Kangaroo Too Page 15

  This is all making my head hurt very badly.

  Suddenly, a loud ringing sound fills the train. All the wall screens that had been showing advertisements and public service messages go red, then blank out. A second later, the word EMERGENCY appears on every display surface, and I feel the train lurch momentarily. The words NEXT STATION: LAST STOP appear under the word EMERGENCY.

  “Um, what’s happening?” I say out loud. Both of the other passengers have also looked up at the screens. The man in the heavy coat taps his ear, presumably turning off the music from his implants, and the woman with the shopping is gathering up all her bags, I guess preparing to exit the car.

  Oliver answers first. “I’m checking now. Wait one.”

  “This happens every now and then,” the music man says. “Probably some kind of obstruction on the tracks. Or an older section of tube got warped or cracked or something. But hey, at least they can sense it before it becomes a real problem.”

  “Terrorists,” the woman shopper says.

  “I’m sure it’s not that,” the man says.

  “Yeah,” I add. “Probably just some kind of maintenance issue—”

  “No,” the woman says, holding up a small tablet showing a live news vid feed. I didn’t see it earlier because she had it resting inside one of her shopping bags. I wondered why she had her head down this whole time. I just thought she was drowsy.

  “It’s all over the news,” she continues. “Somebody blew up a solar plant.”

  “What the fuck?” the man says, crowding next to her to see the vid.

  I stay where I am and blink my shoulder-phone into operation to receive a live news feed in my eye. Oliver comes back at the same time I see the first pictures, of a giant cloud of gray dust rising from the Lunar surface.

  “Kangaroo?” Oliver says. “Ah. You’re seeing the news. I can summarize. Someone—we don’t know who yet—has detonated several explosive devices in the solar power generation ring located in the Lunar zone of eternal daylight. Still working on getting numbers and details.”

  “Approaching last stop,” says a recorded voice over the public address loudspeakers. “Prepare to exit.”

  I turn away from the other passengers, who are glued to the tablet vid anyway, and speak under my breath to Oliver. “Is this related to the intel we recovered from Gladys?”

  “Unknown,” Oliver says. “Analysis is ongoing. But yes, it does seem like a pretty huge coincidence.”

  That’s not the worst of it, I realize. Someone just blew up a power plant.

  And Jeremiah Burgess was a municipal power maintenance supervisor. Someone who would know how to sneak an explosive device into a sensitive area. Someone who would know which parts of a solar-electric generator were the most vulnerable.

  What the hell were you doing with him, Surge?

  “Are you in a position to investigate?” Oliver asks. “Lasher will almost certainly re-task you—”

  “Wait one,” I say as the train slows to a stop. “I’ll call you back.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The Moon—nearside—Taurus-Littrow valley

  10 minutes after terrorists ruined everything

  There’s a uniformed transit police officer and several hovering cam-bots waiting on the platform when we get off the train. The uniform checks each of our IDs, making sure we stand still long enough for a cam-bot to get a clean image of our faces before letting us leave.

  I bunny-hop out of the tube station—it’s nearly impossible to run normally in Lunar gravity—and blink up a map of the local area in my eye. My train stopped below the Apollo 17 site, in the commerce district. There are lots of retail stores here, which means lots of tourists. Especially right now. Easy for me to hide in, but there’s no chance local security is going to let anyone here wander around unescorted.

  I find a restaurant that isn’t too filled with screaming children and their long-suffering parents, insist that the hostess seat me at a booth, and order a stiff drink and an appetizer. Then I blink my comms back on and wait for Oliver to answer.

  “Good news and bad news, Kangaroo,” he says by way of greeting. “The good news is, spaceways are clear. Satellite images confirm these were explosions on the surface, not impacts from projectiles.”

  Everyone’s afraid of getting rocks thrown at them from outer space these days. Even a small mass moving fast enough will devastate a large area. That’s where all these craters on the Moon came from, after all. “What’s the bad news?” I ask.

  “There were actually three solar plants hit,” he says. “Two at the north pole, one in the southern hemisphere. And they were the three dedicated plants supplying power to the tube transit system. Lunar authorities are working to rebalance the grid, but with all the extra population right now, they don’t have a lot of power to spare.”

  My stomach does a flip. “You’re telling me somebody doesn’t want all these civilians to be able to move around the Moon.” Including Jessica and me.

  “There are other transportation options,” Oliver says. “We’re working something out for you now.”

  “Can’t I ask the marshals to drive me around or something?”

  “I think you overestimate the goodwill law enforcement personnel normally extend to criminal defense attorneys.”

  My ear buzzes with an alert, and I see the incoming call details in my eye. “Sorry, EQ, I have another call. I need to take this. I’ll call you back.”

  “Very well,” Oliver says, and signs off.

  I answer the new call. I didn’t recognize the number, but as I guessed, it’s Yodey. “Ay, Edwin. You chill?”

  “More or less,” I say. “You’ve seen the news?”

  “Pretty messed up,” Yodey says. “Don’t affect our business, though, do it?”

  I sure as hell hope not. “No. Did you find the information I asked for?”

  “Right as rain. Would suggest a meet, but that tough now. Unless you might pay extra.”

  It takes me a second to comprehend what he’s saying. “You have access to a surface vehicle?”

  “Nothing too flash, but I know a guy.”

  “Great. Can he come pick me up?” I give my location. I’m sure there’s a public airlock near here. How else could folks get topside to see the historical sights?

  “Ay, no probs,” Yodey says. “I’m not too far. Let me find a good meet spot.”

  “I want to meet at the U.S. Marshal Service outpost,” I say.

  “You joking.”

  “I’m a criminal defense attorney. I have business with the marshals. And a client locked up in their jail right now that I need to speak to.”

  The line hisses for a second before Yodey speaks again. “I meet you near. Rover’s coming, meet you topside at museum flagpole. Driver’s name: Zoo. I call you in a few, tell you exact where to go.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “By the way, how much is all this going to cost me?”

  Yodey snorts. “We’ll see.”

  * * *

  Zoo’s rover turns out to be a large six-wheeled vehicle that looks like it rolled straight out of an advanced concepts showroom: sleek and shiny on the outside, even though there’s no need for aerodynamics in hard vacuum, with plenty of multicolored running lights. There’s not a lot of surface traffic on the Moon, but you’ll definitely see Zoo coming from kilometers away.

  I send Oliver a surreptitious text message while we proceed to the marshals’ outpost: On my way back to see Surgical again. Need all data you have ASAP. Are her dead guy and power plant attack related?

  Oliver could text me back and have the message show up in my eye, but it’s easier for him to just talk like normal, like I can’t right now. “I’m working on it, Kangaroo. Keep this channel open and I’ll be able to see when you reach Surgical. I’ll download whatever I have at that point.”

  Thanks, I text back, and then relax as much as I can while riding in the back of a shady vehicle during what is shaping up to be a Moon-wide crisis.
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br />   It can’t be just a coincidence that the guy Jessica picked up at the bar last night—who just happens to be a municipal power supervisor, with access to solar plants—turned up dead this morning, mere hours before a well-coordinated group of terrorists launched simultaneous attacks on three different utility stations on opposite sides of the Moon. There’s just no way.

  I text to Oliver: Does Lasher have new orders for me?

  “Lasher’s a little busy right now, as you might imagine,” Oliver says. “No, he didn’t tell me anything different as far as what you’re to do.”

  That’s a bit strange. Usually when there’s a “variation” and I’m able to make contact with the office, Paul has something to say. Even if it’s just a brusque and sternly worded reprimand for going off-script.

  But maybe he really is too busy right now. This is, after all, the first major terrorist incident that’s ever taken place on the Moon, and the biggest crisis involving a large civilian population since—well, since last year, when a certain former director of intelligence tried to crash an interplanetary cruise liner into Mars. Only this time it’s several million people in immediate jeopardy, instead of just a few thousand.

  I do a quick omnipedia lookup on the population of the Moon. Nine million people, give or take, depending on the time of year and whether there’s a big tourist event happening. Like now. There are probably another million additional people here this week. And most of them are stuck in place until the tubes come back online.

  I could sneak Jessica out of jail myself. Put her in the pocket, leave before she suffocates, pull her out again. We’ve got access to one of the best hospitals in the Solar System; I’m sure she’d survive the brief exposure. Would that help, though? If she’s not going to tell me what she was up to last night, will she be forthcoming about anything else?

  The pocket is handy, but it’s not immediately useful in every situation. And it’s not the only trick I’ve got up my sleeve.

  * * *

  Yodey hasn’t called by the time we reach the USMS outpost. I tell Zoo I need to go in and conduct some business.

  “Just keep the meter running,” I say.

  “What now?” He gives me a confused look.

  “Stay here. I’ll be right back. And then I might want to go somewhere else,” I say. “By the way, how much to hire you indefinitely?” It might be useful to have a surface vehicle at my disposal, if the tube is going to be offline for a while. The agency might not be able to spare any resources for me now that I’m technically done with my mission. Especially if Paul is too busy to yell at people on my behalf.

  Zoo chuckles. “You can’t afford me.”

  I fish my wallet out of my jacket, find the largest bill in there, and hand it to him. “Just don’t leave until I get back.”

  “Okay. I’ll stay.” He gives me a firm stare. “But we talk pricing later.”

  “Fine.”

  Jessica doesn’t look happy to see me when the clerk brings her into the meeting room. She glares at me from across the table until the clerk closes the door, giving us some privacy.

  “What the hell are you still doing here?” she asks. “You need to get out of here.”

  “Borders are closed,” I say. The news announced it just before we arrived at the outpost. “We’re all stuck here until the authorities sort out this terrorist attack.”

  She frowns at me. “What terrorist attack?”

  I give her a quick run-down.

  “You should have left when you had the chance,” Jessica grumbles.

  “Well, that’s water under the bridge now.” I turn on the biomedical scanners in my left eye. “Who were you and Jeremiah Burgess meeting with last night?”

  Jessica glares at me. “That’s not your concern.”

  “You’re accused of murder,” I say, scrutinizing the heat map of her face. “If this other woman can exonerate you—”

  “Who said it was a woman?”

  “There were witnesses.” I give her a hard stare. “You may have been able to get the security footage erased, but people still talk.”

  Jessica shakes her head. “Leave it, Kangaroo.”

  She didn’t deny erasing the vid. Interesting. “Tell me what happened.”

  “No.”

  “Is there any possibility that it’s connected to these terror attacks?”

  Jessica scowls. “No.”

  “Are you sure about that? Jeremiah Burgess worked for municipal power. The terrorists hit three solar power plants—the exact locations that would disable the tube transit system. How did they know which facilities to target? And why do they want to prevent people from traveling across nearside?”

  “Those are all excellent questions,” Jessica says, “and you should be out there tracking down the answers instead of in here wasting time with me.”

  “What are you not telling me?”

  “Whatever it is,” she says, “we can’t discuss it here. You have a job to do. I’ll be fine. The marshals can only hold me for forty-eight hours, and this isn’t a military prison with enhanced interrogation. I can do a couple of nights in a cell. You and Oliver are going to make sure the marshals don’t come up with any actual evidence that can—are you even listening?”

  I’m not. She said military prison. That’s ringing a bell in my head. “The marshals can’t hold you.”

  “Not for more than forty-eight hours. It’s called habeas corpus. I thought you had Oliver feeding you legal information—”

  “No,” I say, slapping the table. “They can’t hold you at all, Lieutenant Commander.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Moon—nearside—Tycho Crater

  5 minutes after my brilliant epiphany

  I can’t get Paul on the phone after the marshals take Jessica back to her cell, so I have to spend precious minutes in the restroom explaining to Oliver what needs to happen next.

  “Judge advocate general,” I repeat. I can’t believe he doesn’t know what JAG stands for. “There should be an office at Copernicus Base. I need you to call them.”

  “And say what?” Oliver asks.

  “I don’t know what the precise language is,” I say, “but Jessica’s in the OSS reserves, isn’t she? That’s what she said before we left Earth.”

  “Retired Reserve, I believe,” Oliver says.

  “Whatever. She’s still, what do you call it, service connected?”

  “Sure.”

  “So the UCMJ applies to her.”

  “What’s that, then?”

  I really can’t believe this. “Uniform Code of Military Justice. Do we have a bad connection here? This is all basic military stuff.”

  “I was never in the military,” Oliver says.

  “Just go look it up, okay?” I lower my voice as another person walks into the restroom. “Then get Copernicus to send someone here to the marshals outpost and get her out. And pick me up too.”

  “That might be a bit tricky,” Oliver says. “What with the terrorism and all.”

  “I’m sure you’ll figure it out, EQ. Call me back.” I hang up just as the new person, a burly middle-aged man in a business suit, gives me a dirty look while walking up to a urinal.

  “You got phone service?” he asks.

  “In and out,” I say.

  Burlyman grunts and shakes his head. “Fuckin’ terrorists ruin everything.”

  “No argument there. Excuse me.”

  I leave just as he spits into the urinal, and my shoulder-phone rings again. I bounce out into the lobby, which is filled with muttering people waiting for the police to talk to them, before answering.

  “Edwin?” It’s Breyella Wilgus. “Where are you? Are you and Gladys okay?”

  “I’m at the U.S. marshals outpost,” I say. “I’m fine. I don’t know where Gladys is.”

  “She’s not with you?”

  “She didn’t go back to Silver Circle?”

  “No,” Breyella says. “And she’s not answering her phone. I kn
ow service is spotty right now, but we’re a little concerned. You’re the last person we know she was with, so—”

  “I left her at Barclays,” I say, and give the address for the bank. “Maybe she’s still there. I don’t know.”

  “She wasn’t behaving strangely, was she?”

  “Does she do that?” I wasn’t feeling bad about ditching a black market information dealer, but abandoning a senile elder during a terror crisis would make me feel much worse.

  “No, I just—” Breyella sighs. “Sometimes I worry about our residents.”

  “Gladys seemed fine,” I say. “Does her wheelchair have any sort of tracking device in it?”

  “Why would it have a tracking device?”

  “I don’t know.” Too bad I didn’t think to plant one earlier. I didn’t expect we would need to keep tabs on her.

  “Okay. I’ll call the bank,” Breyella says. “If you hear from Gladys, would you please let me know?”

  “Of course.”

  She thanks me and hangs up. I take a moment to breathe and look around the lobby. I don’t know what all these people are doing here, but nobody looks very happy. That’s not surprising; people generally don’t go to a U.S. Marshal Service outpost for happy reasons.

  Sometimes I wish I could do more to help. But that’s not my job.

  My shoulder-phone rings again, and I recognize the number this time.

  “Yodey,” I say after the call connects. “Are you here?”

  “Near,” he says. “Tell Zoo, deliver you to Planned Parenthood in Sabine Crater.”

  * * *

  Sabine Crater is near the Apollo 11 landing site—where the big anniversary party will happen—and it takes me a little longer to fight through the crowds underground, after I get through the topside airlock.

  The Planned Parenthood free clinic is one of the less popular venues here. It’s dark inside, and a large electronic sign on the front window reads CLOSED FOR THE HOLIDAY—OPEN AGAIN AT 0700 UTC ON JULY 22ND. Smaller displays surrounding the sign advertise different services the organization provides: health exams, contraception, medical testing, and information.