Free Erebus by Ralph Kern Page B

box yet?”
    Henning looked around. The transponder on the junction box had died, which meant he had to rely on the good ol’ eyeball Mark I method to find it. Magnometers and metal detectors didn’t work here, partly because of the Io flux lines and partly because the moon was effectively covered in rusty iron filings. Even his implant HUD was seriously limited. Because the small population didn’t warrant the expense of compensating, Io didn’t have much of the shared computing capability needed for the Hypernet to function optimally.
    He finally spotted the box, half buried in a drift. Henning made his way over to it and dusted it off with his thick lead-lined gauntlet. He could immediately see what the problem was. The casing of the junction box has somehow sprung open in the last quake. The whole thing would likely be full of dust. Looking to the left and right, he could see the cable, or what bits of it weren’t sunk into the surface. He nodded in satisfaction; they looked intact. “I’m at the junction box; should be an easy job,” he called over his com to Bill Wiseman back in the habitat.
    As he pulled the casing the rest of the way open, he felt a tremor. Clutching onto the side of the box, he waited for it to subside. It was probably an aftershock from the last big quake. Mount Woodgate gave a sudden belch, an orange cloud shooting out of it before it settled down. At least the quake hadn’t set the damn volcano off again.
    He pulled a small brush off his utility belt and set to work on the box. He wouldn’t be able to see the full extent of the problem until he’d got most of the dust out, but chances were it would just be a breaker. The boxes were robust, designed to be able to cope with whatever punishment the harsh moon could give, but they still required some TLC every now and again. He began to whistle tunelessly to himself as he swept the dust out of the box.
    “Hey, Henning,” Bill called, “an A-liner just dropped in. Apparently it’s having some kind of bother. It’s called a pan-pan.”
    “Anything major?”
    “Doubt it. Something to do with their attitude control. They’re not near anything they can collide with, so no great worries.”
    “Ah, fair enough,” Henning said distractedly as he brushed the last of the dust out. He moved his helmeted head closer. The switches had tripped. He flicked them back into position—no easy task with his gauntleted hands, but he’d done it many times.
    Without warning, an androgynous voice blasted loud in his earphones. “Jupiter Control, this vessel will strike Io. Begin your evacuation procedures. You have thirty minutes.”
    “What the fuck?” Henning exclaimed. “Bill, repeat your last.”
    Henning got no answer. “Bill!”
    “Gunter, standby. We’re figuring out what’s going on,” Bill finally answered.
    The German engineer stood up and looked back at the rover that suddenly seemed very far away.
    “Come on, Bill. I need to know if I should be heading back,” he said.
    “Standby. We’re linking with Jupiter Control.”
    “Screw this,” Henning murmured to himself. “Bill, I’m going to head back to the hopper.”
    “Yeah, you do that.” Bill’s voice had a distracted edge to it.
    In a lumbering, loping run, Henning headed for the hopper, trying his best to re-tread his footsteps that had already faded in the vibrations of the last aftershock; he didn’t want to be stuck in some drift in an emergency.
    “Henning, Jupiter Control has called for evacuation. We’re all going to be lifting.”
    “Bill, I’m not even close to being near a shuttle in the thirty minutes that voice was talking about.”
    “You’re going to have to do the best you can. We’re going to pack into one shuttle and leave you the other one.”
    Henning tripped and fell, nearly burying himself in the dust, the sound of his breathing loud in the confines of the helmet. Starting with a crawl, he managed to pick himself up and carried on bounding