Ben Bova - Moonwar

The colonel had not stopped talking: “…necessary to train the combined team in the precise tactics we will use to take Moonbase. Also, all of the troops must become fully acclimatized to the lower gravity here on the Moon and to working in spacesuits. It is crucial that they are able to function as easily and as well as they would on Earth, even in spacesuits.”

Faure sank back in his chair as the colonel painstakingly reviewed every step of his planned conquest of Moonbase: the deployment of the Peacekeeper troops outside Alphonsus’s ringwall mountains; the nuclear strike that will knock out Moonbase’s solar power farms; the missile with the penetrating warhead to destroy their buried nuclear generator; the routes over the ringwall and across the crater floor to the base itself, the assault on the main airlock and the penetration of the base’s corridors, the seizure of Moonbase’s key nerve centers.

“By the time we enter their corridors,” Giap was reciting from his action plan,’the people in Moonbase will have less than an hour’s worth of electrical power available to them. They must either surrender to us or die of asphyxiation.”

“What if they decide to blow themselves up?” Faure demanded. “A final grand suicidal gesture of defiance.”

When Giap finally heard the question he almost smiled. “That is most unlikely. Psychological profiles of all Moonbase personnel have been made available to us, through the Masterson Corporation. Those people are not fatalists. Suicide, even on an individual basis, would never occur to them.”

Faure nodded agreement. He had personally requested the psychological files from Ibrahim al-Rashid. Nominally, the files belonged to the Kiribati Corporation, but it was apparently a simple thing for Rashid to appropriate them through Masterson’s computers.

Giap continued, “However, the special Yamagata force is quite ready for its suicide mission, if our frontal assault is not immediately successful.”

Faure knew that Yamagata’s special force had been recruited from nanoluddite fanatics in Japan and elsewhere.

“We will bring two nuclear power generators in tractors over Wodjohowitcz Pass and offer to provide electrical power,” Colonel Giap went on, “in the event that Moonbase surrenders to us.”

“And if they refuse?”

Again the infernal wait. “We will walk in and take the base. Failing that, the special Yamagata force will destroy the air and water systems, the control center, farms and nanolabs.”

Faure signed deeply. There will be nothing left of Moonbase after that, he thought. But what of it? Yamagata wants Moonbase taken intact, but it will be better if it is wiped out of existence altogether.

Now, if only the colonel would start his troops moving at once. Why wait? Strike swiftly.

Yet he said nothing. He had ordered the Peacekeepers to strike swiftly the first time and it had turned out to be a fiasco.

But this time will be different, Faure told himself. Looking into Colonel Giap’s expressionless eyes, Faure concluded that the colonel’s plan would work, and he should not meddle in the tactical decisions. Moonbase would be brought to its knees within a week to ten days.

Or destroyed utterly.

“Do they have toilets in the tempos?” Edith asked.

Startled out of his inner thoughts, Doug replied, “Yes. Sure.”

“Good.”

“There’s a vacuum toilet behind the seats,” he said, jerking a gloved thumb over his shoulder. “Kind of tricky using it, but the toilet hatch connects to the port in your suit.”

“How long will it be before we get to the tempo?”

Doug glanced at the electronic map on the tractor’s dashboard. “Less than an hour.”

“I’ll wait, then.”

Looking at his wrist displays, Doug saw it was after midnight. Neither of them had slept. For the past few hours Doug had been wrestling with his inner demons, wondering why he was driving himself to confront Gordette. Why not just give up? he kept asking himself. Yet something inside him refused to. He couldn’t let Killifer win without at least trying to fight back.

“You want me to drive a while?” Edith asked.

“I’m not tired.”

“You certain? Aren’t you sleepy? I sure am.”

“Crank your seat back and catch a few winks,” Doug suggested.

Edith tried; whether she fell asleep or not, Doug could not tell. Steering the tractor was fairly easy; it was built to clamber over rocks and across craterlets, like a tank. Doug followed the bright marks of Gordette’s trail, which avoided the boulders and deeper pits scattered across the crater floor.

He saw a rille snaking off to the left, like a narrow riverbed waiting for water. You’ve been waiting a while, haven’t you? Doug asked silently. Four billion years, give or take a week.

In the dark lunar night the stars were like dust strewn across the bowl of the sky. He could see them gleaming at him right down to the chopped-off horizon.

One star in particular seemed to beckon. Red, bright, hovering just over the horizon straight ahead.

Doug realized it was the beacon light atop the radio mast of tempo six.

We’ll be there in half an hour, he told himself.

Then what?

Doug took in a deep double lungful of canned air. We’ll find out when we get there.

In the airlessness of the Moon Gordette won’t hear us coming up, if he’s inside the tempo. The first warning he’ll get is when I start the airlock cycling. I’ll park the tractor and let Edith keep on sleeping. No sense getting her involved in whatever’s going to happen inside when I confront Bam. Things could get messy.

All of a sudden they were there. The dark hump of dirt that marked the site of the buried shelter loomed in front of Doug’s straining eyes. A single tractor was parked to one side of the airlock.

Doug stopped his tractor and looked over at Edith. Not a stir from her. Good, he thought, she’s sound asleep.

He climbed down slowly from the cab and walked over to the other tractor. One set of fresh boot prints in the sandy regolith led straight to the airlock. Bam’s in there. Alone.

Okay, Doug told himself. This is it.

A gentle slope led down to the airlock’s outer hatch. No wind on the Moon to cover the grade with newly-blown dust; it would remain clear for eons, except for the occasional tracks of boots. Doug slid the hatch open and stepped into the phonebooth-sized airlock. He closed the outer hatch, sealed it, then pressed a thumb against the electronic pad that activated the pumps. The telltale light above the pad immediately went from red to amber.

It seemed to take an eternity. Doug could feel the vibration of the pump working against the soles of his boots, but for several long moments he could hear nothing. Then, as the chamber filled with air, the chugging of the pumps became audible.

He knows he’s got a visitor, Doug thought, clenching his fists involuntarily. The tiny whine of the gloves’ servomotors surprised him and he unflexed his hands. It took an effort of will.

The light turned green. Doug slid the inner hatch open.

Gordette stood at the far end of the shelter, by the two tiers of bunks. He was apparently putting his spacesuit on again; torso, leggings and boots were in place. His helmet rested on one of the lower bunks. Doug could not see his gloves.

Gordette’s brows knit as he recognized the cermet suit that he had once sabotaged.

“Who the fuck are you and what’re you doing in that suit?”

Doug slid his visor up. “It’s me, Bam.”

The man shuddered visibly. He staggered back a step and leaned against the bunks for support.

“You’re dead! I killed you!”

“You tried,” Doug said, stepping further into the shelter. “Why?”