angry–now it’s time for depression. Or is it bargaining? It sure as hell isn’t acceptance .
The door to her (and Frank’s) quarters gave its annoying buzz, interrupting Charlie’s self-pitying.
“What is it?” she asked, not really caring.
“It’s Mitchel.”
“Come in; it’s open.”
Mitchel had changed uniforms to a simple red jumpsuit with a security patch. “Hi, Charlie, how are you doing?” As the door closed behind him he held out his arms.
Charlie stood and walked to him. “I’m okay,” she said simply, slipping into his embrace. They held each other a moment.
“Yeah, right,” Mitchel said gently, disengaging himself and holding her at arm’s length. He looked at her. “That scar...”
He fingered her long neck.
“A vein in my neck protruded after the explosive decompression of my suit. The doctors fixed it. As soon as it heals it’ll be barely noticeable.”
Mitchel nodded. “Good. Listen, Charlie, when you feel up to it, come to Tokyo.”
Charlie made a face. “Is this about the asteroid? I don’t want to go.”
“No, it’s something else. Please?” the Head of Security for SRI asked.
“Okay,” Charlie replied noncommittally.
“I’ve got to catch the shuttle; it’s leaving soon. Come on the next one; call Meyoung when you get to headquarters and set up a meeting.”
“Okay, I will.”
“Thanks, Charlie.”
***
“Come in, Mr. Rodriguez,” Helga Moeller said, standing.
Moeller was a middle manager in NESA’s security office.
Rodriguez shook her offered hand and sat in the indicated chair. Moeller was an archetypical blonde, blue-eyed Aryan with a rubenesque build that Rodriguez found attractive despite himself.
“It was a nice service,” Moeller commented.
“Yes, it was,” Rodriguez replied.
“We’ve just about completed our investigation,” she said, sitting behind her desk, indicating it was time to get down to business. “We’re helped by the fact that there are so few people on the Moon.”
“What did you learn?”
“There are five persons unaccounted for in both NESA Facility One and Two. All are from Earth.”
“Do you have names?”
She tapped keys on her desk and a paper-thin screen in front of Rodriguez lit up. It had five passport pictures with data next to each.
“You can see they are all Americans,” Moeller said. “They arrived over a period of a week. Only one, Alan Griffin, had been here before. All their visas were secured with cash deposits at the Japanese embassy in Washington, Columbia.”
“Can I have this?” Rodriguez asked.
“Yes.” She tapped more keys and the device on Rodriguez’s wrist chimed indicating it had received the file. SRI’s main computer was still down and everyone was relying on their personal computers.
“Did you have any luck with the bodies?”
“Yes. The body at your Check Point Alpha was William Fetterly. That was a relatively easy identification. The other two bodies were both male. The bodies were damaged by shotgun wounds, exposure to vacuum, and automatic weapon’s fire to the face.”
“To slow identification?” Rodriguez speculated.
“Yes. But we have fingerprints. The bodies were Hector Balgos and Frank Green. The last may be an alias.”
Rodriguez nodded. “Thank you.”
“If there’s anything else we can do,” Moeller said perfunctorily.
“Thank you,” Rodriguez repeated and stood to leave.
***
The Frenchman, Philippe Thorez, was a large man. His clothes were tailor made out of expensive, natural fibers. It’s amazing the money to be made by selling death.
Thorez greeted the Baathist leader. “ Mah’hun ah’sah’hun .”
Faruq smiled and ignored the man’s mangling of his language.
“The missiles?” he asked. English was the common denominator.
“Because of the sanctions,” Philippe began, “It is very difficult.”
“Yes, I know,” Faruq acknowledged. S o the negotiations begin , he thought with glee. He actually enjoyed this part of his job.
“But,” the
The door to her (and Frank’s) quarters gave its annoying buzz, interrupting Charlie’s self-pitying.
“What is it?” she asked, not really caring.
“It’s Mitchel.”
“Come in; it’s open.”
Mitchel had changed uniforms to a simple red jumpsuit with a security patch. “Hi, Charlie, how are you doing?” As the door closed behind him he held out his arms.
Charlie stood and walked to him. “I’m okay,” she said simply, slipping into his embrace. They held each other a moment.
“Yeah, right,” Mitchel said gently, disengaging himself and holding her at arm’s length. He looked at her. “That scar...”
He fingered her long neck.
“A vein in my neck protruded after the explosive decompression of my suit. The doctors fixed it. As soon as it heals it’ll be barely noticeable.”
Mitchel nodded. “Good. Listen, Charlie, when you feel up to it, come to Tokyo.”
Charlie made a face. “Is this about the asteroid? I don’t want to go.”
“No, it’s something else. Please?” the Head of Security for SRI asked.
“Okay,” Charlie replied noncommittally.
“I’ve got to catch the shuttle; it’s leaving soon. Come on the next one; call Meyoung when you get to headquarters and set up a meeting.”
“Okay, I will.”
“Thanks, Charlie.”
***
“Come in, Mr. Rodriguez,” Helga Moeller said, standing.
Moeller was a middle manager in NESA’s security office.
Rodriguez shook her offered hand and sat in the indicated chair. Moeller was an archetypical blonde, blue-eyed Aryan with a rubenesque build that Rodriguez found attractive despite himself.
“It was a nice service,” Moeller commented.
“Yes, it was,” Rodriguez replied.
“We’ve just about completed our investigation,” she said, sitting behind her desk, indicating it was time to get down to business. “We’re helped by the fact that there are so few people on the Moon.”
“What did you learn?”
“There are five persons unaccounted for in both NESA Facility One and Two. All are from Earth.”
“Do you have names?”
She tapped keys on her desk and a paper-thin screen in front of Rodriguez lit up. It had five passport pictures with data next to each.
“You can see they are all Americans,” Moeller said. “They arrived over a period of a week. Only one, Alan Griffin, had been here before. All their visas were secured with cash deposits at the Japanese embassy in Washington, Columbia.”
“Can I have this?” Rodriguez asked.
“Yes.” She tapped more keys and the device on Rodriguez’s wrist chimed indicating it had received the file. SRI’s main computer was still down and everyone was relying on their personal computers.
“Did you have any luck with the bodies?”
“Yes. The body at your Check Point Alpha was William Fetterly. That was a relatively easy identification. The other two bodies were both male. The bodies were damaged by shotgun wounds, exposure to vacuum, and automatic weapon’s fire to the face.”
“To slow identification?” Rodriguez speculated.
“Yes. But we have fingerprints. The bodies were Hector Balgos and Frank Green. The last may be an alias.”
Rodriguez nodded. “Thank you.”
“If there’s anything else we can do,” Moeller said perfunctorily.
“Thank you,” Rodriguez repeated and stood to leave.
***
The Frenchman, Philippe Thorez, was a large man. His clothes were tailor made out of expensive, natural fibers. It’s amazing the money to be made by selling death.
Thorez greeted the Baathist leader. “ Mah’hun ah’sah’hun .”
Faruq smiled and ignored the man’s mangling of his language.
“The missiles?” he asked. English was the common denominator.
“Because of the sanctions,” Philippe began, “It is very difficult.”
“Yes, I know,” Faruq acknowledged. S o the negotiations begin , he thought with glee. He actually enjoyed this part of his job.
“But,” the
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