Without hesitation, Cris turned hard right and pulled his nose up.
"I have a target approaching you from forty-seven degrees right ascension, two-niner-three degrees declination from your perspective. Can you go faster?"
"This is it, Chuck."
"Impact in five, four—"
Another bright flash illuminated his cockpit. Cris was trying to gain altitude when he heard the first of the stones slamming into his Eagle. He looked down to check his instruments, when he looked up, a house-size stone flashed past directly in front of him. He looked over his shoulder. Three more huge stones, thrown up by the impact, were headed his way. He swerved right to dodge the first, and then back left to dodge the remaining two, their impacts threw up their own ejecta, some of which struck the bottom of the Eagle on her port side.
"Cris!" Ken shouted from the passenger compartment. "The porthole here was hit, we're leaking air!"
"Close everyone's helmets and pressurize your suits, then—"
"What about Edward?"
"Ken, do you know how to use a sealant kit to stop that leak?"
"Yes."
"Pressurize yours and Doctor Mazzola's suits then look in the back, you'll find a cabinet marked 'emergency', there are sealant kits in there."
Cris glanced over his shoulder again, the sky behind him was clear but he noticed his number two engine sparking and leaving a trail of vapor in the airless space behind him.
"Chuck—my number two is on fire."
"Cris, all emergency personnel are standing by, head directly for hangar number three. Do you still have VTOL capability?"
"Hell, I don't know. My instruments are all but useless."
"Stand by, Cris."
Stand by? Cris thought to himself. Oh, this can't be good.
"Cris?"
"Right here, Chuck."
"Cris, I have good news and bad news. The bad is we can't risk you crashing into the dome. When you get here, look to the immediate south of the dome and you'll see an area that has been flattened out, that's the emergency landing strip. We want you to jettison your landing legs and belly in."
"You're kidding?"
"'Fraid not, Cris. All kinds of emergency equipment will be—"
"Chuck, one of my wounded has a compound fracture, so we had to cut open his Ess-CEP suit, so the suit is useless now. I have a leaking porthole already, and if I rupture the pressure hull—"
"I get the picture, Cris."
"Even if I set this thing down in one piece, there is still the problem of getting him inside the dome."
"You just get down, let us worry about the rest. Oh, is your airlock still functional?"
"As far as I know. What's the good news?"
"There are no more large asteroid fragments."
"Happy days!"
Up ahead, Cris could now see the lights of the base just a tad to his right, he adjusted his angle and looked to his speed and altitude. He would have to manage the crash landing on the first attempt. He would not have the altitude for a second try. And of course, his number two engine had to hold together. If it failed completely before he got down, he would auger into the lunar surface, if it exploded—if it explodes, he thought, all my troubles will be over.
He knew he was coming in too hot, but if he slowed down too soon, he wouldn't make the landing strip. JILL was nestled between two ranges of hills that ran north and south. He'd have to clear the hills then reduce his altitude and come to a complete stop on the surface—in one piece.
Cris watched as the hills slid under his ship, just under his ship. He then hit the button to jettison all four landing legs. The explosive sound each leg made should have been a simultaneous event. Instead, one was a split second late. His control panel indicated that his number three leg was still attached.
"Chuck, can you tell me if all four of my legs are away?"
"Cris, I have a visual, number three is still attached."
"Damn."
The landing area was just ahead of him and he was very low. At this point, there was little to do, but pray. He pulled the nose up and shut his main propulsion engines off. He used his directional rockets as breaks to slow his approach. He angled the ship a little to the left in the hope that when number three leg struck the surface it would break away behind the Eagle, and not come up through the hull or cause him to start tumbling.
The surface grew closer and closer and as it did, the rocks and small craters flew past faster and faster. He was quickly over the cleared landing strip. The number three leg struck the surface first and just as Cris had hoped, it snapped and flew off to the rear, but it caused the nose of the Eagle to come slamming down onto the prepared surface of the strip. The jarring impact caused objects inside the ship to come loose from their mounts and rocket across the cabin. Some small piece of flotsam hit Cris in the right calf muscle, the pain was akin to being shot.
The Eagle was now sliding over the landing strip, shaking violently. Ahead, Cris could see the end of the comparatively smooth landing strip and the rocky field beyond. He fired the forward-facing maneuvering thrusters again and again, but he was not going to stop in time.
The Eagle plunged into the rocky field. The craft was being bounced now, violently. Just when Cris was sure they were coming apart, the nose of the Eagle struck a large rock that did not budge. The stern rose up several degrees off the ground then slowly settled down. They had stopped.
"Chuck this is—"
"Cris—that was the wildest thing I've ever seen! Are you all alright?"
"Stand by."
Cris unbuckled his restraints and turned to descend the few steps into the lower compartment. As he put his lunar weight on his right leg, it buckled under him and he fell. He got to his feet and hobbled back to check on his passengers. Ken was shaken, but okay. Lorenzo was in and out of consciousness, and Sir Leighton was still unconscious, perhaps from the injection, but bleeding again.
"Chuck, my passengers need medical assistance and quickly."
"How's your hull?"
"Seems to be holding together."
"Okay, keep everyone strapped in, we are going to pick up your entire Eagle and bring it inside."
Cris informed Ken, then limped back to the cockpit. From here, he could see that two odd-looking robotic vehicles were shooting a mastic sealant over the engine pods, which would ensure no fires would erupt within the engines once they were introduced to an oxygen environment.
Next, a huge vehicle with brilliant lights came rolling up. It possessed a number of arms and a four-blade fork lift. This machine came along side and slowly, carefully, began to slide the forks under the Eagle. Cris was amazed at the size of the thing, it was undoubtedly very powerful. Once the forks were under the Eagle, the arms grabbed hold. Cris felt the machine lift them up and start slowly moving toward the dome.
Cris turned to look out the starboard side in the direction of travel: there was a vast ramp leading down toward an opening, seemingly under the dome. As the machine began to angle down the ramp, the arms holding his ship compensated for the angle.
Soon, they had been gently placed upon the floor in a gigantic bay that seemed to encompass the entire area under the dome. The forklift backed out and the doors to the bay closed. Air was being pumped in under pressure, and quickly the O2 was at one atmosphere. The rotating red lights stopped, went out, and were replaced by green lights.
"Cris, you can open the hatch now."
"Chuck?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
"Hey, this is why I get the big bucks."
"You have to let me buy you a dinner or—"
"How about just a cup of coffee?"
"Sure."
Cris returned to the lower compartment where he found Ken, his helmet off, removing Lorenzo's helmet. Lorenzo looked up at Cris as he disengaged the safety on the airlock doors. "I understand I have you to thank for saving our lives?" His Italian accent was just perceptible.
"You're welcome,
sir, I was happy I could be of help."
"What is your name, Signor Capitano?"
"Captain Cristóbal Salazar, Squadron Eight, Lunar Survey Team, sir."
"Very good, Capitano Salazar, very good, grazie mille."
Cris and Ken stood aside as the medical personnel rushed in after both airlock doors were opened. Lorenzo and Edward were placed on gurneys. The medics started working on them as they rolled them out. Cris and Ken were given a cursory examination as well, and wheel chairs were brought in for them. As they were sitting, Ken stuck out his hand. "Thanks again, Captain, we—I owe you my life."
"Forget it."
"Not likely."
As he was rolled out, Cris noticed Major Selina standing nearby. The medics continued to push him toward the elevator, so the major walked along beside him. "Captain, you failed the test."
"Yes, ma'am."
"You completely totaled one of my Eagles."
"Yes, ma'am."
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. "Well done, Cris," she said, smiling down at him. "Once the medics are through with you, and you feel up to it, come to my office, will ya?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Cris endured a complete scan. Other than a mild concussion and a hematoma to his right calf, he was fine.
He returned to his quarters, showered, and donned a fresh flight suit. He then sat on the side of his bed and took several deep breaths, trying to compose himself. It was impossible not to remember his last crash landing. His plane was badly shot up and his weapon systems officer or "wizzo" was wounded. He made it back to his airbase, but had to belly in that time as well. His ship slid off the runway, hit the turf and cart wheeled across the field. He managed to pull Danny "Long Legs" Rastemberger out of the burning wreckage, only to watch him die in his arms.
That was over two years ago, and still it took Cris half-an-hour to get past the shakes. At last he stood up, rubbed his face, and headed out the door.
Less than three hours from his return, he was at the office of his squadron commander. She opened the door, rather unusual in itself, and shook his hand. "Come in, Cris. Have a seat."
"Thank you, ma'am."
"Cris, that was some expert flying out there. That one-eighty you pulled out by Reiner, and the way you brought that wounded bird in was—well you really impressed everyone. The school at the IIEA told me you were good, I had my doubts because I've been told that before by the IIEA. However, my doubts are gone, you're ready."
"Yes, ma'am."
"I've recommended you for another DFC."
The Distinguished Flying Cross. Cris was not in pursuit of medals. "Ma'am that's not—"
"Debatable, Cris, it's not debatable."
"Well, thank you, ma'am."
"You deserve it. Now, to change the subject, we have new activity out in Mare Orientale. Almost center of the Mare lays the crater Hohmann. It's sixteen kilometers in diameter and—well it's been an unremarkable lunar feature until two and a half hours ago when the phenomenon started. We had placed a satellite in geosynchronous orbit over Mare Orientale looking for anomalies. Well—we found one. During the period when we believe the phenom was active, there was a power spike that emanated from inside the crater, and the satellite recorded a light, at magnitude eight point five, which also generated from inside the crater. This light lasted for seven point two five minutes. When it abated, the satellite took a closer look at the crater in several wavelengths—it seems the bottom of the crater is missing."
"I'm sorry?" Cris asked, leaning forward.
"Cris, the crater is now a pit, sort of like a sink hole, and by all accounts, a very deep one. We've sent all the data to IIEA and we're awaiting a response, but the consensus of opinion here is that they will want a probe launched into the pit. Cris, you're the man for that mission."
Cris rose to his feet. "When do I leave, ma'am?"
"Just cool your jets," she said with a smile. "We haven't gotten any orders yet. Regardless, we're preparing a probe to load aboard Eagle one, the hardened ship. We tested her with a Non-Nuclear EM pulse and she was unaffected." She raised a brow. "Say, you did get a clean bill of health from the flight surgeon, right?"
"Yes, ma'am, I just got a bruise."
"Okay, Cris, I'll call you when we get the word. In the meantime, I want you to head over to The Crater House. Someone there wants to meet you. And then get some rest, that's an order. I want you at a hundred percent for this probe mission."
○O○
At The Crater House, Cris was greeted by the hostess. "Table for one, sir?"
"No, I'm here to meet someone. I—"
The hostess noticed Cris's name and rank on his uniform. "Oh, Captain Salazar, your party is awaiting you in the bar, sir."
At the bar stood two women, their dates, and one lone master sergeant. He was rather young for an E-7, and rather short, but in peak physical condition. Cris approached, and as he did, the sergeant turned around. "Eagle eight-three?"
"Chuck?"
"Yes, sir. Master Sergeant Chuck Alistair."
Cris took his hand in a firm and genuine grip. "Chuck, I am real pleased to be able to meet you."
"I guess the pucker factor was pretty high out there."
"I can still taste the upholstery."
"Sir, I understand you served in Oceania."
"Yes, two tours."
"Me, too, who were you with?"
"The first tour I was with the one hundred thirty-eighth out of Tan Son Nhat in Ho Chi Minh City. We flew with our Vietnamese partnership unit the four twenty-seventh.
"My second tour, I was with the fifteenth out of Jolo, southeast of Zamboanga City. You?"
"I was with the seventy-second RDU. My unit was set up just outside Dundee Beach the day Darwin was hit."
"That was bad."
"Yes, sir, it was. Afterward, we were relocated outside of Moro on Pulau Sugi, protecting Singapore. We did a better job there."
The two men continued their conversation for another half-an-hour, relating stories that made both men laugh, and then Cris's COMde went off. He tapped the chip implanted at his right temple, which activated the small communications device, imaginatively referred to as a 'COMde', attached to his belt. On the virtual screen in his contact lens, he noticed he had a text from Major Selina, "R U Resting?" The icon for no response required followed this.
"Chuck, I have to go. Thanks again."
"I got your six, sir," Chuck said. They shook hands.
Cris headed for his quarters and sleep.
○O○
Ten hours later, with seven hours sleep behind him, Cris was in the briefing room studying maps of Mare Orientale. The computer simulated the angle of the sun and, therefore, displayed the shadows as they would appear during his run. The 3-D representation duplicated the entire run, as he would see it from his cockpit.
The plan was to attach a probe to his Eagle and have him fly over the crater and drop it in, like an old-fashioned bomber with dumb bombs.
The Eagle was never designed to be a bomber, so there were no bomb racks, and when sitting on its landing gear, there was insufficient clearance underneath to accommodate the probe. Cris offered a solution. "We'll have to do as they did for the Enola Gay."
"The what?" asked Doctor Hatcher, head of the scientific research section.
"The Enola Gay, the B-29 bomber that dropped the first A-Bomb on Hiroshima, Japan, effectively ending WWII. But it's how they had to load the huge bomb in the plane that's important to us now. They placed the bomb in a hole in the ground, towed the B-29 over it, and then hoisted it into the bomb bay. I suggest we do the same. Eagles don't have bomb bays, so we'll have to rig up some sort of carry-and-release mechanism under the Eagle I can trigger from the cockpit."
"I should have paid closer attention in history classes," Major Selina commented, just as her COMde sounded. She tapped the chip at her temple and answered. "Yes, sir—we're on top of it now, sir. Sir, Doctor Hatcher believes we have five or six hours befo
re the next iteration of the phenomenon. No, sir, no one can be any more specific than that. Sir, we will be ready," she ended the conversation by again tapping the chip, and then looked around the room. "We have a go for this mission, and IIEA wants it executed before the next occurrence of the phenom. We had best get crackin'."
The engineers on JILL were some of the best Earth had to offer. They had developed a detailed schematic of the harness in thirty-five minutes. It was manufactured from existing parts forty-five minutes later, and mounted on the Eagle in twenty.
Simultaneously, a pit was dug out on the emergency landing strip. The attachment components were manufactured and attached to the probe, and the probe was then moved to the pit.
Two hours and twenty minutes from the birth of the idea, Eagle one was lowered over the probe by the monster forklift, and the probe attached. There were three hours and forty minutes remaining—more or less.
Once again, they were all in the briefing room, this time Cris had all his gear on and was ready to go. He and the major pored over the minute details one last time.
"Cris, there are only two critical factors," she said. "You get the probe in the pit, on time, and you get safely back here. And the latter takes precedence over the former, you got that?"
"Yes, ma'am. Ma'am, there's one request I'd like to make: Could I have Master Sergeant Alistair in the control room? We're a real good team."
"You got it, Cris."
Chapter 4
A Matter of Light Years
Flight time to the target was estimated at four hours and fifteen minutes. Time over the target area would be but a few seconds. The plan was to fly past the crater about fifty kilometers to the north, make a wide one-hundred-eighty-degree turn and drop the probe as the Eagle was headed toward home. The hastily manufactured probe had sufficient guidance capability that, once dropped in close enough proximity to the crater, it could steer itself in and keep the crater walls at bay as it descended, all the time transmitting telemetry back to JILL.
Cris lifted the Eagle straight up and climbed to 2,500 meters, engaged his navigation computer and headed west by south on a heading of two hundred forty-nine point zero nine degrees. He let the computer fly the ship as he ran a system self-test on the probe release device. Then he tested the probe itself. Everything got a green light. He was tempted to refer to this mission as a milk run, but he didn't want to jinx it. Every time in the past when he came to the conclusion that a given mission would be unremarkable, things would go south, and quickly. Like the day he and "Long Legs" Rastemberger set off on that photo recon: a milk run—a piece of cake. No—there were no milk runs.
Across a Sea of Stars Page 5
