Rocket to Luna

Chapter 13 Oxygen Trouble

Nearly 2,000 meteors hit the Earth every day, many of them the size of a dot. No one pays them any mind. They strike the Earth’s atmosphere at a rate of about one billion every twenty-four hours. Most of them ignite instantly in the upper air. On Earth hardly anyone notices the tiny flame, and the meteors shower down in a gentle rain of ash.

People go about their business as usual, oblivious of the steady bombardment, oblivious of the fact that five tons of ash is sprinkling the Earth’s surface every day, as it has been doing for perhaps the past two billion years. No one bothers about this harmless, invisible, cosmic dust. No one has to bother.

The Moon is another story.

The Moon has no atmosphere. Take away this protective layer of air and there’s nothing to stop a meteor, nothing to ignite it, nothing to turn it into harmless dust. It will strike the surface with the velocity of a bullet, viciously tearing at the wasted ground.

At first, Ted didn’t know quite what was happening. He was staring at the spot of green on Forbes’s open hand, sharing in the thrill of discovery. He looked at the plant, and everything was suddenly all right. The trip was worth it, the hardship, everything. He no longer had any regrets, and he was ready to throw his arms around Forbes and do an impromptu dance when he noticed the pumice around them exploding in furious little spurts of dust.

There was still no sound. But the ground was erupting all around them, as if the Moon were bursting a hundred little blisters at the same time.

Forbes stopped dead in his tracks, his palm still outstretched, the dash of green against the gray glove looking somehow pathetic.

When his voice came over the suit radio, it was edged with panic. “Meteors!” he shouted.

They both turned instantly, pulling up abruptly as they confronted the lip of the cleft. Forbes struggled to keep his balance, almost tumbling into the black slit as the speeding pellets dropped around them like hailstones.

It was something out of a nightmare, Ted felt. The land of a nightmare where someone is shooting at you, but the gun is making no sound, is showing no flash of fire. The pea-sized meteors spilled around them like ball bearings gone berserk, but there was none of the feeling of danger. It was a danger implied, a danger born of knowledge.

They ran, but not because their senses were screaming and not because the meteors were frightening in themselves. There is nothing frightening about silence.

They ran because they knew that any one of those speeding pellets could rip through the fabric of their suits with heightening velocity. They ran because they knew that those meteors could kill as unerringly as a bullet.

The pumice continued to erupt into dull gray blossoms that noiselessly opened on the ground. Each eruption meant another spent meteor, another dangerous projectile that had missed the larger mark of the space-suited figures.

Ted fell flat on his face, rolling over instantly to the protection of an overhanging ledge. “Forbes!” he shouted. “This way!”

Forbes turned his helmeted head, located Ted and started running for the ledge.

His shriek split the silent night like the hoarse cry of a ghoul. He fell instantly, rolling over in a cloud of dust. The meteors plowed up the ground around him, biting at the dust like a swarm of angry hornets.

“Baker,” he bellowed. “Baker, for the love of...”

Ted leaped to his feet instantly, leaving the cover of the ledge and stepping into the deadly shower. He dropped down beside Forbes, wrapping his gloved hands around the fallen man’s ankles. Without hesitation, without looking down at the erupting pumice, he started to pull.

The shower was over before he reached the protection of the ledge.

Nothing had changed. The ground looked exactly the same. Nothing had disturbed the silence except the terrible yell that had wrenched itself from Forbes’s lips.

“Are you hit?” Ted asked.

“My... my... foot.” There was pain in Forbes’s voice. Then, with sudden awareness, he cried, “The cold, Baker. It’s...”

Frantically, Ted lifted Forbes’s right leg, examining the suit. He dropped the leg instantly and turned his scrutiny to the other leg. He found a hole no larger than a dime near Forbes’s left foot. He reached into his pouch quickly, pulling out a rubber patch. He fumbled with the back of the patch, Forbes writhing on the ground, oxygen and heat escaping through the hole in his suit. Quickly, Ted seized a pliers from his belt. He ripped a screw driver from its loop and pushed the patch against a rock with the flat blade as he pulled at the back with the pliers. The back ripped off under Ted’s pressure. Quickly he slapped the sticky side of the patch onto the hole in Forbes’s suit.

“You’re too late,” Forbes said. “My foot... I can’t feel anything any more.”

Ted bent down and studied the patch. It seemed to be securely in place, and he watched the trouser leg as it filled with oxygen. Forbes had been lucky, no matter what the damage to his foot. If there had been a hole big enough to cause an appreciable loss of pressure...

“Do you feel all right?” Ted asked.

“I’m all right.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think so. I just can’t feel anything in my left foot, that’s all.”

“The cold. I wouldn’t be surprised if it were frostbitten.”

“Yeah.” Forbes hesitated and then said, “Baker, thanks for pulling me out of there. I...”

“The shower was over anyway.” Ted said.

“Sure,” Forbes said. “Sure.”

“Can you walk?”

Forbes propped himself up with his elbows and tried to get to his feet. He let out a small, sharp cry, and then sank back to the pumice. “I don’t think so.”

Ted didn’t answer. He glanced up at the luminous chrono inside his helmet. 1534! Where had the time gone? Had they really covered so many miles? He was suddenly mindful of the oxygen pouring into his helmet. They’d have to get started if they wanted their supply to last them.

“I think we’d better get moving,” he said.

“Go ahead,” Forbes replied.

“Huh?”

“Get going.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean shove! I’m staying here.”

“What!”

“We’ve wasted enough time already, Baker. Get moving. That’s an order.”

Ted didn’t answer.

“You hear me, Baker?”

“I heard you.”

“Then what are you standing there like a totem pole for? Take the sled and beat it. Leave me a few cylinders of oxygen and beat it.”

“I’m not going anywhere without you,” Ted said evenly.

“Look, Baker...”

“Look, Forbes, let’s cut it out,” Ted said, surprised to hear his own voice. “No matter what you think of me, I’m not leaving you here to freeze to death.”

“I won’t freeze. You can pick me up on the way back.”

“If I can find you.”

“You’ll find me. The Moon is a small place,” Forbes said.

“I’d rather not take the chance.” Ted reached down and wrapped one arm around Forbes’s back, tossing his arm over his own shoulder. He hooked the other arm under the man’s knees. He lifted him effortlessly, the light gravity in his favor.

“Put me down,” Forbes protested.

“Sure,” Ted said. “On the sled.”

“Are you crazy, Baker? You can’t tow the oxygen and me!”

“I can try.”

“Put me down! Put me down this minute! That’s an order, Baker.” He began to kick as Ted moved toward the sled. “Put me...” His voice trailed off into an almost inarticulate yelp of pain.

“Go easy with that foot,” Ted warned.

Forbes fell silent as Ted walked the rest of the distance to the sled. Ted lowered the lieutenant onto the oxygen cylinders, and Forbes sat up, his gloved hands gripping the tanks.

“This won’t work, Baker. You’re killing our chances of getting there. It’ll take longer than we planned, and our oxygen will give out.”

“We’ll have to chance that, sir,” Ted said.

“This is no time for heroics, Baker. Get me off this sled.”

“That’s exactly it, sir. We haven’t got any time for heroics. So the sooner you shut up, the sooner we’ll get started.”

Ted turned his back on the lieutenant and picked up the tow line. He looped it over his shoulders and under his armpits.

He started to pull.

The miles went by more slowly now. It had been easier with two men pulling a lighter load. The load had Forbes’s weight added to it now, and Ted was pulling it alone.

Anxiously, he kept glancing at the chrono. Time, unlike distance, seemed to speed along too quickly.

He stopped often, drinking more chocolate than he should have, trying to give himself more of the precious energy he needed. It wasn’t until they had traveled for three hours that he remembered the plant.

“Forbes,” he said suddenly, “the plant!”

“I’ve got it,” Forbes said softly. “Right here in my pouch-pocket. It’ll probably die before we get back, but I’ve got it.”

“If it didn’t die out here on the Moon,” Ted said, “it won’t die in your pouch.”

Forbes didn’t answer. He sat atop the oxygen cylinders like a strange Buddha with a metal head.

“How’s your foot?” Ted asked.

Forbes shrugged.

“What does that mean?”

“Maybe I should put it in my pouch, too,” Forbes said, the faintest trace of humor in his voice.

“Might not be a bad idea,” Ted said. He grinned, and then began moving the sled again.

Forbes was silent for a long time. The only sound Ted heard was his own breathing inside his helmet. He paused once to raise his temperature control, then started moving again. The Moon seemed endless, and Ted wondered if there really was such a place as Mare Imbrium. Maybe it was all an illusion, a grim trick somebody was playing. Maybe all the Moon was just a repetition of one little segment of the Moon. A Moon full of Maria Crisium. From one Mare Crisium to the next, over and over again.

It certainly looked that way.

He had the strange feeling that he had gone over this very ground before. Each crater looked just like the next one. Each sharp rock could have been a twin to the one just passed. The stars overhead looked the same. He kept wishing he’d pass a high outcropping and find a hot-dog stand.

“How would you like a hot dog?” he asked Forbes.

Forbes hesitated, as if he were unsure whether or not he should answer. Finally, he said, “Have you got an extra one?”

“Or a steak,” Ted suggested.

“With French-fried onions and mushrooms and thick sauce, and browned potatoes.”

“Oh, please,” Ted implored. “Please...”

“You started it,” Forbes said, shrugging again.

“Yeah, but I didn’t know I had a chef along with me.”

“Have a swig of chocolate,” Forbes suggested calmly. “It’ll clear your head.”

It wasn’t until that moment that Ted realized something had happened between him and Forbes. He supposed it was a combination of things, but whatever it was, he was thankful. The discovery of the plant had probably been the initial factor. And the meteor shower had helped. And now, whereas Ted couldn’t in truthfulness say he and Forbes were enjoying a blazing friendship, he could say that things had improved tremendously. They were at least talking to each other like human beings — and that could mean much when there were only two human beings as far as the eye could see.

They kept moving, talking occasionally, keeping silent mostly. At 1930 on the button, they ditched their old oxygen cylinders, took two new ones from the sled, and strapped these to their backs. Ted started pulling again, the sled a trifle lighter now. The supply dump seemed a long way off.

When it was morning by their helmet chronos, they decided to stop for a long rest.

“You’ve been on the go for close to twenty-four hours,” Forbes said. “We’re stopping to sleep, whether you like it or not.”

“We’ll use oxygen while we sleep,” Ted said, “and we won’t be making any mileage.”

“If we collapse, we won’t make any mileage anyway,” Forbes countered.

“All right,” Ted said. “We’ll go until 0730. We’ll change our oxygen cylinders then, and then take a short nap.”

“A long nap.”

“A short nap.”

“We’ll sleep until we wake up,” Forbes said.

“I’m a light sleeper,” Ted told him.

They slept from 0735 to 1349. Ted stirred restlessly and opened his eyes. It was dark, and for a moment he didn’t know where he was. He turned his head, and one of the rubber tubes slithered across his face. He leaped to his feet, ready to do battle with his unseen foe — and then remembering where he was, he let out a deep breath.

He turned to see Forbes sitting on the pile of cylinders, ready to go.

“How long have you been awake?” he asked.

“Got up just this minute,” Forbes said.

“Yeah, I’ll bet.”

“Have your breakfast, and let’s go.”

Ted moved his head until he found one of the rubber tubes. He sucked on it, and the vitamin concentrate poured into his mouth, strong with the taste of oil. Quickly, he shifted his head and washed the taste down with a swallow of hot chocolate.

“All right,” he said, “I’ve eaten.”

“Before we start,” Forbes suggested, “I think we’d better check our map.” He reached into his pouch and unfolded the map. Ted walked over to the sled, squatting down beside Forbes.

Forbes laid a finger on the thick paper. “I figure we’re here,” he said.

Ted studied the area Forbes indicated. “You mean we’re just entering Mare Serenitatis?”

“That’s right.”

“But that means we’re behind schedule. We should be in the middle of Mare...”

“I know. But we’re just entering it. I think we are, anyway. Notice how much darker the pumice is just ahead of us. I figure that’s the beginning of the mare.”

“We shouldn’t have stopped to sleep.”

“We had to sleep, Baker. We’re not supermen.”

“All right, but...”

“What are you worried about?”

Ted hesitated. “Our oxygen.”

“Why?”

“We’re behind schedule. I don’t think we’ll have enough to get us there.”

“We’ll have enough.”

“How do you figure?”

“Simple. We were supposed to travel 300 miles a day, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay. It would take us three and one-third days to travel a thousand miles.”

“That’s right. But we’re not doing 300 miles a day.”

“Forget that for a minute. Just remember that it’s supposed to take us three and one-third days. Okay?”

Ted shrugged. “Okay, okay.”

“One cylinder of oxygen carries a twelve-hour supply. That means we’d need two cylinders apiece for each day. For three days we’d need six cylinders.”

“Right.”

“For the extra third of a day, we’d need less than a full cylinder. A third of a day is eight hours, and a cylinder will last for twelve hours.”

“I still don’t see...” Ted started.

“We had fourteen cylinders on the sled when we started,” Forbes said. “Plus a cylinder on each of our backs. That’s sixteen cylinders.”

“Eight cylinders apiece,” Ted said.

“Right. Or, in other words, enough for four full days of traveling.”

“But we’re still behind schedule.”

“Not that far behind schedule, though. We’ve got a leeway of about sixteen hours, don’t you see? If it takes us four full days instead of the three and a third we figured on, we’ll still make it.”

Ted considered this for a moment. “And suppose it takes us more than four days?”

“It can’t,” Forbes said. “I figure we’re about eight hours behind schedule now. If we hurry...”

“I don’t like it,” Ted said. “I feel uneasy.”

“Look, stop worrying. When we strap on our last cylinder of oxygen, we’ll have a twelve-hour supply left. By that time, we shouldn’t be more than two or three hours from the supply dump.”

“I hope you’re right,” Ted said.

“Mark my words,” Forbes reassured him. “When we strap on those last cylinders, we won’t have more than a few hours of traveling ahead of us.”

“I hope so,” Ted repeated.

Forbes folded the map while Ted picked up the tow strap and put it on like a harness. Without another word, they started off again. Ted’s eyes never left the chrono. He counted the minutes like an executioner waiting to pull the switch. Another day passed, and they kept traveling, Ted racing against the hands of the chrono.

On the morning of the fourth day, they strapped onto their backs the last two cylinders of oxygen on the sled. Forbes allowed Ted to help him with his cylinder. He stood by while Ted strapped on his own.

When they had finished, each man bore enough oxygen on his back to last him for another twelve hours.

By their best reckoning, they were still fifteen hours away from the supply dump.