Moonfall (32 page)

He released the stops on the umbilicals and laid them out close to the pad, setting each so he could activate the flow at the nozzle. When he was satisfied he could do no more, he recalled that Keith Morley had given him the microcam to set
up inside the bay. He looked around, found a table, extended the instrument’s legs as he’d been shown, and pointed it toward the pad. (He’d warned Morley that he might not have time to recover it, but Morley said that he didn’t want it recovered, that he wanted shots of the Micro pulling in and leaving.) Then he climbed behind a heat shield and tapped into the public address system.

“This is Caparatti,” he said. “Are you folks at the door?”

Evelyn responded. “We’re ready to go, Bigfoot.” She still didn’t sound so good, he thought.

“Okay. We’ll be opening up in about five minutes. Keith, you’re all set and ready to go.”

“Thanks, Bigfoot,” said the newsman. “My director’s asked if you can move it a little bit left. Just a few degrees.”

Bigfoot complied, changing the angle until Morley said it was okay.

The rim of Earth was visible through the overhead doors.

Tony’s voice on the radio: “How do I look, Bigfoot?”

Dammit, he didn’t like trying to eyeball the Micro in from here. “Drifting east a couple of points,” he said. “As best I can tell.”

“Roger.”

Bigfoot watched him compensate. “That’s good. Keep coming.” Safety regulations prohibited personnel from entering this area during landing or launch operations. The chance of getting caught in the backwash was high. The heat shield behind which he hid was designed to protect equipment.

One hundred meters.

A clock on the control room wall showed ten thirteen.

The bay brightened in the glow of the rocket engines. He heard the two pilots talking to each other, switched to another channel, and listened to Keith Morley reporting to his global audience. Damned if he didn’t sound as if he were enjoying every minute.

Bigfoot had known people like that during his brief tenure with the Packers, guys who seemed absolutely fearless, who thrived on risk.

Forty meters.

“A little tight at the rear, Tony. Take it forward a touch. That’s it. Not too much.” Even through the suit he felt the heat from the motors.

Thruster clusters adjusted their angle and fired. The Micro centered itself. “That’s good. Bring it in.”

A gout of flame arrowed through the overhead doors.

“Passengers, ready up,” he said. “The bird is almost down.”

Treads and main engine nozzle cleared the roof and the fire licked the launchpad. Now the undercarriage, and finally the sphere itself bellied in. Its weight settled onto the treads, compressing them.

Clouds of steam formed and began to dissipate.

Through the lighted windows he could see movement on the flight deck. The Micro cut power and Bigfoot came out from behind the shield. He pointed the remote at a sensor on the far wall and squeezed. The pad rotated the vehicle until its main airlock lined up with a marker on the deck. Then he pushed a different button. A Fleming tube, considerably shorter than the ones used at L1, unfolded from the Bay Four gate, and like a caterpillar trundled across the bay and connected with the airlock.

Meantime, the ship’s cargo hatch opened and Saber, in a p-suit, popped out. Bigfoot laid the remote on the deck. “Refuel first,” he said.

“Okay.” Saber moved quickly out to help with the umbilicals, while he got the latches up for the fuel receivers. With no wasted motions, they connected both lines and hit the switches.

Now, while Bigfoot went after the other umbilicals, Saber
retrieved the remote and checked the readings. She had a green light, which meant a good connection. She aimed the instrument again at the sensor and opened the door that would permit the passengers to enter the Fleming tube. On his radio, Bigfoot heard Morley’s broadcast as they scrambled into the passageway: “
Bruce, as you can see, the door’s open at last and we’re moving down the ramp
.”

Saber connected the electrical line while Bigfoot got the others. They hit the switches, and electricity, oxygen, and water began to flow. Next they threw the plastic bags into the airlock. When that was done, Bigfoot returned to the umbilicals. Flow was steady and normal. His gaze drifted to the clock—twenty after—and back to the gauges, where numbers flicked past.

At ten twenty-three, oxygen and water topped off and Saber disconnected the lines and threw them clear. They couldn’t do much about recharging, of course, in the short time they had. Usually the operation needed close to an hour and a quarter. But they’d take what they could get.

The critical area was fuel. Tanks were now about forty percent full.

Tony reported the passengers were through the ship’s airlock and filing into the cabin.

Saber spoke to Caparatti on the radio: “Bigfoot, when we’re done, we’ll go in through the cargo hatch. I want to try to get to the flight deck if I can. You seal the hatch behind us.”

“Okay,” he said.

Morley was still doing his broadcast, using the low-key voice that was supposed to suggest great drama: “
You’re watching Bigfoot Caparatti on your screen now. And yes, if you’re a football fan, that’s the same Bigfoot who once played for the Green Bay Packers
.”

Once is exactly correct, you dumb son of a bitch. Did you really have to bring that up?

Saber was watching the recharge. “How we doing?” Bigfoot asked.

“Okay. We’ll have enough to power the systems. How’s the fuel?”

“About halfway.”

Tony came back on: “Everybody’s in and the hatch is secure. You can disconnect the tube.”

Saber aimed the remote. The walkway came loose and began to retract.

Bigfoot’s entire world narrowed down to the two fuel counters and the clock. He let the numbers slip out of focus. Saber’s eyes were dark pinpoints behind her visor.

The narrow patch of black sky visible through the entry doors had acquired a haze. He found himself torn between terror and an inclination to dismiss the entire affair as hysteria. Earlier, when he’d made the decision to stay, he’d gotten patched through to his mother, who’d cried and prayed on the phone; and an old friend with whom he’d played college football, who’d told him he was a damned fool but that he was proud to have known Bigfoot. It was said in the past tense.

“Can we get moving?” asked Tony.

“Almost done,” said Bigfoot.

At ten twenty-six, the liquid oxygen tank reached full and the pump shut off. Bigfoot disconnected, and threw the umbilical aside. Saber decided she had enough power, and broke her line loose and dropped it.

“Get inside,” Bigfoot said. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

“Why don’t we call it a tankful and clear out?”

Yeah. What the hell
.

She started for the cargo hatch while Bigfoot shut down, jerked the umbilical out of the fuel receptacle, capped it, and closed and secured the latch. He lobbed the line as far as he could, which in lunar gravity was a substantial distance. Then he was right behind Saber, dashing for the open hatch while
she told Tony that refueling was complete. They’d cut it a little short in the interests of time, she said, but he shouldn’t start the engine yet. She was scrambling into the cargo deck airlock and simultaneously extending a hand to Bigfoot. “We’re inside,” she told Tony. “Go!” Bigfoot stabbed at the control panel and the outer hatch swung shut. Oxygen poured into the chamber. The engine lit and the bus trembled.

The inner hatch opened. Saber popped through and dashed across the hold, removing her helmet as she went. She was quite agile in low-g footwork and she left Bigfoot far behind.

She swung up the ladder and erupted into the passenger cabin, still carrying her helmet. The Micro began to rise.

Bigfoot meantime had closed and sealed the airlock. Then he tried to follow Saber into the passenger cabin, but the bus was moving quickly now and his weight was increasing. He struggled halfway up the ladder, realized he couldn’t make it, and concluded his sole mission was to close the hatch between decks. He caught a last glimpse of Saber moving monkey-style up toward the cockpit as he pulled the hatch shut and secured it. Then he retreated back down the ladder.

They were on their way.

Moonbase Spaceport. 10:24
P.M.

Viewers around the world watched the scene in Bay Four through Keith Morley’s camera as Saber flung her umbilical away and dashed for the open hatch. Then Bigfoot appeared in the picture, moving with deliberation through the light gravity, throwing himself up and into the airlock. Saber helped drag him inside. And the hatch closed.

Morley was still speaking in a voice-over, describing the passengers’ coolness, admitting his own tensions. Later, many viewers would wonder how he’d managed not to get on the
nerves of the others, especially during that final countdown, whispering in his coolly dramatic tone, “
six minutes to impact, five
minutes,” and so on.

Occasionally the image switched to the comet, captured by a range of instruments on the ground and in space. Several had been placed at ground zero at Mare Muscoviense, where they looked directly up at the oncoming monster. In the lower right corner, a clock ticked off the remaining time.

News media estimates indicated that 3.6 billion people saw the first wisp of smoke from the main engine just before it roared into life. That number made it the third most watched telecast ever, behind Super Bowls LXX and LXXII.

The blast from the main engine blanked the screens. But Morley plowed smoothly ahead: “
I see we’ve lost our picture. Bruce, from this point on we’re going to have to rely on audio….
”

Transglobal went to a split screen, matching a live image of the comet with a photo of Keith Morley in a tropical shirt and a Panama hat, taken during the Rio conference in January.

“We’re clear of the terminal, picking up speed. You can hear the roar of the engine
.” (Pause.) “
I should tell you, by the way, that we’ve switched over to internal relay so we won’t lose the audio signal no matter what happens at Moonbase
.

“It’s becoming a little hard to talk. I’m getting pushed into my seat. My weight’s come back, but I feel as if I weigh an extra hundred pounds or so. The sky’s different from the way it looked when I came last week. It’s lit up
.

“I can’t see the pilot. The door to the flight deck is closed. Saber Rolnikaya came through here from the cargo deck minutes ago and went up to the cockpit. She was wearing a p-suit and carrying her helmet, which she handed to me. I’m going to hang on to it as a souvenir of the occasion
.

“However this turns out, everyone should be aware, Bruce, that this is a group of very special people. You can’t see any of them anymore, but they’re hanging on pretty well. I don’t know what’s running
through their minds right now, but I can tell you what’s running through mine. I’m scared
.”

AstroLab. 10:33
P.M.

Feinberg had gone to the AstroLab, where he watched the approach from the operations room. A dozen monitors displayed magnetic fluctuations, relative velocity, comet brightness, spectrum analysis. The Farside observatory had used its chemical oxygen iodine laser to vaporize a small section of Tomiko. The analysis showed slight but significant amounts of titanium and aluminum. What kind of comet carried processed metals?

“I really wonder about it,” Feinberg told an assistant whom he trusted not to quote him. “We might be suffering a loss of monumental proportions.”

The assistant understood he was not talking about the Moon. Or the hazards from falling rock. She nodded.

I wish we could have got a closer look,” Feinberg continued. “Landed on it. Dug it up.”

“It’s moving too fast,” she said. “Even if it were just passing through, we could never have caught up with it.”

Feinberg stared at Tomiko’s image in the displays.
What are you?

Tomiko had lost a substantial fraction of its initially observed velocity. But it was still running with the solar wind at almost twenty-four thousand kilometers per minute. Halfway around Earth in thirty seconds.

Astronomers were still trying to account for the velocity. A mathematician at the University of Hamburg, noted for metaphysical ramblings, suggested that the comet had in fact been
aimed
, that its velocity was intended to demonstrate that it was not part of a natural event, and that the pinpoint strike on the Moon was a warning. He did not elaborate.

The networks and the Web, during the final hours before
impact, had been filled with admonitions to get right with God.

The Moon was in its first quarter. Seen from New York, it was in the western sky. The comet was a magnificent sight, spread across the heavens, its tail leading the way, overwhelming the Moon, reaching across the Atlantic and diving beneath the horizon. The corona, on the other hand, was bright and solid, a sheath of golden light.

Marilyn Keep watched Tomiko closing in from Louise’s terrace. Larry seemed content to talk finances with the boys, to leave her in Marv’s company, to behave as if he were the only male in the world. By ten-thirty she’d had too much to drink, Marv was taking advantage of whatever occasional solitude they could find, a brief interlude on the terrace, a moment passing each other in a corridor, to brush lightly against buttock or breast. She didn’t mind it at all, as long as they did not get caught. She liked the brief suggestion of possession, enjoyed the sudden fluttering excitement. It was the first time during her marriage she’d allowed anything like this. When she looked reprovingly at Marv, his eyes glowed with mischief. And his fingertips casually touched her hip, as if it were something they did all the time, as if they shared some mutual secret. So it happened that, as the comet touched the Moon, while all eyes turned skyward, Marilyn was really quite busy with something else.

At Point Judith, Luke Peterson watched from his backyard through a pair of field glasses. He’d read enough, and seen enough, to know there
was
more danger near the water. But the night was peaceful, and the sky was full of stars, except where the comet wiped them out. This was where he lived. If God had set the machinery in motion to take him tonight, well then, God would find him at home.