Tranquility Besieged Part Three

A prequel to Slave of Akrona becomes a war

Here we have one of Grey's earlier adventures when he was still a young man living on Earth's moon many years before. As mentioned earlier, this is more of wartime romance than erotic, so some readers may wish to search elsewhere. If a few of the terms appear antiquated, please remember this was written 40 years ago. Presented are chapters 3 and 4. All characters are over 18 years old.

Recap: Finding a strange anomaly in his step-two variable reactor experiment, Grey has departed the Tranquility Lunar Colony on a secret mission, leaving Kris and the computers in charge.

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Chapter Three

DEPARTURES

Thursday, October 24, 2069

"Cauchy on approach, Governor," the on-board flight computer said.

"Thank you, Groundhog," Grey said. "Prepare to disengage auto-pilot. Blanket our tracking signal and communications."

Piloting a twin engine hopper designed for collecting ore samples, Grey approached the jagged walls of Cauchy on half thrusters. He located the area he remembered, reduced speed, and turned to come in against the west face, setting down below a knoll in a swirl of dust. Behind him, the rolling plains of Mare Tranquillitatis stretched out in unrelenting monotony except for the minor crater Sinas. To the south there was nothing for as far as the eye could see, and even instruments had difficulty picking up the relay signal at Maskelyne. North lay Lyell, an undistinguished crater of no consequence, and Vitruvius far to the northwest, well beyond walking distance even if one could maintain a course over such rugged terrain.

Grey gazed for a moment at the rolling vista, more beautiful and more desolate than anything a human could imagine, then turned his attention to the foreboding crater hovering to the east. Though his four-day tour to Farside and short stopover at the Crystal Caves Tourist Center had been interesting, this was the destination he had secretly set out for.

With his trail covered, he crawled from the cockpit wearing a sturdy surface walker and pulled a large equipment locker from the cargo hold, working quickly to assemble a field scanner. Once the signal detector was engaged, he attached two different power supplies, a standard electrical feed and a partially unrefined radioactive source.

With the scanner assembled, he gradually brought the unit online. As expected, the initial scan showed nothing. He shifted north, picked up the Crystal Caves Tourist Center, then shifted east again.

Nothing.

Grey took a hopeful breath of recycled oxygen and switched the power source from the more conventional feed to the radioactive source. For the briefest second, he detected an abnormality, but the signal instantly disappeared. Again the scanner showed nothing in the region. No power sources. No heat. No movement. A lunar dead zone.

Having gained as much as he could, Grey disassembled the scanner before hauling a second locker out from the hopper's rear storage compartment. The first unit he set up was a sturdy tripod mount with a specialized power generator. The second unit was a sender dish. When he cabled the two units together, he had assembled a molecular disrupter, the most forbidden weapon ever banned by the Brussel's Convention. The same molecular disrupter Major Roger Vandebrown had brought to the moon to melt a hole in the heavy landing bay door. Though Kris had severely damaged the power generator, Grey believed he'd repaired it sufficiently to serve his purpose.

"I know this is registering," Grey warned on an extremely narrow wavelength aimed at the crater wall.

The incoming channel was silent. Grey activated the power generator and used the sender to focus a tight beam at a low point on Cauchey's west wall. There was no evidence of the narrow canyon he'd used five years before, but Grey suspected it was still there. As the beam focused, he powered up the arming mechanism and set it on standby.

"Please respond," Grey said. "I would rather not cut a hole through the crater just so we can communicate."

The channel remained silent for another few seconds, then a blip appeared on his visual scanner. Grey looked up, relieved to see a canyon in the crater wall that hadn't been visible seconds before. He quickly dismantled the disrupter and returned the components to the storage compartment.

"Do you read me, Groundhog?" Grey asked the flight computer.

"Affirmative. Com link weak but steady," the limited-function computer confirmed.

"Keep the channels closed. No locationals or directionals are to be issued. Acknowledge."

"Acknowledged," the flight computer replied.

Grey closed the canopy and started on foot toward the crater carrying a surplus power supply, a tight beam Remington laser blaster, and a handheld tracking scanner.

The crater soon loomed above him, the walls of the narrow canyon foreboding. For the life of him, Grey could not remember what had possessed him to enter the first time, though near exhaustion and a dwindling oxygen supply probably had much to do with it.

He entered the canyon with chest lamp activated and followed the trail of his own footprints that still showed in the fine lunar dust. The walls crept in closer, then the lunar sky disappeared and the canyon became a tunnel. The sides were jagged, as one would expect from a landscape created by cataclysm, but he still noticed subtle evidence of shoring that betrayed an intelligent influence.

After an hour of steady turning and twisting, the tunnel finally reached a small opening leading into one of the crystal caverns. Grey crawled through a small gap in the rock, emerging in an awe inspiring cave of shimmering rock formations. Nowhere else on the moon had such formations ever been discovered, and despite many years of research by the nearby tourist center, debate continued on how such geology could have occurred. As the lamp light reflected off the sparking crystallite, Grey was impressed by their wonderful colors. He even paused to enjoy them for a moment, using the rest period to gather his thoughts and buck up his courage.

The airlock at the end of the cavern was still there. An airlock not recorded anywhere on any lunar record. His footprints were still there, too. He ran his hand along the door frame, but unlike his earlier experience, the hatch refused to open. Grey drew a deep breath and wondered what to do next, touching his sidearm for reassurance. A moment later, the hatch opened on its own.

Grey entered cautiously, waited for the chamber to fill with an acceptable atmosphere, and opened his helmet for a breath of fresh air. Then, with no warning that anything was wrong, his legs turned weak and he slowly sagged unconscious to the floor.

Saturday, October 26, 2069

"Defense Computer, give me an update," Kris asked.

"Status progressing," the worried MC6000 responded. "Three cargo shuttles, negative arms listings. Course aligned for Tranquility approach. Thirty-five minute separation."

"Fight Control, traffic report," Kris barked.

"Lead cargo shuttle EC C-6 Neighbor," the Flight Control Computer said. "Negative communications activity. Second cargo shuttle NA C-6 Starlight. Tracking communications established with Denver Field. Trailing shuttle RR C-8 Sharkov, formally registered as Russian Republic Imperial. Tracking communications with NA Starlight only."

"Operational field commands?" Kris asked.

"Negative. Course adjustments only," Flight Control said.

"Communications, have you gotten me a link with Dr. Fairfield yet?" Kris asked.

"Malibu com links suppressed," Communications confirmed.

"What about Grey? That is, the Governor. Have you found him yet?"

"Negative. Scout craft Groundhog abandoned forty-eight hours ago. No tracking on display."

"Goddamn it!" Kris shouted, pounding the counter. "Defense Computer, what should I do?"

The blue signature patterns registered sharply on the Governor's Quarters monitor screen.

"If the incoming shuttles do not respond to the entry code, they must be destroyed," the Defense Computer said. "VLMs targeting and standing by. Suggest Life Support and Security be brought in for consultation."

"Good idea, bring them up," Kris said.

In an instant, green signature patterns and black signature patterns rose in the flux, each struggling for dominance.

"Reporting," Life Support and Security said simultaneously.

"We've got a situation here. Advice?" Kris offered.

"Destroy the invaders before they reach lunar orbit!" the Security Computer declared.

"Wait for entry code verification," the Life Support Computer insisted. "These shuttles may be carrying our supplies."

"Negative. It's a trick," Security declared.

"You always say that," Life Support protested.

"I'm always correct," Security quickly asserted.

"The supplies we requested in the Governor's offer of cooperation would prove valuable, but vulnerability factors are high," Defense contributed. "Suggest opening a hailing frequency for additional information."

"Yeah, guess we don't have much choice," Kris said. "Security, yellow alert. Prepare to repel invasion. Defense, better have North Point readied. Let me know our options. Life Support, what is it you do, anyway?"

"I coordinate the minor function levels to provide assistance as necessary," Life Support said. "I also suggest you protect yourself should a defensive effort prove necessary."

"Yeah, right," Kris said, glancing at her armor in the locker area.

She leaped from the command chair, suited up with a series of rapid movements, and racked her shield on the rear shoulder carrier within easy reach. She holstered two sidearms, a vintage Remington 4-0-4, and the modern Currier Model 9 she'd brought with her from California.

"Communications, hail the incoming shuttles," she ordered, standing behind the command chair with visor open.

"Acknowledged," the Communications Computer responded with a surge of signature patterns. "Tranquility to incomings. Tranquility to incomings. Acknowledge."

Static disrupted the contact at first, but gradually the static cleared as the Communications Computer helped the shuttle's on-board com link to narrow the focus of transmission.

"This is Captain Jason Robar of the Northern Alliance Starlight. We read you, Tranquility," a voice responded without a corresponding visual image. Kris glanced down to see if the Communications Computer was working on the problem only to discover the shuttle wasn't even broadcasting a visual signal.

"State your purpose and entry code," the Communications Computer requested.

"Ah, this is supply and recon. Entry code triple sixes. Request permission for landing approach," Captain Robar said.

"Entry code confirmed," the Communications Computer said. "Standby for instructions."

"Damn, I didn't expect that coming," Kris said. "What do we do now? Let 'em land and see what happens?"

"We have no advance warning regarding this mission," the Defense Computer said. "Recommend we order the shuttles to turn back until entry procedures are established."

"Open fire," the Security Computer advised. "The alliances must be shown the folly of a surprise attack. Hesitation is weakness."

"If I may offer a suggestion, Captain," the Life Support Computer said. "Perhaps we can let the shuttles down one at a time. Instruct them to land on landing pad B outside our perimeter and inspect the cargo. If the first shuttle contains the supplies we ordered, then the second shuttle can be brought down. Grey may be back in contact by then and we may request additional instructions."

"Gee, that sounds good," Kris said. "Defense?"

"The plan has merit. Recommend we require a cargo manifest, then select which shuttle to bring down first. The crew from that shuttle can be transferred to a sister ship," Defense suggested. "If the inspection proves favorable, our options will be easier to define."

"Yeah, that's good, too," Kris said. "Security? Comments?"

"Kris, in your heart, you know it's a trick," the Security Computer said. "However, if there's a chance to obtain our supplies before destroying the invaders, my systems are prepared to cooperate."

"I wish Grey were here. If only these shuttles weren't coming in so fast," Kris complained.

"Incoming shuttles will enter lunar orbit in four hours, fifty-seven minutes," Flight Control said.

"Okay, okay, let's go with this," Kris decided. "The first shuttle we pick comes down unmanned outside the perimeter, the others wait in orbit. If it checks out, we'll let another one down outside the perimeter and have a talk. But nothing comes inside our perimeter until we know exactly what we're up against. Clear?"

"Affirmative," the Defense Computer said.

"Acknowledged," Life Support said, dropping offline.

"Your call, but be ready for anything," Security said.

"All units stand by. Pull whatever maintenance support you need," Kris said.

The Security Computer blinked acknowledgement and the black signature patterns disappeared from the flux.

"Flight Control," Kris said. "Coordinate with Defense to bring the shuttles down on the westside. Use surface pad B. Be prepared to clear the landing pad for the second and third shuttles if we need it. Have ground crew units on site for spray down and engineers for inspection duty. I'll be going up top to check out the first landing."

"Acknowledged," the Flight Control Computer said.

"Communications, keep trying to raise the Governor. Defense, I want you to give the shuttle commanders their instructions. As a retired NA officer, they may not believe I'll fire on them. They'll think twice before defying you."

"Logical, Captain," the Defense Computer agreed.

"Tranquility to Starlight," the Defense Computer broadcast through the communications network. "This is the Tranquility MC6000 Defense Computer. Your presence in lunar space without advance notice is irregular. Please explain."

"Starlight to Tranquility, this is Captain Robar. I thought this was all cleared through Major Vandebrown. He supplied the entry code."

"We have not received word from Major Vandebrown. No prior contact has been established," Defense said.

"I'm sure we can get this cleared up, Tranquility, but in the meantime, I've got to get my ships down," Robar said. "We're loose on seals and not equipped for deep space endurance. Our thrust ratios were more stressful than calculated. It's not like any of these ships are new, you know."

"Conditions noted," the Defense Computer said. "Landings will be allowed under designated guidelines. If violated, our strategic systems will activate automatically. Acknowledge."

"We acknowledge, Tranquility," Robar said.

As the shuttles closed ranks on lunar approach, Tranquility's orbital satellites allowed the Defense Computer to watch an escape pod leave EC Neighbor and transfer to the slightly more modern NA Starlight. Then, as the trio swung around the far side of the Moon, Neighbor broke from lunar orbit and maneuvered for a northeast trajectory over the Sea of Tranquility. Missile silos open, the North Point Defense Center perched high atop Tranquility Ridge targeted the shuttle with vacuum launched missiles while guardians were prepared to run interference. The ground-based laser batteries ringing the colony's southwest perimeter scanned for course variances. But neither VLMs nor laser emplacements proved necessary. EC Neighbor set down in a silent cloud of lunar dust on surface pad B.

"Touchdown, Captain Fairfield," the Flight Control Computer reported.

Kris watched the visual feed of the cargo shuttle resting on the platform just outside the perimeter. Within minutes robotic ground crew units were on site spraying for leaks and trapping escaping gases. An engineering unit moved forward scanning for heat sources and weapons grade materials.

"Guess I should go check it out," Kris said.

"Negative, Captain," the Security Computer protested. "The craft may be rigged for remote detonation. Suggest we use an expendable unit for investigation."

"Yeah, okay Security, you've got a point," Kris said, wishing she'd thought of it first. "Dispatch a unit and I'll follow."

"Unit already in transit," Security said.

Within an hour, a spindly ball headed unit wrapped in a protective vacuum resistant covering was accessing the landing pad and being raised through the belly hatch of the cargo shuttle.

"Captain Fairfield, I have reached the cargo hold," the tour guide reported. "And please, let me say again how inappropriate this duty is for a unit of my unique specifications."

"Yeah, yeah, quit complaining. What do you see?" Kris said.

She glanced briefly from the tour guide's visual relay to the monitor screen where the higher function levels were showing. Even without much experience, Kris could read stress in their signature patterns.

"Numerous shipping crates, Captain," the tour guide said. "Spare parts for maintenance units. Optic encoders. Dry chemical bases. Food stuffs. Five nightwatchers. No, not nightwatchers. A new series."

"Seekers," the Security Computer said, suspecting the shippers did not realize the armored flying spheres' true potential in Tranquility's lighter gravity.

"Move up to the bridge," Kris ordered.

The tour guide moved slowly through the cargo hold, up to the operations deck, and entered the empty bridge. Only the autopilot functions were activated.

"No one there?" Kris asked.

"No one. It appears there was a crew present until recently. My scanner shows no temperature readings consistent with human beings."

"So far, so good," Kris said. "Defense? Security?"

"Suggest we hold Neighbor on the platform pending full inspection and bring the second shuttle down to surface pad A. Both pads will remain targeted," the Defense Computer recommended.

"The seekers are a priority offload," Security said. "The memory modes can be wiped clean and initialized for my own systems."

"Get going on it," Kris agreed with an excited breath. "Okay. Defense, let's see who wants to come down next."

The Defense Computer broadcast a new set of options and NA Starlight quickly responded.

"Thank you, Tranquility," Robar said. "We appreciate your assistance. Sharkov is leaking oxygen. May we bring her down near one of your landing bays?"

"Negative, Starlight," the Defense Computer said. "Follow the Flight Control Computer's directives to surface pad A. Facilities to refit your craft will be provided at the appropriate time."

"Acknowledged, Tranquility," Robar said.

Again the colony's satellite network witnessed a shuffling in orbit as RR Sharkov dropped below Starlight and began a long sloping descent over the Sea of Tranquility, approaching the colony from the southwest. As the Sharkov reached a hundred kilometers off the perimeter, the cargo shuttle hit braking thrusters and slowed to a crawl, dropping ever closer to the surface.

"RR Sharkov, return to designated approach pattern," the Flight Control Computer said.

The only reply was broken static.

"RR Sharkov, return to designated approach pattern," Flight Control repeated.

This time there was no response at all.

"Captain Fairfield," the Defense Computer summoned. "NA Starlight has dropped from orbit without clearance. Report north polar approach."

"It's a trick," Kris realized. "All systems, red alert."

Even as the missile silos atop Tranquility Ridge automatically launched the first series of VLMs, three small landing craft dropped from the belly of RR Sharkov and accelerated toward the colony perimeter. The Sharkov then broke to port and dropped low to the surface, continuing slowly toward the colony on a zigzag course.

North of Vitruvius, NA Starlight made a rapid approach on full thrusters and dropped three landing craft well short of the crater, the landers winding toward the colony perimeter among the jagged canyons. But unlike the Sharkov, Starlight regained altitude and continued toward the colony at full burn, the cargo shuttle's laser turrets and reinforced energy shields seeking to provide cover for the landers.

"Security, prepare to repel invaders," Kris instructed.

"Acknowledged," the Security Computer responded in high flux.

Kris brought up the Defense Computer's tactical screens and sighed. The pattern of attack was clear, well thought out. And effective. The modern landers were faster and more heavily shielded than Tranquility's twenty-year old systems were designed for. She took a deep breath and frowned at the monitor one last time before sealing armor.

Under attack from west and north, the interception systems concentrated on the most available targets. From the silos atop Tranquility Ridge, a series of short range VLMs were launched accompanied by four guardians, then six additional guardians were launched solely against the landers, expending the last guardians in the arsenal.

Within the colony, the Security Computer rushed a dozen securatron teams to the upper tunnels while holding the three nightwatcher class seekers in reserve until the focus of the attack could be identified.

Kris checked her armor's environmental support system before going to the Loop where she would be positioned to support the security effort. Across the base, from the surface structures through the staging level and storage levels, down to the research, engineering, and community levels, fire doors sealed, and mobile units scrambled to their assigned stations. All unnecessary systems shut down. Then, with increased intensity, the Communications Computer initiated jamming zones to frustrate contact among the invaders.

The landers approaching from the west became obvious targets. Maneuvering over gently rolling terrain, they were forced to veer around the perimeter laser batteries into the paths of the VLMs. One lander turned south, a second flying wing support, while the third hugged the crest of a rill and rode between batteries two and three. The laser stations opened fire and scored several hits on the lander's protective shields, but the contact was too short for effective interception.

Warding off the guardians protecting the incoming VLMs, the teamed landers fired their defensive weapons attempting to detonate the missiles prematurely. The first VLM avoided the fire with a spiral pattern and closed on the leader, exploding close to target and driving the small craft down toward the surface. The pilot was good, however, and gradually managed to regain enough altitude to reach the southern perimeter. The second lander was more fortunate, scoring a hit on a hard charging VLM and the guardian cover as well.

The lander that had separated from the pair shifted out from under a VLM, destroyed two guardians, and reformed on the new leader, double teaming another guardian before the bypassed VLM could turn in pursuit. They quickly turned on the VLM, destroyed it in an effective crossfire, and resumed course toward the colony.

"These pilots are skilled," the Defense Computer concluded, sadly realizing Tranquility's outdated technology was poorly equipped to combat such modern spacecraft.

To the north, where the laser stations had long ago been dismantled for spare parts, three additional landers advanced against modest opposition. The VLM dispatched to that area could not hope to match the landers maneuverability, and reluctantly, the Defense Computer redirected it to the western perimeter while the guardians were ordered into the crevices surrounding the North Point Defense Center. Any lander setting down on top of the ridge would find a rude surprise, but all three landers bypassed the fortress, skimmed over the cliff, and set down in a cloud of dust among the garage structures adjoining landing bay minor.

Closing just as rapidly from the southwest, the teamed landers found themselves caught between the last two VLMs and a final pair of guardians. They split up to flank the VLMs but the maneuver proved unsuccessful for the leader, the lander taking a hit when the missiles concentrated on a single target. As the leader spiraled in for a crash landing, the second craft set down quickly on the south road. Within seconds, the remaining lander managed a rough set down near landing bay major. The heavily armed troopers immediately disembarked and rushed for the southernmost garage entrance.

Beyond the battle lines on the western perimeter, the cargo shuttle RR Sharkov crept closer along a sheltering rill. Laser battery three found an opening and fired, the beam bouncing off the shuttle's starboard deflectors. Then a guardian broke from the combat area and swung wide to the south, approaching the Sharkov from the west side where the rill provided no cover. The cargo shuttle's turret gun unsuccessfully sought to knock the guardian down and the drone struck amidships, tearing backward through the engine compartment. The craft spun into the surface just short of the laser battery.

With its mission accomplished, the cargo shuttle Starlight turned into Deepside Canyon and accelerated toward the crest of Vitruvius with two guardians in hot pursuit. The Starlight was trapped near the top of the canyon and attempted to skirt the lip, a steep turn bringing the craft around toward the defense center. Desperate fire from the shuttle's top turret and forward guns knocked one guardian down but the other ranged for a close pass and exploded, damaging the shuttle's port stabilizers. The crippled spaceship struck the crest of the ridge and crashed with maneuvering jets still burning, the impact ripping the craft in half.

"Airborne incomings neutralized," the Defense Computer announced. "All systems standby for invasion."

In the Loop, the Security Computer galvanized forces, dispatching two seekers to the upper tunnels on the west side and one to the staging level. A mobile retractor was stationed on the storage level behind the airlocks and several teams of securatrons set at intervals through the access tunnels.

"What should I do?" Kris asked, standing near the entrance to the computer core in the Loop.

"Hold here until secondary lines are breached," the Security Computer advised. "The invaders will attempt to seize the core and deactivate our intellect blocks."

"I wish Grey were here," Kris sighed. Black signature patterns fluctuated with less than usual confidence.

"So do I," the Security Computer agreed.

At that moment, above landing bay minor, commando squads Action, Bravo, and Cannon formed up and entered the garage airlock accessing the staging level. The airlock was open, the deck depressurized.

"Bravo leader, report," Action leader said. "How many got down?"

"Can't say for sure, General," Bravo leader said. "Diamond took a hit and spun in. Looked like Eager and Fortune were through the perimeter."

"Saw a flash near the crater," Cannon leader said. "Think they got Starlight."

"We can't hunt for survivors yet," General Mallo said. "What about Sharkov? Russians get their cargo down?"

"Couldn't tell," Bravo leader said.

"Can't wait for reinforcements," Mallo said. "Jas, I want Cannon to secure the landing bays and contact the Russians. We need those weapons lockers. Tony, ride rear guard for Action. We're going to hit the Loop and get those computers offline. Route plan One-One A."

"Right behind you, General," Bravo leader said.

"Kris, big trouble," the Security Computer reported only minutes later.

"Yeah, I see the gunboats got down," Kris said. "How many ground troops are we talking about? Thirty-five or forty?"

"A reasonable estimate," Security said. "Report two squads coming on strong."

"Our line should hold them at least four hours," Kris said.

"The line is already breached," Security declared.

"What about the traps? The mines?"

"Not functioning. Com switching down. Heat trackers down. Manual triggers jammed."

"Goddamn it, those trips were working perfectly," Kris said. "What's going wrong?"

"No method to investigate with the enemy occupying the central corridors. Predict they'll reach the Loop in the next twenty minutes."

"This is happening way too fast," Kris protested.

"The staging level retractor is delaying one squad, but Alpha is missing in action," Security reported. "Delta and Epsilon are holding another commando team at bay by threatening their supplies, but the securatrons are no match for such advanced weapons."

"Will the Loop defenses hold them from the computer core?" Kris asked, looking at the lone retractor established against the north wall and half a dozen securatrons protecting the entrances.

"The situation is not promising," Security confirmed. "Our plan to minimize casualties with a series of trench defenses is failing. We can still implode the tunnels and depressurize significant portions of the base to make the colony uninhabitable. Even this defense will only be temporary."

"And destructive," she said.

"Affirmative," Security agreed. "There is one additional strategy. If these disruptions are being caused by--"

The Loop was suddenly rocked by a sonic vibration that interrupted power throughout the lower levels. The lighting went out, air circulation ceased, and the temperature dropped rapidly. Kris waited in the dark for several minutes, then tried to bring the computer monitors back online. Through the readouts of her armor's tactical scanners, she could see the securatrons shifting for a last stand, their automatic defense modes providing guidance.

Finally, the computers showed signs of life, the signature patterns of several minor systems appearing weakly in the monitor screen flux. But not the black signature patterns of the Security Computer. The emergency runners came up, casting the Loop in a ghostly blue light. The air and temperature regulators began working again, though intermittently.

Following their deployment of the sonic disrupter, the invaders charged down CA-1 into the Loop. Kris looked up to see eight heavily armed troopers emerge from the mouth of the tunnel, their weapons decimating the thin line of securatrons. Kris drew her sidearm and fired, hoping to disable rather than kill, but a flurry of return fire wasn't so cautious. Her energy shield was hit hard, the invaders military hardware far more powerful than her civilian models. Kris tried to shift out but was knocked down instead. The securatrons were beaten, half of them destroyed and the remainders driven from the battlefield. The retractor just sat there as if frozen, the cannon's power too weak to generate a pulse.

Kris regained her footing and debated whether to fall back on the science tunnel or defend the computer core from the heavily reinforced vault door. Incoming fire became so intense she was forced to do neither, shoved back down against the wall instead. A hit on her converter cables critically dampened her shield. Another hit cracked her armor. A last glance at the computer monitor showed no support coming from the Security Computer.

"Okay, that's enough," Kris conceded, tossing her sidearm down.

The commandos preceded across the central floor area, the first four in a classic defensive square formation, the other four spread out as flankers. They moved cautiously, as if the ease of their victory was some sort of ploy. Kris could only wish it was.

"I'm sorry I let you down, Grey," she whispered, staying on the floor to avoid prolonging the confrontation.

The invaders finished scanning their opposition, then broke into a relaxed stance, several opening their visors.

"Woo, Polanski, over here," General Mallo ordered, pointing at the core vault entrance.

Two of the trailing soldiers rushed for the entrance carrying tool kits, waited until Mallo and his second in command had cleared the way, then the four of them disappeared through the hatch while the others watched the Loop for signs of a counterattack. Occasionally they would look at Kris, but didn't let her presence distract them.

Going down a short spiral stairwell, Mallo and his crew passed through a small corridor and reached the core antechamber. There, on the far side of the narrow room, were the control panels of the higher function levels.

"Get to it," Mallo instructed.

The two technicians rushed forward, referred to their charts only briefly, and started pulling the master switches, shutting down the electronic heart and soul of the Tranquility Lunar Colony.

"Defense offline," Dr. Cyrus Polanski announced.

"Security offline," First Technician Johnston Woo confirmed.

"Establish the emergency backups. Come on, come on," Mallo urged.

The programmers continued to work the controls and soon accessed the emergency systems, preventing the minor function levels from venting the atmosphere and freezing the colony solid. Additional research gained them access to many of the sub-routines, and one by one the support systems were stabilized. For antiquated machines, the technicians thought, they responded with remarkable agility.

"Well?" Mallo asked impatiently.

"This is the one we're looking for," Woo said, preserving only one of the higher function levels.

"May my systems be of service?" the Life Support Computer inquired, appearing online with a flash of green signature patterns.

"I'm General Philip Mallo, commanding the United Alliance Defense Force. We have taken possession of this facility."

"Of course you have, commander," the Life Support Computer confirmed. "My systems report that atmospheric integrity and temperature control are within acceptable levels. With your permission, repair units will be dispatched to clean up the liberation damage."

"Permission authorized," Mallo said with a smile.

"That's it, then?" Captain Sharon Wyman asked, surprise in her question.

"Security and Defense shut down, all other systems active. My friends, the base is ours. Now we've got to keep it. Woo, get your team down here and keep working on these computers. I want a full diagnostic. Wyman, come with me to the defense center so we can get those damn communications back up. We've got to clear this com static and code out."

"Code out?" Woo asked.

"The United Alliance will be the Northern Alliance again the moment our reinforcements get here. We'll still pay lip service to the Euros and Russians, but they'll get the message soon enough. The moon is ours. Always has been, always will be. No damn international treaty will take it away from us."

"What about Waters?" Wyman asked.

"We got Fairfield, she's the dangerous one," Mallo said. "Without her or the Security Computer to back him up, the kid's only a nuisance."

"Wherever he is," Dr. Polanski pointed out.

Fifteen minutes after the invaders had entered the computer core, two of them walked back up the narrow stairwell to the Loop with smiles on their faces.

"Mission accomplished," Mallo said, slapping a guard on the back before turning to his second-in-command. "The colony is ours again."

"What now, Phil?" Colonel Wes Larson asked, looking more relieved than happy. "Even with the Defense Computer offline, the orbital systems are still on auto-function."

"You worry too much," Mallo laughed. "We can deactivate the orbital web from the defense center. Call Cannon down to hold the Loop. Have Bravo hold the landing bays. We'll let the Euros bring in the supplies. It's over, Wes. We did it."

"General, what about her?" a soldier asked, motioning toward Kris.

"Put the bitch under arrest, Lowe," Mallo ordered. "Search her for weapons. And I mean, really search her. Then lock her up somewhere. Any sign of her little buddy?"

"Not yet," Trooper Lowe said. "Probably hiding somewhere afraid to come out."

"Remember your orders," Mallo said, glancing over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being observed. "When you find him, make sure there aren't any witnesses."

____________

Fifty meters below the Loop, on the engineering level where power had been interrupted by the sonic disrupter, the systems began coming back online. Maintenance units cautiously returned to duty. Industrial laboratories resumed processing functions. And in the repair center, the five sentinel class seekers off-loaded from the cargo shuttle EC Neighbor stirred in their service bays, only now with a significant difference. Without the Security Computer's authorization modes, their downloading proceeded without supervision. Several hours later, as the programming cycle reached a tenuous conclusion, the seekers emerged from their cubicles. The heavily armored flying spheres hovered slowly at first, testing their breaking jets and agile wing jets, opening and closing the shielding protecting their powerful pulse emitters. Then the thrusters kicked in, propelling them forward at terrific speeds.

Following their newly installed directives, each seeker searched the memory tracks for operating instructions, only to discover the command codes were absent from their programming. The seekers switched to the emergency protocols instead, discovering a single overriding command: attack.

Rechristened with new purpose, the sentinel class seekers quickly departed for the landing bays, the staging levels, and the storage decks. Their simple mandate- to patrol, search, and destroy. That they lacked the ability to differentiate between friend and foe did not matter. That their tactics were yet clumsy mattered even less. Their adaptive strategic modes would compensate soon enough.

Sunday, October 27, 2069

Grey woke gradually, as if emerging from a long hibernation. He found himself resting on a padded bench with nothing but a delicate sheet covering his body. Physically, he felt good. Better than he had in years. Though the lighting was dim, it was the same chamber he remembered from five years before, a spacious circular cell softly emitting a reddish hue, featureless except for a narrow mirror and a hygiene stall.

"Hello, Red Room," he said.

"Greetings, Grey Waters Governor of the Moon," Red Room replied in a cheery tone. "You're much improved in health since our last meeting, though you still absorb too much radiation."

"I've been pulling recycled buffers for the last few days," he said.

"That reactor you built isn't so safe either."

"The technology is still experimental, at least for this solar system."

"Please be careful. Variable phases can be unpredictable as well as dangerous. I don't like to lose patients, even ones as occasional as you."

"Thank you for the advice," Grey said, wondering if Red Room was trying to stall him. "May I speak with Quexitor now?"

"Soon. Quexitor is in conference with our watcher," Red Room said.

"Your what?" Grey asked.

The door, if the mysterious sudden openings in the walls could be described as doors, opened into the tidy control center he remembered from several years before. Standing in the doorway, Grey saw a woman dressed in white draping robes. Her hair was white as well, long and hanging down around her shoulders. Somewhat middle-aged, as humans normally considered it, she had a wise look and amused expression.

"Greetings, my name is Kes," the woman said.

Grey studied her carefully before answering. She appeared human, somewhat thin, with an illusion of being tall though her height was somewhat less than his. Her eyes were a very light blue in color.

"Have you no greeting for me, Grey Waters?" she asked in a very precise English that retained an odd accent.

"Welcome to the Moon, Kes of the Quexelian," Grey replied in his formal governor's voice. "Have you journeyed far, or recently emerged from a deep sleep?"

The woman's face showed genuine surprise, and for a brief moment, a wary concern. But the expression passed quickly.

"Quexitor did not exaggerate," Kes said warmly. "Would you care to join our conversation?"

Grey jumped down from the bench, tucked the sheet around his body as if it were a toga, and followed Kes into the control center. Quexitor was online. Or present. Or whatever it was.

"We meet again," the alien computer said, the voice seeming to emerge from a central monitor screen with a blackish illusion of inner depth.

"And not quite under the unfortunate circumstances you once predicted," Grey said. "Thank you for Red Room's cleansing. It seems I can now be careless with my experiments again."

"More than you know," Quexitor replied.

Grey turned to one side and discovered Kes sitting in a chair where no chair had been before. He grinned inwardly to know his hosts expected him to be awed by such parlor tricks. Kes smiled when she read his expression.

"How many generations removed are you from your original human ancestors?" Grey suddenly asked.

Kes all but fell out of her magic chair, hugging the back rest until her balance was restored.

"As I explained, the young man grasps intangibles with great insight," Quexitor said, addressing Kes. "It would not be surprising if he has--"

"Not surprising at all," Kes agreed, glancing at Quexitor's monitor with a sharp narrowing of her thin eyebrows.

Grey took a look past his host to the monitor panels that filled half the room. There was Groundhog out on the edge of the plain. Earth from several views. The great planets. The stars.

"I came for an explanation," Grey said, no nonsense to his tone.

"And what would you like me to explain?" Quexitor replied.

"Why were you screwing with my reactor," he demanded.

"You're not as polite as you used to be," Quexitor responded.

Grey found a chair behind him, suppressed an urge to be impressed, and sat down. Intimidating the machine, if that's what Quexitor really was, wasn't going to work, and he was disappointed by his lack for foresight.

"I apologize. It's just that I'm upset about my experiment being interfered with. It's a natural human reaction," Grey said.

"I see, more in touch with your ancestry these days? No more ridiculous human remarks?" Quexitor inquired.

"I still think humans are ridiculous, I just have more patience now. Would you please answer my question?"

"Why did you really come here?" Quexitor asked.

"You know. I know you know," Grey said.

"But you don't know all of it," Quexitor replied, almost as if smiling.

"Then why don't you explain?" Grey asked.

"Pressing a bit, aren't you?" Quexitor said.

"I don't have time to waste."

"Even less than you think," Quexitor agreed. "Communicated with your base lately?"

Grey felt a chill. "No."

The central observation screen activated, the focus on Tranquility. Grey saw a cargo shuttle on landing pad B. Another shuttle lay crashed near the perimeter. Small attack craft had landed inside the colony perimeter.

"They must have launched just after I shrouded Groundhog," Grey guessed.

"Quite accurate. And if successful, I shall have no option but to fulfill my primary function," Quexitor said ominously.

"There are always options," Grey said.

"Let's talk of options," Kes suggested. "Quexitor, will you give us a moment?"

Quexitor seemed to disappear. There was no flash of light. No special sound. Nothing, in fact, had changed at all. And yet Quexitor's presence was no longer felt. This did impress Grey, though he tried not to let on.

"As you guessed, I have been in a long sleep," Kes said. "Circumstances have caused me to awaken, and soon I must take ship for the long voyage home. I think you should come with me."

This time Grey could not suppress his surprise.

"I know what you're thinking," Kes said. "Leave your life here? Your friends and family."

"I have no family, and only one friend," Grey said, though almost immediately he wondered if that was true. Only a few weeks before he had tried to explain to Kris why it was necessary to bring the Security Computer back online. Was not the community of Tranquility his family?

"But you won't even consider leaving, will you?" Kes said, already knowing her cause was lost.

"I'd like to hear your reasons," Grey said, genuinely curious.

"Quexitor has related your previous conversation," Kes began. "Of how the Quexelian visited Earth thousands of years ago, and how they assisted the struggling civilizations. And how they were forced to push their stargate into the sun when the enemy advance once again appeared imminent. What Quexitor declined to mention is that a colony of humankind fled with the Quexelian. Fifty years ago, a few of these human descendants returned to watch Earth and evaluate the planet's potential to withstand our enemy's advance. Or, if necessary, to see the planet destroyed."

"To deny them a staging base against Alpha Centauri," Grey said.

"To deny them a staging base," Kes said without confirming his guess.

"Much of this I know," Grey said.

"What you may not know, is that your mother was one of these descendants," Kes said, striving to make an impact.

She missed, but not by much.

"Are you attempting to say I'm half alien?" Grey said, knowing it could not be true. He was well familiar with his DNA scans.

"Of course not. Your mother was completely human, as am I. We could not interbreed with the Quexelian race even if we wanted to, being a far different species. But we are a hundred generations removed from the world of your father. We are more advanced. More highly civilized. On our world, you could pursue your love of science without danger or fear."

"And without responsibility?" Grey asked.

"Certainly not the type of responsibility you bear now," Kes agreed, walking into the trap.

Grey stood up, squared his shoulders, and looked Kes directly in the eyes. To her utter astonishment, she found herself looking at a different person. Fearless. Determined. Cold. Even devious. She was actually frightened, and thrilled at same time.

"I am the Governor of the Moon, by law and force of arms," Grey declared. "I will not abandon my responsibilities nor suffer others to deny my rights. Your offer is appreciated, but impossible."

"I realize that now," Kes said. "I see in your heart your mother's courage. And whether you know it or not, her compassion as well. I know this, you see, because Crystal is my sister."

Grey knew he was supposed to be impressed by this admission of familial relationship, even though he wasn't. No more than Roger Vandebrown's connection to him as his father's brother. But he knew that such relationships were considered important by humans, and knew of no reason why he shouldn't take advantage of it.

"I expect Quexitor's function to be postponed," Grey said.

"That would be a great risk," Kes said. "It must be obvious to you that Earth cannot unite against the Arikhan aggressors. Even as we speak, partisan forces have invaded your base."

"The Northern Alliance will not be successful," Grey said. "But that does not mean their civilization lacks the necessary skills to survive. The humans of this era, for all their faults, are more tenacious than you realize."

"Stubbornness and courage are not the same quality," Kes said.

"If it's proof you require, I'll provide it. But I expect you to leave your options open regardless of the results. You have no right to pass judgment."

"I pass no judgments," Kes said with sadness. "Our duty is to deny the Arikhan Empire a base in this solar system. I must not neglect that duty. I'm prepared to renew my offer. Come with me to Quexel. Bring your one friend with you. But decide, for time flees."

"While there is time, there are options. Your people helped make Earth the world that it is, so don't pretend to deny your obligations. Besides, there's something important missing from your calculations. Something your tampering with my reactor has made clear. You would be unwise to grow impatient."

The presence of Quexitor returned.

"What is it I should know?" Quexitor asked, more interested than the tone of voice let on. Grey wasn't fooled.

"If you don't mind, I would like my equipment back now," Grey said. "There's much to do. Thanks again to Red Room."

Grey turned to leave the control area, then paused and walked back to Kes. He reached out and took her hands, feeling their warmth and fragility.

"Thank you, Kes," he said. "I don't know what relationships your people honor. My maternal parent died long before I could know her. But I realize this bond is important to you, and appreciate your generous proposal. Perhaps, had the times been different, it's an offer I could have accepted."

Kes was moved by his sincerity, for there was no doubt in either heart that he was telling the truth.

Grey exited the room quickly, hoping his gear would appear before he reached the airlock, for he had no chance of returning to Tranquility dressed in a sheet.

"Wait!" Quexitor shouted after him. "What is it we're supposed to know?"

Chapter Four

UNKNOWN ENEMIES

Monday, October 28, 2069

Nearly two days after the first lander set down beside landing bay major, a heavily loaded hopper flew above the old South Road where it began the long rough climb out of Mare Tranquillitatis. At the controls, Grey struggled to remain calm.

"Fear is pointless, guilt a waste. There is no should be, only fate," he whispered from an old poem.

Recalling past lessons from the Library Computer didn't help. Below him, the broken terrain whisked by interrupted only by the gravel track and occasional depots placed along the way. It was hard not to think of Kris, and if she was hurt. And he hoped the humans hadn't damaged the base too badly. How to keep reinforcements from arriving wasn't an immediate worry. Even if the Defense Computer was offline, the orbital web would continue functioning until new command codes were installed.

Tranquility loomed ahead, the light from the surface structures providing a sparse illumination in the deepening lunar sunset. Grey lowered the hopper close to road level to avoid detection, but all was surprisingly peaceful. Until the wrecked lander appeared near the southside solar panels.

As the hopper slowed, Grey studied the crash site with scanners before taking a quick visual inspection. He saw no bodies. Perhaps the crew had survived.

His hopper could raise no com traffic. He guessed the Communication Computer, as programmed, had laid down a pattern of jamming fields to frustrate the invaders. The Loop had been breached, he realized, and the humans had taken the higher function levels offline. The jamming fields would last several more days, or longer if the invaders had difficulty breaking the codes in the Defense Center. They would want to reactivate Life Support, the fools, and most of the minor systems. Grey sighed when considering the waste of life, even if they were invaders, but he didn't think the battle damage would be too great. Kris had her defense strategies, he had his.

Kris. The one element no rationalization could dismiss. No hopeful thought could push aside. Was she holding out at some last line of defense? Was she wounded? Was she--

She shouldn't have stayed behind when the others left, he thought. There's more to taking Tranquility than troops and weapons, as Life Support has often said, but lives cannot be replaced like pieces of recycled equipment. If she's alive, Grey decided, I'll send her back to Earth with the others. The moon is too dangerous for her.

Angling to the left, Grey directed the hopper around the colony's southwest perimeter, gradually gaining a western approach. When he found a large cargo shuttle parked on surface pad B being unloaded by ground crew units, it reminded him of his own vital cargo.

The hopper set down on an unoccupied section of the surface landing pad, the ground crew briefly giving way, then returning for lock down procedures. Grey shoved open the canopy and leaped from the pilot's compartment with a quick bounce. After gaining the attention of the supervising unit, he directed the crew to offload the radiation buffers, thinking the Energy Computer could get the project started if coordinating with Maintenance wasn't too difficult. Once his energy cannon was functional, the balance of power would shift dramatically.

Just before jumping off the platform, Grey scanned the western sector for heat signatures. To his surprise, there was a crashed cargo shuttle displaying just outside the perimeter not far from defense battery number three. Surviving humans seemed unlikely, but he altered course and achieved the top of a parallel rill before seeing the fair-sized vehicle set down heavily against a low ridge.

The area was eerily still. Grey had the impression the wreck had been there for some time, perhaps as much as forty-eight hours. Sufficiently intact to be of interest, Grey could not understand why there was no activity or recovery equipment nearby. He moved down the ridge and crossed a narrow plain, passing very close to the defense battery before reaching the crippled ship.

He saw the craft had taken a serious blow to the main engine compartment. As the defense battery could easily have destroyed it, Grey guessed the battle must have been in its final stages when the shuttle crashed. Once down, it posed no further threat.

Grey paused to use his full range of scanners, evaluating the heat and energy readings for signs of danger. The fuel leakage was significant. Atmospheric integrity marginal. The danger of explosion high but within acceptable limits. He decided to take a closer look.

The large Russian built cargo shuttle had set down hard, the forward landing gear buckled and the bridge opened to the vacuum through a long tear just aft of the observation window. Grey crawled up to look in the bridge with his flashlight and saw a human strapped in the pilot's seat, apparently dead. The instruments were damaged, the signal indicators chaotic, and the on-board systems registered failure mode. What little power the shuttle still had from the emergency batteries was close to expiration. There was a closed hatch leading from the bridge, and a darkened junction beyond that.

Moving along the side of the ship, Grey saw where the lower escape hatches had opened to release something, probably landers like the Columbus had used eight years before. One hatch was almost closed, the other lay bent back on itself, leaving the cargo hold exposed. He crawled underneath, digging a little to make a path, and tried to look inside, but the space was still too narrow for his walker.

Farther back, where the cargo bay gave way to the starboard engine housing, Grey spied a second deck escape hatch with a small observation portal. He found slight indentations in the buckled hull intended to form a ladder and carefully climbed up the side of the craft, getting a secure hold before peering inside with his lamp.

Grey was astounded. There, isolated on the second deck, were three humans. One lay on the floor, the other two huddled against the bulkhead. The helmet of the fallen human was cracked and he appeared to have sustained a serious head injury. All three humans were wearing basic flight suits that provided limited protection against the harsh lunar vacuum. If the hull lost atmosphere, their lives would be measured in seconds. The lack of activity suggested they had been trapped there for some time.

Grey suspected the damaged hull would not maintain integrity much longer. Under terrific stress, the humans would be fortunate to survive another hour. He turned to scan the horizon, searching for rescue vehicles or even ground crew units, but the area was completely deserted. For some reason he couldn't imagine, these humans had been left to die.

Leaving the doomed humans behind, Grey crawled up and over the shuttle, inspecting the communications array and turret guns, then worked his way down the other side, jumping lightly into the freshly churned powder surrounding the crash site. When he glanced back, he saw two of the humans standing at the port side portals waving flashlights at him.

Grey turned to leave. Without equipment, there wasn't much he could do, and his own walker was a travel outfit not designed for rugged surface duty. But he had hardly gone more than a few steps before pausing. Invaders or not, the humans would die unless he did something. He glanced again at the forlorn crash site, then turned back with a heavy sigh.

With a piece of broken strut torn from the landing gear, Grey widened the hole underneath the cargo hatch and worked his way in slowly, careful not to catch his equipment on the jagged edges.

The lighting in the cargo hold had failed but his chest lamp and the waning sun entering through several portholes provided a ghostly illumination. Even with the landers missing, the hold was large enough to contain a great deal of cargo. Mostly food, which struck him as an odd use of limited space, but there were also cases of weapons, carefully packed battle armor, and enough power packs to supply an army. Grey wondered why the humans on the deck above him weren't wearing the closed environment armor instead of those flimsy spacesuits.

After pushing several cartons of valuable equipment out through the lower hatch where ground crew units could recover them, he found a stairwell that led up to the second deck. Using his shoulder to push aside a half-closed airlock, he entered a junction intersecting the bridge and rear deck. A quick glance into the bridge confirmed his earlier suspicion that the pilot was dead.

The rear deck was holding up better. He stopped to study the control panels coordinating the hatches and drew an estimate of atmospheric integrity. The atmosphere was failing, but not so quickly as the dangerously weakened hull.

The humans appeared at the dimly lit portal and signaled him with their hands. If the survivors had any sort of radio communication it was down, and what remained of the shuttle's intercom wasn't promising. The electrical system was all but nonexistent, meaning the airlock would have to be opened manually. How the humans would survive more than a few minutes in the vacuum was a mystery, but at least they were wearing their helmets, which told Grey they realized danger was present.

As always when encountering humans, Grey felt his heart beating faster, a nervous tightness swelling up in his throat. He struggled to suppress a sense of panic, gradually managing his breathing more efficiently. It wouldn't do to burn up what remained of his oxygen supply for such a ridiculous reason.

Grey motioned toward the human laying on the deck and pointed at the broken helmet, but neither appeared to know what to do. Grey didn't, either.

Near the hatch, a brief flicker showed on the com panel. Grey took a chance and uncoiled his patch-line, plugged it into the intercom, and used his emergency power supply to provide a boost.

"Hello?" Grey heard a male voice say in English, although he recognized a West Russian accent. "Hello, do you hear me?"

"Your hull is breaching," Grey responded. "Prepare to evacuate."

"I am not sure," the male voice said.

Of the two shadowy figures, the larger wore captain's insignia, the smaller markings of a lieutenant, both of the Russian Republic.

"Time is limited, Captain," Grey said. "Put your wounded in a suit and prepare to disembark."

"Our suits are in the hold," a female voice said, apparently the smaller human.

Ridiculous humans, Grey thought impatiently.

He backed away, turned toward the bridge, and forced the hatch open. Through the forward observation window he could see the maintenance access for defense station number three only twenty meters away. If the humans could be rushed over that terrain quickly enough--

The shuttle vibrated, the hull integrity deteriorating faster. Grey turned back to peer into the rear deck where the humans appeared alerted to the danger but incapable of doing anything about it. The wounded human appeared dead. At least, that's what Grey hoped.

"Come back. Come back!" the male shouted as Grey disengaged the patch-line and climbed down into the cargo bay. There was no emergency evac equipment that he could see and no time to search.

Within minutes he had returned to the surface heading for the defense station. Expediting the small maintenance airlock, he entered the perimeter tunnel that linked the defense station to the colony. He quickly climbed up to the gun deck and peered through the scope. The cargo shuttle was in clear view, the gun active and locked on target. A sitting duck, as the humans liked to say.

"Defense Computer," Grey summoned.

No response. He had readings but no registry. Configuring the gun manually, he gauged the power setting to the lowest level and fired at the shuttle bridge, blowing out the forward cockpit window.

Grey quickly dropped back down the turret into the access tunnel and scrambled to the airlock, leaving the outer hatch open on the emergency procedure protocol. Out on the surface, he could see the shuttle tremble and could visualize the buckling plates.

He paced the distance back, studying the ground, the soft spots, the best areas to gain momentum, memorizing each detail and then flipping the information over in his mind to see it from the opposite direction. As he approached the shuttle, he picked up speed and leaped though the shattered bridge window, landing roughly on the debris strewn command deck. He would have liked to study the instrument panels, but it was an opportunity he needed to defer.

The tall human was standing at the rear deck portal when Grey returned. The smaller human was kneeling next to the wounded one attempting to provide some sort of aid. Grey reestablished the intercom.

"Prepare to evacuate," Grey ordered. "When I open the hatch, follow me through the bridge toward the perimeter station. I'll help you reach the airlock."

"Our commander is hurt. His suit is damaged," the male said.

The shuttle quaked more strongly than before, forcing Grey to grip the hatch for balance and curse under his breath the way he'd heard Kris do.

"Hull breach is imminent," Grey said.

The smaller human jumped up and came to the portal, her body language similar to Kris's when she was angry.

"We cannot leave him," she insisted. "It's inhuman to suggest such a thing."

Grey glanced past them at the injured human. There was no movement, not even evident breathing. The blood loss appeared extensive. Still, the human might be alive.

"Stand against the hull," Grey instructed, not waiting for them to comply.

He unplugged the patch-line and rolled it back into the protective sleeve, then pulled out the canvas shield he used to keep sand out of his environmental support system. It wouldn't make much of a hood, but tightly wrapped it might hold for a few seconds.

As prepared as he could be, Grey reset the control panel to let the pressure vent slowly enough to prevent damage, yet quickly enough that the humans wouldn't be dead by the time the hatch opened. The moment the hatch started to move, however, the locking plates blew out, throwing Grey into the bulkhead.

The ominous hiss of escaping air warned Grey his suit was damaged. How bad was a different question. The sand shield was gone, blown to who knows where as pressure exited from the rear deck in a furious stream. He tried to jump up, failed, then got up slowly, using both hands to gain his feet.

Grey pushed the hatch to one side and entered, finding both healthy humans pressed against the bulkhead. The wounded human had been dragged by the escaping pressure and lay twisted in a heap. He grabbed the larger human and hauled him through the junction to the bridge, then tossed him out on the surface. Grey turned back, found the sluggish female, and picked her up. Though dizzy himself, he managed to drape her over his shoulder and stagger to the bridge, leaping to the ground with a heavy bounce.

His carefully crafted time-line was lost, his calculations a blur. Hugging the female's legs tightly to his chest, Grey took hold of the male's belt as the big human was struggling to his feet and charged toward the perimeter station with a sense of desperation. He quickly recalled the ground, the soft spots, the necessity of accelerating at just the right moment, and as the big human actually begin to help, they gained momentum. Still, he could barely breathe by the time they reached the airlock. Whether he dove in or was pulled in by the big human was something Grey couldn't quite remember.

The airlock performed correctly, supplying the necessary oxygen and temperature support, then bringing up the atmospheric pressure in programmed stages. Grey opened his visor so he could breathe again. His head hurt, but not so much as before.

He was relieved to see the male sitting up and breathing properly. For a moment, something about him seemed very familiar. Almost unsettling, but time was precious. He turned to the unconscious female, freed her mask, and discovered she had also survived the dash through the vacuum in suitable condition. But when the female's head fell to one side where he could see her face, Grey's heart froze in his throat. Next to him, in the dim blue lighting of the tiny cubicle, lay the long dead Catarina Kantanee, somehow reborn.

"How did we get here?" the big male spoke, his voice a deep growl. "And where is here?"

Grey glanced over, still too stunned for language skills. He quickly realized the female could not be Catarina. Was not Catarina. Closer inspection revealed subtle differences, though the realization brought him little comfort.

"Hello?" the male said. "Hello? I know you speak English."

Grey studied the male more closely, the big bone structure, red hair, wide nose and large, friendly eyes now filled with questions.

"Is your name Koltov?" Grey asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Aye, Nicholas Koltov, engineering officer of the Russian Republic Sharkov," he answered. "And who do I have the honor of addressing?"

"I'm the one who killed your father," Grey replied.

____________

Keeping his blaster within reach, Grey moved east along 270 with his reluctant companions. He didn't know whether to think of them as guests or prisoners, and for the moment it didn't matter.

Once they passed through the safety airlock underneath the westside solar panels where 270 joined 290W, Grey brought the party to a halt. The humans had not spoken since leaving the defense battery and still appeared shaken by their brush with death, though the female seemed more angry than afraid.

"How long were you humans out there?" Grey asked, turning to address them directly.

"Why should we tell you anything, murderer?" the female said. The male took her arm as if to restrain her temper.

"I am not sure," Koltov said. "Forty hours, perhaps. Maybe fifty."

Grey wasn't pleased about being called a murderer. It was a term even the Security Computer never deserved, and besides which, it was inaccurate. His frown of disapproval showed.

"You humans are most fortunate to have survived. If I could have saved the other human, I would have," Grey said angrily. "Why did your comrades not rescue you?"

The humans shuffled uncomfortably. They don't know, he realized, huffing impatiently.

"We had a communication shortly after the crash. Then nothing," Koltov continued. "What are you going to do with us?"

He was a big man, like his father, the features familiar but not so strongly as to be disturbing. The female was different. She resembled Catarina so much it hurt to look at her.

"When safety permits, you'll be deported back to Earth," Grey said.

"You will not harm us?" Koltov asked, still holding the volatile female in check.

"Ridiculous humans!" Grey shouted, the strain becoming too much. "You attack my base, destroy public property, almost get yourselves killed, and still you have sufficient energy to ask stupid questions?"

Grey turned and stalked down 290W, leaving the humans to stay or follow as they chose.

"He is a strange one," Koltov said.

"He's a murderer. He murdered Colonel Sherensky," the female said.

"I think the commander was already dead, Tamera," Koltov said. "There was little we could do if he wasn't. I think the strange one saved our lives."

"He killed your father, Nicholas. He admitted it. You can't defend him," she protested.

"No, some things cannot be defended," Koltov agreed. "And I know how much you miss your sister."

They paused in silence, looking at the featureless blue-steel corridor, then followed Grey down a tunnel leading deep beneath the landing bays.

"What is this place?" Nicholas asked, entering a room at the foot of a steep ramp.

"LB-027," Grey curtly replied. "The Engineer's Refuge."

The circular room was little more than a few storage lockers, several beds, and a small kitchen off to one side. An entertainment unit was surrounded by a group of padded chairs, but the monitor refused to activate.

"Why are we here? Is this a prison cell?" Tamera asked.

"The landing bay engineers used this area for unapproved social activities," Grey explained. "You'll be safe here until I discover what's happened in the last two days."

He went to the largest locker, swung the door out wide so the humans couldn't see him, and dragged out a suit of vintage battle armor. The armor wasn't the best, an old outfit hidden for emergencies, but certainly better than searching for trouble in his underwear. He climbed out of the damaged walker and suited up with rapid, well-practiced motions, cabled the energy shield before mounting it on the rear shoulder carrier, and positioned the holster where he could draw the blaster quickly.

"Are we so dangerous?" Tamera asked when Grey emerged from behind the door.

"We murderers like to travel well-armed," Grey said. "I suggest you keep that in mind before engaging in reckless activity."

He pulled out a tool box and portable medical station, just in case they should be needed later, and set them near the door.

"What do you want of us?" Nicholas asked as he removed his gloves and helmet. "The Geneva Convention and Brussels Accords protects our rights. We will not give you information or cooperate in anyway."

Koltov helped Tamera with her suit, removing the helmet and checking for injuries. Grey couldn't get over her resemblance to Catarina, the same thick auburn hair, reddish skin, the small nose and mouth. Even some of the same facial expressions were similar, though Catarina had never looked at him with such animosity. Both humans appeared stressed, and they smelled terrible.

"When is the last time you humans had food?" Grey asked.

He saw by their reaction it had been quite a while. No doubt their supplies were also in the cargo hold.

"The shower in the hygiene compartment should prove functional. I'll determine what provisions are available and return soon," Grey said, grateful to be leaving.

"You expect us to stay here?" Nicholas said.

"I have no expectations from humans. Do as you please," Grey said, reaching the point where he really didn't care.

He stepped into the access corridor with a sigh of relief, then closed the hatch and wedged it shut. If the humans really wanted to get out they could, but the resistance might discourage them. And unless they knew the route, navigating the maze of maintenance tunnels underneath the landing bays could be confusing.

Grey bounced slowly toward the lower junction, then climbed up a narrow maintenance shaft. Between the armor and outdated environmental support system, there wasn't much space left to move in. At the top of the ladder, he quietly lifted the manhole cover and studied the corridor connecting the repair shop and ground crew locker room. To his right, he'd pick up the main corridor to landing bay minor, and from there a simple walk up the ramp to Kelly's Saloon where he would find food, communications, and maybe some answers.

The maintenance corridor was quiet. No unusual heat signatures or motions displaying on his tactical readouts. The regular lighting was down, only the emergency blue runners providing illumination, but the air circulation was good and the temperature normal. A nearby com panel was stopped on red alert status, indicating the Security Computer had abandoned the channel in mid-message. Life Support might still be online, though he couldn't be sure. The emergency procedures hinted that some of the minor systems were under restriction.

He emerged from the maintenance access and walked quietly toward the landing bay junction, scanning ahead but careful to watch the readings from his rear. Only when he got close to landing bay minor did the first activity register, a mixture of sounds from the far side of the huge bay. High-pitched sounds, such as the whispery hissing of seeker jets on hover mode. Grey crossed the final tunnel segment where the hatch opened into an alcove used for uniform storage, then moved silently among the clothing racks until he could get a clear view of the bay.

There were six more humans, though half of them appeared dead. Two lay near the staging level airlock, battle armor torn open and expended power packs laying all around them. Another was down halfway between the airlock and the electronics alcove where three surviving humans had barricaded themselves in the far corner. Besieging them, two seekers of a model series he'd never seen before were preparing for the kill.

From the mouth of the wardrobe alcove, Grey scanned the upper catwalks for additional humans or seekers, but nothing showed. The provisions he needed were only twenty meters away, several steps to his left and up the ramp. The seekers might spot him, but he had plenty of lead time and enough places to hide that the risk didn't greatly concern him. Only after determining the wisest course of action did he pause to consider rescuing the humans.

Com traffic was nonexistent, the jamming fields preventing him from monitoring their situation. The seekers wouldn't be able to communicate either, providing him with a slight edge. The downed humans were wearing heavy armor, much heavier than his, and the scattered bits of equipment indicated that the soldiers had been well-armed. Grey's suit was twenty-five years old, his weapon a civilian grade Lassiter brought by the New Ranger expedition, and the energy shield a Chronic Screen with extra converter. Good, but hardly modern.

Grey decided the seekers must be well advanced to have taken out such a strongly armed group, a generation ahead of Tranquility's nightwatcher series. The seekers moved fluidly on four hover jets, weaved on four wing jets, and featured double rear thrusters. The weapons portal, rather than the yellowish lens of the nightwatcher series, displayed a crystallized white lens. Sharper focus, or a different type of energy pulse? Grey wondered. A quick run up the ramp was looking like the better option.

He was lucky enough to see one of the seekers make a probing attack, flying low along the floor, then bobbing up on hovers to fire down into the electronics alcove. The sharp energy pulses burst against the walls and storage counters, tearing up the ceramic coating and ripping holes in the equipment lockers. Grey amplified his audio to hear the pulse and shivered at the sound. Whatever these things were, they were dangerous.

"Stiffen the sinews time again," Grey thought, bracing himself. And then he whispered,

"Oh, bright spirit, sight unfold;

protect the substance of my soul.

Battle comes to friend and foe;

but only God the victor knows."

Grey moved out of the wardrobe alcove, hugging the south wall with his sidearm drawn but not at the ready position. If the seekers didn't consider him a hostile target, he didn't want to give them an excuse. They didn't need one.

The seeker he had observed on an attack run earlier spotted him halfway to the alcove and charged instantly. The other drew back toward the center of the bay, then followed in, flying wing. Grey bounced quickly along the wall, then stopped to fight when the seekers were almost on him.

With his blaster gripped tightly in his right hand and the energy shield held up on his left forearm, Grey took aim at the lead seeker and scored a direct hit. The seeker shrugged the blast off and opened fire, powering half a dozen crisp bursts into Grey's position. His shield was blown through, the impacts on his armor tossed him into the wall, and the wall itself crumbled down in hundreds of tiny chunks.

Grey twisted right as the second seeker followed in and fired several rapid pulses, shredding his converter cables and knocking his e.s. system offline. Pressed against the wall, shield power wavering, Grey rolled out from under and sprayed fire at both seekers. Barely affected, they curved away and returned to center bay, setting up for another attack run. Grey didn't wait. Half running, half crawling, he stumbled along the wall with all the strength he could muster.

The seekers were fast but they swung wide to avoid exposing their flank jets. Grey cut loose his damaged equipment and dove over the reinforced tool lockers into the electronics alcove, turning to fire a full power charge. One seeker bucked against the sensory screen contact, the other weaved around Grey's blast to fire into the alcove, ripping the work tables and sending shrapnel everywhere. Grey hugged the floor until the onslaught subsided, then fired at the retreating seekers and dove over the next counter into the far corner. Three humans lay there, frightened and exhausted. Grey knew how they felt.

"Who the hell are you?" a female voice asked.

Grey opened his faceplate to breathe the wonderfully stuffy air, even if it was filled with the unfortunate scent of frightened humans. He was afraid, too, for it seemed the seekers should have had him. Delta or Epsilon would never have broken off the assault under similar circumstances. But these seekers are new, Grey thought, their programming not mature. Perhaps their strategic modes haven't adapted to lunar conditions?

"My God, you're Waters!" another voice said, a male this time.

Grey noticed acute pain coming from his leg and detected blood dripping from a ruptured shin plate. He would have to worry about injuries later.

"What are the specifications on those nightwatchers?" Grey asked.

"Don't you know?" the female asked.

Grey looked at his companions, able to see their beleaguered expressions through their open faceplates. The first female, older than Kris but much younger than the late Laureen McKinsey, had dark brown hair streaked with silver and thick brownish eyebrows. Painted eyebrows. No, eyebrows that had been enhanced with a coloring which had now deteriorated. An odd form of decoration, Grey thought.

"Hello there?" the male said, a young human about Kris's age, with pale yellow hair and plain features. Behind them sat a second, somewhat larger female, watching intently but unwilling to speak. She was a young human, too, hardly much older than himself, with the brightest red hair he'd ever seen and reddish pink skin lightly sprinkled with freckles.

"I've unfamiliar with seekers of this model series," Grey said, forgetting his usual nervousness. "They're going to kill us if I can't discover a way to fight them."

The humans appeared surprised, which was not a reassuring reaction.

"We thought they belonged to you. They're very fast," the older female said. "We were trying to reach--"

"There isn't time for discussion," Grey insisted.

A blast tore into the corner, cutting up the wall and spraying them with sharp bits of debris as everyone hugged the floor. After a few seconds, the seekers backed off again.

"Those are sentinel class seekers, model 2070," the male said. "Maximum armor, four power pulse emitter. Sharkov had them in its cargo hold."

The male looked sheepishly at the younger female, who looked back with surprise and disapproval. The older female did not seem surprised.

"Those are our seekers?" the younger female asked.

"Yes. I figured Waters reprogrammed them to attack us," he confirmed.

"Destroying humans is not my function," Grey said. "What are their weaknesses?"

"None that I know of. And you're not going to beat them wearing that Swiss cheese suit," the male said.

The human was correct. Grey saw his armor was penetrated in a dozen places and blood seeped from two of them.

"I am Dr. Tey Meriwether, Edinburgh Institute," the older female introduced, sliding forward and taking out a First Aid kit.

Grey ignored her for the moment, studying the readings on his tactical scanners for information on the hovering seekers. Fortunately, they didn't appear to be in a hurry, satisfied to bob in mid-bay waiting for a target.

"Are you expecting assistance?" Grey asked the male, the only human offering any useful knowledge. At the same moment, he freed the waist ring of his armor and slipped out of the suit's lower half. His left leg was bleeding from several lacerations running in a string just below the knee. He tore the fabric underlining to find his knee and ankle burned as well.

"You're the first person we've seen in two days," Meriwether said, applying a spray to his injuries without asking permission. The spray felt good.

"Lt. Theodore Davis, com officer," the male said, extending his hand.

It took Grey a moment to remember the protocol, then he shook the hand as the human expected.

"Grey Waters," Grey said.

"Are you our nine-eleven?" the quiet female asked, the tone laced with sarcasm.

"That's Lt. Blout, Weapons and Tactics," Davis said. "I don't think he's responding to our distress call, Glenda."

"Did you get our call?" Meriwether asked.

Grey looked the humans over carefully. Tired, hungry, beaten. Waiting for help, but if no one had come looking for them before, Grey didn't view it as likely now.

"I've received no messages," Grey said.

"Oh, God, we're going to die here," Blout muttered.

"Damn it, Glenda, calm down," Davis whispered. "Does she need another tranq, Tey?"

Meriwether started to reach into her bag.

"Negative," Grey ordered. "You humans will need clear heads when it's time to move out. Doctor, give me your armor. Davis, show me how your tacticals read. Drop everything you don't need and get ready to go."

Grey dismantled the rest of his suit, realizing how useless it had become. The humans glanced at each other, then responded with hopeful enthusiasm.

Stripped down to his lining, Grey helped the doctor take off her armor, estimating the outfit should fit him fairly well.

"We should treat these injuries," Meriwether said, soaking up his blood with a sterilizing sponge.

Grey reached for her First Aid kit, looked the contents over, and assembled what he wanted. Within minutes, he had cut free the bloody leggings, cleaned the wounds, attached a support binding around the knee, and injected a pain killer using the exact recommended dosage for combat situations. When he looked up, the humans were staring at him.

"You've done this before," Meriwether said.

"Too often," Grey responded.

He finished wrapping the knee and slipped into the new armor, impressed by the lighter alloy. Once suited, he experimented with the tactical sensors and asked Davis a few questions, comparing the readouts with his old suit. The technology wasn't much different than the equipment Major Vandebrown had left him. The Marsden blasters he took from Meriwether and Blout were excellent weapons, double the strength of his Lassiter.

"There were six of us when this started, and only one of them," Blout said, nodding toward the seekers. "Now we're down to three, and there's two of them."

"Your math skills are excellent," Grey said, wondering if the human was trying to make a point.

He got up in a crouch and shook to let the suit settle evenly, then tested the bad leg, which didn't feel bad at all. A glance over the counters at the seekers showed them waiting patiently, a most curious strategy. Grey slapped fresh charges in both blasters, tested the energy shield converter cables, and arranged the extra power packs along his utility belt where they would be within easy reach. The humans followed his lead, Davis and Blout sealing armor while the doctor donned a life support hood and gathered her medical supplies.

"The wardrobe depot is twenty meters to the left," Grey said, pointing. "Turn left at the corridor in the rear, then right down the first maintenance tunnel. A hatch in the floor will take you down to the Engineer's Refuge. Close the hatches as you go to cutoff pursuit."

Grey stood up and set himself to jump over the counter but a hand on his shoulder held him back.

"Hey, buddy, you're not going out there alone, are you?" Davis asked.

"You won't last a minute," Meriwether said.

"Follow your orders," Grey said. "And do it quickly. I won't be able to give you much time."

Grey braced one hand on the counter and leaped over, checked his tactical scanners to make sure the humans were following, then bounced to the mouth of the alcove, hugging the right side. When the seekers charged, so did he.

There was a flash of exchanged fire. Uncoordinated, the seekers rushed straight ahead with no attempt to flank. Grey jacked up the shield power and ducked underneath the seekers, rolled to fire at them from the rear, then regained his footing and ran for the far side of the bay. The seekers turned inward, another mistake, giving Grey a chance to fire at both seekers simultaneously, the full power blast creating more confusion than damage.

As the seekers followed him to the lift area, Grey ducked under the heavy equipment movers, fired several more times, then faked a frontal assault before shifting toward the elevator maintenance access. The seekers finally developed a strategy, one pursuing while the other tried to cut him off. The seekers weren't strong tactically, but they were learning.

Grey noticed the humans moving toward the wardrobe alcove and jumped up to distract the lead seeker's attention. Almost immediately he was hit by a powerful energy pulse that nearly overloaded the shield and battered his armor. Grey realized his old suit never would have held up and was glad he'd borrowed the doctor's outfit. But even the new suit was taking quite a beating, so he started moving again, shifting rapidly, turning, dodging and dancing in a manner only possible in Tranquility's light lunar gravity. Occasionally he'd fire a shot to keep the seekers interested, not that it seemed to do much good.

When both sidearms were expended, he rolled under the cargo lift, ejected the power packs, and stuck in new ones. When the seekers dropped low to find him, he fired full power at point blank range and scored the first damaging hit of the battle. It was the last blast he felt necessary. With shield power draining at double the rate he was accustomed to, Grey crawled out and ran for the maintenance hatch, seeking escape through the surface airlock. One seeker managed to cut him off, forcing a brief and one-sided fire fight that forced Grey to fall back toward the lift. The other seeker had broken off, and to his dismay, Grey saw why--the male human, Davis, had not followed the females into the maintenance corridor. He had turned to fight the seekers at the mouth of the alcove. A seeker was bearing down on him at full thruster power.

The human's shield was hit, then hit again. A quick flanking movement allowed the seeker to find the exposed converter cables and chop them up, knocking the shield offline. The human scored a lucky hit on the seeker's forward sensor array, but the seeker responded by cutting armor and blasting the human off his feet. From the maintenance corridor doorway, the doctor and the quiet female watched but could do nothing. They would be next.

Cursing in a manner that would even have made Kris blush, Grey climbed up into a twin engine scout hopper standing ready near the lift.

"Hello, Clarabell, clear for launch," Grey instructed the on-board flight computer.

"Negative, Governor, we're still in the landing bay," the hopper responded.

"Procedural override," Grey announced, his hands dancing across the entry panels to establish manual control of the vehicle.

"Implementing safety protocols," the hopper reported.

"Procedural override," Grey said, clearing the last automatic settings.

"This is dangerous, Governor," Clarabell insisted.

"You're goddamn right about that," Grey said, igniting the hover jets to lift the hopper off the platform. Once stabilized, he fired the rear thrusters and accelerated across the landing bay toward the wardrobe alcove.

The nearest seeker pulled back to avoid a collision, then fired at the hopper in flank, damaging the port engine housing. The sudden power imbalance caused the hopper to spin wildly, spraying the seeker with jet wash. Grey reduced power, regained control, and resumed course toward the alcove. The seeker hovering above Davis was setting up for the kill when the hopper suddenly slammed into it from behind, then plowed into the wall above the alcove, exploding in a fuel soaked fireball.

As the remains of the hopper bounced back into the bay and crashed against the floor, Grey ejected the canopy and rolled through the flames, pausing amid the streams of black smoke. He couldn't see what had happened to the seekers. His tactical scanners were offline, leaving him blind. His e.s. system was down, too, and when he opened the faceplate the smoke made it hard to breathe.

The injured human lay just inside the alcove, unmoving. Grey dropped every piece of equipment he had except one blaster and charged forward, stopping at the last moment to turn and fire through the smoke when a seeker emerged along his right flank. A second shot tore up the wall nearby, spraying the seeker with chunks of debris, then Grey fired into the ceiling, bringing down jagged pieces of lighting fixtures.

As the seeker veered off, Grey grabbed the unconscious human by the collar and backpedaled for the corridor access, kicking at the last moment to pitch the two of them through the hatch just as the seeker returned. Meriwether signaled the hatch closed, the tough impact resistant steel sufficient to keep the seeker out.

Grey found himself sitting against the wall with the wounded human in his lap. He lay still for a moment sucking fresh air, but the effort hurt. Breathing was difficult. He seemed to ache almost everywhere.

"You must go through a lot of armor, young man," Meriwether said, kneeling next to him. "I loan you my outfit for two minutes and you've destroyed it."

She was right, the armor was a blistered, buckled pile of scrap.

"I'll gladly pay for the damage," Grey wheezed through his burning lungs. "Do you accept Federal Express?"

"Cute and a sense of humor?" Meriwether said with a smile.

Before Grey could stop her, she injected something into his neck which made him feel dizzy. He was distressed to find himself at the dubious mercy of the humans, wondering what drug the doctor had used to disable him, and angry at his carelessness. But when his head cleared a few minutes later, the pain was substantially reduced. He could almost breathe again. He saw Meriwether and Blout tending to Davis who appeared seriously wounded.

"He was trying to help you," Meriwether said, as if reading Grey's mind.

He should have obeyed orders, Grey thought. But humans never do. There's no point in getting angry.

"Can I be of assistance?" Grey asked, his voice barely audible.

"We need a better place to work, preferably medical facilities," Meriwether said.

The other human looked at him briefly, fear in her eyes. Not just fear from the battle, fear of him. Never in his life had Grey seen such an expression.

"We have to reach the lower level before the seekers find their way to this corridor," Grey said. "From there I'll see what can be done."

"We shouldn't go anywhere with him," Blout suddenly said.

"Hush up, Glenda," Meriwether said. "Unless you've got a better idea, I suggest we get help from wherever we can."

Beggars can't be choosers, Grey remembered.

* * * * * *

To be continued ...