Outward Bound, page 13
"Are you okay, Willie?" Linc asked.
"Sure, it's over. Thanks anyhow," Willie said, dabbing his jacket with a napkin.
There was nothing more for Linc and Arvin to do. Flash, who had also appeared from somewhere, came up behind them. Music started up again, and the deejay's voice came over the speaker system. "Okay, folks, the excitement's over. That's it. Let's get moving again with something from way back in the nineteen seventies . . . "
Flash looked from Linc to Arvin and gestured at them appealingly. "See, guys," he said. "We're all on the same side, right? We're all going out there together. Wouldn't this be a good time for you two to just shake and get rid of this thing that's been going on too long around here?"
It seemed a good time to Linc. He shrugged, nodded, and put out a hand. Arvin stared at it, seemed to want to, then shrank back. "I can't," he muttered, turning away stiffly, and went back to his table.
"There has to be—" Flash began, but Linc cut him off.
"I'm the wrong guy, Flash. Go talk to him. I've got company waiting."
Although Linc remained moody for a while longer, he gradually got over it. Rick stayed with him and Julie, and the conversation picked up to more cheerful things. Julie eventually got Linc up onto the dance floor, and it was only then that he learned her full name for the first time. It was Yeats; Julie Yeats. Willie and his three friends got them to move to their table, everyone got a chance to dance with everyone, and the evening ended on a party note all around.
Afterward, Linc accompanied Julie back to her quarters in the East Tower. She clung to his arm and stayed close on the way to a boarding point for the moving-belt elevator, during the ascent to the Axle, and through the descent back down the other tower. She shared a cabin there with three other females, but the approach section was like part of the interior of a battleship superstructure, with compartments, stairwells, and cubbyholes enough for anyone who wanted privacy. But Linc settled for a hug and a kiss after walking her to her door. The fragrance and the feel of her nearness for a few seconds were enough. And he sensed gratitude and elation in her response—that he understood and respected how she felt.
He felt good all the way back through the Axle again and on up to the Turret. Some of the other guys might hoot derisively—because they would ask, and he would tell them. Let them, he decided. It was one of the few times in life when something inside told him unequivocally that he had done the right thing. He wasn't used to feeling that about himself. Sergeant Schultz would have been proud.
Chapter Twenty-Five
IT was the first time since coming up to Grayling that Linc was without the feeling of solid walls enclosing him. Above and below had lost their meanings. All around him in every direction, stars shone with the brilliance that had awed him when he stared out at them on the first day of his arrival. Even Grayling Station was reduced to no more than a distorted cruciform ten miles away, the sunlight picking out different surfaces and glinting off the moving lines as it turned. To one side, the half Moon hung white against the blackness, looking six times its size from Earth. Less than a mile away, almost in line with Grayling, was the outstation known as the Construction Shack, a one-hundred-foot-diameter sphere buried in a clutter of tanks, cylinders, and boxlike protuberances that gave the impression more of having sprouted haphazardly than of being a product of design. Other, smaller structures and clumps of latticework floated not far off, with movements of jet-suited figures and assorted vehicles operating around them discernible in the vicinity. This was where the new recruits—military and civilian technicians alike—came to learn the basics of space construction. The theoretical introductions were over now; it was time to begin learning the skills that would be needed for what lay ahead.
"Enough stargazing, Marani." Lieutenant Koln's voice sounded in Linc's helmet—Koln had a screen that monitored Linc's view field. "Let's get back to some work here."
"Just resting my eyes."
Linc returned his gaze to the task at hand. It involved attaching a tank and pump to a frame assembly floating in space, and then installing the connecting pipework and hoses. The manipulators that Linc was controlling had five fingers and were jointed to mimic the motions of a human hand. "Sys on. View schematic, page three," he said aloud. A diagram showing part of the system he was building appeared in his field of vision. "Detail G7." A valve and its surroundings enlarged. "Rotate Z-minus, thirty . . . . Rotate X-plus, ten." Linc studied the arrangement for a few seconds. "Sys off." The schematic vanished. Linc positioned a next length of pipe and commenced making the joint.
"Take your time. You're doing just fine," Lieutenant Koln said.
A mile or so off to Linc's left, in front of the distant green jewel of Jade, a skeleton of girders and lattices the size of a city block hung like an engineer's drawing printed on the starry backdrop. Christened Hermes, it would eventually become a transfer station placed in a highly elliptical orbit to cycle permanently between intercepts with the orbits of Mars and Earth. The Outzoners figured that besides its usefulness to themselves, such a facility would offer services that could be traded for many needs they would depend on Earth to supply for a while longer yet. The concept of a cycling station had been around for many years, but projected times for building it had always fallen outside the ten-year "window of feasibility" that had plagued Earth-bound administrations. Projects not completed during that time were almost inevitably defunded or canceled by new political regimes with different aims and priorities. Hence, few truly ambitious schemes had a believable chance of ever becoming reality.
Grayling Station had been part of an original plan to develop a broad-based space manufacturing and construction capability using materials sent up from the Moon. That program had never become much more than artist's impressions in glossy PR brochures for stockholders, and worsening political complications made the prospects for further large-scale commitment uncertain at best.
At least that was so in the near-Earth regions of space. To avoid interference, the Outzoners obtained and processed the bulk of their materials distantly—which, in any case, was where they were used. Hence, Grayling was a relic of an idea that had come and then foundered, rather than the beginnings of anything expected to grow significantly.
Large-scale construction in space was comparatively easy. On Earth there was gravity to contend with. Most of the design difficulties with large structures stemmed from having to devise ways of getting them to stand under their own weight. Assembly involved balancing and swinging large beams into position and then supporting them while they were fixed with welds, fasteners, rivets, or the like. In space there was no weight. Low-mass assemblies sufficed and could be gently floated into place and secured without the hazards of collapse or injury from accidental falls. And since much of the assembly process was repetitive, consisting of attaching the same basic forms over and over again, it could be performed by robots. Linc quite enjoyed being out where the yellow-painted robots crawled along the extending structures, guiding them with laser designators to indicate where and how the next unit was to be positioned. In a way it was creating artistry in metal of a different kind . . . However, today he was doing tanks and pipes.
He finished the last joint, pressured up the system as directed, and verified from a sixty-second sampling of the gauges that there were no major leaks. He called down the log sheet, checked the items he had completed, and Koln signed them off as inspected and passed. "Okay, you can take a break, Marani. That was good. Camarel, let's see you try the next section."
Linc exited from the system, took off the VR helmet he had been wearing, and was instantly back at a console inside the Construction Shack, a mile from the remote-directed "waldo" assembly robot he'd been controlling. He took off the wired gloves and unsnapped the restraint holding him in his "seat." Willie floated in to take his place and prepared to run the initiation drill. Flash and Arch were at other consoles nearby, also in helmets, the screens above them showing respectively a close-up of manipulators connecting power cables to a terminal box, and a reference chart from the library back at Grayling. Senior Cadet Ross, the fifth member of the team with Koln that day, was standing by, ready to assist.
Koln moved to look at Flash's monitor. "Make sure to use the sticky prod to pick up those metal clippings. They aren't going to fall out of the way anywhere. If there's one place they can short something out, they'll find it."
"Will do, sir," Flash's voice acknowledged from a speaker grille.
Koln moved his gaze to Arch's screen. "Are you still awake in there, Egan? We've had this instruction sheet up here for the last five minutes."
"I'm trying to remember how to reprogram from spot weld to seam," Arch answered.
"Okay, what you need to do is go back up another level to get the function macros . . . "
Construction was a good way of attaining general, all-round extravehicular-activity capability. EVA would become as much a part of life out in space as using sidewalks or crossing the street in a city. In addition, for the military, familiarity with structures would be a necessary preliminary to later learning the arts of close-in space assault tactics, entering and securing, disabling and demolition, and so forth.
Larger screens on the rear wall showed views in different directions around the shack. In the distance beyond Grayling, appearing as a foreshortened finger of silver viewed almost end-on, was the long-range transporter ship Constellation that had arrived from the Outzone in the last few days and would be returning there shortly. Many of the transients passing through Grayling would be departing with it, with a new intake from Earth coming up to take their place. Those who had made senior cadet would be moving on. Mace would be going on an accelerated plan, since space riggers were urgently needed out there. And Rick would be going—there was nothing for him to practice his future occupation on at Grayling. The professions evidently took precedence over rank-and-file military. Linc and the others could only hope their turn would come next time.
"It takes you a minute or two to adjust to being back inside, doesn't it?" Ross said to Linc. Koln was still talking to Arch.
"Right," Linc agreed. In operation a waldo anchored itself to the structure it was working on. After you got used to the feeling of immovability that came from controlling it and sensing through it, coming out of the link again into zero-gravity surroundings made you reel all over the place.
"You in for the poker game tonight?"
Linc shook his head. "Passing again this time."
"Okay, don't tell me."
Linc sent him a what-else-can-I-tell-you? shrug and looked back at the screens showing the panoramas outside. Now that the month of accelerated basics was over, life for the cadets had eased somewhat. They were assigned to other officers for spells, instead of being captives of Schultz all the time—although, now, looking back, Linc found he couldn't view Schultz other than with what could only be described as a kind of affection. Leave breaks were given regularly, which meant being able to see Julie when their schedules permitted. And that fact alone had made a big difference in his existence. For the first time he had the feeling something clean and decent had come into his life, something he didn't want to risk spoiling.
Yes, indeed, Linc reflected as he gazed out at the universe. For once, things seemed to be taking on a definitely more pleasant aspect.
Chapter Twenty-Six
THROUGH the days that followed, shuttles arrived from various parts of Earth, bringing more who would be joining the Constellation. Accommodation aboard the ship was not always ready on time, and Grayling Station became a staging post, filled beyond its normal capacity. There were so many comings and goings, people crowded into makeshift dormitories for a night and gone the next, vessels docking and leaving at the Axle, that there was little opportunity to check for names and faces that one might know. But chance encounters did occur among those who had been in earlier preparatory courses together.
Linc and Julie had grabbed the chance unwind for an hour in the low-gravity exercise and pool area in the Axle. Rocky and Liz were with them, making the best of the unusual circumstance of all four getting a midday break together. They were sitting in a terrace area overlooking the Axle canteen, where the glass enclosing walls let them follow the docking operations at the ports outside and shuttles maneuvering around the Constellation in the distance. Below the terrace and the observation windows ran a gallery carrying a traffic of people moving between the docking ports and other parts of Grayling.
"Oh, I got hauled in through getting mixed up in what my older brother was into," Rocky told the others. "He used to be with the Canadian counterterrorism units and kinda ended up running his own private army when he got out. You know, stashing illegal weapons—they're real hot on that up there. Paramilitary things with other vets."
"What kind of things?" Julie asked.
"Oh . . . contract services for people who maybe wanted to exert a little pressure somewhere, you know—like dealers being slow on payment. Or maybe who are worried about protecting assets they'd rather the government didn't know about. Anyway, when they got me it was over some trumped-up thing because they figured I'd be able to give them names. So I ended up with these four guys in a back room for, you know, the treatment—and they must have been there for practice or something because they weren't much more than kids themselves. Well, I creamed all four of 'em pretty good, and they didn't like that at all . . . " Rocky paused while Liz emitted a peal of delighted laughter. She had no doubt heard it before but apparently never tired of it. "And that put me in the line for a deep hole somewhere, except that this option came up." Rocky shrugged and gestured around. "And here I am."
"Well, I'm sure glad it did," Liz said, clasping his arm.
"Did your brother show you how to fight too?" Linc asked.
Rocky nodded. "Oh sure. He learned it with the military. Used to fight as an army boxer too. You wouldn't want to mess with him."
"Where is he now?" Julie asked.
"I'm not sure. Life got too cramped, so he moved on.
Down south somewhere, I heard—South America. There's action there. That'd be enough."
Linc got the feeling that Rocky probably knew more. There were ways people like that stayed in touch. And good reasons why they kept it to themselves.
"Hey, get a load of that one moving in toward the Constellation now," Liz said, nodding toward the window wall. "Aren't those Russian markings on it?"
The others turned their heads to look. "Heavy freight lifter," Rocky pronounced. "They boost them up with ground lasers. Maybe it's full of wood to panel some general's bedroom."
"That would keep Rick busy for a while," Julie said.
Linc looked away. The table they were sitting at was by a rail looking down one of the stairways to the gallery. Among the figures moving in slow bounds or by pulling along the handrails below were three men together, one of them in a tan uniform that caught his eye—similar to the kind worn by the coaches at Coulie. One of the other two was in a regular casual jacket, while the third, in the center, carrying a briefcase, wore the black suit and reversed collar of a cleric. Linc sat up sharply as they came nearer and the light caught the priest's features. He was of dark, Mexican appearance with a thin mustache. Linc tugged Julie's sleeve and nodded. "Tell me I'm not seeing things. Is that guy in the middle down there Angelo from Coulie, or is it Angelo from Coulie?"
Julie leaned across the table to see and then gasped. "Oh, my God!" she exclaimed. "It is! . . . But what's he doing in that outfit?"
"Who's Angelo?" Rocky asked.
"Somebody we were within Phase One. Linc's first real friend there," Julie replied.
"I'll be right back," Linc said, getting up.
He loped across to the stairs and descended as fast as was possible in the reduced gravity, floating like a balloon on his feet and moving more by pulling with his hands. By the time he caught up with the group, they had turned a corner into the main corridor leading to the docking ports and unloading bays. "Hey, Angelo!" he called. The figure in the dark suit stopped and looked back. Then his face split into the familiar wide grin.
"Linc!" The two men with Angelo looked at him questioningly. He said something to them. They nodded and moved on.
"Don't forget the gate closes in fifteen minutes," one of them called back.
Linc and Angelo moved to one side of the corridor, out of the flow of people, and shook hands warmly. Linc spread his arms in disbelief. "I thought you'd have lost that tan out here" was all he could think of to say just at that moment.
"Why? The Sun's stronger. So how you been making out? Doing okay?"
"Sure. We went through Seville T, in Texas."
"Uh-huh." Angelo nodded. It evidently needed no explaining. "You're looking great. The military, eh? Somehow I wouldn't have thought it."
"Oh, I didn't exactly plan things that way, but that's another story. How about you? Where did you go from Coulie?"
