Crater Trueblood and the Lunar Rescue Company

by Homer Hickam

  Eighteen hours at this respiratory rate.

  Maria was hungry, but at least she had water. She sipped some from a straw in the helmet that led to a small tank.

  Drinking water made her think of Crater again. He had invented a machine that could detect small amounts of water from beneath the moon’s surface, then use ultrasonic waves to gather it into a pool for recovery. It had been a remarkable invention and it was now in use all over the moon. After inventing the machine, Crater, true to his nature, had done nothing with it, which was why the Colonel stole Crater’s invention and began to build and sell it himself. When he’d put Maria in charge of the factory that produced it, and she’d discovered it was producing Crater’s invention, she’d pared off her percentage of the profits and put it in a bank account for Crater. It was the right thing to do and she’d done it.

  Now she wondered if Crater knew about the account. She supposed that if he had decided to rescue her, one of his stops would have been the Medaris Building in Armstrong City. Would Miss Torricelli tell him about the account, or Maria thought darkly, would she instead try to snag him into a date? She was certain that Miss Torricelli would consider Crater a tempting morsel. She made a note that if she made it back alive to her office—unlikely, she knew—to let Torricelli go, with all the usual benefits and allowances.

  Maria looked up to the bridge but saw no one looking back. Occasionally she saw a crewman’s head as he moved past. He. They were all male, these crowhoppers. Crescent had been the only female, at least to Maria’s knowledge.

  Maria had been surprised at the reverence for Crescent that William the crowhopper had shown. That reverence had kept Maria from being transformed into an old woman. In effect her knowledge of Crescent had saved her life, at least for a little while.

  Maria recalled one of the few talks she’d had with the female crowhopper. Crescent rarely had much to say to her, and Maria knew it was because Crescent didn’t like her. But during a celebration by the Apps when they’d sold their first load of Thorium, Maria found herself sitting at a table with Crescent and no one else. Immediately the crowhopper had verbally attacked her. “You treat Crater like dirt,” Crescent said. “I don’t understand why he cares anything about you.”

  “Perhaps that is because you are a product of a petri dish,” Maria replied cattily, “and can’t understand normal human emotions.”

  Crescent had handed it right back to her. “Perhaps you’re the one who doesn’t understand normal human emotions because you’re a Medaris.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Maria snapped.

  “Don’t you consider yourself superior to everyone else?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Could have fooled me. Could have fooled everybody in Endless Dust.”

  When Crescent picked up her tray and took it to the wash window, Maria was left sitting alone. When no one else joined her, she picked at her food, then carried her own tray to the window. “Not hungry, honey?” the attendant asked. Maria didn’t answer. Her mind was elsewhere.

  On her way out, she heard the woman say, deliberately loud enough for her to hear, “Well, little Miss Priss can’t even pass the time of day with peons like me.”

  Maria had looked over her shoulder and said, “You’re right,” and kept walking. She’d felt bad about it, but she hadn’t gone back and apologized, either. That night, in her room where nobody could see her, she’d wept until she’d fallen asleep.

  Maria felt watched. When she looked across to the inner viewport of the lower tube, she saw Truvia. Truvia, despite her penchant for cruelty and her plot to destroy the Earth and take over the moon, was an interesting woman. If Maria could have put Truvia in a cell or maybe a straitjacket, she thought they might have had some lively conversations. But Truvia just stared at her until Maria couldn’t stand it. She used the handrails to pull herself around the tube out of sight where she could die in peace.

  THIRTY-SIX

  We’re still painting the other fuser,” Tiger told the Colonel. “They’ve made a loop and are coming back toward L5.”

  “Clever diversion,” the Colonel said. “The L5’ers may not notice them coming in from deep space.” He nodded to Tiger. “Thanks for getting the ship air operable. It’s good to be out of a smelly helmet. How’s the work on long-range communications?”

  “Riley and I are just taking a break from it. We have a lot of cables to pull. Maybe another couple of hours, we’ll be ready to try.”

  Riley was monitoring the pulsdar. “The warpods are on the move,” she said. “They’re skimming along the edge of the L5 rim.”

  The Colonel took a look. “They’ve seen us, so they’re moving in to protect the station.”

  The sheriff, feeling better, was strapped into one of the jumpseats. “What happens if they launch another asteroid to hit the moon?”

  “We could chase it,” Tiger said, “but I don’t think we could stop it. Not without a nuke.”

  “I read somewhere that nuking an asteroid wouldn’t do any good, anyway,” Riley said. “It would just break it up or knock a big chunk out of it. Either way, all the parts would keep going in.”

  “Funny they worried about asteroids more in the early twenty-first century than we’ve done for decades,” Tiger said.

  “But all they did was talk about it,” the Colonel pointed out. “After that the wars started that broke up the big countries, and threats from space were forgotten.”

  “You didn’t forget,” Riley said. “You loaded L5 with asteroids ready to strike.”

  “The dumbest thing I’ve ever done, Riley,” the Colonel confessed.

  “Don’t beat yourself up, Colonel,” the sheriff said. “I thought it was a good idea too.”

  “That should have been evidence that I was on the wrong path,” the Colonel replied. The sheriff, who knew the Colonel wasn’t joking, shrugged.

  “How’s the stomach, Sheriff?” Riley asked.

  “It’s coming around,” he said.

  “If you’re feeling better, you should be running sims at the battle station,” the Colonel said.

  The sheriff opened his mouth to argue, thought better of it, and clapped it shut. “Heading that way now, sir,” he said.

  “You’re rough with him,” Riley said after the sheriff had pulled himself aft.

  “The sheriff is a murderer, a thief, and what used to be called a psychopath,” the Colonel said. “But he’s absolutely loyal to me because he knows that I could dispose of him in an instant without anyone complaining.”

  “Maybe he’s loyal to you because of who you are, Colonel,” Riley suggested, “not because of your threats.”

  “What difference does it make as long as he’s loyal?”

  Riley didn’t have an answer, but she had her suspicions that the Colonel was still suffering from whatever trauma had caused him to create L5. It was all starting to feel very much like a suicide mission. She would therefore bide her time, keep a close watch, and act if necessary. The Colonel might be heading toward death at fuser velocity, but she saw no reason why she had to join him.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Truvia knelt beside Junior and pushed his shoulder, but he didn’t respond. She suspected he’d drugged himself with something stiffer than a sleeping pill. When he finally blinked awake, she asked, “What did you take?”

  “Nothing,” he lied as he let her help him sit up. “Well, maybe Lysurge. I like to see things turn into different colors.”

  “Are they still turning colors?”

  He looked toward the ceiling. “Yes. That light is pulsing like a rainbow. Or is that real?”

  “It isn’t real,” Truvia replied. “Junior, can you listen to me for just a minute?”

  “A real minute? Did you know time has colors too? It’s mostly blue, but now that you’re here, it seems kind of orange.”

  Truvia suppressed a sigh of exasperation. “You see, there’s a fuser on the way here from the direction of the moon. We don’t know anythi
ng about it. We’ve called to it, but there’s been no answer. Do you understand?”

  Junior’s eyes widened. “It’s my father. I know it is. He’s angry with me.”

  Truvia struggled to make herself understood. “We don’t know that. I don’t see how it’s possible, really, since we destroyed his fuser fleet. In any case, I’ve ordered the warpods to get into position and destroy it if necessary. What I need from you is a decision on whether you still want to go to Armstrong City now or wait. I think we should go ahead. The fuser and the warpods can fight it out while you consolidate your control of the company. Once you do that, it won’t matter who’s in the fuser or what it does. There is still the asteroid I sent toward Earth. It will change everything no matter what happens.”

  Junior squinted at her. “Did you really send an asteroid to hit Earth? I thought you were just trying to scare Maria with that tale!”

  Truvia took his hands in hers. “The asteroid is real, Junior. I thought you understood. We can create a kingdom on the moon and people it with loyal subjects and servants. And when we have the strength and things clear up on the Earth, we can go up there and take it over too. It would begin thousands of years of stability under our rule and that of your progeny. Our progeny, if you’ll have me for your wife.”

  Junior was getting his wits about him. “Maria said you were seventy years old.”

  “It doesn’t matter how old I am as long as I am capable of conception,” she replied. “We could couple naturally or I can accomplish it in my lab.”

  Junior’s lips curled in disgust. “I could never get high enough to couple with you.”

  Truvia sat back, then rose to her feet. “I can see you’re still under the effects of Lysurge,” she said coldly.

  Junior looked away. “I feel like throwing up.”

  “Lysurge sometimes causes nausea, especially if you overdose.”

  “It’s not the Lysurge. It’s talking to you that makes me sick. Now Daddy’s mad at me! And the world is going to be hit by an asteroid!”

  Junior suddenly stood and slammed his fist into Truvia’s face. “This is all your fault!”

  Truvia fell back, blood pouring from her nose. She scrambled away before he could hit her again.

  “You are a filthy, ugly pig!” Junior shouted. “You made me do it. I didn’t want to hit you. But now I hope the fuser is my dad. He’ll take me back. Everything will be like it was.”

  Truvia wiped her nose with the back of her hand. She could feel her eyes swelling. “Junior, we’ve killed hundreds of people. We destroyed a fleet of fusers. Nobody can stop the asteroid. There’s not going to be any forgiveness. One of two things is going to happen now. We will be killed or we will win. There’s no in-between.”

  Junior, his jaw slack, sat back down on the couch. “Why did I listen to you?” he whimpered.

  Truvia crawled to the couch, then sat beside him. “I forgive you, Junior. I love you so much. I’m sorry I upset you.”

  Junior buried his face in her shoulder. “You know I had to hit you, don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course. I deserved it. I pushed you too hard.”

  “Will you make all this go away, Truvia?”

  “Yes, Junior. I will make it all go away. You just stay here. Would you like to watch an old movie?”

  Junior nodded and Truvia handed him the remote. When she climbed out of the hatch, she looked through the viewport. Maria had her back turned.

  “Carus?” she called. “Ready our three best warriors to go outside. Whatever it takes, bring Maria in.”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Petro called up the Linda Terry puter. “Forward directional jet number two, one point five seconds at full thrust on my mark.”

  That will cause instability in pitch, the puter warned.

  “I want to put us in a slow tumble,” Petro replied.

  Understood. Waiting for your mark.

  “Crescent, are you ready?” Petro asked.

  “Belted in,” Crescent reported from her battle station.

  “You ready, brother?” Petro asked Crater who was sitting beside him in the copilot’s seat.

  “Ready.”

  “Puter, five-four-three-two-one, mark!”

  A bright puff emanated on the forward view screen, followed by a very slight shudder. Thrust request complete, the puter reported.

  “Is that it?” Crescent called.

  “That’s it. We’re now in a slow tumble, doing our best to look like an innocent little asteroid about to fall into L5.”

  Crescent came out of her station, opened and closed the internal hatch, then flew along to the cockpit. She looked over Crater’s shoulder and took note of the pulsdar screen. “Look at the other fuser’s pulsdar! It’s showing big rocks in L5!”

  Crater turned to the screen. “You’re right. There’s also the station, but I don’t see any warpods.”

  “I can see them,” Crescent said, and then explained. “My retinas are designed to pick up very small distinctions in shapes and patterns. That’s why camouflage doesn’t work well against Legionnaires. The warpods are there.” She touched the screen.

  “Just sitting there?”

  “That’s what the screen shows.”

  “If they’re staying in position within L5, it must mean they haven’t decided what to do,” Petro said.

  Crater thought that over. “If we go after the warpods, the station is going to be busy trying to sort out what’s happening and will be vulnerable to the other fuser. We don’t know what its intentions are.”

  “We can’t fight the warpods and worry about the station at the same time,” Petro pointed out.

  “That’s why I’ve been thinking about our taxi,” Crater said. “While we engage the warpods, our taxi could make a run for the station and demand Maria’s release.”

  “The taxi is unarmed. What’s to keep the station from destroying it?”

  “They’ll recognize it as a fuser taxi, and I’ll tell them to either negotiate or be nuked.”

  Petro shook his head. “I don’t know, Crater . . .”

  “Don’t talk,” Crescent advised. “Knock out the bridge, then go aboard.”

  Crater thought it over. “I could aim the taxi at the bridge, bail out, and ram it. If I used a jetpack, I could land on the station and go inside after Maria.”

  “You just described a one hundred percent foolproof suicide mission,” Petro said.

  “How about this for an idea?” Crescent asked. “Taxis have mechanical arms for maintenance chores, but they could also hold a hefty rock. Gather one up, fly the taxi toward the bridge, let go of the rock, and swing away. Ought to do it.”

  “Use the asteroids against the station!” Petro exclaimed. “I like it. But assuming that works, it only solves part of our problem. Maria’s still on board the station. How do we get her off?”

  “As Crescent said, I go aboard and get her,” Crater said.

  “Against any number of crowhoppers?”

  “They’ll be in disarray.”

  “I don’t know,” Petro said after a moment’s thought. “You make it sound too easy. I still think the only way is to go after the warpods, shoot them up, then go for the station. If they see a fuser swing up next to them with that other fuser also on the way, they just might surrender.”

  Six hours until L5, the Linda Terry puter said.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Truvia emerged on the bridge. Carus and Letticus nodded to her, then Letticus indicated the large central screen. “A small asteroid is about to fall into L5.”

  “Where did it come from?”

  “Tracking back along its trajectory indicates past Mars, perhaps the asteroid belt. Pulsdar indicates it’s not very dense. Otherwise we don’t have much information. We’re studying it.”

  “Too much of a coincidence. Get a warpod out there and find out what it is.”

  Carus said, “A warpod can’t fly a direct route through the horde. It will have to circle around the rim. Tha
t’s going to take a few hours and lots of fuel. This asteroid, or whatever it is, will be well inside L5 by then, probably within the horde.”

  “Why did you mention fuel?”

  “All our warpods are low on fuel.”

  “Why don’t they fill up? That’s why we have a tank out here.”

  “They should have but they haven’t,” Letticus said.

  Truvia scowled. “These warpod commanders are poorly trained. We just didn’t have time with this bunch before our labs were raided. Call them and tell them to fill up now.”

  “That’s going to take time. The fuser’s only about ten hours away. It takes two hours for each warpod to refuel. The tank is back where they were before we moved them. They’ll have to go back, fill up, then turn around.”

  “I trusted you two to take care of this kind of thing,” Truvia seethed.

  Carus decided to change the subject. “What’s wrong with your eye?” he asked.

  “I hit it on a hatch,” she replied, turning away slightly.

  “No, you didn’t. Junior hit you,” Carus said.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Truvia replied.

  Letticus checked the clock on the station puter. “You and Mr. Medaris are supposed to leave for the moon in eight hours. One of the warpods will have to refuel to take you there.”

  Truvia made a decision. “Our journey is postponed. I have the sense we’re under attack, maybe from two fronts. Until we find out who’s on this fuser and what this so-called asteroid is, I will stay here to coordinate and make decisions.”

  “Then what are your immediate orders?” Letticus asked.

  “Refuel one warpod. Send another one with whatever fuel it has around the rim to meet and greet that asteroid.”

  “If it has to do a lot of maneuvering, it won’t be able to get back over here.”

  “It’s a chance we’ll have to take.”

  “I have the three Legionnaires you requested prepared to go outside. Do you wish to kill or capture Maria Medaris?”

  “Capture. Do not kill her.”

  “Are you ready for them to go out?”