The gunner's interface was much like a first-person-shooter video game, with the computer highlighting possible targets and the crewmen choosing among them. All the humans had to do was highlight a target and press the fire button. As the short but intense bursts of x-rays struck the spiders, they flashed brightly and vaporized. Since the computer handled the actual aiming it was pretty much one shot, one kill.
The spiders evidently recognized that the ship, several kilometers away, was also hostile and began to target it as well. One shot, which would have struck the bow, created a glowing orange cloud where it impacted the ship's shields. Slight tremors could be felt through the deck as multiple plasma blasts were deflected.
“How are the shields holding Mr. Medina?” asked the Captain.
“No problems, Sir. Minimal power drain.”
“I think you will find that the shields were designed to handle much heavier impacts than these, Captain,” added Dr. Gupta. “After all, their primary function is to keep the ship intact when traveling at significant fractions of the speed of light.”
“Thank you for that reassurance, Doctor. Mr. Medina, please keep the shielding in front of the port cargo door intact until just before the sleds arrive. There's no telling what kind of damage one of those bolts would do if it managed to hit the open hold.”
“Aye aye, Sir.”
“Captain, it looks like a bulge is forming in the middle of the crater floor,” Susan noted from the navigation station. Using the 20 cm scope gave her a better view of the action than the others on the bridge.
“Sir, the power source readings are spiking,” added Jo Jo.
“Helm, be ready to move the ship the instant the shore party is on board.”
Shore Party, Approaching Parker's Folly
The Chief and the Lieutenant were weaving and dodging in an effort to throw off the alien fire. Plasma bolts streaked by on both sides and overhead. Hits against occasional promontories resulted in spectacular showers of sparks. Behind the two sleds streams of green tracer rounds described serpentine paths as the shore party returned fire as best they could from their constantly jinking platforms.
Lt. Curtis, having previously flown helos under fire, was in the zone—concentrating 100 percent on flying her sled. “Folly, shore party. We are just about at the cargo door, make sure the shields are down or you will have to come out and pick up the pieces.”
“Roger, shore party, dropping the shields in front of the cargo door now,” came the reply.
“If she don't slow down some they're gona' have a rough landing,” the Chief commented over the local link to Bear and JT. The Chief had fallen in behind Gretchen's sled and was braking while weaving from side to side.
“Gretchen is a good pilot,” Bear added, “I've flown with her myself.”
“That was in a helo, these skiffs ain't like helos. You can't just pull back and flair to kill yer speed. They don't brake fer shit.”
Gretchen was making that discovery on her own as she desperately tried to bleed off speed. She got the sled down to under 20 kph when the cargo hold door loomed large in front of her. “Everyone hang on! This is going to be messy!”
She popped the front of the sled up, trying to trade speed for altitude. At the last second, she threw the racing vehicle sideways as it entered the cargo hold, tilting on its side to present the sled's main repulsors to the onrushing far wall. Between the repulsors and the cargo netting the engineers had rigged the sled managed a safe if hard landing, coming to rest and then sliding down to the deck.
Damn, I think I need to practice my landings in these things, Gretchen admonished herself, hands shaking from the adrenalin rush. “Everyone out! Grab Washington and get clear of the entrance!”
An instant later the Chief's sled entered the hold traveling sideways but at a more controlled rate of speed. “Bridge, we're in! Shut the hatch and get the hell outta here,” the Chief transmitted.
“Roger, shore party. Welcome home.”
Bridge, Parker's Folly, Departing
“Secure all external hatches and doorways. Mr. Danner, put the crater wall between us and the hostiles. Smartly, if you please.”
“Aye aye, Captain!” Bobby was already lifting the ship as he replied. The ship rolled to starboard as it rose and turned toward the crater wall. Though the deck gravity compensated for the abrupt movement, people all around the bridge grasped their chairs tightly as the crater wall passed 10 meters off the starboard bow, the ship heeling over on its side as it accelerated.
Cresting the crater wall, Folly dipped down seeking cover from the plasma fire. The ship quickly righted, placing the lunar surface under its keel once again. All on the bridge wore tense or startled expressions save for Bobby, who's face was split by an ear-to-ear grin—flying a 7400 ton spaceship like an aerobatic plane was everything he had ever dreamed it could be.
“Captain, I would like to suggest that we leave this vicinity as rapidly as possible,” came the unsteady voice of Dr. Gupta. “I believe that whatever was buried under the crater will be emerging quite energetically.”
Outside the ship, which was headed due south, the landscape suddenly brightened. This included even the dark side off the port bow, which had been cloaked in lunar night only moments before.
“Helm, all ahead full! Head for space tangent to the surface.”
“Yes, Captain.” The lunar surface became a gray blur and rapidly disappeared as the ship accelerated at nearly 25 gravities. Again, the deck gravity system did its job, compensating for the acceleration which would have otherwise crushed all those on board.
Even so, the racing ship was overtaken by streamers of incandescent matter from the Moon's surface—ejected from the floor of crater Giordano Bruno. Fortunately, the ship was at the edge of the eruption and its shielding dealt with the firestorm of tortured lunar rock that did cross its path. Under full acceleration, Parker's Folly soon outpaced the explosion's aftermath.
“My goodness, Captain,” exclaimed Rajiv Gupta from the engineer's station. “The ship is working splendidly. The inertial compensation system worked perfectly, dampening out the acceleration through the deck gravity grid. The reactor is running at about 90% of designed output with both the drives and the shields at maximum—I believe we could actually squeeze five more Gs out of her if we went to flank speed.”
“I'm glad the ship is working so well, Doctor,” replied the very relieved ship's Captain. “Helm, back off to ahead one quarter and adjust course to bring us back to the Earth-Moon orbital plane.”
“Aye, Sir.”
“Do we have a view of the crater explosion? Did the alien device just explode or did it launch something?”
“I'm putting it on the screen now,” said Susan from the navigation console. A bright spray of material could be seen on the limb of the Moon, originating at Crater Giordano Bruno and reaching several hundred kilometers into space.
“Well, they are certainly going to notice that from Earth,” mused the Captain. “If I were a Medieval monk, I think I could fairly describe that as ‘a dragon on the limb of the Moon.’”
“Captain, it looks like the instruments are tracking something,” came Susan's unsure answer to the Captain's second question. Dr. Gupta hustled over to the navigation console and began checking sensor readings.
“Oh yes, Captain,” he said after a few moments squinting at readouts. “It looks like the spire was, in fact, a ship. About one quarter the size of Folly. It is accelerating at about five Gs, though its initial takeoff must have been much greater. And Captain, it is headed out of the plane of the ecliptic.”
“Captain,” said the ship's computer in a tiny voice that only the Captain could hear. “It is imperative that ship not escape the solar system.”
“What is it, Folly?” Jack whispered back. “Is it not what we were looking for?”
“No, Captain. That ship was not designed by the creators of the artifact. It is alien, but its builders are an unknown species. It would appear
to have been an automated observation post, designed to detect the use of spacefaring technology on Earth.
“So it could simply be reporting back to its masters.”
“Given its reaction to being discovered I estimate that its creator's have a 95% probability of being hostile to the rise of a technologically advanced indigenous species on your planet. As previously stated, that ship must be prevented from leaving the solar system.”
The Captain sighed inwardly. So far, a simple getaway had turned into a firefight in the cargo hold, a battle with plasma spewing alien spiders on the Moon and a near escape from an exploding crater. Now we have to chase down and stop an unknown alien vessel. Talk about mission creep! “Helm, plot an intercept course for that ship. I want to catch it before it leaves the neighborhood.”
“Aye aye, Sir.”
Indicating the dot of light on his scope that marked the fleeing alien vessel, Billy Ray leaned toward Bobby and said in a low voice, “you were wrong, pardner. That there is the Imperial Probe Droid.”
Part Three
Arriving Somewhere But Not Here
Chapter 13
Spring Moonwatch, The Royal Observatory at Greenwich
Every year, the Royal Observatory at Greenwich celebrates the start of spring by opening its doors to the public for a bit of Moon gazing. At the annual Spring Moonwatch, held by the National Maritime Museum, the Royal Observatory's 28 inch refracting telescope—the largest of its kind in the UK—was available for viewing by the public. With the help of the Royal Observatory astronomers many avid amateur observers were excitedly peering through the instrument, trying to make out the Moon's mountains and craters in detail. This year, quite unexpectedly, the assembled enthusiasts witnessed something unprecedented in modern memory—a large impact event on the limb of the Moon.
At least that is what it first appeared to be to the stunned astronomers, professional and amateur alike. But the Observatory staff quickly realized that—given the size of the plume of ejected material—an object large enough to cause the dramatic display should have been observed prior to impact. No such object had been reported, still there it was, a bright scintillating fan of ejectamenta, clearly visible to the naked eye.
Soon the Observatory's telephones started ringing off the hook with inquiries from news reporters and frightened members of the public. The best they could report was that there was no apparent danger to Earth, though there would probably be some spectacular meteor storms over the next few days. In the end, modern scientists were as mystified by the events on the limb of the Moon as their ancient counterparts, the monks of Canterbury, in 1178 AD.
* * * * *
In secret rooms at secret agencies around the world, scientists, military leaders and intelligence specialists were also discussing the spectacular explosion on the Moon. According to AFTAC, the emissions profile was unlike anything ever seen from a nuclear explosion. When asked to speculate, AFTAC's scientists ventured that it might have been the result of a small chunk of anti-matter impacting the lunar surface, but that explanation was quickly dismissed as too improbable.
Parker's Folly, In Pursuit Of The Alien Ship
“We need to catch that ship, Mr. Vincent. Have you computed an intersect course?”
“Aye, Captain. The alien vessel accelerated at around 1,000 Gs when it took off, but only maintained that rate for about ten seconds. It has now dropped back to around 5 Gs. If we accelerate at 20 Gs we should overtake the alien craft in approximate 33 minutes. That's give or take a few minutes for matching direction vectors. We will intercept the target about 665,000 km away from Earth and 322,000 km above the ecliptic plane.”
“Excellent. Maintain General Quarters. Helm, make our acceleration 20 Gs and vector for intercept. Mr. Medina, is the forward battery charged?”
“Yes, Sir. Both forward rail guns are charged at 100 percent. Do you wish to select warhead yield?”
“I'm not sure we will need anything but an inert slug. Mr. Vincent, how fast will we be traveling when we overtake the target?” Because the main battery was aimed by pointing the entire ship, the rail guns were fired from the helm.
“We will be going around 1.4 million kilometers per hour relative to Earth, Sir. We will be the fastest thing ever launched by humans. As for the target, we should be closing on it at approximately 98,000 m/sec—that's nearly 220,000 miles per hour.”
“As I said, Mr. Medina, I don't think adding a charge to the warheads will make much difference. With that much delta V the kinetic energy alone will destroy the target—assuming we can hit it moving that fast.”
“We can ease up on our acceleration and cut the delta V at intercept, Sir,” offered Billy Ray. “Of course it will take us longer to overtake the target.”
“No, helmsman. If we miss on the first pass we will decelerate and close on the target more slowly from the opposite direction.” Feeling that the pursuit of the enemy was well in hand, Jack's attention turned to the casualties suffered by the shore party.
“Sickbay, Bridge, this is the Captain. Do we have a casualty report for the shore party yet?”
“This is Dr. Tropsha, Captain. There are three reported wounded and we are waiting to receive them. I will let you know after I have examined them.”
“Thank you, Doctor. Bridge out.”
Sickbay, Parker's Folly
Two crew members carried the now conscious LCpl Washington into sickbay on a stretcher while JT followed under his own power. The third patient was proving more problematic. Lt. Curtis' voice could be heard from down the passageway, evidently yelling at Bear.
“Damn it, move your hairy backside, Mr. Bear. You are wounded and I'll not be explaining to the Captain how you died from your injuries when you were still moving when we reached the ship.”
“Hey, come on Lieutenant, its only a scratch. Nothing to bother about.” The large quadrupedal officer was limping noticeably, favoring his left foreleg. Bear hesitated at the sickbay door.
“Get in there, furball,” Gretchen ordered, kicking the polar bear in the rump to emphasize her point. Bear growled but shuffled through the door and into the ship's medical facility.
Inside, Dr. Tropsha and Betty were already working on Washington’s chest wound. JT, sitting on the next bed, spotted Bear and said “Come on in, Lieutenant. They got plenty of spare racks.”
This caused Dr. Tropsha to look up and frown. “What is that animal doing here?” she asked Gretchen.
“He's limping,” Gretchen replied. “I think he has a chest wound on the left side.”
“I'm a medical doctor, not a veterinarian. I am not trained to treat creatures like your polar bear.”
“See,” said Bear, “I should just go to my quarters.”
“Sit your ass down, Mister!” Gretchen's cheeks flushed red, a telltale sign of anger to any who knew her well. “Cut out the polar bear macho crap and let me help you out of your suit.” Bear hung his head and slid his ample hindquarters onto an empty examination table. The table barely creaked under the load, a testament to the ship's designers.
“And Doctor,” Lt. Curtis continued, “as for Lt. Bear's obvious anatomical differences, I'm sure that you are more than capable of figuring out how to treat his wounds. A crew member is a crew member, regardless of species.”
“Very well, get him striped down and I will see to him after I have treated these two. Both have rock fragments embedded in deep puncture wounds. I suspect the bear will have the same type of wound.”
“Thank you, Doctor. Now if you will excuse me I have alien samples to see to.” Gretchen turned and left the sickbay without waiting for a reply.
* * * * *
The medical team cleaned and dressed Washington's chest wound and JT's wounded shoulder. Both were given some painkillers and told to come back tomorrow to have the dressings changed. The men left, JT for the bridge and Washington for the crew's quarters to see the other expedition members. Following the age old traditions of warriors everywhere, he was
anxious to talk about the battle they had just participated in.
“OK, Mr. Bear,” Ludmilla said, with some trepidation. “Let us see what trouble you have gotten into.” Bear sat stoically, looking away as the doctor parted the hair on his chest to get a better look at his wound. Betty hung back, a fearful look on her face.
“Do not worry, Betty. The Captain says he will not bite.”
“Oh I won't bite, I might nibble a little,” Bear rumbled, smiling at the frightened medic who's eyes got even wider. “Come on, girl. I'm not going to hurt a crew mate.”
“Please hold still, you have a large puncture wound in your pectoral muscle. It has rock fragments in it just like the other two soldiers' wounds. It looks like the rock was hot when it struck as well, its like someone shoved a red hot poker into your chest.”
“Yeah, that's pretty much how it felt when it happened. Those fire-bolt things splattered molten rock everywhere when they hit. By the way, JT is a soldier, Washington is a Marine. For some reason human warriors find the distinction important.”
“Thank you for the insight. I was watching the firefight on the monitor screen. I saw Washington fall and the explosion that wounded JT, but I didn't see you get wounded.”
“It's the polar bear way.”
“Ignoring pain?”
“Not showing any sign of weakness.” Bear grimaced as Dr. Tropsha probed his wound. “Where I come from pretty much everything is looking for a meal. Bears may be at the top of the food chain but that doesn't mean a free ride. My kind has no ethical problem with killing and eating each other, so showing any infirmity just invites an attack. We bears learn from an early age to hide our wounds and not acknowledge pain.”
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