by Garon Whited
“Then you’re relieved for the next ten hours. Thank you both, gentlemen.”
Li and I got up and headed for the Luna. As we were walking, Li took the opportunity to buttonhole me.
“Sir?”
“We’re not on, Li. You can call me ‘Max’.”
“Thank you, sir. Max. I have a question.”
“Shoot.”
“What happens if the guys on Heinlein don’t give Galena back? I noticed them trying to raise the Captain and he just didn’t answer. Doesn’t he care?”
I walked in silence for a few steps.
“Li, the Captain cares about everybody. He cares about you and me just as much as he cares about Galena. But he has to care about everybody, not just you or me or Galena. If he can get her back, he will. If he can’t, he’ll make sure the people who grabbed her never grab anyone else. He’d do the same thing if you had gone in her place—or if I had.”
“So why won’t he talk to them?”
“He wants to know Galena is okay. So he doesn’t talk to them; he just insists on talking to Galena and only Galena. That tells them that they need her, and need her in good shape. I think he wants it that way, and also hopes she can tell us things if she’s allowed to talk.”
“Oh. Are we really going to shoot their space station?”
I considered that for a long second. “Maybe. It depends on how reasonable they are willing to be.”
We were almost to the airlock when we were stopped by an elderly gentleman.
“I beg your pardon, but might I have a word?”
“Go on and suit up, Li. I’ll catch up.” He disappeared into the rack room to get dressed for vacuum. I made a mental note to give the Luna’s airlock door a higher priority so we wouldn’t have to go through this every time. “What’s on your mind, Mister…?”
“Schelling. Charles Schelling. Is it ‘Commander Hardy’? Or ‘Lieutenant-Commander’?”
“I’m not big on formality. My rank is Lieutenant Commander. I can be addressed as ‘Commander Hardy’ or ‘sir,’ take your pick.”
He nodded. “As you say, sir. I was wondering… what sort of trade might a man learn in order to become a citizen of your silvery sphere? And how would a pauper proceed to pay for it?”
That’s when I realized there might be hope for the residents after all.
* * *
The Luna’s repair and fuel conversion was our high-priority project. It took eighteen hours out of every twenty-four, mainly because I was looking over the shoulder of everybody involved, especially our new guy—Charlie. He was a computer network engineer a decade or two ago, but he had a long way to go to become a full maintenance tech with the new stuff. He tried hard, and he was a pretty fast learner. He was good on theory but short on practical experience with our stuff. He could still turn a wrench and fetch things. It was a start.
I was technically on light duty. I wasn’t allowed to actually do anything, but a man can worry himself sick just watching over his trainees. My boys are sharp as tacks, but they don’t have my experience—and I was responsible for their work.
It didn’t help much that all this left me too tired to do anything but sleep. Kathy wasn’t too tired, despite getting in there and cranking a socket wrench. Sometimes I wonder if she’s the robot, instead of the Captain. I was envious of her hands-on work, but that didn’t stop us from snuggling up before collapsing into a dead sleep.
Two things called me away from the Luna’s repairs.
The first was our scheduled weapons test. Li’s program ran flawlessly. We sent that first slug downrange and watched the computer track it. It looked good on the scope after launch. It also takes a while to cross that much space—about three days for a standard trip, less for a fuel-wasting dive in a rocket. The slug was clipping along at the projected speed, so there was a nail-biting delay of a couple days. We had to fire at where things would be, not where they were.
We missed the satellite by almost exactly the designated hundred meters—a hundred and two, to be precise. At that sort of range, it was something to be proud of! With that data, Li and I adjusted the predictive model and went for center of mass. I loaded up a liquid oxygen shell and we handed that satellite one to keep.
When an iron brick hits something at several kilometers per second, the impact tends to generate a lot of heat and usually a few sparks. Mix this with liquid oxygen and you get combustion. I don’t care what it’s made of, when you give it pure oxygen, it can burn. Really, really fast.
Svetlana got some really nice photos of the explosion. I think the secondary explosions were missile fuel cooking off. When it was all over, there was a brief meteorite shower off the coast of California and Baja.
The second thing was a day off—ordered by the Captain—to celebrate. First, we changed the automated message to let anyone left on Earth know that it was safe to transmit; we were looking forward to reports from anyone still alive. But off-duty people kept drifting into the control room to see if we’d heard an answer yet. That’s when the Captain declared a holiday and sent everyone to go have a party.
“If I hear anything, I’ll let you know. Now, go have some fun. That’s an order.”
* * *
The party was in full swing. Music poured out of the one-em-cee speakers in the messhall—Chuck was playing DJ with the base’s computer library of music—and there was dancing. I saw a few people with what I assumed were musical instruments; someone in my shop section apparently got creative with aluminum piping, framing, and fiberglass cables. I guess I should keep a closer eye on what they’re doing in their off time, but—dog take it!—a man has to sleep sometime.
One wall of the messhall had a looped projection showing Svetlana’s video recording of the satellite explosions. Anne, as the hydroponics supervisor, authorized a harvest of what fresh foods we had ready. Julie also pulled out the stops on the food processing systems and outdid herself for flavor.
Okay, so the reconstituted protein didn’t taste quite as much like chicken. It was still an improvement.
All things considered, the party was a good one. Even the non-citizens joined in. I learned a lot about low-gravity dancing; some dance steps on Earth can get you a concussion on the Moon. Advice to new arrivals: do not try to dip your partner. The dip works fine, if done slowly; not much point if it’s supposed to be to a beat, though. It’s the return to vertical that proves to be exceptionally touchy; flipping your partner is not a normal dance move. At one point, the band started up with the machine-shop instruments. It wasn’t too bad, all things considered. Most of the musicians were residents, not staffers, and they were pretty good. I guess they aren’t totally useless after all.
The Reverend breezed up to me during the celebration.
“Nice shooting, cowboy,” he said, and clapped me on the shoulder.
“Li’s the gunner,” I demurred. “I just build ’em.”
“So do I call you ‘Smith’ or ‘Wesson’?”
“‘Howitzer,’” I replied. “Have you seen the size of that thing?”
“Compensating for something?” he asked, smiling hugely.
“Nope. Just keeping things in scale.” He laughed with me at my joke.
“Another thing—you’re getting married?”
“Why… yes. Yes, I am. How did you know?” I asked, surprised.
“Who doesn’t?” he countered. “I’m sure everyone knows it. The first Lunar wedding! What did you expect? To get a piece of paper signed and take a weekend off for your honeymoon?”
“I— I don’t know,” I confessed. “I hadn’t really thought about the actual, you know, process…”
He sighed. “My boy, that’s not your job; that’s her job. Your only duty is to stand there and make the appropriate appreciation noises. You say two words. That’s it.”
“Oh.”
“First wedding?”
“Of my own? Yes. I’ve been to a couple.”
“Good. I’ll go over it with you, later, and
walk you through it. We can chalk the floor so you have some markers to remind you.”
“Oh, I think I’ll manage without that,” I protested.
The padre’s eyes twinkled. “I’m sure you will,” he said, “but I’m getting old and it’ll do me good to have things sketched out.”
“Well, all right.”
“Ah, and here’s the lovely lady now!”
Kathy came up on my other side and squeezed my arm. “Hello, Reverend. How do you like our party?”
“I think it’s an excellent party. We needed something good to happen for a while, now.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “It’s hard to have fun, though. I keep thinking about Galena.”
“As do I. I’m praying for her. But it is right to celebrate the good things as they come.”
“I’m not sure how they can have so much fun,” I complained. “We have someone being held hostage.”
He shrugged. “They don’t know her well. To you, she’s your friend. To them, she’s just some stranger with a lot of bad luck. Someone once told me ‘It’s only funny until somebody loses an eye, and if it’s not me, it’s still pretty funny.’ They’re just glad it’s not them.”
Kathy chuckled while I grumbled about it. That attitude just doesn’t seem right to me.
“I’m sure they’re trying to drown sorrows in the punch,” he continued. “I’m sympathetic to the sorrows.”
“Have you tried it?” I asked.
“Yes.” He shuddered. “Don’t. It’s not even alcoholic.”
“That’s regulation,” Kathy pointed out. “We didn’t have any alcohol aboard when we arrived, and I doubt Julie’s had a chance to whip up a still.”
Martin laughed again. “So, it’s just a matter of time,” he observed. “Some things about human nature never change. Well, at least I can laugh about them!”
“I’m glad. So, will you be ready?”
“Absolutely. I was just discussing things with the groom.”
I looked from one to the other. I have got to get out from under the machinery more often.
“What are you two talking about? Have you been making plans behind my back?”
“No, in front of your face, if you’d ever notice,” Kathy chided. “There have been some changes to the arrangements. The Reverend will be performing the ceremony and Captain Carl will be giving the bride away. Who do you want for best man?”
“Peng,” I promptly answered. “I trust Peng. Ironic, isn’t it?”
She crowed in glee. “Pay up, Reverend!”
Martin dug into a pocket and of his jumpsuit and produced a quarter. He surrendered it willingly enough, but added, “Be careful of that. It’ll be a collector’s item someday.”
“Or an archaeological relic,” I pointed out. “You bet on who I’d pick for best man?”
“A friendly wager,” he corrected. “I picked Chang.”
“He’d do,” I agreed.
“Hey, you can’t change your mind!” Kathy protested. “Anyway, I won already. We didn’t bet on who you’d pick next.”
“A valid point,” Martin agreed. “So, to change the subject, can I interest anyone in a drink?”
I shook my head. Kathy nodded and asked, “What have we got?”
“I understand there is a wide variety of synthetic fruit juice concentrates to be had, as well as several liters of reconstituted coffee substitute. Anne had her people produce apple and orange juice—the real stuff—but it went awfully fast; I doubt there’s any left. There is also the dubious mixture in the punchbowl. I suspect that it is a combination of many different concentrates, but all I did was take a sip. I don’t recommend it.”
“I’ll go for the coffee,” Kathy decided.
“Good choice,” I said. “We don’t want a repeat of New Year’s.”
Kathy blushed a shade that went with her hair. “I was hoping to forget about that.”
“You forgot most of it anyway,” I chided. I could feel myself grinning.
“I’ve been reminded enough!”
The padre looked back and forth between us for a moment, then dove in.
“I hate to pause such a lively debate, but what’s this about a party someone’s forgotten?”
So I had to explain Kathy’s experience at the NASA New Year’s Eve party. To be fair, I also told on myself. There were a few moments I didn’t look too sharp, but everybody knows I have those.
“And that,” I finished, “is how Kathy learned not to mix her drinks.”
“Oh, my. Was the Captain there for all this?”
“Yes, he was there,” I confirmed. “As far as I know, the Captain never gets drunk. The strongest thing I’ve seen him drink is beer.”
“Is that not odd for a man of the Navy?”
“I’d say so, at least ashore. But ask him yourself; I see him now.”
The Captain slipped into the messhall like a wraith and had a mug before anyone really noticed him. He blends in well when he’s in a standard-issue jumpsuit. I caught sight of him as he dipped the mug into the punchbowl; I remembered what the padre said about the mixed juices. This also reminded me that Kathy still hadn’t gotten her cup of coffee. I excused us and we slid over toward the drinks table.
“Nice party, sir?” I asked. I swiped a decanter of coffee as I spoke and Kathy found a cup.
“Fair,” he agreed. He sipped at the punch and looked startled. He glanced into the cup, swirled the contents a bit, then set it casually on the table. “But the punch leaves something to be desired.”
“I’m sure a word to Julie will bring quick results,” Kathy said, and winked. “The flavor may not be much improved, but it’ll certainly be more popular.”
“Ironically, I feel certain that her efforts will be vital in establishing the new economy.”
“Hold it,” I said. I finished pouring Kathy’s coffee and put the decanter back. “If we’re going to talk business, it’s not a party. Or was it someone else who said, ‘A party is where people go to forget their jobs’?”
“Usually there’s alcohol involved,” the Captain hedged, “but yes, I said it.”
I nodded. “Thought so. I’m going to go make sure Julie is spending time with someone—anyone but me.”
The Captain arched an eyebrow. “Still nervous about finding her in your bedroom?”
“No, I just think Peng needs a date.”
“Good,” Kathy replied. “I don’t want to hurt her. But you might want to play matchmaker for Svetlana while you’re at it. Quickly.”
“Oh?” Captain Carl and I replied.
“She’s been flapping her lips about how cute Max is.” Kathy took my arm. “I agree, but I’m not being quite so explicit in description.”
“Well!” I said, brightly. “I’ll just be going and saying hello to Julie and Peng while you two discuss the best way to fillet our astronomer and establish an economic system.”
“Not much of an economist?” the Captain asked, taking the change of subject and running with it. “Neither am I. But the professionals didn’t do so good a job, as I recall. We’ll muddle along.”
“Well, I’m interested,” Kathy said. “If there’s going to be money involved, I’d like to make sure we’re not underpaid.”
“I had in mind to keep—” was the last I heard. I put my fingers in my ears and sang la-la-la while I walked away. Once safely distant, I paused to throw Kathy a grin and a wink; she threw back a kiss. I showed a profit. That’s all I care to understand about economics!
I circulated and tried to be charming, witty, and likable. I think I succeeded, but how do I tell? Nobody seemed unhappy to see me. Indeed, most people were quite pleased. Something about being “the man who shot down the bad satellite” seemed to overcome even the hardest-held dislike. President Andrews even made it a point to buttonhole me.
“Well, if it isn’t the hero of the hour,” he said, smiling and pumping my hand. He sounded sincere and quite pleased. “It’s a pity we can’t give the Medal of Hon
or to a non-citizen.”
“That it is,” I agreed. “Of course, you’d still need a Congress for that, wouldn’t you?”
“A detail,” he admitted, airily. “I’m sure they would agree.”
“I didn’t do so much. All I did was tell a bunch of robots what to do. I didn’t even program them; I just laid out the design and their existing programs did the work. It’s the programmers on Earth we should thank.”
“Indeed, indeed. I’m sure we’re all very appreciative of all their efforts, but you are here. It was your vision and determination that guided our resources into a grand design.”
“Um. Actually, it was the Captain who ordered me to build a big honkin’ space gun.”
President Andrews’ face did that whole slip-into-bland-neutrality thing. “Ah, of course. Well, the Captain is to be commended as well.”
“Glad to hear it.” I started to leave.
“Before you go,” he said as he tugged at my sleeve, “would you mind answering a question?”
“Probably not. What’s up?”
“Is the Captain serious in his intent to return all Federation citizens to Earth?”
Ah. That’s what was on his mind. His expression was still bland and inscrutable, but I thought I caught a faint trace of concern in his voice.
“Mister President, do you know what a ‘personal orbital escape system’ is?”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
“It’s an ejection seat for a space station. The first ones were designed in the latter half of the twentieth century and could safely return a human being to the ground from low Earth orbit. It doesn’t take a lot of work to make it fly from the Moon. And we have a launcher already built. About four days in a space suit, a fairly bumpy ride down through the atmosphere, and a resounding-but-survivable-thud back on good ol’ Federation soil. I think I can even promise to hit any county you pick. If not, at least the right state.”
He looked a trifle green; imagination is a drawback when considering dangerous situations. I couldn’t resist smiling.
“If it helps,” I continued, “I can probably also manage to miss the glowing craters. Now, enjoy the party.”
* * *
Kathy went off with the Captain to discuss plans. One of the drawbacks to being attached to the Number Two of the base was the occasional snatch-and-grab her responsibilities caused. Ah, well. I enjoyed the party until it started winding down. When the edge wore off and people started to fade, I headed back to my quarters. It would be another early morning and our first engine test.
