"Sir, I actually have orders for you and the Commander of the LCDD, which I take it, is this thing." He nodded toward Colonel Wayne.
"Colonel Parker," Harry placed his two fists in the center of his desk and leaned across it toward him. "I want you to understand something very clearly. Colonel Wayne is my Detachment Commander, and he is also my friend. I want you to relay our orders to us, and then get out."
"Okay. These orders are verbal as the existence of your SUBs is still classified crypto. Mission Control has declared martial law here. You are to leave all SUBs here on JILL. Their mission is to work to stabilize the base, then report in when completed. At that time, human crews will be dispatched to complete the repairs and finish the BSC. The authentication code for this order is Charlie Delta."
Harry nodded. "Okay. You're dismissed."
Colonel Parker threw Harry a half-hearted salute and left the room. Harry sat down and looked up at Colonel Wayne.
"I'm sorry about that, Colonel."
"It's all right sir, and thank you for what you said. We SUBs have already encountered that kind of reaction from a number of the Bios who know about us."
"Bios?"
The colonel smiled. "Biologicals, sir. It's what some of us call you."
"Just some of you?"
"Just those trying to be polite. The others refer to you as water sacks, bone bags, and gas pumpers."
Harry chuckled. "I understand the first two, but gas pumpers?"
"You breathe, sir."
"Oh!" Harry laughed.
○O○
Later that day, Harry asked Colonel Wayne to accompany him into the depths of Barbicane. They solicited an armed sergeant of the LCDD to accompany them.
The three of them secured a magnetic hover tram that covered the considerable distance at a good speed.
"Sir, where are we going?" the colonel asked.
"Duke," Harry used the nickname as he looked at the rather serious officer, "given our association over the last four years, and the nature of our current predicament, I think first names are called for. If you don't mind."
"Duke will be just fine, sir…ah, Hairee." The colonel had a little difficulty pronouncing the name. "That's going to take some getting used to."
"Duke, I'm taking you to the computerized heart of Barbicane. What you are about to see is a quantum leap forward in computerization, literally; it uses quantum physics in its calculations. This computer, when fully activated, will monitor every aspect of JILL as a whole. It will know every system on JILL, every bit of pressure in every dome, and in every chamber of the pressure hull of the BSC, and will obtain this information instantly, and is able to anticipate malfunctions, failures, and, well—just about any problem long before it occurs.
"The computer will have visual surveillance everywhere in all visual spectrums, as well as advanced scanning capabilities. It will know where every entity, human or otherwise, is within the base. It will monitor and direct all repairs and be able to direct you and your crew to problem areas, and to the location of spare parts and parts that can be cannibalized in order to complete your mission.
"This computer is partially operational now, and is controlling temperatures, pressures, gas mixes in the atmosphere, and accounting for all personnel, just to name a few of its current responsibilities and abilities. The total activation of the system was not due for initiation until about a month before Barbicane's grand opening.
"Duke, this computer is authorized to make life and death decisions, and will make them without hesitation. Given our new orders—your new orders—I have decided to activate it early."
At what was referred to as Section Zero, dead center of the BSC, they took an elevator down five floors. Here, it stopped and the door opened. Using his UAC, or Unlimited Access Card, Harry summoned a very sultry female voice that asked, "Identification."
"Linderman, Harry C."
"Voice recognition confirmed. Welcome, Mr. Linderman."
The elevator door closed and the car started down one more floor. When it opened, they were looking down a long cylindrical hallway. Its walls were a very dark gray color, and it was illuminated every meter or so with small, bluish lights. The floor was flat and coated in a soft, rubber material. Six meters down the hall, they encountered a round, metal door. Above it a small cylinder, one centimeter in diameter and two long, descended from a hole made to accommodate it. Both men recognized it as a camera and sensor package.
"Hello, Mr. Linderman," the female voice again addressed Harry. "I see you're accompanied by Colonel Wayne, Jonathan M.; the Commander of the LCDD. The other individual I recognize as Matt…Staff Sergeant Mathew Strum of the LCDD."
"This is indeed Colonel Wayne and Sergeant Strum, and I authorize their access, code alpha seven niner."
"Access granted. Welcome."
The massive, heavy circular door rolled aside and they entered a room of quite considerable size. A corridor down the center of the room separated seemingly endless banks of processors and servers. At the far end was a control panel almost nine meters long displaying all manner of instrumentation. Among these rather unique-looking instruments were three standard computer access stations, their holographic screens displaying data at an alarming rate.
The colonel looked around, leaned in toward Harry and asked, "Is this Big Sister?"
Harry swept his arms over his head and proclaimed, "Duke, meet the Advanced Virtual Acumen computer, otherwise known as Ava."
"Duke," the sensual voice repeated, "European, the male ruler of a duchy; the sovereign of a small state. Slang for a fist, often used in the plural as in 'put up your dukes'. In botany, a type of cherry, intermediate between a sweet and sour. Marion Morrison, born 26 May, 1907, deceased 11 June, 1979, better known by his stage name John Wayne, and nicknamed "The Duke," an American film actor, director and producer—"
"Thank you, Ava. Duke is also Colonel Wayne's nickname," Harry responded, and then he sat down at one of the access terminals and withdrew a small notebook from his pocket. He looked up at Duke, and grinning, said, “I never really trusted those electronic pads.” He then wiggled the note book in the air.
From inside this little book, he removed a small SD chip and inserted it into a port. His fingers flashed over the keyboard; then he sat back and addressed Ava, "Are you up and running now, honey?"
"Yes, Mr. Linderman, most of my systems throughout JILL are coming online. Mr. Linderman, I am aware of the Moon quake and the resultant damage. I am detecting massive damage throughout the domed portion of the facility of a nature that endangers the lives of the human population. And I predict a ninety-eight percent failure of twenty percent of existing repairs within the next thirty-eight hours."
"Yes, Ava, access my files 08752 through 08830."
A moment passed. "The human population is being evacuated, but the rate of transport arrival and departure is too slow. The efficiency of the evacuation can be—"
"Ava, I don't mean to be rude, but the evacuation is proceeding as best as can be expected. I have activated you early to assist with Colonel Wayne's orders."
Over the next several minutes, Harry and Duke discussed their orders, and Duke's plan to accomplish those orders, with Ava. Ava had some suggestions that both men acknowledged were, indeed, superior to the original plan. Ava's in-depth knowledge of JILL allowed her a clearer vision of what was necessary.
"Colonel Wayne, I hope my explanations were comprehensible."
"Yes, Ava," the colonel responded, "we're five by five."
"Five by five. Vocabulary perplexity. Please stand by. I am activating my American English colloquialism protocols. This will allow us to communicate on a less formal basis and greatly enhance my comprehension levels, and thus, reduce the time it takes me to translate your speech."
"She must be talking to you," Harry said over his shoulder to the Colonel.
"No, Harry," Ava said sounding far more relaxed and less formal, "I'm talking to both of you. The problem was mine
, and it's now fixed. Duke, I will analyze your plan and compare it to my diagnostic of JILL and make recommendations. I have several post start up self-tests to run as well as other systems to activate. I require a little time, alone, if you will."
"Okay, Ava," Harry said, "just don't take too long."
Just then, the entire facility shook again.
Chapter 2
Sergeant Mathew Strum's Story
My name is Mathew Strum. I go by Matt. No doubt you are up to speed on what happened to dome forty-five and Staff Sergeant Hugh Pacherd, so I won't go there. I will, however, take you back a couple of years before the quake and explain to you what I experienced in JILL at the same time.
I had been in the Army long enough to make buck sergeant, about five years. I was what's called a gung-ho, hard charging, lifer type. I had already completed a tour on the Oceania front. My unit, the 617 IBCT, was in the middle of what we called the Blood Archipelago. The fighting there was intense and for the longest time we Crusaders, as we called ourselves, were hanging on by our fingernails. Thanks to a change in the weather, Navy air assets arrived and the situation changed.
My unit rotated out of Oceania to South Africa where we were ordered to a decompression center on the coast about eighty kilometers west of Vredendal. But frankly, the bright lights and big city never held any true attraction for me. Like all the other soldiers in decom, I went to town, drank too much, and chased septum girls. The decom classes were a bore, and I'm sure existed just so the politicians could report to their constituents, "All steps are being taken to provide for our heroes."
I put in a request for transfer to a unit returning to the front. This might have been the red flag someone was looking for. I was called into the Brigade Commander's cube.
"Sir, Sergeant Mathew Strum reports," I said as I saluted.
"Sit down, Sergeant. Relax. I've been reviewing your record. Your awards include a Silver Star, two Bronze Stars for valor, two Purple Hearts, The Meritorious Service Medal, and all the 'you were there' stuff. You seem to be an exemplary soldier."
"Thank you, sir. My old Senior Military Advisor used to say if you're gonna do something, do it right and do it all the way. He was Airborne too, sir."
"You seem to have followed his advice. Your parents are both deceased, I see."
"Yes, sir."
"Still single?"
"Yes, sir."
"No kids anywhere?"
"None, sir."
"And you want to go back to Oceania—despite being back only three months?"
"That's correct, sir."
"Ah ha. Son, there is another opportunity opening up for you. A chance to travel to a place few people will ever have the opportunity to go. And since you seem to be an adrenaline junkie, you'll be pleased to hear there will be danger, but it won't be anything like Oceania."
"What is it, sir?"
"You might call it security and civil defense work."
"Doesn't sound too appealing, sir."
"The job is on the Moon."
"The Moon?"
"You've heard of JILL, the Joint International Lunar Laboratory?"
"All my life, it seems."
"Well, son, if you transfer into the Lunar Civil Defense Detachment, you'll obligate yourself to a three-year hitch—a year in training, and two stationed on the cheese ball. You should know that you'd also receive what's called off world pay. Sort of like hazardous duty pay times three. I can give you twenty-four hours to think it over. Also, Sergeant, this conversation is classified. Discuss it with no one. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
○O○
That night, the guys invited me to join them in town, but I was too busy weighing my options.
JILL—on the Moon. When I was a kid I used to dream about becoming an astronaut. Even then, there was a lot of talk about a manned flight to Mars. So serious was the talk that the IIEA, the International Interplanetary Exploration Agency, was created specifically to organize the world's resources and direct its energies toward space exploration.
The damned war had put the brakes on all kinds of human advancement, which was exactly the enemy's goal. They wanted to see all human advancement halted and the entire world returned to the twelfth century, and stay there.
Outside the barracks, I looked up into the night sky. Despite being eighty kilometers outside of Vredendal and twenty north of Strandfontein, light pollution from those two huge cities still obscured most of the stars. But high in the northern sky, the half-illuminated face of the Moon was still shining as it had done forever, seemingly unaffected by our electric lights.
I sat on a low, stone wall between two billeting cubes in the shadows, and just stared up at it, thinking.
"Matt, is that you?" A familiar voice came from behind me. Turning around, there stood Sergeant Victor Miles. He led the second squad.
"Selamat malam, Vic," I said, "apa terserserah?"
"Ah, nothing. What are you doing out here? Didn't all the noncompoops go to town?"
"Seems you and I are the only two still in bounds."
"Mind if I join ya?" he asked.
"Hey, it's a free wall; sit down."
We both sat quietly for several minutes. Vic knew what I was doing. In front of us there was nothing to see but a razor wire wall and the Moon.
"The general asked you, didn't he?" Vic asked under his breath.
"Asked me what?"
"Are you gonna go?"
"Go where?"
"Matt, he asked me, too."
"So...you going?"
Vic looked up at the Moon a moment then back at me. "I been think'n bout it since he asked. I figure I'm gonna have to say no."
"Why is that?"
"Matt I—"
"You what?"
"I met a girl. I'm serious about this one. If she'll have me, I'm gonna quit the service, get a real job, and settle down."
He looked hard at me, looking for my approval, I think. He and I had eaten the same dirt, sweated, and bled together. I'd save his life and he'd saved mine. We trusted one another implicitly. I slowly smiled and elbowed him in the ribs. "No crat?"
"Nope. It's the real deal, buddy," he said with a sheepish grin.
"What-a-ya-know? Tiger Miles—in love."
He lowered his head and smiled broadly. "What about you, Matt?"
"I've never been in love, Vic."
"No, I mean are you goin'?"
I looked back up at the Moon and took a deep breath. "Yeah, Vic, I think I am."
○O○
Training would take place at IIEA Head Quarters outside of Houston, Texas. I boarded a C-27J Spartan aircraft for the flight back to the States.
I'd flown over New York City before. I don't guess anyone ever gets used to seeing the crater left by the nuclear blast. It had filled with sea water fifteen years ago, but I don’t figure anyone will be swimming in it for another two hundred. Why, I wondered, was it always New York that got hit by these wackos? The sight was a great reminder of why we were at war, again.
After a couple of hours flying southwest, our aircraft was ordered to orbit as we awaited our turn in line to land, this took us over Houston—a city they say you can smell before you see. I didn't notice any odor, but the brown haze over the city is still quite evident, despite the new nuclear power station, which is aiding significantly in cleaning up the city's air. One of the largest cities in the world, it has its problems, but it's still a great town!
The IIEA HQ is east of Houston about eighty-five kilometers. The Spartan set down inside the highly secured confines of the massive base. From the tarmac, we were all shuttled into a theater for a brief welcome speech and then lined up to be assigned billets, officers on the left, enlisted personnel on the right.
I was assigned a room with an Air Force sergeant, Pete Walker. He was a large man, African American, chest like a bunker, arms like howitzer barrels, and a six-pack that looked like it would stop an AK round. He was in the room, unpacking as I arrived.
>
"Hey," I said as I entered, dragging my gear behind me.
He looked up casually and echoed me with a less than enthusiastic, "Hey."
I dropped my gear at the foot of my bed and walked toward him with my hand out. "I didn't know they had kite drivers in this program, too."
"Kite Drivers? What's that supposed to mean?" He turned and knitted his brow, his dark eyes burning into me.
"Whoa, no offense buddy, it's just an Army term of endearment for you Air Force types."
"We 'Air Force types' call you guys grunts, knuckle draggers, and bullet stoppers. Terms of endearment." Then, he turned back to unpacking.
"Damn man, what's your problem?"
He again turned on me. This time, he took a step forward. He was a head taller than me and twice as broad. "You are my damn problem, got it? Best you just keep your mud covered butt away from me."
○O○
Needless to say, the rest of the evening was decidedly uncomfortable. At 17:00 we all reported for dinner at the dining facility. The food was some of the best I'd ever had on a government facility. Here, I met other service members, some with a much friendlier disposition than that of my roommate.
At my table was Petty Officer First Class Susan Myers, United States Navy. She was a tall blond with large, piercing, blue eyes. She wore her hair bobbed to remain in compliance with regulations. Staff Sergeant Barney Goldman, US Air Force, he was a thin, bookish-looking fellow with glasses. And last was Stabsunteroffizier Dolphus Kappel of the German Air Force. A thin-lipped, pale fellow with a mustache.
After a round table of introductions we all engaged in soldiers' small talk, with deference, of course, to Susan. Also, we had to avoid acronyms and colloquialisms so as to not leave our German friend out of the conversation.
"I can see by our uniforms," Susan said, "that we've all been to Oceania. Dolphus, I'm afraid I don't recognize German ribbons, have you been to the Oceania front?"
"Ja, I mean, yes. I was with the 347th DKA, der deutschen Kommunikation Abteilung with the 628th Allied Air Force, part of the 17th Air Defense Command in Sorong. And please, call me Dolph, ja?"
The Battle of Broken Moon Page 2