“I need to deploy at least a pair of sentries.”
“No, you don’t,” Pappy said. “Consider yourselves on parole, with the Dunsland a mobile POW camp of your own making. Well, with a bit of our help, I suppose.”
“Very well,” Chakarvarti said stiffly. “I assume you’ll want us to block the viewports, too?”
“No need—we can do that ourselves from here,” Pappy said. “And remember: we’ve got a really impressive array of sensors, and we know exactly how many men you have. We don’t move until they’re all inside the tank. Get cute, and your two men here will suffocate.”
“There will be no tricks,” Chakarvarti said darkly. “And once they’re free?”
“That’ll be up to Hadley,” Pappy said. “They may decide to send you to some neutral point where your people can pick you up. Or they may decide we’ll keep all of you as our guests for a bit while the politicians and diplomats talk.”
“I see,” Chakarvarti said. “I will just say one more thing, Sergeant MacLeod. Beware the thought that this is over. It is not. In fact, it has barely begun.”
“I agree,” Pappy said, peering through his scope. The Ueys were walking along the side of the Dunsland now, heading for the rear hatch and their forced seclusion. On the sail, the machine gunners had secured their weapons to the cages and were climbing down. “In that case, let me offer you a final word as well. You say you want the Mimic. But I’m guessing that some of United Earth’s most powerful would be just as happy to see it destroyed. If it can be destroyed in a war with Luna, so much the better, because that way they won’t have to take any of the blame.”
“That would be a terrible mistake,” Chakarvarti said. “The people of United Earth desperately need the Mimic.”
“I’m not arguing,” Pappy said. “Here’s my point. Those aliens you mentioned, the ones who might want to come back and retrieve their magic replicator? If they do, we’re going to be in serious trouble if all we can show them is a pile of scrap. You might make sure your leaders—all of them—know that simply destroying the Mimic isn’t an option.”
“An interesting warning,” Chakarvarti said thoughtfully. “Yes, I’ll be sure to pass it on to my superiors.” He paused. “All of my men are now inside. You may begin your rescue operation.”
“Thank you,” Pappy said. “Once we’ve confirmed that, we’ll get some people out here and get to work.”
“Thank you, Sergeant MacLeod,” Chakarvarti said, with just a hint of dark humor. “It has been a most interesting encounter. I look forward to our next.”
Pappy swallowed hard. “As will I,” he said, trying to sound like he meant it.
He keyed off his transmitter and plugged in the comm cable back to the dome. “Eagle Four to Hadley,” he called. “Uey tank’s been neutralized; repeat, Uey tank’s been neutralized. Get that MASH truck rolling.”
“On its way, Eagle Four,” the controller said, and there was no mistaking the relief in his voice.
“And get some materials techs out here with vac cement solvent,” Pappy continued. “If you can free up a mining crew with a deep-radar, that would also be handy.”
“I’ll put in the request,” the controller promised. “Let us know if you need anything else.”
Pappy keyed off. “I wondered about the hammer-and-chisel bit,” Morgan commented. “I couldn’t believe you’d actually forgotten we have solvents for that sort of thing.”
“If the Ueys knew there was a solvent, they’d have fallen all over themselves trying to figure out what it was,” Pappy pointed out. “Better to keep them guessing.”
“And we don’t know how many men Chakarvarti has.”
“True. Again, he doesn’t know that.”
Morgan huffed out a sigh. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said. “Bluffs and half-truths can only take you so far.”
“I know,” Pappy said, wincing as images of Birmingham once again flickered across his memory. “But that’s strategy. Not my department. Nice work with the bomb, by the way. I think a field promotion to corporal is in order.”
“I’m honored,” Morgan said dryly. “Here it comes.”
Pappy looked behind him. Rolling up the Freeway was the massive vehicle that Hadley had converted into a MASH truck. “Great,” he said, reaching down and getting a grip under KC’s armpits. “KC? You still with us?”
“Where else would I go?” KC murmured back. “Getting pretty sleepy in here. I’m getting tired of bleeding, too.”
“We’re about to take care of that,” Pappy assured him. “Morgan? Can you hold the fort alone until the reinforcements get here?”
“Sure,” Morgan assured him. “Anyway, I’ve still got a viewport or two on the Uey tank to take care of. After that, I was thinking I’d see about getting one of those rifles away from our neighbors.”
“Yeah, I’d watch that,” Pappy warned, glancing over at the ridge as he pulled KC upright and eased him onto his stomach over the edge of the foxhole. “They may not be completely helpless. And one rifle isn’t going to do any good.”
“You haven’t been listening,” Morgan said darkly. “All we need is one.”
Pappy stared back at her. Thirteen lunar colonies. Fifty thousand people. One rifle.
And the Mimic.
“Damn,” he muttered. “Right. This is going to change things, isn’t it? This is really going to change things.”
“Pappy?” KC said.
“What?”
“Not your department.”
“Yeah.” Pappy took a deep breath. “Come on. Let’s get you patched up.”
Under the Hill
by Michael Z. Williamson
Engineer Andre Crawford skipped down the corridor, using the best gait for fast travel on the Moon. He always felt like a kid back in South Chicago when he did. It was fast, though, in the low G.
He reached Control, the pressure doors closed for security, not due to atmosphere worries. The scanner recognized both him and his ID and opened the staggered doors in turn.
Luna Central Operations sounded as if it should be an exotic place. It was even jokingly referred to as “Main Mission,” which someone had dredged out of the depths of old sci-fi and had to be explained. More often, it was dubbed the “Ops Module” or just “Control.”
It wasn’t nearly as roomy as a TV show would have it, though. The space was about as tight as a warship or TOC. People had room to walk, barely, and consoles with minimal spare space. Polarized screens and noise-canceling shrouds made it work, and expensive gear was cheaper than making more space.
He knew why he had been called. The UN landing at Hadley was only a precursor to the one that just landed here.
The good news was the element trying for Hadley Dome had been stopped.
Luna Village might not be so lucky. The UN force was throwing more of its troops and assets at the main habitat, probably hoping for both visibility and intimidation. Three ships had landed just over the ridge, giving them limited concealment and cover. Satellite imagery caught a bare glimpse of the craft, one of them with an ArctiTrak debarking, before the satellite feed had gone dead. It wasn’t clear yet if the controls had been compromised or the satellite destroyed.
ArctiTraks worked well on the lunar surface. From that landing site they could reach the main lock in an hour.
As he stepped inside, he noticed Control was almost silent, which meant crew were furiously busy. Also, he realized all the uniforms were Lunar Operations only, no Kosmolock, Boeing, TRW contractors.
Across the round facility, he spotted Colonel Zeiss next to Steve Coffman, the senior commo tech, and usually roving, not sitting a console as he was now. Zeiss was the only military person present. The entire staff present were very select, and many were on their alternate shifts.
Andre made his way over and nodded a greeting. Zeiss made a half salute, half wave. Commo Tech Coffman just glanced and flicked his eyes.
Andre took in the display. It showed bandwidth
s, frequencies, strength and quality, as well as interference.
The Lunar Village primary commo was still active, but there was very strong local jamming, presumably from the UN landers or the command craft in orbit.
Coffman said, “I can probably burn a signal through if we have to. But who would we call?”
At least Lunar Village had resources. Whatever the Moon had as far as materials and power, this was the place for it. It was also very secure. The habitat was only partially domed, being built into a tunnel through the crater rim with structure protruding out each side.
Still, the encroaching force had professionally built weapons which, while not ideal for the Moon, were purpose designed.
On the Loonie side, there were several hastily constructed booby traps and a bunch of improvised materials from the warehouse, under the command of Andre Crawford. Crawford apparently had the mission because he was both one of the senior engineers, and a veteran of the US Army.
He’d supervised construction of the traps the two days previous, as soon as it was known there were UN ships inbound. Now he’d have to put them to use.
“You realize I never saw combat, only did support, right?” he said to Zeiss.
Colonel Zeiss, Bundeswehr (Retired) said, “You understand military ops, military engineering, and our equipment. That makes you the right man.”
He inhaled and tensed. “Fair enough, and I agree. I just want you to understand I was never actually faced with killing anyone. And no matter how peaceful we try to be, that’s a possibility here, when things get stressed and ugly.”
Zeiss nodded. “You know that. That’s why you’re in charge of it.”
“Roger.”
Andre sighed. Even on the Moon, human beings could find a reason and a way to go to war.
He’d need some good support. He thought for a moment and spoke.
“I want Malakhar, Morton, Rojas and Godin.”
Zeiss said, “They’re all here. They’re yours.”
“Thanks. Patch me through, please, Mr. Coffman?”
Coffman nodded and said, “Sure thing.” He pinged their phones and had all four on a split screen he swiveled to Andre.
“Hey, guys, it’s on. Meet me at the Ops Room off the main lock.”
They all agreed, looking nervous or sober or both, and he gestured for Coffman to kill the channel.
He turned and asked, “Colonel, can you clear the regular personnel out of there fast?”
Zeiss replied, “We already did. We said it was a pending solar storm, everyone to move inside and forego regular duties. They’ll shortly realize that wasn’t true, but I hope a lot of them will enjoy the downtime. It’s not as if everyone couldn’t use some.”
“True that. What orders do you have? For me?”
“Hold them as long as you can. Minimize casualties. Deny knowledge of anything. Refer them to us, and we will not be responding. Shrug and sound without clue. Stall for every second you can before acting, and between. You’ll have to wear them down by attrition, though daylight may help. Their timing is based on the find, not on the environment. Use the minimum force necessary, but if you have to, do whatever you need to stop them entering.”
Taking all that in, he replied, “I don’t want to provoke them into escalating.”
Zeiss said, “Exactly. Be as measured as possible. That’s why I chose you.”
“Thanks.” I guess, he thought. “I better move fast.”
He turned and left. The doors closed behind him, followed by a supplemental air curtain. The Moon was buttoning up.
On the track outside, there was a Quad waiting for him.
He climbed on, flipped the power, and rode the designated path toward the main lock.
He reflected that the complete dearth of anything lethal, even a few handguns the police could have used, was possibly a planned move on the part of the Ueys. Or, it may have just been media-inspired paranoia over explosive decompression, even though it would take a lot more than a pistol, or even a rifle, to puncture the outside hull, and holes in the regolith of the inner habitat were pointless, even if possible. Meteorites whacked the structure regularly, often not even scratching the metal. Only twice had they made a pinhole.
The police had stun batons, which were rarely needed, granted, but would be singularly ineffective against actual gunfire. Nor would they do anything through a vacuum suit.
There were a handful of antiarmor rockets, intended for blowing protruding rock faces down. Inside, though, those were suicidally dangerous.
Fighting here came down to either poking holes in people, hitting them hard, or, if they were in vacuum, damaging their breathing equipment or containment. That additional factor was something the Loonies worried about constantly, and the Ueys might not have thought about.
Under the Hill, spaces maintained pressure protocol but the main passage did not. The air curtains were kept open, but could be dropped automatically, from any control station, or individually if needed. The Quad Track paralleled the walkway, which was empty due to Zeiss’s stand-down order. Unusually empty. Normally there were dozens of people moving through it with carts and dollies, walking to jobs, rolling Quads. He had the only Quad and he counted eight people during the trip, three of them Security. That was definitely going to arouse suspicions and couldn’t be maintained long.
It took only a couple of minutes to reach the main lock. It was uncommon to see the large screen noting Lock Section Closed. Even more so to see it devoid of anyone working even if it was. He parked the Quad, leapt off, and stepped into the Lock Operations Room, which everyone knew as the Hut.
Possibly on Earth a gate control might still romantically be thought of as a hut. Here it was just a hole bored in the regolith, with power conduits and lights, a bare-sheet titanium floor with some imported static mats, and desks and chairs. As with everywhere up here, one brought their own fliptop computer, plugged in, and used software and access codes to build a work center. The conduits ran to the main trunk, out to the airlocks, up to the surface antennas, and all had standard plug connectors spaced along them. There was a wire fence separating the Hut from the Support Cage that held tools, suits, parts, and incoming supplies that would get sorted and dispensed. Farther back the passage was the main Supply Cage that took all the palletized resources.
Really, the number of people who knew about the device made the pretense of secrecy silly. It was almost certain that everyone in Echelon 1 knew the rough details. The labor, support, outside contractors and family members might not, but all those with pull almost certainly did. He’d picked his four-member crew because they definitely knew, but that was secondary to their usefulness. They were in because they were ace engineers even by Loonie standards, very trustworthy, and calm under hazard.
Ravi Malakhar had done the materials sampling of the device’s case, or tried to. The case was impervious. There was speculation it wasn’t quite matter as humans understood it. Scans reflected off or got absorbed, and there wasn’t any consistency as to which. He was very good with observation and data. The more of that they had regarding the Ueys, the easier it would be. He was a slender Indian and looked older in the face than he was, but was quite fit.
Stu Morton had figured out some of the small amount of coding they understood so far. The controls on the thing were very organic, taking hand motions and translating them into instructions. He could code equipment remotely, or secure it against intrusion. It was assumed the Ueys would try to hack into commo. He’d coordinate counters. If only his Liverpool accent didn’t make him sound like a Beatles movie.
Laura Rojas was a crack fabricator, and had been here eight years. There wasn’t a detail of the lunarscape she didn’t know, nor any of their equipment. She’d helped create, on the fly, some of the tooling that had failed to penetrate the device. That was more success than anyone else had. He’d watched her gain a little mass due to the low G, but she was fit, just tiny, barely 160 centimeters.
Roderick Godin
was in because he’d been the mission engineer when the “gadget” had been found. He’d been cool enough to secure the item in place, clear the area, call for observation and photos, approach slowly and then wait for further instruction. “Rod from God,” as several women nicknamed him, was also really good in a crater or crevice, and understood structures. Andre had a special project for him.
Andre would rather none of them were involved in the defense, given the information they had. For them to get killed, or worse, captured, could screw the whole deal. However, there was no one who could be relied upon to defend against an armed force without having the knowledge, which still needed to officially be held close. It made a certain amount of sense.
So here they were.
He shook hands quickly. He mumbled and nodded because his brain was still thinking.
Then he remembered to act as well as think.
“Sorry, let’s move. We’ve got to secure resources before the Ueys arrive. Lock down, lock up, clear out power and oxy, unsafe the traps, get back here and hunker down.”
He didn’t bother with a vacuum suit yet. There was no time.
There were a handful of others at their disposal, who only knew there was a dispute, not the cause. He wasn’t going to involve them yet. He knew Ravi and Rod had observers who could support them.
Not that it mattered. It wouldn’t take long for news of the UN landing to get out, and of the dock being secured. There were plenty of science and industrial projects outside that required access to vehicles. Those were all on hold. That hold, even justified as “solar activity,” wouldn’t last more than a few hours.
As far as weapons, they had nothing ready made. They had explosives in expedient production, and various chemicals, but the goal was to avoid violence as long and as much as possible, for both PR and out of humanitarian gestures. Melee implements were plentiful—titanium geologist’s hammers with the rock chisel end sharpened to an edge, chisels ground down and mounted on tool handles as pikes, pry bars. Those would readily crack a faceplate or split any hose connection. Though he wasn’t sanguine about using them. The incoming troops probably had better and more recent hand-to-hand training than he or his people.
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