Apollo's Outcasts

We reached the double doors. Nicole held one open for me, and when I walked through, I had my first good look at Apollo.

We stood on a veranda of a balcony on the lowest tier of the crater rim. The tier went all the way around the inside of the crater; two more tiers above it slanted upward toward the bottom of the dome, where sunlight shined brightly from the giant mirror at its apex. The tiers overlooked the crater solarium; over four miles in diameter, it was so vast that I could barely see its tiered walls on the opposite side.

I'd seen pictures of Apollo, of course. It was often described as one of the great wonders of the century. But holos are one thing, and seeing the place with my own eyes was quite another. The solarium resembled nothing less than an urban park at the bottom of an immense bowl. Groves of small shade trees--dwarf maple, sycamore, pine--were clustered around pebble paths, while benches and gazebos were arranged beside broad, fresh-cut lawns. Foot paths led between small cottage-like buildings scattered here and there; just below was what appeared to be a livestock pen, with goats grazing within a nearby meadow. People strolled along gravel walkways; I spotted someone on a bicycle pedal past a couple walking hand in hand beside a small pond. There were even birds in the trees; a robin landed to the veranda railing, gave me a quick once-over, then flitted away.

If I hadn't known that I was on the Moon, I would have sworn that I was back on Earth. Even Melissa, as jaded as she was, was impressed "Wow," she murmured. "I mean...y'know...wow."

"Yeah." Logan was also wide-eyed. "I've seen the vids, but..."

"Uh-huh." Gordie seemed to be enjoying our reactions. "It always gets me, too. No place quite like it."

I was still staring at the solarium when a handful of adults--two men and two women--came up a nearby stairway. The oldest of the four was a tall, dark-skinned man in his mid-fifties; he approached our group and stopped before Nicole and Gordie.

"Ms. Doyle, I take it that these are our guests?" he asked, and she nodded. "Good, very good," he said, then turned to Gordie. "And Captain Rogers...thank you for bringing them here. We're in your debt."

"I'll remember that, Loren," Gordie replied, and the other man's smile flickered a bit. "Let me introduce you to..."

"Allow me, please." The gentleman stepped closer to us. "I'm Loren Porter, Apollo's city manager. And these are--" he gestured to each of his companions "--Algis Lagler, our life support supervisor, Mary Rice, the chief of surgery at Apollo General Hospital, and Karl Ernsting, also on the staff of Apollo General. They'll be your legal guardians while you're with us."

The three of them smiled and murmured greetings. They appeared pleasant enough, but there was still an awkward moment; we kids were meeting our surrogate parents for the first time, and no one seemed to know exactly what to make of each other. I was still trying to figure out who was going with who when Mr. Lagler walked over to my sister and me.



"You're Melissa and Jamey?" A short, thick-set man with a trim goatee, he had a European accent that I'd later learn was Hungarian. "My wife and I are happy to be your guardians." A pause while Melissa and I took this in; we nodded, and he went on. "We know your father well, and your mother used to work in my department. Jamey, you've grown considerably since the last time I saw you."

"Umm..." I didn't quite know what to say to this. "I guess so, sir. Thank you."

Melissa was even more uncomfortable than I was, but for once she kept her mouth shut. From the corner of my eye, I saw Dr. Rice introducing herself to Eddie and Nina while Logan shook hands with Dr. Ernsting.

That left only Hannah. As always, she quietly hung back a little, silently observing as introductions were being made. Then Mr. Porter walked over to her. "Ms. Wilford?" he asked, extending his hand. "Pleased to meet you. My wife and I will be taking care of you while you're here."

"Thank you." Her voice was very quiet as she shook his hand. "I appreciate it."

"It'll be our honor." Mr. Porter's voice became sympathetic. "I was a great admirer of your father. I'm very sorry for your loss." He took her bag from her and gestured toward the nearby walkway. "If you'll follow me, please...there's some people you need to meet."

Hannah nodded again and moved to follow him. Just before she left, though, she glanced my way. Our eyes met for an instant and her face went red with embarrassment, as if she'd been caught telling a lie. Then she went away, leaving me staring at her.

"Did he call her Ms. Wilford?" Melissa was confused. "I thought her last name was Johnson."

I didn't have a chance to reply before Nina piped up. "You mean you didn't know?" she asked. I shook my head, and so did Melissa and Logan. Nina responded with an expansive sigh. "How dumb are you? That's Hannah Wilford...President Wilford's daughter."





"Oh my God," Melissa stammered. "Oh, my God...oh, my God...oh, my God..."

No one paid attention to her. We were watching Hannah and Mr. Porter as they walked away from us. When they disappeared through a door leading to a stairway, I looked at Nina.

"How did you know?" I asked.

"You didn't recognize her?" She gave me a patronizing smile. "I did. As soon as she got out of the car, I figured out who she was. I thought you did, too."

I could have explained to her that the last person I expected to see at Wallops Island was the daughter of the president of the United States, but I turned to Gordie instead. "Did you know?" I asked, and he reluctantly nodded. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"I didn't know myself until just before you showed up," he replied. "When the launch director told me that she'd be on the shuttle, he made me promise to keep my mouth shut. That way, if the feds had managed to stop the launch, the rest of you wouldn't have gotten in any trouble."

"We're already in trouble." Logan was glaring at him; I'd seldom seen him so angry. "We're all wanted by the feds. What difference does it make if one of us is the president's daughter?"

"Plenty." Dr. Ernsting had come over to join us. He was in his late twenties, with bushy brown hair and a pencil-thin mustache; we'd later learn that he was a psychologist, and with his German accent he couldn't have been more suitable for the role. "Sorry, Logan, but you have it wrong. The rest of you are just the children of federal fugitives..."

"Just?"



"Exactly, yes. The American officials don't want you as much as your parents. But Hannah is a fugitive herself. If anything, they want her even more than your folks. So, if you'd been caught and they'd found out that you knew who she was, then you could've been charged with aiding and abetting an attempted flight from the law."

I slowly nodded. It was the same reason that Dad had given for not telling Melissa and me where we were going until we reached Wallops Island; deniability was our best defense. And it explained a couple of other things, such as why F-30s had given chase to the Spirit of New York and tried to kill us with an ASW when that didn't work, and also why Gordie had observed radio silence during the two and a half days it had taken us to reach the Moon. The people who had arranged our getaway knew that the daughter of the late president was among us, and they'd done everything possible to protect her.

"But..." Melissa was still in shock. "Why didn't she tell us herself?"

Mr. Lagler shrugged. "Maybe she didn't want you treating her any differently than anyone else." He paused. "She just lost her father," he quietly added. "Perhaps she had other things on her mind."

Melissa didn't respond to that. I wondered if she regretted having treated Hannah so rudely. Something Dr. Ernsting said, though, spurred a question of my own. "Has anyone heard from our parents?"

The adults looked at one another, each reluctant to be the one to deliver bad news. "I'm very sorry," Dr. Rice said at last, and there was no missing the Scottish lilt of her voice, "but we've learned that they were among those who were arrested at Wallops Island just after you left."

Logan's mouth fell open, and even Nina appeared to be stunned. "They were caught?" she asked, and her guardian slowly nodded. "What's happened to them?"

"We...don't know," Dr. Rice said. "No official announcement has been made. What little information we have came from a source at Wallops just before the government severed all communications with the island." Kneeling down, she reached out for Nina. "My poor child. I'm sure your family will be all..."

Nina stepped back from her. Once again, the stoical mask had slipped down over her face, but I could see the fury in her eyes. She didn't want to be comforted by strangers. But Eddie burst into tears again, and his little sister took his hand before Dr. Rice could move toward him.

Something went cold inside of me. Dad had sacrificed his freedom to make sure that Melissa and I escaped, and Jan had done the same for Hannah. Now both of them were in the hands of the authorities. And if my father's fears about President Shapar were true, then Dad and Jan were in grave danger. It was possible that Melissa and I would never see them again.

"I'm going to get them." Logan's voice was a whisper only I heard. At first I thought he meant his parents, but then I looked at him and saw the barely restrained rage in his face. "That whole crew...Shapar and everyone around her. So help me, I'm going to get them."

You and me both, I silently added, although I didn't say so aloud.

"Yes, well..." Mr. Lagler cleared his throat with a discomfited cough. "You've come a long way. Perhaps you should get some rest and a good meal." He lay a hand upon my shoulder. "Come with me. I'll take you to my home."

The other grownups murmured in agreement, then they turned to collect their charges; Logan went away with Dr. Ernsting, and Nina reluctantly allowed Dr. Rice to herd Eddie and her toward the nearby stairs. Melissa didn't look very happy about following Mr. Lagler, but neither she nor I had much choice in matter. I didn't know if Apollo had an orphanage, but if there was one, I didn't want to wind up there.

"I'll be in touch," Gordie said to me just before we left him. "Maybe we can get in another flying lesson."

"Yeah. That would be great." I wasn't very enthusiastic about the offer; I was too wrung out from everything I'd just learned. Gordie forced a smile, then turned to walk off. Nicole favored me with a smile of her own that was a little more comforting, then she headed toward the customs entrance.



Mr. Lagler's apartment was located on the third tier of the crater wall. I'd later find out that Apollo's senior administrators rated the living quarters with the most space and the best views, so the Laglers' apartment was on the same level as Mr. Porter's, while Dr. Rice and Dr. Ernsting lived on the ground floor level near Apollo General. The sunlight within the crater was already beginning to dim by the time we climbed the stairs to get there; apparently the reflector mirrors were turning to provide Apollo with its artificial night. There were only a few elevators in Apollo, and most of them were used to connect the solarium with the sublevels beneath the crater, so we took stairs to get to his place. It felt odd to walk up stairs after a lifetime of using a mobil, but I managed to get the hang of it.

I didn't know what to expect from Mr. Lagler's apartment, so I was bound to be surprised in any case. His home was nowhere near the size of the house I'd left behind in Maryland: three rooms and a bath, with Mr. and Ms. Lagler in the master bedroom and Melissa and I sharing a slightly smaller second bedroom. Mr. Lagler informed us that, since their son was at college in Hungary, Melissa and I could use his room for the time being. It had only one bed, but a futon had been borrowed from a neighbor; I volunteered to use it and let my sister have the bed. MeeMee was hardly overjoyed by the prospect of sharing a room with her little brother and a bathroom with two strangers, but she had enough sense to keep her objections to herself.

The apartment was carved out of solid rock, with bamboo wall panels to cozy up the rooms a little. Indeed, it seemed as if everything was made out of bamboo: the beds, chairs, and tables, the cabinets and countertops of the small kitchenette in a dining nook of the living room, the doors, even the frames of the ceiling light fixtures. Bamboo was easily cultivated in the ag domes, while wood was expensive to import from Earth; no one cut down the trees in the crater park, since they were an important source of oxygen.

The highlight was a narrow window in the dining nook that faced the crater's outer wall. Looking through it, one could see the lunar landscape spread out below, with Earth high above the landing fields. But Mr. Lagler was particularly proud of his holo TV. Built into the ceiling, it had cost him nearly three months' salary to have it shipped up from Earth, but it was worth every lune if it let him watch European soccer games.

Ms. Lagler was a plump and pleasant lady who could have been anyone's favorite aunt. She fawned all over Melissa and me as soon as we came through the door, and already had a pot of lamb ragout simmering on the stove. Like most loonies, their diet was mainly vegetarian, but on special occasions the Laglers would spring for fresh meat from the colony's livestock pens. I wasn't crazy about lamb, but I was too polite to object. Besides, after three days of sucking on food pouches, I could have eaten horsemeat. Melissa wasn't picky, either; sitting across the dining table from her, I was almost embarrassed by the way she shoveled the food into her mouth.

Mr. and Mrs. Lagler didn't say much until after dinner, but once Melissa and I helped Mrs. Lagler clear the table, Mr. Lagler escorted us to the twin bamboo couches arranged in front of the holo. He and his wife didn't have many rules, he told us, but they expected us to obey the few they did. We were to help them keep the apartment neat and pick up after ourselves. We would abide by Apollo's water conservation laws, which meant no more than three showers a week for no longer than five minutes apiece; Melissa was horrified by that, until Mrs. Lagler explained to her that water was a finite resource which was constantly recycled. We would attend morning classes at Apollo High, and in the afternoons we were expected to do our time in Colony Service.



"What's that?" I asked. Nicole had mentioned it to me, but hadn't explained what it was.

"All residents above the age of twelve are expected to contribute at least twenty hours per week to community work," Mr. Lagler said. "No exceptions, not even visitors who expect to be here more than four weeks."

"We might not be here that long," Melissa said, confident that she'd found an exemption for herself.

Mr. Lagler gave her a forgiving smile. "Perhaps...but I wouldn't count on it. Besides, you'll find yourself getting bored if you don't do something once school is out, because that's what everyone else your age will be doing."

Melissa responded by folding her arms together and putting on her best MeeMee pout. "So what do we do in Colony Service?" I asked.

"Depends on what you volunteer for. You can do custodial duties like sweeping the walkways and emptying the recycling chutes. There's a lot of work in the farms and livestock pens, and the solarium maintenance crew is always looking for new people. If you'd prefer to work outside, you can get trained for dome inspection and repair." He paused. "You're both at least sixteen, aren't you?" he asked, and nodded when Melissa and I said we were. "Then you can join the Rangers...but that takes a major commitment, and the training can be pretty dangerous."

I liked the idea of seeing more of Nicole, but having to work with Billy Tate wasn't very appealing. Besides, I didn't think I was ready for a job that would have me risking life and limb. I shook my head, and Mr. Lagler shrugged. "As you will. But you'll need to sign up for something by the end of the week, or else you'll be assigned a job. Believe me, you don't want it to come to that...people who try to dodge CS usually get sent to the waste treatment center."

Melissa made a face, then yawned. "Yeah, well...thanks for the warning, but I'm tired. Do you think I can...?"

"You're excused, yes. Go on to bed." Mr. Lagler made a show of half-rising from his seat, but Melissa didn't notice the courtly gesture as she stood up and shuffled away to the guest room. He watched her go, then looked at me. "Aren't you going to bed, too, Jamey?"

My eyes were feeling grainy, but I wasn't quite ready to sleep. "Could I sit up just a little longer? I want to..." I hesitated. "I'd like to ask you about something."

Mr. Lagler frowned. "Yes? What is it?"

I waited until I heard Melissa shut the door behind her. "On the way here...when I was on the ferry, I mean...Nicole told me something I'd never heard before. That I was famous, or something like that."

"Oh, really?" He raised an eyebrow. "And you didn't know this before now?" When I shook my head, he looked past me. "Imagine that, Elsa. The boy doesn't know."

Ms. Lagler had just finished cleaning up; she left the dining nook, wiping her hands on a rag. "Why would you be surprised? He was so young when it happened. He wouldn't remember..."

"Are you talking about my mother?" I asked, then quickly added, "Ma'am."

She smiled, appreciating the formality. "Of course," she said, settling down on the couch next to her husband. "Oh, Connie was such a beautiful woman. We were very fond of her, Algis and I. When she died..." The smile vanished and she shook her head. "Such a tragedy. Just terrible."

"You know how she died, do you not?" Mr. Lagler asked, taking his wife's hand. "And how you were saved...you know this, too, yes?" I nodded, and he went on. "That story has become well-known in the years since...how a mother, in her last seconds, gave up her own life in order to save her child. It's told to everyone who comes to the Moon as an example of the sort of courage it takes to live here, and what may be expected of all of us if we are to survive."

"I understand."

I thought I'd said the right thing, but Mr. Lagler shook his head. "No, I don't think you do. You're the child who was saved, and so you're part of the legend...but unless you find yourself in a similar situation, you cannot understand what a brave thing it is that your mother did. Not really."

"But it was an accident, right?" I asked, and he nodded. "Then how could I find myself in a similar situation if this was something that...?"

"I don't know, but the day may come that you will. And when it does, you'll have to find for yourself whether you're worthy of your mother's..."

He was interrupted by a soft chime from the phone on the living room table. Mr. Lagler picked it up. "Hello?" he said, then listened for a moment. "Yes, they are, but his sister has gone to bed." Another pause. "Of course...yes, I will. Thank you for letting us know."

He put down the phone, looked at me again. "The town manager will be making a special address to Apollo in just a couple of minutes. His assistant called to tell me that it concerns you and your friends, and that you should watch." He reached over to pick up the holo's remote. "Maybe you should wake up your sister."

I thought about it for a second, then shook my head. "That might not be such a good idea, sir. She's pretty cranky when she has to get out of bed."

An understanding nod, then Mr. Lagler pointed the remote at the holo and thumbed a button. A miniature soccer field materialized before us, with doll-size players scrambling for control of the ball. Mr. Lagler touched another button and the field disappeared, replaced by a life-sized speaker's podium. The bamboo podium remained vacant for a few more seconds, then Loren Porter stepped out of thin air to walk behind it.

"My fellow colonists...thank you for taking the time to join me tonight." Although his voice came from a ceiling speaker, it sounded as if he was in the same room with us. "I'm sorry to have to speak to you on such short notice, but a matter has occurred which may have significant impact on the future of Apollo."



Mr. Porter glanced down at the podium, as if taking his cues from a screen we couldn't see. "Earlier today, a transfer vehicle arrived in lunar orbit bearing passengers who left the ISC spaceport at Wallops Island three days ago. Those passengers are six children, their ages ranging from nine to seventeen. Most of them have parents who work for the ISC, and who decided to send their children to safety following the death of President Wilford."

As he spoke, a small window opened to left side of him. Within it was a holo image of President Wilford: his official portrait, familiar to everyone.

"There is a reason why they did this," Mr. Porter continued. "As many of you know, his former vice president, Lina Shapar, has proposed that the United States cede from the ISC and take control of helium-3 reserves here on the Moon. Such a unilateral action, of course, would be in direct violation of the United Nations Space Treaty, which has directed the international use of lunar resources for the last 130 years. It would also violate the accords that created the ISC itself, which state that helium-3 and other vital lunar materials are to be shared among the nations that belong to the ISC."

Another window opened to Mr. Porter's right, this one displaying an official holo of President Shapar: blonde and beautiful, but somehow vaguely reptilian, with an unblinking gaze that I'd always found unsettling.

"Although Vice President Shapar's position was supported by many within her party," Mr. Porter went on, "it was not supported by President Wilford, who was in favor of continued international control and sharing of lunar resources. This was not the first time since they came to the White House that the president and vice president were in disagreement. Vice President Shapar also spoke in favor of military confrontation with the Pacific Socialist Union, while President Wilford wanted to re-open negotiations with China and her allies."

"Shapar was bucking for her boss's job," Mr. Lagler murmured. "That's why she worked against him...she had political ambitions of her own."

"Who is she, Algis?" Ms. Lagler asked. "You know I don't keep up with American politics."



Mr. Lagler folded his arms across his chest. "Lina Shapar used to be Miss America," he said quietly, "before she married a senator from her home state. She didn't have any political ambitions before then, but after they were married she began to be more outspoken. Most of what she said echoed her husband's conservative views, but she was more charismatic than he was, and the voters loved her. Then Senator Shapar was killed in a plane crash and the governor appointed Lina to fill out his term. She rose quickly within her party even though her politics became more radical than her husband's, and when George Wilford...who was a moderate...won the presidential nomination, he tried to appease his party's right wing by tapping her to be his running mate." He shrugged. "It's been obvious for awhile, though, that the two of them actually despised each other, or that Shapar wouldn't hesitate to take positions that undermined the president's agenda."

I only listened to this with half an ear. I was paying more attention to what Mr. Porter was saying. "When it became obvious that Vice President Shapar was intent upon taking control of helium-3 reserves, a number of ISC officials signed a petition in protest of her position. This included the parents of the children who have come to the Moon. They did so with the support of their European and Asian colleagues, but not long after the petition was made public, they learned that the vice president had placed their names on a secret list of political enemies, and that she intended to persecute them if and when she became president."

Mr. Porter paused to let his words sink in. "This has occurred," he went on after a moment. "As soon as George Wilford was pronounced dead and Lina Shapar was sworn in to take his place, her first act as president was to issue an executive order calling for the arrest of everyone she'd placed on that list. She did so on the grounds that they were involved in a Chinese-led conspiracy to assassinate the former president, and that these individuals posed a threat to the national security of the United States."

The images of George Wilford and Lina Shapar vanished as Mr. Porter continued to speak. "This has been the White House's position for the last three days. The parents of those children who've fled to Apollo have been arrested, and we have since learned that they will be charged with conspiring to kill President Wilford...."

"No," I whispered. "They're lying. Dad wouldn't do that."

"I know," Mr. Lagler said quietly, then held up a finger. "Just listen."

"However, we are now aware of something that people back on Earth don't know." Mr. Porter was staring straight at the camera. "This information comes from another child who was put aboard that LTV before it left Earth." Again, he paused for a moment. "Please allow me to introduce you to Hannah Wilford, the daughter of the late President George Wilford."

Mr. Porter moved away from the podium, but didn't vanish from sight. A couple of seconds went by, then Hannah appeared.

She looked better than she did the last time I'd seen her. She'd cleaned up a bit and combed her hair, and someone had given her a fresh change of clothes. Now I recognized her as being the First Daughter, but perhaps only because she'd been introduced as such. Until we'd arrived at Apollo, she'd been just another scared teenager on the run.

Hannah hesitated, as if unsure of herself. When she spoke, though, her voice was steady. "I'm Hannah Wilford, and my father is President Wilford, and I'm here to tell you that Lina Shapar is lying. My father wasn't assassinated...he died of natural causes."

She took a second to catch her breath, but it may have also been to emphasize what she'd just said. If so, it had the desired effect. Ms. Lagler gasped and raised her hand to her mouth, and Mr. Lagler bent a little closer. My father had hinted at this when we'd heard the news of President Wilford's death, but nonetheless I was surprised as they were.

"The truth of the matter is that my father was ill," Hannah continued. "In fact, he'd been ill for quite some time. Only a handful of people knew that he was suffering from a heart condition...atrial fibrillation...that put him at increased risk for a stroke. He'd managed to keep this secret while he was running for office, and after he was elected the only people who were aware of his condition were my mother and me, his private physicians, the Secret Service, and the few persons in his administration who needed to know."

"That explains a lot," Mr. Lagler said, darting a glance at his wife. "Like why he refused to release his medical records."

"Why is that?"

"During the campaign, Wilford's opponent demanded that he release the results of his most recent medical exam. Wilford said that he'd be happy to do so, but only if the other candidate did, too. His opponent declined...it later turned out that he had health problems of his own...and so Wilford refused to divulge his medical records as well." A grim smile. "That must have been a lucky break for Wilford. It gave him an excuse to avoid admitting that he had a heart condition."

"My father had medicine that allowed him to live and work normally," Hannah was saying, "but he had to make sure that he took it on time every day and that he avoided stressful situations. Both of these things became very hard to do, and on one occasion his doctors had to be rushed in for emergency treatment. But the public was not made aware of the fact that he wasn't well or that his condition was getting worse."

Hannah paused again, this time to raise a hand and quickly wipe away a tear that threatened to reveal itself. When she continued speaking, her voice quavered, but just a little. "Vice President Shapar was one of those people who knew my father was ill, and I suspect...I believe...that one of the reasons why she publicly opposed him on so many issues was that she wanted to increase the stress of his job as much as she could. But even if she didn't, she and her staff were preparing to seize control of the White House the moment he suffered a stroke. My father never trusted her...he told me so himself...but there was little he could do about this that wouldn't involve going public with his medical condition."

Hannah took another deep breath; I could tell that she was struggling to remain calm. "So, when my father had the stroke that killed him, Lina Shapar was ready to put the blame on the PCU and claim that an assassin was responsible. She and her people were also ready to issue orders calling for the arrest of anyone they believed would oppose their agenda. This includes the American ISC officials who signed the petition protesting their plans to lay claim to lunar helium-3. They believe that if the US can take possession of the helium-3 supply, then it will be able to control much of the world's energy."

"They're right." Mr. Lagler's face was grim. "If America is able to do this, then..."

"Hush," Ms. Lagler murmured. "Listen."

"My mother was detained as soon as my father died, and I don't know what has become of her." Hannah's voice was shaking by then; Mr. Porter stepped closer to lay a comforting hand on her arm, but she barely seemed to notice him. "Secret Service agents loyal to my father managed to get me out of the White House, and acting on instructions he'd secretly given them in advance, they got me to Wallops Island, where I boarded a shuttle along with the children of ISC officials who'd also learned of the plot." She paused to wipe a tear from her face. "One of those kids had to stay behind so that I'd be able to get away, and I...and I..."

She was talking about Jan. No wonder she hadn't said much to me. She felt guilty about what had happened, even though it wasn't her fault. Hannah was openly weeping by then. When she couldn't go on, Mr. Porter gently pushed her away from the podium.

"Thank you, Ms. Wilford," he said. "I'm sure I speak for everyone when I say that I appreciate your courage and along with that of your late father."

Hannah nodded, then she turned and walked away from the podium. Mr. Porter waited until she'd vanished from sight, then he turned to look straight at the camera. "This address is being simulcast to the global net on Earth," he said, "and it's being seen in the US as well as other countries belonging to the ICU. So I will take the opportunity to read a public statement of my own."

He gazed down at the podium again. "A little more than an hour ago, following a private meeting with Ms. Wilford during which she explained the situation just as you've heard it, the Apollo town council convened in executive session during which we also conferred with senior ISC representatives both on Earth and here on the Moon. It is our decision that, until President Shapar and her administration offer a full public accounting for the circumstances of President Wilford's death, along with the arrest of American ISC officials and various other individuals, all shipments of helium-3 and other lunar resources to the United States will be suspended. This embargo will go into effect immediately and will continue until further notice."

Mr. Porter looked up at the camera. "We hope that this crisis will be resolved soon, and to our satisfaction. Thank you for your attention, and good night."





I went to bed shortly after that. I might have stayed up a little longer with Mr. and Ms. Lagler to discuss what Mr. Porter and Hannah had said, but exhaustion finally caught up with me, so I excused myself and went to my room. Melissa was sound asleep when I came in; she didn't stir while I got undressed and climbed into bed.

I was out cold almost as soon as my head touched the pillow. As I slept, events continued to unfold.

Mr. Porter's speech, along with Hannah's remarks, were transmitted back to Earth, where they were received by ground stations. Less than a minute after Mr. Porter started talking, though, the American netcasts were suddenly terminated; comp screens went blank and were replaced by error codes. The National Security Agency apparently had been ready to cut the lunar transmission before it reached US-based service providers. When pushed for an explanation, an NSA spokesman said that the transmission had been censored in the interest of national security, then punted the matter to the White House...which, in turn, offered no comment.

However, neither the NSA nor the White House were able to do anything about the rest of world. European and South American ground stations also received the transmission, and they immediately relayed it to overseas service providers. So everything said by Apollo's general manager and President Wilford's daughter was heard by hundreds of millions of people outside the United States, who called or emailed friends and associates in America to make them aware of what their government didn't want them to know. Within hours, mirror sites in the United States were echoing the speech from their European counterparts; the NSA did its best to shut them down, too, but the battle was already lost. By the end of the day, almost everyone in America had heard what Hannah said.

The White House went into damage control mode. The press secretary, Andreas Sullivan, claimed that the transmission was a hoax. Hannah Wilford's image had been computer-generated, he said, and to prove this the White House released footage of the First Daughter calmly reading a book at the undisclosed location where she and her mother had been taken for their own safety. This was debunked almost immediately, when a British news agency released an identical vid taken fifteen months earlier while the late president's family was on vacation in France.

Just as incendiary was Mr. Porter's announcement that Apollo would curtail helium-3 shipments to the United States until the Shapar administration provided candid explanations for President Wilford's death and the detainment of various officials. Press Secretary Sullivan was utterly livid when asked if it was true that the late president had been killed by a stroke instead of a Chinese assassin, but he couldn't provide a reason why Mr. Porter would lie about such a serious matter. He said that the He3 embargo didn't matter very much because American nuclear fusion plants already had ample fuel reserves, and then stated that President Shapar was communicating with Ronald Voss, the ISC general director, in an effort to settle the dispute.

I was still in bed when Voss held his own press conference in Geneva. Speaking before a lightning storm of camera flashes, the general director said that President Shapar had threatened to withdraw the United States from the ISC unless shipments of helium-3 and other materials were immediately resumed, and that her administration would also consider taking other, as-yet unspecified actions against ISC countries unless Hannah Wilford was returned to Earth at once.

The White House dropped its line that Hannah's presence on the Moon was a fraud. Shortly after Voss spoke, Andreas Sullivan called another press conference, this time to claim that the First Daughter had been abducted by agents of the Pacific Socialist Coalition, which in turn were secretly conspiring with the ISC to shut off American access to vital lunar resources. No one believed him, and Sullivan left the room without answering the obvious questions shouted at him by the White House press corps.

No one knew it then, but that was the last time the Shapar administration would hold a press conference. It wouldn't be long before reporters were barred from the White House; after that, all presidential statements were either anonymous press releases or prerecorded vids. The Shapar administration had been caught in a bald-faced lie; they wouldn't make the same mistake again if they could help it.

I didn't hear about any of this until after I got up. The Laglers knew how tired Melissa and I were, so they'd let us sleep in. It was late morning, Apollo time, when I finally pried open my eyes. MeeMee was still snoring softly when I put on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Clamping on my ankle bracelets so I wouldn't bounce around like I was on a trampoline, I slipped out of the room. Neither Mr. nor Ms. Lagler were around, but there was a plate of fresh muffins and a carafe of hot coffee on the dining nook table, along with a note asking us to make ourselves at home.

I wasn't ready for breakfast yet; the first thing I needed to do was take a shower. The bathroom was next to the Laglers' bedroom, and they'd laid out fresh towels for Melissa and me. Recalling Mr. Lagler's admonition against showers lasting more than five minutes, I kept my watch on, but that turned out to be unnecessary. The stall had a built-in timer and thermostat, and both were preset. Two minutes of lukewarm water at low pressure, just enough to get wet and soak my hair before the showerhead went dry. I soaped up and squirted some shampoo in my hair, then touched the button marked RINSE and received three minutes of hot water at high pressure which ended exactly thirty seconds after a warning chime. I didn't quite get all the shampoo out of my hair, but the stall wouldn't give me a second chance; I rinsed out remaining suds in the sink, using the five-second spurts of warm water the facet would allow me. Water conservation was apparently taken seriously on Apollo; I'd have to get used to taking showers in a hurry, and not every day.

I barely noticed. I was too busy enjoying being able to take a shower without having to prop myself up with a pair of support rails. Most of my life, I'd taken baths simply because they were less hassle. Now, for the first time, I could stand on my own two legs and watch water swim down the drain between my feet. Unless you've been stuck in a mobil for as long as you can remember, you'll never know just how happy this simple pleasure made me.

I came out of the bathroom to find that Melissa had just woken up. She was still half-asleep and her eyes barely open, but at least she'd remembered to put on her ankle weights. She scowled at me as she shuffled into the bathroom, slamming the door shut before I had a chance to tell her about the timer. She was in for a rude surprise; MeeMee loved a long, hot shower in the morning.

Figuring that she was on her own, I took the opportunity to get dressed; she and I would both have to make adjustments so long as we shared a room. In my bag were the jeans, sweatshirt, and moccasins I'd been wearing before changing into the ISC jumpsuit I'd been given on Wallops Island. Unfortunately, these were the only warm clothes I had; everything else I'd brought with me was more suitable for the beach than Apollo. I'd have to find something else to wear before long. But I laughed out loud when I discovered my trunks and swim fins in the bottom of the bag. Maybe I could use the fins as a wall decoration; they were probably the only pair on the Moon.

When I emerged from the bedroom, I found Mr. Lagler waiting for me. He'd used his lunch hour to come home and check on Melissa and me. We'd just said good morning to each other when there was an outraged shriek from the other side of the bathroom door, followed by an ear-blistering string of obscenities. I winced in embarrassment, but Mr. Lagler seemed to be more amused than offended.