Tears of Selene

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Tears of Selene Page 13

by Bill Patterson


  “John,” said Celine. “He's telling us now.”

  John nodded, making a show of reading the Security man's nametag, and sat back down.

  “Isolate that tunnel. Give us all interconnections and entrances to it.” Lisa felt a feeling of rightness, as if she was on the exact trail of the stalker.

  Lines and colors filled the screen. Lisa turned to Sir Rodney. “Can you instrument this?”

  “Only inside the kaserne, Commander.”

  “Why not elsewhere?”

  “I have my orders. These sensors cannot leave UN Territory. I cannot risk them falling into hands other than our own. This also means, for instance, the German Polizei.”

  Lisa looked at John, who shrugged. Celine looked at them fatalistically. “We can only do what we can do,” she said.

  Lisa looked around the room. “Here's what I want done,” she began.

  It wasn't a half-bad plan, as such things go. The Control Room would continue to monitor the sewers. Sir Rodney’s people would instrument the Nazi tunnels where they could, particularly where they came up in the WarLand area. John and Celine would continue to sleep there, their presence as hidden as possible. It would take a determined assassin to even notice signs of occupation.

  No matter where Garth came out of the ground, Main Operations planned to notify John and Celine through sub-dermal phones. Security would track Garth, but leave him strictly alone, at John's request. Security issued them sub-lethal munitions and weapons. Nobody had any illusions. Fired at close enough range, sub-lethal became almost-certainly-lethal easily enough.

  If overwhelmed, either John or Celine could call in the cavalry, who would be as close as possible to the action.

  John and Celine kept modifying WarLand as they desired.

  “Anything else?” Lisa asked. “No? If anyone has more, just message me. I respect John's desire to handle this personally, but I won't risk anyone else in my command over it. Dismissed.”

  ###

  People working in spacesuits used oxygen at different rates. Some burned it up just floating around, simply because they had more muscle mass than another astronaut. When his O2 gauge dipped into the yellow range, Lima called to Mary who was working on an interesting seam of lunar rock. “I'm starting to hit yellow on oxygen. How are you?”

  “I've still got a half hour before I get that low.”

  “All right. Let's knock off and go back to the Disco to fill up. I wonder what's keeping Alex?”

  “Let's go find out,” Mary said, hopping up to Lima and futilely brushing the dust from her gloves. “I could use a break.”

  Lima and Mary hopped back towards the Disco, which sat motionless on the gray plain. Lima tried calling Alex, but there was no answer.

  “He's in trouble!” said Mary, bounding faster to the ship. On the Moon, unless you were very experienced, trying to put on speed just meant that you pushed harder against the ground, which bounded you higher into the sky, with all of the dangers of overrotating and sprawling when you eventually came down.

  Lima reached out and steadied Mary when she landed. “Speed isn't going to get us there any faster,” he said. “Just keep doing it like it was a regular day on the Moon.” He started them both up, and soon they were moving along efficiently.

  “If he hasn't had a fatal accident, then he's working under the tarp, which blocks out all signals. So, he's either still working, or managed to get himself in a jam, or he's asleep. Want to bet which one it is?”

  Mary refused to bet.

  “Status?” Lima asked as soon as he heard the repeater with Alex's call.

  “All green. I've been stuck here for a couple of hours, so I have extra oxygen left.”

  “What do you think, Mary? Should we rescue him?”

  “I'm thinking yes. Otherwise, the way he's lying there, he's going to throw off the balance when we fly the Disco back to Collins. We could always cut his arm off and get him free that way.”

  “Oh, very funny,” said Alex. “None of you are certified for this craft, so you have to rescue me.”

  Lima looked at the Disco. “Oh, I dunno. I could give it a whirl.”

  “Dammit, Lima!” said Alex, but Mary crouched down and put her glove on his shoulder.

  “That's enough, Lima. I think I have an idea.” She had a number of laminated charts in her hand.

  “Hey, those are the navigation charts,” said Alex.

  “Right. So, let me just scrunch in there, and I'll fit these around your sleeve. They'll unhook whatever you're hooked on, and you'll slip right out of there.”

  It took about twenty minutes, and three tries, but Alex was finally able to stand up and move his arms.

  “Don't wave them around like that. Let me look at them first,” said Mary. She peered quite closely at the one that was stuck. “I can see where the metal dug in. Fortunately, you didn't tug hard on it. I can't see a cut or any other damage. All right, you seem to have escaped your fate, Mister. Now, I think I need some LOX.”

  Lima came back from his turn at the LOX storage tank. “You're amazingly lucky, you know that?”

  “Yes. You two could have sat around and laughed at me until my O2 went into the red zone. Thanks for pulling me out.”

  “Thank Mary. The best I could come up with was sticking my own glove down there, or fishing around with a piece of steel. She's the brilliant one.”

  Mary nodded. “All right, everyone back on your heads. Mr. Fish Trap here has cost us about five man-hours of work, so we're behind. Back to the ore processor.”

  ###

  Subby was not happy. “Why the change of plans?”

  “I went back to the sporting goods store to get that second set of scuba gear. They've upgraded their alarm system. We're out of luck there.”

  “They can't be the only place that sells scuba gear.”

  Garth looked at the thin sallow man. “We're a thousand kilometers from the nearest ocean. Sure, there are lakes and rivers, but there's not a huge call for scuba in the interior of Europe. I was surprised when I found one store in this little burg. So, only one person in the sewer system. And that's you.”

  “But, Garth, you're much better at this than I am.”

  “I'm much better at everything than you are, you weasel. But this time, it's logical that you go up the pipe. I'm going in via the Nazi tunnels.”

  “Those things are death!” said Subby. “Booby traps and all kinds of things. People go in there and don't come out.”

  “Then you'll have achieved your heart's desire, right?” Garth stared at Subby. “I know you think I'm going to kill you. And I will. But it doesn't make sense to, yet. At first, you would create a diversion, rendezvous with me, then I'd kill you. Now, though, making a rendezvous would be almost impossible. We’re going two different ways. I might not survive the Nazi tunnels, and I betcha you'd never try to meet up with me again, right?”

  Subby looked down. “Yeah, probably.”

  “So there you have it. There's still great utility in you going up the sewers. Suddenly, there's a guy running around, killing the Commander! Nobody will notice me emerging from a Nazi tunnel. Or maybe it's the other way around, and you get a clean shot at the woman who ruined you. Either way, one of us is going to get our goal, and the other one has a fighting chance.”

  “After I kill Daniels, I'm going to disappear. You'll never see me again.”

  “You've got it. Same here. I'm not going to tell you where I'm going. But it will be very, very, nice.”

  ###

  The last bit of metal vaporized in a white flash, and the huge cylinder of metal floated free. Literally. Being in the exact center of rotation, and spinning with the same stately rate as the rest of the Perseus, it seemed to just sit there, motionless.

  “Sir, if you'll do the honors,” said Horst.

  McCrary, feeling somewhat like an ant getting ready to lift an apple, wedged himself between the cylinder and the ceiling of the fore cofferdam a meter and a half away. He se
t himself, and shoved against the cylinder with all of his strength.

  Nothing moved. For a couple of minutes.

  “Movement detected,” said Horst. “Aft section indicates a half millimeter of cylinder has emerged. Gentlemen, we're on our way.”

  McCrary climbed down from his awkward position. “As a bonus,” he said, “there's a lot more material to use for making more lifting bodies. As soon as that cylinder clears the aft end, I want another plate welded across the hole.”

  “Understood, boss. We're going to weld one over this hole, too, as soon as we get some of you hangers-on out of here!”

  ###

  John was nothing but thorough. He laced booby traps and other lethal welcomes throughout the sleeping chamber he’d fashioned in the ruins of the Nazi barracks. But that room was not the one he and Celine slept in. There was another one, far more difficult to get to but much more secure. John had left an audio device in the first chamber, which played back random pillow-talk he and Celine had recorded. Two mannequins lay under a couple of blankets.

  He didn't neglect the exterior of their WarLand lair either. Just because there were Nazi tunnels didn't mean that Garth would use them. He could just as easily be coming up the street at them. Pits, punji sticks, and other traps lined the way in.

  Lisa spread warnings amongst the staff not to go into the WarLand. John briefed the Engineering department how to reach him after hours and live to tell about it.

  Now, though, the waiting began.

  “I just don't see how this is still a mystery!” Lisa said at her weekly Security meeting. “We know when he goes to the library, we can trace him in the sewers, we damn near know his underwear size, and yet, we don't know where he's living.”

  “Thirty-four, ma'am,” said Sir Rodney. At her glare, he elaborated. “His underwear size. It was part of the data in his prison packet.”

  “So, tell me, where does he sleep at night?”

  “I don't know. German privacy laws are fantastically strict. We cannot follow him so long as he has not committed a crime.”

  “How about illegal entry into Germany?” asked Lisa. “Stalking. Burglary. Theft. Escaping prison.”

  “We don't know that was Garth who stole the scuba gear.”

  Lisa shook her head. “Sometimes, I think you don't want to solve crimes.”

  Sir Rodney sat impassively. “I know it seems that way from where you sit. We both talk as if it is certain that Garth Wakeman did these crimes. But us being certain and us convincing a court of law of that certainty are two different things. We simply cannot target him with drone surveillance. I'm sorry.”

  Lisa sat back, taking a deep breath. “Well, this isn't getting us any closer to catching them. Anything new?”

  “No,” said Sir Rodney. “He appears to be waiting for something. I am not sure what, though.”

  “Maybe a dark and stormy night,” said John.

  “No, I think that would make it harder,” said Sir Rodney. “A lot of storm water enters the sewer system during rainstorms.”

  “I thought he was going in through the Nazi tunnels,” said John.

  “He could go into either one,” said Lisa. “We’ve got some instrumentation on the sewers, and a very little on the Nazi tunnels. I just hope it's enough.”

  ###

  Processing the enormous plug of iron was not immediately required. The sheer amount of debris and rubble left over from the Mars Expedition's fitting out of the aft chamber provided more than enough material for forging two complete oversize airlocks. Horst had one such lock ready before the lasers cut away the cylinder from its original position.

  Jeff Gaston had once remarked to Horst, “How are you going to make an airlock? Going to be a round hole, right? Anything you try to cover it with would have to be round as well—just to keep the amount of seal to a minimum. But you can't stuff a round cover down the hole to the other side. Manhole problem.”

  Harlan Slaught, one of the Mars Expedition metallurgists, had come up with the perfect solution to the problem. “We make a cover like a slight lozenge, then cut it in half right through the parallel sides. Do another one, larger in radius, cut it in half. Float the pieces down the tunnel. Over on this side, build a jig, set the 'perfect fit' lozenge in the jig, and hook up a low-voltage-high-amp welding circuit.

  “Shove the two halves together, turn on the current, wait for the iron to get red-hot, keep squeezing them together until it's a perfect circle again. Do the same with the larger cover. Assemble them so the seams are at ninety-degree angles. Take the lasers, burn a shallow groove exactly the same radius as the outer hatch. Mount the new hatch. The smaller hatch fits like a wine cork into the tunnel end, the larger one is a secondary seal against the face of the tunnel. Easy-peasy.”

  It was easy. So easy, in fact, that both sides of the original nickel-iron wall had their airlocks installed within two weeks.

  Then the hell began.

  “We need a new Flinger,” said McCrary. “One that will work with these lifting bodies.”

  “Sir, it's getting kinda cluttered back there,” said Jeff. “We've got all of the gear for the minimill, the huge tanks for all that cometary water, that big honking cylinder sitting around, the construction yard where we're going to complete the ERVs, anti-debris laser installations, and the Tank is coming home one of these days. Where, exactly, do you want this Flinger to sit? And I hope to hell you're not going to say 'on the axis,' because the support structure would use too much iron.”

  McCrary waited impassively while his counterpart on the Mars Expedition wound down. “No, it doesn't need to be on the axis. In fact, you can put it on a wall.”

  “That's even worse! We'll get all kinds of off-axis thrust, making Perseus start yawing.”

  “I have an answer for that,” said McCrary.

  “I was afraid of that,” said Jeff.

  ###

  The flight back from the Oceanus Procellarum to the Collins was fairly uneventful. They lost another pair of rockets, this time to a nozzle problem instead of a blown-out combustion chamber, so at least that rocket could be salvaged. Maricella didn't pass out on this trip, but wanted to stand up and walk around when the Disco was in cruise mode. Lima had to threaten to tie her down so she couldn't move before she stopped arguing. After that, the flight was quiet, steady, and calming.

  “To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths of all the western stars, until I die,” intoned Lima, falling silent for a minute. He watched the moonscape drift by, with just the ever-present whirr of his rebreather fan. “This is so much better than on the way out, right Alex?”

  “Not answering, don't want to jinx it,” Alex replied. “Travis always said 'Never tempt fate—she'll have the last laugh.'“

  “Wasn't he talking about, oof,” said Mary when Lima dug into her ribs.

  “Don't. Talk after touchdown.”

  It was then that the nozzle on rocket number eighteen decided its working days were over. A premonitory vibration and a sudden decrease in shuddering shook the astronauts as eighteen—and its counterpart across the disk, six—were shut down by the flight computer.

  “That was a warning,” said Alex. “So, how much KREEP are we bringing home?”

  Maricella brightened up. “A lot! We maxed out the cargo capacity on takeoff, you'll notice. I found a great vein of erbium and cerium minerals, so we're going to have a lot of them. Another two, maybe three flights, and we'll have more than enough for the Perseus.”

  “What about thorium?” asked Lima. “Sure, they've got enough to work with for the next bazillion years, but then what?”

  “Then they go home or send folks back here,” said Mary. “The ore processor is concentrating the monazite, so there'll be plenty of thorium by-product from rare earth extraction. I don't think they'll run out, even at maximum laser blasting, for fifty years, maybe more. Best thing they can do is to run the reactor on low and rely on the solar cells to power Perseus and the lasers.”

  �
�Probably cut back on the lighting, too. No need to grow so much food.”

  “Ah,” Mary said in a rush, “thanks for reminding me. You'll never guess what showed on one of my assays.”

  “Gold.”

  “Funny man,” she said. “Next best thing, though. Cobalt-59, the good stuff.”

  “Why is that good?” asked Alex, concentrating once again on his control panel.

  “Remember all of those deficiency diseases? One of them came from a lack of vitamin B12. The organisms that make B12 need cobalt. Yet surface soil around the Collins as well as the Procellarum is contaminated with radioactive cobalt-60 spewed out of The Event. Really bad stuff—industry uses sixty to sterilize food for long-term storage. So the Moon folks kept losing the good cobalt, fifty-nine, every time they ran poop through the hydroponics, and eventually used all of theirs up. They couldn't use any of the outside soil, since it was radioactive. So they grew tired, then sick, and got sicker.”

  “You know a lot about biology for a geologist,” said Lima.

  “Doctor Gulotta gave me a list of things to look for while I was out on the Procellarum. The cobalt is the good stuff because we've been digging underground, away from the polluted surface soil. He's going to have a field day.”

  “Good,” said Alex. “Keep your eyes open, I don't want to prang this landing. Lima, give me those height readings again.”

  It was a picture perfect landing. They even had an eighth-tank of LOX in most engines. Alex couldn't wait to lord it over Travis.

  ###

  John and Celine got ready for bed. It wasn’t bad, as sleeping chambers went. It was a bit cold and musty, but that was to be expected in a building abandoned for over a hundred years. John checked the deadfalls, his weapons, the cache of flash-bang grenades, and the dazzle light. No matter which tunnel Garth used, his eyes would be dark-adapted and thus perfect for the temporary blinding the weapons would afford.

 

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