The Resolute

by G. Weldon Tucker

  Now, the sixteen staff, men and women set about assembling the first habitat. In short order, the first stanchions were up, mere heavy, titanium steel pillars, soon filled with local sand, on flat, wide feet. A surveyor’s laser system helped to align all the tops of the pillars, and that took some skill, prying, pushing and shoving, excavating and such, but they got it.

  Now, under the direction of the floor Commander, Jeff Yardley, the long girders, I-beams, fifty feet of by six inches high, by four inches wide, were aligned over the stanchions. Then, once flat as could be, level, one by one, close fitting, the floor panels went home. They walked across the initial girders laid out to hold them flat. Then a second row, twenty in all. Jeff examined every dovetail joint, assuring a perfect fit. A crack here could kill everybody.

  Once the first unit’s floor was complete, Dr. Alexandria Frost, a medical doctor, saw to the unpacking of her medical facility, from the manned rocket that brought the extra team. It was a smaller prefab with add-ons, designed to fit inside the first habitat, in a corner. It would go up ahead of the habitat walls first simply because stuff happens in space. It is a dangerous place, and every life counted. In fact, every able body counted.

  Within two hours, she and her two assigned construction personnel had a ready made, fifty by fifty hospital up and sealed. It was ten feet tall, not as tall as the walls that would follow on the habitat. This was to allow another floor if they needed it, right over the first.

  One could expect it, because the plan was for a quarter million people… That kind of population needed medical care, and there was a good chance they would need even more space. This first unit went up near the center of the proposed construction area, thus keeping medical and HQ within easy reach as new units went up.

  Meanwhile, two more tugs with eight foot, jointed arms were plucking five packs of habitat panels out of the rocket bodies like they were mere toothpicks. The tugs trundled their load, one tug at each end, laying them alongside the completed floor.

  No group of men could lift a single panel. On earth, it was five tons. On the moon, it was one. But they could lever it enough to allow the tugs to get a grip, then, after the tugs flipped it vertical and set it on the floor, they could horse it with those levers, slipping it in inches until it dropped into its intended slot. Then the dovetail system would be bolted to lock it in place.

  The habitat units were to be two hundred feet long, one hundred feet wide, twenty feet high, with floor and ceiling, all sealed tight against the pressure of inside atmosphere and the void of space. Each segment that composed the prefab unit was an identical panel fifty feet by twenty feet by one half inch titanium steel.

  Inside panels did not require the same rigorous manufacture, merely quarter inch steel with cut out door frames. Doors to be added to these, shortly. But, they, too, were exactly fifty feet long, twenty feed wide. A standard unit for all pieces meant easy, accurate assembly.

  There were fifty two segments in all for each habitat, plus the inner construction walls. But then again, there were myriad air handling, climate control, water systems and waste disposal, all of which took a fourth of each rocket. One rocket, one complete stand alone unit. This way, if they lost a rocket, the rest could continue as scheduled.

  Not for looks, but for safety, there were two skylights marked out per panel, as well as the doorways, all indicated by slightly crimped outlines, to be used as needed. If left intact, the unit was sealed complete, as required. But, having them marked meant everything matched for required cutouts. And a simple cutting torch unit could make the cutouts in a short time.

  Finally, at what had been the bottom of each rocket, over the engine, the final pieces were pulled free. Skylights, pressure airlocks and connecting doors for the prepared openings between the habitats, themselves.

  The skylights were very important on the outside walls and roofs of each setup. Light and view were critical on a lonely outpost in space. You can’t stop an attack if you do not know it is coming. Radar would help, but irresponsible radiation into space could invite that attack.

  Mirror like, polished titanium plates, just over the horizon to catch the sun, went up high enough to reflect a great deal of light onto the area. Not high enough to catch the eyes of the Cyborgs, but well planned and functional. More important, it gave the illusion of day and night. Though the night was the equivalent of a full moon’s light, the daytime was perfect.

  So far, no problems. But that was a little like waiting for the other shoe to drop…

  CHAPTER 11

  And then, it happened. On the second to last wall panel, as the personnel got it balanced, upright, the men assigned to the six braces scurried here and there, chocking one inch diameter steel water pipes, thirty feet long, into retainers indented on the flooring, and similar ridges on the wall, near the top. One side done, the outside, without a hitch.

  However, on the other side as they started, one of the men got anxious with his long pry bar and began to shift the panel toward its slot.

  Christine saw the wobble from her end of the wall, where she was watching to make sure it was perfectly vertical. If not, it would not fit.

  But with her warning cry, one of the men on the inside of the wall jumped back. With space suits on, there is little in the way of spatial awareness and he slammed into the only bracing bar in place.

  The wall came down, slow motion, it seemed for Christine, but all too quickly for the three men caught under the slamming panel. Caught between a falling slab of steel and the floor, they did not have a chance.

  Commander Harmen, standing to the inside, supervising, leaped into the area to grab one of the men and literally threw him back across the floor. But with no noise at all, and very little dust with no atmosphere, the panel took three lives.

  Christine fought not to be sick. The panel may only weigh a ton, but three men could not stop a ton of steel as it accelerated to the horizontal. Only one suited hand, unmoving, protruded.

  Men and women scurried to pry the panel up, using whatever they could find to brace it, one or two inches at a time, until the tugs’ hands could grip it. In a few minutes, it was vertical. Where it had fallen lay the crushed shells of helmets and the nearly flattened bodies of three men, one of the them the Sr. Commander.

  Dr. Frost, fully suited, attended each victim, but there was little hope. Once the helmets were crushed, they literally suffocated and all blood vessels exposed to space exploded. Fortunately, perhaps, none could have been conscious for the ordeal. They were gone.

  She looked at Christine, through their respective face plates, and saw the sorrow, but she still had to say the words. “Dead on scene, Sr. Commander Washington. I am sorry.”

  Christine took no note of her promotion. This was laid out before they left. The next highest seniority Commander would take over in the event the first Sr. Commander’s incapacitation.

  She emulated the cold logic of a good leader in time of crisis, with, “All right, people, shit happens. Pull them free and store their bodies in the passenger units inside the last rocket. They will keep. The habitat will not. It must be done, but, dammit, pay attention!”

  Half-hearted, awkward salutes answered her command, but they hustled. The errant panel suffered no damage at all, not so much as a mark. In just a few short minutes, it was up and locked in place. On to the last, then, Christine thought, more determined then ever to get it done right.

  -----

  Only one door allowed entrance and exit to the surface and to space, and this a double system to allow decontamination and provide an airlock. Each airlock was comprised of nine pieces, all well marked, dovetailed and lined with the special seals that would keep out space, keep in atmosphere, and last forever. It took two more hours. Meanwhile, the support system of power, water and air were being installed under the first floor. As soon as the electricity flowed, they would test the airlocks. For now, it was inspected and re-inspected until every little detail was signed off.

 
; Now to the roof, which, in the longer scheme of things, would be the ceiling of the ground floor unit and the floor of the second story. This would be repeated, over time, to four stories. And each new habitat made the connecting walls and floors or ceilings double thickness, simply another safety factor.

  Meanwhile, interior walls, much lighter and less dangerous, were going up, handed through the main opening by larger tugs to smaller, inside tugs, as soon as the doorway was cleared. The airlock was not yet functional, but locked open.

  Christine studied the construction, comparing it to the designs on her wrist tablet. On each of the long panels, two stamped out squares would allow easy cut out to be doors to other units, or, as they were designed, simply left in place to have a sealed room. And, again, if needed, for the square skylights in the roof. Everything was perfect.

  In less than eleven hours, the first habitat was complete, and the men assigned to sealing it with a thick, liquid bonding agent were all over it, making sure there were no leaks. The sealing agent was applied liberally on the inside. Space has no pressure. Atmosphere certainly does. Even with no air, the bonding agent worked perfectly, in a two stage process. It first thickened to a strong bond, but could be shifted if there were any gaps. Then, later, overnight, it would harden to steel and lock the habitat into basically one complete, nearly indestructible unit.

  Underneath the unit, the miniature nuke plants, air handlers, oxygen generators and climate control units were completed as the roof went on, two to a habitat, for twenty thousand square feet per floor. The insulated conduits were put in place, under the floor, and worked up into vents cut out of the floor and vent grills installed.

  Additional conduits on the inside were added to carry heat and air to the next floor up. This, too, would be repeated to the fourth floor.

  While that was wrapping up, four techs began the startup for the baby nuclear power plant. In this case, there was no redundancy required, as all power plants would back up the others across the entire ‘city’ they were building. Now, with a cheer from all, they had lights, air, water and… oh, my gosh, real toilets!

  A good job, thought Christine, watching her new home… her new Command come to life. But they still could not step out of the space suits. There was one more step in the way.

  Because of all the cutouts made in the steel for doors, skylights, wiring, water, heat and air, supposedly sealed to the nines, there needed to be a high pressure test with nitrogen, forced to twenty atmospheres.

  The airlock system was inspected under power, and found to be faultless. It was time for the final step.

  If the nitrogen could get past the seals from inside to reach the sealing agent applied on every cutout, no matter how large or small, it would react with a chemical embedded in the sealant and turn the black stuff bright orange. This indicated a leak, easily repaired from both inside and out. And the orange splotch would be hand sized, clearly visible.

  Christine found herself exhausted. Nearly twelve hours in a space suit was a very trying time. Her people were more than exhausted, as they had the manual labor along with the cumbersome suits. Losing good people did not help.

  But there was this all important step. She spoke up for her teams, “Good job, guys ‘n gals! Don’t break out the cigars, just yet. Commander Yardley’s team will inspect our side, and we will inspect his. Do not miss a thing! Your lives depend on it!”

  Well, that was tantamount to explaining why a diver could not breathe water, but it galvanized them to do the job right. But, after two more hours, as the air stabilized and the inside began to warm up, there were no delays, no leaks… no more danger.

  Once all was functional, the final process began. They were all standing with an image, at least, of crossed fingers. Hard to do that in a fat-fingered space suit.

  The pressure was pumped down, returning as much of the nonrenewable nitrogen back to its tanks. As the pressure was reduced, the oxygen input began until right at one atmosphere, with 20% oxygen, it was just like on Earth. All it took was time…

  CHAPTER 12

  Houston Space Center, as well as Kennedy in Florida were quickly in shambles. The Cyborgs did not know the plan, but they understood the actions. To prevent a repeat, they reduced the two to rubble in short order. The Cyborgs did not even leave their office. It was all drone work. Those, they handled with precision, even from far, far away…

  But that was not all. Russia had two spaceports, both quickly destroyed. Australia and Hawaii had old NASA observatories, and those, too, were gone. Anywhere that smacked of space travel, exploration, or simply any kind of risk, were gone in a single day. If nothing else, the Cyborgs were efficient. Considering it was all done with unmanned drones, it was a testament to precision and determination of those in control.

  So, for now, there would be no new shuttle runs. Not from anyplace they had used. But the rockets from the breadbasket of America were something the Cyborgs could not figure out. The silos were well hidden. Despite any treaty to the effect all would be listed… they were not. Nor were they in Europe. So, no record for the Cyborgs to peruse. The things opened, disgorged their contents and closed. Six minutes later, each was gone. So, well before the Cyborgs could identify exactly where the things came from, it was all over.

  After a day to make sure no Cyborg reaction was going to take place, they were overwhelmed from the underground by thousands of those ant like people, making them into tall, capable quarters for those preparing to take to space.

  All of this done under the unknowing eye of the hapless Cyborgs.

  If you can’t beat ‘em, leave ‘em…

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  On the moon, the assembled teams were exhausted, but exhilarated, too. They were now resting on serviceable bunks, eating at lightweight, capable picnic table and bench units, and they had heat, light, water and refrigeration, along with lots of good quality air. Not too bad for the first day. Filtering and processing recycled the air as fresh as the original. Man had come a long way since the twenty first century.

  Now, as the supervisors told them, it was time for bed, for the second floor would go on, tomorrow, the tallest these tugs could reach. In the next few days, the next batch of rockets, and more help, would be in their hands.

  This was expected the day after tomorrow, in what might be morning. Not theirs. The moon had odd, unpredictable sunrise and sunset. Right now, it had no morning.

  The same side faced the earth all the time, so the backside had light at some point. For the earth’s dark of the moon, full daylight, unfiltered by atmosphere, almost seared the eyes and required tinted faceplates. For now, the sun was merely conducting a circle around them, just off the horizon. And, it was as yet unpredictable. The mirror panels helped some, but they all had military watches. Time to sleep.

  -----

  The Cyborgs, however, never slept. The commands came down in code from on high, and various units did what was required of them. But when they came to the understanding of what these rockets were about, they had no answer. And no ability for guesswork.

  As in the movie of centuries ago, Short Circuit, the Cyborgs had no emotion, no happy, no sad, no love, they just ran programs. But somebody somewhere, had some of that stuff, and the coding reflected how to deal with it. Not how to anticipate, however, and that was what the rebels were counting on!

  The flights had been unmolested. And the satellites from the Star Wars System failed at every turn. The Cyborgs had no laser weapons at all.

  Though Cyborgs have no emotion, their human counterparts, toiling away at some pointless task in the bowels of towering office building certainly did. It did not take long for the ripples of rumor to spread. Someone had launched rockets. At first, it was fear of nuclear war, but soon became a question no one could answer. What happened to the rockets? What were they about?

  And, then, in the middle of the next night, when the humans were asleep or barely functional, six more left from Kansas wheat fields. Barren fields, to be sure. The
silos slid open and without warning, the rockets were on their way. Five more freight, one more freight with a six member team.

  Then, from some deeply held, secret place, the most important rumor began. It took time, what without FaceBook and Twitter, but it caught on. The humans were taking the nuclear weapons out of reach of the Cyborgs. There was quiet celebration all over the world. And more rockets.

  Without the kind of weapons to take them down on launch, and without abort control, the Cyborgs could only quietly watch. No emotion, no surprise, no curiosity. Not even anger. Observers, but, programmed to exterminate… If they connect the dots.

  -----

  Two weeks into the program, things had changed on the moon, dramatically. If there had been an out in space view of the ‘top’ of the small sphere, it would have been impressive to watch the huge rectangles go up, side by side, most of them packed together tightly.

  What was once two hundred by one hundred feet, soon became four hundred by three hundred, two stories high. Now that they were over one hundred people, men and women, it moved very fast, indeed.

  Truth be told, it was practically child’s play, now that they had experience. The second building, two stories high, the same large size, was up in two days.

  The side by side units were braced by strong titanium steel pillars, each with wide, flat feet, and this brought the floors within a quarter inch of level through six habitats. Now, as the men sealed them, side by side, top and bottom, edge to edge, they could cut in the doors between the connected habitats.

  For those that were planned to be offset, a tubular tunnel connector, fashioned from the leftover rocket bodies, connected them, almost fifty feet apart. And the remainder rockets would add more as they needed them.