Across a Sea of Stars Page 4

  Twelve minutes later, all preflight checks were complete. The Eagle sat upon a platform that allowed the craft to be moved to any given location from the control room. Eagle eight three began to move toward the side of the dome and into one of the airlocks, which permitted the craft to be launched outside the dome. Inside the airlock bay, the hangar doors slid closed and sealed. After the pressure was equalized, the exterior hangar doors to his right began to open. Once opened, the platform his eagle sat on, now secured to the hangar floor, began to pivot outward so that above him, he could see only the star-filled void of space.

  "Eagle eight three, this is Hotel Sierra you are clear to start you LCGE." The engines started instantly, the moment Cris engaged them. He pushed the throttle forward and slowly the Eagle lifted straight up off the platform. With small maneuvering thrusters, Cris reoriented the Eagle, engaged his two main propulsion engines, and started out away from the dome on a heading of one-seven-nine south.

  About a hundred meters out, he called Major Selina. "Mother Bird, Mother Bird, this is Hatchling Three, I am ready to commence the drill. Over."

  "Hatchling Three, this is Mother Bird, roger that. Execute. Over."

  "Mother Bird, this is Hatchling Three, I am Oscar Mike. Over."

  "This is Mother Bird, roger. Out."

  With surprising speed, the Eagle shot south away from the base. Cris climbed to four hundred meters and accelerated to three hundred and seventy km/h. The Eagle responded to her controls with a great deal more sensitivity than did the simulator. He also discovered that the view out his canopy, though breathtaking, was all but useless; instead, he concentrated on his FLR—Forward Looking Radar and the five monitors that showed him the view ahead and down. These monitors also provided him his telemetry. Were it turned on, the Lunar Positioning System, or LPS, would display his route, and the onboard nav computer would fly him to his destination. But he was flying what Eagle pilots called hot stick, this meant that the pilot was flying the ship, not the computer.

  Cris was making good time—too good, in fact—so he slowed down a little and quickly recalculated time to target ratios.

  He wasn't worried about missing his first check point, because the crater Hortensius was located at the east end of the runway.

  Cris hit his check point and made his turn toward the northeast.

  He was now coming up on Copernicus. It was very hard to miss this one. The crater's rays, which extend out some eight hundred kilometers, served as a road guiding him in. Then ahead he saw it, ninety-three kilometers in diameter and three point eight deep, this was a big crater.

  The crater's rim appeared to be a sunken range of smaller mountains, with numerous large slump blocks on the crater wall, and a complex of central peaks in the middle of its flat center. He could see sets of parallel fractures, formed after the crater wall took its present form, but before the smooth floor materials were formed. The floor of the crater showed a swirling pattern of cracks like those seen in lava flows on Earth. Several low places on the rim and wall were partly filled in by what appeared to be pounded volcanic material, or possibly fluidized impact debris. He also noted the range of colors from a very light pale gray, to a much darker gray and various shades of brown.

  Once over the central peaks, Cris turned south, and in no time at all Copernicus was in his rearview monitor growing distant. Next was the crater Fauth, then Reinhold to the southwest. Beyond that, the course got a little tricky. He'd have to hop from the craters Kunowsky and Encke to reach Kepler. If his speed and heading were not right, he could miss the target altogether, and there were a lot of craters out there that could be easily mistaken for the target, and there were no signposts out here—not yet.

  Kepler and Encke are very similar in appearance with the exception that Kepler had a very pronounced ray system that extended out approximately three hundred kilometers. Kepler was just outside Mare Insularum in the Oceanus Procellarum. Cris recalled Kepler from his classes back at the IIEA. He could clearly see the small rampart of ejecta surrounding the exterior of its high rim, the outer wall and its not-quite-circular shape. He noted the interior walls, slumped and slightly terraced, descending to an uneven floor and a minor central rise. The crater is thirty-two kilometers in diameter and over two-and-a-half kilometers deep.

  Now, he turned west toward the crater Reiner, five hundred klicks out. Cris checked his time and fuel consumption, everything was right on the money. "Piece of cake," he told himself. Then wished he hadn't.

  Reiner was coming over the limb. The crater was thirty kilometers in diameter and two-and-a-half deep. Beyond, he could see the foothills of Mare Orientale, the forbidden region; it seemed to call to him.

  Cris had just calculated his turn to the northeast when, to his left front, he witnessed a rare sight, a meteorite impact. Of course, meteorites impact the Moon all the time, but like lighting striking the ground on earth, few people are ever looking in just the right place at the right time to observe it hit the ground.

  First, he saw a dome of lunar soil grow up from the flat lunar plane, then cracks formed all through it and it began to come apart. Even before the disjointed parts could separate, a geyser of lunar soil shot upward perhaps five hundred meters off the surface and began to spread out in all directions. The entire event took fractions of a second to complete. Larger chunks of ejecta, some big as a house, began falling all around the initial impact point, creating small craters of their own.

  Cris was about to report when his transponder picked up an emergency signal. He quickly turned to the emergency frequency and heard the call for help, "Any receiver, any receiver—this is Charlie six niner declaring an emergency. Any receiver, any rec—"

  "Charlie six niner, this is Eagle eight three, I have you on two-six point zero-seven, what is your status?"

  "Eagle, this is Charlie, we are an LPC with three souls aboard, there was a huge meteorite impact to our north and a massive rock fell on us. Our vehicle is disabled, interior atmosphere is gone, and I have two injured, one with a breached suit. Can you assist?"

  "What's your fix, Charlie?"

  "I am at sixty-three west, zero point two north, due east of Hevelius. My transponder and strobe are activated, but I'm losing power fast. What's your ETA?"

  "Less than five mikes, can you hang?"

  "Yeah, just don't make it six, Eagle."

  Cris had already banked hard to his left and started his descent. At the same time, he increased his speed to four hundred and twenty km/h.

  He watched his monitors. The XPDR signal showed Charlie's position on his LPS readout. He was plotting his trajectory and approach when he lost the signal.

  "Charlie, this is Eagle, I've lost your transponder, are you with me?"

  The response was garbled and broken, "Eagle, this is—power critical, please hurry."

  "Is your strobe still on?"

  "Unknown."

  "Look to your northeast, can you see me?"

  "Stand by—I see you Eagle—you're coming in hot at four zero degrees above the—you look to be about twenty or thirty klicks down range. I think the—"

  "Charlie, are you there?" Cris was no longer receiving their transmission. "Hang in there Charlie, I am India Bravo."

  He quickly extrapolated Charlie's position based on the last signal and headed there as fast as he could in a descent. He was now a hundred meters off the surface and screaming in at two hundred km/h. He was at the position—where were they?

  He first saw the long set of tracks the six-wheeled vehicle had left in the dust, his gaze shot along the trail until he saw the all but smashed LPC half under a huge boulder. Cris pulled the nose up hard and fired all four LCG engines at full throttle for about six seconds. This did not stop him, but reduced his speed considerably. He pivoted the Eagle almost one eighty, returned to the smashed LPC, and gently set down ten meters away.

  Cris engaged an emergency call on his own transponder, and then donned his helmet and EVA life support pack.

&n
bsp; ○O○

  At Home Station, the airman monitoring Eagle eight three's flight called out to the major, "Ma'am, he has deviated greatly from his assigned course and accelerated to an unsafe speed. He is now losing altitude."

  "What the hell?" Major Selina exclaimed as she rushed over to the monitoring array. "Hatchling Three, this is Mother Bird, correct your course and speed now, acknowledge. Over," she paused but there came no response. "Hatchling Three, this is Mother Bird, acknowledge. Over." There came only dead air.

  "Ma'am, he is no longer on the squadron freq, or his coms are down."

  "Dammit!"

  "He is less than a hundred meters off the deck now and has reduced his speed to—wow—he just pivoted one-eighty on a dime and has back tracked. Ma'am, he has landed at selenographic coordinates sixty-three west—zero point two north."

  The major tried again, "Hatchling Three, this is Mother Bird, I want a sit-rep right now!"

  "Ma'am—the captain has activated his distress beacon."

  ○O○

  Cris dismounted his Eagle and had reached the side of the LPC, his internal coms set to the emergency freq. "Charlie, this is Eagle, I'm right outside—can you hear me?" There came no response. "Charlie, can you open the hatch? I'm right outside your hatch!"

  Cris saw the hatch quiver, and then it popped open a few centimeters at the top. This hatch was hinged at the bottom. Undamaged, this door would have come down and become a set of stairs allowing access to the interior, but the hull was now warped, jamming the hatch. Cris grabbed the door along the top and pulled with all his might. Inside, the one uninjured man and the wounded man with the still-intact suit were pushing with all their strength. The door held up well, but at last gave in and came crashing down to a surface now level with the bottom of the LPC.

  Cris looked up to see one of the men collapse and the other bend down to aid him. Cris rushed in and grabbed the standing man. He looked up into Cris's face, fear written in his expression. "Can you hear me?" Cris asked, mouthing the words as he spoke aloud. The other man shook his head.

  Cris rushed in beyond these two in order to locate the man with the damaged suit. There he was, unconscious on the floor, an emergency suit repair applied to his right leg. There was also a good amount of blood frozen to the deck. Cris again grabbed the uninjured man, pointed at the unconscious man and the floor, held up one finger, and mouthed, "First."

  The other man nodded. They both grabbed the injured man and headed for the Eagle. Once there, Cris opened the airlock, and together they got the unconscious fellow inside. He indicated to the other man to get into the airlock with the injured man in order to operate the mechanism. As the man started climbing aboard, Cris went back to gather the man on the floor who showed no obvious wound, but was nonetheless dazed. He put his arm around him and aided him back toward the Eagle.

  As the Eagle's airlock door was opening, a familiar and aggravated voice came over his coms. "Hatchling Three, this is Mother Bird, what's your status? Over."

  "Mother Bird, I am engaged in a rescue operation, I have three survivors, two are wounded, one severely, please notify medical, I will be inbound to Hotel Sierra in five mikes with an ETA of forty mikes. Over."

  The tone of the voice changed dramatically. "Roger, Hatchling Three, wilco. Keep us advised. Out."

  Chapter 3

  The Enola Gay

  Once secure inside the Eagle, their helmets came off and Cris and the uninjured man started to secure the wounded men.

  "Thank God you were here," the man said. "I didn't think we had the power to contact anyone."

  "I'm Captain Cris Salazar."

  "Ken Duval, I'm with the US Lunar Mapping Section, this is Doctor Lorenzo Mazzola of the Instituto Italiano di Astronomia. And the man with the broken leg is Sir Edward Leighton with the Royal Astronomical Society."

  Cris moved over to Sir Leighton, who they secured to the floor in order to keep his injured leg in its same position. "We have to get through his suit to expose his leg. His frozen wound is thawing; he's going start bleeding again."

  As gently, but as quickly as possible, they cut the suit open from the crotch to the knee in order to expose the wound. In the process, they could see they were causing him considerable pain. Cris retrieved the medical kit and gave the Englishman an injection. "This will stop the pain."

  With the leg of Sir Leighton's suit cut open, Cris saw that the man had suffered a compound fracture of the left femur; additionally, the area of the thigh around the wound was severely frostbitten, and a good-sized area frozen solid. Nonetheless, it was starting to thaw, and blood was again beginning to flow.

  Cris applied a tourniquet above the wound, splinted the leg and bandaged it.

  "Sit down Mr. Duval, and strap in." Cris ordered, and then returned to the cockpit, fired up the engines, and lifted off the surface amid a cloud of lunar dust.

  "Mother Bird, this is Hatchling Three, I am up and inbound. Over."

  "Hatchling Three, this is Mother Bird, roger."

  A few minutes passed before Cris's coms cracked to life again.

  "Eagle eight three, this is Hotel Sierra. Over."

  "Hotel Sierra, this is eight three, go."

  "Eagle eight three, be advised, long range radar has picked up additional fragments inbound toward Oceanus Procellarum."

  "This is eight three. Say again. Fragments?"

  "Eagle eight three, the impact you witnessed was one of several fragments of an asteroid from the main asteroid belt. We deduced this from analysis of the trajectory of the debris."

  "Thanks for the weather report Hotel Sierra, I seem to be caught out here without an umbrella. What do you recommend?"

  "Eagle eight three, climb to two klicks, you should avoid the spray of the big ejecta at that altitude. Angle your FLR up forty-five degrees, and keep your eyes open. We will be able to advise you of the big stuff farther out, but the little stuff is your real threat. Over."

  "Roger. Hotel Sierra, might I suggest that as time is critical, we forgo the designators and you just scream collision warnings to me?"

  "Okay, Captain."

  "The name's Cris, it's shorter."

  "I'm Chuck."

  "Okay, Chuck, I'm counting on you, buddy."

  "Remember Cris, the larger pieces will most likely be accompanied by much smaller pieces, even micro meteors, these are a threat as well. And should a good-sized piece hit near you, it will toss several hectors of debris upward and out several klicks."

  "Chuck, you're just full of happy thoughts."

  "Just so you know, Cris, a ten kilogram stone traveling at seventy-two klicks per second or almost 257,500 klicks per hour—about one hundred times faster than a rifle bullet, will impact the moon with an energy per unit mass ten thousand times greater than its equivalency in a blast of TNT."

  "Say, Chuck, did you catch the LA Cubs game last week?"

  "Sorry, Cris, I just thought you should know—"

  "Know what, that I'm out here dodging nuclear weapons, falling houses, and monster shotgun blasts from above and below?"

  Cris asked Mr. Duval to come forward. "Ken, things are about to get a little hairy. I need you and Lorenzo to put your helmets back on and seal up."

  "What about Sir Leighton?"

  "Ken—go get Lorenzo suited up."

  "Cris," Chuck's voice came through Cris's helmet, "you have a two meter piece approaching your vicinity at thirty degrees right ascension, twenty-four degrees declination from your perspective."

  "I don't see it, Chuck!"

  "Alter your current heading thirty degrees to port, and watch out for the little stuff. Cris, impact in ten seconds."

  Now Cris saw it on his FLR. This thing was moving at a tremendous speed. Without Chuck and his long-range radar, he would not have had time to avoid it.

  "Hang on, Cris," Chuck said. "Five, four, three, two—"

  Just then, Cris felt his Eagle jolt and heard a sound he was far too familiar with, like a bullet striking the
fuselage of his aircraft. Two meters in front of his canopy, there was a dent with a hole in it about two point five centimeters in diameter. There came another jolt and another bang followed by a sound like driving fast through a sandstorm. Cris checked his instruments. Everything was working so far.

  "— one, impact."

  To Cris's right rear came a brilliant flash of light.

  "Cris, watch out for falling rocks!"

  Cris pushed the throttle to the fire wall in an attempt to clear the danger zone as quickly as possible; gravity would insure that the heavier stuff fell closer to the crater and the lighter stuff farther out.

  Suddenly, a vast number of sand and pea-sized pieces of ejecta engulfed Cris's Eagle, an alarm sounded on his control panel and a pleasant female voice announced, "MPE degradation detected twelve percent loss of thrust. Number two engine is experiencing a twenty percent increase in temperature."

  "Computer, pinpoint source of engine degradation."

  "Unknown, running additional diagnostics."

  At that moment, Cris felt another jolt, and was shocked when his control panel went dark and his communications went out. "Oh, shit!"

  He tried to reboot his computer, but nothing happened. He tried the manual override, still nothing. He threw open the electrical fuse box, but all fuses were intact. Next, he opened the buss box. He knew he had power to life support, so he re-directed the current to the control panel. Most of his instruments sprang back to life, but his atmosphere and temperature equipment ceased to function. He tried his coms. "Hotel Sierra, this is Eagle eight three, radio check. Over."

  "Cris? Man, I lost you, what happened?"

  "Chuck, I've been hit by meteors, rocks from the impact, and flown through a cloud of ejecta. My MPE have been affected and I'm losing speed and altitude. I temporarily lost power to the cockpit, and my computer is down completely. My instruments are jumpy and unreliable. I've lost life support. I'm headed back using dead reckoning. Over."

  "Can you maneuver?"

  "Yes."

  "Great, turn hard forty-five degrees to your starboard now."