by Garon Whited
“Twenty minutes ago, at fourteen-eleven Greenwich, the Luna docked with the Heinlein orbital construction station. Commander Edwards acknowledged docking tube connection and hard dock. She signed off while she and Ensign Mishenkova made contact with the residents.
“At fourteen-fifteen, a massive electrical disturbance started at the station. It is effectively blanketing the region with static; you can hear it even on headsets here in Luna Base. Through telescopes, we saw four Orbital Transfer Vehicles were already active around the Luna.”
The picture zoomed in. “The computer enhancement shows that the OTV’s were towing some sort of cabling behind them.”
I didn’t like it. It looked like they were trying to tie the Luna down.
“At fourteen-seventeen, the Luna broke hard dock—indeed, broke the docking tube connecting her to the station—by firing her main engines. In this image we can see the cables around the Luna are not drawn tight when the engines fire. Had she been tightly bound, she would have had to rely on thrust alone to break free. As it is,” she clicked to the next image, “she had momentum as well as thrust. There is some damage to the hull, mainly to the leading edge of her lifting-body design, but the cables alone were not enough to hold her.”
She clicked on a new image. “The Luna is now on her way home in a high-energy orbital return. According to the Captain, she expended enough fuel that her landing will have only the slimmest of margins for error. We have not yet managed to raise anyone aboard, but we think that’s partly due to damage to the external antenna, partly due to the static the construction station is putting out. As the Luna gets closer, we should be able to hear her over the static.”
The Captain nodded. “Thank you, Petty Officer Armanova.” Svetlana sat down. “I have computed the ballistic of the Luna,” he continued, “and she will require a course-correction burn before attempting a Garrison landing. I am hoping we will hear from Commander Edwards before then and be able to give her the necessary data to correct for home. Are there any questions?”
I raised a hand. He nodded at me.
“Do we know for sure it’s Kathy doing the flying?”
“We do not. But given the docking procedures demonstrated earlier, I strongly believe that she would not leave the Luna under any circumstances.”
Anne was next. “Why would anyone want to tie down the Luna?”
“Presumably to capture the only fully-functional orbital return vehicle we know of.” Captain Carl said it quietly, but I could tell that he was angry about it. That was a ship under his command—well, attached to his command—and someone had just tried to capture it. It’s a Navy thing. Just trust me; it’s guaranteed to deeply offend a naval officer. I know I felt offended.
“What are we to do, sir?” Julie asked.
“We will continue to monitor the Luna. Svetlana has already started a laser-light sweep of Heinlein Station, flashing a message of cease and desist about their static generation. I feel safe in assuming that it is deliberate jamming. They have not responded. Once we have the Luna safely grounded and Commander Edward’s report, we will reevaluate the situation and take whatever action is deemed necessary.
“This brings me to my next question. Lieutenant-Commander Hardy, what is the status of my space cannon?”
Oh, crap. I felt a sinking sensation. And here I’d been hoping the orbital shipyard would be friendly. What is it about an apocalypse that makes people go crazy?
Never mind. The answer is in the question, I guess.
“It’s physically constructed, and we’re almost ready to start calibration runs. Two days, maybe three to get all the rings tied in to computer control and the bugs out of the program. Another day or two for charging and a few test shots. Give me one week and I think I’ll be able to give you an accurate weapon, sir.”
“Good work. You have your week. Also, I want you to devote as much robot capacity as you can spare into the construction of more robots. It took a long time to build that space gun and it took almost every robot we have. Keep on your existing projects, but grow our labor force.”
“Already on it, sir. I’ve got some of them grading a new landing field—I haven’t reported on that yet. At your convenience, sir.—but the ones I can use for robot self-manufacture I’ve got as busy as beavers in flood season.”
He nodded. “Construction is your department; I only approve what you do, now how you do it. Just keep me abreast of what’s going on, please.”
“Aye aye, Sir.”
Anne asked, “Sir?”
“Go ahead.”
“How badly damaged is the Luna?”
He nodded at Svetlana and she flipped quickly through some images until she found a few good views.
“The cabling did some damage on impact and after breaking,” she said. “As you can see here, it looks like it penetrated deep into both of the wing structures. A length of line here,” she pointed with a laser pointer, “looks like it may have penetrated the cargo area when it whipped. Further forward, this scar, here, was caused by another one. We don’t think it penetrated the bridge, but it’s fortunate that it did not strike a bridge window.”
I interrupted. “The damage on the starboard wing doesn’t look like an impact. It looks like it was cut.”
Svetlana nodded. “Yes. We’re not sure why, but other images show similar damage on the other wing as well.”
“Can you tell me where the cables snapped?” I asked.
“Why… yes, I think so.” She reviewed a lot of images on the terminal screen rather than page through them on the projector. “There were four cables, one drawn out by each OTV. They seem to have come loose from wherever they were mounted on the station. The ends attached to OTV’s appear to be still connected.” She put up a sequence of images showing OTV’s tumbling slowly away from the station. A little computer enhancement marked lengths of cable trailing out toward the retreating Luna.
I nodded. “Then I’d bet that the breakaway pulled the cables from their padeyes. The impact drove the cables into the hull, forming a sort of miter-box effect. Pulling away just dragged the cables through the grooves, sawing into the damaged parts and cutting them deeper.”
“How bad is this, commander?” asked the Captain.
I shrugged. “Nothing too serious in vacuum. The robots don’t have programs for the Luna, though. I recommend grounding her for at least two weeks; it’ll take my crew and me at least that long to touch up the paint job, and we can revamp the fuel system while we’re at it. But I want to put in a pressure hangar someday, sir. Most of this is going to be awkward in suits.”
“Permission granted to build a pressure bay for the Luna, just as soon as we have the time and resources.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Julie raised her hand. Captain Carl nodded at her.
“Sir, officially… what happened at Heinlein?”
He frowned, just slightly. “We can surmise and infer, but we do not know. On the surface, it appears that Heinlein Station tried to capture the Luna. It is possible that the Luna was not the objective, but that the capture of Commander Edwards and Ensign Mishenkova was the priority. We will leap to no conclusions until we have a report from those two.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“This does, however, raise a question in my mind for you, Commander Hardy.”
“For me? Sir?”
“Can you build another ship?”
* * *
The question scared me rather badly. I thought he was referring to the idea that we might lose the Luna. In a way, he was—just not to this little incident. He wanted a spare spaceship.
I wasn’t too sure about it. An orbital vehicle, something to get from point-to-point in vacuum, maybe. That’s not too difficult, at least, compared to a ship for landing on Earth.
I said I’d think about it.
In principle, a space ship is simple. In practice, it’s complicated as… as… it’s pretty darn complicated. There’s a reason people use the phrase,
“I’m no rocket scientist.”
I’m no rocket scientist, but I’m the closest thing we have. Lucky for me, we have the complete specs on the Luna tucked away in our computers. Unfortunately, we don’t have Gary. It would help if we knew enough about computers to build one. Even Li can’t do that—but I had him studying his brains out so we could try. I thought we would wind up just copying one of the ones we have. That’s not really the way I like to do things—just copy something because it works, without understanding how it works. That bothers me.
Meanwhile, there was still too much to do. Robots mining the Moon, metals to refine, roadbed to grade, fuel equipment to build, more robots to make more robots… It kept me busy while Kathy was bulleting homeward.
Good thing, too. I worry too much. If I’d given myself a chance, I’d have worried myself sick.
Maybe that had something to do with it, or maybe Captain Carl was just tired of the grind, but he decided we deserved a holiday: Lunar Officers’ Poker Night.
It started when he called us all into a conference room. Once we were seated and the door was shut, he got out a deck of cards. I knew we had some as part of the recreational equipment, but I hadn’t seen a deck in a while. I knew we had poker chips, too, somewhere; not plastic ones that needed to be shipped up, but aluminum ones with different patterns that the techies had made here. The Captain had found them.
“Everyone know the rules for five card draw?” he asked, shuffling as he spoke. We all looked at each other and nodded. “Good. Anne, divvy up the chips. Max, do we have anything that’ll work as an ashtray? I don’t have many cigars, but I think I deserve one.”
I found him a bowl. Anne started counting chips. Julie asked, “Sir? If it’s all right to smoke, would you mind if I dashed back to my quarters for a minute?”
“Brought your own contraband, eh? Run along; we’ll leave the door unlocked.”
Julie hurried out and I helped Anne with the chips. The techies who made them had a sense of humor. On one side, there were standard Federation currency denominations, starting at a nickel and rising to a dollar—five, ten, twenty-five, fifty, and a hundred cents. Penny-ante poker on the Moon. Except that the poker chip, considering its origin, was probably worth more than any of the denominations on it.
The flip side of each coin had a simple line drawing cut into the face. The higher the denomination, the less clothing she was wearing. They reminded me of my Uncle Jim’s lighter from when I was a kid. It was a shame we didn’t have a five-dollar piece.
Julie came back with a pack of cigarettes. She and the Captain lit up and the Captain dealt.
It’s hard to call the Captain anything else. His name is Carl. It just seems wrong to call him that. Besides, I always thought he ought to smoke a pipe. I never did get used to those stogies.
“So,” I said, regarding my hand. An ace, but nothing else. “What’s the occasion, sir?”
“The name’s ‘Carl,’ Max. As long as that door’s locked, anyway.” He puffed and regarded his hand, then threw ten cents into the pot. Everyone called. “I’ve been cooped up in an office too long. Everyone else gets to let down the hair and pretend the world is waiting for us to come home. I may not have hair long enough to let down, but I thought I might take a turn. How many cards do you want, Anne?”
“Two.” The Cap— Carl dealt her two cards.
“Max?”
“Three.” I picked up a king, a queen, and a jack. Added to my nine and ace, it totaled zip. Just my luck.
“Julie?”
“None for me, thanks.”
“Hmm. Dangerous.”
“If you don’t like it,” she replied, sweetly, “you can call my bluff and take the whole pot for yourself.”
Anne chuckled. I just sat back and watched for a hand. It became obvious that Carl and Julie could play cards. Where Anne and I get taken to the cleaners, those two fight, hammer and tongs, over every hand. But they enjoy that.
It was good to see the Captain unwind. I never really saw him relax before, not even at a party. He was always the Proper Naval Officer. He was still Proper and Navy, but he would have blended in well with the noncoms.
So much for the alien robot in a human suit. I’d have to find a way to pay up on that bet.
“By the way,” I began, “I’ve got an idea for a new landing strip. The tilting ramp—”
“Hold it. Can this wait until morning?”
“Uh? Yes.”
“Then let it. No business. This is a social occasion.”
“Aye aye—Carl.”
He smiled at me. “That’s the spirit, Max. How many cards?”
I checked my hand. A pair of fours looked awfully lonely. “Three.”
“As usual. Not much of a card player?”
“Not really. Scrabble is more my speed.”
“Maybe next year you can have a set ready.”
“Next year?”
“You’ll be busy in the meantime.”
“I’ll work on it.”
It was midnight before Carl and Julie agreed to call it quits; Carl was ahead on chips, but Julie had just jumped up from a distant second to a close second, so the final outcome was in doubt. They called it a draw and we all went to bed.
Carl’s comment about a scrabble set for next year, though… that stayed with me. Why next year? Why not next week? I keyed the terminal in my room and checked the date. It wasn’t a holiday or an occasion that I could find. I kept looking and finally found that it was his birthday.
The CO’s birthday rolls around and we spend it playing cards with him. Now I know we were all too busy for our own good. Still, if he’d wanted anything else, he’d have said so. As it was, he didn’t make any fuss about it. He just… had a good time.
I’m definitely nominating him for King.
* * *
I stuck my head into the infirmary. “Anne?”
Sara looked up from a microscope and shook her head. “She’s off to thump a few chests over in general population,” she replied. “I’m all you’ve got. If you’ve a broken bone, I suggest you sit down.”
“No, nothing like that,” I answered. “I just wanted to ask a few questions. It’ll wait.”
“What, I’m not qualified? Won’t talk to the help, is that it?” She smiled as she said it. I had to smile back.
“No, that’s not it. I was curious about the genetic engineering thing with the kids.”
“Ahh, that! There’s none.”
“Excuse me? I thought there was something about selecting the genes…?”
Sara shook her head. “Not a bit of it. You’ve got the wrong impression, I’m afraid. The idea is to make as perfect a match as possible between a sperm and an ovum. Or, rather, to mix and match the chromosome pairs to eliminate the genetic sequences we find objectionable. We’re not equipped to unzip your genetic strands and fiddle with them. What we’re doing is mix-and-match. Much simpler, that.”
“So what’s the big deal?”
Sara sighed. “Bloody astronaut, that’s what you are. What do you know about reproduction?”
“Enough to do it,” I answered, a little miffed.
“Yes, I could guess that, especially the way Svetlana tends to lick her chops at the sound of your name.” She winked at me. I took it well. “It’s what happens after you’ve done the deed that concerns the more keen-minded. A shocking number of little wigglers go swimming upstream in a race to find that ovum. It’s a race, that’s all it is.
“Think of it as a horse race. Each rider has half a book of instructions with him. Combined with the other half at the finish line, you either get soggy bagels or crispy croissants, all depending on who wins the race. What we plan to do is read the covers and match them up, rather than let chance decide in a mad gallop up the track. We can’t take individual pages out and bind our own book, but we can pick the books that have the best recipes and no gibberish.”
I nodded. “Okay. I feel better about that idea.”
“Want
to start something, is that it?”
“Well, yes. Kathy wanted me to mention it to Anne.”
“Got your little fellows all picked out already,” she assured me. “Anne and I have a petri dish set up and ready to warm him up with his ladyfriend. Just give us the word.”
I thought about it for a long minute. There was a lot to do, still. Things to build, things to rebuild, pieces to put together. I had a lifetime of work ahead of me and not nearly enough lifetime for it all. Would it be easier to wait a while before having any kids underfoot? Or would I keep putting it off until I was too old and tired to enjoy them?
“The word is given,” I said. Sara beamed at me and flipped a switch.
“Congratulations, Max. You’re about to be a father. Do you want to know what Anne and I picked out for you?”
“You made sure there was nothing wrong with the little person, right?”
“Absolutely sure. You’re good stock, and Kathy… well, as far as I can tell, Kathy doesn’t have any unpleasant recessives, which is along the lines of winning the lottery. Twice. We did a bloody beautiful job on you two; your future children could interbreed without a chance of bad reinforcement.”
“Then surprise me.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Oh, jolly good. We shall indeed.”
* * *
I was on my way to answer a call from Julie when a bunch of residents stopped me in the hall. There were six of them, four men and two women.
“You! What’s this about our ship being damaged? How are we going to get home?”
“By flapping really hard,” I suggested, pushing through them. “It’ll save us fuel and cut down on the worthless fatheads in our inventory.”
The Captain did say to irritate them. From the gasps of shock and outrage, I’d say I succeeded.
“That’s hardly the proper attitude, young man!” one lady scolded.
“Lady, it’s the only attitude. I want that ship down safely and repaired quickly. The sooner you’re off this base and out of my hair, the better. Right now, you’re just a useless old woman. I haven’t seen anything to change that opinion.” I added, over my shoulder, “And don’t bother complaining to me or the Captain; we’re not listening anymore. Try talking to God; maybe He can still stomach your whining.” I ignored their replies and unlocked the door to the recycling plant control room.