A flexible access tube wormed its way to the Clipper’s main airlock while the ship stood on the blast-scarred landing pad, gleaming in the sunlight. Greg knew that the Clipper carried Professor Wilhelm Zimmerman and four of his top aides. Kris Cardenas was on her way to Moonbase, also. And Mom. It’s going to be a busy few hours here, he said to himself.
Greg was shocked when Wilhelm Zimmerman pushed through the airlock hatch at the underground receiving area. He was grossly fat, almost as wide across his soft sagging middle as he was tall. Bald, jowly, wearing a gray three-piece business suit with the unbuttoned jacket flapping ludicrously, the first thing he did upon setting foot on the underground chamber’s rock floor was to reach into his jacket pocket and pull out a long, black, evil-looking cigar.
“You can’t smoke in here!” Greg shouted, lunging toward him.
Zimmerman scowled from beneath bushy gray eyebrows. “So? Then where?”
“Nowhere in Moonbase. Snicking is strictly prohibited. For safety reasons.”
“Nonsense!” Zimmerman snapped. “Like the laws in Switzerland. Pure nonsense.” He fished in his side pocket and pulled out a gold lighter.
Greg gently took the lighter from him. “This is a totally artificial environment,” he said. “Smoking is not allowed.”
Zimmerman’s scowl deepened. “You drag me up here to this… this… cavern, you ask me to perform a miracle for you, and you deny me my only vice?” His English was heavily accented but understandable.
“I’m afraid so, Professor.”
“Professor Doctor!”
“No smoking,” Greg said somberly, “no matter how many titles you have.”
Zimmerman looked as if he wanted to turn around and go back to the spacecraft that had brought him. But then he broke into a fleshy grin.
“Very well,” he said, suddenly amiable. “Since I have no choice, I will refrain from smoking. But you can’t stop me from chewing!” And he clamped his teeth on the fat black cigar.
Greg raised his eyes to the rock ceiling. “Come this way, please,” he said softly, pointing to the tractor that was waiting to take them to Moonbase proper. “And be careful—”
He realized that Zimmerman was walking perfectly well alongside him. Looking down, Greg saw that Zimmerman’s feet were already shod in weighted lunar boots.
His grin turning triumphant, Zimmerman said grandly, “I am not a complete… how do you say it, tenderfeet?”
“Where did you get them?” Greg asked. “I didn’t know they were available on Earth.”
“Mrs. Scavenger had them aboard the ship that took me here. My abductor is very kind to me.”
“Abductor?” Greg asked as he helped the obese old man up into the tractor.
“You think I would come to this bunker of my own volition? I have been kidnapped, young man, by a powerful, vicious woman.”
Greg gave him a wintry smile. “My mother,” he said as he climbed into the driver’s seat.
“So?” Zimmerman looked briefly surprised. “But your name is not hers.”
His smile disappeared. “She remarried after my father… died.”
“Ah.” Zimmerman nodded, making his jowls jiggle. As Greg put the tractor in gear and started down the long tunnel, he asked, “You have prepared the tissue samples for which I asked?”
“The medics will have them for you by the time we get to the infirmary.”
“And blood — whole plasma, hemoglobin, this you have available?”
Greg shook his head. “The blood bank here is very small. We’re lining up volunteer donors who have the proper ’ blood type.”
“We will probably have to replace his entire blood supply.”
“Then we’ll need more brought up from Earth,” Greg said. “In the meantime, you can examine him and get started on your procedures.”
Zimmerman grunted. “I will have time to wash my hands, perhaps?”
“It’s my half-brother who’s dying, Professor Doctor. We’ve got to act quickly.”
“Ah,” the old man said again. “Very well. The tissue samples are needed so that we can imitate them on the surface of the nanomachines. Otherwise what is still functioning of his body’s immune system will attack the machines when they are injected into his blood stream.”
“I see.”
“You don’t want his damaged immune system attacking the machines that are trying to save him.”
“I understand.”
“Blood transfusions immediately. By the time my associates have analyzed the tissue samples the transfusions must be complete. Then we inject the nanomachines.”
“I see,” said Greg.
Zimmerman lapsed into’silence, folding his hands over his ample belly and letting his-many chins sag to his chest. He seemed asleep. Mom must’ve had him yanked out of his bed, Greg thought. She probably would’ve really kidnapped him if he hadn’t agreed to come up here. She’s frantic over Doug. Would she be just as frantic, just as determined, if it was me in the infirmary, dying?
“Contact light,” Deems said, his voice quavering slightly.
“Okay,” said Killifer. “We’re down.” He was perspiring; cold sweat made his palms slippery, stung his eyes.
They had landed at the edge of the ice field, as Deems had suggested. The ice partially melted beneath the blast of their rocket exhaust and the Jobber’s landing feet sank into a mushy cold swamp. For an instant both men had felt their vehicle; sinking, then it hit solid rock and came to a halt, tilted slightly ’ but safely down.
Killifer reached into his thigh pouch for a reusable sponge-like sheet of plastic to wipe his face. He saw that Deems was doing the same. Scared shitless, Killifer thought.
“Okay,” he said, after taking a breath. “Check suits. Prepare for surface excursion.”
“I don’t see their lights,” Deems said.
“They’re over the horizon, about four klicks out on the ice.”
“We both going out?”
“Damned right. We’ll hook a tether to the winch.”
Deems said, “All right,” without much enthusiasm.
Killifer stuffed his wiper back into the pouch on the thigh of his suit. Then he realized that the cermet hatch cover from Brennart’s hopper was not in there. He groped in the other thigh pouch. Not there, either.
“What’s the matter?” Deems asked.
“Nothing,” Killifer snapped. “Let’s get going.”
The astronomer. Stupid little gook put on my suit when she went up the mountain to get Stavenger. She’s got it!
Panic surged through him. If she understands what it means— No, he told himself. She wouldn’t How could she? It’s just a hunk of cermet to her. I’ll have to get it back from her, though.
“You okay?” Deems’ voice sounded worried in his earphones.
“Yeah. Let’s get moving.”
I’ll have to get it back from her, Killifer told himself again. Because if she figures it out, I’m dead.
Zimmerman terrified the meager infirmary staff. Only one M.D., a very junior young woman, and three technicians who split their time between medical duties and elsewhere, the staff was meant to deal with injuries and minor illnesses. Big problems were sent Earthward, either to one of the space stations or to a hospital on the ground.
“Equipment, this is? Junk, this is!” Zimmerman bellowed when they showed him the infirmary. “It is impossible to work with Tinkertoys! Impossible!”
None of the youngsters could please Zimmerman in the slightest. He bullied them, swore at them in German and English, told them what incompetent swine they were. He cursed their teachers, their progenitors, and predicted a dim future for the human race if such dummkopfs were allowed anywhere near the practice of medicine.
When Greg tried to intervene, Zimmerman turned on him. “So? Now you are an expert, also? How can I work here? Where are my facilities that your blackmailing mother promised me? Where is the blood for transfusion? How can I perform miracles without the tools I need? Even Christ had some water when he wanted to make wine!”