“There’s a labor shortage at Moontown.”
The captain struggled to regain some semblance of control.
“Perhaps so, Crater. But you can’t just go around promising jobs from the Colonel. You have to get permission first. Why don’t you understand these things?”
“The Moontown preachers always said I should do the right thing.”
“Promising that the Colonel will hire these women is not the right thing!”
Maria arrived at that moment, got the gist of the conversation, pondered the women and their daughters, went over to have a closer look, then came back. “They are somewhat smelly,” she announced. “That is a problem that needs to be addressed.”
“I’ve been thinking about that too,” Crater said. “Suppose we got some rooms and allowed them to wash and launder their clothes. Then maybe our drivers won’t charge much to take them with us to Armstrong City and then back to Moontown.”
With us?” The captain choked again. “
“Those robes can’t be laundered,” Maria said. “They should be burned. We’ll need to buy them some new clothes.”
Crater smiled at Maria, pleased that she had joined his project. Captain Teller, however, was still a long way from joining anything, especially anything that Crater had thought up.
“Look, Maria,” Teller said, “if you want this to come out of your grandfather’s hide, then I can’t stop you. It’s your family that would be hurt. But I urge you to think this over.”
Before Maria could reply, there came the piercing shriek of a whistle, and Crater, Maria, and Teller turned toward it in time to see the Umlap women pluck up their robes, gather their daughters about them, and start to run, though there was nowhere to go except into the shops. The shop owners quickly shooed them out and pulled down metal screens. Then three men in uniforms—Aristillus police, obviously—came charging out of an adjoining tube, one of them blowing a whistle as if his very life depended on how loud and irritating he could blow it. The women and children ran over to Crater and crouched behind him as the constables thundered up. One of them pointed his baton at Crater. “Boy, remove yourself so we might arrest these women.”
Crater looked over his shoulder at the crouched Umlaps, then said, “Why would you arrest them?”
“Because they are a public nuisance,” the officer said.
“They don’t seem to be bothering anyone,” Crater replied.
The officer lowered his baton, squinted at Crater, then assumed a relaxed posture. “Ah, so you want to debate. All right, I always enjoy a good one. Here is my postulate. It is quite possible to be a nuisance whether one is bothering anyone or not. Also, the mayor has proclaimed these women and their progeny officially as a public nuisance. He has also decided that they must pay what they owe the city or depart. As the police force, we therefore must arrest them or we break our oath. Over to you.”
Crater searched around in his mind for a good answer but Maria beat him to it, although with a question. “How can they leave or pay a fine?” she asked. “They have neither money nor transportation.”
“Then they should acquire both,” the officer said.
This was too much for even Captain Teller. “That’s a sentence of death,” he said before adding, “and I know who you are . . . Mayor Trakk!”
Behind Crater, in a small, terrified voice, the queen said in Umlap, “Please help us. We will do whatever you say.”
It broke Crater’s heart to see the queen so reduced as to beg a mere boy, even if it was him, for help. He sorted through the possibilities, then said, after glancing at Maria and Captain Teller, “We have discussed renting them rooms so they would not have to wander your tubes. They wouldn’t be nuisances then, would they?”
The mayor gave that some thought, then said, “No hotelier would be willing to rent to Umlaps.”
“I’ll bet I can find one that will,” Maria said.
“More money spent,” Captain Teller moaned.
The mayor and sometimes policeman eyed Maria, then the Umlap women, before his eyes lit on the queen. “Since clearly none of you here know the rules of debate, I am therefore bored and see no reason to continue this discussion.
All right, men, move forward and escort these women and their kids outside. Alert the dustlocks to have their ECP suits ready.”
Crater improvised. “Mayor, is it true your shovelball team is amateurish and bush-league?”
The mayor and the two officers froze, their mouths unhinged at the affront. “We are the champions of the Lunar League!” the mayor cried.
Crater shrugged. “A league with but two teams. You’re bound to come in first or second. How would you like to have a match with the drivers of our convoy? I’m certain even a pickup team would clean your Aristillus clocks.”
This provoked a round of laughter from the mayor and the officers. “Play shovelball with a bunch of dustway drivers? It would be no contest!”
“Oh, well, if you’re scared of losing, I understand . . .”
“Give me one good reason why we should play,” the mayor said.
“A wager,” Maria said.
Still improvising, Crater added, “If we win, we pay our taxes and leave. Right away, no waiting for a week, but within the hour. And we take the Umlap women with us. And they’ll owe no fines.”
The mayor narrowed his eyes. “And what would we receive should we win, which, of course, we will?”
“One percent of the value of our heel-3 load,” Crater said.
“Are you crazy?” Captain Teller screamed.
“Ten,” the mayor said.
“It’s not going to happen, Crater!” Teller exclaimed. “You have no right. We have no right.”
“Three,” Crater said.
“No, no, no!” the captain yelled.
“Five and it’s agreed,” the mayor said.
When Teller started to protest again, Maria said, “It’s all right, Captain. I’ll explain it to Grandfather if our team loses.
Anyway, we first have to lose—which hasn’t happened yet and I don’t think it will.”
“But I’m responsible for this convoy!” Teller sputtered.
“A convoy that’s stuck and going nowhere,” Maria pointed out.
“We play rough in Aristillus, Missy,” Mayor Trakk growled.
“My drivers will beat you and the other fat men on your pathetic team like a drum,” Maria replied.
Maria’s words were like vinegar in a wound to the mayor and his officers, who reacted with flushed faces. “We’ll meet at nineteen hundred hours at the arena,” the mayor said before he and his men stalked off.
“What is to happen to us?” Queen No Nonsense Talker asked.
Crater explained the situation as best he could and the queen considered the plan, before asking, “Can you beat them?”
Crater didn’t have a certain answer. First, he had a shovelball team to recruit, train, and field, all in little more than eight hours.
:::
TWENTY-FOUR
Petro looked up from his cards. He had several stacks of chips in front of him, more than anyone else at the table. “Play a shovelball game with a bunch of pickup players and expect to win against a championship team? Are you nuts?”
“I need you. You’re a great player.”
“True, but I’ve gotten old and stiff.”
“You’re only nineteen.”
“I’m mature for my age. It’s a genetic thing for we royals.”
“I’m going to take that as a yes,” Crater said. “So it’s you, me, and Maria. Who else can we get?”
Petro looked Crater up and down to see if he was serious and concluded that, unfortunately, he was. He raised the other poker players, they all dropped out, and he raked in his winnings. “Gentlemen, I’m cashing in.”
“Good thing,” one of the other players said. “Give the rest of us a chance.”
Petro clapped Crater on the back as they walked out of the bar. “Typical Crater, a lun
ar Don Quixote out to save some Umlap women nobody gives a fig about. Well, all right, brother, I’ll be your Sancho Panza. How about Captain Teller?
He’s been known to play a round or two of shovelball. Tell you what. I’ll recruit a couple of players for you. You go after Captain Teller.”
Crater went after Teller, finding him coming back into town after checking the trucks. “Maybe we should make a run for it,” he said. “All we need is a distraction of some kind.”
“If we win the shovelball game,” Crater reminded him, “the mayor has promised to let us pay the tax and go.”
“We can’t win.”
“How can you be so sure? I mean, we’re playing not just for ourselves but for the Umlap women and children too. I recall the preacher saying when you do the right thing, there’s always a reward.”
“I recall that sermon,” Teller said. “I was in Moontown picking up a convoy. The good reverend also said that we wouldn’t always recognize the reward and sometimes it wouldn’t come until we’re in heaven. It was a perplexing sermon. I reflected on it and came up short.”
“It’s still the right thing to do,” Crater said.
Teller took on an expression of disappointment. “Crater, I’ll say it again. You’re too soft. I’ve tried my best to toughen you up but I’ve gotten nowhere.”
“Does that mean you’ll play?”
Teller sighed. “I suppose I have no choice. I have a couple of helmets and shovels in the chuckwagon. You can buy the rest of the gear with our convoy number.”
Crater grinned. “Thanks, Captain!”
“Don’t mention it,” he said. “And I mean that. Don’t mention it!”
Crater went looking for Maria to tell her the news. A convoy driver said he’d seen her with the Umlaps, shepherding them into the Starland Hotel. Crater ran through the tubes until he found the hotel marked by a sign over a hatch. He entered it, finding himself in the shabby lobby of Aristillus’s finest lodgings. Marching up to the counter, he was about to ask after Maria and the Umlap ladies just as an inner hatch opened and out came a basket of faded, dirty, multicolored robes carried by a bellman who wrinkled his nose. “Take those rags outside and bury them!” the counter clerk ordered, then turned to Crater. “What might I do for you, young sir?”
Crater pointed at the bellman. “Where are the women who were wearing those?”
“Room 107,” the clerk said with a sniff. “Surely you’re not with those filthy creatures.”
“I’m just helping out.”
“Then tell the witch who brought them into my hotel that she will be responsible for any damages. That includes cleaning out my grease trap.”
Crater grabbed the clerk’s tie and drew him across the counter. The clerk made choking sounds, mostly because he was choking. “That witch, as you call her,” Crater said, “is Miss Maria Medaris, the granddaughter of Colonel John High Eagle Medaris himself.”
The clerk tried to say something but nothing came out except gasps and gulps until Crater released him. “My apologies to her and to you, young sir,” he rasped. “Room 107, sir.
Thank you for choosing the Starland Hotel!”
Crater hadn’t chosen the Starland Hotel, but he recognized that he and the hotel clerk had completed their business. He went through the hatch and down the corridor until he found the room. Along the way, he reflected how he had, without really thinking about it, grabbed the prissy hotel clerk’s tie. He felt bad about that. On the other hand, maybe he was finally learning to be strong like everybody kept telling him he was supposed to be. On the other-other hand, he supposed he could overdo it. He would have thought more about it but he didn’t have time. He knocked on the door marked 107, got no answer, and knocked a little harder. The door opened and one of the Umlap women peeked around the door and said, “You can’t come in. We are bathing.”
Crater looked past her and briefly saw several Umlap women—nothing but towels wrapped around them—scurrying past before the door was slammed in his face. Blushing furiously, Crater stood there astonished.
:::
TWENTY-FIVE
The shovelball rules were simple enough, derived as they were from the ancient Irish game known— perhaps unfortunately, considering the term had a double meaning—as hurling. Since Irishmen and Irishwomen were among the first heel-3 miners, they brought the game with them, modified for the moon’s light gravity and the equipment that was available. At first, the playing fields were maintenance sheds. Later, most of the towns built shovelball fieldhouses with rubberized floors and ceilings for increased traction.
The object of the game was for players to use shovels to hit a ball, four inches in diameter, into the opponents’ goal. Goals were round nets six feet in diameter and set halfway up the wall at each end of the field. Full pipe ramps were at midfield. By running through the pipe, players could travel to the roof of the court where they could advance the ball until they lost momentum and fell to the floor.
There were several ways to advance the ball. One was to hit the ball with the front or the back of the shovel. Four steps were allowed before it had to be batted away. The ball could also be batted by an open hand, usually for short-range passing. A player could run with the ball, but during the run, the ball had to be bounced on the player’s shovel, something exceedingly difficult to do in the light gravity. Serious players, however, practiced hard until they mastered the maneuver.
The fieldhouse arena began to fill with spectators. The game was the only entertainment in town, and the Aristillus team was obviously very popular. On the scoreboard, the legend read Aristillus Aces versus Moontown Truckers.
Petro showed up with two players. One of them was Irish, and another fellow Irishman named Claddy. Irish and Claddy immediately sat down on the sidelines. Crater thought they looked sick or drunk or both. “Do they even know how to play?” Crater asked.
“Irish and Claddy were on the Irish national hurling team until they got kicked off for cheating.”
“Cheating?”
“They took a bribe.”
“You mean they threw a game?”
“Pretty much.”
“Leave it to you to recruit untrustworthy felons for my team.”
“What do you care? They play like gods.”
“Up the Irish, down the English,” Claddy grunted.
“You see?” Petro grinned. “Full of spirit, these lads.”
Crater was dubious. Irish and Claddy had stopped sitting and were lying down, their arms across their eyes. “Right now, it looks like they’d have trouble standing up. In fact, they look like they’re about to hurl.”
Petro looked around. “You’re short a man. Where’s Maria?”
“I don’t know. She said she’d be here.”
Carlos, his arthritis affecting his knees, limped up. “Message from Maria. She’s still cleaning up the Umlap women.”
“Great,” Crater grumped, then pondered Carlos. “All right, Carlos, you’re in the game.”
“Me? I can’t play.”
“You’re all I got.”
Carlos shook his head. “Then you don’t have much, son.”
The Aces had cheerleaders, a dozen or so young women in tight outfits. Their cheers were so loud it was hard to hear when the teams met in the center of the field. Since the referees were naturally from Aristillus, Crater knew the Moontown Truckers weren’t going to get a fair shake, but it didn’t worry him too much. Since just about anything went in lunar shovelball, except deliberately beating the opposing players with shovels, the referees had little to do other than hand the ball over and get out of the way.
“Give up now,” Mayor Trakk said to Crater, “and you won’t be humiliated.”
“Get ready to take a whipping,” Crater snorted, though he had his doubts. Compared to the Truckers, the Aces were huge and looked fast.
The referee reminded the teams of the few rules, then flipped a coin. Crater called it and lost, a harbinger he feared of what was to come.
The teams lined up. Crater swatted the ball downfield with his shovel and the game was on.
An Ace caught the ball on his shovel and started running, then swatted it with amazing strength, bouncing it off the roof. Another Ace emerged from the pipe onto the roof and swatted it farther up the field. The mayor, who was also the team captain, leapt high, caught the ball with one hand, and tapped it to another of his players who slapped it back. Teller leapt after it and missed, Petro leapt at it and missed, and the mayor powered it into the goal. Six points.
Crater noticed that neither Irish nor Claddy had moved much from where they’d started. He trotted over to them where they were lethargically looking at the cheerleaders.
“Have you forgotten how to play this game?”
Petro came to their defense. “They just need to get warmed up.”
“What about you?”
“I told you I was old and stiff.”
Scoring teams had the option of going one-on-one for three points or using three players against one opposing player for one point. The Aces easily took the single point against Crater.
The Aces swatted the ball to the Truckers who fumbled it away, and the Aces quickly scored, again taking the extra point. Then the same thing happened again. Only minutes into the game, the Truckers were behind by twenty-one points.
Captain Teller walked over to Crater. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to suggest we play harder,” Crater said.
Teller looked around at the other Truckers. They were all, including Petro, admiring the cheerleaders. “Maybe you ought to tell them your superb plan.”
Crater gathered his team. “Look, fellows,” he said. “We’ve got to set up a pattern. Irish and Claddy, I’m looking to you to get us downfield. Captain Teller, you run along the sidelines, get ready to receive. I’m the center man. Petro, guard the goal.
Carlos, try not to have a heart attack.”
“These guys are good,” Irish said, and Claddy nodded agreement.
“You’re supposed to be good too,” Crater replied.
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