Luna

by Garon Whited

  “Their big problem is the station doesn’t have much in the way of food,” Captain Carl continued. “Air and water they can recycle—they have plenty of power to brute-force it. But hunger is going to be a problem. We’ll be sending the Luna up to carry them a shipment of rations and bring back anyone who doesn’t want to stay in a floating can. I’m not best pleased about the cost we’re running in fuel, but Katherine has a plan.

  “The OTV’s can transit from Heinlein to other Earth-orbit stations. Their problem is a lack of long-range radar and radio—they’re used for local transportation around the construction facilities at Heinlein; strictly seat-of-the-pants navigation. They rely on the station to radio them any radar ranging beyond a few hundred meters, and their radio sets are little if any more powerful than a suit radio. But we have a radio telescope and rather powerful transmitters. If we can successfully talk to them, we can use our radar and computers to give them course information and let the OTV’s do the job of searching the orbital stations.”

  I nodded. “Sounds like it might work. It’ll be a lot faster than just sending the Luna, and it’ll cost less in her fuel. The OTV’s already use Al-Oh-two, don’t they?”

  “I haven’t asked, but I’ll make a note to find out. Any other questions?”

  “Is that how they’re talking to us?”

  “Yes. They also have suits over there, several of which were not active during the EMP strikes. Those suits still have working radios, which they use to talk between modules; their internal communications are still spotty. Svetlana heard them on the radio telescope and used our main antenna to power a hello at them on all frequencies.”

  I nodded. We have all the good equipment, thank goodness. “When do we leave?”

  The Captain looked slightly pained. “Max… you’re not going.”

  I bit down on a hasty reply and modified it to, “Sir?”

  “You may not be aware of this, but you’ve been shot. You’re on light duty. Do you understand ‘light duty’?”

  I thought back to Anne’s comments. Ick.

  “Yes, Sir. Do I have to like it, sir?”

  He smiled, just a little. “No, you don’t.”

  “Thank you, sir. In that case, I think it blows.”

  “Understood.”

  “So how am I going to prep the Luna, sir?”

  “You will supervise your assistants. How long do you think that will take? Not for a fuel changeover—that will come later. Right now, I just want you and your crew to have some experience with our lady.”

  “I’ll have to check everything myself, sir, and show them how it all works. Is departure time a priority?”

  “No. The station still has rations from the last Earth-based supply run. They just can’t make more.”

  “Then give me two days, please. That will let me brief each of them on a procedure and get them some hands-on experience.”

  “Done. And Maxwell?”

  “Yes, Sir?”

  “Let them do the work. That’s an order.”

  Everybody knows me way too well, darn it all.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  * * *

  “Kathy?”

  “Hrm?” she answered, without lifting her head. I stroked her hair in the semidarkness.

  “How many kids do you want?”

  She sat up and looked at me. I stayed on my side, head propped on one arm.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, you’re going to spend a lot of time grounded while you’re baking the munchkins.”

  She looked lost in thought for several seconds.

  “A year ago, Richard and I talked about this,” she began, quietly. “We decided on two children, a boy and a girl—later. I had a career to think about, and taking months out of my flight time wasn’t a good idea—even though he was willing to play mommy while I went back up.” She paused for a long moment, breathing deeply. “I don’t think anyone will argue about my flight career anymore.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Her career? Anne, Julie, and I could fly the Luna a little, mainly orbital burns, but it was strictly on a Hobson’s Choice basis. If we landed her, it was more likely to be a controlled crash. At least a little controlled. Aimed, anyway.

  “Sweetheart, there are two people who are qualified to do an airless landing of our orbital lady. The Captain is one, and he can’t leave the base; he’s a prisoner of his own authority. So I can guarantee that if anyone tries to say you can’t fly, Captain Carl will either have them restrained for being crazy or shot outright for treason.”

  She relaxed a little. “I thought so, but that might have been wishful thinking. You really believe he would?”

  “Well, maybe not. He’ll probably just ignore them.”

  “That’ll do.”

  “So, you still haven’t answered my question.”

  She smiled impishly. “Sixteen.”

  I think I gaped. “Whoa-whoa-whoa! Whatever happened to two?”

  “We’ve got a human race to expand,” she said, “and I don’t think much of it, besides you.”

  I thought about the habitat residents. I didn’t think much of them—well, most of them—myself. “Hmm. I think I see your point. You elitist, you.” I thought about it for another second or two. “You do mean the old flatulence bags we rescued, right? I ask only to be sure, you understand.”

  “Yep.” She lay down again and snuggled up to me. “Now, when would you like to get started?”

  “I’m still on light duty,” I said, smiling. She snickered and punched me lightly in my good side.

  “Jerk. You’re going to lie still and make me do all the work, aren’t you? But I was asking when you wanted to get started on children. Anne has a few eggs on ice from the crew—the Captain approved her plan to start a gene bank. All we have to do is tell her to start selecting.” Her impish smile came back. “Or are you suggesting that you need to contribute more genetic material?”

  “Well, you did say that you’d help with that…”

  She chuckled.

  When we were done, we lay quietly and enjoyed each other’s company.

  “I got you a present,” I said.

  “Mmm. I love presents. What is it?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “When do I get it?”

  “You already have it.”

  She lifted her head. “Oh? That?”

  “No,” I laughed. “That you can have anytime. I mean a real, solid, put-it-under-the-tree present.”

  “We don’t have a tree.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Well, where is it?”

  “You’ll see it.”

  She shook her head and punched me in my good side again. “You are a shameless tease, you know that?”

  “Ow. I’ve been told.”

  “So, how will I recognize it?”

  “Trust me, sweetie. You can’t possibly miss it.”

  “If I weren’t lifting off in six hours, I’d beat it out of you.”

  “Ah, but you are about to lift, and timing is so important. Besides, there’s something else to consider.”

  “Oh? And what is that?”

  “There’s this whole thing about having a sizable population again,” I said, approaching the subject in a roundabout way. “Since I’m not one of the last two men left alive, it’s likely that I can get away with some old customs.”

  Her eyebrows drew together in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  “Well, I’m no longer required to be public breeding stock. At least, my personal services aren’t required—you mentioned a gene bank. Myself, I’d like to formalize the privatization of my emotional participation and satisfaction.” I was only half-kidding with all the doubletalk. Part of it was in fun, but part of it was to cover up my nervousness.

  She blinked at me. “‘Formalize the privatization…’ Max, are you asking me to marry you?”

  “Um. Yes. I’m not very good at it. I’ve never asked any—
”

  I find it difficult to talk when someone grabs me by the ears and kisses me. I was willing to take it as a “yes,” but she didn’t leave it at that. She broke the kiss and looked me in the eyes. She also relaxed her grip and circled my face with her hands.

  “Maxwell Hardy, if you hadn’t asked me, I was going to sit quietly and say nothing about it for the rest of our lives. You know what I’m like. I would have lived with you without marrying you and been happy with that.

  “But since you did… yes. If you’re sure that’s what you want, I’ll marry you. But you’d best keep an eye on Svetlana—and her hands off you.”

  “She hasn’t even looked at me since the shooting incident.”

  “She’s had a few distractions among the staffers,” Kathy pointed out. “You haven’t been around to be in her parade of men. I still don’t trust her. She’s… I don’t know. Easy. Temperamental.”

  “Good. I prefer pilots, anyway. Astronomers just watch; pilots are more hands-on.”

  “I’ll show you hands-on,” she replied. “Or is that ‘light duty’ problem going to interfere?”

  * * *

  The docking tube wasn’t finished, so I kissed her good-bye at the elevator. She and Galena would be going to Heinlein for the rescue mission. Their flight plan was a long, slow cruise; there was no point in burning irreplaceable fuel just for unnecessary speed. The new fuel was next on my list, after the docking tube. With the present mission schedule, I figured to have the docking tube ready for the guests.

  I barely made it back to the control center when Kathy’s laughter echoed from the comm channel. Julie and Kiska were there; Julie was on duty, Kiska was visiting.

  “Max! I found my present!” Kathy said.

  I thumbed the radio switch. “Good! It took me a while to get around to it, but I did.”

  “It’s a lovely window, Max. Thank you.”

  “I’m glad you like it. I was planning on it as a wedding present, but I couldn’t figure out how to wrap it. Curtains did cross my mind.”

  She laughed again. “Crazy man. Is the Captain there?”

  “Nope. Should I ask him to do it?”

  “Please do. Schedule it for when we get back—and talk to Anne, please.”

  “I’m on it, Commander. You can count on me.”

  “I know, Max. Kisses. Now hand off to Julie; we’re about to lift.”

  I nodded at Julie. She was staring at me suspiciously. I could tell she wanted to ask questions, but liftoff interfered. I sat back in a chair and Kiska quizzed me instead. I’m really pleased with Kiska; she’s tougher-minded than I thought. With the things she’s been through… I don’t know how I would have taken it. She’s managed to put it behind her and move on. Always looking forward, never looking back. I’ll always think of her as a helpless, fragile little thing, but somewhere in there she’s ten-point steel.

  “So, Max,” she said as she plopped slowly into an adjacent seat, “is there something you’d like to share with us?”

  “Almost anything, Kiska. I like you.”

  She made a face at me. “You proposed to Kathy?”

  “Actually, she grabbed me by the nose and threatened to feed me broccoli if I didn’t marry her.”

  Kiska snickered. “You asked her,” she said. “I know you.”

  “You do not,” I said. I grinned at her. “You just want to. You’ll have to clear that with Kathy.”

  “Don’t make me bite you,” she answered, and showed me her teeth. It was probably a smile.

  “Aww. You wouldn’t really, would you?”

  Kiska got a very serious look on her face. “Never, Max. I wouldn’t ever bite you.”

  I shifted uncomfortably. “Don’t be so serious. You’re making me feel like a hero.”

  “Ah, but you are, whether you think so or not.” She patted my knee. “Do you think Kathy will let me be a bridesmaid?”

  “I hope so. I’m planning on Peng as my best man.”

  Her eyebrows climbed. “Peng?”

  “Well, he shot me. He’ll pay for that. I figure I can saddle him with the job. Besides, he won’t let himself live it down. He’s the one person of all the staffers that I know will always do his absolute best whenever I ask for something. But keep it a secret; I don’t want him to have time to think about it.”

  While we were talking, Julie tracked Kathy into her orbit. Now she turned in her chair and faced us.

  “Max, do you think you could have warned us? Maybe just a little bit?”

  “I figured I’d let Kathy know about it first, actually.”

  “Hmm. I guess that’s fair. But where did you get the ring?”

  I gulped. “Ring?”

  Julie and Kiska looked at each other. The expression on their faces was mixed pity and resignation. I had a distinct sinking sensation in my guts. I hoped it wasn’t something that would put me back in the infirmary.

  “Max, you’re a wonderful man—” Kiska said.

  “—but sometimes, you’re hopeless,” Julie finished.

  * * *

  The moon doesn’t have much carbon. There are trace amounts of it, but for all practical purposes, there’s none. Therefore, no diamonds. On the other hand, I had to find something for an engagement ring; the alternative was to be snatched bald by the female members of the crew. Kathy might understand, what with the whole but-honey-this-is-the-Moon situation… but, once the obvious idea of a ring was pointed out, I realized that I didn’t want her to have to understand. I wanted her to have a ring.

  The ring itself wouldn’t be hard; I had a whole machine shop and more just begging to be used—and a small project like that is definitely light duty. Until I was back in shape for real work, this might even keep me from driving myself crazy with planning too far ahead.

  The project took some time. The Moon has even less gold than carbon, so I had to improvise. Considering we’re both military, astronauts, and Lunar citizens, I figured something symbolic would be appropriate and appreciated. I fired up the electron furnace and got busy.

  I settled on titanium. It’s light, non-corrosive, won’t discolor skin, and tough enough to be used in space. It also polishes up nicely and has a color a lot like some of the lunar maria—which is where the Moon keeps most of its titanium. Of course, titanium oxide isn’t exactly common, but it’s present in enough quantity to be useful. We had quite a bit of it as a leftover from the materials processing for the coilgun.

  The gemstone was a trifle more complicated. The Moon has lots of aluminum and oxygen; finding a crystalline structure wasn’t too hard. Heck, in the Moon’s gravity it’s fairly easy to just grow crystals. I decided that, rather than go prospecting, especially now that the sun was up, I would make the crystal—that is, the gem—myself.

  Two parts aluminum and three parts oxygen make corundum… and both of those we have in quantity. But what to spice it with? A little chromium, to make a ruby? Or a little more to make an emerald? Emeralds would go with her eyes. Or a trace of that same titanium to turn it into a sapphire?

  I went with the titanium again. The blue was about the same shade as my eyes. I had to experiment to get the proportions right, and then experiment even more to get the blasted things to form correctly. Low gravity is not the same as zero gravity. But it was a small project, as I define a small project. That is, it didn’t require building new parts, just plugging existing ones together correctly.

  When I was done with it, I had a very nice rock on a very tough ring. Not bad, I thought.

  * * *

  With Kathy out of the base, I was the temporary XO; the First Officer; the Right-Hand Man; the Number-Two Guy.

  I didn’t like it. It meant that people who wanted to speak to the Captain instead talked to me. I had other things to think about, darn it! The Luna was going to need, in addition to new fuel and new pumping arrangements, a new landing and launch cradle.

  In an airless landing, the Luna’s wings have absolutely no effect. She backs down on her ma
in jets until radar says she’s within a few dozen meters of the concrete. She then gets pitched down to land on her gear. But a drop of a few meters is significant for someone of the Luna’s mass—excuse me, “something,” not “someone.” That’s why she has belly jets, along with heavy suspension in her landing gear.

  Burning aluminum-oxygen fuel would drop her engine power by about forty percent. The main jets would still be perfectly adequate for liftoff and landing… but the lower-powered jets on the underside weren’t overbuilt; every dyne of thrust they could hand out, she needed for touchdown and takeoff on the Moon—there was no need for them on Earth! Trying to land with Al-Ox fuel by backing down and flopping over was going to hammer the gear something awful.

  My first idea was a big, tilting ramp. Rather than allow the Luna to bellyflop to the ground, I settled on the thought of letting her topple about forty degrees—and then let the ramp lower her slowly to horizontal. A lot of cabling and counterweighting in the construction, and probably some modifications to the landing gear—wheels would be bad, even locked. Forward skids might be better; they could be grabbed and locked, either physically or magnetically…

  I thought about it and sketched between annoyances. People kept trickling in. The most common request was to send a message to Earth. I don’t know how many variations of “But I have to find my son/daughter/sister/brother/etc!” I heard. I did my best to explain that there might not be anybody to talk with, and that if they did answer, the orbital weapons platform was likely to shoot them.

  They wanted other things, too. A lot of them wanted to call their banks. Others were worried about getting someone to send up a repair crew for their habitat—anything to get out from under a military thumb.

  I don’t know if they had lousy hearing, bad memories, or a case of denial. Did no one pay attention to the Captain’s briefing? We didn’t have anyone to talk with on the planet. What’s so hard about comprehending that?

  “You, sir! Commander Hardy, I believe!”

  I looked up from my sketching. It was Andrews again. I was sitting in Kathy’s office, keeping her chair warm, and he just barged straight in.

  “Yes, Mister Andrews?” I asked, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice.

  “This confinement is utterly inexcusable, sir!” he said. My first thought was that he was talking about Ms. Reynolds down in the infirmary; Anne had kept her “for observation” once she woke up. But Andrews managed to dispel that notion almost instantly.