“‘Cos the ground’s as lumpy as my head,” he said. “Besides we need to be ready.”
“Ready for what?” she asked in her precise, clipped tones.
“We ain’t staying no slaves,” he said. “And I got a feeling that Whitebear guy with the sniper rifle is going to start the ball rolling come sunrise.”
He gestured toward the inert bodies lying all around them. “We should pass the word--see if these drones have any spirit left in them.”
*
Luna City
Muhammad Rahotep inserted the final cable into the quick connect box on the inverter. The inverter was hooked to a deep cycle battery bank which in turn was fed by a charge controller and, up on the surface, a large array of solar panels. He stepped back and said, “I’m ready when you are, Rani.”
Christine Jorgensen, resident botanist/farmer, watched as Rani Hamide, whose specialty was industrial engineering, flipped a switch and the overhead LED lights for the latest grow cavern came on. At the same time fans whirled to life and the air began to circulate. An automatic pump would circulate water through the hydroponic and aquaponic beds once they were planted.
If you could call plugging seedlings into plastic receptacles planting, Christine thought. Still she literally applauded, as did Nyambura Kenyatta, the agronomist, Linette Laverne, their waste management engineer, and Aeriella Goldstein, their head surgeon.
Not even Aeriella’s presence spoiled the moment for him. Several of his fellow Loonies had questioned him about his aversion to her so he’d made an effort to be more pleasant. When she eventually met with a fatal accident he wouldn’t want everyone assuming he was at fault, and since she was just beginning to show he had several months to solve the Jewish problem.
Muhammad took a bow, hogging the glory since Heinz and Pauolo were already at work on another cavern with Elena, Olivia, and Suzy. Cavern excavation was never ending. First the living quarters and then the first two farm caverns. After that the industrial complex, the waste recycling dig and now it was back to more farms.
*
Carving warehouse sized rooms out of lunar rock is necessary but it sure has it’s drawbacks, Suzy Yakamoto thought as she wrapped an ace bandage around her right ankle and got ready to don her pressure suit.
“Loose rock?” Olivia de Garza asked, wincing as she rotated her sore shoulder.
Suzy nodded and said, “One of these days I’ll learn to pay attention.”
“Si, si. I saw you take that fall while you were running to save me.” A piece of scale weighing about ten pounds had fallen from the ceiling and the sharp edge of the rock pierced her suit. A torn suit meant an ugly death by depressurization. Small tears were easily mended by slapping on a quick-patch, but this one happened to be behind her left shoulder--a spot impossible to reach while in a pressure suit.
“Okay, I get credit for good intentions, but if you hadn’t pressed the tear against your drill while yelling for help, Pauolo would have arrived too late.”
“Ah, si, Pauolo,” Olivia sighed. “I could love that man if he didn’t love himself so much. And now I owe him my life. It is so romantic.” She rolled her eyes and Suzy started chuckling. Olivia had a gift for being overdramatic without taking it seriously.
*
Doctor Sari Vindushanti stood before the group and announced her findings. “We have now lived in a low gravity environment longer than any other humans since the dawn of the space age. Even at the moon’s one-sixth gee we are losing bone and muscle mass so rapidly that if we are to have any realistic chance of surviving a return to Earth we must do so within the next two years. Preserving that slim chance will mean even more time in the centrifuge--and we’ll have to ramp it up.”
A collective groan greeted that statement.
“I know,” she said. “Not my favorite past-time either, but then all good medicine tastes bad. It’s simple genetics really. We evolved to survive in a one gee environment so we must start spending one hour every day at one-half gee. We’ll have to work up to two-thirds gee and six hours per day before attempting a the trip.”
“What about our children?” Ludmilla asked.
“The oldest will be almost five years old before the return. I’m afraid they would not survive, but as I understand it not everyone desires to go home anyhow.”
“That’s because this is our home now,” Clark Kent said, and Christine Jorgensen, sitting beside him holding their daughter, nodded her agreement.
“I agree with Clark,” Pavel Yurimentov said. “Milla and I have no home to go back to and we would not abandon our son in any event. And it no longer makes any sense at all for humanity to have all its eggs in one basket. Especially when the other half of that asteroid comes back around.”
“Not to mention folks down on Earth are still eating each other,” Christine said. “I mean, who wants to go back to that?”
General Alice Anderson stepped up beside Sari and said, “I think we’ve drifted off point. This is not the time or place to decide who is and who isn’t going back to Earth.”
“Respectfully, General, I disagree,” Pavel said, standing to be better heard. “We have ignored this problem long enough. You Earthers have not even regained radio contact with anyone down there. The Sunflower control facility you told us about burned to the ground, and the only large scale sign of restored technology is in the land of the Cannibal King.
“I think all of us are needed right here on the moon. It’s hard enough to make a go of it without losing half our number trying to save a bunch of predatory cannibals.”
“And what of our duty to those who sent us here?” Alice asked. “There are still millions of people on Earth and not all of them are cannibals. Would you abandon them?”
“We are not abandoning them,” Pavel replied. “We are fulfilling our duty to preserve the human race.”
“And part of that duty is to configure the Sunflower array to destroy that asteroid.”
“Fine,” he said. “We can do that without going to Earth.”
“Unfortunately, we can’t,” she countered, “because they didn’t give us the control codes.”
“Well, wasn’t that simply brilliant,” Clark said. “They send us up here to save them and then don’t give us the tools to do it? What pinhead came up with that idea?”
Alice shrugged, acutely and obviously uncomfortable.
“Yes, General, tell us who was foolish enough to give us a weapon with no trigger,” Pavel demanded.
Alice fixed him with a fiery gaze and said, “It was the Russians and the Chinese.”
“Nyet!” he yelled.
“Yes!” she countered. “When they learned we were launching a weapons system into space they threatened to cease supply launches for the ISS unless we fail-safed the system. They didn’t trust anyone here on the ISS to have control over a weapon that could devastate entire cities on Earth so they insisted no one up here have a copy of the codes.
“I don’t think they realized how bad it was going to be down there,” she said softly. “I don’t think they believed every link to us would be destroyed.”
Dead silence hovered over the room like a vulture over carrion, while the spacers absorbed her comments.
When Ludmilla spoke, it startled everyone. “Then they...how you say...made their own bed.”
*
Provo Utah
Betty Young was baking bread and a tuna casserole in her sun ovens because, as she put it, using solar ovens didn’t heat up the house and it was a gorgeous cloud free day with just enough breeze to keep the bugs down. While the food cooked and she pulled weeds in the garden she thought about the community’s plans to build a tidal generating station to increase the electrical output over their small homestead-sized wind generators. It didn’t make much sense to her to put so many resources into a new centralized power grid when nature had just adequately demonstrated the superiority of small decentralized systems. Not a single large scale wind generator on a single wind farm
had survived the storms of the apocalypse. Few of the small, individual systems had either but they were much easier to replace. Aside from some wind and debris damage, many solar PV systems had survived, but during the years of winter, when there was only dim light they hadn’t produced much.
No, she decided, that tidal generator didn’t make sense, yet. She was slowly getting used to the idea that Provo was almost oceanfront property. Some fishermen on their rapidly expanding fishing fleet had spotted tuna and a pod of grey whales a few days past. They’d managed to hook and land a few of the tuna, which was why she was making Tuna Casserole. Any seafood was a gourmet treat. She’d run out of canned tuna more than a year ago.
She leaned on her hoe and grinned as she studied her surroundings. Everywhere she looked people were harvesting the last of the summer crops. She’d pulled the last of her Rutgers, fresh eating tomatoes and hung them upside down in the root cellar the day before to finish ripening. Tomorrow she’d get the Golden Bantam Improved sweet corn picked and start canning again. She examined the potato patch and decided they had another two or three weeks.
She waved at Fern and her daughter Cheryl, who were putting up hoop house frames for their winter garden. Up on a bench above town a horse drawn combine was cutting wheat. She still had wheat berries she’d stored five years ago, but no matter how much food you had replacing what you’d used with fresh crops was rewarding.
A screech like a demon getting it’s tail slammed in a door interrupted her thoughts as her guinea fowl sounded the alarm. Sharp-eyed, screeching Guineas were better than a watch dog. She shaded her eyes with one hand and saw Adam trotting up the road on his sorrel mare.
“Bob!” She yelled at the house. “We’ve got company.”
*
Adam pushed back from the table and said, “Betty, that was the best tuna casserole I’ve had in years.”
“It’s the only tuna you’ve had in years,” she said with a smile.
“True enough,” he agreed, “but after the travelling I’ve done I could have eaten a horse, shoes and all. Instead, I got a feast, so I’m thanking you.”
“You’re welcome, Adam...does that mean you’re thankful enough to do dishes?”
Bob turned toward her and Adam’s jaw dropped and she burst out laughing and said, “Gotcha!”
But Adam looked over at Bob, who was nodding his head, and said, “I’ll tell you what. You keep cooking like this and anytime I’m here I’ll gladly do dishes.”
Which is how the two brothers found themselves washing, rinsing and drying at the kitchen sink while Betty dealt with the needs of the children-- something she was especially fond of since her miscarriage during the starving times.
“So, basically your reports indicated no significant threats,” Adam said, handing a dish to Bob.
“The ones we got back, yeah,” Bob said. “Still no word from California or the Pacific Northwest.” Bob placed the dry dish on the rack and reached for another.
“That’s a long ways to go, Bob. They may just not have had time to get back.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself,” Bob admitted. “Whoops,” he said, fumbling a glass but catching it before it hit the granite countertop. “And, considering our new coastline, California may not even exist.”
*
The Mountains Above Redding, CA
The man’s scream rose to a sustained ear splitting pitch as Doctor Merriman sawed his hand off. The doctor shuddered and said, “Wow, that really was exquisite...but I think we can do better. Do you want to do the honors, John?”
John Scarlatti, pupils wide, nostrils flared, stepped forward and cauterized the man’s wrist with a trowel full of boiling tar.
This time the scream was so high pitched coyotes in the surrounding hills howled and the hairs on the back of Merriman’s neck stood up, immeasurably increasing his thrill. The doctor gave the man some time to recover his wits, then placed the saw on his other wrist.
“No, please,” the man from Utah gasped. “I’ll tell you everything.”
“Of course you will,” Merriman said, “and you know what will happen if you lie?” He drew the saw back just far enough to break skin and allow bright red blood to ooze from the cut.
“Yes,” Ed Cummins wheezed. He would have been shaking like a leaf in a gale if he hadn’t been so tightly bound to the torturer’s chair. “I won’t lie.”
“Good,” the doctor said. “Now, where are you from?”
*
“So he’s from Deseret?” Joseph Scarlatti asked, looking up from the report, eyebrows raised.
“Yes, your majesty,” Doctor Merriman said. “That’s what the Mormons are calling what’s left of Utah these days.”
“And there are only a few thousand of them?”
“He said there were almost thirty thousand before the plague hit, Sire.”
“Ahh. Well, there aren’t enough of them to bother with just now.” Joseph tapped the map his scouts had put together with a massive paw. “We’ll get around to them eventually but right now Oregon offers better prospects.”
Luna City
Kenny Chang noted the pinched lips on Aeriella’s face and asked, “What’s wrong?” He laid his hand tenderly against her cheek.
She kissed his palm and said, “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing, doesn’t put that look on your face. Is it our baby?”
“God no. She’s doing fine. Kicking like a dancer.” A small smile formed as she placed his hand over her womb so he could feel.
He bent down and planted a kiss on her belly then straightened back up and said, “Muhammad?” The quick furrowing of her brows told him he’d hit pay dirt.
She nodded and said, “Sari and I caught him sneaking around the infirmary yesterday. We don’t know if he took anything but the look on his face when we caught him...he hates me, Kenny. He’s planning something. I can feel it.”
“If he touches you I’ll put him out the airlock.” Kenny Chang might be a chemical engineer by trade and a bit of a geek by inclination but his hands had the calluses of a man well versed in the martial arts
Aeriella, stepped into his hug. Her Krav Maga training would certainly help but her swelling body would make any hand to hand combat awkward.
*
Alone in the tool shed, Muhammad stretched the pieces of surgical tubing he’d stolen and smiled. He’d already built the frame from aluminum rods. Now all he had to do was attach the tubing to the rods and the pouch he’d fashioned from nylon webbing and his slingshot would be complete. Add a few ball bearings from industrial supplies for ammunition and he’d have the only long range weapon on the moon.
The next time Aeriella entered a pressure suit environment would be her last.
*
Zarita Morshidi added a tablespoon of dehydrated onion flakes to the bowl of water and set it aside to rehydrate. The garlic, tomato and bell pepper were already soaking She glanced at Rani Hamide and said, “Cooking is so much easier with gravity.”
Rani stirred the boiling macaroni very gently to avoid splashing, and said, “I couldn’t agree more. I thought I’d scream if I had to eat one more meal in a tube at the station.”
Zarita waggled her eyebrows and said in a low husky voice, “That depends on the tube.”
Rani blushed, then laughed and asked, “So how are you and Superman getting along?”
Zarita patted her tummy and said, “I think this meal isn’t the only thing in the oven.”
Rani raised her eyebrows, eyes wide open and said, “You’re pregnant.”
Zarita shrugged and said, “I’m late.”
Suddenly serious, Rani said, “Muhammad will be furious.”
Zarita faced her, hands on her hips and said, “He’s always furious, or hadn’t you noticed?”
Rani nodded uncertainly.
“He treats us like we are property,” Zarita added. “His property. It’s disgusting.”
Rani looked around as if afraid of being overheard. “It
’s worse than you think,” she said. “He’s praying five times a day and muttering about jihad.”
Zarita’s jaw dropped. “No.”
Rani gave her a solemn look and said, “I overheard him praying for the rise of the Caliphate and he’s been crafting weapons. I’m afraid he’s going to kill someone.”
Zarita stepped back, shocked. “We have to tell the others.”
“Tell them what?” Rani asked. “All we have are suspicions. I saw him practicing with a slingshot over in the industrial cavern but I don’t know where he keeps it hidden and praise be to Allah, he didn’t see me.”
“I don’t care. If he’s talking about jihad and the Caliphate we have to warn the others. We cannot remain silent. Silence is what allowed the extremists to hijack our faith on Earth. You want that to happen here?”
“Of course not,” Rani put her hand up, warding away evil.
“Then our only option is to warn them.”
*
Oregon
Betrayed! Sara thought as she and Raoul pedaled north on stolen mountain bikes. If not for Trish Benton’s midnight warning they’d have been sitting back in the quarantine cells waiting for Scarlatti’s men to pick them up.
“Fools,” Raoul muttered.
Indeed, Sara thought. If the Medford town council thinks they can buy Joseph Scarlatti off by handing us over they are definitely fools. She just hoped she and her grandfather would be far enough away before daybreak to shake any pursuit.
“I’ll be more careful next time,” Raoul said. He’d approached a professor who used to teach electrical engineering at Southern Oregon University and explained the need for a transmitter that could reach the ISS.
“We’ll both be more careful,” Sara said. She’d been all too eager to tell everyone about Scarlatti’s perversions, his powerful army and about how Stanford’s defenders had been bombed by WWII vintage aircraft and strafed by a jet. She’d probably scared them so bad they hadn’t seen a viable choice.
The Dying Time (Book 1): Impact Page 39
