Helium3 - 1 Crater by Homer Hickam Page B

sling blade pump. Crater figured it would give the fastbug at least a quarter more power and speed on the dustway, as the convoy route that started in Moontown and ended in Armstrong City was called.
    Petro showed up to help install the modified fuel cell.
    After cranking down a few bolts, he said, “Just so you know, I’ve quit the scrapes and joined the convoy. I’m going to drive one of Carlos Sepulveda’s trucks.”
    Crater angrily tossed down a wrench and grabbed the one Petro was holding. “Maria’s one of the scouts. Guess that’s why you’re going along.”
    Petro took the wrench back. “That’s not why I’m going.
    Maria’s a sweet girl but not my type. When I took her out, all she wanted to talk about was business and profits and, oh yeah, you . Kept wanting to know what you were like. I told her you worried too much about everything. Don’t even think about grabbing this wrench again. I’m gonna help you whether you like it or not.”
    Crater reached for the wrench but Petro pulled it away.
    â€œMaybe you’re right about me being a worrier. If so, you’re a worry I don’t need. I’m going to ask Captain Teller to kick you off the convoy.”
    Petro studied him. “Why would you do that? Haven’t I always looked after you?”
    â€œNo, you haven’t. I can’t think when you ever have.”
    Petro frowned, then assumed a crooked grin. “You don’t mean a word of that. It’s Maria, right? I already told you that’s not going anywhere. Anyway, the captain’s already signed my papers. One of Carlos’s drivers came down with kidney stones and is flat on his back. Both he and the captain were glad to have me.”
    Crater knew Carlos Sepulveda mostly by reputation. He was an honest trucker, quiet and reserved, although he had an eye for Q-Bess and perhaps vice versa. Whenever he was in town, she always did something with her hair.
    No matter what Petro said, Crater was sure he had joined the convoy so he could chase after Maria. Petro wasn’t one to let a girl get the better of him. He would figure out how to win her and kiss her beneath the stars out there on the dustway.
    It made Crater’s stomach hurt to imagine how it would all develop. “If you’re going, Petro, it’s because you’ve got some angle, not because of me,” he accused.
    â€œDon’t be silly, brother,” Petro said.
    â€œYou’re not my brother,” Crater snapped. “We just used to live in the same tube.”
    Petro threw down the wrench. “Fine. If that’s the way you want it, you and me—we’re through. You’re on your own.”
    â€œWhat else is new?” Crater demanded, then pretended not to care when Petro stormed out.

    The night before the convoy began its journey across the wayback, Captain Teller ordered his scouts to the east maintenance shed for a briefing. Crater and Maria sat cross-legged on the mooncrete floor beside the two scout fastbugs while the captain went down on one knee. Behind him was a big, boxy truck filled with spare parts, food, water, puters, and bunk beds. It was Teller’s truck, which he called the chuckwagon.
    The black tunic Teller wore was severely plain, excepting a white collar. It reminded Crater of pix he’d seen of the Pilgrims who’d settled old New England. All Teller needed was an ancient, cracked Bible in one hand and a blunderbuss in the other. Based on the flurry of directives and rules that Crater had received on his reader, the convoy commander was a man who was careful, meticulous in thought and manner, and tightly wound. He had set forth how-tos on everything that had to do with a convoy: the order of march, the route, the minimum distance between trucks, even the average joules a truck solar panel should collect in an hour’s soak. At the bottom of each directive, Teller had written,