April 8: It's Always Something

by Mackey Chandler

  "Yeah, I'll keep that in mind," Kurt promised.

  Chapter 9

  "You knew they'd be in an uproar," Chen said.

  "I'm refusing any interviews," Jeff said. "I'm tired of having to reply to stupidity, or downright lying hostility. We have different standards; we don't think alike. What's to say?"

  "On the plus side nobody has called for an Assembly to question you, or try to gain some public controls over private weapons," Chen pointed out.

  "Not a Special Assembly, but I wonder if the issue might not come up when the regular one is held?" Jeff worried. "It might be easier to put it to people attached to other issues."

  "Then all I can say is, be prepared. Have your answers well made and firmly in mind. Was there anyone you spoke to in the media who seemed reasonable to you?" Chen asked, backtracking a bit. "If you spoke to even one it might calm the others down to have something to report. I know how Earthies think," he warned. "A lot of them see silence as damning, reasonable or not."

  "No, nobody had an intelligent question to put forth," Jeff lamented.

  Chen thought on that a bit. "You sent notices of a conference call to quite a few news organizations. About thirty," Chen remembered. "You didn't take that many questions. Is there anybody who didn't ask anything you'd want to call up and give it a go again?"

  "Do you know? There was a fellow from the Australian Video News Net. He didn't say a blessed thing, but I noticed he was particularly alert. His facial expressions caught my eye when we were listening to the others. I thought maybe I was imagining what I wanted to see, but he seemed as amused at the frivolous question as I was infuriated. But he didn't ask anything himself."

  "If you call him up and offer an exclusive interview, what have you got to lose, but your patience?" He can hardly refuse to ask any questions without others to do it for him. You'll either find out you read him wrong, and he's another idiot, or it may be a productive session," Chen suggested.

  "I may do that, but can you do some research and see what you can find out about the man in the next few hours?" Jeff asked. "I'd feel better knowing who I'm talking to."

  "Sure, I'll look at public sources and see if I have any Australian insiders," Chen promised.

  * * *

  "I've never seen a fabricator with an articulated arm," Kurt said, surprised. "They always have a cross beam for rigid support, if not two of them, and the print carriage between them."

  They were standing in suits outside, the huge 3D printer stage in front of them and the fifth section of a long crane-like arm being attached before the final print head coupling was attached. There was a bare steel rack to the side that would hold specialized print heads to lay various metals, ceramics, foams and glasses. Even heads to vacuum deposit thin films and do secondary heat treating.

  "We want to build some vessels twenty meters long," Mo said. "If we built it the conventional way it will be enormous, but more importantly it would take about four times as much material and longer to build. Now, if we had to hold tolerances to a hundredth of a millimeter and produce a good surface finish we'd be building it that way. We'd have no other choice. The pieces we intend to make will be perfectly usable if we hold them to a tenth of a millimeter, and the surface doesn't need to be smooth. We're going to enamel some areas when we sinter them and attach various things with adhesives, so a bit of texture is actually advantageous to get a better grip on both sides."

  "Both sides?" Kurt asked, unsure what he meant.

  "A lot of this will be laying a hard surface on metal or ceramic foam," Mo explained. "It has good insulating properties and a very high Modulus. It accepts anchors and ribs nicely too. We will be erecting another print arm opposite this one so we can work on both sides of a foam core at the same time."

  "How? Don't the inner and outer arms get in each other's way when they cross over? Kurt asked, using his own arms to illustrate the problem.

  "Ah, yes they would," Mo agreed, "if they were working on an unmoving object, but the entire fifteen meter diameter stage rotates, and when done the entire rotary table slides off to the side on rails. We'll soon have another blank stage that slides in to allow a new object to be started while the completed object is rigged to be removed, or has secondary operations performed."

  "What am I going to be working on first?" Kurt asked.

  "You are going to dig a perimeter trench all the way around the machine a hundred meters deep and a meter wide. Then you are going to undercut sections and insert bearings. After the bearings are installed then the remaining sections will be cut out, and those sections will in turn have the second half of the bearings installed. In the end the entire block of stone will be floating, free to move in two dimensions independent of any moonquakes or disturbances from local human activities."

  "I'm guessing you are confident the stone doesn't have any big faults running through it?" Kurt said.

  "It was examined with ultrasound from four bore holes spaced out at the corners of your future trench. This isn't a natural bowl where we're sited. The regolith was removed and the rock cut flat. It will be domed over also, not for pressure, we need the vacuum, but to keep the direct sun off for thermal expansion. There are already problems we had to overcome with oscillation in such a long articulated mechanism. Fortunately most of those design problems have been overcome in cranes and atomic level manipulators. It's easier to just shade it all than to shield individual components," Mo said.

  "How far will the monolith be able to move before it comes up against stops, and is there any way to get it back to the start location if it gets bumped over a few centimeters?" Kurt asked.

  "Indeed, it senses the acceleration of a move as well as distance, and the real purpose is more to allow the print head to be withdrawn, and save the build, than to keep working through a disturbance. If it senses there is going to be significant motion it simply buys time to lift the print head away from the work. Your trench will be a minimum meter wide to hold equipment and allow access to service it. We certainly don't ever want to see the monolith move that far. There will also be recesses in the outer surface to facilitate a man in a suit turning around. It only can move about four centimeters before hitting gas shocks that buffer its motion. By the time it hits those, the print head should be safely withdrawn. Then it will have hydraulic rams to push it back on location," Mo said.

  "You know, a lot of the people I've worked with would have told me to do my job and not worry about what is the engineer's concern when I ask so many questions," Kurt said.

  "Perhaps that would save a few seconds now, and court disaster long term, which is a poor bargain," Mo said. "I'm an engineer, but I've been working way outside my area of training. Just about everybody here does. If you are here, well, Jeff doesn't hire stupid people. You may tell me a hundred things we've planned for and then the hundred and first will leave me saying I didn't think of that. Besides, if I don't let you get them out of your system, a little block of your mind will be pondering them all the while you are working on the trench. Better to address them than spare my feelings. I'm really consciously trying to leave all that Earth Think behind."

  Kurt nodded. "I think I'm here for the long haul too. And I agree we need to do things differently. Look at what a mess Earth is now. I think I'll like working with you, Mo."

  "Oh, you'll get your share of other bosses," Mo warned him. "We're so short handed we trade workers around all the time. But we can't afford somebody sitting idle for silly work rules or because they are above working in the cabbage mines."

  "The cabbage mines?" Kurt asked.

  "I don't even know the official name," Mo admitted. "maybe they have a sign in the corridor if you get assigned there. But that's what everybody calls the experimental farms. I might as well tell you...the seismic isolation cut you are going to be working on is already being called the moat. Just as well to inform you before they say it and you stand there looking cluelessly at them. The printer arm is the finger and the dome for which they
are sinking footers right now is already the lid. They kept proposing other names for the arm, but I think they were just yanking my chain, teasing the Earthie. Once I took to ignoring it they dropped it."

  "What happens when they install the other, uh...finger?" Kurt asked Mo.

  "Who knows? They may be the east finger and west finger or the old finger and the new finger, they may name them Al and Fred for all I know. If you can name them first they'll probably accept whatever you coin. I'll just be happy if it's something I can repeat to my wife. You'll see what I mean when you meet the entire crew."

  "I worked as a beam dog, remember? I know exactly what you mean."

  * * *

  Iaan Walsh was an excellent marksman, a seasoned security specialist and a guard to Colonel Allister who was the first among the council of colonels. His other qualification for the mission just handed to him was that he'd been recruited into God's Warriors while embedded in the command of Colonel Allister and remained there while all the chaos of the nation fracturing into factions proceeded.

  Neither of the two factions splitting power retained or recruited from the Naval detail that previously guarded the President. There was entirely too much risk some nut case would take their oath to the constitution seriously, and have objections to a military government, no matter how 'temporary'.

  He'd had to briefly claim allegiance to the Pennsylvania Patriots before they were absorbed into the Patriot Party and then into the Sons of Liberty. If there was any one skill in which he exceeded it was sincerity. He switched sides as easily and convincingly as his superiors. However Iaan was a deeply religious man, taught early at his mother's knee. He could see the merits of patriotism and admire the Patriot's sincerity, but without godliness it was hollow to him.

  He'd seen the callous indifference to life Colonel Allister and his officers displayed without any shame. The only qualm he entertained was the thought that by assassinating the colonel he might be committing suicide. After prayerful and careful consideration he found solace in the examples of Samson and other godly men. If he died at the Patriot's hands that was on them, not him.

  Iaan didn't know who his contact was, he'd just been left a note in his coffee mug, with instructions to pause and scratch his nose upon exiting his quarters if he had received the message. They did not say if he accepted the assignment, but he didn't expect that. He was after all a soldier under orders.

  When Iaan stepped outside he paused to look around, savoring the day since it would likely be his last, and scratched his nose. He had to wonder from how far away he was being observed and how they could excuse remaining in a set position on base without arousing suspicion. Nevertheless, it was good his people had resources, even here.

  It was late in the day before Colonel Allister was alone with a company commander. Lieutenant Sass had stepped out of the room. That was a shame because he detested the little weasel and would have shot him next after Allister, if the other guard gave him time.

  Allister walked around the desk and stood directly between him and the other guard. That's what he'd been waiting to happen. He bent over shuffling through some documents. That reduced his profile so Iaan was looking at the top of the man's head and had no clear shot at his chest. He kept his hand still, aware he could easily telegraph his intend to the other guard. He'd wait until the man stood back straight from leaning over, and not only presented a fuller target, but obscured the other guard's view and field of fire to respond to him.

  To his astonishment the other guard drew his weapon, seemingly unhurried, and shot Allister in the back of the head. He'd recovered from recoil and Iaan was at his mercy since he was just reaching for his weapon and the other man already had his pointed in his general direction. But the visiting commander was much closer to the shooter, and calling attention to himself by scrambling wildly to get his weapon clear of his holster.

  The guard decided to shoot the closer threat first. It was a fatal error. He should have shot Iaan and then worried about the closer, but less competent threat. As slow as the commander was he still might have taken both of them. He did take the company commander down with a round through the chest when he'd barely cleared leather, and before he could start to raise his pistol. But it gave Iaan far too much time to respond. He tried, but failed, to bring his weapon back around to bear on Iaan.

  Iaan put two rounds through the man's chest and another through his head as he slid down the wall. When the more heavily armed guards from the corridor burst in Iaan was pointing his weapon at the floor. He still almost got shot. He was cuffed and isolated, then interrogated even though the video from the room backed up his story.

  It wasn't until almost three the next morning before Iaan was allowed to return to quarters. He'd finally been told the other guard had a suicide note in his pocket. Which meant most of his repetitious interrogation was senseless paranoia. The dead guard's family lived across the Bayou just north of the Pensacola base. The whole neighborhood had been swept away as badly as any hurricane could do, the foundations barely visible from an aerial survey. The man directly blamed Allister. Well, so did Iaan, though he'd never mention it. The whole bunch of them were insane to goad the Homies.

  It was a remarkable gift. His mission was accomplished without his own loss. He was still in a position of trust as far as he could tell. He might even still have access to the SOL leaders and be potentially useful in the future. They certainly wouldn't question his loyalty after today, and he might even have opportunity to remove their next set of leaders if he was so directed. He had to smile. Wouldn't that surprise them?

  Before he went to sleep, exhausted, he could hear the rattle of distant gun fire. That didn't surprise him at all. It was going to be bad for awhile. It would even be dangerous to be guarding the Sons leaders if his own people had a chance to take them out from a distance. He had no illusions they'd hold back to spare him. It was simply a risk he had to accept. After all, every day he had after today was an unexpected gift.

  * * *

  "I found out a little about that newsman, Brett Holland, who caught your eye," Chen reported.

  "Good or bad?" Jeff demanded, his brows were furrowed and he looked tired.

  "Different," Chen evaded. "You'll have to judge for yourself."

  "I want to let him interview me, maybe. Not hire him," Jeff replied gruffly. He seemed to be in a bad mood today and Chen said as much.

  "Maybe. I've too much to do and I need a couple clones."

  "Well that would creep everybody out," Chen said. "I'm pretty sure from the multiple reports that the Chinese have done that, but there isn't any way to make one with all your memories, so what would be the point of it? You'd be adding raising a couple kids to everything else."

  "Yeah, that's the big obstacle. They'd probably just argue with me," Jeff decided. "I read the same news reports. The Chinese supposedly tried to clone people with exceptional talents. It apparently didn't work for crap or they'd have been bragging on it."

  "Perhaps you can take a mental health day or a tranquilizer," Chen suggested. "If you talk to the man in this frame of mind I can't see it being productive."

  "That bad, huh?"

  "Yep. I don't sugar coat stuff for you. You look like you are bordering on burn-out," Chen said.

  "How much of it can I dump on you?" Jeff asked. It didn't appear to be a serious question, just a snarky remark.

  "As much as you wish, because I can delegate," Chen said, pointedly. "And I would, massively."

  Jeff blinked hard, and didn't say anything for a few seconds. "Alright. I will take a day. Maybe two! I'll forward my com to you, since you seem to be volunteering, and I shall relax and see if my lady will allow me to take her to dinner. I haven't been to a club in months."

  "Which one of your ladies?" Chen asked, with a droll expression.

  "April, because she's on Home. I'd love to see both of them," Jeff said, not evasive with Chen in the least because Chen wasn't critical, just snarky. "Two days isn't t
ime enough for us to go see her, and Heather is impossible to pry away from Central, because..." He stopped and looked stricken. "Because she's just like me," Jeff admitted.

  "Ah, glad you know it," Chen said, pleased. "I shall talk to you in a few days and see if you want to contact Mr. Holland. Perhaps I can find out something more."

  * * *

  Kurt helped survey the moat, and was introduced to the fellows he'd be working with, but there was some sort of holdup on the tunnel boring machine. It was needed to cut a tunnel into all four corners of the moat. The undercut around the base of the monolith would be cut from the tunnels, and the shock absorbers and repositioning machinery, too big to fit down the narrow moat, would go in through the tunnels too.

  That was fine, there was more work than there were hands, and he got paid the same no matter to what project he was lent. Kurt got to meet new people and learn more about his new home by being shared around. And he got some hours in out of a suit. Suit work could wear you down. He still wasn't used to lunar gravity. It was in-between all the environments he was used to. Kurt still hadn't got to the point that he felt confident to toss something to a coworker.

  Today he'd worked in the cabbage mines, although not any of the active ones with plants. He'd looked through a few ports at those, bright with light of an odd spectrum, optimized for the plants not people, and noted the warning signs that the atmosphere inside was not standard. There were also lots and lots of complicated notices about what measures were necessary to avoid contamination, both entering and exiting. The mushroom tunnels had a full airlock with a wash-down and rinse that included a boot washing station. Others were more concerned with taking contamination in.

  The new tunnels were sprayed with a sealant and then insulation. They weren't deep enough into the moon for the walls to be warm yet. You could attach things directly to the foam, but eventually it would be damaged or a fastener could go too deep and nick the sealant. They ran a strip along the top center and all the utility lines were supposed to be neatly color coded, sorted and fastened on the strip when possible. They had water and several gas feeds, three kinds of power and data connections as well as emergency lighting and a wireless hub at each end.