Free The Tranquillity Alternative by Allen Steele Page A

word.
    Cristine Ryer looked up at Harvey expectantly, but he appeared to be deliberately ignoring her. Instead, he walked around to the other side of the table, passing Dooley until he stopped behind Jay Lewitt’s chair.
    Lewitt raised his eyebrows in apparent surprise as the flight director extended the other envelope and key to him. “Lieutenant,” Harvey said softly, “I know this is unexpected, but if you’ll take possession of the second key, your country will consider it a great favor.”
    Dooley heard Cris Ryer’s sharp intake of breath. Glancing at her from across the table, he saw her face turn bright red. She opened her mouth as if to object, but then shut up, as Dooley caught a glimpse of Parnell’s hand snaking beneath the table to tightly clasp her wrist.
    He carefully kept his own reaction under control. This was an unexpected turn of events. His masters would have to be informed of what had just happened.
    If they didn’t know about it already, of course. He was aware that he was only one card in the deck, and much of the game had yet to be revealed to him.
    And yet …
    “Thank you, sir.” Lewitt accepted the second key and looped the chain around his neck, then placed the sealed envelope inside his notebook. As Harvey turned his back to the astronauts, Lewitt looked straight at Ryer and gave a small shrug. Ryer glanced away, visibly trying to control her temper.
    “Mr. Bromleigh, Ms. Rhodes, that was off the record,” Harvey said as he returned to the front of the room. “In your reports, you’ll note that the keys to the Teal Falcon bunker safe were assigned to two unspecified members of the Conestoga flight team, and their identities will not be revealed for reasons of national security. Understand?”
    The two ATS correspondents traded a look. “Yes sir, we do,” Bromleigh said. Rhodes hesitated, apparently wanting to ask the obvious question— Why was the mission’s second-in-command passed over? —but she seemed to think twice and kept her mouth shut, quietly nodding instead. “Very well,” Harvey said. “Mr. Bromleigh, you may continue filming.”
    As Bromleigh hoisted his camcorder once more, the mission director checked his clipboard. “At 1200 GMT, personnel at the Teal Falcon bunker will stand by for a televised address from the White House, when the President will deliver a speech to the American public regarding final disposal of Teal Falcon. These remarks will be relayed via NASA’s Deep Space Tracking Network. Once this phase of the mission has been completed, the members of the news media will be allowed to transmit their reportage.”
    He took a deep breath; his eyes darted toward the camera. “By this time, authentication codes will have been transmitted from NORAD, and the keyholders will have opened the safe and removed the fire-control keys. On signal from the White House, they will then launch the Teal Falcon missiles on the solar trajectory which Mr. Dooley will have programmed into the master guidance system.”
    Harvey lowered the clipboard. “Following launch, the crew will return to the base, where Mr. Dooley and Mr. Leamore will continue their work in handing over control of Tranquillity Base to Koenig Selenen GmbH. If all goes well, the final phase of the mission will end at 1800 hours GMT the following day … um, Monday, February 20 … when the American flag will be struck from the base and Conestoga will launch for return to Space Station One.”
    He hesitated. There was a strained silence in the room, made more uncomfortable by the heat of Cristine Ryer’s barely suppressed rage. “Gentlemen, ladies,” he said slowly, for the first time exposing some shred of unrehearsed emotion, “I know this is a difficult mission for all of us. I’ve been with the lunar program for twenty years now, and no one wishes to see it end any less than I do….”
    “We’ve noticed,” Parnell muttered from behind his hand.
    If Harvey heard the remark, he didn’t