The Resolute

by G. Weldon Tucker

  Each unit still had an airlock, only one to the outside. But three wide, two deep, that represented six openings. Two of those were massive, designed for equipment and freight.

  After all, they were going to build spaceships. Real ones! Four of them! And all of them were going to be monsters.

  -----

  Christine was in a near panic, one morning. The last rocket on the night before had come in heavy, landing with a terrific thump, a quarter mile from the planned site. Something had gone wrong.

  The most important piece of the unit’s cargo was a crane system, bigger than their others by far.

  The crews designed to handle incoming trundled out on their tugs, finding the door cracked and blocked. Other than that, it was intact, but they’d lost precious time cutting open the doorway to get to it.

  The tugs, operated by talented men, drew the crane out and the other assembled in on the spot, checking for breakage or problems. It, too, was battery operated, and all were pleased to see that everything worked as it should. They hauled steel with the smaller tugs and followed the crane to the construction site. They arrived to much cheering, heard only through the comm units.,

  She could find no reason for the rocket to land off course and out of control. The small transmitters the commanders used did not reach that far, so it had all been programming… which, of course, brought up the Cyborg specter. Or one of their loyal ‘helpers.’

  She fired off a heavily encrypted pig latin note to HQ on Earth, a child’s trick, but buried in 512 kb scrambling. The Cyborgs could go nuts with that one for the next thousand years. Shortly, she received the reply. It simply said, “Miscalculation.”

  “Well, then, not ‘sabotage.’ And the crane, once put to use, performed flawlessly for a dumb machine. It had nearly three times the reach of her earlier ones, and could easily lift a panel into place at the fourth floor all by itself.

  This would lead to the third and fourth floors going up on the two story habitats very quickly. The men who ran it obviously knew what they were doing.

  CHAPTER 13

  The word had gone out. Those selected were given applications, paper, these being well known or respected by their peers, but they also knew that herein lay the possible leaks. Of the nine people spearheading the program, only Parker had failed.

  Yet, they knew full well that any of those they approached could be just as dangerous. They would be similarly treated. In fact, if their current job required too much interface with too many Cyborgs, the individual was passed by. No point in inviting disaster on the fledgling emigration.

  It soon became obvious that the decisions on who could go to the moon became a nightmare. Of the well over two and a half million applications, all of them came back in two days, fully prepared, returned through proper channels, and totally far out of the numbers they could use.

  The habitats were planned for a quarter million in total, eventually, with expected population growth of better than two hundred percent in twenty years. But by then, they could have more habitats up, as well as the first inhabitable condos on the ships. They hoped.

  Every application was entered in the stand alone computer systems, each of several, by laborious hand. That took a week with twenty two data entry specialists, each using a hard wired network deep underground..

  Then, using the list as the Russian Doctorate had given them, they began processing for exclusion. And every one of them knew that an exclusion could be a security leak from desperation, frustration or disappointment. As such, the application had read, only, a hypothetical series of questions:

  If you had the chance to get away from your new Masters, but yet face unpredictable danger in the process, would you do it? Yes/No.

  If you had to leave family and loved ones behind, would you do it? Yes/No.

  Are you married in a male/female partnership? Yes/No.

  If your answer is yes, is your partner educated to your level with an assigned document? Yes/No.

  If part of your subsequent life was to help rebuild the human race, could you do it? Yes/No.

  Of course, the REP knew the answers to the rest of the questions, else the application would not have reached that particular individual.

  With all the identification in place, the answers screened, looking for the right response and no further questions, though some did pen them into the margins, they narrowed it down to two hundred and fifty four thousand, six hundred and twenty three people.

  Seven percent were high school kids, over fifteen, coming with at least one parent who fit the list. The labor force while they went to school on the moon. But, more important, these would be the leaders of the civilization about the time the ships were completed. And the moon folks would have plenty of time to raise up a generation, ready to travel.

  Anyone with all yes answers and that fit the screening list were easily endorsed. Singles were screened deeper to avoid any accidental inclusion of spies. Further checks would verify the information about partners, but assuming even fifty percent honesty, this was a good, stable base from which to rebuild the human race. Unfortunately, there was a better than even chance the Cyborgs would have left the earth devoid of human life by then.

  It was a known fact that several thousand years, B.C., the breeding pairs on Earth had dropped to only about three thousand. Climate change, ice ages, predation and such had all taken their toll. And from that rebound came billions upon billions of people. It could be done again. Certainly, it took a while…

  Many said they could not leave family behind. Instant screen. Here, it was likely to be the less emotionally charged people, interestingly more robotic than they intended.

  There were better than ten thousand spaces reserved for leaders of the REP and their entourage, as needed to govern a ship, or the program. Included in that group were the law enforcement professionals, now displaced, and the educated soldiers and sailors needed to keep order. Additionally, the needed complement of food service, maintenance and other services had to be included. All over educated, but necessary in the event of a disaster. Teenagers did much of it, but they still had to be supervised.

  All in all, before it was over, there were just under a quarter of a million people waiting to go to the habitats. Space would be tight while construction carried on.

  So, now, a new logistics nightmare. The biggest private space flight companies, developed after NASA ran out of money in the twenty first century, could carry no more than three hundred people into space, after proper modifications. They flew as a plane, down a short runway on afterburner, and a tremendous punch to the last of the atmosphere, and they could then coast all the way to the moon. Just as the smaller one had carried Christine and her teams. It would be a four day ride.

  There were currently ten companies that the REP could hook into, with five craft available, on average. That meant it would require five hundred flawless flights, up and back, all over the world, and still, somehow, remain unmolested.

  That, in itself, nearly killed the entire program… The good thing was that no one needed that many people on the moon. It would be another nightmare trying to feed and water them. Instead, the first bunch, three thousand strong, and thus, ten flights, were all medical, law enforcement and engineers. This last group included mechanical, electrical, chemical and nuclear. From that group would come the final designs of the massive space ships and begin the building. As soon as designs were finished, another three thousand people, highly seasoned steel construction personnel, not necessarily for the ride into space, but for their prompt, accurate building efforts.

  Of course, any construction type with a bachelors was prime choice, and there seemed to be a plethora of these, so that worry eased.

  But, how to get them to the moon? First of all, the companies that ran space flights had been taken over by Cyborgs. Asking them directly, of course, meant instant disaster.

  Going to their human counterparts, the original owners, risked exposure, but then, most of them were
entrepreneurs of the highest order, anxious to show off their company and their craft. Not only that, but their help gave them a place on the moon, and perhaps their progeny a condo on a ship. And they certainly had the skills to help in the design. They also had the skills and information to protect the shuttles from the Cyborgs with limited computers systems.

  -----

  The Cyborgs made an assumption, something they should never have done, and that is what allowed all of this to move forward. They assumed, through their highly logical evolvement, that if they controlled every computer on or in control of any equipment, they in turn controlled the world.

  But it was a false assumption, as the humans had proven in setting up the hidden habitats. The total now was twelve habitats, four stories high, with mezzanines and even extra floors, as the foundries began to produce titanium sheets in quantities. Inner walls created what might be simply hotel rooms, but the design was very efficient.

  This gave them nearly one million, two hundred and fifty square feet, or roughly an average of ten square feet per citizen. Naturally, the square footage per head would drop dramatically with the influx of more and more people.

  Still, it was a good plan, if the Cyborgs did not get in the way…

  CHAPTER 14

  Sr. Commander Christine Washington had commandeered a box, fifty feet on a side, basically, enclosed by two inner walls and two outer walls, then a roof to allow use of the next ten feet up, all tucked in next to the built in hospital. Together, they took up only one eighth of that habitat.

  This served in part as her quarters, but almost a third of it was for her office. There had been no more casualties, and luckily, no one brought in a bug with them, so the medial facility was nicely quiet. Dr. Frost mostly made sure every technical piece of medical equipment was up, calibrated and ready.

  As long as the rockets kept coming, it would grow fast. And that army of ants worked damned hard. Now, they no longer had to modify the length, as the loads were all raw materials for the foundries. Titanium steel was rolling out in sheets on the moon in almost mass production style.

  The wide plain they had first settled on was getting crowded. Christine’s determination, push and calculations had maintained the per head square footage at ten feet. But with the increased flow, that might get tight.

  The nuclear engineers for the Navy were highly skilled, and the plants they built were just like the ones for the submarines of the last century. The nuclear plants ran smoothly, with a half-life of five thousand years. Beyond her scope of worry, anyway. So, lots more room, lots more logistics, and a whole new set of population problems.

  Along with the last influx of team members as engineers and techs, came her latest orders. In the presence of four Commanders, she opened the envelope, carefully. Captain!

  She was tickled, in part, because she wanted the rank so badly, but she was sobered, too, by the heavy responsibility of what would eventually be a quarter million people, squeezed into the habitats. The Commanders saluted smartly, but that was nothing new. She had filled a Captain’s shoes from the start.

  Yet, they still had not started on the ships. Time to get refocused.

  Suddenly, raised voices outside of her office caught her attention. She stood up and moved quickly through the open door. Only living quarters had doors, so far. Not enough to go around.

  Two men were in each other’s face. Clenched fists, angry words and escalating emotion. Big, solid men.

  “ATTENTION!” she snarled, loudly.

  Instantly, both men were at attention, eyes caged, lined up, facing her. Even the mousy little Lieutenant April Dowens. And then dawned the light. She got it.

  “Lieutenant Dowens, are these men fighting over you?”

  She knew better than to ask the men. Men lie. Dowens, looking sheepish said, only, “Yes, Captain.”

  One of the persistent problems that plagued any long term off shore duty, water or space, would be the lack of available women in balance against the men.

  For many years, the Navy chose to try to look the other way, but they had been rife with assaults, unplanned pregnancies and everything else that could happen with men and women, even the other… well, that was not the problem, this time. Not counting civilians, her command held just seventeen women, counting herself, and sixty-four men, all of unmanageable age…

  “Report immediately to my office, Lieutenant. Gentlemen, suit up. You are on construction. Now. If I see further actions from either of you, you will end up in the suits overnight. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am!” came in unison from both men.

  “Dismissed!’

  They saluted, crisply, then hurried off to suit up.

  In her office, with the Lieutenant still standing at rigid attention, she said, simply, “At ease. But tell me what happened. All of it, Lieutenant.”

  “It was my fault, Captain,” she responded, eyes straight ahead, her posture perfect, even for at ease stance. “I spent… time with Lieutenant Anderson night before last. Then, not realizing how that affected him, I… spent time with Sergeant Williams this… this morning.”

  “You mean sex, not partying, right?”

  “Uh…” as she helplessly turned scarlet, “yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, I realize we are short-handed, so dabbling at your rank is not unacceptable. Going below your rank could cost you your own. You do realize that?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It won’t happen again, ma’am.”

  “You will have to explain it to the Sergeant in no uncertain terms. He knows the rules. If he gives you any lip or backlash, you send him to me. Tell him I will cut it off, if that is what he needs!”

  The Lieutenant almost smiled, but caught herself, saying, “Yes, ma’am. Consider it done, ma’am.”

  “Dismissed.”

  Christine knew it was a matter of time before this sort of thing got really out of hand. The lower rank women were willing enough, few were not. But the men had to show common sense, and goddamit, there were rules in place!

  Now, it was her job to enforce them. She took a breath and let out a long sigh. More responsibility.

  She thought about her brother, Michael, who had been held up for the time being. He was still taking care of things on Earth, but was due up in the last round of rides, and the remaining American made old fashioned rockets. He was going to find it a haven up here, full of things to do and build, and yes, he was not above sampling the females, either. Even if none of them were Commanders…

  CHAPTER 15

  It was time. Christine reported the habitats safe and functioning, the hydroponics and husbandry taking up one complete, four story habitat, and ready to feed the first hundred thousand refugees.

  Unfortunately for the REP, the Cyborgs were everywhere. Between human spies and robotic eyes, trying to sneak around to do anything topside created a great deal of risk.

  The answer, once again, was to go underground. When you have enough people frightened of extinction, you have those ants, all over again. At every space flight company, albeit hundreds of feet underground, and often a mile or more offset, an army of workers descended to begin huge underground bunkers.

  Those were made wide enough to take the planes, one after another, and it opened in a doorway that lowered from the top downward to about thirty-five degrees. With a slight curvature at the bottom, this provided a ramp for launch of four hundred feet. The takeoff would be noisy, exhaust laden, and damned quick.

  The huge shuttles, nearly a hundred feet long, were trundled down connecting tunnels in pieces, then reassembled at the bunkers. As soon as all useful material and supplies were in the bunker, and out of the Cyborgs’ governed space company units, the tunnels were sealed with heavy titanium steel doors and in some cases, a million tons of fallen rock.

  On the other side of the world, in secret desert, or deep jungle, similar bunkers were under way. The project lost almost two months in construction time, but by the last of that year, everything was in place.<
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  They had ten locations for a continual train of space flight planes, if they could get them past the Cyborgs.

  Worse, they had to find a way to get a quarter of a million people off the planet, by getting them to the planes in quantity. They had railroad tracks running right up to the space company manufacturing plants and beyond. All they need to was sidetrack a low tech train for an hour and disgorge a few thousand people into what might look like a subway.

  From there, a quick, electric train would haul them down the long tunnels to the space flight bunkers. But they had to use the trains without observation.

  General Washington thought he had a way. A few days before the first train run began, while the passengers gathered at their pickup points, having said goodbye to their families or loved ones, somewhere else, the General went to work.

  In less than ten minutes, every single spy satellite, any nationality or ownership, all Cyborg controlled, upstairs winked out on the beam of a powerful nearby laser weapon. Using shortwave radios and somewhat archaic digital converters, they had control of every Star Wars unit, and they proved their worth, right there.

  These things are called workarounds in the technical field. And the Cyborgs were incapable of breaking the simple chain of communication… even if they found it. They did not.

  -----

  Across the country and Europe, stealth flights blasted out of their bunkers, one, two or three in groups, then, if they had more, a repeat, each carrying on average two hundred and seventy people.

  The Cyborgs, coldly mindful about their loss of eyes in the sky, never saw a thing.

  A credit to the human spirit, the long smoke columns crisscrossing the sky were seen by lots of people. They cheered, but no one reported it to the Cyborgs.

  Four days later, staggered by two hours per pair, the initial flight of over fifty vehicles descended gently toward the well filled plain on the moon. The mouth of one set of habitats, laid out lengthwise, end to end, eight deep, took in two at a time.