The president frowned. 'Artois isn't going to go after this government until he learns we have no intention of surrendering. We have a few hours yet.'
The secretary of state was plainly appalled. 'You intend to let this maniac hurt innocent people?'
'I have no intention of surrendering the United States to anyone or anything, madam. Not now, not ever. At my inauguration I swore to support and defend the Constitution of the United States, and I intend to do just that. If Artois harms a single American, that is his choice, not mine.'
The president shifted his gaze to the Joint Chiefs and national security adviser. 'Presumably Artois doesn't intend to rule earth from the moon. As I recall, there are only four spaceplanes capable of making round trips. Charley Pine stole one from the lunar base, and the other three are in France. Target them. I want bombers aloft, over the Atlantic, twenty-four hours a day, ready to cross into French airspace and destroy those spaceplanes on ten minutes' notice. Place submerged submarines off the western and southern coasts of France. Have them target the spaceplanes with cruise missiles. Those spaceplanes are not to leave the ground.'
'You're going to attack France?' the secretary of state asked disbelievingly.
The president didn't answer right away. He was apparently taking the time to choose his words carefully when the secretary of state, unable to wait for his answer, broke the silence.
'I strongly suggest consulting with Congress before we do anything rash.'
'We try to never do anything rash,' O'Reilly shot back, obviously miffed.
The president didn't let those two get into another squabble. 'Artois may be a tool of the French government,' he said. 'He may actually be following orders.' The president toyed with a pen on his desk. 'Even if he is a rogue, he must have many allies in the French space agency. In any event, it is plain that he thinks the French government will cave. I suspect he's right.'
The president cast a cold eye on his audience. 'Regardless of what happens anywhere else, the British will never surrender, and of course we won't. Artois may cause a great deal of havoc, but he isn't getting any supplies from earth or a ride home from the moon without my permission.'
The president smiled. The secretary of state had never liked his smile, and she didn't like this one.
The president glanced at the Joint Chiefs. 'Let's not waste any more time, gentlemen. I want those bombers armed and airborne as soon as humanly possible. I want a plan on my desk within the next two hours that tells me precisely how many hours it will be before we have the bombers and subs in position to destroy those spaceplanes.'
'Yes, sir!'
'Madam Secretary, I suggest you pop over to the State Department and work the phones. Keep me advised.' He shooed her out.
When only the president and O'Reilly were left in the room, the president stood and stretched. 'After the military destroys those spaceplanes, I'll make a televised address to the American people. We'll dither until then. In the meantime get the congressional leaders over here and consult with them. Have the speechwriters do a draft of the speech.'
He started for the door before adding as an afterthought, 'After the speech Artois may zap the White House. Better get the staff and the valuable paintings out. Don't let the television people see you doing it.'
'Yes, sir. What should the press secretary tell the press in the interim?'
'We're consulting with allies, congressional leaders, talking to the UN, all that stuff.'
'In other words, nothing.'
'That's usually best.'
'Where will you be if we need to find you?'
The president looked at his watch. 'I think I'll go to the gym and work out. Call me when you have a draft of that speech ready for me to look at.'
O'Reilly looked at his watch, then his notebook, which he carried everywhere. 'You have an appointment in ten minutes with a
'Ah, the burning question of our time. Tell him I'm meditating on the matter and reschedule.'
'May we say cogitating or ruminating?'
'Meditating. It makes me sound smarter.'
Newton Chadwick and the Frenchmen huddled around a radio in the dilapidated hangar in the Nevada desert, listening to the news of Pierre Artois' announcement. They had rigged an antenna on top of the building and were tuned to a station in Reno.
Egg listened from his perch on a crate of canned food in the back of the room.
An antigravity beam weapon! On the moon. Egg scrutinized Newton Chadwick, who was hanging intently on every word from the radio. Yep, without a doubt, Chadwick gave or sold Artois the technology, which was right out of that saucer in the middle of the hangar — Egg would have bet every last dollar he ever hoped to get on that proposition.
And Artois intended to conquer the world. Egg knew he was the only person in the room to whom that was news. Chadwick and the Frenchmen were excited, intense. They looked like athletes on a team that was several touchdowns ahead.
So what else did Chadwick give Artois? The youth serum?
It wasn't a serum, really, but a gene blocker. The chemical latched on to the aging gene that was present in every human cell and inhibited its functioning. When he had first discovered it in his saucer computer, Egg had been so excited he couldn't sleep. Medical researchers were today attempting to find a formula that would affect the aging gene so that they could come up with some way to attack the diseases aging caused, diseases such as Alzheimer's, senility, diabetes and Parkinson's. Egg was ready to call them up, give them the formula.
Yet the more he thought about it, the less he liked the idea. Someone would undoubtedly realize the economic value of such a drug, and the vision of fantastic wealth would be irresistible. Listening to the announcer translate Artois' demands and the reaction of governments around the world to them, Egg thought about the impact upon human life — upon all life on this planet — that the ready availability of such a drug would have. The demand for the drug would distort the world's economy, the death rate would plummet, and the population would explode in a Malthusian nightmare that would crowd out other life forms and destroy civilization.
When Egg added it up, the human conquest of death didn't seem like a red hot idea. So he had said nothing to anyone about it, not even Rip or Charley. Nor had he been tempted, like Chadwick, to make a small batch of the drug for himself. He had perhaps two or three decades of life left, and that was enough. When his time came, he would be ready for the next adventure.
So Chadwick wanted to go to the moon. That figured. Charley Pine had stolen the only spaceplane on the moon; the other three might be destroyed or damaged at any moment, leaving Artois and his crew marooned high and dry. Obviously Artois was betting that Chadwick could deliver, that he could get the saucer there.
Egg shook his head, trying to clear his mind of extraneous thoughts. If he didn't take Chadwick where he wanted to go in the saucer in the hangar, this crowd would kill him and go after Rip. Artois had to have a ride home, and no doubt he would do whatever he could to get one.
He had inspected the saucer carefully. It looked intact, as well preserved as the one Rip had found in the Sahara. Larger than Rip's saucer, it had more capacity to carry water. Of course, it also weighed more. Still, rough calculations indicated that it should be able to reach the moon and land there. Once there, however, it would have to be refueled with water to make the return trip to earth. Was there enough water on the moon?
Egg had asked Chadwick that question and had received a curt nod. Yes.
Well, Chadwick had better be right or there were going to be more people stranded up there, Egg included.
The reactor seemed intact; it wasn't leaking radiation. Egg had checked with a Geiger counter. The main flight computer was installed, the headbands were there, the hatch seals seemed intact — he had checked everything that he could. As far as he could determine, the saucer was ready to fly.
He hadn't told Chadwick that, though. He had more things to check, he had said, which gave him more time to think, to come up with the right course of action.
Could he fly the saucer?
He knew how Charley and Rip had done it, but Charley was a highly skilled test pilot, and Rip was — well, he was fearless and a quick thinker, and he had flown repeatedly with Charley before he gave it a try. Egg had had
