Project Sail by Anthony DeCosmo Page B

cold moon.
    The lake was eerily still, making it seem more a solid surface than a liquid. There was nearly no wind during this time on Titan. Hawthorne once heard that as the seasons changed over the course of many Earth years so did the weather, leading to hydrocarbon rain and even hurricanes.
    He saw three harvesters hovering over the lake, making him think of gigantic silver beetles with antenna poking the liquid like feelers. At the back of each hung a contraption of hoses and scoops stealing from the lake as the machine moved.
    Not long after sighting those awkward-looking giants, they passed a depot where harvesters unloaded payloads into circular cisterns. Those cisterns, in turn, filled tanker trains, which would find their way to launch pads and then ion drive barges.
    He remembered Horus’ warning about what space had become: a risky and spirit-draining sweatshop. The people at Camp Conrad and the other colonies across Titan were trapped in ships, buildings, and space suits. The sun was a tiny speck and the idea of fresh air a punch line.
    Yet these people and their machines provided a sizable portion of humanity’s energy.
    Hawthorne turned away from the window and such thoughts; he no longer cared about politics, hydrocarbon economics, or any part of the big picture. Life for Jonathan Hawthorne was a series of moments to be enjoyed or at least survived, and that might be a trick when the train reached its destination.
    To take his mind off what might lay ahead, he fumbled with the e-paper containing Thomas’ background. Fortunately the suit’s gloves were nimble enough to work with the sheet and the train’s interior was heated otherwise the paper would freeze and shatter.
    Fisk had not provided a complete dossier and Hawthorne did not feel like reading line for line, but a few highlights stood out.
    First off, he noticed that this lieutenant was a highly coveted soldier, sought by just about every command in the Saturn region. From a weapons platform orbiting Iapetus to a training facility buried in a canyon on Tethys, Lieutenant Thomas had been transferred more often in the last two years than Hawthorne in his entire career.
    “Who is this Thomas, some sort of super soldier?”
    He did not realize he spoke aloud. Of course aloud meant inside his helmet, but the proximity radio meant others, including Curtis, heard.
    The young Colonel jumped, as if electrified. “Um, yes, well the lieutenant is a favorite around here.”
    “What do you mean? What is Thomas’ specialty? Wait a second,” he read from the information. “Barely passed basic marksmanship, average scores on hand-to-hand, and no piloting skills. The only good grade I see is for tactics and robotics and those are just okay.”
    The questions lining up in his mind fell apart as a flash came through the window, a shock wave hammered the train, and the car spun. With sound traveling at half its Earthly speed, the boom from the explosion came last and because of Titan’s strange acoustics it sounded like a poorly tuned piano wire snapping.
    Hawthorne’s seatbelt held him tight while others flew into the walls and ceiling, filling his proximity radio with screams and grunts. Several suits sparked and he saw a plume of pressurized atmosphere shoot out from one poor man’s helmet. For a moment, he feared sparks would reach the venting oxygen. Given the methane in Titan’s atmosphere, that combination could lead to a bad fire.
    The car settled on its side with Hawthorne’s window facing the murky atmosphere, although a deluge of dust and rock rained on the glass.
    Most survived the attack, but he saw one twisted body wedged between seats and another with a smashed faceplate.
    As for Hawthorne, he shivered violently, not so much from the shock wave but fear. He had spent the last thirteen years of his life avoiding this type of situation. He should have told UVI to shove their contract and considered punching Fisk the next time they