Battle Luna

by Travis S. Taylor

  Still panting, Rojas asked, “How long can they do this?”

  Morton said, “I don’t have any info on a support ship inbound, but I don’t know how many landed. They could ferry stuff by Trak, but that’s going to take time.”

  Andre took a bite of the stale sandwich on his console.

  For that matter . . .

  He pinged the channel. “Colonel, how are your troops doing on food, water and relief facilities?”

  “We ate before this started. A few hours’ hunger is a minor inconvenience, and there are rations in our transport. Water we have, and as for the waste water . . . well, it mostly evaporated straight out when they drained it in your tunnel.” The man sounded almost amused.

  “Fair enough. I just wondered because I have a really good sandwich here.”

  “Mr Crawford, would you like—”

  “More guests? Certainly.”

  “—would you like to retreat inside your habitat now? I have been authorized for weapon release.”

  Cold adrenaline ripples ran through him.

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning with three missiles, or emplaced charges, I can simply blow the doors off, and leave your main passage, per my blueprints, open to space. I have clearance to shoot any adult in the open as a hostile threat, now that you’ve used incendiaries and caustics. The latter which qualify as chemical weapons.”

  What the hell?

  “Huh? You’re inside pressure suits.”

  “They release toxic gases, which would be lethal if we were not wearing protective gear. Per the letter of the law, that constitutes chemical weapons.”

  That was . . . “Ridiculous. You’re in vacuum. You’re separated by vacuum, and a suit you can’t remove.”

  Arris sounded smug. “I assure you our legal staff have made the determination, and are prepared to defend it at the World Court in the Hague.”

  Shit.

  “I guess it depends on how many people you’re willing to kill in the name of peace. Including your troops, who are dispersed within the habitat. A fact we’ve already logged for release, including with the Red Cross.”

  Arris said, “That’s your side of the story.”

  Andre said, “Of course. You can write whatever story you want. At the end of the day, you’ll have murdered even the innocent people in here, who have no way to evacuate or choose sides about a device you claim exists and they’ve never heard of. And your own troops. I guess that’s a decision you’ll have to live with.”

  Arris was unwavering. “I have orders, and weapons.”

  Andre tried really hard to sound condescending rather than pleading.

  “For that matter, you have a bunch of troops who are short of oxy and power, and I doubt you can last long with what’s aboard your vehicles.”

  “There are other elements inbound.”

  “Did they tell you that? Because my seismic gear doesn’t show it.” He was lying, because the seismometers were not on his screen. He swiped furiously and brought them up.

  Local tremors only, within shape and amplitude he saw all the time. Which didn’t mean there wasn’t a soft vehicle out there, but anything putting ground pressure on rubble should be pressing that into the surface and generating fractional effects.

  Arris’s tone suggested a shrug. “That is as it may be. I have control of the first two locks, I am going to destroy the third one now.”

  Think. Think.

  “Colonel, have you considered what a trained engineer and crew could have done in the last twenty-four hours with more corrosives, more flammables, explosives, pressure vessels and electrical power? You got that one taste so far. Want to try for the seven-course banquet?”

  Arris sounded very relaxed. “War is not without casualties. We’ve both been lucky so far.”

  Andre realized he was talking too much again. “Logistically we have the upper hand here.”

  “Then this should be to your advantage.”

  It was time to log off before he said something he’d regret. “Fine. You’ve been warned. I’m going to enjoy ice cream now.”

  He closed the connection.

  He sighed deeply.

  “Well, let’s see if he’s bluffing, threatening, or going balls out.”

  Andre noted ironically he was bluffing about the ice cream. Nor did he want any. A beer wouldn’t be out of line, though. Except he needed his wits. More coffee. He poured another cup, watching it splash lazily in the low gravity. That was always fascinating. The cups were shaped to roll splashes back in, and looked oversized, until you tried to pour.

  Malakhar said, “They’re still drilling, according to sensors.”

  “Good . . . on the sensors working, I mean. Any guess on cut through?”

  “The door could be any time. Acoustics suggest there’s only a centimeter left. It wasn’t armored, just thick enough to support itself.”

  “Yeah, it wasn’t a hard one.”

  He looked at the screen, which displayed Malakhar’s feed. The image was animated from acoustic and sonic inputs and representative only. Personnel locations were fuzzy approximations.

  Right then, the drill did break through, and a rush of pure oxy enveloped the mechanism. Somewhere in the motor, a tiny electrostatic spark flared, and what must be a nimbus of flame engulfed it.

  Both drills stopped, and troops scrambled to aid the operators who’d just taken a flash burn.

  About a minute later, the rock drill started back up.

  Malakhar said, “Figures. It was a good flash, but without an atmosphere in there, it’s not significant, likely just scorched a suit and faceplate.”

  Morton said, “I’m worried about that rock drill.”

  “Oh, why?”

  “The rock cut is near the lock controls.”

  Andre checked his feed. “I’ve got it switched to central.”

  Morton said, “Yes . . . but the outer ones stop here physically. That one’s not airwalled from the network. Nor are you.”

  “Shit.”

  Morton said, “Yeah, if they have a good tech, and get into that, they can do a lot of havoc.”

  Andre said slowly, “We . . . I should have caught that when we were setting up. Alright, someone go disconnect the box and see about plugging that hole at the same time?”

  Morton said, “I will. How do want it isolated?”

  “Just unplug the control line from the terminal inside Lock Four. Don’t damage it. We may need it later. Then get into Inner Bay and see if you can hinder them more. They still only have pinholes.”

  “Got it.”

  Morton closed his faceplate and bounded off.

  Andre asked, “Ravi, can you keep an eye on my feed and give me any notice of entry?”

  Malakhar said, “Probably. I don’t think they’ll have a pre-built hack, and we’ve got excellent compartmentalized security. But anything on your system could be compromised, and they might manage to open Lock Four.”

  “You have spare system cable?”

  “In the storeroom, yes.”

  “Okay.” He grabbed a pair of sidecutters from the toolbox, and put them around the cable next to the terminal. “You shout, I cut.”

  “Got it.”

  Morton was back in a hurry, panting.

  “I was able to disconnect it,” he said between gasps. “No one can operate it now. I pulled the wires and the commo cable.”

  “Good.”

  Morton continued, still breathing hard, “They’re working on that hole in the door. Explosives, I think. Stuff squeezing through the hole.”

  Andre said, “That makes sense. They’ll try to crack it and break it loose, which will also damage the seals and render it unusable. But we can get some sensors in there. Ravi?”

  “Yes, this box,” the man replied. He held up a tray with several varieties of drones. It looked as if some would roll, others bounce or fly, and give several views. As long as they lasted, they’d provide useful intel.

  Morton sa
id, “Okay, I’ll take those now.”

  Malakhar handed him the box and said, “Just slide it in smoothly on the floor. The modules know what to do. Let them go.”

  Morton grinned. “Got it.”

  He turned and bounded back, and Andre closed the door behind him.

  Godin said, “We should button up now. If they blow one and decide to use a rocket for a one-two, we’re boned.”

  “Yeah.”

  Crawford kept a close eye on the monitors while donning his helmet, clicking the seal and checking oxygen flow. He had four hours in the bottle, and they had several spares on a cart they could drag with them in a hurry.

  Several feeds popped up on Malakhar’s monitors as the drones went active. Morton could be seen closing 3B, from multiple angles. Godin’s screen showed others.

  BANG!

  The floor shook as Lock 3A was breached. Some of the feeds went dead.

  Andre looked at Malakhar, realized his expression was hard to read through the plate, and started to ask as the man replied, “Three A is dismounted.”

  “So they’re in the connector between Middle and Inner.”

  Another explosion rattled everything.

  “That was 3B,” Godin said needlessly. “They didn’t waste any time. Probably slapped a charge and got behind the wall in Middle.”

  Andre felt a cold chill.

  “Crap. Is Morton alive?”

  Godin said, “I can’t see, but probably not. Pressure trauma from decompression to vacuum, and from the blast. Probably stunned, down, and not sealed. I’m sorry.”

  “Hopefully they have him prisoner. If they reached him fast . . .”

  Malakhar was trying to look positive and not succeeding. “Maybe.”

  Rojas sighed. Godin cursed and punched the wall.

  Andre shook his head. “Can’t worry now.”

  Malakhar said, “We no longer have control of our own locks. They can hardwire Lock Four from their side. All we have is the emergency curtain.”

  Andre pulled the cable that connected his system to Lock Control, since it was no longer needed.

  “Right, but they can’t get into the rest of the network yet,” he said. “Any way around their hack?”

  Malakhar shook his head. “Not fast. I guess we figure out how to hack in ourselves. I’ll get working on that.”

  He scanned and dragged images.

  Morton was dead. That was a tough one. Was this all worth it? If resistance didn’t change the outcome and did leave some dead and others subject to legal penalty?

  Malakhar said, “I think I have it. Laura, can you go cut Line L-4-O-X?” He pointed to his screen.

  She squinted. “Down the main passage? Yes. With what?”

  “An axe. Cutters. Whatever it takes. Sever and separate.”

  “Will do.”

  The Indian worked feverishly, using two styli to tap keys until he could widen the touchscreen enough for gloved fingers. Then they fairly flew across the surface.

  “Okay, I’m disengaging everything from inside. We’ll be the only control point, but we can’t risk them accessing other files.”

  “Right,” Andre agreed.

  Rojas came back at a skip.

  “Got it,” she said.

  Malakhar cocked his head. “Just in time. They were plugging into the terminal. That won’t do them any good, but now they have to breach the emergency lock.”

  Andre said, “Good.”

  “We still have camera lines there, though.”

  “Can we—”

  Malakhar said, “Morton cut them with wire cutters.”

  “On this side?”

  “Both. This side as he went in, there once he was . . . inside.”

  Blast. “Okay. We know they’re past the vehicles, though, just not efficiently. They’re having to hand-carry oxy and use batteries only until they finish that splice. How is that coming?”

  Malakhar said, “My observer reports they’ll be done soon. Also that he’s running short on cooling power, even with a field battery with him.”

  Had it been that long? “Noted. He can leave whenever he has to, and should come back if he can.”

  Malakhar nodded. “He was told. He says he’ll hold out to the end.”

  Andre raised his eyebrows. “Good man. What else can we do to slow them, then?”

  Godin cleared his throat and said, “I do have the skimmer and that dustbin. She’s loitering and can arrive in five.”

  “Right. Well, if you can get it into the rear of that support vehicle, that would do wonders.”

  “I’ll tell her.”

  Andre cautioned, “I don’t know that they can’t shoot it down.”

  The man nodded soberly. “Yeah, she knows. It’s Seville. She’ll fly fast, low and through the Fangs,” he said, referencing two tall peaks of the crater rim. “They shouldn’t see her.”

  “Good. Go.”

  Godin listened to his headset, and reported, “In fact, this says she’s two minutes out.”

  “I hope that’s soon enough.”

  “She says there’s a rock inside the load. One big one, enough to damage the vehicle.”

  Andre said, “Or anyone it hits. But we’re past that point now.”

  “’Fraid so. You’ll see it right in that saddle, any moment.”

  The skimmer came over the ridge unseen by the Ueys. It was several seconds before they reacted. Likely, it had to be sensed, interpreted, IDed as a Loonie craft, and then reported.

  They didn’t appear to have any antiaircraft assets. It was further confirmation that they hadn’t expected any outside resistance, only busting a lock and holding everyone at gunpoint.

  Several of them stared up at the craft, others took cover behind rocks, assuming a bombing run. Anywhere out of line of sight would be safe, with no atmosphere for overpressure.

  Seville angled in, likely using autopilot with a preprogrammed trajectory.

  Too late, the Ueys figured out the intended target and ran for the ArctiTrak’s hatch. They probably assumed a bomb or mass-impact weapon. In the low G, two of them bounced up above the ground. With better self-control, one managed to slap the close button as the bay doors opened on the skimmer above.

  The dust dropped out like a brick, one solid mass with no atmosphere. It dropped slowly and got a little fuzzy as internal friction started it separating. It was powdered pumice, not as dense as water, and in this G, negligible in impact.

  The rock inside the dust, however, was big enough to wreak some havoc. Not much, perhaps. It would bounce inside, break something, and maybe it would matter.

  The ramp had barely closed to knee height when the pile sloshed into the back of the vehicle, filling it.

  “Well done!” Andre shouted.

  The vehicle rocked, indicating the boulder had in fact entered and rattled around. Something in there was damaged. Something critical?

  Possibly crew.

  The hatch jammed with a pile of dust. That was a huge load, spilling out, around and over. The vehicle was buried forward to the front wheels.

  Rojas almost gloated. “They’ll have to shovel that out, and it’s going to be everywhere inside—under, behind and in equipment. Any gas connections will need to be wiped clean. And as soon as they turn on any inside environment, it’s going to blow into a cloud. It may not have stopped them, but it’s certainly hindered them.”

  Andre said, “I expect all their support equipment, and main commo, is in there. The individual vehicles have short-range transmitters, and of course they can relay through a remote to their lander. But that one probably can burn to Earth directly. That may no longer be possible. They pulled their power tools out of there. They won’t be doing that now. We probably slowed them significantly.”

  “Hopefully. It looks like we’re wearing them down.”

  He said, “We are. I hope it’s fast enough to matter.”

  The Ueys went to dig the dust out, scooping and pulling. As before, it static-clung to
their face shields and suits. They had to take frequent breaks.

  Andre said, “I wish we had another load right now, for them, or one of their personnel vehicles.”

  Godin pointed. “Yeah. See the guy heading to the truck?”

  “I expect he’s getting an oxy bottle. I wonder how many spares they have, and how many they can reach.”

  Godin said, “We can try another, but there’s risk of them shooting one down, or trying to rush us and wreck things. That’s not slow.”

  Andre agreed. “Yes, that’s good for now. We stage our responses.”

  The troops dug, heedless of the solar influx beating down on them with its long shadows. They managed to clear enough to lower the ramp partially, though it stopped well above plane. More spilled from inside, and they kept throwing that.

  Eventually they worked inside, but it was only a partial fix. They’d have shade, they might reach spare bottles, but any equipment back there was still endangered.

  Godin said, “Oh, here’s the pic the pilot got as she passed overhead.”

  Andre turned around to take a look.

  The image was difficult to discern due to sharp shadows. The area in shadow was near black, with just the barest hint of illumination from inside.

  Rojas said, “I’ve got this.” She gestured and Godin stood up.

  She sat down and got to work.

  First she cloned the image and left the raw. That second one, she blew up to examine.

  “That looks like one of their boots there. That angle suggests it’s being worn.”

  Andre looked at it. He’d not have caught it, but he had to agree with her. That was good. “I concur.”

  She kept itemizing. “Three oxy bottles there, and I’m guessing from the spacing they’re in a rack, probably connected to a manifold. In fact, what’s the scale here?” She glanced down, wrinkled her brow and said, “Probably an old Dash Eight. When were these vehicles made?”

  Godin said, “Eight years ago. That makes sense.”

  “Okay, so that gives them at least two full charges per person.”

  “Is that another bottle there?” Andre pointed.

  “On the floor. Empty or discarded.”