Helium3 - 1 Crater (12 page)

Crater hopped off Irish's truck and ran to his fastbug, moved it out of the way, and waved three trucks through, then stood in the road to stop any more. If they were coming, they'd have to run over him. He was not going to move. After a minute had passed, he waved on another three. The third one was driven by Petro, who yelled, “Here I go!”

Crater waved him on, then bodily blocked the road again. The next three trucks included Irish's. He provided Crater an insulting hand gesture, which changed to a salute as he passed. There was a rhythm now. Crater kept waving trucks on, three at a time. Finally, it was just Captain Teller and his chuckwagon.

“A poor job, Crater,” Teller admonished. “And don't just stand there with your mouth open. Your day's just starting. Catch up with Maria.
Go!
”

Crater went. Driving on the bridge was breathtaking. The rille, probably a collapsed lava tube, was so deep, it looked like the Big Miner had reached down from the stars and dragged the prong of a gigantic pick through the dust.

Before long, Crater caught up with Maria. “All the trucks are across the bridge.”

“I heard you had a little trouble,” she said in a snarky tone.

“Well, they got across.”

Maria looked dubious, then said, “Why don't you scout ahead?”

“Because Captain Teller didn't tell me to.”

Maria's expression turned as cold as a shadow on the moon. “Crater, let me explain something. I own this company and I employ Captain Teller. I give him the authority he has. I also employ you. Any questions?”

“I guess not.”

“Then get going.”

Crater mashed the accelerator and his fastbug's modified fuel cell kicked in, throwing up rooster tails of dust that covered Maria. Grinning while she sputtered in outrage, Crater sped away. Ahead lay the open dustway, the endless plains and craters, and the wild territories of the wayback. All of a sudden, Crater couldn't wait to see them.

:::
ELEVEN

T
he convoy plowed on for twelve more hours with Crater and Maria alternating at the point. Then Teller ordered a halt for the drivers to rest. The blazing sun bore down as they raised their solar panels and pulled down their sun shields, most of them crawling into curtained bunks behind the bench seats for a nap. Crater joined Maria and Teller in the chuckwagon. “A good first day, absent Crater's failure at the bridge,” the captain said. “Get yourselves something to eat and drink, then some sleep.”

Maria went to the cupboard. “Peanut butter sandwich?” she asked Crater while Teller busied himself at his puter.

Crater was smarting from Teller's criticism, but he was also hungry and glad to have the sandwich. He poured faux powdered orange juice in plaston cups while Maria made her peanut butter and bread creations, adding strawberry jam— all of it artificial from the biovats, of course. She brought the sandwiches and sat down at the compact table. Crater joined her and they ate and drank in silence.

“What's wrong with you?” Maria asked after she'd finished the first half of her sandwich.

“What do you mean?”

“You're so quiet.”

“It's hard to talk and eat a peanut butter sandwich at the same time,” Crater pointed out.

“I think you're pouting because the captain said you did a poor job at the bridge. Well, you did, so what else was he going to say?”

“I don't want to talk about it,” Crater said.

“You also don't like it when I tell you what to do.”

“Now I really don't want to talk about it.”

Maria took a bite out of the second half of her sandwich, chewed it thoughtfully, and then noticed the gillie move in its holster. “Would the gillie talk to me?”

“Gillies are only supposed to answer questions.”

“Petro said yours does more than that.”

The mention of Petro made his jealousy bloom again but Crater remained calm, at least on the outside. “What else did he say?”

“He said you loved that little blob of slime mold cells.”

“I don't love it. I don't love anybody.”

Maria apparently enjoyed needling Crater. “I would like to ask your gillie a question. Is that all right?”

“Sure, but it won't answer unless I tell it to.”

“Then tell it. What's the harm?”

Crater thought it over. He supposed there was no harm, other than general stupidity for Maria to think she could stump the gillie. In fact, he thought it might be fun for the gillie to show off a bit so he said, “Gillie, this girl is going to ask you a question. I give you permission to answer it.”

Maria blinked her big brown eyes. “Why did you call me ‘this girl'? I have a name.”

“I didn't think I should use the first name of my boss.”

“Give me something of a break, Crater.”

Crater shrugged. “Gillie,
Maria
”—he pronounced it with some disdain—“is going to ask you a question. Please answer it.”

“Gillie,” Maria said, “do you think Crater is nice?”

“It doesn't answer personal questions,” Crater snapped.

Define nice
, the gillie said, crawling out of its holster to Crater's shoulder.

Maria gave Crater a triumphant glance, then said, “Is he kind, brave, and clean? And does he like brunettes?”

The gillie turned a crystal blue and managed to look thoughtful, then said,
He is kind. He is brave, though he doubts himself. He generally bathes when he can, but he has at times worn underwear that is not clean. He likes girls, and the color of their hair does not matter
.

“How about me? Does he like me?”

“No more questions,” Crater growled. For some reason, his face was feeling decidedly hot.

The gillie preened, changing its color to a golden yellow.

He alone can answer
.

Maria laughed softly. “Well said, Gillie. So, Crater, do you like me? Not many boys do. They think I'm too bossy.”

“Well, I agree with them,” Crater said.

“That was an honest answer,” Maria said, though she didn't sound grateful. She didn't look grateful either. “I guess we've established at least one thing with your gillie. You don't like me and, guess what, I don't like you either.” She raised her chin. “But we're professionals, are we not? We'll continue to work together, me telling you what to do and you doing it.”

“Fine,” Crater snapped.

“Fine,” Maria snapped back. “Pick up our dishes, wash them, and tidy up the kitchen. I'm going to bed.”

Crater did as he was told, his lower lip out in grumpy fashion, while Maria climbed into one of the bunks and snapped the curtain shut.

During the dustup between Crater and Maria, Captain Teller kept his eyes focused on his puter screen though he was listening. He was also smiling. “Kids,” he said, then shook his head.

He'd have to keep an eye on those two. They liked each other, though they hadn't figured it out yet. He also took a moment to think about something other than the convoy. He was wondering if maybe he'd done enough convoying. He had a fine wife and three marvelous kids in Armstrong City. He also had a nice savings account in Armstrong City stuffed with johncredits. Teresa wanted to invest it in a sundome that could hold a vineyard. She was from the Italian Amalfi Coast and her family had owned vineyards for centuries. Why not one on the moon? With enough water and fertilizer and sun, the grapes would grow, and during the long shadow, they could use sunlamps. She had it all figured out, and Teller was thinking perhaps it was time to follow her dream. After all, how many times could a man cross the moon and come through unscathed? Any man could run out of luck, and Teller figured he'd almost used up his allotment.

But that decision was for later. Now, he had a convoy to get across the moon, a convoy laden with the treasure of the Alpine Valley. He turned back to the puter, plotting his course, calculating the time line.

:::
TWELVE

T
ake the point, Crater,” Teller said.

Crater was happy to do it, just to get away from Maria and the unhappy glances she kept sending his way. After an hour of driving, he approached a series of craters named after the old states of the original American union. He took them one after the other, Montana, West Virginia, and Texas, then drove down a long straightaway. He opened up the fastbug, just to see what it could do.

Sixty miles per hour
, the gillie said.

Crater let off the accelerator. He could have gone even faster, but he didn't know the road ahead and feared hitting a hole or a bump. After an hour of steady driving, the captain called him. “Change out with Maria,” he said.

Crater did a u-turn and sped back to the convoy, passing Maria who diverted her eyes from him. Crater turned around and began to pace alongside the leading trucks.

The gillie had been very quiet as if absorbing all the new things it was seeing but, Crater wondered, were they new? The gillie had crossed the moon, probably near this very track, when he was brought across as a baby by his foster parents.

Could it remember that far back? It occurred to Crater he'd never asked the gillie what it recalled about that time.

But questioning the gillie would have to wait. He needed to focus on driving.

Number eleven truck out of line
, the gillie said.

Crater checked his mirror and saw the gillie was correct.

He called the driver. “Number eleven, please get back in line.”

There was no response and the truck kept coming. The next time Crater looked back, number eleven had passed two trucks. Then Crater saw another truck move into the open lane to the left of number eleven.

Truck number twelve out of line
, the gillie advised.

Crater couldn't figure out why the trucks had pulled into the other lanes. After all, Captain Teller had read the official rules of the convoy, and there was one that said there would be no passing. “Truck twelve, get in line,” he called. There was no response.

Crater threw the wheel hard over, skidded around, and floored the accelerator to send the fastbug flying back. He zoomed between the errant trucks, then performed the maneuver again, coming up behind them. “Gillie, are they talking on another freq?”

Yes
, the gillie said and made the connection.

“Move out, boys and girls!” he heard one of the drivers urge the others. “Race time!”

“Time to stretch it!” another driver called.

“You'll pay this time, Ching Hoo!”

Crater understood. The drivers were racing. “Get back in line!” he demanded. The result was more trucks swerving into the open lanes.

“This ain't nothing to do with you, sonny boy!” came an anonymous reply.

“Yeah, watch yourself, youngster. This is a man's race!”

Captain Teller called, “Crater, why are those trucks out of the line?”

“They're racing, sir,” Crater replied.

“Why are you letting them?”

“I'm not, sir. They just started on their own.”

“Then stop them!”

Crater wanted to ask the captain how he was supposed to stop the trucks. They were ten times the size of his fastbug and could run right over him. He did the only thing he could think to do. He accelerated past the leaders, then swerved back and forth in front of them in an attempt to slow them down. The maneuver didn't faze the drivers, who bore relentlessly down.

Crater saw a curve ahead and knew he was going too fast.

He slowed, then smoothly accelerated to get around the curve without skidding. As he came through it, he spotted a crack in one of the lanes. Although he'd covered the road on his scout, he'd not paid much attention to any of the outer lanes. Steering quickly, he avoided the crevice which was about eight feet long and looked to be about six inches deep.