The Resolute

by G. Weldon Tucker

  To land on eight hundred feet of runway, inside the habitat structure, powerful forward facing thrusters slowed the shuttles to less than ten miles an hour. But in space, without air or serious gravity, it did not matter.

  Now, they had to sit in the planes for two hours while the habitat closed the nearest doorway behind the planes, enclosing one unit of one hundred by two hundred feet, pumped in atmosphere and unloaded the passengers.

  Once the passengers were out, the staff turned the planes around, and the next assigned pilot and copilot got ready for the exit.

  Then, they pumped most of the atmosphere back into the tanks, opened the doors and the two planes left. Ready for two more.

  With fifty planes lining up, that turned into long hours of waiting. Good food, good booze, and most were happy. It was just damned good to be out from under the thumb of the Cyborgs.

  Twelve hours after the landing, the first group, over ten thousand strong, were all taking up positions in the myriad walled off rooms, sometimes several families, or several people to a room. But they were many people, and space was still limited.

  Contained in that group were the design engineers they needed and the construction crews, and to a man, each was educated to Bachelors level or above. If any were missing anything at all, there were people ready to help them come up to speed.

  In one of the larger space flight vessels, there were fourteen hundred space suits, all sizes, all fully equipped, and all stolen out from the noses of the Cyborgs.

  All in all, back on Earth, upon receiving an ‘all is well’ signal, Admiral Morgan and General Washington agreed with Captain Washington, it had been a fine first start…

  -----

  Of course, the Cyborgs were not sitting on their claws with a thumb in their … uhh, ports, either. They knew something was happening, and that flights of planes had gone through their airspace, for that was simple camera observation.

  They did not know what the blurry things were, but they knew fast, and they knew far.

  In answer, they rolled out one of their own surprises. Hardly as big as a standard drone, used during the twenty first century Middle East conflicts, it flew quickly, responded immediately, and it carried a heavy duty laser. It could cover the US from coast to coast in ten minutes. And it was one of twenty coming off the assembly line.

  As luck would have it, there was an inspection team, containing a decent human engineer embedded, as required. Remember that anticipation concept? The Cyborgs did not have it. They could not play, ‘What-If.’

  For example, what if the wind was from the north at fifty knots, the target was coming from the south at thirty degrees and rising ten miles per minute… and such. Yes, a program could be devised to handle all of these scenarios, but if you think about it, there would be a million parameters.

  So, they needed to develop a smart machine. Humans had tried that at the beginning of the twenty second century and that, in turn, had led to the Cyborg takeover.

  Rodney Kelpers, an old hand engineer, was a closet rebel. So closet, in fact, that no one even suspected. But he had realized that people were escaping, somehow, and this drone was designed to handle the problem.

  With a tiny little tweak of a tiny little screw, he put the aim of the laser off by one and half degrees. Not much, but over a hundred miles, that was at least a mile and a half sheer miss!

  And he did that with all twenty units, varying the miss one side or the other, but never too low or too high.

  An unspoken hero, over the next six months, he saved better than two hundred thousand lives. And the Cyborgs, somehow in there odd way, probably cursing their programming, could not figure it out.

  Mankind was not idly standing by. Whenever any one of the Cyborgs’ drones fell under the space laser weapon eyes, the drone simply disappeared.

  -----

  Back on the moon, five separate locations, the first derricks were going up, seven miles apart, surrounding the back side of the moon. Thus, out of sight of the reactive, but unplanned Cyborgs. The derricks were a feat of engineering in themselves. To hold the nose of a ship almost twelve miles long, three miles wide and two miles high, it was one hell of a tower.

  Especially, to keep hold of several hundred million tons of steel and people. And each, though built in tandem, took a month to implement for all the ships. But, again, on the moon, size was not as critical, and nowhere near as difficult as on Earth. Secondary derricks with huge cradles, went up in a straight line for each ship, this to prevent the weak gravity of the moon pulling the ships to ground.

  Massive units, each almost two miles high. One thing they had learned early on was that falling mass kills. Derricks completed, it was time to begin the ships. First, then, came the girders for the keel. Long, welded ‘I beams’ stacked in fours, the first five keel frames were just that, stacked steel.

  On top of each of those keels, and then the initial floor skeleton, a proper distance away from the rear and the nose, the condo floor construction began, more titanium steel, albeit only a quarter inch thick. Back to back, side to side, these stacked and nestled boxes had walls a half an inch thick. Each condo was like a cruise ship’s cabin, albeit slightly larger.

  The bottom ones would be the smallest, the upper ones the largest for VIP and government living and offices. This was a long slow process, for there were thousands of these things.

  And, like the prefab habitats, the pieces were assembled on the ground in the foundries, then shipped in containers to the work above the surface.

  Things marched right along…

  -----

  Six months later, there were strong signs of progress. The men had built robots, not the kind like they found on Earth, but the earlier worker bee robots.

  These were designed to do a specific set of instruction, in a particular fashion, repeated every single time without fail. With three thousand robots, and three thousand operators watching every move, it began to run very efficiently.

  Some robots worked the foundries, making titanium sheets, parts, instruments and making things a lot easier on the personnel. Some were involved in the intricate assembly of the prefab condos, saving a great deal of time. But, again, every robot had its monitoring engineer, a task master. The programs created mindless drones doing the dangerous, repetitive work, potentially saving lives.

  All construction was done on the dark side of the moon, at least a mile above the surface. This was not quite accurate, for the centerline of the ship was one mile up. The ship itself, all of them, actually, were two miles thick, top to bottom. So the closest to the ground work was much simpler.

  Workers that needed to be out there could simply use their personal thrusters, and be on station in two minutes, or they could ride a shuttle and work longer hours.

  Through their shortwave stations on Earth and the moon, progress was reported daily. There were concerns about the massive isotope engines and the nuclear material to run them. The hydrogen fuel engines were a matter of chemical efficiency, soon well designed by progressive chemical engineers, hand in hand with the mechanicals.

  More important to the progress, the first mines were opening on the dark side of the moon. The logic was that if the moon was made of ejecta from the earth, it had to have the same materials. And they were right. Iron ore aplenty, which could turn into interior walls as sheet steel. But the best was that they found rutile and ilmenite, large quantities, and both indicators of titanium. If that happened, the rockets from Earth were no longer needed. They could be self-sustaining.

  CHAPTER 16

  Lieutenant Henry ‘Hank’ Morgan of the still surviving Navy, more, now, the UE Navy, eyed the huge mining machine. It was the typical boring machine, a bit the size of a bus on the front, all big steel teeth and muscle, and he cursed.

  Goddam things. They ate up dirt and rock easily, but give them iron ore or ilmenite, and the steel teeth simply wore right down to useless.

  This was the third bit in a month since he had taken
on the assignment. They had only three more in stock, all delivered in stolen rockets. There had to be a better way, he thought, one hand on his chin, his dark blue eyes glaring balefully at the useless machine.

  He hiked back to the mouth of the tunnel, where an airlock kept space out and atmosphere in, and picked up the land line handset. He cranked the handle, like an old telephone and somewhere else on the moon, the phone rang. Cranks worked better than batteries, because batteries were harder to come by what with the arks needing every resource.

  “Yah, Tolman!”

  “Hiya, Tolly. It’s Morgan in Number 4. We can’t keep teeth on these bits. I think we are heavily into rutile and ilmenite, and it just wears the teeth right off. Could your department come up with a titanium steel bit?”

  “Wow, man! That is a req that has to come from the top. Lots of manpower and equipment, let alone titanium. You gotta see Captain Washington.”

  “Heard she was a by the numbers tight ass. Any truth?”

  “Good thing I am not in the Navy, huh? Tight… ass, yes. And everything else a man needs… heheh. You talk to her. I can’t clear that myself. She will pass down the order if she likes it, so spiff up and make your play, Morgan!”

  Half the supervisory crews on and off the planet were Navy, but the other half were experts in their own fields. All were highly educated, knew their stuff, and thus kept the program on track. Everybody else was muscle, from the kitchens, transport, all the way to steel walking… Males and females alike.

  Lt. Morgan shook his head in disgust. The chances of Captain Washington taking resources from her pet project, the arks, was pretty slim. But, as we all know, he thought, you don’t get if you don’t ask.

  Two hours later, he knocked crisply at the door into Captain Washington’s office.

  “Come in, Lieutenant.” She knew who and why from the appointment calendar, handled by her assistant, Lieutenant Janey Door. An unfortunate name for a big lady, but at least she kept it in tone with the required workouts.

  Lieutenant Hank Morgan stepped smartly into her office, gave her a sharp salute, and for the first time in her career, she found herself slow to return it.

  Something had stunned her mind, and certainly her eyes. As a male specimen, he was perfect. Wide shoulders, narrow hips, tall, solid… black hair… deep blue eyes… Damn! And she finally saluted.

  Trying to keep the odd tremor out of her voice, she said, “Sell me, Lieutenant. That will be one hell of an expensive project.”

  To tell the truth, from what he could see, Tolly had been damned accurate. She was about his age, and smart, else she would not be running this project. He was due up for his Captaincy review in just weeks, and he sure as hell did not want to trip over his tongue, now.

  “I, uhh… Let me say, first, Captain, it is great to finally meet you. I sort of feel like a mushroom, fed… Uh, well, kept in a dark tunnel. But what we have is a very rich deposit of ilmenite, which contains titanium. It is evidenced by the fact that we have destroyed three steel bits and barely got more than a few yards into it. We need to meet titanium with titanium. The lesser raw material will fall to the treated titanuium much easier. I need permission to build at least one titanium steel bit.”

  He tried to keep his eyes on her, detached, military style, but no one could do that, he was certain. Dark, short hair in a bob, good shoulders, a wide mouth, wonderful eyes… And he had to glance away, lest he lose all control. She was a beauty. A strong one, true, but there was no doubt she was all woman. He almost shook his head to capture her answer.

  “… guarantee titanium in any quantity?”

  “Sorry, ma’am… a thought about the tunnel intruded, something else I have to worry about. Ask again, ma’am?”

  She almost grinned. The look in his eyes had little to do with the tunnel, and a lot to do with tunneling. She, too, had to fight down the sudden urge to grin. “Can you guarantee titanium in any quantity?” He was, after all, the mining engineer in charge, and so far, he had proven his stuff, over and over.

  “We are two yards past the first thick layers of heavy black mineral sands, great indicators of ilmenite, almost certain to be rich in titanium. Even if I had one bit, we could work it deep enough to see how thick the layer is, and then we can begin to determine the lateral size. Hell, Captain, I can get enough right now to replace the titanium you will use on the bit. I mean, if the sands encompass the entire moon, we are literally standing all over titanium!”

  She was intrigued by his enthusiasm, but more critical, the idea of having titanium in abundance up here on the moon, negated the need for more rockets from Earth. Besides, those remaining few were too far from anywhere else for easy work up and delivery. This could be the solution.

  “Okay, I like the idea. I have not heard from our fathers for some time, so I guess it is my call. You tell Tolly to turn out one fabulous bit, and then make sure he learns from it. We may need more. The need for titanium is critical. This might solve that need, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am!” Hank said, and saluted sharply.

  But, for some reason, Christine was unwilling to let him go. “Wait, Lieutenant. I understand your Captaincy boards are almost finished. You will be a Captain by the end of the first quarter, next year. Are you ready?”

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  “Then, here is the deal. You’ve impressed me with your knowledge and your persistence. Hell, your courage! I know my rep, and you handle yourself very well. Now, if you impress me with a rich find of titanium, as expected, I will move you up much sooner. Would that work for you?”

  “I want no special favors, Captain.”

  “Not a special favor, Lieutenant. You are ready. If you prove yourself, you get the reward. I need more command out here. You will still make Captain on your own. But this would be a little extra incentive, shall we say?” And she smiled, that wide mouth, bright smile that practically took him to his knees.

  The best he could manage was, “Ye…Yes, Ma’am,” and he saluted quickly, turned and hurried out, oddly pink faced.

  She was still smiling. Now THAT was a handsome, available man… But then, she realized she needed to check his personnel Jacket. Maybe he was partnered… and why does that thought upset me?

  CHAPTER 17

  By end of that next year, Captain Hank Morgan and Captain Christine Washington were an item. No doubt about it. And those that knew either one thought them a great match, the perfect couple. They looked good, they were both very intelligent, and they believed in the project to their toes.

  Both, however, were fully aware that their contribution would end with the launch of the arks. Not that it was going to happen very soon. The bottom skeleton of each big ship was in place, and the huge box for the engine room was finished and sealed.

  Separating the huge engine room from the rest of the ship was a massive bulkhead plate, made of fifty-six titanium steel plates, all of them from the highly successful mines from Hank’s discovery. All, not oddly, fifty by twenty feet.

  The larger end of the ship, the back end, awaited the internal engines, the nuclear power plants and the add on, quarter mile long external engines, the big boys for speed and thrust. The one farthest along was named Resolute, after some critical haggling. No one apparently remembered the sad end of the HMS Resolute in an Arctic expedition in the nineteenth century.

  What boggled the mind in all this was that this massive, many hundreds of million ton vehicle could move, at least to some degree, under fire or in attack mode. People had to be in their restraints! But mostly, because Resolute would be going into the unknown, she was equivalent to a sea born battleship. Armed to the teeth, and probably did not need serious bob and weave capability. But unknown means just that, the unknown. Better to be over prepared than to lose several hundred thousand precious people!

  To ensure it all came together perfectly, the engineers, in their quiet cubbyholes, were designing the new, and redesigning like crazy. One thing about space was that, unlike on
the sea, the only critical concern was controlling mass.

  If either Hank or Christine had hoped to be on a ship out of here, they were running short of time. Like any project, there were timelines and deadlines to meet, mostly to anticipate their finish in thirty years. But many of the deadlines fell by the way, and the best estimate, these days, was closer to forty years.

  Of course, this was the beginning side of the project. Who knew what things would interrupt it along the way? The best any of the people could do was to perform as required, doing their jobs right with determination and hope.

  Meanwhile, the population boom in the habitats was right on schedule. Babies were being born every day in the expanded hospital. From an earlier immigration to the habitat of 249,600, nearly ten percent died off of ailments for which they had not been screened. Not anything transmitted, but internal failures in place before liftoff.

  Some of them actually died of homesickness. But now, only a few years later, the population was over 350,000, fully fifteen percent being children under one year old. It was on target for a very sizeable contingent to start migrating to the condos in the next year or so…

  -----

  On the third anniversary of mankind’s emigration from Earth to the moon, Captain Michael Washington reported his ongoing results to his sister, Senior Captain Christine, essentially the Admiral by default.

  Though both maintained professional military bearing as they met with three others, they relaxed completely when the others had left them alone.

  “You might as well use the title, sis. There has been no return signals from Earth for almost twenty-five months. Even if Admiral Morgan is alive, he is trapped, and unable to communicate. Hell, he was probably executed for this stunt,” Michael finished, gesturing around him.

  “I doubt we need an Admiral, Michael. Those are supposed to command fleets, not ships. I am the Senior Captain, with similar responsibilities, but do we really need an Admiral?”