Finding themselves woefully under-dressed for the cold, they resolved to get their EVA suits for the next trip. They quickly lifted off and headed for the settlement. They set up in the shuttle’s empty cargo bay because it was the only warm place large enough for them to work.
The design called for welding three panels together in an overlapping pattern which would allow them to slide over the ice and still distribute the weight. A front panel was added at a thirty degree angle to the horizontal to keep the skid from digging into the ice. The brackets into which the landing gear fit were set at a forty five degree angle to the horizontal so as the ship bounced across the ice, the skids would not fall off prematurely. Once the gear started to rise, extended bars would catch the gear doors and tip the skids forward so they fell free. Greg would retrieve them with his tug.
The first challenging part, once the skids were made, was moving the shuttle to the edge of the frozen lake. The cargo ship could not move the shuttle by itself. It was too heavy. They lost the better part of a week while they built a harness out of the hawsers they had used to secure the shuttles to the cargo ship to safely use both the cargo ship and Greg’s tug to lift the shuttle. The arrangement was precarious, but it worked. High winds forced them to the ground a dozen times during the trip, but finally they set the shuttle down at the snow covered edge of the frozen lake.
Chilled to the bone, they elected to wait another two days before attempting to mount the skids while they warmed up in the shuttle’s cabin. They spent another two days lifting the shuttle one wheel at a time with the cargo ship and using the tug’s winches to pull the skids into place. Finally, after waiting out yet another snow storm, they were able to attach the wings. Greg’s cargo tug filled in for the construction crane and held the wing while the six women muscled it into place. After a full day connecting each wing, they were ready to try taking off.
The cargo transport shuttles owed their design in part to the Lockheed C-5, part to the Spruce Goose, part to the American B-36 and part to NASA’s lifting body experiments of the late twentieth century. They were the biggest aircraft ever built. They took off like winged aircraft driven by giant pusher propellers mounted into the trailing edges of the wings powered by electric motors embedded in their drive shafts. These giant props pushed the lumbering aircraft off the ground boosted by jet engines that combined liquid hydrogen with oxygen from the air until the atmosphere grew so thin that liquid oxygen from the wing tanks was needed to support combustion. As the air became thinner, the engines in the wings became more like rockets and less like jets as vanes closed to maintain propulsion in the proper direction.
The power that drove this aircraft designed by committee came from a pair of small nuclear reactors. Encased in thick blankets of piezoelectric crystals, the reactors generated electricity directly from the heat of nuclear fission. The reactors had become the power source of choice for anything large enough to support one. A single reactor of the type in the cargo shuttle could power the largest “wet navy” vessel ever to sail the seas.
When departing Earth, the liquefied gases were provided from stations on the ground. When departing from other planets where water was available in either solid or liquid form, the reactors used electrolysis to generate the gases needed for propulsion. The two elements were pressurized and stored so they could be recombined in the engines to provide the thrust which drove the ungainly bird into space to the waiting interstellar cargo haulers. If the shuttles were outfitted with external fuel tanks, they could make the run to Venus or Mars. Provided they could find a large enough solid smooth surface, they were capable of landing on and taking off from any of the planetary moons whose surface was solid enough to support habitation.
Katherine and Sam gratefully returned to their seats on the flight deck of the shuttle. They started each engine, ran it to full and shut it down. They repeated the cycle until they were convinced everything would perform as specified. They checked the flight control surfaces, and when everything was acceptable, they started the motors. They had a moderate headwind on an otherwise bright and bitterly cold day. Unlike a concrete runway where locking the brakes means something, before they reached full throttle, the shuttle started to move. It slid down the beach at the edge of the lake and out onto the ice. They used the various throttles to control their direction since the flight control surfaces would not work until they developed sufficient air speed.
The giant propellers spun and threw snow in an impressive white cloud behind them. Designed to lift off with a full load, the powerful engines drove the empty shuttle rapidly across the ice. No surface is as smooth as a man-made runway and the aircraft bounced as it accelerated across the lake. Afraid to pull back on the stick too soon, Katherine stayed down as long as she dared. On one bounce the shuttle did not seem to want to settle back down so Katherine hauled back as hard as she could. She could feel the strain in the wings as the props clawed for air and gradually put distance between them and the ground.
Greg took off in pursuit to verify that the skids had disengaged. The main gear skids fell free as planned. The nose gear skid did not. Once at a stable altitude, Katherine tried extending and retracting the gear to dislodge the skid. It stayed put. Acrobatic maneuvers did not work. Finally, Sam deflated the tires preparatory to jettisoning the entire wheel assembly, and the skid disengaged. With another cheer from the ranks, the shuttle headed for the orbiting cargo ship.
Greg marked the locations of the three skids on his charts and headed for his cargo ship. The four women who remained on the surface boarded the pirate cargo ship and rendezvoused with Greg’s ship in orbit. When they arrived, Greg did something he almost never did. He dug into his personal storage compartment and hauled out a bottle of vodka, a bottle of scotch and a bottle of whiskey.
HOMESTEAD - CHAPTER TEN
WHILE ALL SEVEN of the people who had successfully returned Katherine’s shuttle to space found themselves in their own beds the next morning with their clothes on, none of them could remember much beyond starting drinking and laughing themselves silly. The computer was discrete enough to not record the evening’s festivities.
They were still nursing their hangovers when Myra showed up.
Myra was entirely too perky for anyone’s mood. Hungover, sullen and tired, the others did not react with pleasure when Myra suggested they should fire up the reactors and head out.
Blondie and Katherine assaulted Myra with pillows every time she became excited or loud. While Greg would hardly have approved of their attitudes if this had been a regular Space Force crew, he certainly understood under the circumstances. While he did not aid and abet them, neither did he make any attempt to deflect the abuse Myra was taking. She took it well considering, but toward the end it began to wear on her.
“I have news!” Myra shouted as she floated onto the flight deck.
“Better be good news,” Blondie groaned.
“Very good news,” Katherine agreed in a gravely voice that would have been sexy if her facial expression had been a little less pained.
“Somebody circulated the rumor that you were hijacked in earth orbit and forced to take the hijackers to an undisclosed location,” Myra bubbled.
“And who would be brazen enough to do such a thing?” Greg asked sarcastically knowing that Myra had sealed his fate. She had finally killed his resurgent hope that he could take his ship and leave.
“Me!” Myra shouted and got hit by two pillows.
“No, dummy, I meant hijack my ship,” Greg said with a groan.
“Pierre LaMarche,” Myra giggled and then ducked to avoid being struck by pillows again.
Holding his forehead, his eyes bleary, Greg gazed in Myra’s direction even if he could not focus on her. “And someone believed this?”
“A couple of well planted journalists helped things along, but the press is calling for an all out man-hunt for Pierre and his crew.” Myra held her arms out to deflect blows that did not come.
“And su
pposedly how did they do this?” Greg asked.
“Stowed away on the shuttles!” Myra exclaimed as Blondie and Katherine hit her again.
“I supposed they overpowered the crews?” Greg offered.
“Yes!” Myra said and ducked.
“Then what? What happened when they got to my ship?” Greg asked.
“They didn’t get on to your ship until after you jumped!”
“Excuse me?” Greg said.
“Your smart computer detected a problem with the shuttles. You knew something was up. You sealed off the shuttles and when you spotted the customs ship, you assumed it was a disguised pirate and split! How’s that? Don’t hit me, again! OW! Stop that!” Myra said.
“As if we couldn’t defend ourselves!” Brownie sniffed.
“Play along with me here. They caught you by surprise,” Myra wheedled.
It was Brownie’s turn to be sarcastic “Ah me, poor little women can’t defend ourselves against the big hairy men. So sad.”
“They were armed. You weren’t,” Myra said smugly.
“And why didn’t they overpower Greg?” Blondie asked.
“He’s a mean, resourceful son of a bitch. Two pirates are no match for him,” Myra grinned.
“You under-estimate my fath-air,” Monique said.
“Pierre was your father?” Greg gasped.
“Oui.”
“You watched me kill your father, and you said nothing?” Greg said softly, astounded.
“Oui,” Monique replied quietly.
“You’ve had a dozen opportunities to kill me, not the least of which was last night, and you’ve not tried. Why?” Greg continued.
“I would like to live. Your friends would have killed me if you did not do it yourself. Like you, we not fight to die. We fight to live. Maybe you not understand zzat.”
“Have you grieved for your father?” Brownie asked.
“Oui, silently in my own way. I have cried for him. Mark gave him a vezzy good funeral. Mark did better than my fath-air did for his own brother. I know you killed him, also.”
The mood in the room turned somber.
“I am sorry. I had no choice,” Greg said.
“I know,” Monique replied. “You were correct. He did abuse children. He abused Myra, and he abused me. I thought it was my fault. I was such a slow learner.” Angelina spoke softly, “He was a bad man. You were right to kill him. It was right zzat it was you who did it. You were zzee only one he feared. Now, we can live in peace. The man Helen killed wizz her foot, zzat was my hus-band. We are better he is gone, too.”
For a minute the room was hushed except their breathing and the sound of the air handler fans. Even the background music stopped.
“Then we must change the story so as to not dishonor your father,” Greg said. “Can you accept it so far? It truly is a brilliant plan, worthy of your father.”
“Oui, if it means we can all live,” Monique said.
“Yes, we, too, fight to live,” Greg said softly. “Let’s try this. Once I jump into hyper space, they take over my ship. I am taken prisoner for ransom. Pierre was no fool. He would know I am worth more alive than dead. He would also hold the shuttle crews for ransom. That was his style.”
“Oui,” Monique said, “Ransom or torture.”
“We can leave the torture part out,” Greg suggested. “When we drop out of hyperspace, he allows me to complete my mission. The horses are of no value. He wants the ship and us unharmed. The ships and their crews can be ransomed. A bunch of dead animals would be a liability and anger the Rescue League. No sense in making unnecessary enemies.”
“Would he be that charitable?” Myra asked.
“Not unless I talked him into it,” Greg suggested.
“Oui, c’est bon, go on,” Monique said.
“We make the drops and other pirate ships join us except that the other ships have been followed by an unknown force that is not the Space Force. We suspect it’s Swordsmen flexing their muscle. Or maybe it’s a rival group of pirates. Or maybe both. I’ll make it as confusing as possible as to who the attackers are. A fire fight develops and all ships except this one are destroyed. Even this one is crippled. The reactor is damaged and has shut down. I only have enough battery power left to send this one message on a courier missile.”
“That could work,” Myra said.
“Monique?” Greg asked.
“Oui. By dying, we are set free,” Monique answered.
“I’ll prepare the message,” Greg said. “I’ll phrase it as a final report to Admiral Davidson. He’ll know it’s bogus, but he won’t be able to do anything because he won’t know where we are.”
“They can’t trace the missile back?” Blondie asked.
“Not if I program it correctly, and Davidson will figure it out. I’ll remove a part and he’ll notice it’s gone,” Greg smiled. “If we agree, I’ll begin. You may listen to it before I send it.”
Everyone except Greg went back to bed. Being hung over in weightlessness was more unsettling than being hung over with gravity. When he was alone, the computer asked, “Do you want to do this, sir? It is like committing suicide. We will be fugitives forever.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“I do not see one.”
“Neither do I.”
“Very well then, sir, entering dictation mode.”
That afternoon, after Greg had finished recording, they gathered to listen. The computer had added sound effects in the background for realism.
Blondie was the first to react when the recording finished. “Euwww! Gag me with a spoon! Did you have to have me die with my head in your lap saying good-bye to my mother?”
“Did you want her thinking her daughter’s soul would be forever damned?” Greg asked.
“No, I guess not,” Blondie admitted.
Brownie held her hands over her heart and leaned back with her face in the air, “Ah, the melodramatic heroine, frantically trying to save the ship and dying in the process. How nauseating! May I be sick now?”
Katherine was more serious. “I think I would do as you suggest under those circumstances. I would have died trying to escape with my ship even if there was no possibility of success.”
“And I would be there to back her up,” Sam added.
“You have treated my fath-air well,” Monique commented. “He does not seem like such a monstair the way you tell it.”
Not to be out done, Myra had to add her remarks. “Do you think Davidson is going to buy the ending? I mean come on, ‘The only question now is whether the batteries will fail before or after the ship impacts the atmosphere and turns into a giant meteorite.’ What kind of crap is that?”
Greg smiled. “Andersen should buy all of this crap, but Davidson won’t believe a word of it. He’ll know we’re alive. He may think Pierre is alive, but he won’t do anything about it. He won’t because he can’t without blowing a bunch of credibility. He’ll be non-committal. He will refuse to vouch for the message’s authenticity, but he has no reason to doubt it either. Without corroboration, there is no way to know. If he is as clever as I think he is, he will demand an accounting of all Swordsman ships for the time period. He will make the public aware the Swordsmen are building a Space Force and how big it has become. Pierre is overdue, and there are probably searches going on for him. His disappearance will leak out, and re-open the question as to whether the Swordsmen are being truthful in their fleet reports.”
“How are you going to make sure Davidson sees it?” Myra asked.
“By addressing it to him and encrypting it so only he can decipher it,” Greg assured her.
“You can do that?” Blondie asked.
“I regularly receive intelligence data by encoded analog voice recordings,” Myra replied.
“Each message is uniquely coded to the intended recipient. Multiple sub carriers, that sort of thing. He’ll know it’s me because only the key to my code will open it. He will release it to the public unencrypted,” Gr
eg explained.
“Let’s hope this works,” Brownie said.
HOMESTEAD - CHAPTER ELEVEN
ONCE THE COURIER MISSILE was off, Myra turned back to the group. “We’ve had our fun. It’s back to work. We have a cargo on its way to Triton which we need to meet.”
“Triton?” they said as one.
“Uranus’ moon? Could you pick a spot less hospitable? Nobody goes to Triton anymore,” Greg sneered. “Not since they closed the tracking station. The place has nothing going for it.”
“Which is why we’re going there,” Myra trilled.
“What mean we, white man,” Greg joked.
“We can all go,” Myra replied.
“No, we can’t all go,” Greg corrected. “Someone has to stay here in case of unwanted visitors.”
“Visitors?” Monique asked.
“What if someone comes looking for you?” Greg asked.
“Vraiment, mais oui, people will look for us soon.” Monique said. “You will be in danger.”
“So who stays, and who goes?” Blondie asked.
“I think Sam, Brownie and I should go,” Greg said. “Sam and Brownie can fly the shuttle.”
“If you break it, I’ll kill you,” Katherine joked.
“Myra, stay in your ship. Katherine, take Albert’s scout. Blondie, take the tug to the surface and retrieve the skids. Gather four empty containers and set them where Katherine’s shuttle was parked. When we return we can pick up your shuttle and straddle it over the containers so we can work on the undercarriage. Maintain communication between the ground and the ship. Monique and Angelina, can I trust you with the destroyer?”
“What do you mean?” Angelina asked.
“Trust you to not try to escape or to shoot down the other ships,” Greg said.
“You think we would do that?” Monique asked, offended.
“No, but I have to ask,” Greg replied.
“We will stay. You know who we are and you trust us. We have honor,” Monique affirmed.
Solomon Family Warriors II Page 11
