Lunar Descent (15 page)

“Okay, you've got the ground rules. Now here's the lowdown.” Lester propped a foot up on the table and wrapped his hands around his knee. “As of first-shift tomorrow, we're coming out of work-slowdown. Everyone on all three shifts is back on the job.”

A moment of silence … then cheers rang through the room as the moondogs whistled and stamped their feet. “Hot fucking damn!” a man at one of the front tables yelled. “We're gonna get paid again!”

Lester nodded and waved his hand. “Yeah, yeah, I know you've been spinning your wheels, and not everyone's been getting full-time pay. That changes at oh-eight-hundred local tomorrow. But before you start counting your money, you better know that there's another side to this.…”

The room lapsed into silence again. “We're going to continue making aluminum and photovoltaics for the powersats, because Skycorp's going ahead with the Korean project,” Lester continued. “Same product as always. But what has changed is … there's going to be more of it.”

He took a deep breath. “Tomorrow morning, there's going to be a press conference in Huntsville, where a major announcement will be made. I'm authorized to spill the beans to you guys early. Skycorp is going to tell the press that it's made an agreement with Uchu-Hiko, and that they will be cooperating on a separate SPS project.”

Lester looked around the room, and saw that he had everyone's complete attention. He indulged in a pause before letting the other shoe drop. “They're going to start building a powersat for Japan.”

“Say
what
?” somebody asked.

“You heard me the first time,” Lester said. “Uchu-Hiko wants a powersat for Japan and Skycorp's going to make it for them. But this time they're going to do it just a little differently. Since the Korean project is already go, the company is going to build the Japanese SPS concurrent with the Korean SPS.” He held up two fingers. “So that's two powersats that are going to be made by the boys at Skycan at the same time. And I don't have to tell you where all the raw materials are coming from, either.”

Now there were murmurs and low whistles from the crew. “How come Uchu-Hiko came to us?” someone in the crowd asked. “I mean, why don't they just do it themselves?”

“Because we've already got the resources in place,” Lester replied. “They have a space station, but it isn't big enough to house a construction crew. And we've got the experience from building three of these suckers so far. Once the first phase of the Korean project is finished, Olympus Station is going to start work on Phase One of the Japanese powersat. Since they'll both have the same equatorial orbit, they can be built side by side. But even before then, we're expected to have stockpiled everything they'll need to start the first phase. Aluminum roll for the skeleton, oxygen for the beamjacks, glass, photovoltaics. The works. Everything they need to hit the ground running. So, for us, the first phase of the Japanese SPS starts tomorrow, at least a year before the actual construction begins. That means we're expected to be producing and stockpiling materials for Japan's SPS in addition to the stuff for the Korean powersat.”

The silence was an abyss into which he could have fallen. Men and women were glancing skeptically at each other. “What's this about stockpiling?” Tycho suddenly asked. “You mean we're going to be making the stuff, then just letting it sit there?”

Lester nodded. “Uh-huh. It's not going off the mass-driver until the first phase begins up there.” He shrugged. “Call it twelve months at least, though I've been told it might be as close as six, because Skycorp's going to be hauling ass with the Korean powersat.”

“Okay.” Tycho stretched back in his chair. “That's fine with me, just as long as we get our bonus pay back. Know what I mean?”

Lester's mouth tightened. Now for the hard part … “The bonuses and performance risers will be—” He stopped himself. “They
may
be reinstated. No promises.”

Tycho's mouth dropped open as anger surged through the mess hall. “What do you …?”

“Listen to me,” Lester said. “The union's backing the company up on this. No bonuses unless we earn the money. We're going to have to work for it.”

As he expected, the noise level rose still higher. Lester quickly held up his hands. “Just
listen
to me!” he yelled. “Skycorp has zero confidence in this base right now. In fact, they're about an inch away from selling the base to Uchu-Hiko.…”

“
What
?” at least half the people in the room shouted in unison.

Tycho was out of his chair again. “You gotta be shittin' us—!”

“Just shut up and listen!” Lester yelled. When the room finally quieted down one more time, Riddell went on. “The Japanese may be a co-partner in this deal, but the word from the inside track is that they're still unhappy with the deal they made with Skycorp. They want Descartes Station, and if the boys in Huntsville start to think we're not worth the grief, they'd be just as happy to sell this whole place to Uchu-Hiko. I'm sure you know what that means.”

“No,” another moondog said. “I don't know what that means. So our paycheck comes from Tokyo instead of Alabama. Big fucking deal.”

“No.” Lester shook his head. “It means you get a pink slip and two weeks severance pay and a ride home. I'm telling you, Uchu-Hiko won't play with a losing hand. They'll buy the capital assets from Olympus and get rid of us. Then they'll bring in their own team to get the job done. It must be a tempting option for Huntsville, or Arnie Moss—”

“Oh, fuck,
that
bastard …?”

“—wouldn't have told me about it,” Lester finished. “The Japanese space workers still aren't unionized. They'd probably work for less.” He shoved his hands into his jumpsuit pockets and shrugged. “Hell, I dunno. Maybe they won't even bother with space workers. Maybe they'll just go teleoperation instead and replace us with a bunch of robots. It'll be slower and less efficient to do it that way, sure, but perhaps they'll figure it beats the hassle of supporting a human work force.”

“I don't fucking believe it,” someone grumbled.

“You better come to believe it,” Lester replied, nodding his head. “The bottom line, folks, is that we're going to have to work like dogs if we're going to regain the bonuses you guys had before the purge, or even to keep our jobs in the first place. Now, there's a bright side to this.…”

“Oh,
please
…” someone else said. “I can't take too much more of this healthy optimism.”

Lester ignored the jab. “We're on a probation period for the next six weeks. Our fiscal first-year production quota is going to be one hundred fifteen thousand tons of finished material. If we can ship twelve thousand tons of material within that six-week probation period—that's twelve thousand tons shot down the mass-driver by August twelfth—we'll be awarded bonuses commensurate with those six weeks
plus
full pay and bonuses for the period during the work slowdown, just as if we had been receiving monthly bonuses all along. A new performance riser also kicks in, with a five percent increase in net pay if we meet the annual quota.”

A few appreciative murmurs and whistles. “Not bad,” Smitty said. “But what if we don't meet the quota?”

“We start asking Seki, here, for Japanese lessons,” another moondog finished.

A middle-aged Japanese-American man sitting next to him grinned. “I don't think it'll do you any good,” he said.

“What about supplies?” asked a young woman wearing a black beret. “We sent the company a personal-items list about three months ago, and they said everything on it was suspended from export. What's going on?”

Others murmured support. Another tough question. “They're still suspended,” Lester said. The murmurs turned into outraged shouts. “Nothing nonessential gets shipped up unless it's life-critical,” Lester finished, ignoring the protests. “Mail gets delivered, but no ‘care' packages. So if you were expecting home-baked cookies or comic books, forget it.”

“What the hell are they trying to prove?” a big hairy guy in the back of the room demanded. “I mean, what the fuck?”

“Yeah!” someone else shouted. “You tell 'em, Mighty Joe!”

“It's because they're trying to put pressure on you guys, that's why,” Lester shot back. “Huntsville figures you've been taking it easy for too long, so they want to make life as uncomfortable for you as they can.”

Before the voices could rise again, he held up his hand. “Hey, hey, I didn't make the rules. I don't like it either, but that's the way it is. Write a letter to the board of directors if you want, but don't take it out on me. It's like the bonus situation. If we get through the probation period and meet the six-week quota, the nonessentials get shipped up here again.”

More pissing and moaning, but at least no one was calling him names again. Lester paused and cleared his throat. “Umm … and if you haven't guessed already, this is a dry town again. The rules prohibiting liquor and recreational drugs are back in force. No booze or dope under any circumstances. Possession is grounds for termination of your contract.”

That was one regulation Lester was fully in favor of, but there was no sense in letting the crew know that. The atmosphere in the mess hall was becoming nastier every second. “Who's gonna stop us?” someone in the back of the room yelled.

That's a good question, Lester thought. It occurred to him that Descartes was still without a new security chief. The last one had been nailed in the purge; he had been caught looking the other way when the drinking and doping had been going on. Skycorp had yet to tell Lester if a replacement was on the way up.
If the company thinks I'm going to double as the security chief
, Riddell thought,
they're dead wrong. I can't run this place and be the resident arm-breaker, too
.

He ducked the last question. It was time to wrap this up before the scene got any uglier. “That's it,” he said, getting up from the table. “You'll be seeing me around. New maintenance and clean-up schedules will be posted tomorrow on the computer, so check your niche terminals. That's part of your job, too, and your pay will be docked if you don't report for cleanup detail. If you have any questions, my office is right down the hall, across from the labs. Second shift goes back to finish their regular clock, and third shift reports on schedule.”

Hardly anyone was paying attention. The moondogs were getting up from their benches, talking among themselves as they either headed for the door or wandered to the coffee pots for a refill. Lester suddenly felt exhausted. It had been a grueling day so far. All he wanted to do was find his office and lock himself inside for a few hours. A quick nap, maybe …

“Excuse me,” a familiar voice behind him said. “Mr. Riddell?”

Lester looked around; it was Tina McGraw. Besides himself, she was the only person he had yet seen who was wearing an unaltered Skycorp jumpsuit. “Hi, Tina,” he said wearily. “What can I do for you? And call me Lester, okay?”

Her thin lips pursed disapprovingly, as if she disdained using an informal tone of address. “I need to speak to you, please,” she said softly. “In private.”

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Sure, sure, but can it wait? I need to take a break. This meeting …”

“I understand.” She shook her head. “But no, it can't wait. It's very important that we speak at once.”

Before Lester could respond, McGraw dipped her right hand into the pocket of her jumpsuit and pulled out a small leather folder. Stepping a little closer, she hid the case in her palm and flipped it open to quickly show him what was inside.

The folder contained the silver oval badge of a field officer from NASA's Space Operations Enforcement Division. She held it open just long enough for Lester to see the badge, then snapped it shut and tucked it back in her pocket.

“As I said, we need to speak immediately,” the new Chief of Security whispered, in a tone which implied that it was no longer a request. “Will you accompany me to MainOps, please?”

The Vacuum Suckers (Interview. 3)

Anne Noonan; former Skycorp lunar-tug payload specialist:

What were we doing, hijacking Spam-cans? (
pause
) Good question, and since I no longer work for Skycorp I don't think I'll get in any trouble for answering it, but let me tell you about the Vacuum Suckers first, okay? Maybe that'll help explain things.

The Vacuum Suckers are the Hells Angels of space.… Maybe that makes you nervous, but that's about the best way to describe them, because they sure ain't the Kiwanis Club. The way I've heard the story, the club got started on Olympus Station about five or six years ago by some beamjacks working on the second SPS project. There was a blowout caused by a collision with some space junk, and two of the bunkhouse modules were holed. One blew out all at once and the other developed a slow leak, and there were three beamjacks trapped in the module which was losing its atmosphere. There was no seal-kit in their module, they didn't have any hardsuits or rescue balls, and the hatch to the pressurized module on the other side of them was jammed. They were capable of opening the hatch to the adjacent bunkhouse, but that was the one which had completely lost pressure. The module on the far side of that bunkhouse was pressurized.

Anyway, it's the kind of situation which calls for desperate thinking, and that's exactly what these guys did. They deliberately blew the hatch on their own module, got themselves shot through the unpressurized module, and managed to open the hatch to the opposite module and get in before their lungs ruptured. They were exposed to hard vacuum for almost a full minute, which in theory is the absolute maximum for human tolerance. Somebody told me that Arthur C. Clarke once wrote a sci-fi story based on nearly the same premise, but that was even before the first satellite was put in orbit. Nobody had ever tried it in real life.