Across a Sea of Stars Read online

  Cris decided to leave the curtain open as he slept. He climbed into bed and shut the lights off. The light from outside exploded into his room. The reflected light caused a bright beam to illuminate an oval spot on the ceiling above the porthole. That's why the black arch was painted on the ceiling, to reduce the glare that, no doubt, would have lit his room up as if the lights were on. As his eyes adjusted, he had to get up and secure the curtain, the light was just too bright. Come the lunar night, he would be able to draw it back and look at the stars.

  ○O○

  The next morning, Cris took the elevator down to the ground floor, exited out in front of the billet, and looked up at the roof of the dome which was now his sky.

  He noted the time. It was 05:29 Lunar. Just then, from the connecting tunnel, came the four jeeps.

  As they came to a stop, Cris noticed that Ives was in the lead this time. He hopped out of the jeep, snapped to attention, and saluted. "Good morning, sir."

  "Good morning Specialist Thibodaux," Cris said, returning the salute.

  As Cris climbed in, he noticed the other new pilots coming down out of the billet heading for their jeeps.

  As Ives started to pull away from the curb, he turned to Cris and said, "Looks like we're going to beat them, sir."

  "It's not a race, Ives."

  "Well, it is sort of sir, we drivers all bet what order you pilots would come out, who'd be the first to arrive at the HQ, and—"

  Cris laughed. "Ives, I have got to tell you, on Earth we all pretty much figured you cyborgs, I'm sorry, SUBs, were like robots—all matter-of-fact, programmed automatons. But that's not true at all, is it?"

  "Sir, everything I was and am is in my biotronic brain."

  "How was that accomplished?"

  "Prior to death, a computer performed a procedure on me called a 'whole brain emulation.' My biological brain was completely mapped in pinpoint detail and copied into the computer. The computer's models of our minds are absolutely identical to the original. So much so that these models behave in exactly the same way as the original brain. This body was constructed specifically for me and is virtually identical to my original. My biotronic brain contains elements of my own brain. Ives Thibodaux was then uploaded, and—well, here I am."

  "So—you're a facsimile of the original?"

  "Sir, I've been grappling with that question since my re-awakening. I have concluded that what has happened to me can best be described as artificially extended consciousness. It is possible that I am completely Ives Thibodaux, but it is also possible that Ives Thibodaux's soul has departed and, thus, I am indeed a simple facsimile whose existence will someday just cease to exist."

  "That's mighty deep thinking for one so young."

  "Sir, I'm twenty-two years old."

  "Yeah. The news reported that Pacherd stopped functioning at the JPL shortly after the return of the survivors from dome forty-five. It was also reported that in anticipation of his passing, thanatologists were called in. What was the result of their study of his...death? Do you know?"

  "Sir, the government has slapped a lid on all information concerning what happened inside the Moon and at the JPL. It's all Area Fifty-One stuff now."

  "Ives, you're a good soldier and a very likable individual, you've got friends and responsibility. Don't get wrapped up too tightly in esotericism. Life is too short."

  "Well, sir, I can expect a life span of at least another ninety plus years. Anticipated upgrades could easily extend that."

  "I stand corrected. My life is too short. So, Ives, who did you bet would be the first out?"

  Ives shot him a glance and smiled. "Why, you of course, sir."

  The jeep passed through dome one and pulled up to the HQ complex in dome three.

  Cris entered the structure that took up almost half of the dome and extended upward four stories.

  In short order, he and the other neophyte Moon pilots were seated in the front of a large theater with a proscenium. An officer at the back of the room shouted, "A-tin-shun!" Everyone rose and stood at the position of attention.

  "As you were," said the officer who strode down the center aisle and mounted the stage. Behind him, a huge monitor lowered.

  "Lady and gentlemen, I am Lieutenant Colonel Bruckner, the Group XO. On behalf of Colonel Amar, the Group Commander—welcome to JILL. Lady and gentlemen, this is a classified briefing. All security protocols and regulations are in effect.

  "First, you have no doubt seen all the attention, and money, the archeological site is getting. Let me assure you that no part of our mission here involves that project. And, for your information, that project is classified, you will not ask about it, nor will you discuss it with anyone here or at home. You should know that all communications not on a secure line are monitored, to include your phone calls, tabs, and S-mail. The three domes in proximity to the site, forty-two, forty-three and forty-four, as well as the temporary structures out there are off limits. 'Nuf said.

  "Let's discuss our mission. We are uniquely suited to conduct detailed surveys of the lunar surface by nature of the Air Force's advanced Low Orbital Transport Vehicle or LOTV, nicknamed the Lunar Eagle.

  "The truth of the matter is that the Air Force has an interest in the Moon beyond geology and cartography. We are seeking the best places to construct Lunar Forward Operating Bases, or L-fobs, in order to establish our military dominance over the Moon, to ensure events like last year's attack can be defended against. And thus, the Moon will continue to be an international scientific destination. I know you're all wondering about existing non-militarization treaties and political implications. I can assure you the world body wants the Moon protected, and, though we have our orders, our concerns have been submitted to the DOD. However, the IIEA wants this, and as you know the IIEA gets what it wants. Again, 'nuf said.

  "Let me draw your attention to the monitor, here. We have divided the Moon into sections from pole to pole. Much like a peeled orange is divided into sections. There is a total of eight sections, four on each side. Starting with the western most sector on the near side, they are numbered in sequence one through four, the first section of the far side is number five followed by six, seven and eight.

  "We have a squadron assigned per sector. Right now, I am four pilots short, and several are scheduled to rotate back—that's why you're here.

  "If you haven't heard the rumors, I'd be very much surprised; regardless, let me tell you the truth of why we're short four pilots. Keep in mind the Lunar Eagle is a brand-new vehicle, and, whereas they tested the hell out of it on Earth…this ain't Earth. We believe there might be a few bugs still hiding within her systems—never forget that.

  "We lost the first Eagle and pilot when the ship was hit by a small meteor, about the size of a marble traveling at thirty thousand miles an hour, his ship just disintegrated. We don't think the pilot ever knew what hit him.

  "One suffered a catastrophic engine failure. His craft exploded fifteen seconds after he declared an emergency.

  "We lost another when he just came in too low and too hot over Copernicus and struck the elevation at three, four, zero. It was pilot error—that was avoidable.

  "The last was the worst. Major Clifton. She suffered an unknown failure while flying over the Mare Orientale on the Moon's southwestern limb in sector eight. At twenty degrees south, ninety-five degrees west, she mysteriously lost all power and went down without a word. Later, we deduced that she survived the crash unscathed. By the time we found her, she had frozen to death because there was absolutely no power in any battery of that craft or in her suit, as if they had all been sucked dry. I remember that selenographic coordinate, because, of all the search parties that went looking, I was the one to find her.

  "Therefore, maintenance is a triple priority here, as is flying within the established guidelines, any hot-dogging and you go home a civilian.

  "There's nothing we can do about meteors. Once you get out there, you'll notice that the Moon does seem to catch
a few. And as for Mare Orientale, well, it's off limits until we figure out this anomaly."

  "Excuse me, sir," Cris had the brass to interrupt, "but are you suggesting that the selenographic location where the LOTV went down had some effect on the vehicle's electronics?"

  "What's your name, Captain?"

  "Ah—Cristóbal Salazar, sir."

  "This anomaly interest you?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Good. After the briefing, report to Major Kathy Selina for orientation into your new squadron."

  "New squadron, sir?"

  "Yes, Captain. Squadron number eight."

  ○O○

  Major Selina was waiting at the back of the theatre throughout the briefing. Of the four new pilots she picked up two, Cris and Jake.

  "Well," she said to Cris as he approached where she sat in the last row, "I figured you'd just ask to be assigned to Easy-eight, not piss off the group XO to get in. But that shows you're a three-dimensional thinker, unafraid to take risks." She was the officer he'd met in the Crater House.

  "Ma'am I had no intention to upset the—"

  She laughed as she stood up. "Don't sweat it, Salazar. The Executive Officer may seem crusty and quick to anger, but he’s okay."

  "So, two of the pilots he described were from Easy-eight?" Cris asked, indicating himself and Jake.

  "Yeah, Major Clifton and First Lieutenant Althouse. What Colonel Bruckner omitted was that, when Major Clifton suffered that catastrophic engine failure, she was over the southern end of Mare Orientale." They followed Major Selina as she led the way out of the building.

  "I'm sorry," Jake said, "I'm not nearly as well versed in lunar topography as I should be. I take it Mare Orientale is one of the 'seas' up here some place?"

  "Yes, it means the Eastern Sea and is just barely on the far side of the Moon in sector eight. The Mare is really a vast impact basin. It was caused by one of the last really big rocks to hit the Moon. That rock is estimated to have been several tens of meters across. There are three concentric rings of mountains within the basin. These are actually shock waves in the lunar crust that date back to the time of the impact when the moon was just starting to cool. The inner section has a diameter of about three hundred and twenty kilometers, but the outer-most ring is around nine hundred and thirty kilometers, close to the size of the state of Texas."

  "I do recall seeing it on the Moon map we were provided." Cris said. "When seen from two hundred kilometers directly above, it's quite impressive."

  "Even more so at two hundred meters," the major said, raising her eyebrows.

  Outside the HQ structure, they boarded their respective jeeps and again followed Major Selina to the southwestern-most dome, number seventeen. This was one of four domes of its type. Larger than the others, they contained Lunar Personnel Carrier garages on the ground floor and two squadrons of Eagles on the two levels above. The major took them to an elevator and up to the third level where the squadron command center was located, as well as the briefing room which looked like a classroom with one notable exception—all the chairs were pilot seats out of decommissioned fighter planes. They were the only students in attendance just now. Cris and Jake took seats like good pupils at the head of the class and the major sat on the edge of the elevated platform in front of them.

  "Ma'am," Cris picked up the conversation, "is it possible there is a gravitational anomaly in Mare Orientale, perhaps a really dense object struck there and lodged below the surface?"

  "That also occurred to us, it's what the scientists call a mas-con or mass concentration. So, very carefully, we conducted a few surveys. The analysis of line-of-sight residual accelerations did not show any evidence for large mas-cons in or near Mare Orientale. Although unfavorable geometry reduced the acceleration effects, due to smaller mas-cons near the site. Our computer simulations show that large masses at Mare Orientale and Mare Marginis would produce substantial accelerations, in complete disagreement with the actual Doppler tracking data obtained from a previous experiment conducted before the moonquake. There are mas-cons in and near Mare Orientale and Mare Marginis, but they show only a plus eighteen mg gravity anomaly, not nearly sufficient to explain the phenomenon.

  "Another thing, we recovered the remains of both Eagles with surface vehicles—at least, we did on the third attempt. Those vehicles suffered the same strange affect, but, of course, they just rolled to a stop. We almost lost those crews, though, when all their power went down.

  "We discovered the phenomenon is cyclic, more or less, coming and going on a mean of every eighteen hours. Its duration, however, varies considerably. After we recovered the ground vehicles and the Eagles, and examined them, we found that the effect of the phenom on their electronics was very similar to that of an EMP, an Electro—"

  "Electromagnetic pulse," Cris interrupted. "Yes, ma'am. The Eagles can be protected, ma'am, by simply—"

  "Hardening all the electronics. Yes, Captain, I know. So far, one Eagle in each squadron has received that upgrade. And each squadron is being fitted with a second upgrade right now, and parts for two more per squadron are on their way. I argued that, because the phenom is in our sector, we should have priority for the upgrades, but the group staff felt there might be other areas like ours out there and so each squadron should share in the upgrades. This means, for the time being, we can send only one pilot out at a time over Mare Orientale."

  "Ma'am, when can I take the hardened Eagle out over the Mare?" Cris asked.

  "My, but you're an eager volunteer," the major responded. "How many hours on the Eagle simulator have you logged?"

  "Two hundred sixty, ma'am."

  "Not bad, but let's get a few real Eagle hours under your belt before I let you fly an, as yet, untested vehicle over the one site that's already brought down two of my ships and claimed the lives of two of my experienced pilots."

  ○O○

  The next morning at 05:30 Cris was in his flight suit and on his way to his mission pre-brief, helmet under his arm. This would not be any different from a training flight on earth, except he was on the Moon. His flight suit was not dissimilar from the pumpkin suit he wore aboard the STS except, for obvious reasons, there was no parachute pack and harness, life raft, or life preserver. This made it slimmer and more comfortable, and being on the Moon, it was much lighter. It was still bright orange, Cris guessed this would make the body easier to locate.

  As he entered the briefing room, Major Selina and a captain greeted him.

  "Good morning, Cris," the major said. "This is Captain Fulbright, my operations officer. He will brief you on your training flight this morning."

  The captain extended his hand. "Please, call me Berry."

  "And I'm Cris."

  They shook hands.

  Berry was leaning over a projected map of this quadrant of the Moon with JILL right in the center. As he spoke, a red line traced the mission path on the map. "Okay, Cris, simple stuff, a little navigation. TDSA: Time, Distance, Speed, Altitude. We'll conduct this without the assistance of the nav computer. You'll be flying hot stick.

  "Exiting the base, your heading will be one-seven-nine degrees south, make for the crater Hortensius, eighty-five klicks on that heading. From Hortensius, head to the center of Copernicus, then a heading of one eight zero to Fauth, from there to the center of Reinhold. Then, follow the craters Kunowsky and Encke to Kepler, from Kepler, head west to Reiner, five hundred klicks out. From Reiner head about thirty-five degrees north, north-east to Marius, then back to Kepler and from there, back here to Hotel Sierra, for Home Station. Under no circumstances are you to proceed farther than sixty degrees of west longitude. Do you understand those instructions?"

  "Got it, Berry."

  "This is not a race against the clock, you're not trying to make the best time. We're looking for accuracy of navigation. Computer simulations indicate that, properly executed, you should safely complete this mission in fifty-eight minutes and twenty seconds. But the standard is the accuracy of the
actual course you fly as compared to this plot."

  "Roger that. When do I launch?"

  The major stepped forward. "Let's go preflight your Eagle, Cris."

  The three went out onto the maintenance bay floor where the Eagles were parked. Cris would fly number three today.

  Eagles are large craft about eighteen meters long. They are roughly conical in shape but wider than they are thick, making them look a little squashed. At her stern were mounted the two large main propulsion engines on each side near the top. Four smaller Lunar Counter-Gravity Engines on the bottom provided the "lift" so the craft could glide along above the lunar surface. Actually, they were just maintaining a low orbit.

  Top and forward was the cockpit. It reminded him of the canopy on an old WWII P-40 pursuit aircraft. Just below and to the rear of the cockpit, inside the ship, there was room for four passengers. The Eagle sat on four sturdy, non-retractable landing legs. On the bottom was a hatch for entering the ship when inside the pressurized environment of the bay, but there was also an airlock on the port side.

  The exterior preflight check took about fifteen minutes, after which Cris was ready to enter the Eagle and begin his preflight procedures in the cockpit.

  Cris saluted Major Selina saying, "She looks good to go, ma'am."

  The major returned the salute. "Enjoy, see you when you get back, and Cris—be careful with my ship, you're not signed for it yet."

  Cris climbed in through the belly hatch and found himself in a compartment barely tall enough to stand in. There were four flight seats, two on each side next to the bulkhead each with its own small porthole. The center between the seats had a number of flush footmen in the floor in order to tie down cargo.

  Cris climbed up the few steps that provided him access to the cockpit, secured his helmet on the rack made for it, sat down and began his preflight operations.

  "Hotel Sierra, this is Eagle eight three, com check. Over.”

  "Eagle eight three, this is Hotel Sierra, roger. Let's start with check one alpha in your dash ten—"