Higher Mission

Higher Mission

LARRY HAMMERSLEY

CHAMPAGNE BOOK GROUP

Higher Mission

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Published by Champagne Book Group

2373 NE Evergreen Avenue, Albany OR 97321 U.S.A.

First Edition 2020

eISBN: 978-1-77155-000-0

Copyright © 2020 Larry Hammersley All rights reserved.

Cover Art by Robyn Hart

Champagne Book Group supports copyright which encourages creativity and diverse voices, creates a rich culture, and promotes free speech. Thank you by complying by not scanning, uploading, and distributing this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher. Your purchase of an authorized electronic edition supports the author’s rights and hard work and allows Champagne Book Group to continue to bring readers fiction at its finest.

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In memory of our daughter,

Tisha L. Hammersley

Chapter One

Cramer sat in a booth in the crowded restaurant on Iapetus, Saturn’s farthest orbiting moon. Almost all the men in this eating place mined the dark side of Iapetus and preferred women to food. A woman entered, and he feared for her safety when he saw how she was dressed. Her red dress appeared to be nylon and clung in all the right places on her perfect figure. The full skirt portion struck well above her knees. Her shoulder length blonde hair shimmered and cradled a pretty face. Her full lips curved downward in arrogance.

One man, tall and slender, and another man, short and fat, tried to grab her breasts. Cramer started to get up to help her but, despite the awkwardness of magneboots, her rapid movements settled the situation in a few seconds. She gave one a bloody nose and delivered a swift kick in the groin to the other. After the two men dragged themselves back to the bar, Cramer left.

Once out of the building complex and unhampered by the magneboots and the iron corridors, he floated freely across the rocky terrain. Anxious to see Branson, he looked forward to pairing up with someone on the next job. Cramer gazed up through the transparent dome at Saturn in the distance.

Unlike the other moons, Iapetus orbited out of the plane of Saturn’s rings. The mother planet showed her rings in a tilted fashion as if greeting and beckoning to him from a two-million-mile vantage point. Soon he would be answering that call, robbing her rings of the rare radioactive chunks commonly called hot rocks floating in Cassini’s Division. With the advent of the new radioactivity power conversion module, the value of raw uranium ore soared.

Cramer approached Branson’s office, and hoped for somebody like his old friend, the late Floyd Baxter. Fifteen years his senior, Floyd had an uncanny ability to retrieve ore from difficult places on asteroids, moons, or planets. They didn’t make mining experts like him anymore. He had been tough as the heavy metal ores he plucked from solar system bodies.

Cramer felt the effects of the gravity generator which furnished near-Earth gravity conditions as he confronted Branson, a short, potbellied man who temporarily represented the Mars company on Iapetus. He remained behind his ornate desk, looked up, and smiled as Cramer entered.

I found someone for you, Branson said.

Is he experienced?

Eh, it’s a woman and not quite as experienced as you want. Branson got up from his chair and walked away from him.

A woman? Oh, now that’s just great. No experience and a woman. She’ll get us both killed, he said, jerking around in front of Branson.

Ease up, Cramer. She’s young and has an unusual capacity for learning. Her physical prowess would put anybody to shame. Branson pointed at him.

I don’t need a cat burglar. I need someone who can fly a domer through the rings to get the hot rocks.

He turned his back on Branson and peered at an ancient painting of Saturn as seen from Mimas, one of its innermost moons. Saturn filled the sky and the rings cut across its cloud-enshrouded face. The snow covering on the moon’s surface appeared smooth and undulating across the scene. He felt an inner calm replace his anger.

Turning and starting for the door, Cramer spoke over his shoulder. Tell her lift is in five hours.

He heard Branson start to say something, but he didn’t wait.

~ * ~

Alcor sat on its three landing jacks just outside the dome. An atmospheric tunnel led to its boarding ramp. Ten stories high, it traveled only in vacuum or landed on low gravity, airless moons. A gravity generator in its bowels provided near-Earth gravity. The mining domers attached to its sides made it appear like an insect with two bulging eyes. Despite the low gravity, Alcor rested heavily on its hydraulics. Lead lined its cargo bay and the two domers to protect its crew of two from the hot rocks bagged during a mining run.

Cramer inspected every mechanism on the ship from top to bottom. The trip to Saturn’s rings wouldn’t be dangerous, but arrival at the rings called for perfect ship’s functions. He remembered two friends of his—late friends. Their ship malfunctioned and ring boulders breached the hull and landed in their laps. The graphic description given by the news of the effect of hard vacuum and space debris on his friends’ bodies burned in his mind.

Part way through a second check of the monitors and sensors, he heard the cabin door open behind him. Well, at least she’s punctual. He swiveled in his chair.

Cramer caught his breath. The woman from the restaurant stood before him dressed in a body suit. Over her right shoulder her flight bag hung by its straps, and her flight jacket dangled from her left shoulder. Her full lips and piercing blue eyes held the arrogance he noticed earlier.

She responded to his surprised look. Is there a problem?

I recognize you from the restaurant. He met her stare head on.

So?

Besides your lack of experience, your actions at the restaurant were irresponsible. Might as well be open about it. There would be no hiding anything from this woman.

Oh, you’re one of those. You’re all alike. Referring to women as girls, think they’re the weaker vessel, sex objects, good only for having babies. I’ve run into this on every job I’ve been on. You men are all alike, she said, flushing with anger.

Don’t categorize me with those pigs you tangled with at the restaurant. Why did you waltz in decked in that short, flimsy dress, anyway? Surely you knew what would happen in showing yourself to woman-hungry miners. Take chances like that in space and we’re both dead meat.

I have a right to wear what I want when I’m not on the job. You described my dress pretty accurately. Apparently you got your eyes full too.

I’m over fifty years old. I learned to control myself years ago, he said.

Yeah, and I own some rainforest on Mercury to sell you too.

Let’s cut the acid remarks. Give me your experience list, and you need to read this, he said, handing her the vidicube on the domers. She handed him the vidicube of her experience.

I do have a name. She ignored the vidicube he offered, then dropped her belongings beside her.

Oh, sorry. I’m Joe and you’re…? Embarrassed, he extended his hand.

She finally took the vidicube from his other hand and ignored his offer for a shake. Mona Watson.

I prefer a first name basis if you don’t mind. And no, I’m not trying to get personal with you.

Well, you’ve not given me any cause to think you’ll ever get personal. I’d reject that anyway. I’ve read the cube on the domers, she said, noting the vidicube she’d received.

Read it again, slowly.

Don’t need to.

Cramer took a deep breath, scanned her experience list and saw what he expected. You’ve never flown a domer. Since you think you have the manual memorized, you won’t mind taking a little oral quiz about them. Why are the domers smaller than an ordinary space taxi? He turned away from the scanner to face her.

They’re lined with lead, and the smaller size keeps the weight down so they’re easier to maneuver, she said, without hesitation.

Why is the interior of a domer a hard vacuum?

Again, to cut down on weight since no bulky air tanks are needed. She shifted her weight and put her hands on her hips.

How are they maneuvered?

Jets using nitrogen gas. The gas is stored in liquid form in the tank. It’s boiled with hot Nichrome coils to change it into gas for powering the jets.

What about the other source of propulsion? Cramer was impressed with her knowledge.

A solid propellant engine, the fuel being composed of nitrocellulose, nitroglycerin, and a plasticizer. It’s to be used as a last resort. It’s not for maneuvering.

How are the minerals retrieved?

She drew an impatient huffy breath. Tether lines are shot toward the rocks. The end of the line has a tungsten carbide spike which penetrates the boulder. Look, I know this stuff. She gritted her teeth slightly.

It’s one thing to memorize the manual, but quite another to fly a domer. Get settled in your quarters. We’ll be lifting off in thirty minutes. He turned back to the console. Her anger seemed to radiate his back as she left.

For a woman of thirty-five, her experience list had strength him. After her college undergraduate studies, she went on to earn doctorates in aerodynamics and spacecraft design. She held several jobs, all risky. That included piloting a skimmer on Io, the pizza moon of Jupiter with its inferno of unpredictable sulfur volcanoes. Operating a prospecting troller on asteroids such as Vesta and a trace element dogger on Ceres attested to her expert ship handling abilities.

~ * ~

Cramer never grew tired of the beauty of the planets. Two-faced Iapetus receded as he piloted Alcor into a spiral course toward Saturn. They left the tilted orbit of Iapetus and entered the plane of Saturn’s rings. Cramer gazed back at the bright, snow-covered side of Iapetus with its partially filled craters. The contrasting dark side with its low reflective black dust seemed to be keeping a secret from him. Saturn, on the other hand, beckoned to him. Come and get treasures from my rings if you think you can.

With the mining job ahead of him, he thought of his old friend Floyd again. Short, leather-skinned, a big nose that almost met his chin, he never cursed around him. Cramer shared his personal life with no one except Floyd.

Cramer smiled at that memory, fondness in his heart as he remembered the compassion and dedication residing beneath the tough exterior. Floyd had saved his bacon more than once in their space adventures. Regret grasped him as he remembered seeing Floyd’s ship tumbling out of control toward the sun. On that occasion, Cramer could not rescue him.

Then there was Mona. Despite their getting off to a rocky start, he couldn’t help admiring her professionalism, given her work experience. She didn’t pout by refusing to speak to him because of hurt feelings. That came through to him as she tried to learn of his background, but her brashness turned him off. He looked at a magnified image of the section of Saturn’s rings where they would be parking Alcor when she started quizzing him about his background.

You seem to have satisfied yourself as to my being an irresponsible and foolish risk taker. You’re wrong of course, but what about you? You make a lot of money in these mining ventures. Where does it all go?

What I do with my money is my business, he answered, miffed at the interruption. He’d been studying the blow up of the segment of rings of Saturn where they would be parking.

You don’t even own this ship. I noticed the logo, Olympus Mons Mining.

The Mars company and I have a close relationship. I take good care of their ship, bring them the hot rocks and they pay me well.

What does the missus think of you being gone for months at a time?

What makes you think I’m married?

You’re wearing a wedding ring, Mona said, pointing at his left hand.

He looked at his ring, touched it, said nothing, and looked back at the image on the viewer.

Your wife is dead, isn’t she?

He tried shutting out the memories of Rita’s death and continued to look at Saturn.

You should take your ring off, she said. It would better your chances of getting another wife. I think you’re the kind who needs a woman.

What makes you an expert on what kind I am? I told you not to line me up with your restaurant friends.

I’m not. Do you have children?

This time she went too far. Cindy was his and Rita’s only child, and he had shared the details of her illness with no one except Floyd. Even Branson didn’t know the details of Cramer’s sick family member. To speak of Cindy and her condition to someone he didn’t know would be too painful for him.

I’m getting fed up with your nosiness. How could any of your former associates stand working with you? His jugular strained the skin of his neck as he raised his voice.

Call it what you like, but I want to know what’s on my partner’s mind and if it’ll affect his judgment. I prefer to hear it direct from the horse’s mouth rather than some doctored computer database. I have no more desire to wind up as dead meat than you do. The tone of her voice was calm.

I tell you what will break my concentration. Your constant prying. He got up and took a deep breath to calm himself. Look, I’m sorry, he said. I think I’m just tired. I’m gonna turn in. I’d suggest you do the same. We’ll be arriving at the A ring tomorrow and I want to see what you can do with a domer before we get to Cassini’s.

Cramer noted her nod, her thin lipped expression masking her feelings. He left for his quarters.

~ * ~

Cramer parked Alcor among the ice boulders eighty kilometers from the inner edge of the A ring where Cassini’s Division began. He admired the view out the side port. On a background of Saturn’s clouds, icy chunks of all sizes orbited the gas giant. A short distance away, he knew the hot rocks waited to be plucked from Cassini’s. Suited up, Cramer held his helmet under his arm.

Remember, follow my lead and stay close, he said. Any questions about the domer’s controls?

I’ll let you know if there are.

With helmets in place, they entered the airlock to their domers. The domer’s controls, deceptively simple, included a small panel with a circular cluster of spheres for adjustment of the nitrogen jets, a split monitor for viewing front and back, an activation switch for the solid propellant engine, and a separate panel for the tether lines, all easily accessible from the pilot’s harness.

He took his domer into the heart of the ice chunk field and observed in the rear viewer Mona kept close behind. He wove a complex path through a thick cluster of small ice chunks, and she followed.

Okay, you take the lead.

She did not answer, except by positioning her domer in front of him. She began to pull away.

Don’t get wild, he said.

Stay with me if you think you can.

She headed deeper in, nicking a few smaller chunks as she pushed for more speed. He watched the monitor and one by one, avoided the ice boulders. Deftly, he rolled the control spheres on his panel, making his way after her. She was almost out of visual range.

We need to head back.

No answer. He lost sight of her as he continued onward at a faster pace. Mona must be nearer to Cassini’s Division now. A faint radio signal came from her, and he could pick out from the static something about the big one.

The external radiation monitor maxed out. She must be in Cassini’s now among the hot rocks scattered there. Miners searched for the legendary, huge, radioactive rock everyone called the big one. They looked for it, found it temporarily, then lost it among the myriad radioactive chunks. It eluded everybody like that fleeting shadow one could see from one’s side vision but could never view directly. Its orbit could not be plotted because of the complex perturbations of ring debris, nearby shepherding moons, and Saturn itself. Two domers might handle it. Excitement from finding the big one at a point in the gigantic expanse covered by Saturn’s rings caused Cramer to ditch safety precautions and head in.

The Cassini Division, thought to be devoid of ring matter until the old Saturn probes showed detailed photos proving otherwise, consisted of a multitude of smaller chunks. In recent times the hot rocks caused a lot of excitement.

When Cramer cleared the ice field he spotted the big one. He saw Mona’s domer, a black blob against the pale white backdrop of Saturn, her tether line already attached to the big one. He moved in and shot his line as well. Roughly spherical, the giant one-hundred-meter hot rock looked like an ancient, spiked ball battle mace.

Cramer numbed with excitement at seeing the elusive rock every miner dreamed of bagging. Have you tried to tug it?

Yes, and it hardly moved with full power from the N2 jets, she answered.

I’m not surprised. It’s bigger than I imagined. I doubt even two domers can tow it back to the ship before running out of N2. We’re too far away. He felt uneasy as he stared at the rotating body with its wicked sharp points.

There’s another way, she shouted.

You’re not suggesting the solid rocket propellant engines?

Yes, I am.

Out of the question. We’d have no control, and we don’t even know if the tethers would hold.

We can position our domers together in the right direction and blast at the same time, she said.

We’d have to fly out of the ring plane. Who knows where we’d end up?

No problem. When we clear the ring, we kick in the N2 jets and head for the ship. Look, if we can land this one we won’t have to work again for a long time.

The big one would net four times what they could gather in a single mining trip from the smaller stuff. The extra money would bring Cramer closer to paying for the in-depth studies of Cindy’s condition and therefore bring her closer to the treatments she needed. What Mona proposed would be risky. He wanted to study the ballistics and the forces involved, allow for distance, weight, give it more consideration, but time nullified that idea. The longer they waited, the farther the big one would travel in its orbit away from the ship.

Okay, let’s get our domers close together and take the slack out of the tethers. Set an inclination of fifteen degrees to ring plane. That will allow us to clear any ring matter.

With the domers next to each other they used their N2 jets to gain the proper angle. Once there, they ignited their solid propellant rockets simultaneously. The tether lines pulled taut, and at first they didn’t seem to be making headway. Bit by bit, the domers with their huge cargo accelerated. Flames belched from behind the domers in an even cone shape as they lifted above the plane of the rings. The ice field and Cassini appeared as circular carpets of white and dark below them. The propellant engines shut off. Domers and cargo sped on under their own momentum.

"Alcor should be somewhere below us, but I can’t hear the homing signal," Cramer said.

Let’s use the N2 jets to head toward that general area.

No, wait. It won’t work.

She ignored him and applied downward thrust. Her tether line slackened and the big one, with its relentless momentum, began to overtake her.

Quick, release your line, keep your jets on and get your domer out of there, he shouted.

Mona’s domer swung in a wide arc under the big one, then the tether lost its slack. Cramer heard her grunt through the radio. He tried to imagine the jolt she received when the tether line tightened. The domer pilot harnesses could absorb a lot of shock to a limit, but did hers hold? Her domer continued its swing, then disappeared behind the big one.

As her line wrapped around the rock, Cramer surmised she would pick up speed as her distance to the big one decreased. Mona, cut your tether now.

He gave a brief puff on his jets to take his domer down slightly. When the tether line went slack he cut it loose and gave full power to his jets. The big one drifted below him. He checked the back side of the rock, afraid of what he might see. Relieved, he saw no sign of a crushed domer, only a tether line floating above the rock. With Saturn in the background, he searched for a dark speck against that pale backdrop. No response came to his radio calls. At the same time he spotted her, a contrasting black dot against the washed out white clouds of Saturn. He heard the homing signal from Alcor loud and clear.

He headed after Mona as the big one drifted onward. In his rear monitor he believed he spotted the glint of metal in Saturn-light, just beyond the big one. He ignored it and gave full attention to his rescue mission, concentrating on his forward monitor. He caught up with her just before she reached the A ring and its countless boulders. Carefully, he brought his domer around and attached his interlock clamps with hers. He prayed her suit hadn’t been breached. Floating through the interlocks, he found her hanging limp in the harness. He closed his eyes and sighed when he noted her intact suit and her breathing.

Cramer steered the dual domers with the N2 jets in the direction of the homing signal. He soon learned why the signal came from the direction of the big one. Alcor and the big one nestled together, stationary, as if waiting on him. Someone took his ship. Carefully, he steered the domers into their docked positions. Whoever took the ship would be waiting for him. Mona regained consciousness and staggered as he helped her through the interlock into the ship’s interior and to her quarters. Still, no one showed.

I hit my head against the helmet face plate and my ankle might be broken, she said, her tone hesitant.

He helped her off with her suit. Better get an ice pack on your head and ankle.

He left and went forward for a confrontation. Pushing the door open to the pilot’s cabin, he saw the small figure of a man in his chair with his back to him. Cramer shivered with chills as he stared at the man’s back. The man slowly turned in the chair to face him. Short, leather-skinned, with a big nose that almost met his chin—Cramer gasped and stumbled backward.

In a flash, he thought back on the ill-fated mission he and Floyd took to Icarus, the asteroid far inside the orbit of Mercury at the time. He and Floyd had simultaneously shot their ore monitor toward the rocky surface. The heavy tether lines held fast as the equipment package hit an uneven spot on Icarus which caused the tether lines to jerk both their small ships. The whiplash effect sent Floyd’s ship tumbling out of control toward the sun while his small craft nearly collided with Icarus.

Floyd! I thought you were dead. His voice quivered.

Takes more than a little brush with the sun to kill me off, he said through his sunken mouth. It puckered into a smile.

He stood up, and Cramer grabbed him by the shoulders, giving him an affectionate squeeze. I’m really glad to see you. How did you come to be here?

Branson was surprised to see me and then told me where you were and gave me the green light to join you. My ship is nearby. Who helped you snag the big one?

Mona Watson, a young woman. She’s an excellent pilot and a quick learner. She’s also hurt. I’d better check on her again.

I’m okay, except I need my ankle checked out, she said from behind them. She leaned against the doorway, her knee bent so her bad foot cleared the floor.

You shouldn’t be on that foot. Let me help you sit down, Cramer said, putting his arm around her waist to help her keep the weight off her foot.

Joe has a high opinion of you, Floyd said.

He’s never told me face to face, she replied.

Eh, Floyd, think we can get the big one into the mineral bay? Cramer asked, trying to avoid embarrassment.

Piece of cake for the three of us, he said.

With Mona fine tuning the position of the ship, Cramer and Floyd brought the big one into the mineral bay.

She received treatment at the miner’s infirmary orbiting Mimas. Floyd promised Cramer he would check in at the mining office on Mars and be around for the next mining venture. He left in his own ship. The big one would bring a fortune, but Cramer couldn’t get Floyd to take anything other than operating expenses for his small ship.

With Alcor’s cargo unloaded onto a large Martian freighter, Cramer went to the infirmary to check on Mona. The doctor released her and wouldn’t reveal her whereabouts because of her demand for privacy. He gave up looking, and hoped Branson could pay her somehow. After landing Alcor on Iapetus he caught a shuttle up to a Martian freighter for a ride back to Mars.

~ * ~

The mining company, along with the medical complex, rested at the base of Olympus Mons, the huge and extinct volcano on Mars. Cramer hurried down the hall of the hospital to his daughter’s room. Cindy, now twenty years old, completely helpless and mostly unresponsive to outside stimuli, knew only the sensation of spoon feeding, a cold wash cloth, and the need to eliminate body waste.

He sat beside her bed, stroked her long, brown, wavy hair, leaned close to her ear, and murmured, Hi, sweetheart. He watched her eyes, hoping to see a response. Ever since her first birthday there had been no response. Before that she used to follow him or Rita with her eyes as they walked across the room. Cramer broke down when he had witnessed Cindy’s first seizure. Her short-circuited nerve cells kept her from responding. All his money went to keeping the precious life of his daughter going. Some day after the best doctors available could study Cindy, he knew she could be helped. Doctor Canfield invoked optimism by telling him of the new nerve regeneration work.

Behind him, he envisioned he could feel someone looking in. He jerked around and saw the hem of an orange dress before she disappeared.

Please, come in, he called, then heard the faint sound of feet bounding down the hallway as the woman left. He moved to the door, curious as to who would be checking on his daughter but the corridor was empty.

Later at the mining office, Cramer read the analysis sheet on the big one. Rich in U-238, it provided Cramer with the funds to continue the good care of Cindy, but not quite enough money to get in touch with the best doctors on Mars and in