Part 46 (1/2)

”I don't know,” he said, getting irritated with her cross-examination. ”So I liked you and you liked me. So what?”

”Stavenger's letting you stay here? You're still working with him?”

Gordette nodded.

”He trusts you? After you tried to kill him?”

”I told him the story of my life,” Gordette said, acid in each word, ”and he decided he's gonna reform me. Start me a new life here on the Moon, where everybody loves me and trusts me.”

”Yeah, you've made it so easy to be loved and accepted.”

”The only thing I've made easy is being black, so you can spot me at a distance.”

”What the h.e.l.l's this black business got to do with it?”

”You see any other black people up here?”

Liebowitz almost laughed at him. ”My supervisor's black. There's dozens of Afro-Americans and blacks from other countries here.' She turned in her chair and pointed. ”Look. Black people. And Asians. h.e.l.l, they even let Italians up here!”

”Very funny.”

”The first American astronaut on Mars was black.”

”Big deal.”

”Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

”Okay. Good advice. I'll do that,” he mumbled.

Liebowitz glared at him like a disappointed mother. ”You really tried to kill him?”

”I slit his throat. All right? Is that what you wanted to hear? My f.u.c.kin' confession?”

He said it loudly enough so that people at the nearest tables turned to stare at him.

”What I want to hear,” Liebowitz said, her voice low, ”is where you're going from here.”

”Straight to h.e.l.l,” Gordette said.

”So you're going to isolate yourself, build a wall and not let anybody near you.”

He pointed to the ring of empty tables around them. ”You see anybody trying to make friends with me?”

”I am,” she said.

He blinked, uncomprehending.

”I'm having lunch with you, aren't I?” Liebowitz said. ”Maybe you can tell me the story of your life and make me believe that you're something more than just a hired killer.”

Ben Bova arrrrrrrrrrrgggh and no arrivals of lunar cargo carriers. The manufacturing facility had shut down for lack of raw materials. No lunar transfer vehicles needed maintenance or repair; they were all hanging silent and useless in weightless geodesic coc.o.o.ns that protected them from incoming radiation and the occasional meteoroids that peppered cislunar s.p.a.ce. The tourist hotel was still running, but its business had dropped sharply since the war against Moonbase had started.

Jill Meyers gazed sadly through an observation port in the hotel module. She had helped to build Masterson, Masterson, back in the days when she'd been a government astronaut. She was accustomed to seeing s.p.a.cesuited figures bustling from module to module, jetting along in solo maneuvering units or riding the bare-bones shuttlecraft called broomsticks. But now the whole region was quiet, empty. This war was costing Masterson Corporation millions of dollars per day, and even though the U.N. promised reparations, Meyers knew that nothing could repay time lost, careers interrupted. back in the days when she'd been a government astronaut. She was accustomed to seeing s.p.a.cesuited figures bustling from module to module, jetting along in solo maneuvering units or riding the bare-bones shuttlecraft called broomsticks. But now the whole region was quiet, empty. This war was costing Masterson Corporation millions of dollars per day, and even though the U.N. promised reparations, Meyers knew that nothing could repay time lost, careers interrupted.

”There you are!”

Jill turned from the circular gla.s.steel observation port to see Edan McGrath standing in the hatch. His sizable bulk almost filled the hatchway, the lighting from the central corridor silhouetting him dramatically.

”You finally got here,” Meyers said, taking a step toward him.

”I've been looking all over this tin can for you,” he replied gruffly. ”Come on, let's eat. I haven't had a bite since breakfast.”

The hotel's restaurant was nearly empty. Only two other couples sitting at the elegant tables, and a family of four off in the farthest corner, where the children wouldn't annoy other diners. They've got more waiters than customers, Meyers noticed as she scanned the richly-decorated room. Windowall screens displayed astronomical scenes, glorious interstellar nebulas glowing delicate pink and electric blue. Meyers realized that real windows would have shown the scenery outside spinning lazily; not the most soothing background for flatland tourists to eat and drink by.

McGrath had ordered champagne. They clinked their fluted gla.s.ses and toasted each other's health. Meyers had dressed in comfortable tan slacks and a loose blouse embroidered with flowers. McGrath wore a bulky white turtleneck sweater over jeans that looked stiffly new.

With a lopsided grin on his beefy face, McGrath asked, ”Do you come here often?”

It was a corny line and they both knew it.

Meyers laughed politely. ”I used to, in the old days.”

”I understand you were quite a h.e.l.l-raiser back then,” he said.

Her smile turned reminiscent. ”Back then,” she murmured.

The waiter brought them oversized menus. McGrath ordered three courses and more wine, Meyers only a salad.

”Okay,” he said, after the waiter had left, ”you asked me to meet you here. What's up?”

Meyers looked into his pale blue eyes. ”Edan, you know that if I were still in the Senate I'd be raising all kinds of h.e.l.l about this war against Moonbase.”

”I'd hardly call it a war,” he said.

”That's what your network calls it.”

McGrath shrugged. ”That's show business, Jill. You know how it is.”

”I need your help to put pressure on the President,” she said.

His brows rose slightly. ”I thought you were on her side. You're the same party-”

”Not on this,” Meyers snapped. ”I've never been a blind supporter of the New Morality and she knows it. She named me to the World Court to get me out of the Senate because she knew I'd raise h.e.l.l about going after Moonbase.”

”Why don't you raise h.e.l.l now? I'd give you all the air time you want.”

”I can't,” Meyers said, shaking her head. ”As a judge in the International Court of Justice I've got to stay strictly out of politics.”

With a laugh, McGrath asked, ”What you're doing now isn't politics?”

”This is private, just between you and me.”