Crescent

by Homer Hickam

  “It is a crater called Trouvelot,” Crater answered. “It is where we place the remains of our dead.”

  “I don’t understand why a special place is needed.”

  “It’s just our way, Crescent.”

  Crescent looked northward. “What is out there?”

  “Mare Frigoris. The Sea of Cold.”

  Crescent considered Crater’s answer. “Why did the ancients call it a sea when it is plainly a desert?”

  “They didn’t know what it was,” Crater answered, “but they thought it might be an ocean. In a way, they were right. It’s an ocean of dust. But enough questions. Let’s see to the urns.”

  “I’m sorry I ask so many questions,” Crescent said, “but may I ask one more?”

  “No,” Crater said. His head was beginning to hurt. “Let’s take care of these people.”

  Crater took Doom’s container and waved it over the steep wall, releasing the dust within which fell into the chasm. Then he did the same with Freddy’s dust and then Mike’s. “From dust to dust, ashes to ashes, amen,” Crater said.

  “What is this word ‘amen’?”

  “We end our prayers with it.”

  “Why?”

  Crater confessed he didn’t know, then, to forestall another question, he asked one of his own. “Do you want to drive the mini-scraper back to Moontown?”

  Crescent’s face lit up. “Yes!”

  “It’s all yours.”

  Crescent cocked her head, then said, “I think it might be informative if I told you I find you pleasant to be with.”

  After hesitating, Crater replied, “I find you pleasant to be with too.”

  “It is not necessary to patronize me. My comment was simply to confirm that we are communicating well.”

  “Humans call that being friends,” Crater said.

  Crescent pondered Crater’s response and might have replied had not a shadow flitted over the gray dust, a shadow that was like a huge bird where no birds had never flown. Crater and Crescent looked skyward and saw a delta-winged ship. It was going slower than orbital velocity, using its rocket jets to maneuver.

  “It’s a warpod,” Crescent said.

  “It sure is,” Crater replied, unable to keep the awe out of his voice. “But what’s it doing here?”

  “There’s something else following it, silvery and torpedo-shaped.”

  Crescent’s eyes were obviously better than Crater’s, perhaps part of her genetic tweaking. He zoomed in with his helmet optics and spotted the craft she’d seen, a type he’d never seen before. It was descending on the warpod, its jets glowing. Something bright streaked from it, and the warpod began to fall until it disappeared beyond the horizon. An orange glow rose from that point, then faded away. Crater looked up and saw the silvery ship accelerate, then curve upward and disappear.

  “I hope that thing is on our side,” Crater said. “Drive us back, Crescent, quick as you can. Likely they saw this in Moontown, but I suspect we got the better view.”

  Crescent pressed the accelerator down, the tracks dug in, and she steered them across the dust. One thing certain, Crater thought as they roared along, the war was not yet over. The question was who had just won the aerial battle over Moontown—and did it mean an invading force was about to land?

  ::: THIRTEEN

  The scrapes were empty of miners, the machinery abandoned, and the conveyor belts unmoving and piled high with dust. The battle in the sky had apparently chased the miners off the dust, presumably inside the tubes. Crater and Crescent stripped off their gear quickly, showered, and dressed in their tube clothes. When they stepped inside the main tubeway from the dustlock, they found it was also empty. Following a low thrum of voices, they found much of Moontown’s population crowded into the various observations decks and towers. Crater led Crescent to the observation tower nearest the Dust Palace. Most of the hotel residents were there, buzzing over the space battle they’d just witnessed.

  Crater and Crescent wormed their way into the crowd until they reached Asteroid Al and Q-Bess, who were standing together. “What did you see?” Crater asked.

  Al’s face registered relief at the sight of them. “We were worried about you two. What did we see? A warpod was being chased by some kind of ship. Silver-colored thing, never seen anything like it. The Colonel evacuated the scrapes.”

  Q-Bess clutched Crater to her bosom, tears freely flowing slowly down her cheeks. “Oh, my child. I was so worried! Thank God you’re safe!” She reached out an arm to pull Crescent in close too. Crescent stiffened, her eyes going wide, but she allowed herself to be enveloped in the queen’s arms.

  When Crater got free, he took Al aside. “We had a good view,” he said. “The silver craft blasted the warpod, then lit its jets and took off.”

  “Never heard of a ship like that. Hope it’s on our side.”

  “That’s exactly what I said to Crescent.”

  Heads in the assembly began to turn toward Crescent. “This is her fault,” someone grumbled.

  “She brought them here!” another voice rang out.

  “Where I come from, we’d string that little rat up by her toes,” another citizen said.

  Crater positioned himself beside Crescent. “Leave her alone. She had nothing to do with this.”

  “How do you know, Crater?” someone called. “I say we put her in an old jumpcar and blast her across the Sea of Cold!”

  There was a rumble of voices agreeing with the idea. Then the sheriff arrived. “All you folks disperse,” he ordered. “You miners, back to work.”

  “What about that creature, Sheriff?” a citizen demanded. It was Classy Amos, the man Crescent had tossed around in the cafeteria.

  “It ain’t none of your business, Amos,” the sheriff snapped. “Now, I said for all of you to get gone. You got ten seconds.”

  Grumbling, the Moontowners descended the staircase to the main tubeway, leaving behind Crater, Crescent, Q-Bess, and Asteroid Al. The sheriff frowned at Crescent, then shook his head. “This thing has been nothing but trouble.”

  “Crescent didn’t do anything,” Crater said.

  “It’s breathing,” the sheriff replied. “That’s trouble enough. Anyway, your little monster ain’t why I’m here. The Colonel wants to see you.”

  “What about?”

  “For some reason, he forgot to confide in me.”

  “Take care of Crescent,” Crater said to Q-Bess and Al.

  Q-Bess put a protective arm around her and Al said, “We’ll get her inside the Dust Palace safe and sound.”

  “Thank you,” Crescent said.

  Q-Bess and Al smiled at her. “You’re welcome!” they said in unison.

  The sheriff rolled his eyes. “Monkey see, monkey do. That thing would still cut both your throats in a heartbeat. Let’s go, Crater. The Colonel is waiting.”

  Crater walked with the sheriff down the tower steps and along the tubes. “You ever miss that blob of slime mold cells that used to sit on your shoulder?” the sheriff asked.

  “I don’t think about it much,” Crater replied.

  “You really are a terrible liar,” the sheriff said. “That gillie sure could hack a puter. Good thing it was illegal.”

  “It knew that.”

  The sheriff laughed softly. “So you have said, Crater. So you have said. And here we are.”

  They were there, all right, but not where Crater expected, which was the Colonel’s sumptuous office. Instead, they stood before the hatch to a dustlock marked PRIVATE. NO ACCESS WITHOUT PERMISSION.

  “Your gear is waiting for you there,” the sheriff said. “I had it moved.”

  “But I just came in from the big suck,” Crater said.

  “It appears you’re going out into it again. Hurry up.”

  For a brief moment, Crater considered telling the sheriff he wasn’t going anywhere but then relented. He was curious what the Colonel was up to. He climbed into the dustlock, took off his tube clothes once more, wearily put al
l his gear back on, climbed into the airlock, depressurized, then went outside. There, he beheld the Colonel’s jumpcar, its silvery hull glimmering in the sunlight. No one was around so he climbed the ladder to its hatch and went inside where he found the Colonel sitting on a couch, studying a reader. Two technicians were in the aft control room, manipulating a bank of instruments. “Glad you could make it, Crater, although you took your time,” the Colonel said, glancing up from the reader before placing it in a hold net. “Join me in the cockpit.”

  The Colonel climbed the short ladder to the cockpit and sank into the right seat. Crater climbed into the pilot’s seat, looking over the familiar controls. He’d been flying jumpcars since he was ten, trained by Rocket Rob, a Dust Palace resident and one of the best jumpcar pilots on the moon before he’d slammed into the dust several years ago, a victim of a clogged fuel valve.

  “North,” the Colonel said, without preamble.

  “Sir?”

  “Fly this machine north.”

  “You want me to pilot?”

  The Colonel yawned. “Take her up, Crater. I don’t have all day.”

  Crater tried not to act pleased, but the truth was he loved flying jumpcars and there was not a sweeter one on the moon than the Colonel’s. He checked the instrument panels, then ran through the engine checks, talking with the jumpcar puter.

  “Engines.”

  Go.

  “Pumps.”

  Go.

  “Servos.”

  Go.

  “Propellants.”

  Go.

  “Navigator.”

  Go.

  “Puter.”

  Go.

  “Guidance.”

  Auto or manual?

  “Manual.”

  All systems go.

  Crater set the initial engine thrust. “Everybody belted in?”

  “We’re all belted in, Crater,” the Colonel growled. “Take us aloft.”

  Crater wound the engines up, his eye on the panel gauges, then increased the thrust so that the jumpcar began to rise. Working the verniers with the stick, Crater made the liftoff as smooth as possible, limiting the number of Gs everyone aboard had to endure, then arced the rocket to the north. “Where to?”

  “The techies will guide you.”

  Crater took the jumpcar up to an altitude of twenty-five miles. When the Colonel and the techies didn’t say anything, he went on up to fifty, then began to fly along a northerly heading.

  “We need to gain altitude for the scanner,” one of the techies called, so Crater climbed to seventy-five miles, the surface of the moon wheeling beneath them. He leveled the jumpcar out and the techie reported that he was happy with that altitude.

  Crater wished he could wring the little rocket ship out but he held it steady. “We have acquired the target, sir,” a techie called. “Sending the pilot the LPS numbers now.”

  “Take us there, Crater.”

  Crater keyed in the Lunar Positioning Satellite numbers sent to him by the techie, then made a course correction. When he was near the target, he rolled the jumpcar over and put it into a steep dive. The cratered surface filled the lunaglas dust-screen and then began to grow larger. “Easy, boy,” the Colonel said. Out of the corner of his eye, Crater could see the Colonel gripping the armrests of his seat. This pleased Crater for a reason he suspected was not good for his soul. He popped the nose of the jumpcar up, then hit the retros and, while checking the rearview vid, smoothly decelerated until the jumpcar landed gently on the dust between two medium-sized boulders.

  “A fine landing,” the Colonel said, “but I didn’t need the roller-coaster ride.”

  “Just blowing out the scrag in her jets, sir,” Crater said. Then he looked through the cockpit lunaglas and saw the reason for the landing. Less than a shovelball field’s distance was the wreck of the warpod.

  Crater followed the Colonel down the cockpit ladder, then outside and down the exterior ladder. It was a small warpod, coated in the deep black radar-absorbent material of its kind. Its delta wings—needed to give the vehicle lift when its scramjet engine carried it to Earth orbit—were still attached, although one of them had a big crack in it. Its cockpit cover was open and from it sprawled its pilot. By his contorted posture, Crater could tell the pilot was dead.

  While the Colonel took pix with his helmetcam, Crater walked around the wreck, then climbed on one of the warpod’s wings to have a better look at the pilot. A human male, it was in a black pressure suit with no markings or patches.

  The Colonel spoke into his do4u. “Jim, would you and Miguel come outside?”

  The techies dutifully arrived, and the Colonel ordered them to carry the pilot’s body to the jumpcar and place it in stowage. “The sheriff and the docs will figure out where that gentleman came from,” the Colonel said.

  “Surely he came from the UCW,” Crater said.

  “Probably,” the Colonel answered.

  “How could they get a warpod here without us noticing it?”

  “We did notice it. Our Russian friends, who have a network of obs-sats around the Earth, alerted us that it was on its way. You may take a great deal of satisfaction over that, Crater. After all, it was that package you picked up for me that allowed me to make common cause with the Czarina.”

  Crater watched the techies carry the pilot toward the jumpcar. “Do you know why he was here?”

  The Colonel sniffed. “Probably to have a look at Moontown. The UCW has lately been resorting to such thuggery as kidnapping. When the Czarina was visiting Earth, they tried to kidnap her. Fortunately, she escaped. Now I suspect they have their sights on me.”

  Crater reflected that there were a few Moontown folks who would have been delighted if the Colonel was kidnapped, but he thought it best not to point that out. Instead, he asked, “What was that silver craft that fought them off?”

  “An asset of mine.”

  “It is very fast. Fusion powered?”

  “One of a kind,” the Colonel replied. “A warpod doesn’t have a chance against it.”

  “So the war continues.”

  “Yes, so it seems. By the way, there was a kidnapping attempt on Maria too.”

  “Maria?”

  “You recall my grandaughter, surely. You crossed the moon together.”

  Crater frowned. “What happened?”

  “A warpod attacked her while she was piloting a jumpcar near Frau Mauro.”

  “A warpod! How did she escape?”

  The Colonel chuckled. “Surely you of all people know my granddaughter is a survivor. She used the wash from her rocket jets to cook off a missile beneath the warpod’s wings. It looped around and flew up one of its engines. If the warhead had been armed, the warpod would have been destroyed. As it was, Maria sent it limping home.”

  Crater whistled. “Impressive.”

  “An excellent description of Maria.”

  The pilot’s body was loaded up, and Crater and the Colonel climbed back into the cockpit. Crater ran through the checklist with the puter, then blasted off and arced over, heading south. “You mind if I blow more scrag out of her jets, Colonel?” he asked.

  “Be my guest,” the Colonel said and pretended to be bored while Crater swooped and zoomed the jumpcar through a series of acrobatic maneuvers. Below, the techies did their best not to turn green. After Crater smoothed the rocket ship out, the Colonel tuned to Crater’s private channel. “Starting today, I want you to be my jumpcar pilot.”

  Crater was astonished and thrilled at the same moment. A jumpcar pilot! It was a dream job.

  “What do you say, Crater?” the Colonel demanded. “Don’t just sit there with your mouth open.”

  Crater hesitated. “Sir, with respect, why are you offering me this job?”

  “For three reasons. First, you’re a good pilot. Second, I like you. Always have. I want to see you get ahead.”

  “And the third reason, sir?”

  “There’s a lab in the hangar. I thought you might lik
e to work on your moon dust water extraction system.”

  “It’s true I haven’t had much time to work on it.”

  “There you have it! You can piddle around in the lab when you’re not flying me hither and yon. What do you say?”

  “Thank you, sir,” Crater said. “I’d like nothing better.”

  “Good. Consider yourself hired.”

  Crater smoothed the trajectory of the jumpcar and silently took possession of the ship. Jumpcar pilot. He couldn’t wait to tell Q-Bess. And Asteroid Al. And, oddly enough, he wanted to tell Crescent too.

  Sweeping over Moontown, he turned the nose up and backed down to a perfect soft landing. The Colonel left the cockpit while Crater sat there, savoring for a few moments his new position. “Hello, ship,” he said quietly. “My name is Crater Trueblood. I’m your new pilot.”

  Crater felt almost as if the ship answered, whispering, Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go.

  In the entire history of his life, Crater had never felt better except for perhaps the time he’d kissed Maria and she’d kissed him back. He wished she knew about his new job, but then, after he thought about it, he realized she would find out—and probably right away. After all, she was part of the Medaris empire. Maybe he’d even get to see her when he flew the Colonel to Armstrong City. If so, what would he say to her? And what would she say back?

  Crater leaned back in the pilot’s seat and imagined what that moment would be like until he noticed a flickering red light on the console. He called up the jumpcar’s puter. “Check and verify servos,” he said.

  The servos are overdue maintenance.

  “Noted. What is the thirty-day maintenance schedule for all other systems?”

  The puter listed all maintenance required. It was a long list. Crater got on the horn, calling up the jumpcar techies for a word. He planned on putting some steel in their backbones. Maintenance would never be overdue on the Colonel’s jumpcar again, not while Crater Trueblood was on the job.