Apollo's Outcasts (34 page)

The next thirteen hours were among the busiest of my life. Cabeus Station was never meant to be a fortress, but we did our best to turn it into one.

The first thing we did was enter its seldom-visited operations center, a pair of pressurized modules adjacent to the furnace dome, and shut down all the mining equipment except for the robots, which we reverted to local control. The robots were huge, flat-bed tractors with barrel-shaped horizontal drills mounted on one end and cylindrical collection tanks at the other; there were six in all, scattered across the crater floor. One of the Rangers had been to Cabeus before and knew how to operate them, so Mikel put him in charge of moving the 'bots until they were repositioned in a semicircular ring around the dome.

The robots were big enough for two people to easily hide behind, but they were only part of the barrier we set up. There were also several empty tanks stacked nearby, insulated cylinders with a 200 gallon capacity each. We rolled them into place between the robots, then added stuff we found in a storage shed--replacement bulkhead panels, spare rolls of electrical cable, an old airlock hatch that had been discarded--and lugged them over to the fortifications. By the time we were through, we'd built a makeshift stockade that, while not solid, would provide some measure of protection.

Greg pointed out that we might be able to use the crater's perpetual night to our advantage, so Mikel had him enter the operations center and shut down the beacons. Once this was done, the crater was plunged into darkness. Our carbines were equipped with ultraviolet night-vision rangefinders and our helmet faceplates could be filtered to see the same, so we'd be able to make out one another in the dark; nonetheless, we'd have to be careful not to accidentally target each other during a firefight.

The operations module was small, but at least it had its own airlock and ready-room, and adjacent to them was a bunkhouse with a few collapsible cots and a small galley. It was meant to be used by the maintenance crews that periodically visited the station; there wasn't enough room for all of us at once, but we were able to visit it four at a time. I took the second shift, once I was done shoving water tanks into place. It was a relief to climb out of my suit for a few
hours and get a bite to eat, but I can't say that I slept well. I stared at the ceiling for a long time, and it felt as if I'd just closed my eyes for a few minutes when another Ranger shook me awake and told me that it was his turn to nap. I chugged a cup of coffee, visited the toilet, then climbed back into my suit.

Gordie and Sam stayed at the station for as long as they could, working alongside the Rangers, but twelve hours after we arrived at Cabeus, they reluctantly climbed back into the Pegasus and lifted off. I watched the transport as it rose from the landing pad, its formation lights the sole source of illumination within the crater. It ascended to about 500 feet, then turned south and headed for the other side of the crater. I knew Gordie didn't want to leave; if he could have, he would've rigged the Pegasus with mortar rockets and provided air support. But the transports were never meant to be gunships, and his craft would've been an easy target for any Marine with an RPG and a good eye.

After that, there was nothing left to do but take our positions.

I was partnered with Greg, and we'd put ourselves behind a mining robot. Mikel and Toji hid behind a water tank about fifty feet away to our left; Logan and Nicole were concealed behind another robot about forty feet to our right. There was an extra oxygen tank on the ground between Greg and me, along with four ammo drums. The other six Rangers were in pairs to either side of us. When I switched on my night-vision, I could make out the others as vague, green-hued silhouettes, featureless and ghostly.

Mikel had us sound off, answering verbally and raising our hands when he called each of our names, so that we'd all know where everyone was. Then we went radio silent, continuing to monitor all channels but using Channel Three only if necessary. That may have been the most tense time of all: standing in the pitch darkness, barely able to see anything at all, not hearing much except the hiss of respirators, watching the starlit sky above Cabeus and wondering when...and even if...the Marines would land.

We waited. And waited. And waited.

And just as I was beginning to seriously wonder whether the Chief had made a serious mistake by sending us down here, that was when they came.

I happened to be looking up at the sky when I spotted a bright point of light moving among the stars. At first I thought it was a satellite, until I realized that it was going in the wrong direction, from north to south, away from the equator.

I reached over to Greg, prodded his elbow. Within the dim backglow of his helmet visor, I could see his face; he nodded, yes, he'd seen it, too. We watched as the light disappeared beyond the south crater wall, only to reappear a few seconds later, brighter this time and lower to the ground. As it came closer, the light quickly assumed shape, becoming a tiny, comet-like flare that waxed and waned. Engine exhaust. A spacecraft coming in for a landing.

The vessel slowed as it approached us, RCRs winking every now and then, until it was hovering a couple of thousand feet above the crater. Then it slowly began to descend. It was blacked-out save for its cockpit lights and exhaust flare, but it soon became apparent that it was a ferry much like the one that had rendezvoused with the LTV that had brought me from Earth. Although I couldn't see it clearly, it didn't look quite the same; instead of passenger modules, it appeared to be carrying six upright cylinders, mounted in a ring around its control turret.

The ferry didn't use the landing pad. It came down about a mile away from the station, closer to the crater's center. We couldn't hear anything, of course, but we knew that it had landed when its exhaust flare abruptly vanished, a sign that the pilot had cut its main engine.

All we could see was the distant glow of its cockpit lights, then those disappeared as well.

Mikel's voice came over the comlink:
"Stand by."

That was all he said, and it was an unnecessary order. Everyone had seen the ferry land, and I had little doubt that the others had
figured out the same thing that I had. The pilot had put his craft down at that distance to give his passengers a chance to disembark before being fired upon. This could only mean one thing: they were expecting the station to be defended.

The Marines had landed. And they were looking for trouble.

"Ready carbine, Arthur," I said, keeping my voice low. I didn't need to whisper; it just seemed right. "Activate UV targeting system."

"Yes, Jamey."
A green bar appeared across the top of the faceplate; it was marked twenty at its left margin, the number of rounds I had in reserve. I raised my carbine and pointed it the direction of the freighter, and the translucent red crosshairs of the virtual gunsight appeared in the center of my faceplate.

The night-vision didn't show me anything except an indistinct black object approximately a mile away, a few tiny dots moving around it. As I watched, though, the dots began to move toward us...and then they began to hop, leaping up into the air and coming down again a few dozen yards closer than they'd been before, like fleas travelling across a black dog's fur.

What was this? I could bunny-hop, too, of course, but never so high or so far. As the fleas came closer, I saw that there were only six. We had them outnumbered by two-to-one...yet there was something in the way that they moved that made me shiver.

Within minutes, the six figures crossed the distance between the freighter and the station. As they crossed the landing pad, we got our first good look at our enemy. When I saw what they were wearing, I suddenly realized that numerical superiority didn't matter.

They were wearing Cyclops suits.

Any kid who'd ever played a war game on his pad knew what they were: powered armor for space combat, a military spin-off of the EVA gear originally designed for the International Jupiter Expedition. The suits were over seven feet tall and resembled eggs that had sprouted arms and legs; no helmets or faceplates, but instead a smooth, round carapace with a periscope jutting from the top hatch. Each Cyclops
had its own rocket-pack, enabling the soldier who wore--or rather, drove--the suit to jump as much as a hundred feet in lunar gravity. Even their weapons were different: shoulder-mounted carbines, looking like fat sausages, positioned on a swivel beside the periscope.

I fought a sudden urge to pee in my suit. Perhaps we should have expected that the Marines would be wearing powered armor, but we didn't, and that was our mistake. This was the enemy, and he'd come to kick our ass.

The Cyclops team came to a halt just past the landing pad: six giants, facing a barricade hastily built by a handful of pygmies. They didn't come any closer, though. A few seconds went by, then I heard an unfamiliar voice in my headphones:

"Cabeus Station, do you copy? Over."
A pause, just long enough for me to glance at my heads-up display and see that the speaker was using Channel One.
"Cabeus Station, this is Liberty Force One. Respond at once. Over."

Mikel came over the comlink.
"Liberty Force One, this is Apollo Lunar Search and Rescue. You're intruding on a facility operated and protected by the International Space Coalition. Please return to your craft at once."

Another pause, then the voice returned.
"Apollo SAR, we're here to take possession of this station in the name of the United States of America. Surrender immediately."

A short beep, then Mikel spoke to us on Channel Three:
"I'm going to try to negotiate."
He switched back to Channel One:
"I'm sorry, but we don't recognize the authority of the United States to take control of this station. I should also warn you that you're greatly outnumbered. Any attempt to take this facility by force would be a grave error. Again, return to your craft and once and leave."
He paused, then added,
"This is your final warning."

For a few moments, there was no response. I slowly raised my carbine, braced it against the robot's upper platform, and took aim upon the nearest Cyclops. As the red crosshairs was painted on the center of the suit, I noticed that it was stenciled with a cartoon
figure of a penguin wearing a top-hat and carrying a walking stick. But no American flag. Odd...

"Okay, I understand."
When the Cyclops team leader spoke again, his tone a little less formal.
"Look, maybe we ought to talk this over before anyone gets hurt. Would you be willing to discuss this?"

"Yes, I believe that can be done,"
Mikel said.

I may have been wearing a moonsuit, but that didn't stop me from smelling a rat. "Don't trust him, Mikel," I blurted out. "He's up to something."

"Stand down, Ranger. If they want to talk, then it's in our best interest to do so."
Mikel hesitated.
"Look sharp. I'm going out there."
Then he switched back to Channel One:
"Coming out to speak with you, Liberty One."

"Sure. Ready when you are."
The Cyclops leader sounded positively avuncular.

Don't do it
, I thought, but Mikel was already emerging from cover. Gun pointed at the ground, he stepped out from behind the water tank where he and Toji had hidden.

Walking slowly, careful not to seem menacing, he approached the row of Cyclops soldiers waiting for him.

He was about halfway there when the one in the middle shot him.

There was no gunshot, no muzzle flash. I heard a thin, ragged crack through the comlink as the Cyclops's machine gun shattered Mikel's faceplate. Tiny shards of glass sprayed outward from his helmet, carried by the abrupt decompression of his moonsuit. Mikel collapsed, hitting the ground face-first, raising a small cloud of dust. They had never intended to negotiate.

For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then Greg screamed
"Fire!"
and all hell broke loose.

My gun was already trained on the Cyclops nearest me. I aimed at the stupid penguin in the middle of his chest and curled the index finger of my right hand, but my target was no longer there. Penguin had fired his rocket pack; his leap carried him up and away before my bullets could reach him.

"Arthur!" I yelled. "Track and lock onto target!"

"
Which one, Jamey?
" As always, Arthur's voice was calm and unruffled.

Looking up, I saw Penguin a dozen feet or so above the ground, just starting to come down again. I jerked my carbine toward him. "That one!"

I fixed my red crosshairs fixed upon Penguin, but they had barely flashed to indicate that I had a lock-on when the Cyclops suddenly changed position. Penguin had used his rockets again to get out from under my sights before I had a chance to fire. He came down about forty feet away, then lunged to the left when I tried to track him.

"
Damn it!
" Greg shouted. "
They've got countermeasures!
"