Fuzzy Bones (v1.1)

by William Tuning (v1. 1) (html)

  Holloway’s itch of curiosity was getting the best of him. “Y’know, Phil, I’ve heard about those things, but I’ve never really seen one.”

  “That’s not surprising,” Helton said. “There are only six of them in the entire Federation Navy.”

  “Well, how does the damned thing work, is what I want to know,” Holloway said. “All I’ve ever heard is that it bores holes in solid rock—which makes no sense to me of itself.”

  “In a nutshell,” Helton continued, “there’s a nuclear reactor inside the terrene itself. There are little bitty ones in the twenty centimeter models they use to bore drainage lines and air vents. There’s a one-meter model. It makes a tube big enough for a man to crawl around in and string commo lines and fiber optic bundles along the walls. Then, there’s this monster; two-meter tube. Makes nifty lift shafts and lateral drive tunnels to connect up underground complexes on places like Xerxes, where no-one can live on the surface.”

  “But how does it work?” Holloway insisted.

  “I’m getting to that part,” Helton said. “As the reactor heats up, a series of heat baffles raises the temperature of the outer skin until it’s hot enough to vaporize rock—hotter for granite than for sandstone, for example. As the terrene proceeds through the rock, controlled by the operator in the collapsium cabin—who has to be a pretty brave guy, by the way—it also melts the rock around the periphery of the tunnel to a depth of several centimeters. So, you see, it cases the tube as it goes, in a kind of crackle-finish glass—sometimes in very pretty colors, too.”

  “Hmmmm,” Holloway said. “I see. What’s the skin made of? Can’t be collapsium. Collapsium’s a lousy heat conductor. Whatever it is, it must be wild stuff to take those temperatures.”

  “The answer to that is such a complicated secret that even I don’t know it, “Helton said. He laughed. “And even if I did, I probably couldn’t explain it. In any case, it must cost like crazy to build the things. Otherwise we’d have more of them.”

  “How do they operate the little ones?” Gerd asked. “They’d be too small to have a control cabin with a man in it.”

  “Remotely,” Helton said. “The control signals are input through a cable bundle that the terrene drags down the hole behind it. The operator works from a stationary console. But, the M-79 is so big and has so much mass that it has to be run with a tighter set of reins.”

  Mr. Throckmorton inhaled deeply before delivering the last point of Colonial case law noted in his brief. “The point, your Honor, is even more clearly stated in the case of The People of Yggsdrasil Colony versus The Federation Resident-General, The Chartered Yggsdrasil Company, et at.”

  As Throckmorton droned on, Attorney General Gus Brannhard was the picture of serenity on the outside, eyes half closed, not a muscle of his huge frame moving. Inside, though, he was dancing with glee as he awaited the conclusion of Mr. Throckmorton’s precedents in this absurd matter of The Federated Sunstone Cooperative versus The Colonial Government of Zarathustra—so he could rip the fool’s shoddy case to pieces. Hugo Ingermann hadn’t chosen very well. Now that he was barred from practicing law before Zarathustran courts, he had chosen The Honorable Eustis Throckmorton as his own personal shyster. Perhaps Mr. Throckmorton had come cheaply. Ingermann’s penchant as a centisol-pincher was well known.

  Throckmorton finally wound down and finished his argument.

  Justice Pendarvis nodded toward him, then turned his gaze toward Brannhard. “How say you, Mr. Attorney General?” he asked.

  Brannhard cleared his throat with a rumble. “I say that Mr. Throckmorton’s case is no case at all, and, in any event, cannot at present be heard by this court.”

  “And why is that, Mr. Brannhard?” Justice Pendarvis asked, although he knew the answer as well as Gus did.

  “The element of conspiracy has been cited in the plantiff’s causes of action. It is a widely known point in Colonial Law that a colonial government—or any of its agencies—cannot be made the defendant in any complaint which cites conspiracy among the causes of action—uh—without the specific permission of that government for the plaintiff to pursue his case.”

  “Are you suggesting, then, Mr. Brannhard,” Justice Pendarvis said, “that Mr. Throckmorton’s case cannot be tried in this court?”

  “Not at all, your Honor,” Gus replied. “Merely that it cannot be tried as the issues are presently framed unless Mr. Throckmorton petition the Colonial Government and obtain its permission for trial. I, for one, would not be friendly to such a petition, having the acquaintance that I do with Mr. Throckmorton’s employer.”

  Throckmorton’s eyes were getting wider and wider.

  “Object!” Throckmorton said hastily. “The present Colonial Government of Zarathustra is not one duly elected under the Federation Constitution. It is merely a fiat government, set up by Commodore Napier to govern pro tempore during the period between those decisions which bear your Honor’s name and such time as proper elections can be held.”

  Justice Pendarvis leaned forward on his elbows. “Overruled, Mr. Throckmorton,” he said quietly. “An appointed colonial government has all the force of authority as an elected one, save on one point. It cannot levy taxes.”

  “I—I forgot,” Throckmorton said.

  Brannhard fluffed his gray-brown beard. “I suggest,” he said to no one in particular, “that Mr. Throckmorton was hoping that the Court had forgotten.”

  “There is an alternative, Mr. Throckmorton,” Justice Pendarvis said.

  Throckmorton’s face took on a glow of anticipation. Perhaps there was a way to salvage this mess, after all.

  “You may take your case to a Terran Federation Supreme Court on the home planet. They, having superior jurisdiction over this Colonial Supreme Court, will be pleased to hear your case, although I might suggest that the calling of witnesses might occupy a few years—considering travel times involved—and amount to no small expense to your client.”

  Throckmorton’s face fell.

  Justice Pendarvis rapped his gavel lightly. “This case to be continued for a period of thirty days, in order to allow Mr. Throckmorton to prepare the petition in question. If such petition has not been secured by then, the case will be removed from the docket.”

  “Next case, please,” Pendarvis said to the crier, as Throckmorton gathered up his brief and slunk out of the courtroom.

  Great, noxious clouds of vapor and steam poured out of the tunnel as the terrene bored steadily into the rockfall. The remainder of the crew had cordoned off an area several hundred meters on a side with orange engineer’s tape. Part of the men patrolled the perimeter, more for something to do than anything else. The rest, wearing breathing gear, were jockeying huge air-changers, each on its own contragravity sled, and blowing the fumes away with the prevailing breeze. Periodically, Byers, who was standing with his hands on his hips, talking to the operator over a commo attached to his earphones, would motion for the two work parties to switch off on their respective chores.

  “That’s very eerie,” Holloway said, as he stood and watched with Gerd and Phil. “I thought it would make more noise.”

  Helton shrugged. “Mighty engines must not always make u mighty noise. In this case, just the hiss of vaporizing stone and the noise of some of the glassed-up wall fracturing.” He smiled “You know what we call the three sizes of these things?”

  Jack and Gerd both shook their heads.

  “The little one,” Helton said, “we call ‘snap.’ It doesn’t make any more noise than a teakettle. The mid-size one we call ‘crackle,’ because it seems to cause more fracturing of the tunnel lining. Now, what do you suppose we call this one, the grandpappy of them all?”

  Jack hesitated for a moment. “Pop?” he said tentatively.

  Helton winked and made a single, decisive gesture with his index finger. “You got it,” he said.

  The vapor clouds began to die away into wisps.

  “Looks like they’re in at the six-inch wall,” Helton
said. “Time for me to go to work.”

  He walked briskly off toward Chief Byers.

  “What did he mean by that?” Gerd asked.

  “I don’t know,” Jack said, “but if we watch, we’ll probably find out.”

  Helton motioned for Chief Byers to move one side of his headphones so he could hear. “Are you down to the mark?” he asked.

  “On the button,” Byers said. “We’re backin’ her out now.”

  “How long will it take you to blow down the temperature enough for me to go in there in a heat suit?” Helton asked.

  ” ‘Bout twenty minutes, if I use the air changers,” Byers answered without hesitation.

  “Good,” Helton said. “I’ll go draw the gear.”

  Sweating and gasping for breath. Squint and Dave finally knocked off the last confining outcropping and were able to squeeze into the cavern. They were astonished at what they saw. Morrie and Jimmy heard the vibrohammers stop and came down the fissure on the run.

  “Ghu! It’s hot in here,” Morrie said, then stopped short.

  “What shall we do?” Jimmy said.

  Squint growled and wiped the sweat from his face. “Why, get as many sunstones as we can carry, before we all die of suffocation—stupid.”

  “Yeah, yeah!” Jimmy said excitedly. “And we’ll keep this a secret and come back later, with breathing gear.”

  “Wait a minute,” Dave said loudly. “Shut up, you guys. What’s that noise?”

  “What noise?” Squint asked.

  “Listen!” Dave said.

  They all fell silent.

  “That noise,” Dave said. “That popping and snapping noise. Sounds like it’s coming from that rock wall over there.”

  “Great Ghu!” Morrie wailed. “The mountain’s gonna cave in on us.”

  “Maybe,” Squint said, “but I’m gonna get some sunstones first. Let’s get busy.”

  Tendrils of vapor trailed from the top of the tunnel opening and the walls still popped and crackled from the rapid cool-down as Phil Helton disappeared into the tunnel mouth, wearing a hot suit and carrying a snooper-phone in a heat-shielding container.

  “Now what’s he doing that for?” Gerd said. The little hillock where they stood was a grandstand seat from which to watch the entire affair.

  The terrene crew had moved that massive piece of equipment to one side, where it bobbed on contragravity, a few feet off the ground, and were re-stringing their orange engineer’s tape to make a cordon about sixty meters away from the machine.

  O’Bannon, Stagwell, and Casagra were still to one side, in a close little group, talking quietly among themselves.

  “Well, Gerd,” Holloway drawled, “if you were planning to bust into a strange place like that, wouldn’t you want to listen to the inside of it a little bit before you charged ahead?”

  “Yeah,” Gerd said. “Yeah, I guess I would.”

  It was still a little uncomfortable, even in the hot suit, as Helton placed the snooperphone on a special collar so the pickup wouldn’t melt against the glassed-up surface of the headwall.

  He cranked the gain and listened.

  Now, that’s damned strange, he thought. A cavern, closed by a rockfall hundreds of years ago… And there’s somebody—or some thing—in there, using vibrohammers. He pulled the audio pickup out of his ear, turned, and trotted back toward the light at the end of the tunnel.

  Ingermann’s face was a pale maroon, and his neck bulged out over his shirt collar. “Throckmorton!” he shouted. “You blockhead! Why did you have to stick in that damned conspiracy in the causes of action? Why didn’t you draw the complaint just as I told you? Can’t you follow simple instructions, you nitwit?”

  Throckmorton was quivering in his chair. “I—I thought it would make a solider case, sir,” he said in a small voice.

  “Solider case?” Ingermann screamed. “Solider case? How in Nifflheim did you ever pass the bar to practice law on this planet—” He paused to suck in another gasping breath before continuing. “—or any other colony world, without knowing you have to have the government’s permission to sue them for conspiracy.”

  “Well, sir,” Throckmorton began.

  “You numbskull!” Ingermann raged. “Out! Get out of my sight!”

  Throckmorton gratefully rose to take his departure.

  “Just a minute!” Ingermann said. “Who was the presiding judge?”

  “Why, uh, Justice Pendarvis,” Throckmorton replied.

  “I thought so!” Ingermann shrieked triumphantly. “He’s been trying to get me ever since I set foot on Zarathustra. Oh, don’t kid yourself. He and Brannhard have been working behind my back for years. Well, I’ll get him. I’ll get him if it’s the last thing I ever do. Him and his sanctimonious mouth; I’ll send him to Nifflheim, so help me.”

  Ingermann had been talking to the top of his desk, his eyes glazed, his breath coming in short rasps. Suddenly, he looked up and saw Throckmorton. “I told you to get out, didn’t I?”

  Throckmorton nodded.

  “Well, then, get out!” He strode around the desk as Throckmorton made a terrified retreat into the corridor. Ingermann slammed the door as hard as he could, then staggered back to the desk and leaned upon it, breathing heavily, for several minutes.

  Chief Byers helped with the fastenings as Helton shucked off the hot suit. As soon as his head was free, Helton asked, “Chief—how soon can you have that cold enough for men in body armor and breathing gear to go in? Huh, Chief; how long?”

  “Take at least forty-five minutes to an hour, Gunnie,” Byers replied. “Still be pretty warm, at that, an’ it’ll crackle up the walls somthin’ fierce.”

  “It won’t make them unstable, will it?” Helton asked as he peeled off the last vels from the over-boots.

  “Oh, nothin’ like that,” Byers said. “Some little-bitty pieces might fall out, but you’ll be as safe in there as a pit in a prune.”

  O’Bannon frowned deeply. “Vibrohammers? Vibrohammers, did you say?”

  “Yes, sir, “Helton replied. He had joined the little knot of officers on the knoll.

  O’Bannon pursed his lips. “I imagine, Helton, that you have already formulated some ideas about how to handle this.”

  Helton smiled. “As a matter of fact, Colonel…”

  “Get on with it,” O ‘Bannon said as he rubbed the first two fingers of his right hand across his forehead. “What’s your idea?”

  “Fan out a cordon of scouts and combat cars all around the mountain in a pattern, say, six kilometers in diameter, together with an aloft surveillance in case they try to make a break for it. Slowly pull the purse string tight, looking for civilians or aircars in the area, concealed or trying to keep concealed. Arrest anyone who’s not one of us—no matter how good their story. It’ll be an hour before the tunnel is cool enough. Then, I’ll take six men, blow the head wall, and go in.”

  O’Bannon thought for a few seconds. “Couple things you overlooked, but basically I like it. I’ll lead, with the scout platoon and elements of ‘A’ Company. Dick,” he said to Stagwell, “you lead the aloft cover. Use a waffle-iron pattern.” He turned to Casagra. “Glen, you dig in some crew-served automatic weapons about two hundred meters from the tunnel opening so they have good crossfire—and another one up here where we’re standing, with some rockets, too. If Helton and his guys don’t come out of there first, Ghu knows what we’ll be up against. We should be able to make lift in fifteen minutes. Now, let’s see if we all have the same time.”

  Four hands extended as each man checked his watch.

  As Casagra and Helton trotted away to their respective tasks, O’Bannon was on his belt commo. “Bushmeyer,” he barked at his driver, “put down whatever kind of trash you’re reading and get my car over here on the double.” Pause. “That’s right. I’m on the little knoll, in plain sight.”

  “Get me Sergeant Chin,” Helton said into his commo. “Have him meet me at the tunnel. Right now.”

  Serge
ant John Chirgantha Chin was a cocky little three-striper with a body like a coiled spring. He always looked as though he were about to burst out laughing about something.

  “Is there anyone in your company who’s tougher and more reliable than you are?” Helton asked him.

  “Of course not,” he replied. “Nobody in the whole Corps—except maybe you, Gunnie.” He grinned.

  “Okay,” Helton said. “I’m flattered already. I need you and five men for a little chore, here. Who do you recommend?”

  Chin ticked off on his fingers as he named them. “Henshaw, Cooper, Bradley, McDermott, and Holden.”

  Helton squinted at him. “Aren’t all those men in your squad?”

  “Of course,” Chin said, “That’s why they’re so tough.”

  “Are they all available?” Helton asked.

  “Sure, Gunnie. We’re off duty today.”

  “Okay,” Helton said. “Have them draw body armor and assault rifles. Three sleep-gas grenades per man. Breathing gear. Draw a set for me, and draw six Pattycake mines. We’re going in through the headwall of that tunnel, but I don’t know what’s on the other side. There’s something there, but I don’t know what it is.”

  “Sounds like fun, “Chin said. “When do we jump off?”

  “Sixty minutes after the Old Man lifts off with the patrols,” Helton said.

  “Okay,” Chin said with a jaunty wave of his hand. “I’ll be back with the bodies and the stuff in a little while.”

  By the time Sergeant Chin had left to gather his men, Gerd and Jack had walked over to the tunnel site.

  Helton sat down on a rock and lighted a cigarette.

  “What in blazes is going on?” Gerd asked.

  Helton told them about the patrol cordon while he was making up his mind whether to tell them the rest.

  “Aren’t you afraid whoever they’re after will get away?” Gerd asked.

  Holloway nudged him in the ribs. “They won’t get away from these guys,” he said.

  “For that vote of confidence,” Helton said, “we will not charge you the customary admission fee to watch Marines doing what they’re supposed to do when it comes to the bottom line.”