The Colonel called a war council on board the fuser Jan Davis. They were ten thousand miles out from the moon, their course set to take them the shortest distance to L5 with periodic bursts of the fuser engines. Normally the Colonel wasn’t the type of leader who let people in on his plans. This was because it was his experience that secrecy made him look smarter than he was. He also sometimes pretended to know things he didn’t know. On this mission the Colonel was uncertain what he knew and what he didn’t, and the meeting was to sort it all out.
The cockpit of the fuser was not well arranged for meetings. The pilot and copilot sat facing the viewport and puter screens, gauges, throttles, and holographic projections. Behind them were two jumpseats that could swivel. When the Colonel called everyone to the cockpit, Tiger was in the traditional left seat of the pilot, Riley was in the copilot’s right seat, and the Colonel and the sheriff took up the jumpseats. Awkwardly, Tiger and Riley had to turn around and kneel on their seats, holding on to the backs to keep themselves stable in the low gravity. The sheriff, sweating and still sick to his stomach, belted into the jumpseat behind the copilot. For his part, the Colonel chose to stand by, inserting his slippers into the foot loops behind the other jumpseat and gripping its back for stability. The Colonel was aware that a good portion of his mystique was his height, giving him the ability to stare down at people with his deep-set eyes that exuded strength and power.
The Colonel began with a reminder that he was solely in charge. “People, this mission is mine, just as this fuser is mine. Although Tiger has technical command of this ship, I will decide where it will go and what it will do.”
When no one chose to argue his point, the Colonel went on. “The purpose of this flight is to get me to the L5 station. I see no reason for stealth. The lack of long-range communications remains a concern. If we had it, I’d be broadcasting all the way that we’re coming to talk to Junior about his assuming the mantle of family leadership.”
Riley tugged at one of her pigtails. She had braided her hair in zero-g to keep it out of her eyes. “Do ye really think they’d fall for that crock of bull, sir?”
Tiger nodded his agreement. “If they know we’re coming, Colonel, I think they’ll just blow us up.”
“In any case,” Riley said, “it’s a moot point, isn’t it? There are no communications.”
“Yes, Riley,” the Colonel said tiredly, “that’s why as soon as the environmental system is fully functional, we must get communications up and running.”
“The main comm dish is gone, Colonel,” Tiger pointed out. “Troubleshooting won’t fix that. You need to wrap your head around the fact we aren’t going to be able to communicate with the station until we get closer in. You can’t fix what can’t be fixed.”
“Once again, Pilot Tramon, try to pay attention,” the Colonel growled. “I will decide what we will do. Although I’m certain you have a thorough knowledge of the fuser and its systems, I do not like a defeatist attitude. We will work on long-range communications.”
Tiger shrugged. “Roger that, sir.”
The Colonel glared at Tiger, then continued. “I want L5 painted with the pulsdar so that I know every asteroid, rock, pebble, and warpod that might be hiding there. When we arrive, I don’t want to be surprised by anything. The pulsdar will announce that we are coming even if we can’t talk to them, and, since they know we’re aware our pulsdar is detectable, I’m hoping they will think we aren’t hostile.”
“Perhaps, sir,” Riley said, “we can communicate with the station by using the pulsdar. Is there a code we might use? We could switch it on and off like the old telegraph.”
“We could,” the Colonel mused, “but would there be anyone there who could read it? My son never made it past second-class World Scout because he was unable to either build an ancient telegraph or memorize Morse code. It was an early demonstration that he lacked the intellectual capabilities of the majority of the Medaris family.”
“I’ve got an idea!” Tiger exclaimed. “Perhaps we can reroute our long-range communications link through the pulsdar antenna. It’s not designed for those wave lengths, but we might be able to modify it.”
“What would that take?”
“Access to the maintenance ports, some cabling, and time.”
The Colonel thought over the situation. “All right, here’s our priorities. Environmental systems first, weapons systems next—Sheriff, you and I will check the kinetic and missile systems—and then Tiger, work on your pulsdar antenna idea. Riley, help Tiger, but if you find he doesn’t need you, come and help me. Clear?”
The sheriff raised a shaky hand. “The toilets don’t work, Colonel.”
“Use a bucket.”
“In zero-g?”
The Colonel shook his head. “Riley, spend a little time on the waste collection system.”
“Yes, sir. I think I know what’s wrong. It’s a matter of pneumatics. There’s some kind of obstruction. I’ll figure it out.” She headed aft.
Tiger raised his hand. “When we arrive, Colonel, is your plan to slide up next to the station and talk to your son and convince him to stand down?”
“Yes, of course,” the Colonel answered. “What else can I do? Nothing else. It will be dangerous, but I’m sure we can do it.”
The sheriff glanced at the Colonel. The Colonel gave him a small shake of his head. What was actually to be done was to remain between them for now.
“What about the other fuser?” Tiger asked.
“What other fuser?”
“We’ve been painting one on our pulsdar. It doesn’t appear to be going to L5 but heading into deep space.”
The Colonel mulled it over. “Crater Trueblood,” he concluded.
Accepting that Crater was still trying to rescue Maria, Colonel grappled with the uncomfortable facts that faced him. If it was discovered that he had financed the asteroid horde at L5, not to mention that he had financed the first crowhoppers, he was going to be branded the biggest war criminal of all time. But Crater didn’t care about that. He would have only one purpose, saving Maria, and the boy had proved time and again he could do the impossible. And if Crater saved Maria, would she keep quiet about what her grandfather had done? And even if she did, would other station survivors, including the Colonel’s own son, remain silent? The brutal answer was that there could be no survivors, which meant Crater had to be stopped.
The Colonel gripped the top of the jumpseat and asked, “How far out will our missiles be able to engage a target?”
“The record is ten thousand miles,” Tiger answered.
“Keep close track of the other fuser,” the Colonel said. “We might need to destroy it.”
“But, sir,” Tiger argued, “if that’s Crater Trueblood and the Lunar Rescue Company, they’ll be on our side.”
“We don’t know if it’s them or not,” the Colonel replied. “So as a contingency, we have to be prepared to smash them.”
Tiger frowned but said, “Yes, sir.”