Crater Trueblood and the Lunar Rescue Company

by Homer Hickam

  “Oh, I already have. I’m an excellent lock picker, and the one on that hatch isn’t a serious lock. They’re designed to lock up petty thieves, not smart fellows like me. I’ve just been cooling my jets until the guards leave. They don’t look like dedicated troops.” He peered through the viewport in the hatch. “Yep, just as I thought, there’s nobody there. All I need to break us out of here is a tool. Got anything hidden in your boot?”

  Crescent reached to her ankle and took out a stubby but deadly looking knife. “Like this?”

  “Perfect, but why didn’t you use it on a guard?”

  “I didn’t think murder was necessarily a good thing to add to all the other charges against us.”

  “Good point. Hand it over, sister!”

  Crescent handed over the knife and Petro went to work on the lock. Within seconds there was a click and the hatch swung open. Petro poked his head out, looked left and right, then said, “Let’s go.”

  They went. Along the way, they saw someone coming. Hiding behind some equipment, they recognized the man who was hurrying along. “Crater,” Petro hissed. “Over here.”

  Crater joined them. “What happened?”

  “Guards locked us up for nearly five minutes before I broke us out, but they could be coming back. Only thing to do is steal the tug again. It still have the fuser attached?”

  “It does,” Crater said.

  “Then let’s boogie!”

  The three made a run to the Angie Johnston and climbed inside. Petro settled into the left seat of the cockpit, Crater in the right. Crescent strapped into the jump seat behind them.

  “Here we go,” Petro said.

  “An equatorial orbit would probably be best,” Crater said.

  Petro looked at him and shook his head. “Crater, Crater, Crater. We can’t go into space yet. The fuser doesn’t have a full tank of hydrogen and it doesn’t have any weapons. We’ve got to get some of both.”

  Crater allowed a short sigh. “Where do we go for that?”

  “Before I was cashiered out of the service, I helped disarm the fusers. Their missiles are locked in a depot on the farside. Liquid hydrogen is stored there too.”

  “All right, then fire up this tin can and let’s go raid ourselves a depot.”

  Crater handed Crescent a pouch. “Here. I brought you your gillie.”

  Crescent took it. “How’d you keep your gillie from fighting with it?”

  “I don’t know. They seem to be napping. Gillies are weird.”

  “They’re not the only thing weird in this lashup,” Crescent grumbled.

  Crater frowned at her. “What’s wrong now?”

  “Nothing,” Crescent lied. “Petro, why are we still sitting here?”

  “The tug’s software is locked up.”

  Crescent tickled her gillie out of its pouch. “Gillie, can you get this tug moving?”

  Her gillie yawned and stretched, although it had neither mouth or backbone. Done.

  “Hey!” Petro cheered. “The puter is up!”

  Crater’s gillie crawled out of Crater’s pocket. What’s happening? What are you doing, Awful Thing?

  Saving us, Superior One.

  Crater’s gillie looked at the bright panel and the countdown clock. Well done, it said. It briefly pondered Crater. Why didn’t you ask me to do that?

  “Sorry. I guess I wasn’t thinking.”

  Crescent had to use all of her willpower to keep from thoroughly agreeing out loud with Crater’s assessment while Petro blasted the tug off the ground, spun it around, and headed for the farside of the moon.

  EIGHTEEN

  Carus pushed Maria to the bridge. Since it was located atop the central shaft, weightless conditions prevailed. After floating up through the main hatch, Carus pointed toward a handhold for Maria. A crowhopper, dressed in black armor with gold stripes on his shoulders, was at the helm. When he saw Carus, he touched his fingertips to the brim of his cap. “Trainer Carus. Welcome to my bridge.”

  “Thank you, Letticus. Maria, this is Letticus, the station captain. Letticus, I think you’ve heard us speak of Maria Medaris?”

  The crowhopper made a curt nod of his head. “An honor, madame.”

  “What would you know of honor?” Maria demanded.

  Letticus pondered her with hooded eyes beneath heavy eyebrows. “You have spirit. We of the Legion admire such.”

  “I require a status report,” Carus said curtly.

  “Farside target will be coming into view soon. That will be on screens 1 and 2. The flotilla is on screens 3 and 4.”

  “You will want to watch this,” Carus said to Maria, gesturing toward the screens.

  Screens 1 and 2 showed the moon’s surface with craters scrolling by. Screens 3 and 4 showed a different part of the moon’s surface although from more distance. Above the moon were five silvery objects floating along like scraps of foil on the wind.

  “Yesterday,” Carus said, “we pushed some of our rocks across the rim. What’s the timeline, Letticus?”

  “The flotilla will be struck first,” the crowhopper commander said. “Two of the rocks have cameras attached. The view will appear to speed up when they get closer, but that will be an illusion. Let me pull back to a wide-angle shot so you can see the others.”

  Screens 1 and 2 widened to present a view of hundreds of gray and brown boulders flying toward five silvery objects. “One of the targets is a tug, the other four are standard attack fuser spacecraft,” Carus explained. “They belong to your grandfather. He promised your father to resign and retire immediately. Instead, he gathered this fleet to come after you.”

  Maria felt a surge of hope. “The Colonel knows I’m here?”

  “He does, but soon it won’t matter. Just watch.”

  “In about ten seconds,” Letticus said. “Counting down. Five-four-three . . .”

  Maria watched the screens as the rocks slammed into the fusers and the tug. Some of the ships exploded and others were ripped apart. Then the rocks holding the cameras careened past and, within seconds, slammed into the moon.

  “The enemy fleet has been destroyed,” Letticus reported. “Now, please watch screens 3 and 4. There, you’ll see the fusers in the Lunar Council’s orbital storage fleet be similarly destroyed.”

  Maria watched with a sinking heart. This time dozens of fusers and transports were torn apart, their remnants and crews blasted across space.

  Maria’s father appeared on the bridge. “Is it done?” he asked Carus.

  “Congratulations, sir, the war is over.”

  Junior turned to Maria. “Now you know there won’t be any rescue. Your grandfather will give in and all of this will be over. The Lunar Council will give in too. The moon is mine.”

  Maria knew she needed to stay strong around her father to keep him off balance. “Do you know how crazy you sound?” she calmly asked.

  “Do you know how long I’ve had to wait for this day?” He waved his hand in dismissal. “Take her away.”

  Maria felt Carus’s hands grip her shoulders, but she shook him off and smiled. “You poor fools.”

  “How are we poor fools?” her father demanded.

  “You may have stopped the Colonel and the Lunar Council, but there’s someone else coming for me.”

  “Who?” Junior demanded.

  “You never met him. A man who thinks he loves me. A heel-3 miner.”

  “How could a heel-3 miner get all the way out here?” Carus laughed.

  “He’s coming. Count on it.”

  Carus stopped laughing. “Then we will kill him.”

  “You can try. A lot of people have. It’s almost a cottage industry.”

  “She’s just mouthing off,” Junior said, but Maria could tell by the uncertainty in his expression he wasn’t so sure.

  Maria’s smile turned into a malicious, eager grin. “He’s coming. And he will kill you all!”

  After Maria was pushed through the hatch by Carus, Junior saw Letticus looking at him.
“Nobody will come!” he shouted. “Nobody!”

  Letticus and the bridge crew suddenly got busy, their eyes glued to the puter screens.

  NINETEEN

  Uh oh! Somebody’s beat us to it!”

  Petro brought the tug in low across the inner rim of Oppenheimer crater to hover over the depot. The gates to the underground facility were wide open and there were tracks everywhere.

  “Who else knew about this depot?” Crater demanded.

  “Colonel Medaris and some of his fuser crews, I guess.”

  Crater was instantly certain he knew who had cleaned out the depot and why. “The Colonel is going after Maria with all guns blazing,” he said.

  “In that case, we’re out of business,” Petro said. “Without missiles and fuel, we might as well head back to Cleomedes.”

  Crater ignored Petro and kept thinking over the situation. If the Colonel was sending an armada to retrieve Maria, then perhaps that would be enough to do the job. But what if it wasn’t? It was still his job to save Maria because it had always been. Even as he thought it, he knew his reasoning wasn’t sound. A little voice deep inside warned him that Petro was right. This adventure was over. Saving Maria was no longer an option, and that hurt. Someone else would save her and he’d never see her again.

  Crater forced the warning voice inside him away. Doubt was unworthy. He’d never accomplished anything worthwhile by letting doubt take over. “Let’s see what’s left in the depot,” he proposed.

  “Are you crazy?” Petro demanded. “Oh yeah. I forgot. You are. What say you, Crescent? Think we should go home?”

  “Yes,” Crescent answered forthrightly. “This is a fool’s errand.”

  Crater looked at her and then at Petro. “Look, you two, we’ve gone to the trouble of buying a fuser and stealing a tug. Let’s at least see if the Colonel left us some missiles. After that, we can decide what to do.”

  Petro held the tug in a hover over the entry to the depot. “I don’t know, Crater. I’m beginning to think we’re in something way over our heads.”

  An uncomfortable silence, not counting the roar of the tug’s engines hovering over the depot, ensued. Finally Crescent said, “We’re here. Crater’s still determined to do this. Let’s at least see what’s in the depot.”

  Crater smiled at Crescent. “Thanks.”

  Crescent shrugged and Petro shook his head, then landed the tug. Immediately an angry voice erupted through the tug communicator. “Hey, you! This is Oppenheimer Depot Control. Stop stirring up all that blasted dust. Where’d you come from, anyway?”

  “Moontown,” Crater lied. “Special pickup for the Colonel.”

  “Again? All right, but watch your jets.”

  “Roger that.”

  The depot guard proved to be an Umlap dressed in an ancient and thoroughly patched pressure suit. “Rotten day,” Crater said to him after walking inside the open doors.

  “And not likely to get any better,” the Umlap responded.

  “We’re here to pick up missile racks.”

  “I hope you don’t need many. The Colonel almost cleaned me out.”

  “The Lunar Council approved the Colonel’s requisition?” Petro asked.

  The Umlap frowned, which meant he was amused. “Of course not. I was bribed. I was just packing up to take my money and flee. Who are you, anyway?”

  “Oh, just some contractors,” Petro said. “We don’t know what’s going on. We’re not paid enough to think.”

  The Umlap studied Crescent. “You’re a crowhopper, aren’t you?”

  “And you’re an Umlap. What’s your name?”

  “Being Alone Suits Him. What’s yours?”

  “Crescent. Now, Being Alone Suits Him, will you show us your remaining missile racks, or will I need to cleave out your intestines?”

  The Umlap was not intimidated. “My intestines always hurt, so I wish you would cleave them out. Before I do anything, how about a suitable bribe?”

  “How many johncredits do you require?” Crater asked.

  The Umlap scowled, which meant he was happy. “How about ten thousand? I require cash, of course.”

  “One gold coin,” Crater said. “Otherwise we’ll just go inside and find the racks for ourselves.”

  “Whatever,” the Umlap said and held out his hand, received the gold coin from Crater’s kit, and then led them to the only missiles left, several racks of blue missiles with yellow tips.

  A chain-link gate enclosed the racks. A sign with the international symbol for radiation was posted on the gate. “Nukes!” Petro exclaimed.

  “Big dirty booms,” the Umlap agreed.

  “We can’t use them,” Crater said.

  “Why not?” Petro demanded. “Big dirty booms can vaporize just about anything.”

  “True, but I wanted something a little more surgical.”

  “Good. We’ve got nothing to work with. Let’s go home.”

  Crater frowned, then turned to the Umlap. “Any kinetic ammunition for our cannons?”

  “Heavy metal slugs? Tons and tons.”

  “Load us up with four racks of nuclear missiles and a ton of slugs. That ought to do us.”

  The Umlap held out his palm. “Another gold coin,” he said, and Crater gave it to him.

  “We also need hydrogen in our blister tanks,” Crater said.

  “I can run the lines out to your tug,” the Umlap said, holding out his hand to be filled by another coin.

  After the refueling, Crater, Petro, and Crescent climbed into the tug cockpit and went through the checklist. Crater heard his gillie mumbling and grumbling in his pocket. Crescent’s gillie was similarly complaining. When their grumbles got ever louder, Petro demanded, “What’s with those two clumps of slime mold?”

  “Gillie, what’s wrong with you?” Crater asked.

  The gillie crawled up and sat on Crater’s shoulder. Distressed, it said.

  “About what?”

  The gillie remained silent.

  “Gillie, come out,” Crescent said, and her gillie crawled up and sat on her shoulder too. Distressed, it said.

  “Are you two arguing?” Crescent asked.

  No, her gillie said, we’re deciding.

  “Deciding what?”

  How to tell you what we know.

  I will tell it my way, Crater’s gillie said.

  I will tell it my way, Crescent’s gillie said.

  You are an Awful Thing.

  You are the Superior One.

  Yes, I am. Now, shut up and let me tell it.

  Crescent’s gillie vibrated, then Crescent felt it go limp, drooping over her shoulder. “I think my gillie just gave in,” she said.

  This is my way, Crater’s gillie said, and a blurred picture began to form in the air. It is not easy for me to do this, it added.

  The three humans stared at the picture that gradually became focused. It showed a woman on a dirty cot. Her foot was swollen and black. “Maria!” Crater exclaimed, his heart in his throat. “It’s Maria! She’s hurt!”

  The photo changed to show a broken finger and a broken thumb. When the gillie zoomed out, Maria’s face could be seen, her eyes closed, her face pale, her hair matted and dirty.

  “How did you get this?” Crescent demanded, chilled by what they had seen.

  I pulled it down from a comm-sat feeding it to Moontown. I keep up with what happens there.

  I do too, Crescent’s gillie said, sitting up.

  No, you don’t, Crater’s gillie hissed.

  Crescent’s gillie drooped again. You’re right, I don’t. But I should have. I am ashamed I missed it.

  You are young. You will learn.

  Thank you. I saw something else.

  Crater’s voice was raw. “What else did you see?”

  I will show you, Crescent’s gillie said. Another picture formed in the air, this one of an Armstrong City telly reporter. She was talking about a strange occurrence. A shower of meteors had soared in from space and taken out the
Lunar Council fuser fleet that had been parked in orbit for storage. The moon was now essentially defenseless. No one knew how it had happened.

  Petro, Crater, and Crescent sat in shocked silence. Crescent was the first to speak. “Those pix of Maria,” she said, “are horrible.”

  “Looked bad,” Petro agreed.

  “The fuser fleet is gone,” Crater added. “Probably took the Colonel’s rescue fusers with them.”

  “That means there’s nobody left to save Maria,” Petro said slowly.

  Crescent was quiet for a moment, then resolutely said, “All right, gentlemen. It’s up to the Lunar Rescue Company.”

  She put out her right hand, instantly covered by Crater’s right hand, and then, after a moment of hesitation, by Petro’s right hand. They looked into each other’s eyes, and then Crescent said, “Let’s roll.”

  TWENTY

  All the color in Colonel Medaris’s face drained away until his skin was the color of the ashen rays of a lunar impact crater. “All of them?” he croaked.

  Tony O’Neil, the Medaris corporate chief engineer, was in the office to explain the technicalities of the situation to the Colonel. “Not all. One fuser survived relatively intact. She’s the Jan Davis, but sensor reports show her environmental system was compromised. We’ve tried to contact her captain and crew, but there’s been no response. They’re probably dead.”

  “A complete disaster.”

  “It gets a little worse. The Lunar Council is asking that you explain why you moved their fusers from orbital storage without permission.”

  The Colonel closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “Tell the Lunar Council the asteroid that hit our telescope wasn’t natural. Tell them we were going to L5 to stop any more asteroids from coming in.”

  The sheriff of Moontown, also in attendance, said, “It may be a little late for that, sir.”

  The Colonel glared at the sheriff. “Don’t you think I know that? But what was I supposed to do? Admit to the Council I put those rocks at L5? I hoped to be able to stop all this by showing up with overwhelming force and making my idiot son look down my gun barrels.” He shook his head. “I guess I hoped a lot of things, including the rescue of Maria. Fellows, I’m starting to feel old. Is this the end of Colonel Medaris?”