Crater Trueblood and the Lunar Rescue Company

by Homer Hickam

  “Are our missiles in range?”

  “It would be a long-distance shot, but I might be able to get one out that far.”

  “If it pops up, lock on, shoot a salvo, and smash it!”

  “You mean the warpod, right?”

  “No, you fool. The fuser!”

  “Ignore that order, Tiger,” Riley snapped. She faced the Colonel. “Sir, you are not going to smash that other fuser until we know who’s in it.”

  That was when Riley felt the muzzle of a pistol jammed into her cheek. “Riley, if you say another word, I will blow your head off,” the sheriff said. “Colonel, there’s some extra belting in that cabinet there. I suggest you strap her to her chair. Tiger, do as the Colonel orders.”

  “Not until you tell me what this is all about,” Tiger defiantly replied.

  “Do you know the punishment for mutiny, Captain?” the Colonel asked as he gathered the straps. “Trust me. You won’t like it.”

  With the sheriff’s pistol stuck beneath her chin, Riley allowed herself to be strapped in. “Colonel, think this through,” she begged. “You’re a little sick. Don’t you see that?”

  The Colonel tore a strip from a towel and wrapped it around Riley’s mouth while the sheriff went forward. “Do as the Colonel says. Get the missiles ready.”

  Tiger stared down the muzzle of the sheriff’s pistol, then brought up the missile-arming screen. “Four missiles armed and ready,” he said.

  The Colonel came up to the cockpit and pointed at the pulsdar screen. Two glowing dots were evident. “What are those?”

  “It’s the fuser and the warpod,” Tiger said. “They just popped up out of the horde.”

  “Lock on the fuser and launch your missiles,” the Colonel demanded.

  “But, sir, from this distance, it would take an hour for a missile to get there!”

  “You have your orders, pilot Tramon.”

  When Tiger still hesitated, the sheriff jammed the pistol barrel into the pilot’s temple. “Do it!”

  Tiger called up the battle puter. “Launch missiles one through four at the target designated on the pulsdar. At my mark. Three-two-one-mark!”

  The fuser shuddered as the missiles launched and began their long journey through space.

  FORTY-TWO

  The asteroid horde was not as Crater envisioned it. Rather than being a tight collection of rocks, he saw that the rocks were separated by hundreds, even thousands of yards. The big potato-shaped rock they’d launched cleared an even wider path as it barged through smaller asteroids, which started a chain reaction of rocks bumping into others. Before long the entire horde seemed to be rattling around.

  The warpod kept following the Trojan asteroid with the Linda Terry tracking along behind. When he could, Petro kept the tumbling rocks of the horde between the Linda and the station, which was aggressively painting the area. The horde was also being painted by the other fuser.

  “When should we take this warpod out?” Petro asked.

  “As soon as it clears the horde,” Crater said. “You’ll need to make it quick and then hit the other warpods before they can react.”

  Crater felt the fuser lurch. “What’s that?”

  Petro studied the console display. “Our taxi was just detached.”

  “Crescent!” Crater pushed his head into the cupola and looked around until he saw the taxi slide from under the fuselage, its small directional jet spurting. “Get back here,” he demanded.

  “You and Petro fly the fuser,” Crescent said. “I’ll go rescue your precious Maria.”

  “Crescent,” Petro said, “you told me to keep you from doing anything rash. This is rash.”

  Crescent’s voice was calm. “Thank you, Petro, but I’m committed to saving Maria now, if she can be saved. I’ve put on my Phoenix armor. The crowhoppers on board the station will recognize it. I’ve got a better chance with them than Crater does. I’ve got my gillie with me too.”

  “She’s right,” Petro said to Crater. “She can pick her way through and get to the station, then who knows? They might let her aboard.”

  “She’s risking her life for Maria,” Crater said softly. “Amazing. Why would she do that?”

  Petro looked at Crater in astonishment. “Crater, I love you, brother, but you are a true candidate for the loony bin. You know Crescent is in love with you. That’s why she’s doing this. It isn’t for Maria. It’s for you.”

  “You’re right,” Crater said, bitterly. “But it’s still wrong for her to sacrifice herself for me.”

  I am in contact with the Awful Thing, the gillie said from Crater’s shoulder. All is well.

  Petro nodded. “Crescent’s got the gillie with her. They have a chance. As for stopping her, forget it. That girl does something, she does it all the way.”

  “I wish I had told her what she means to me,” Crater said, more to himself than Petro.

  “What does she mean to you?” Petro demanded.

  Crater didn’t pause. “I would be lost without her.”

  Petro laughed harshly and shook his head. The brothers fell into silence and their own thoughts. A little less than an hour later, he said, “The warpod’s in the clear.”

  “Smash it,” Crater said.

  Petro opened fire with the kinetic cannon. The impact of the heavy slugs traced across the back and the wings of the warpod, setting it on fire.

  “Hang on,” Petro said. He toggled the stick and the fuser surged ahead, pressing Crater into his seat as Petro swept the fuser past the smoking warpod.

  “There are a couple more,” Petro said and fired into the backs of two stationary warpods.

  “We have to make certain they’re inoperable,” Crater said.

  “Here we go,” Petro answered and made another run across the warpods. Crater called up the tail guns and strafed them too.

  A blip appeared on the pulsdar screen. “Missile locked on,” Petro reported and took evasive action.

  Crater glanced at the pulsdar. “The missile must be from a third warpod. It’s about two hundred miles away.”

  “I’ll show you why warpods are no match for a fuser,” Petro said and turned away from the missile track, then slowed down.

  “What are you doing? That thing will fly right up our pipes!”

  Petro said nothing but let the Linda loaf along, a perfect target. When the missile got close, he nudged the throttle ahead. “Their missiles can’t keep up with us. Now, watch this.” Petro put the fuser into a loop. “Shoot it, Crater,” he said as they flew near the top of the loop.

  Crater opened up with the tail guns. “Missile destroyed,” he reported.

  Petro came out of the loop and pushed the throttle forward, flying down the track of the missile. Four more missiles were headed in their direction. Petro waited until they were close, then flew above them. When they started to turn around, Crater smashed them too. The warpod that had launched them began to turn but didn’t get far before Petro unloaded the fuser’s nose guns, tearing off a wing and ripping apart the fuselage. Bodies were strewn into space. “One more to go,” Petro said.

  “It’s running for the station,” Crater reported.

  “I’m on it,” Petro said, and pushed the throttle forward.

  FORTY-THREE

  Crescent, her gillie reporting on the battle between the Linda Terry and the warpods, grappled a small asteroid with the taxi’s arms and zigzagged through the horde toward the station.

  Her gillie spoke up. The asteroid at thirty degrees to starboard is a good one to get behind. You should have a visual of the station from there.

  Crescent aimed for the asteroid, then stopped next to it. She eased the taxi forward until she could see the station. She also saw something remarkable. On the lower ring, there was someone outside in a pressure suit, and climbing out of the main hatch were three crowhoppers, identified by their black armor.

  My former owner, the gillie said. On the station, lower ring.

  Crescent’s mouth droppe
d open. “That’s Maria in the pressure suit?”

  Yes. She is untethered. She should know better than that.

  “Maybe she forgot it.” Crescent, not believing her luck, drove the taxi forward. The crowhoppers were slowly working their way down the ladder of the central core of the station. “We’ve got to hit the bridge with this rock first. Aim me, Gillie.”

  Go five miles out. Suitable velocity of the asteroid must be attained for it to penetrate the bridge structure.

  Crescent drove out five miles, then turned around. “Gillie, can you sync me with Maria’s suit comm?”

  Of course. I already did. You may speak to her at any time. But first yaw five degrees to starboard, pitch eight degrees down. Then full throttle until I tell you to release.

  Crescent pushed the taxi’s throttle forward. The station began to grow in size as she barreled down an invisible track.

  Release, release, release!

  Crescent released the big rock, then looped around to watch what happened. She just had a glimpse of startled faces in the viewports of the bridge before it struck. The bridge caved in at impact, its viewports shattered or popped out. The air inside rushed through them, the moisture inside turning into a gray sheet before disappearing.

  As Crescent flew by, a body floated out of the bridge. It was wearing a coppery tunic. Then she saw another body in a black Legionnaire’s uniform. By its gold stripes, she recognized it as an officer. She flew the taxi down the length of the station, passing the three crowhoppers who had stopped on the ladder and were gawking at her. She reached the lower ring and slid up next to Maria Medaris. “Hop aboard,” she said. “The Lunar Rescue Company has arrived. Tips are appreciated.”

  FORTY-FOUR

  Petro flew the fuser across the carcasses of the three warpods while Crater studied the pulsdar. “The other warpod is still outside L5 but it’s turned around. We’ll smash it if it gets any closer.” He peered at the screen. “Another missile’s locked on us but it doesn’t look real, more like an echo.”

  Petro took a look. “It’s not a warpod missile. It’s something else. A long way off.”

  “A software anomaly?”

  Report from the Awful Thing. Crescent has Maria aboard the taxi.

  Both Petro and Crater, after looking at one another in disbelief, erupted in cheers. “Way to go, Crescent!”

  “Tell her we’ll be along to pick her up in ten minutes,” Petro told the gillie. “Crater, that missile, or whatever it is, is coming fast.”

  Crater shook his head. “Petro, it can’t be real. Where would it be coming from? Let’s grab Crescent and Maria and get out of here.”

  “It’s real, Crater! Get back to the battle station and start jamming. Now!”

  Petro punched the throttle on the fuser and rolled and looped her while Crater flew back to the battle station and began to search for the missile’s signature. Finding none, he began to fire radio waves up and down the spectrum in an attempt to confuse it.

  “I can’t shake it!” Petro yelled. “It knows our defenses!”

  “Helmets on!” Crater shouted back.

  That was when missile struck the engine compartment and exploded, ripping the Linda Terry apart.

  On the Jan Davis, Tiger made the call. “One of our missiles just hit the other fuser. Pulsdar indicates it is now in two pieces.”

  The Colonel looked at the screen and saw two glowing spots drifting apart. He began to tremble. “What have I done?”

  Riley, released from her straps, floated up next to him and kicked him hard in the shins. “Indeed, what have you done, you foolish old man!”

  FORTY-FIVE

  Maria rode on the back of the taxi while Crescent worked to get inside the horde. Before it could reach the safety of the asteroids, a warpod streaked into L5. After firing a warning burst from its kinetic cannon, it blocked the taxi’s way. The gillie transmitted the warpod’s call. Go back to the station. It was a crowhopper’s voice.

  “I am Crescent of the Phoenix Legion,” she said. “I have no quarrel with a fellow Legionnaire.”

  “Crescent of the Phoenix Legion,” came the reply, “if such you are, we are honored. My name is Malevius. Our quarrel is not of our making but that of the Trainers. We observed your attack on the L5 station, and a very nice attack it was. You showed much fortitude and imagination. I wish we were on the same side, but alas, we are not. You will return with us to the station to see what is to be seen.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “You will be blasted to atoms.”

  Crescent called Maria. “Maria, I don’t know if you can hear the warpod, but they’ve ordered us back to the station.”

  “I heard,” Maria answered ruefully. “Looks like they’ve got us cornered.”

  “I’m sorry. We thought we could save you.”

  “By ‘we,’ do you mean Crater Trueblood?” Maria’s heart leaped. He had come for her!

  “And Petro. We came in a fuser.”

  Maria couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “How the heck did you acquire a fuser?”

  “It is a good story, perhaps saved for a better day.”

  “If you are planning to escape by some wild maneuver,” Malevius said, “be aware that I have a missile locked on you and you will not get far, just as the fuser that brought you here. Although they have all been disabled, one of our warpods somehow blew that fuser up. It speaks to the gallantry of the Legion.”

  “Gillie,” Crescent said, “is that true?”

  There has been a major malfunction on the fuser Linda Terry.

  “Back to the station!” Malevius growled. “I will not tell you again without grave consequences.”

  Fighting a tide of grief, Crescent steered the taxi back to the station. A crowhopper was outside, standing beside the main hatch. When he saw the taxi, he gestured for her to come closer. Crescent complied, and when the taxi got within arm’s reach, Maria was pulled off. One glance at her tear-streaked face and Crescent knew she’d heard about the destruction of the fuser.

  Another hand signal from the crowhopper sent Crescent to the docking station on the top ring. “Gillie, hide,” she whispered after docking, and the gillie leaped from her shoulder and disappeared into the tubes and cables that ran along the taxi’s ceiling.

  As soon as the docking was completed, Crescent opened the hatch and a crowhopper ordered her out. Warning klaxons were sounding inside the station, and there was dust and smoke in the air. The Legionnaire guarding her looked flustered.

  “Shouldn’t you be evacuating?” Crescent asked, appraising the damage.

  “I am told to bring you to the lower ring,” the Legionnaire said, his eyes darting toward a hammering noise overhead.

  “What’s that?”

  “They’re sealing off the bridge, thanks to you,” he said. “A nice attack, by the way. I salute you. The entire bridge crew was killed, including Captain Letticus and the Trainer Carus. I see you are of the Phoenix Legion. I also salute you for that.”

  “I am the last member of the Phoenix warriors. We are not enemies but comrades. What is your name?”

  “I am Camponitas, of the Seventh Legion. We are not enemies, it is true, but I have my orders from the Trainer Truvia to bring you to her.”

  “I know Truvia. She is insane.”

  Camponitas looked toward the bridge again when he heard the hissing of an arc welder. “That may be true. It does not matter.”

  “Dispose of her and I will save the rest of the Legionnaires aboard.”

  “How? The fuser you came in was destroyed.”

  Crescent fought past the anguish she felt at hearing that stark reality confirmed. Crater and Petro were dead and she was captured, but she would complete her mission if she could. “Help me convince Captain Malevius to take us aboard his warpod,” she said.

  Camponitas shook his head. “I must follow my orders. Go down that spoke toward the central core.”

  Crescent complied. Microgravity in the core
required her to use handrails to pull herself along. At the central spoke, she saw Maria, a Legionnaire behind her. Maria was crying. “Crater and Petro are gone,” she said.

  “Crater loved you,” Crescent said softly. “That’s why we came for you.”

  Maria swiped tears from her face. “I loved him too. I was such a fool. I should have told him.”

  “That would have been appropriate,” Crescent replied.

  She looked closely at Crescent. “You loved him too.”

  It felt like a stiletto was tearing through Crescent’s heart. She raised her chin. “That is true.”

  Both women were pushed along the central core and then directed into one of the spokes leading to the lower ring. Along the way, Crescent felt the pull of the centripetal force and grabbed hold of the ladder and swung her boots toward the new “down.” Truvia was waiting for them at the bottom. At the sight of Crescent, her eyes turned bright.

  “The only surviving member of the Phoenix Legion!” She wagged her finger in Crescent’s face. “But you have turned treasonous.”

  Crescent knew her only hope was to pretend her loyalties still lay with the Legion. “Not treasonous, Trainer Truvia, merely following orders from those who paid for my services.”

  Truvia studied Crescent. “I suspect there is much more to your story. For instance, why are you alive?”

  “I was captured. Forced to live among humans. Now I am back with you.”

  Truvia turned to Maria. “You have been crying. Why?”

  Crescent answered for her. “The man she loved was just killed in the fuser.”

  “The fuser that brought you here?”

  “Yes. I was ordered to destroy your bridge, and I did.”

  “And your mission was . . . ?”

  “To rescue the Medaris woman.”

  “You were under contract with the Colonel?”

  “No. We were an independent operation.”

  “Ah. Crater Trueblood. Of course! He did come! And we killed him, just as I said we would.”

  Maria lunged at Truvia with an anguished cry, but the crowhopper guard flung her away, then stomped after her, picked her up, and brought her back.