She had to push herself past him, then forced a smile as she looked straight into camera one and concluded, ‘This is Edie Elgin, in space with the U.N. Peacekeeper force, on the way to Moonbase.’
Munasinghe drifted back, then asked, ‘Is that all? Is it finished?’
‘That’s it,’ said Edith, hoping he would go away.
‘Was it satisfactory? Can I see it?’
Wearily, Edith ran the abbreviated interview on camera one’s monitor. Munasinghe watched himself, fascinated. Edith wondered if the network suits would play the interview. They had made it clear they wanted to cooperate with the U.N., and this interview could stir a lot of hostility toward the Peacekeepers if it was aired.
No, she told herself, they’ll play it. They’ll have to. So the U.N. bitches about it, so what. This is news.
TOUCHDOWN MINUS 27 HOURS 51 MINUTES
The mercenary returned to his quarters and sat on his bunk. The time to strike is nearly here, he told himself.
The situation was almost ludicrous. The more he thought about the base’s electrical power supplies, its life support systems, its total lack of weaponry or military capability, the more he realized that a single man like himself could bring the entire base to its knees.
They won’t need a ship full of Peacekeepers. I can do it all by myself.
But the Peacekeepers were on their way and there was almost nothing that the inhabitants of Moonbase could do to stop them.
Why assassinate the leaders when they can’t offer any resistance? Just knock out their electrical power system and they’re helpless. It won’t make any difference if Doug Stavenger lives or dies; Moonbase will cave in as soon as the Peacekeepers arrive.
The mercenary got down onto the floor in front of his bunk and folded his legs into the lotus position. Resting the backs of his hands on his knees, he closed his eyes and murmured his mantra, seeking harmony and understanding.
He saw in his mind’s eye what he always saw. His ten-year-old brother in convulsions, dying of the zip he had snorted while their mother lay sprawled on the sofa, too dazed with the same shit to phone for help. He saw his six-year-old self locked in the dark roach closet because he’d been a bad boy, watching his brother die through the closet door keyhole, listening to the screams that turned into strangled, choking sobs and finally ended in a groan that still tortured his soul.
If I had been good, I wouldn’t have been locked in the roach closet. I could’ve helped Timmy.
He saw his mother die, too. She was the first person he ever killed. He was fifteen and a father but she still treated him like a little kid. Took the strap to him. He grabbed it away from her and swung it hard enough to knock her down. Her head cracked on the table leg and her eyes went blank.
He saw his first sergeant, as brutal a man as any, but fair and unwaveringly honest. And the old cowboy on the rifle range, the one who taught him how to shoot. And how to hunt.
Death was his companion always. His ancient friend. He was death’s best assistant. That was his destiny, his purpose in life: to bring people to death.
He opened his eyes. Deep within him the ancient calm had returned. There were no doubts, no qualms, no divisions within him. He was one again. Whole. Death was at his side, invisible but palpable, his oldest and best companion.
After all, he told himself, Stavenger’s entire life revolves around Moonbase. Take that away from him and he’s as good as dead anyway. I’ll merely be helping him to the place where he wants to be.
Still, he sighed.