Free The Tranquillity Alternative by Allen Steele

The Dornberger will ascend to equatorial orbit and meet you at approximately the same time, pending no difficulties. The remaining members of the outbound crew, from Koenig Selenen GmbH …”
    Harvey took another peek at his notes. “Mr. James Leamore, Mr. Uwe Aachener, and Mr. Markus Talsbach … uh, will join you aboard the Wheel.” He consulted his clipboard. “At 2200 GMT, you are scheduled for a live TV transmission from the Wheel. Ms. Rhodes will be officiating, naturally.”
    The camera swung to zoom in on Berkley Rhodes, who was wearing a pair of reading glasses and pretending to look deeply interested. “The transmission will last approximately ten minutes. Commander Parnell, Captain Ryer, during this time you’ll be interviewed for the ATS Evening News.”
    No mention of himself, Dooley noted, which was just as well; the less time he spent in front of a camera, the better. The plastic surgery which had changed his face was good enough to get him past the security checkpoints, and so far no one in the room had voiced any doubts; still, he had been cautioned to shy away from the cameras. Dooley’s mother was dead and his father was a senile old man in a Houston nursing home, yet there was always an off-chance that someone back home might detect a subtle difference.
    Harvey cleared his throat. “ Conestoga is scheduled for launch at 0800 GMT tomorrow morning, pending final checkout of the craft. It will be a two-day flight to the Moon, with touchdown at Tranquillity Base posted for Sunday, February 19, at approximately 0700 GMT. Following successful landing, the crew will enter the base, where Commander Parnell and Lieutenant Lewitt will reactivate the base’s CLLSS … ah, closed-loop life-support systems. If no difficulties are encountered with the base’s reactivation …”
    “It wouldn’t dare,” Parnell murmured. Several people at the table chuckled as Harvey, caught off-guard, feigned amusement. Dooley felt a twinge of pity for the man; NASA should have put a public affairs officer in charge of the briefing.
    Harvey once again consulted his clipboard. “If there are no difficulties, shortly afterward … uh, 1100 GMT … the crew will board tractors and travel to the Teal Falcon bunker, where Mr. Dooley will assist the flight team in reactivating the launch control systems.”
    Harvey coughed nervously. “This is, of course, the most delicate part of the mission, and although Ms. Rhodes and Mr. Bromleigh will be recording the procedure, no live TV transmissions will be allowed until the arms control inspectors from the International Atomic Energy Agency standing by at Von Braun Center are assured that Teal Falcon is under local control.”
    The mission director stopped and put the clipboard under his arm. “Mr. Bromleigh, turn off your camera and put it away now, please.”
    Alex Bromleigh reluctantly unshouldered his camcorder and placed it on a table. When Harvey was satisfied that the camera was off, he nodded to the security guard standing near the door. The guard opened the door and gave a quick, silent nod to someone standing in the corridor.
    The civilian who had been waiting outside stepped into the ready room. A leather attaché case was handcuffed to his wrist. He strode across the room to Ray Harvey and held up the attaché case. Harvey carefully dialed the combination lock and opened the case; inside were two sealed manila envelopes along with a pair of small red keys, each bound by a loop of stainless-steel chain.
    Withdrawing the envelopes and keys, Harvey silently walked to the table, where he gave one key and an envelope to Gene Parnell. Parnell glanced at the envelope, then tucked it into a pocket of his notebook without opening it; he then unzipped the front of his jumpsuit, looped the key chain around his neck, and dropped the key out of sight. He looked back at Harvey and nodded once.
    “Thanks, Gene,” Harvey said. He held out his hand, and Parnell grasped it without a