Part 40 (2/2)
Doug realized it was the beacon light atop the radio mast of tempo six.
We'll be there in half an hour, he told himself.
Then what?
Doug took in a deep double lungful of canned air. We'll find out when we get there.
In the airlessness of the Moon Gordette won't hear us coming up, if he's inside the tempo. The first warning he'll get is when I start the airlock cycling. I'll park the tractor and let Edith keep on sleeping. No sense getting her involved in whatever's going to happen inside when I confront Bam. Things could get messy.
All of a sudden they were there. The dark hump of dirt that marked the site of the buried shelter loomed in front of Doug's straining eyes. A single tractor was parked to one side of the airlock.
Doug stopped his tractor and looked over at Edith. Not a stir from her. Good, he thought, she's sound asleep.
He climbed down slowly from the cab and walked over to the other tractor. One set of fresh boot prints in the sandy regolith led straight to the airlock. Bam's in there. Alone.
Okay, Doug told himself. This is it.
A gentle slope led down to the airlock's outer hatch. No wind on the Moon to cover the grade with newly-blown dust; it would remain clear for eons, except for the occasional tracks of boots. Doug slid the hatch open and stepped into the phonebooth-sized airlock. He closed the outer hatch, sealed it, then pressed a thumb against the electronic pad that activated the pumps. The telltale light above the pad immediately went from red to amber.
It seemed to take an eternity. Doug could feel the vibration of the pump working against the soles of his boots, but for several long moments he could hear nothing. Then, as the chamber filled with air, the chugging of the pumps became audible.
He knows he's got a visitor, Doug thought, clenching his fists involuntarily. The tiny whine of the gloves' servomotors surprised him and he unflexed his hands. It took an effort of will.
The light turned green. Doug slid the inner hatch open.
Gordette stood at the far end of the shelter, by the two tiers of bunks. He was apparently putting his s.p.a.cesuit on again; torso, leggings and boots were in place. His helmet rested on one of the lower bunks. Doug could not see his gloves.
Gordette's brows knit as he recognized the cermet suit that he had once sabotaged.
”Who the f.u.c.k are you and what're you doing in that suit?”
Doug slid his visor up. ”It's me, Bam.”
The man shuddered visibly. He staggered back a step and leaned against the bunks for support.
”You're dead! I killed you!”
”You tried,” Doug said, stepping further into the shelter. ”Why?”
”Stay away from me!”
”Why did you try to kill me, Bam?”
Gordette's eyes showed white all around the irises. ”I cut your f.u.c.kin' throat!”
Doug sighed. ”The nanomachines inside me. They closed the wound and kept me from bleeding to death.”
”That's not possible!”
”Of course it is. There's nothing supernatural here, Bam. No magic. Just those little nan.o.bugs.”
With the s.p.a.cesuit on, it was impossible to see Gordette's chest rising and falling. But his mouth hung open, panting.
”Why'd you want to kill me, Bam? What did I do to you that you wanted to murder me?”
For several heartbeats Gordette said nothing, did not move. Then he sagged down onto the lower bunk.
”It wasn't you,” he said, sinking his head into his hands. ”Had nothing to do with you.”
”It was me you tried to kill.”
”You or me, man. Life or death. I had to do it. Had to. One of us had to go. I should've slit my own throat; been better that way.”
”Why?” Doug asked again. ”Why did you have to do it?”
”I'm a soldier. I follow orders. Or else.”
”You were sent here to kill me?”
Gordette looked up at Doug with reddened eyes. ”You know that little s.h.i.+t Faure's been planning this for years.”
”You work for the U.N.? The Peacekeepers?”
”Naw. I get paid by Was.h.i.+ngton. Special security forces. They pulled me out of the army. Trained me to be an a.s.sa.s.sin.”
”You've killed other people?”
His face looked awful. That's my profession, man. That's what they trained me to do. Either that or spend my life in jail.”
”Why jail?”
He laughed bitterly. ”Why else? I killed somebody. It was an accident but I did it and the only way to stay out of jail was to go into the army. They always held that over me; do what they want or they send me to jail for life. No parole. No sweetheart minimum-security farm, either. Jail. In with the perverts and the maniacs.”
Doug unfastened his helmet, pulled it off over his head, then walked the length of the narrow shelter to sit on the bunk opposite Gordette. He placed the helmet on the bedsheet beside him.
”Okay, Bam. That's all over now. You can live here. You can be free of them.”
The black man stared into Doug's eyes. ”Live at Moonbase?”
That's right.”
”I tried to kill you and you're offering me asylum?”
That's what Moonbase is all about, Bam. A place to build a new life.”
Gordette said nothing, but his expression showed doubt, suspicion, scorn.
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