquility Medical Center at Armstrong." "How long was I out?" "Three days. No, four. It doesn't matter. You're fine now. You'll just have to take it easy for a bit. I'll leave you alone to eat. The shower is through there. There are fresh clothes in the closet. Try not to take too long. You have to be in court in two hours-" "Say what?" But she was already gone.
IN COURT
JUDGE CAVANAUGH WAS THE LARGEST human being I had ever seen. He looked like the Hindenburg. He was huge and round, and when he entered the room, it took a while for all of him to arrive at the same place. He moved like a human bubble suit, with all of his blubbery mass flubbering and bouncing around like an animated caricature of a fat man. In Lunar low gee, he didn't lumber, he floated. He took his seat at the bench, and all the various parts of him arrived one after the other, settling into place like latecomers at a concert. Judge Cavanaugh took roll, made sure all his separate body sections had sorted themselves out, looked out over the room, looked to the display in front of him, rubbed his nose, and waved a go-ahead gesture at the clerk, a skinny black woman. "Case number 40032, in the matter of Douglas, Charles, and Robert Dingillian, custody of, blah blah blah." Custody? Again? Judge Cavanaugh was scanning through his notes. He finally found the page he was looking for and looked out at us again. He cleared his throat. "Most court cases are a two-body problem. A plaintiff and a defendant. Those are relatively simple to resolve. You listen to the facts, you look for a balance. Somehow you find a Lagrange point." He looked out over the room. "But just as the laws of physics start to get complex and unmanageable when you introduce a third body to the problem, so do the laws of human beings become complex and unmanageable when there are three participants orbiting around a claim.
We have here, a seven-body problem. Or a twelve-body problem. Or more. I've lost count of the number of litigants who have stepped forward to lodge a claim or file a brief as a friend of the court. I know that most of you recognize that you do not have a hope in hell of winning your claim, but it hasn't stopped you from adding bodies to the problem in the hope of making it so unmanageable that it can never be resolved. I applaud your various successes in making this case a colossal nightmare. I promise to reward each and every one of you appropriately ." He smiled. For some reason, it didn't look friendly. "Let me explain something to those of you who've just arrived here in the last few days. I know a lot of you are suddenly out of work and vaguely troubled by the fact that we don't have ambulances to chase here on Luna. And, of course, as we all know, there's nothing as dangerous as an unemployed lawyer-unless it's one who is employed. But for the record, I want to explain to you how things work here in this courtroom, and on most of Luna. "This is a small town. There are only three million of us. And we're spread across a landmass equal to that of Earth. So we're spread pretty thin. We've only got a few major settlements. The largest still has less than a hundred thousand folks. So we run our courts with a lot less formality than you might be used to back home. That doesn't mean we take our lawyering any less seriously. It just means that we don't bother with wigs and robes and funny hats. They make us look silly and we start giggling-and that's a little disconcerting when we're sentencing someone to the nearest airlock because he refused to pay his air tax. And yes, I'm not joking. "So we're just going to cut through a lot of the crap that you guys love so much and see if we can sort things out without using up too much oxygen. Those of you who are representing clients with money, this probably doesn't worry you-but take my word for it, it doesn't matter how much money your clients have back on Earth or on the Line. It can't buy more oxygen if there isn't any left. We want you to represent your client's claims fairly, we want to hear the facts. We do not want a lot of extraneous noise. Nothing pisses off this court more than a low signal-to-noise ratio. I assume I'm making myself perfectly clear? Thank you." He paused to note something on the pad in front of him, then said, "So, let's get to it. This hearing is projected to cost the Lunar Authority
fifty thousand water-dollars. Therefore, the court chooses to exercise local privilege and will assess a nonrefundable processing fee of five thousand liters of water or ten thousand liters of nitrogen on all claimants in this matter to cover the judicial expenses. Anyone choosing to withdraw his or her claim, please see the court clerk now-" Several people I didn't recognize bounced up out of their seats and over to the clerk at the side of the room. I was sitting in a wheelchair with a mask on my face, concentrating on one breath at a time. I'd been wheeled in at the last minute and I hadn't really gotten a good look at anything; besides, my vision was still too blurry to make out details. And strapped in as I was, I couldn't even turn around to see how many people were in the room or who else was here. Next to me, the shape that looked like Douglas was grim. The shape that looked like Bobby was sitting quietly on his lap. I didn't see anything shaped like a monkey. "Thank you," said Judge Cavanaugh. "That will simplify matters a little bit-but even with fewer litigants, the court costs will remain the same. This means that the assessment will now have to be increased by 50 percent to seventy-five hundred liters of water per claimant-" This time, six more people headed for the clerk's desk. The judge smiled. "I like the way this is going. By the way, I should note that this fee will also apply to those filing briefs of amicus curiae. This court does not need any more friends. We already have the best friends money can buy. So if you intend to be our friend today, we will expect you to pay for your fair share of justice too. You can buy as much justice as you can afford on Luna. Cash payments only, please. We do not accept checks drawn on Earth banks. This will be your last opportunity to reconsider...." Four more people. Judge Cavanaugh waited until the bustle in the courtroom died down. He studied some papers, some material on his display, and conferred with his clerk. Finally, he looked up again. "All right, that helped. Now let's see what kind of progress we can make. We're here, all of us, to decide what to do with these three young men. The issue revolves on whether or not Judge Griffith was justified in granting the divorce of Charles Dingillian from his parents and whether Douglas and Charles are fit custodians of Robert Dingillian." For the first time, Judge Cavanaugh looked at us. "Charles Dingillian, how are you feeling?" My voice crackled like I was walking through a field of shredded
wonderful time. I decided to like him-at least until he pissed me off. "Now, then. . ." He looked up again. "Let's get to the specifics. This court has spent several days reviewing the transcript of Judge Griffith 's divorce hearing. It is very interesting reading, but I find nothing in it to justify a set-aside. If there's anyone here who feels I've missed something, do feel free to point out any errors that Judge Griffith may have made in her ruling, or any mistakes I might have made in my review. I certainly won't be prejudiced against anyone who feels qualified to educate me in this matter. I might even thank you for the effort. But if there's no one here who wants to look for the light at the bottom of that particular tunnel ... then let's just move on. Let's all stipulate in advance that any evidence that anyone has to present about the wisdom of this ruling must be based on circumstances that have developed in the last two weeks, since the ruling was made. You will have to demonstrate that Douglas, Charles, and Robert Dingillian have proven incapable of taking care of themselves. We will use that as the deciding criterion in this chamber. Any questions? I thought not." He looked very pleased with himself. I wished I could see the expressions on the faces behind us; but I couldn't turn in my seat, and even if I could, it would all be a blur. But at least I wasn't coughing anymore. "But before we can even deal with that, we have to deal with this other matter first-which I consider an extremely minor and very annoying detail. So of course, that's why it will probably consume an inordinate amount of this court's time. But a number of you have aggressively argued that the property claim is an essential part of judging the Dingillians' behavior since they were granted independence, so there's no setting it aside. Is there? Bailiff, bring in the object, please." While they were waiting for the bailiff, I leaned over to Douglas and managed to croak, "Don't we have a lawyer?" Douglas shook his head. "Not yet." "Why not?" "The judge said we don't need one. Not unless we go to trial. He's acting as advocate on our behalf. No, that's not illegal here. Court costs are carried by the plaintiffs-unless they win. It's real different than on Earth. Plaintiffs have to prove they have a case just to get to trial." The bailiff came back carrying a black box. He set it on a table in front of the room. He opened the box and removed the monkey. He placed it on the table and took the box away. The monkey looked lifeless . Bobby shouted, "That's my monkey! I want it back! It's mine!" I
tried to stifle a smile. There were times when I loved my brother because he was such a brat. Judge Cavanaugh made a note on a pad. "So there we have the first claimant speaking up. Thank you. You are ... Robert Dingillian, correct ?" "Yes! And I want my monkey back." "And why do you say the monkey is yours?" "Because my daddy gave it to me. And it's mine." "All right, good." Judge Cavanaugh looked over the court. "Is there anyone who wants to contest this fact-that Max Dingillian gave this toy to his son? No? No one wants to argue that? Thank you. What a pleasant surprise. So we can all stipulate now that the toy was given to Robert Dingillian." He made a note on his pad. "Now, Bobby-where did your daddy get this toy?" "He bought it." "You saw him buy it?" "Uh-huh." "Good, thank you." To the rest of the court, Judge Cavanaugh said, "We have other witnesses who can confirm this, of course, so let's just move ahead. Let's stipulate that Max Dingillian did indeed go through the motions of purchasing this toy. He paid cash value and received custody of the toy. His account was debited, and he was given a receipt. Therefore, paper was in place to demonstrate he was the legal owner of record. that? Is there anyone who wants to argue that these events did not happen? No? Thank you. All right, the court will now stipulate that Max Dingillian did indeed go through motions, did appear to, and to all intents and purposes, believed that he had legally obtained custody of this toy for the express purpose of presenting it to his son Robert Dingillian. Gracious-at this rate, we could be out of here in time for the return of Halley's Comet. That'll be when, Gloria? Another fifty-six years?" He looked out over the courtroom. "Now, who wants to argue that Max Dingillian's purchase of the toy was in any way irregular? Who wants to argue that he had no right to the toy or that he came by it dishonestly or that the sale was invalid due to other circumstances?" About six people stood up then, several of them shouting. I thought I recognized a couple of voices, but I didn't feel like trying to turn around to see. It would have been wasted effort.
"All right." Judge Cavanaugh pointed. "Everybody's going to get a turn. Just line up in the back there. In order of height, alphabetically, I don't care. You first. Come up front. State your name for the record. Remember, you're in court. Anything you say can and will be used against you." A heavyset man came forward. He looked like a hockey player. "My name is David Cheifetz. Until three weeks ago, I was an attorney with Canadian-Interplanetary-" I leaned over and whispered to Douglas. "That's not what J'mee said. She said her daddy sold electricity for the Line." "And you believed her?" "Oh," I said, realizing again. Everybody had a secret agenda. Everybody lied. Cheifetz was still talking. "-My family and I are emigrating out to the colonies. Seven weeks ago, we made arrangements to have Max Dingillian ferry some sensitive material for us." "You mean smuggle." "No, Your Honor. Smuggling is a crime. What we were doing was perfectly legal. My wife and my daughter and I are very visible people. We've already discovered this to our dismay when our daughter J'mee was accused of being Charles Dingillian in disguise." The judge made a hurry-up gesture. "The point is that we are clearly targets of opportunity . This is one of the reasons for emigrating. The safest way for us to transfer our wealth was to have it travel by an alternate route. Someone not as visible as we are. Max Dingillian was our courier." He glanced at me and Douglas and Bobby, looked annoyed. "While we don't contest the ownership of the toy, we do contest the ownership of the memory bars inside of it. They belong to us. We can prove it by direct examination of the serial numbers on the memory bars." I nudged Douglas. "Dad paid for those memory bars-" But Douglas was already standing up. "Your Honor, I think we have the purchase receipt. In fact, I know we do. Those memory bars were sold to us, and-" Judge Cavanaugh held up his hand for silence. "Just relax, Douglas . This isn't the first time I've heard a case." He turned back to Cheifetz . "Young mister Dingillian challenges your claim. You acknowledge that the toy belongs to Robert Dingillian, but not the memory inside of it. So how did the memory get into the toy?"
Cheifetz looked like he'd swallowed a lemon without peeling it first. "I'd prefer not to discuss the details of that transfer, Your Honor-" "You will if you want your claim considered." "We signed over custody of the bars to an agency that provides transport services. They sold the bars to Max Dingillian." "So the bars were legally sold to Max Dingillian?" "Um. No. Not quite. Custody was legally transferred to Max Din- gillian. His contract was to transport the bars and transfer custody back to an appointed representative of the agency here on Luna." "But the bars were legally his." "Technically ... yes. That's how transport agencies work. That way there's no direct connection to the real owners-" "Counselor"-Judge Cavanaugh held up a hand to stop him-"I know from smuggling. This is Luna. You're standing on a smuggled floor. That's genuine Brazilian hardwood. And no, I did not order it, my predecessor twice removed did-after he confiscated it from the person who tried to smuggle it. Never mind. The point is that while the memory bars were Max Dingillian's property, unless you had a written contract of agreement that he would sell them or transfer them back to you, they were his to dispose of as he saw fit, weren't they?" "He had an agreement!" "Do you have a signature?" "Of course not! The whole point was not to leave a paper trail." "So you have no evidence of such an agreement." "Max Dingillian will confirm it." "Belay that, Counselor. It's still your turn in the bucket. What was Max Dingillian going to get in return for being your mule? Other than a free trip to Luna?" "We were going to guarantee a colony contract for Mr. Dingillian and his family. So yes, there was a significant recompense promised. It was a contract." "I see. So you transferred custody of your property to Max Din- gillian with the understanding and even the obligation that he would sell the property back to you at a more convenient time and place. Is that correct?" "Yes, Your Honor." "I got it. So your disagreement is with Max Dingillian, who disposed of property that was legally his, because he didn't dispose of it
in the way that you wanted him to. Now, correct me if I'm wrong here-and I don't think I am-in order for you to have a claim on the memory bars, you should be suing Max Dingillian for breach of contract , shouldn't you? It seems like an open-and-shut case to me. You have an agreement that you can't prove he made, but you can certainly prove that he violated it. I'll be happy to rule on that right now." "Your Honor, I can prove that the memory is mine." "No. You can prove that the memory was yours to sell to Max Dingillian. At least, I'm assuming that's what that sheaf of papers in your hand is all about." "Your Honor, I want my property back." "Mr. Cheifetz, you were smuggling. It was legal smuggling, to be sure, but it was still smuggling. You were taking advantage of the loopholes in the Emigration Act that allow tax exemptions for property purchased immediately before departure. Had you been carrying the memory all the way from Earth, you would have been taxed accordingly . By transferring custody, neither you nor Max Dingillian pays taxes on it and the memory gets a free ride. The flaw in that operation is that when the memory is Max Dingillian's property, it is his to dispose of as he sees fit, unless you can prove implied or assumed contract . And even if Max Dingillian himself comes forward to say that you and he had such a verbal agreement in place, this court is still not willing to overturn provable property rights in favor of unprovable ones. The kids have receipts. You have nothing but your assertions and your good looks. That's not a winning case, and I'm not prepared to open up that particular can of worms anyway-not even to stir the sauce." I squirmed around in my wheelchair, looking for a water bottle. My throat was hurting again. For some reason, I glanced across to the back of the room. Despite my blurry vision, I thought I saw someone who looked like J'mee there. She looked angry and hurt. She saw me looking at her, made a face, and turned away. I turned forward again. Judge Cavanaugh was saying, "I want to note something else here. If it's your argument that the memory was never really Max Dingillian 's at all, that this whole thing was a charade-and that all of the paperwork being passed around to prove ownership was just a pretense for the purpose of avoiding export and duty fees, emigration taxes, and so on, then that indicates a pattern of deliberate criminal behavior on his part and yours as well. If you're prepared to pursue
that line of argument, that the memory was never really Max Dingillian 's, then this court has to regard you as a criminal defendant. You will be immediately liable for several hundred thousands of liters in importation and emigration fees, not to mention additional severe penalties -and they will be severe-for smuggling with intent to defraud." Cheifetz was already reaching for his wallet. "I'll happily pay those fees, Your Honor, if it will get me my property back-" Wrong answer. The judge's gavel stopped him cold. "Mr. Cheifetz, take your seat please. This court has to accept the existing evidence at face value. You wanted Luna to believe that you sold the memory and it isn't yours? Fine. Luna is convinced. You sold the memory. It isn't yours. You want to buy it back? That's fine too. Once this court determines who the legal owner is, you may make your offer." Cheifetz started to sputter. In the back of the room, J'mee started to cry. Cavanaugh hammered again. "Next." He glanced up. "Who are you?" A rumply little man stepped forward. "Howard Phroomis, representing Stellar-American Industries, Your Honor." Howard? The same lousy lawyer who'd chased us all over the Line with subpoenas from hell? What was he doing here? Had they dumped him in a cargo pod aimed at the moon as well? "Your Honor, Stellar-American believes that the object contains property belonging to Stellar-American, stolen from Stellar-American, and passed into the hands of Canadian-Interplanetary, and from there into the hands of the Dingillian family, specifically for the purpose of smuggling it off-planet. We can demonstrate that the property inside the toy was manufactured by Stellar-American and was stolen from Stellar-American; therefore, despite the trail of paperwork that everyone else has carefully laid down, all of those claims are invalid because the property was stolen to begin with. In point of fact, Stellar- American believes that every member of this conspiracy should be apprehended and charged with receiving and transporting stolen property with intent to defraud." "Ahh," said Judge Cavanaugh. "Stolen property, you say? Now this is getting interesting. You realize of course, that if you make this charge, this transforms this hearing from a simple arbitration of claims into a criminal matter-?" "Yes, Your Honor. That's my intention."
PROCEEDINGS
DURING THE RECESS, MICKEY SHOWED up. He was taking a chance; the judge had specifically instructed that nobody was to approach us for the purpose of making any offers at all. But Mickey wasn't there to negotiate. He just looked worried. He put his hand on mine. "How are you feeling, Charles?" I didn't answer. I had this very specific memory that he had done something pretty awful. When he saw I wasn't going to answer, he turned to Douglas. "If this goes into the criminal domain, you're going to need a lawyer. Let me help." "Lawyers got us into this mess," Douglas said. "It's everybody wanting to help that keeps making things worse. Where does it stop? I told you to get away from us and leave us alone." Mickey lowered his voice. "I didn't want to do it. I didn't plan to do it. I was going to keep my promise. But your brother looked like he was dying. And I figured keeping him alive was more important than anything else, so I did what I did to get him to the best hospital on Luna. We were lucky-he wasn't as badly burned as I was afraid. But I didn't know that at the time, and I wasn't going to take chances with his life or yours. And I can still keep my promise, if you'll let me. You're going to need a lawyer-maybe my mom can help." "She didn't do too good for us last time, Mickey. No thanks." Douglas glared at Mickey until Mickey lowered his gaze and turned away. I felt bad for both of them. After he was gone, I leaned over, and whispered to Douglas, "Where are we going to get a lawyer?"
Douglas nodded toward the back of the room. "There are a couple hundred of them just outside that door, all fighting for the chance to represent us. I don't understand why." "It's the monkey," I whispered. "I told you!" "Yeah, I know what you said. But everyone else says it's just in- dustrial memory." "The monkey told me itself!" "Maybe it was running a simulation in self-defense?" "A simulation of sentience? Come on, Douglas! You know better than that. A simulation of sentience is sentience!" "You didn't talk to it very long. Some chatterbots are very good, Chigger." I didn't answer immediately. I was still thinking about what had just fallen out of my mouth. When the judge gaveled the courtroom back to order, I levered myself uneasily to my feet and croaked, "Your Honor-?" Judge Cavanaugh looked at me sympathetically. "I sincerely hope that's a temporary condition, young man. Yes?" "If everybody is willing to stipulate that the monkey belongs to Bobby, I'd like to ask that it be returned to us. We're willing to agree not to tamper with any of the memory or anything else inside it, and if the court rules that the memory bars belong to someone else, we'll agree to turn them over. But we have some of our personal information and resources stored in the monkey too, and our lawyer, when we get one, is going to need access to that-if we're to represent ourselves adequately." Judge Cavanaugh nodded. "You argue well. But much too politely. I'm afraid you'll never be a good lawyer." "Yes. Thank you, Your Honor." "Is there anyone who can present a valid objection why Robert Dingillian should not have his toy returned to him, under the terms put forward by Charles Dingillian?" Before anyone could object, he hammered his gavel. "So ruled." He turned back to us. "Robert, you can take your monkey now." Bobby leapt out of his chair and ran to the table. He scooped the monkey up into his arms, but it remained lifeless. "It's broken!" he wailed. Judge Cavanaugh looked unhappy. "Yes, it does appear to be. It
shut itself down when the court was examining it, and we've been unable to reboot it." "Did you open up its backside? Did you take its memory bars out?" I asked. The judge shook his head. "I know better than to tamper with evidence . May I assume that I don't have to advise you not to open it up either?" "Yes, sir." That was both Douglas and myself, in unison. "But it's broken!" wailed Bobby. Douglas looked to me. "Charles ... ?" "Yes, Douglas?" "The unlock code?" "Unlock code?" "Don't play games, Charles." "Maybe it really is broken!" I said, almost noncommittally. Douglas gave me the Douglas look. Judge Cavanaugh hammered with his gavel. "All right, let's move on. I have a petition in front of me from Stellar-American Industries, asserting that two complementary quantum-determinant devices, manufactured on a standard memory chassis, were shipped from a Stellar- American chip foundry to a Toronto laboratory owned and operated by Canadian-Interplanetary. Isn't that interesting. Mr. Cheifetz, will you come forward again, please?" There was a shuffling at the back of the room. Cheifetz came hesitantly back to the front. "Will you tell the court how you came into possession of these devices?" "They were given to me by the company. After we concluded our tests, the lab had no further use for them. I purchased them for a small handling charge. The company disposes of a lot of used equipment to employees; some of us have projects of our own that we like to tinker with, and-" "Spare me," said Cavanaugh, holding up a hand. "I know tinkers. Some of my best friends are tinkers. You, sir, are not a tinker. So please don't try to stretch my credibility. Or my patience. This matter is so petty, I expect we will be here for several years. It doesn't worry me, I can live off my fat; but the rest of you will probably be bones bleaching in the sun before too long if we continue on at this rate. So
spare me the storytelling. Is it your contention now that these devices were legally transferred to your labs and then to you?" "Yes." He held up his sheaf of papers. "I've got hardcopy receipts and signatures all the way back to the foundry. Stellar-American uses Canadian-Interplanetary for integrity testing of chips. In particular we test for resistance to vacuum, heat, cold, radiation, sunlight, and extremes of acceleration." "And you tested these chips?" "Yes. The labs ran over three thousand hours of integrity tests. We tested the chips under multiple combinations of conditions." "Did the chips survive?" "Yes, they did." "And when the tests were over, did you return the chips to Stellar- American?" "No." "Why not?" Judge Cavanaugh looked puzzled. "I thought it was standard procedure to return prototypes. To protect against industrial espionage." "Yes, that is the usual procedure." "But not here?" Cheifetz looked uncomfortable. "Go ahead." He took a breath. "Most foundries know what other foundries are doing, but they don't know the details. So one of the best places to find out is to infiltrate the testing labs. So sometimes a company will ship a decoy chip, with some unworkable technology in it. The chip is intended to be stolen, so that when the other guys try to copy it, they waste valuable time and energy chasing down the wrong direction. The decoys appear to work-or sometimes they're set to deliberately fail. Another ploy to fool the other side. These chips were decoys." "How do you know that?" "Stellar-American told us. We had an attempt to breach our security . We reported it to them. That's recorded here too. Off the record, they told us that the chip was a decoy. They were interested in the integrity testing of the manufacturing process, but the chips themselves were of no significant value." "And they didn't ask for them back?" "We asked for permission to test the chips to the breaking point, at our own convenience. We do that a lot. It was part of a whole batch
of requests. They agreed. Then we got swamped with a bunch of new contracts and that testing program was put aside. Later, the chips were remaindered and my family corporation bought them. They looked like ordinary memory bars, they could be used as such, they had passed their integrity tests, and for that reason they were the perfect medium for the transfer of sensitive information. We encoded an enormous amount of personal and business information and resource materials of all kinds into these chips. It was a six week process. And, as I said, I have the paperwork to demonstrate that the information riding in these chips is proprietary to my family corporation." "I see," said Judge Cavanaugh. "So now you do have paperwork. Lots of it. Isn't that convenient. And so does the other fellow. Goodness ! What a dilemma. Hmmm. How interesting. Let's recap. Stellar- American says that the chips were stolen. And you say they were lawfully transferred to you ... and you were, for lack of a better word, conveniently smuggling them off-planet for use. . . wherever you ended up. equally convincing? Why do I get the feeling that Earthside manufacturers are very very good at manufacturing paperwork ... ?" He sighed. "All right, Mr. Phroomis, your turn. Let's hear your side of it." Howard's voice was just as rumpled as the rest of him. "Your Honor, I agree with you that a lot of the paperwork here has been manufactured for convenience. In fact, I have here affidavits and depositions that the entire exchange of memos and communications that Mr. Cheifetz is basing his claim on are fraudulent. None of the officers of Stellar-American ever wrote any of those notes, ever made any of those communications, or authorized such a dangerous disposal of our property. We admit that the paper trail is excellent, but it's too good to be true. It could only be that good if it were deliberately manufactured ." "So your argument is that the evidence on the other side is too good. I got it." Another voice came from the back of the room and Judge Cavanaugh looked up. "Yes, another crater heard from. And you are?" A woman came forward. "Valerie Patenaude, Your Honor, representing Vancouver Design Works. The chips in question were designed by us. We hired Stellar-American to manufacture and test the chips;
they were to return all proprietary materials, including all flawed and failed chips, all test chips, all decoy chips, and any other material pertinent to the production of our designs, as specified in our agreement. They were to guarantee that no copies would pass out of their direct control. Not even for testing. It has only been in the past two weeks that we have discovered that they did indeed manufacture extra copies of our chips-" Phroomis interrupted. "Those copies were made for quality control , for the testing of the manufacturing process. The chips in question required some very tricky techniques, and the copies were to be deconstructed so that Stellar-American could affirm the integrity of the production lines. The company retains that right, it is specified in the production contract-" "The material was to be returned," Patenaude said. "And it was not returned. Mr. Cheifetz's own testimony here indicates a callous disregard of security-" Judge Cavanaugh held up a hand. "Save it, Counselor. They're lining up behind you. Next? I just want to find out who's here and why, everybody will get the chance to bite everybody else before we're through." To the next lawyer, he asked, "Who are you?" "Gracias, Judge Cavanaugh-" I recognized that voice too. Fat Se- nor Doctor Bolivar Hidalgo. Not as fat as Judge Cavanaugh, but impressive nonetheless. He was mostly a round blur, he barely glanced in our direction. "I am here as a temporary speaker for Lethe-Corp, until their own representatives can arrange transportation. The difficulties on Earth-and the unfortunate restrictions of the sudden Lunar quarantine-have made it impossible for them to be here today. However , Lethe-Corp wants to take a superordinate position here. The chips in question are the property of Lethe-Corp who initiated the entire process . Lethe-Corp hired Vancouver Design. Lethe-Corp created the specifications and was to retain sole ownership. Vancouver Design was doing work-for-hire." Patenaude stepped forward, "This is correct, insofar as it goes. However, the chips in question were outside of the specification parameters of Lethe-Corp. The chips in question were internal projects of our own that we were constructing as test beds for certain unique structural elements. Once we determined the most successful implementations , we would have created a custom design for Lethe-Corp. In point of fact, our test chips were supersets of the Lethe-Corp specifiBOUNCING
cation so that we could test multiple configurations on the same platform . We often work this way-" "Your Honor," argued Hidalgo, "the contract specifies that Lethe- Corp owns all of the material developed in testing-" "Only the testing that Lethe-Corp paid for." "Nevertheless, there was proprietary technology involved that belongs only to Lethe-Corp, and-" "Proprietary technology licensed to Vancouver Design specifically for additional research and development-" Judge Cavanaugh was looking back and forth between them, grinning . He rapped his wooden hammer. "I do so like cases like this. We can tie up the time and energy of a lot of lawyers and keep them out of real trouble while spending lots and lots of corporate money." He waved at the back of the room. "And your name is-?" "Shannonhouse, John Shannonhouse." "And you represent?" "Buffalo Technology, LTD." "And your claim is based on-?" "We are the patent holders." "Oh?" "We hold 137 patents on quantum-level processor determinants. We represent forty-five different companies who have pooled their patents for mutual benefit-and also because without such cooperation, nobody's devices would work at all, all of these separate structures are highly interdependent, they need each other-so do the companies that own the patents. Lethe-Corp is a licensee, as are Vancouver Design, Canadian-Interplanetary, and so on. The chips in question were an experimental project that we had authorized Lethe-Corp to build. The specification that they passed on to Vancouver Design was a subset of our ultimate intention. Vancouver Design correctly extrapolated where we were headed with this research-we will demonstrate this as soon as we can bring the rest of our design team to Luna, and-" "Okay, I got it," said Cavanaugh. He was scribbling a furious note. He looked absolutely delighted. "This is going to be as much fun as reading Bleak House." He looked up again. "All right, let's recap. We have a whole bunch of people who are arguing that whatever is inside the toy monkey belongs to them. Everybody has perfect paperwork. I can't tell you how thrilled I am. If we work this right, we can keep this thing going longer than the Baby Cooper dollar bill. We're all going to
get old together. We're going to spend more time with each other than with our families and our friends and our loved ones. Isn't that wonderful ? Just one question. Whose good idea was this? Everybody go sit down." Judge Cavanaugh sat in his chair for a moment, steepling his hands before him. He puffed out his cheeks and tapped his fingers against each other while he considered what he knew. "Whatever those chips are," he said thoughtfully, "they must be very wonderful indeed. I haven't seen this many high-priced lawyers in a single courtroom since the attempt to impeach Pope Joan Marie. I'm tempted to put this whole thing into a revolving arbitration to guarantee that by the time we're ready to start taking testimony, the technology in question will be sixteen generations obsolete and none of you will care anymore and we can let the whole thing die a natural death." There were some spluttering noises from various places behind us-some were angry noises, some were attempts to control laughter. "Your Honor?" A woman's voice. Judge Cavanaugh obviously recognized her, he looked like he was expecting her. He waved her forward impatiently and without comment. She knew the drill-she turned and identified herself to the recorder: "Laura Domitz, Charter Representative for Armstrong Sector of the Lunar Authority." She was tall and spare, with close-cropped hair. She looked all-business. She turned to face the bench. "Your Honor, with the situation on Earth as uncertain as it is, we may not be seeing any new generations of technology for a while." I didn't see what she was getting at, but Judge Cavanaugh seemed to understand where she was headed. "And your point is ... ?" "Luna is a free port of access. We have to be." Ignoring several muffled snorts of derision, she continued, "Many people and many worlds benefit from the advantages of Luna's unique position as a favorable launchpad to the stars and to the rest of the solar system. We ask only that those who benefit pay an appropriate user fee to cover the cost of maintaining that service. Under ordinary circumstances, Lunar Authority would have little interest in these chips or devices or whatever they are-as long as the fees are paid. "However ... we have no way of knowing how long the situation on Earth will continue. With Line traffic disrupted, Luna's ability to
maintain self-sufficiency may be severely tested. Despite the optimistic statements we're hearing on the local channels, anyone with a piece of paper and a pencil can do the math; we are looking at an endurance test, a very serious survival situation that could last a period of months or even years. The bubble in the pipeline will start arriving in three days. If we don't have it on Luna now, we won't have it at all. There's no reason to panic, of course; our current resource inventory is strong, and we have a strong production posture. But we need to prepare as if for the worst, as if this interruption will be long-term, or even permanent . If it is, then Lunar Authority may have to suspend outgoing traffic and confiscate all appropriate resources for the common good- at least for the duration of the emergency." Cavanaugh's expression had gone from stony to sour. He didn't like what he was hearing; apparently neither did anyone else in the chamber. Representative Domitz's deadpan delivery sounded almost like a done deal. There was audible muttering from behind us, and very hostile. She waited while Judge Cavanaugh hammered the room back to silence, then she continued. "Authority has information that suggests that these chips or devices represent a very high level of processing and storage technology. If this is in fact the case-and we hope to determine that during the course of this hearing-then acting under the emergency powers granted by the Self-Sufficiency Act, Lunar Authority will move to acquire custody of these devices. We will apply these resources for the common good of the people of Luna, for the duration of the emergency or until such time as it is determined that these resources are no longer needed to ensure the proper functioning of Lunar society." She took a breath. "Therefore, acting as a representative of Lunar Authority, I am officially requesting that this court not determine final custody of the chips or devices until such time as the full scale of the emergency on Terra is known and has been evaluated for its effects on Luna. Thank you, Your Honor." Judge Cavanaugh finished what he was writing. He looked up and said, "Thank you, Representative Domitz. The court will take your request under consideration. It doesn't look like a final determination of custody is going to be made anytime this century. If Lunar Authority does invoke the Self-Sufficiency Act before a final ruling of ownership can be made, then this court will make the chips immediately available
for emergency use-with the proviso that whatever data may already be stored in these chips not be compromised, so that at the end of the emergency, their value remains undamaged." "Thank you, Your Honor." Domitz returned to the rear of the chamber, to the audible hissing of most of the other lawyers. Now it was Judge Cavanaugh's turn. "Well, this has been a fun morning, hasn't it? There's hope of a speedy resolution after all. Not the one everybody wanted, but one that lets me get home in time to open a nice bottle of Clavius '95 Burgundy and let it breathe a bit before dinner. "Let's return to the immediate issue for the moment. I see no cause to restrain any member of the Dingillian family, at least not based on any claims put forward here today. I will restrict their freedom to Armstrong Station for the duration of this hearing, or until such time as they are no longer needed for these proceedings. The court will cover their expenses out of the fees collected today, proving once again that Luna will always provide you with the best justice money can buy. "Let it also be noted for the record that no evidence has been presented to implicate any of the Dingillians in the theft of the devices in contention. And, in point of fact ... it has not even been proven to the court's satisfaction that the devices are stolen. From where I sit, it looks like a cascade of really stupid lawyer tricks. "The whole issue may be moot anyway. It looks like the devices have failed in place." He looked out over the room. "It would save a lot of time, and court fees," he added meaningfully, "if we could all just call it a day and go home. Is there anyone who objects to that?" Half the room came to their feet around us. Every lawyer on Luna must have been shouting his objection. Douglas looked at them, then he looked at me. "All right," he whispered. "You win. Maybe it is a HARLIE. That's the only thing I can think of that would set off a feeding frenzy like this." Judge Cavanaugh finally hammered the courtroom back to order. "All right, I can see that's not going to be an option here." He glanced at the time. "Court is recessed until 9 A.M. tomorrow morning, when we will continue this circus. I can hardly wait to hear from the rest of the clowns." He banged his gavel once and exited like a departing zeppelin .
HARLIE
STILL HOLDING THE MONKEY, BOBBY jumped onto my lap, and Douglas wheeled us out the side door. Several people shouted at us. I thought I heard a voice like Dad's, but Douglas and Bobby were both talking to me, and I couldn't hear everybody at once. We went back to our hotel room, which for once wasn't a slice in a cargo pod. We had a view overlooking the forest and the lake, and it was kind of like being in Terminus Dome back at the bottom of the Line, only a lot more peaceful-looking. The Lunar catapult was on the western shore of Oceanus Procellarum , right on the equator. This allows a direct launch from the Lunar surface into an orbit that skims the upper atmosphere of the Earth; a few passes through the upper atmosphere brings the apogee down, and very little rocket fuel is needed to put stuff from the moon into low- Earth orbit. A one meter per second change in launch speed changes the perigee by about a hundred kilometers. So for very little cost in fuel for mid-course corrections, it's possible for the Lunar catapult to send cargo pods back to the Line. This is why a Lunar beanstalk isn't cost-effective; it can't compete with the low cost of catapult launches. And the Earth-Line can launch pods farther and faster anywhere else. The only advantage to a Lunar beanstalk is that it would be a lot easier to build, and trips up and down it would be a lot faster. But it wouldn't generate electricity, it would mostly consume it. And even though it would facilitate bringing cargo and passengers down to the surface of the moon, cheaper even than
Palmer tubes, it wasn't enough of an advantage to justify the investment . Well ... almost. There was one thing that would make a Lunar beanstalk cost-effective. CHON. Carbon-Hydrogen-Oxygen-Nitrogen. In any combination. If you could go out to Saturn and find a big enough chunk of CHON in her rings, put a net around it, and drag it back, you could anchor it in Luna-stationary orbit, build a beanstalk, and pipe the gas down, as fast as you could melt it. You wouldn't even need to pump it. Lunar gravity would suck it down. Then you would be able to build the fabled domed cities of Luna. Actually, you could build them now. You just couldn't get enough gas to fill them. Armstrong Station was one of only six domes on Luna. Like most Lunar domes, the station had been built by the inflate-and-spray method. The crater site was deep enough that the inflatable had bulged roundly upward, giving the interior of the bubble a nice curve and more than enough space to generate its own weather. The dome was two kilometers in diameter, and even though it looked like a wasteful use of gas and water, in truth, it served as a reservoir of both. Well-you had to keep it somewhere. The lake was big only because it was shallow, barely three meters. But it helped humidify the air, and it was great scenery, and it was a public resource. Lazy waves rolled languidly across it. They were high enough that they made the weather look a lot windier than it really was, and they moved in slow motion, adding to the sense of distance and size. Most of the rest of the dome was filled with crops of all kinds. Here and there were belts of thick forest. Standing on the balcony, overlooking it all, it smelled like a hot tropical day-like somewhere in Mexico. Most of the living quarters were built up along the crater walls or even up at the rim, for folks who wanted a view outside. According to one of the informational programs on the television, Armstrong Crater was the same size as Diamond Head on Oahu, small enough to walk around in a single day and still have time for a swim. Big enough to be a neighborhood. Our room was mostly a platform with plumbing, beds, and plastic curtains for walls. We didn't need much more than that. The view was terrific, and when the rains came-about every four hours for fifteen
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