Saucer: The Conquest

'Mademoiselle Pine, we are tired of waiting,' Julie Artois said firmly.

Charley estimated that she had been in position for about ten minutes. She had the antimatter reticle squarely on Julie's chest. She was tempted. If the clown on the other side of Egg hadn't had a gun, she would have zapped Julie then and there, splattered her all over, and told Egg to run for it.

She sighed. It wasn't going to be that easy. Yet it wouldn't hurt to make them sweat. She turned the saucer ever so slightly and let the reticle rest for fifteen seconds or so on the chest of each of the people with Egg. The maneuvering of the saucer was minute, but she thought they would see it.

Finally she stopped and lowered the saucer to the ground. Dust swirled up, almost obscuring her view of the people, but not quite. She waited until it settled, then opened the hatch and dropped through. She quickly scrambled out from under the saucer, then told it to lift off. It rose twenty feet in the air and stopped there.

She turned to face the reception committee.

The air lock admitted Rip to the control room. He wasted no time examining the control console but went straight to the air lock that led into the heart of the lunar base and stepped inside. He closed the door behind him, checked the pressure gauge on the bulkhead and carefully removed his gloves and helmet. He sniffed. The air smelled fine. With the gloves dangling from his wrists by straps and the helmet under his left arm, he checked the position of the safety, then pointed the rifle in front of him and pushed the button to open the inner door of the lock.

The opening door revealed an empty corridor with gray rock walls, one brilliantly lit by ceiling lights every few yards. He could hear the faint strains of an orchestra, classical music, coming over the loudspeaker system.

Charley Pine left her rifle in the saucer. It would have detracted from the aura of confidence she was trying to project. She took a deep breath, then marched forward to the little group. She glanced back at the hovering saucer. As she thought it would, the sun glinting off the canopy prevented anyone from seeing inside.

She stopped a few feet in front of them, keyed the mike button on the side of her helmet and said in English, 'I assume that none of you people are interesting in living out the remainder of your lives on this round rock pile. Correct me if I'm wrong.'

Julie had no intention of letting Charley take charge of the conversation. 'Permit me to clarify the situation, mademoiselle. Monsieur Cantrell is our hostage. We will kill him where he stands if you give us any trouble.'

'Then you'll never leave the moon. Your choice.'

'After we kill him, we will kill you.'

'And Rip will splatter you all over this lava bed with the antimatter beam, then fly on home.'

The other people in the group stirred uneasily, glancing at each other. The ones on the edge took a step away from the group, Charley noted with satisfaction.

'Alright, Julie,' Charley continued. 'Enough threats and bullshit. I have come to the moon with authorization from the president of the United States to make a deal.'

When he heard that statement, P.J. O'Reilly grunted, then turned to the president. 'You didn't—'

'Sssh!' the president hissed, holding up his hand.

O'Reilly glanced at the interpreter, who was checking her nail polish and looking bored, and held his tongue.

The lights in the corridor were very bright. It took several seconds for Rip's eyes to adjust. He walked carefully down the corridor, pausing in front of each door to look into the rooms. He saw no one.

Well, where are they? It's a cinch they all aren 't standing outside.

He eased along with the weapon at the ready. The com center — there was someone in there. Seated with his back to the door.

Rip walked in, making as little noise as possible, yet making some. The man didn't turn around. He jabbed the rifle barrel in the man's back. Still he didn't turn around.

Rip moved off to the side. It was Pierre Artois — he recognized him from his pictures. The man had even been on the cover of Time a. month or so ago.

Pierre ignored Rip. He seemed… detached… disconnected somehow.

He was unarmed, apparently. No weapons that Rip could see. He left him seated there in front of the radios and television cameras.

The entrance to the mess hall was only a few steps farther along the corridor. Rip looked in the door. The place was full of bodies!

No!

The corpses lay contorted, frozen in death, under that brilliant white light. Blood was spattered everywhere; pools of it stained the floor. Amid the gore were glittering, empty brass cartridges. Rip went from body to body, looking. Not a one of them had a weapon.

At least two dozen people had been murdered here. Men and women.

Rip felt the vomit coming up his throat and managed to choke it back. He walked on, making sure that they were indeed all dead. Not that there was much he could do if he found anyone alive.

And he did. Find one alive.

Above the classical music background he heard a man groaning. He was lying behind the food service counter and wearing a white apron stained with blood. Rip bent and turned him over. The man was hugging his stomach, and blood was oozing around his fingers.

His eyes opened, focused on Rip.

'Easy there, fella. Who shot you?'

The man took a few seconds to process it. 'Who you?' he asked in heavily accented English.

'Name's Rip.'

'Reep?'

'Yeah. Now tell me, who shot you?'

'Salmon. Henri Salmon. He got all in here, then bang bang bang… He shot me in the stomach, and laughed.'

Rip grasped the rifle and looked around the room again, checking the two open doors. 'Where is he now?'

'I saw him go by… in suit. Space suit.'

'He went outside?'

'Yes.'

'Didn't come back in?'

'Not that I see. But I passed out. My stomach… the pain.'

'There's nothing I can do for you.'

The chef thought about that as he hugged his middle. He looked down at the blood.

'Bad way to die,' the Frenchman said.

'Yes.'

'You… have a pistol?'

'No. And I'm not going to shoot you either.'

'Not for me. For him. If he comes back.'

Rip looked the dying man in the eyes and made a decision. He reached into the belly pocket of his suit and pulled out a grenade. He held it so the chef could see it. 'You know what this is?'

'Oui'

'You pull the pin. It is perfectly safe as long as you hold the lever on. After you release the lever, you have eight seconds.'

The man held out a bloody hand. Rip placed the grenade in it. He tried to think of something to say, couldn't, rose too fast from his kneeling position and almost fell, then hopped carefully from the room, avoiding the bodies.

'So here's the deal, Julie. A French crew will be admitted to the United States, and they will fly the space-

plane to France. It can take a fuel tank into orbit, refuel on earth, then launch for the moon. They can take you guys back to earth.'

'That's it?'

'Yeah. We take Egg and leave, you get a ride home. They want you bad back there. Over two hundred people