Coleman watched TV on the hopper as they flew back to Luna City, after getting off the maglev. Lall was sleeping off the effects of being stunned. Colleman wanted to see if their case had hit the news. He didn’t like having his name on the air, but sometimes people with useful information would come forward if a case was covered by the media. After you sifted through the crazies that would invariably call. He thought. All he could find was a business report. It was about the falling price of water. A lot of people were losing a lot of money in the commodities markets. The reporter was explaining how water had continued to decline in price for almost three months now, in spite of the fact that production had not increased significantly.
“That doesn’t make any sense.” Friedman said. “It flies in face of basic economics.”
“Either demand has fallen, or the supply really is increasing, and it’s just not showing up in official inventories of water supplies.” Coleman said.
“You mean there is more water being traded on the black market?” Friedman asked.
“That seems more likely to me than demand suddenly falling off for no reason.” Coleman said.
“But, if that’s true, then where are the black marketers getting the water?” Friedman asked.
“That’s a good question, I suppose…” Coleman’s voice trailed off as he focused his attention back on the TV. A news report had come on about Andrew Lee’s break-in at the UN Government Substation. There wasn’t any mention of anything being stolen, just that it was probably an act of terrorism. The screen jumped to an old picture of Lee. The reporter then transitioned to the next story: “And now a report on a local pooch and his owner who are dog tired after breaking the record for doggie dancing…” Coleman turned off the TV. He pulled up the bio. on Dr. Lee, and began to peruse through it. Before he inexplicably quit about three years ago, Dr. Lee had been a highly respected Lunar geologist –a selenologist, as they preferred to be called- at the UN Lunar Science Ministry. Some people thought he had been kidnapped or murdered. Others said that he had joined the secessionist movement.
“Why do you think someone like Lee is doing this?” Friedman asked, who was reading the same report as Coleman.
“I think he is a secessionist.” Coleman said. “The resources he has at his disposal indicate that he is working for a well-funded organization like that: The memory storage device he used to steal the data is an expensive black market item and taking down the communications satellite over the maglev would have required enormous resources. It also makes sense given what we know about Lee’s political views.” Coleman pointed to a section of Lee’s bio that described how he had been rumored to be a political writer on the Lunarnet known only as “J.L.”. J.L. wrote mostly essays and op-eds on why the moon should break politically with the Earth. J.L.’s writings also suggested that he wanted the break with Earth to be done through peaceful political means, but then he had stopped writing –right around the same time that Andrew Lee disappeared. Coleman wondered if Lee had decided that working through official UN channels to achieve Lunar independence was futile. Coleman noticed that one of the essays written by J.L. was titled “The Squatter Problem”. Without thinking about it, he opened it, and began to read:
…the squatter problem is a problem spawned by UN policy. Homelessness on Earth, by which I mean large numbers of people, who want to have a home, being unable to afford one for long periods of time, is always caused by bad law, such as rent controls creating shortages. Similarly, in this case, UN policy generally flies in the face of man’s nature and the requirements for his survival, and one particular “law” (for can it really be a “law” if it violates natural law?) is responsible for the misery of the squatters. That law has its origins in the 20th Century, and the UN Outer Space Treaty. Under UN law, the right of Lunarians to create, own, and possess the material goods needed for survival is abrogated in the name of the “greater good”. But who’s greater good? It certainly isn’t the greater good of most people living in Luna City, who cannot afford the price of what would be a closet back on Earth. It isn’t the greater good of even most of the people living back on Earth –why would they care where the people of the Moon live, as long as the H-3 continues to flow? No, it is the “greater good” of that undefined and un-definable “social collective”. It is, perhaps, even the “greater good” of the politicians at the UN (although “greater power” might be a more accurate description of their interest)…
Coleman skipped a few pages, and began to read again:
…The solution to the squatter problem is simple: turn the squatters into homesteaders. Establish a system of property acquisition and courts to enforce and define those property boundaries on the moon.
“Well, whatever he stole, I guess Lee’s going to get away with it.” Friedman said.
“Why do you say that?” Coleman asked.
“They weren’t able to track Lee after he left the train on the hopper because of the downed communications satellite.” Friedman said. “He could be anywhere now.”
“I’m pretty certain we can discover where he has gone once we get back near Luna City.” Coleman said.
“Okay, don’t make me grovel for it.” Friedman joked. “What do you know that I don’t?”
“We’re pretty sure that Lee wasn’t originally planning to go to Luna City.” Coleman began.
“Right, his suit was damaged, and he had to steal a ticket to get on the maglev.” Friedman said.
“So, there are two questions: where was he going, and how was he originally planning to get there?” Coleman asked rhetorically. “I think Lee is a member of the Lunar resistance, and that he was doing work for them associated with their attempted secession.”
“Okay, that seems reasonable, given the fact that he probably is the political essayist known as “J.L.”. What do you think “J.L.” stands for anyway?”
“Let’s not get distracted with unessential questions,” Coleman scolded Friedman before continuing. “I think that, generally speaking, Lee must have been going to someplace where it would be safe to have an illegal cloned UN terminal system, which would allow him to download the information contained on the memory device he stole from the substation. Furthermore, my Dear Watson,” Coleman added playfully, “…we know that however he was originally planning to get to this secret secessionist hideout, it must have involved a transportation device that was close to his initial landing spot when he jumped off the cargo transporter that he hitchhiked on.”
“Maybe somebody was supposed to be waiting there with a hopper, and something happened to them?” Friedman asked.
“Doubtful.” Coleman responded. “The hopper traffic that near Luna City is tracked, and an unscheduled landing and takeoff from that location by a hopper would attract the attention of the authorities, and would also probably be intercepted.”
“Okay…Holmes,” Friedman said sarcastically. “How was he planning on getting away, and how is that going to help us find him now?”
“What did Lee land nearby after he jumped off the cargo transporter and damaged his suit?” Coleman asked.
“Ah…I get it.” Friedman said. “You’re thinking he planned to use the mass driver.”
“Exactly!” Coleman said.
“But, that driver isn’t rated for human transport. Its track is too short, and it would have to accelerate a person beyond the limits of his physiology to put him in orbit…” Friedman’s voice trailed off, and since Coleman could see that he had almost arrived at the correct conclusion, he gave him a second to figure it out, rather than explaining it. “…oh, I get it.” Friedman continued. “Lee wouldn’t have had to reach orbit, since his destination was presumably somewhere on the moon. Therefore, he wouldn’t have needed to be launched at a rate of acceleration too great for his body to withstand.”
“Correct.” Coleman said.
“I’ll tell the pilot to take us to the mass driver, oh god of crime-busting.” Friedman said sincerely, and without a hint of sarcasm.
***
“I don’t understand what we are doing here.” Lall said groggily as they cycled through the airlock at the mass driver’s control station.
“Friedman will call you and explain it to you.” Coleman said over his suit radio, then sub-vocally, to Friedman: “Get this jack-off up to speed, please.” Coleman took another look at the mass driver’s employee roster. Before they had arrived, Coleman had had Friedman do a criminal background check on all of the driver’s personnel, then he had cross-checked the ones with records against those employees who had access to the mass driver’s velocity control computers. A mass driver worked by accelerating a metal container, filled with whatever you wanted to put into orbit, with magnetic coils on a long, strait track until the container had sufficient velocity to reach orbit. The velocity control computer controlled the final speed of the container, and therefore controlled how far the container would travel. If the velocity was lower than that required to reach orbit, then the container would eventually fall back to the surface of the moon. Coleman was guessing that Lee and his associates had simply bribed someone with access to the control computer at the mass driver facility, since its systems weren’t connected to the Lunarnet, making a hacker attack difficult.
“How can I help?” The mass driver’s manager said once they had cycled through the airlock, and shown him their badges.
“We need to speak with one of your employees –a Richie Tran.” Coleman said, naming the only employee at the mass driver who had both a criminal record and access to its control computer.
“Just a minute.” The manager said as he stepped to a terminal. “Tran, someone here to see you.”
“Who is it?” A voice on the terminal queried back.
“Don’t tell him it’s the cops…” Coleman whispered from behind the manager. “Tell him it’s a girl looking for him.”
“Er…” The manager said, fumbling his words. “It’s…a girl, looking for you…she said you’d know who.”
“Oh, okay. Tell Betty I’ll be there in a second.”
A few minutes later Richie Tran walked into the room, saw Coleman and Lall, and turned to run back out. Lall tackled him before he could make it out the door. “What the hell is going on?” Tran asked loudly. “I haven’t done anything!”
“Is there someplace we can talk with him in private?” Coleman asked the manager.
“Yeah, first left out this door is a conference room.”
Coleman let Lall manhandle Tran into the conference room and into a chair. Coleman then sat down across the table from Tran. “You’ve got yourself a little bit of a record, there, Richie.” Coleman said with mock amusement in his voice.
“Yeah, well, I had a bad childhood.” Tran said sarcastically. “But, I’m on the strait-and-narrow now –and I owe it all to Jesus.”
“Yeah, you’re just the type to take the ‘good book’ to heart aren’t you?” Coleman said dismissively. “Do you know an Andrew Lee?”
“Never heard of him.” Tran said.
“Richie, Richie, Richie…” Coleman said with feigned sadness. “Do you know what the penalty is for aiding terrorists?”
“Terrorists?” Tran said, with surprise, and growing fear that now seemed genuine. “I don’t know nothing about no terrorists.” Coleman suspected that Lee and his secessionist associates hadn’t told Tran what they were doing when they bribed him, and he had probably assumed it was for smuggling. In fact, Coleman knew from his rap sheet that Richie Tran was a minor criminal. He had done a little time for smuggling and a few other misdemeanors. Coleman knew that the possibility of a charge like aiding terrorists, a major felony, probably scared a little fish like Richie Tran.
“You’d better get out in front of this, Richie, or that is what you’re looking at.” Coleman said, faking a concern in his voice for Richie Tran that he didn’t actually feel.
“Look, I don’t know anything about any terrorists…” Tran began to say, with a quiver in his voice.
“You’re lying!” Lall said, slapping the desk in front of Tran. Coleman was slightly annoyed by Lall getting involved in his interrogation, but he knew that Lall was entitled to be there, so he ignored it.
“I’m not lying.” Tran said, almost pleadingly. “I don’t know what you’re talking…”
“Oh, okay.” Coleman said. “I guess we’ve got the wrong guy here. So, when I go and look at the logs for the driver’s control computers, I’m not going to see that you reduced the velocity of one of the containers, and if I go and get a warrant, I’m not going to see that you recently made a deposit of a sizable sum to your bank account.” Coleman stood up, as if to leave. “Come on.” He said to Lall. “I guess Mr. Tran doesn’t want to help himself out of this jam.”
“Okay! Okay!” Tran said, standing up, and holding up his hands in surrender. “Somebody did pay me to reprogram a launch trajectory so that the container wouldn’t make lunar orbit insertion. He paid good money, and I just thought he was smuggling something, I didn’t know anything about any terrorist plot.”
“Who paid you?” Coleman said.
“Simons –John Simons.” Tran said. “He works here at the driver facility, prepping containers for launch. Is Simons really a terrorist?”
Coleman began to walk out of the room.
“Hey, what’s going to happen to me?” Tran asked. “I cooperated, right?”
“Yeah.” Coleman said with sarcasm. “You’re a model citizen. After we check your story, you’re free to go, but I bet you’ll need to find yourself a new job.” He walked out of the room. The manager was waiting in the hallway. “Do you have a John Simons working for you?”
“We did until today.” The manager answered. “He tendered his resignation and walked off the job about an hour before you guys showed up.”
“I’ll put out an APB for him.” Friedman said.
“I doubt he’ll be found.” Coleman said to Friedman as he turned away from the manager. “But it doesn’t matter at this point anyway. We know how Lee was originally planning to get away after he jumped from the cargo transport, so we also know where he was going.”
