John opened his mouth and closed it. He looked to Blue.
Blue sighed. "This does sound like one of Duncan’s ideas."
Duncan yelled, "Hey!"
John's enthusiasm drained away.
Max shook his head. "I'm up for a dangerous stunt, but if I'm going to die, I'd like it to be in a shootout with the PKs -
Duncan said, "Guys?"
Max continued " - surrounded by fifty or so of their corpses, after running out of ammunition -"
"Guys?"
" - not barbecued in my suit when a rocket bell explodes!"
"Guys!"
John turned. "Yeah, Duncan?"
"The second PK ship is down there in the crater. Is there any reason we can't just salvage an AG module off of it? It came down softly - there must be at least one of them still working."
John opened his mouth to reply, and then closed it. He blinked. "Wait. You're saying -"
"If we're going to build our own spaceship, why would we do it the old-fashioned way? Let's build a real spaceship!”
Chapter 110
2064: just west of Zhukovskiy Crater, Lunar Nearside
John stood on the ground and looked at the stern of the PK ship towering above him. Above the gunwale, on the rearmost portion of the deck, was a cargo container, its walls pierced by a dozen small rocket bells. A maneuvering unit, just like the ones on the Aristillus ships.
He turned his gaze to the rest of the ship. The large industrial-yellow legs and their massive pneumatic shocks looked incongruous welded to the original smooth lines of the ocean-going hull. The ugly design reminded him of Mike's early ships, back before Lai Docks and its landing cradles existed.
Clearly the PKs didn't plan on being invited in politely.
The legs looked like they'd work well on flat ground, but when the ship had crash landed it hadn't come down on flat ground. Some of the legs rested on boulders; other were danging. The net effect was that the ship listed badly to the left.
There was no way onto the ship's deck from astern. John looked to the left and the right. He'd like to scout around the ship, but that would bring him into view of the chain guns, and if there was anyone inside the ship those guns could tear him apart in a fraction of a second.
Blue saw his gaze and read his frustration. "I can send one of the mules to scout.”
John nodded. "Good. Do it."
A moment later the robot walked past them and along the starboard side of the ship. John watched the feed from its camera in his helmet screen. The paint on the starboard side - hull, bridge, and cargo containers alike - was bubbled and burnt. In some places it had been peeled away entirely by the intense light of the nuclear detonation.
"John, look at the power cables."
John looked. The ship listed toward the mule, which let the mule's camera see the thick cables running from the cargo containers along elevated deck standoffs. The cables had blistered, melted, and burned in the glare of the bomb.
Max said, "If those idiots had just placed the power lines a half meter lower, behind the gunwales, they'd still be flying."
Duncan chimed in. "It looks like the cables going to the chain guns melted too." John looked and saw that Duncan was right. He smiled - one less thing to worry about - and then his smile faltered. The chain guns were dead - but only on this side of the ship. He'd been shot at while he crouched up at the crater rim just yesterday by the chain guns on the other side. Still, disabled guns on one side was better than nothing.
The mule finished its sweep of the starboard side of the ship, crossed under the bow, and started circling back along the port side. This was the side of the ship where a rill of boulders rose up, both forcing the ship into an awkward lean and - potentially - giving access to the deck. The mule circled wide and John watched the video closely. Would the boulders provide a way aboard? And, more importantly, even if they did, would they provide a way up that didn't bring them into the view of the guns? He bit his lip.
The mule's perspective shifted and - yes! - he could see that the topmost rock in the pile almost reached the gunwale of the ship.
Good. Unfortunately, the chain gun on the deck could see him. Or, rather, the mule.
"Blue, give me control."
"Yours."
John sent the mule up the stack of rocks, keeping his eye on the chain gun at all times. The mule scrambled up the mound, over the gunwale, and onto the deck of the ship.
He panned its head back and forth. Neither of the two chain guns so much as twitched. Was the ship empty? Or were the PKs merely asleep at the switch?
He didn't know, and couldn't count on his luck holding. He advanced the mule to the closer of the two gun emplacements and inspected the chain gun.
Where was the weak spot?
There - a power cable came out of the base of the guns and snaked across the deck. Now what? He looked over the control menu. Deploy solar panels. Electrostatic cleaning. Maintenance. Coolant purge. Ah-ha! Arc welder. That would cut the line, for sure.
John deployed the ground clamp and then played the mule's welding gun over the cable.
- and absolutely nothing happened. No arc, nothing.
Ah. The cable was insulated; he couldn't strike an arc.
He adjusted the welding arm, hovering over the housing where the cable disappeared. Then he pulled the trigger - and the video instantly darkened as the auto darkening lens did its job. At the center of the image a small dim blob formed and grew - and finally the steel was melting and running. Suddenly the dimmed image flashed bright white. John killed the welding gun and waited for the lens to clear. There - he'd done it. The arc welder had melted the housing, which had burned through the cable, which had in turn shorted out. A solid ten centimeters of cable was entirely missing, and the deck around it was splashed with brown slag and smoke deposits for more than a meter.
It seemed the ship still had power.
He turned the mule to face the other chain gun. It still wasn't moving. Maybe there was no one on board. Still, better safe than sorry. He advanced the mule and burned through the second cable.
John closed the command interface and turned to the Dogs. "You guys stay here."
Max said, "Let me -"
John held up a finger. "In a minute."
"But I-"
"Max, in a minute."
John walked toward the pile of boulders, leaving the Dogs in the shadow of the stern of the ship. Eighty steps. Ninety. Just before he reached a hundred the miniguns came into view. He knew they were both dead - he'd killed them with the mule just a minute ago - but nonetheless he felt an inch between his shoulder blades.
He knew that itch.
John reached the jumble of rocks, slung his rifle over one shoulder, and reached for the first boulder. As he climbed the name of the ship painted onto the side of the hull came into view - the Oswaldo Aranha. It meant nothing to him - what mattered was what was on the ship. A moment later he reached the top of the rock pile and swung himself over the gunwale. His feet landed on the deck. He looked back the way he had come - and saw that Max had followed him, despite his order.
Damn it. But what was he going to do? His leadership of the Dogs was de facto and informal...and it had also been effectively absolute.
Maybe that was changing. Maybe the fact that a war was here and that Rex had been killed in cold blood was accelerating things. Or maybe it was just the Dogs turning into adults. He shook his head. It would've been nice if the moment of filial rebellion could have been back at Aristillus, and not while scouting an enemy ship.
"Max, damn it, stay down there!"
Max grunted noncommittally.
John took a tentative step onto the ship's deck. The ship was tilted, and it was trickier than it looked. He braced his arms against the cargo containers and took another step - and then Max hopped over the railing and landed on all fours.
"Damn it, Max, I said stay down there!"
Max ignored him. "Do you think there's still crew on the
ship?"
John gave up. Max was going to shadow him no matter what he said.
"I - I don't know. Maybe they sent everyone out to get us. Maybe some of them were injured when the ship crashed. Or, yeah, maybe there are troops on board." He paused. "Which is why I asked you to stay down there where it's safe."
Max looked around the deck suspiciously. "I'll scout -"
"It's not safe." John flipped the selector of his rifle from 'safe' to 'fire'.
"I was going to say: I'll scout - with the mule."
John thought, then nodded. "Take it."
Max sat back on his rear legs and his forepaws started moving as he tapped at a virtual keyboard.
John scanned the cargo containers on the deck. There were eight of them. Even if the four clustered along the midline of the ship hadn't been stenciled "power gen,” the now-blistered and burned power lines that sprouted from them and the electrical cut-off boxes mounted on their sides would have given their purpose away. John looked at the four power units more closely. They needed one of them for the plan. For a moment he thought that all four were fubared, with cables melted and burned. But, wait, no. The third unit's cable was intact. He visually traced it, and saw that it lead into a bulkhead on the one-story bridge. That cable must carry power for the onboard systems and life support. If there were eight containers and four were batteries, then the other four -
A popup appeared on his overlay - the mule was moving. John looked over his shoulder and saw that Max had moved the mule to the bridge's airlock door and was using the arc welder to tack the door shut.
John went back to his inspection. Two other cargo containers were located near the power boxes and were linked to them by the now-melted cables. These containers were unlabeled, but he assumed they contained the AG units.
That left the final two containers, one located at each end of the ship. He'd seen from the ground that the stern one was a chemical rocket maneuvering unit. The one on the prow must be its mate.
Max said, "You're looking at the ship's design?"
John turned and looked over his shoulder. The mule was done welding.
"Yeah.”
"What do you think of it?"
John shrugged. "Aristillus ships have their batteries in their keels, not up on deck, but they have to, because of their size. Aside from that difference, this design looks a lot like ours. Given that they've seized some of ours, I'll bet every single detail of the design was stolen."
Max nodded. "Like the Tupolev Tu-4."
"What?"
"A Soviet clone of a captured American B-29. Bolt for bolt identical."
John shook his head.
"World War II.”
"Ah." Max's mastery of military arcana was astounding. "The closer the PKs came to duplicating our designs, the better that is for us."
"Huh? How so?"
"When I was transferring my archives from my old helmet to this one, I did a search. Turns out that I've still got some emails from Ponzie, from years ago."
"And?"
"And I've got complete documentation and technical drawings of the AG units and maneuvering packs." John gestured to all the containers and repeated himself for emphasis. "Docs and drawings. For these exact models."
At that moment a new voice came over their radio and barked, "You, on the deck: identify yourself."
Max raised an eyebrow and deadpanned, "I think there's someone in the ship."
John waved Max to silence and keyed his own radio to give his name and challenge them - and then let the circuit fall dead.
For all he knew, the PKs were in radio contact with Earth right now. If he gave them his name, that information might end up back at Earth seconds from now. They probably wouldn't rain shit down on old friends, distant relatives, former comrades. Would they?
No, it was better to be safe than sorry. He needed a fake name. After a moment of thought he keyed the mic a second time. "This is Phil Ketchum. Identify your self."
"This is Commander Orazio Padovesi of the US Navy ship Oswaldo Aranha. You are under arrest."
"No, I don't think we are."
The officer inside the ship began to say something but John spoke over him. "Your men killed one of my friends, but despite that, I'm going to give you an opportunity. I'm just going to give it to you once, so listen to me carefully. Do you surrender to me? If you do, I give you my word that I won't press for any criminal charges."
The voice on the radio scoffed. "Surrender? Listen, expat, your little game is over. We let you play revolutionary for a few years, but that's done. When the invasion gets here -"
John blinked. "Invasion?"
"You think these two ships are it, dickhead? We're just the scout force. You're giving us just one chance to surrender? Fuck you. I'm giving you just one chance to surrender. Your base here is dead, and your other base in Aristillus is going to be ours in a few days. What do you think is going to happen to the leaders of your little cabal when that happens? What do you think is going to happen to you then? There's no plan B for you, so stop your posturing and your bullshit. You're illegal combatants and you are under arrest. Put down your weapons, come inside the airlock with your hands up, and at least you'll get a trial instead of dying out there when you run out of air. You're guilty of -"
John spoke over him. "Max, is that door solid?"
Max nodded. "Yep."
Over the radio the PK officer continued to speak " - treason, illegal possession of firearms - "
John ignored the PK as he crabbed along the tilted deck to the nearest power supply container, the one that sprouted a still intact cable that snaked to the bridge. John held his rifle in his left hand and tried to open the electrical disconnect box on the side of the container with his right.
"- violations of international protocols -".
The latch keeping the disconnect box shut was too small to operate with clumsy gloved fingers. John took his rifle with both hands, reversed it, and smashed the catch with the butt.
" - trespassing on a military vessel -"
The access panel swung open, revealing a bright red cutoff lever.
"- presence in a federally and UN proscribed location-".
John slung his rifle and grabbed the lever with both hands.
"-economic crimes -".
He pulled the lever, and it pivoted. Four status LEDs went from green to amber, then to red, and then died entirely.
The voice on the radio cut out abruptly.
John shut the door on the disconnect box and turned.
Behind him Blue and Duncan were climbing over the gunwale.
Max nodded. "The peakers will choke and die slowly. They deserve worse for killing Rex, but it's a decent start."
Blue shook his head. "What about the enlisted men in there? They didn't kill Rex."
Max barked. "Screw them."
"What, we believe in collective guilt now?"
Max sneered. "Are you honestly going to say that the men in there aren't guilty? The old 'not every Sudani is guilty for the Baltimore crater' argument?" He turned to John for support.
John said nothing.
Blue cleared his throat. "Yes, that is what I'm arguing. Do you think every Sudani was guilty?"
"I may not think that every CITIZEN of Sudan is guilty, but I sure as hell think that every member of the Sudanese Cabal was."
"Even the ones that just repaired trucks or cooked food?"
Max nodded. "Absolutely."
Blue looked at John. "John, do you really support this? Not every man in there -"
Max cut Blue off, angrily. "Let's stop talking in analogies. This isn't about Sudanis. This is about BuSuR and the PKs. Those bastards killed half of our race. If they could have, they would have killed me, you, and Duncan as pups. It took them ten years, but they did kill Rex. If Gamma hadn't shot that other ship down and if this ship hadn't crashed, we'd all be dead by now. You know what word they use when they talk about killing one of us? It's not even `kill.’ It's `des
troy.’ We're just animals to them. Things."
Blue fell silent and looked down, but Max wasn't done. "Did you hear that bastard say 'possession of items proscribed by BuSuR' when he was talking to John? You know what he was talking about, right? Us. That's what we are to the PKs. Property. Illegal property."
Blue turned to John. "John? You can't do this."
John exhaled heavily. "I've been hoping for ten years to avoid this war. I've been on your side, arguing against Max all the way. But Max and Mike were right, and you and I were wrong, Blue. We tried to run away from BuSuR, but they brought the war to us." He paused. "What do you want me to say, Blue?"
Blue looked down. "I - I don't know. It just seems like if we kill them, then we're as bad as they are."
"I gave them a chance to surrender. They didn't take it. But if you feel so bad about it, turn the power back on." John pointed to the electrical disconnect box. "The switch is right over there. I'm not making decisions for you. Do what you want."
Max started to object. "Wait a second -"
"Quiet, Max!" John surprised himself with his own tone.
Blue looked at the disconnect box, then back to John. "Are you serious?"
"I am. Turn the power back on, if you want. I won't stop you."
Blue glanced at the disconnect box again, stared at it for a long moment, and turned and walked away. A moment later Duncan followed him.
Max snorted. "Good. I hope there's a lot of them in there. Officers, NCOs, enlisted men. And I hope that they die slowly, fighting each other hand-to-hand, scavenging for the very last spare oxygen tank."
John' lips curled in disgust. "Max, stop. There's a difference between winning and shitting on someone's grave."
Max harrumphed.
John turned and walked after Blue and Duncan. "Did you guys hear the conversation with the PK?"
Blue was silent but Duncan said, "Part of it. Why?"
"There's good news and bad news."
Blue broke his silence. "What's the bad news?"
The Powers of the Earth (Aristillus Book 1) Page 48
