Eagle Station

With a big grin of his own, Vasey reached around her and clapped him on the shoulder. “Not bad for a Yank, I guess.” His smile faded as he unstrapped himself and stood up, moving carefully in the moon’s low gravity. “If we had champagne, I’d offer a toast… but we’re on the clock, so—”

Brad nodded and reached for his own safety harness release buckle. The other man was right. This successful landing only completed the first phase of their attack plan. But they were still more than two hundred miles from the Sino-Russian base. Since they had been under constant observation by the Kondor-L radar satellite as they orbited around the moon, they couldn’t hope to achieve complete surprise. But there was at least a slim chance that moving fast now might throw the base’s Chinese and Russian crew off-balance.

He stood up and helped Nadia get out of her own seat. Then he turned to Vasey. “Okay, Constable, the ship is yours,” he said quietly.

Solemnly, the Englishman nodded. He was tasked with waiting here to fly in and pick them up if they succeeded… or to die alone, if they failed.

Minutes later, Brad and Nadia stood outside on the surface of the moon. For now, the slim, silvery carbon-fiber space suits they wore kept them alive in this airless environment. Another Sky Masters innovation, the suits used electronically controlled fibers to compress the skin instead of pressurized oxygen. But EEAS suits were not designed for prolonged use under these supremely hostile conditions. Both of them were already starting to sweat as their suits’ limited environmental systems struggled to handle temperatures that hit 260 degrees Fahrenheit in full sun.

“We’re set,” he radioed Vasey. “You can open the cargo hatch.”

“Roger that,” the other man replied. “I’m activating the hatch now. Stand clear.”

There was no sound as the wide, curved hatch on the flank of the Xeus unlatched and swung open — revealing the lander’s crowded cargo compartment. More machinery spun into gear. Silently, pulleys and gear systems extracted two large, humanlike machines from the compartment and deposited them onto the surface. Insulated packs containing weapons, explosives, and other gear followed them out.

The two combat-modified Cybernetic Lunar Activity Devices, or CLADs, were no longer bright white. Instead, their composite armor “skin” was covered by hundreds of small, gray, hexagonal tiles. Made of a special material, these tiles could change temperature with amazing rapidity. Using data collected by its sensors, a CLAD’s computer could adjust the temperature of each tile to mimic that of its surroundings — rendering the robot virtually undetectable by infrared and other thermal sensors. Under combat conditions, that could be a lifesaver. But even on Earth, rapid movement with an active thermal camouflage system would drain batteries and fuel cells. Here, given the moon’s wild temperature fluctuations, where it was possible to experience swings of five hundred degrees or more just by moving from sunlight into shadow, this thermal camouflage system could only be used for very brief moments.

Each CLAD carried a second camouflage system, this one even more advanced — but equally limited by power constraints. Paper-thin electrochromatic plates covered each thermal tile. Tiny voltage changes could change the mix of colors displayed by each plate, giving the robot a chameleon-like ability to blend in with its environment while motionless or moving cautiously.

Brad glided over to the nearest machine. He reached up and pushed a glowing green button on a hatch set in its back. It cycled open. “Let’s mount up.”

“On my way,” Nadia radioed. She hit the hatch button on her own Cybernetic Lunar Activity Device, pulled herself up a short ladder, and crawled inside the machine. The hatch sealed behind her.

Brad did the same thing. As usual, he felt a momentary touch of claustrophobia as he wriggled upward into the lower level of the robot’s tiny cockpit. Green lights glowed on the right-sleeve control panel of his space suit. With its hatch closed and a human pilot on board, the CLAD’s own life-support systems had pressurized the cockpit.

Carefully, he undogged his helmet and pulled it off. His nose wrinkled at the faint odor of machine oil. Yeah, there was air in here, all right. Squirming out of the rest of his snug carbon-fiber suit in these tight confines took some doing, but at last he managed it. Then he worked his way upward some more, squeezing deeper into the robot’s haptic interface, a gray, gelatinous membrane. This was the material that took his body’s central nervous system’s signals, processed them, and turned them into robotic movement. At the same time, it acted as a direct neural link, meshing his mind with the machine’s sensors and computer systems.