by Garon Whited
“That they are in the Luna, sir?”
“Get two Marines and go look.”
He saluted and double-timed out. I turned back to the control panel.
The base has a lot of internal monitoring equipment. Cameras in hallways, intercoms that can be turned on remotely, idiot lights for open or closed pressure hatches, and so on. I fiddled with the computer and wished Li were conscious. Somewhere, there was a record of hatches opening and closing. Included in that would be the timestamp of when the airlock cycled. If I knew when Andrews left the base, I’d have some idea of where he could be—and the only way out was through the front door.
So I watched Tsien and two other men cycle through the rotating, one-man airlock. I was never a computer wizard, but I got by. When the lock cycled, I tracked down the log where the timestamp record was kept. A quick review told me the main airlock was last used at eighteen-oh-nine the day before. That was our entry to retake the base—which reminded me to put the robot outside. Since then, the airlock was untouched.
The log of the one-man airlock, though, showed it currently in use… the use before that was to let someone out, then back in with a sack of Svetlana… and before that, a cluster of six cycles almost forty minutes after we started driving a ’bot through the halls.
I nodded, thinking that I’d found out how they left. That was the departure. Now, were they in the Luna? The poor baby wasn’t in any shape to go anywhere, but it would be a place to hide…
“Tsien?” I radioed. “Report.”
“We’re entering the Luna now, sir,” he replied. “Hold one.”
I waited, twiddled thumbs, and wished I’d gone with him.
“Negative on the Luna,” he said. “We’re inside and I have Yuan in the cargo area. There is no one aboard but us, sir.”
“Roger that, Tsien. Since the Sun is down, go ahead and do an external sweep of the structures—check the observatory and the power runs for corpses or sabotage. Let me know if you see anything out of the ordinary.”
“Aye aye, Sir. Out.”
Six people, presumably in spacesuits, loose on the surface of the Moon for fourteen hours. Assuming they each carry a spare oxygen charge, they each should have two hours of survival left. Andrews wasn’t the type to deliberately lead followers to suicide, so he had a plan of some sort—maybe a short-sighted and stupid plan, but a plan. Something he felt would save his neck. But what?
Going out on the surface was just not smart. There was the air in the suits, and that was the tricky part. When the air ran out, it was all over. If he wanted to breathe, he had to come back inside.
“Commander Hardy?”
“Go ahead, Tsien.”
“Sir, you asked for a report on anything unusual.”
“That’s right. What’ve you got?”
“Sir, the other rover is missing.”
“Missing?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Svetlana had requested the use of it for some remote observatory nonsense…
“Roger, Tsien. Thank you. Carry on.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I paged Galena to the control center. She bounced in, looking chipper, even cheerful.
“Hello, Max. All is well, yes?”
“Da,” I replied. “Or close enough. How are you feeling?”
“Much better. Full stomach, clean clothes. Is good.”
“Very good. Feel up to some desk duty?”
“Da. I relieve you, sir.”
“Thanks.” I got up and ushered her into the seat. She settled into it and I reflected that she was looking a lot better, too. Maybe it was just a morale thing, but she looked not just healthier, but happy. Home.
Come to think of it, I was glad to be home, too.
“Is anything I should know?” she asked, flicking rapidly through monitor cameras.
“Tsien and two Marines are doing a surface sweep for sabotage and our missing rebels. I’m going to go ask a couple of questions of Svetlana.”
Galena nodded. “I have control.”
“See you in a bit.”
Svetlana was confined in the infirmary. We didn’t have a formal brig, and she needed some medical attention anyway, so they just strapped her down with bed restraints.
When I came in, Kiska was sitting beside the bed with a cold look in her eyes and a knife in hand. I never imagined Kiska as an armed guard. On the other hand, I could see why Kiska might take it personally that Svetlana turned traitor. It’s the people you know that can hurt you the most.
And on the subject of hurt, Svetlana looked much worse for wear. She was mostly covered by the bedding, but her face and arms were visible. One wrist was in a cast, while all five fingers of her other hand were splinted. Both eyes were bruised and puffy, a black bruise marred her left jawline, and there was a sizable split in her lower lip that was just starting to heal over.
I didn’t have any trouble feeling sorry for her. But I didn’t exactly wish her well, either.
“Svetlana? Can you hear me?”
She opened her eyes and glanced around, then settled her gaze on me. She closed her eyes and turned her face away.
“Svetlana,” I said, more sternly, “you can either answer my questions or I can get Kathy to ask them. You pick.”
“Okay.” Her voice was quiet and listless, and she didn’t look at me.
“What did you borrow the rover for? Back before the mission started, you requested both it and Walter. I want to know what you two were doing. It wasn’t setting up a remote observatory.”
“It was all part of the plan,” she said, softly. “He knew the revolution might fail.”
She fell silent for several moments. I waited.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I know. Tell me about the plan.”
“The shelters in the ringwall. The trip was to ready the one to the north. Activate the algae tanks, check the pressure and the batteries. If things went poorly here, we would have a line of retreat.”
“They would,” I corrected. “You didn’t.”
“So I see—now.”
I shook my head and stood. She looked at me, woefully, pleadingly.
“Max? What… what will happen?”
“Andrews will answer for his actions.”
“And what will happen to me?”
I looked down at her. She was beaten, bruised, hurt, and pitiful. But she was also a conspirator and agent in a failed rebellion.
And I… I was an officer.
I knew, then, how Captain Carl had to feel. The weight of responsibility and decision was heavier than a grading ’bot. The feeling of unease in being ordered to judge and, if necessary, kill the people on Tchekalinsky Station was nothing by comparison. I’d been ordered to do a job and to use my judgment in that job.
There was no one to tell me what needed to be done with Svetlana. I knew. And I hated it.
“You’ll have a court,” I told her, “and you’ll take responsibility for your actions. Just like all the rest of us.”
I walked away, wondering which of us felt worse.
* * *
Figuring out how they got six people some forty kilometers in a two-man rover was the easy part. Everyone cycles out through the lock and half of them start slogging. The other three—one driver and a pair of very cozy passengers—buzz out as fast as they can. The driver goes back empty for two more, and then makes one last trip to get the final guy.
I’d hate to have been the last passenger. It’s a long, lonely walk in a landscape more barren and hostile than some of the nuclear-washed areas on old Mother Earth.
Kathy sent me out with the Marines to go fetch them back. We rode construction ’bots. I didn’t feel like hoofing it the whole way, and the ’bots carried considerably more air and equipment than a dozen men on foot. Even on the Moon. Especially on the Moon, where even the robots’ strength was effectively six times greater. It let me pack up a pair of the base-defense railguns, complete with capacitors and a whole b
ank of batteries.
I headed out to lay siege to an enemy fortress.
“Radio check, Max.”
I keyed my microphone over to voice-activated. “Roger that, base.”
“How’s the scenery?” Kathy asked.
“Dark. The Sun is fully down. But the Earth is more behind us than not, so there’s some light from that, and the headlights reach a long way when there’s no air.”
“Good to know. Keeping a sharp eye out for hostiles?”
“Yep. Everyone has either a cocked crossbow or a gun ready, as well as sword and shield where they can get at ’em quick.”
“It’s a pity you didn’t build titanium hardsuits,” she said. I heard suppressed laughter in the background.
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“With the glare from the headlights in the dark, you could be knights in shining armor.”
“Well, Tsien and I could. Knights were the equivalent of officers.” I heard snickering. “What?”
“Never mind, Max; you didn’t get the joke.”
“Joke?” I asked. I thought about it. If there was a joke there, I missed it.
“Have you anything resembling a plan?” she asked, changing the subject.
“I told you I did.”
“Yes, but you didn’t tell me what it is.”
“Oh.” I held my tongue and waited. Kathy sighed.
“Max?”
“Yes?”
“Tell me what your blasted plan is.”
I grinned. I get her goat with that every time.
“The shelters have solar panels inside; those are set up if the shelter is occupied. There’s one permanent panel on the exterior for keeping the batteries topped off when the shelter is in powered-down mode. If they’ve deployed the main ones—doubtful—we’ll simply disconnect them and bring them back. If not, we’ll disconnect the fixed-mount panel and weld the door shut.
“If they have a full battery charge and run the place on bare-minimum survival levels, they’ll run out of power in about thirty days and out of food and water maybe a week after that. In the meantime, we build a guardpost, set up the railguns, and wait. Then they can come out when they please… or not.”
Kathy was silent for several moments, thinking it over.
“Is there any way to hurry things along?” she asked.
“If you insist, yes. We have a drum of rocket fuel explosives in our equipment; I can turn their airlock into a crater. Or I can set up a drilling ’bot and bore a few holes into their shelter to let some atmosphere out and prove they need to surrender. Or I can bore a hole down almost into their shelter, add explosive, and blow a big hole in it and maybe kill everyone with explosive decompression—no pun intended. Just tell me how you want it done.”
“You could send in the Marines,” she suggested.
“And I could have them march one at a time into a one-man airlock to die. The shelters don’t have full-sized cargo locks for a convenient tank to roll into. I’d much rather encourage them to give up and come quietly. ”
“Very well, Lieutenant-Commander Hardy. Carry out your mission as expeditiously and safely as possible.”
“Aye aye, Commander.”
“Luna base, over and out.”
Tsien buzzed me immediately. I switched frequencies to talk with him.
“What’s up, Tsien?”
“I overheard your conversation, sir.”
“Yeah, these suit radios don’t come with scramblers. What of it?”
“Sir, I am concerned about the exact nature of our attack.”
“I’ll figure it out when we get there, Tsien. I have to see the lay of the land.”
“Understood, sir. But I am also concerned about the possibility that the surviving rebels may also have overheard the conversation.”
“That’s possible, yes,” I admitted, and mentally kicked myself for being stupid. Radio on the Moon is line-of-sight, not proximity-based, and the shelters all have emergency radio equipment.
“Then I suggest that we stop short of our objective and touch helmets for a private discussion before investing the enemy stronghold.”
“Fair enough. Two kilometers?”
“As you say, sir.”
The whole trip took a little over three hours. I called a halt and we circled the robots, left everyone else up as sentries, and climbed down with Tsien to touch helmets.
“What’s on your mind, Tsien?”
“Sir, if the enemy has heard your plan, they may send people outside to hide and ambush us.”
I thought about it for a minute.
“Tsien, are you sure you were never a soldier?”
“Yes, Sir. But I’ve been trying to think like one for quite some time.”
“You’re doing splendidly,” I told him. I thought for a minute or two. Nothing fancy, nothing clever, just direct and to the point. “We’ll set up at five hundred meters and give them a chance to surrender. If they don’t, we’ll start convincing them.”
“Aye aye, Sir. Shall I tell the rest of the Marines?”
“Go start with Chen and head clockwise; I’ll go counterclockwise. Also tell them to make sure the manual control lockout on each ’bot is enabled; I don’t want to find out the hard way that someone in there has a remote controller. We roll as soon as everyone is briefed.”
We climbed a bunch of robots to touch helmets and explain briefly. Once everyone had the plan, the robots rumbled up to speed again and I took the lead position. The shelter was in sight already; the aluminum front wall gleamed brightly in the glare of our headlights.
I noticed no movement. Maybe they hadn’t been listening, or hadn’t decided on what to do. It was a comfort that sneaking up on us was going to be difficult. The northern stretch of Copernicus was as flat and featureless as a plain could get. The tracks of the rover were clearly visible.
We got close enough to make things out clearly. I could see the airlock door in the front wall and the rover parked beside it. I signaled the others by waving; we formed up in a line abreast, the lights of the ’bots shining over the empty stretch and illuminating the front wall of the distant shelter. I climbed down and gestured for everyone to join me. Privately, with helmets pressed hard together, I handed out instructions. Railgun assembly. Robot digging and wall construction. And sentries.
It’s not easy to coordinate a dozen guys in complex tasks. It’s harder when each one has to be physically touched to communicate. But we’d packed each railgun for easy setup—three main modules, each weighing a half-ton on Earth, including the mounting and swivel hardware. No problem there.
I put Chen and Yuan on the railgun controls and ordered six shots to sight them in. Chen put six rounds into the rock wall to the left of the shelter, Yuan put his into the right side. I switched to radio.
“Good shooting, gentlemen. Now, come in north shelter. This is Lieutenant-Commander Hardy calling the north shelter. Come in, President Andrews.”
I hailed them a few more times before they answered.
“North American Federation of States responding,” came a voice. “What do you want, Max?”
“Well, if you’re taking that tone, I guess I’m letting you know that you can either surrender Andrews to us, or we’ll kill you all. You’re rebels, not a nation, so we aren’t going to declare war.”
There was another long pause. We waited.
“We will not surrender the President.”
I sighed. I reached up to change channels on my suit radio… and paused.
Commander Edwards gave me this job. She told me to deal with it. The top authority delegated that authority to me, trusted me to handle it. It was time to see if I was worthy of that trust. Was I the soft-hearted guy that everyone seemed to think I was? Or was I something more than just a jumped-up space janitor?
I lowered my hand.
“Chen, Yuan, each of you put a round through the front door.”
The railguns fired with a crackle of radio static and the harsh glare
of electrical arcs. The projectiles were visible as streaks of light, heated to a glow by the massive current routed through them. Twin spots appeared on the headlight-illuminated front of the shelter, black holes in the clean expanse of metal. One was through the airlock door itself; the other penetrated just next to it.
“Okay, you guys in the shelter, just out of curiosity, where did our rounds stop? I haven’t had a chance to test these babies on hard targets. Did that stop after a couple of walls, or did they go all the way through? Oh, and did we hit anyone?”
The response was not what I considered appropriate for polite company. Then again, it was obvious they weren’t polite in the first place.
“Well, the good news is that we only brought about two hundred rounds for each gun. I figure that ought to vent all your atmosphere, and probably put holes through every piece of vital equipment in the shelter. Then we’d have to go back for more ammunition and leave you here. Of course, you’d probably be hit somewhere during the bombardment, so there might not be anyone left to leave.
“Now, you can either come out, unarmed, with your hands over your heads, and be taken back for Commander Edwards to judge—maybe Captain Carl; he might be feeling better by then—or you can stay in that hole and die. We start shooting in five minutes. Don’t let me try and talk you into anything. Make up your own minds.”
I have seldom been cursed so forcefully. Not terribly imaginatively, but there was a great deal of feeling behind the words. I ignored this, checked my helmet clock, and waited. The cussing and swearing tapered off after eighty-nine seconds, followed by silence on the channel.
Touching helmets with each gunner in turn, I told them to aim a little high. If the people inside were in suits and hugged the deck, they could come through this alive. Of course, they would be out of air and living in a box that would make Swiss cheese look like a model of structural integrity…
Over the radio, I told the gunners to prepare to fire. Tsien tapped me on the shoulder and pointed. I followed the point and saw a pair of space-suited figures climbing down from the rocks above the shelter. They paused frequently and waved their crossbows above their heads, like metronomes. When they got to the flat stretch in front of the bunker, they threw the crossbows aside and began to walk forward, into the lights, with their hands clasped on top of their helmets.