altitude: less than 2,000 meters above the crater floor. They’d decided that since every test had been detected, there was no point in trying to hide the test, at least after the fact. Dr. Chun had argued that their mission planning would be better served if they reduced the altitude so they could determine the most effective detonation placement for the warhead they would use against Antu. For all the lunar surface showed the scarring from the first tests, thus far the real impact to the regolith had been minimal. If they gave the moon a serious thump, then they’d get some useful data.
A small booster rocket sat cradled on what was left of the up thrust ridge. It had been positioned by a six man team several days ago, waiting for its moment while Chinese crews set up sensors, relays and cameras in concentric circles around the site. The nearest ones sat on the slag heap of the crater rim, the furthest nearly four hundred miles away. The distant ones were set to launch themselves upward before the test so they could reach sufficient altitude to see over the horizon to the crater itself at the moment when the warhead went off.
No human eyes were on the backside of the moon, at least as far as the Chinese could tell. After the loss of Lunarcom II they’d learned to time their tests when there wasn’t something orbiting overhead. Lunar orbits could be very low and fast, but they were easily predicted.
The nearest humans to Tsiolkovskiy were at Amundsen, from there they watched everything. They tracked Lunarcom I until it dropped over the horizon, then started the test. Twenty-two sensor rockets launched simultaneously, and the countdown for the warhead started several seconds later.
Screens all over Amundsen and Chang Er carried the view from the outer ring of sensors. The second ring of rockets launched, streaking toward their appointed positions. The third ring inward, the last of the sensors that were beyond the horizon launched on schedule. The inner rings were visible on the high-resolution cameras as tiny sparks in a rising disk. Finally, the booster for the warhead ignited, brighter by far than the smaller sensor rockets. It carried itself upward, an altitude display showing its ascent.
1,800 meters ... 1,900 meters ... and then a star erupted, hundreds of times more intense than the sun, and then the cameras died. All of them.
***
Amundsen Radio Observatory, Amundsen Crater:
Once they’d picked themselves up off the floor, the cheering began in earnest. And then stopped as ejecta started raining down. First there came a loud hissing, like rain on a tin roof, then it progressed to a pounding like giant hailstones.
Dr. Chun realized what was happening first, grabbing his assistant and shoving him toward the stairwell to the lower deck. Several of the other technicians looked around in confusion, watching him pushing people from the room. They’d survived the quake, and they were below the dish of the radio telescope.
Another loud crash reverberated through the Control Room, this time a small boulder bounced across their roof. “Get below!” Chun shouted, his voice drowned out in the roaring noise. Another shaking thump made his point obvious as everyone ran for the stairs. Chun looked around one last time, making sure nobody was left behind before he dashed for safety.
A shattering crash, louder than any before, threw him painfully against one of the computer consoles. He howled in agony, a red fog of searing pain clouding his vision. His ears rang, then popped. A shrieking whistle rose above the hissing of the sandstorm. His ears popped again, and he saw the emergency door slide shut at the bottom of the stairs.
The whistling became a roar. Debris from around the room began flying into his face, cutting him, then battering him to the ground. He looked up at the ceiling, blinking his eyes to clear the haze away. Above him he saw stars. Then blackness.
***
Sentinel Colony:
Viki rolled
Steve Miller, Sharon Lee and Steve Miller