Rocket to Luna

Chapter 17 New Outpost

Fueling the ship was a simple matter. They took turns out in the Sun, no man staying out longer than five minutes. In addition, they had replaced the suit’s heating units with small refrigerator units that helped ward off the penetrating heat.

The mobile tanks were practically self-unloading. All one had to do was place the long hose into the lip of the ship’s tank and then press the button on the side of the smaller tank. The liquid fuel started to flow then, and an indicator showed when the tank was empty.

In less than three hours they had the ship fueled and ready to go. That was when Ted sat down to figure out their orbit, blasting time, turnover point, and braking time.

Dr. Phelps stayed out of his way, hovering over Forbes and Merola like a mother hen over her brood. Forbes’s foot was badly frostbitten, and the doctor seemed worried about it. Merola, however, was his chief worry. The captain had not stirred since he’d come back to the ship. He lay on the couch with his arms and legs outstretched, his mouth agape, his eyes closed tightly. His breathing was weak, and his skin was pale.

Ted wrestled with the figures, intricate maps of the Moon spread before him, the supply dump in Mare Imbrium pin-pointed exactly. He took into account the lack of atmosphere and the light gravity. He plotted his orbit as carefully as a man rigging a time-bomb mechanism. He calculated turnover point to the millisecond, knowing that an error this time would mean disaster, complete and irrevocable. He worked with the slide rule ceaselessly, pausing occasionally to gaze through the viewport at the baking ground outside while he wrestled with a difficult mental knot. He would brake again by decelerating and blasting his tubes against the Moon’s surface. He calculated the exact moment for the braking blast, and he calculated exactly how long that jet thrust should last. When he finally finished, he had sheets of scrap paper covered with figures — but he knew exactly what he was going to do.

Or at least, he hoped he did.

Dr. Gehardt helped Dr. Phelps strap the two injured men into their couches. They took to their own couches, then, and Ted made a last-minute check of his figures before lying down. He swung the control panel in place over the couch, flicked on the radar switches.

A new thought struck him, and he felt his heart quicken in panic.

“The tubes! The stilts! Have they... have they...?”

“They’ve been repaired,” Dr. Phelps assured him. “Fred and I worked on them all the while you were gone.”

“And they’re all right?”

“Let us hope so,” Dr. Gehardt said.

“We followed all the directions Dan left,” Dr. Phelps explained. “As far as we know, they’re in good condition now. Naturally, we couldn’t test them.”

“Then there’s no way of knowing until...”

“Until we try them. That’s right.”

Ted swallowed hard. Suppose they hadn’t been repaired correctly? Suppose one or more of the tubes was still blocked? Suppose the landing stilt collapsed again?

“Baker,” Dr. Phelps said softly.

Ted, absorbed in his own thoughts, nodded weakly.

“Ted,” Dr. Phelps called again.

“Hmm?”

“Ted, don’t worry. We’re not expecting miracles. If you get us there, we’ll be grateful. If you don’t...” Dr. Phelps shrugged his bony shoulders, “...you simply don’t. We’ll certainly know you tried.”

“I’ll do my best,” Ted said softly.

“Are we about ready?”

Ted heaved a sigh. “Yes. Yes, I guess we are.”

“Shall we go then?”

“I... I guess we’d better. I...” He gulped hard.

“What is it, Ted?”

“I’m scared stiff,” Ted admitted.

“You know something, Ted?”

“What?”

“I’ve never been so frightened in my life,” Dr. Phelps said. He was not smiling. His eyes were dead serious.

“I think we’re all pretty well frightened,” Dr. Gehardt put in. “Death in a strange land is never a bright prospect.”

Ted nodded, accepting the men’s statements. “If you’re ready to try...”

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” Dr. Phelps said.

Dr. Gehardt nodded and made himself comfortable on the couch.

Ted snapped on the rear radar. The glare of the Moon’s surface filled the screen, the portion beneath the blasting tubes in deep, black shadow.

“I’m setting the controls for a time blastoff,” Ted said. “We’ll be blasting off ten seconds after I push this button.”

“We’re ready.”

“Here goes, then.”

Ted stabbed at the button on the control panel, and the roar of the engines thundered into the cabin.

He watched the second hand on the chrono, counting the seconds as they fled by.

“This is it!” he shouted.

The words had scarcely left his mouth when the rocket started to rise, slowly at first, and then ripping away from the Moon’s light gravity. Ted kept his eyes on the altimeter, checking their rate of climb. Acceleration pressed down on his chest with its familiar force, but he kept his fingers widespread on the control panel, ready to reach for the buttons that would swing them into an orbit.

Figures ran through his head like runaway cattle, and for a brief instant, he thought they would all blur together into an incomprehensible jumble of numbers. He kept watching the altimeter as the rocket climbed. His fingers moved with lightning speed when the needle nudged the height he had planned on. He pressed the button that gave a blast of the port rockets, releasing the button instantly. He gave another blast, watching the heavy bar that registered the tilt of the ship. Another blast, and the ship was on the course he wanted. It should now be in an orbit that would swing it around the Moon in a matter of minutes. He cut the engines and allowed the rocket to fall. It swung around in a wide arc, matching the curvature of the surface, a metallic bullet that gleamed in the sunlight.

He watched the chrono, aware that the cabin was silent, aware that the men were occupied with their own thoughts. The minute hand crept around as the rocket fell in a tightening arc, closer, closer to the jagged surface below. Quickly he set the flywheel in motion, giving the ship a blast of the starboard jets at the same time. If he’d calculated correctly, they should be nearing Mare Imbrium, and it would soon be time to turn on the stern jets.

The chrono ticked off the seconds. Silently, Ted studied its face with careful scrutiny. He checked the altimeter, and then his eyes fled to the speedometer and back to the chrono once more. In the radar screen overhead, the ground flashed by in a dazzling blur.

There was darkness outside now. They had left the Sun behind them in Mare Crisium.

With a rapid sweep of his eyes, Ted checked the time, altitude, and speed again. His figures were jibing. It might work. He mumbled a prayer softly, a prayer that barely escaped his lips.

Like a team of marching soldiers, the chrono, the altimeter, and the speedometer reached the calculated figures together. Ted took a deep breath and pressed the button that fired the stern jets.

There was a hollow rush of thunder, like a truck slamming into a brick wall. The ship shivered violently and brought its nose up suddenly, pointing it at the sky. They began to drop, faster, faster.

“Something’s wrong,” Ted shouted.

He gave a short blast of the starboard jets, bringing the ship’s stern around, turning it to face the barren surface beneath them. Something was straining at the tubes, roaring in almost animal fury, bellowing to be released. The engines coughed as they dropped closer to the Moon.

Ted knew what was wrong, then, and he reached for the cease-fire button, ready to cut the power from the stern jets.

A muffled explosion sounded from below, and the deck suddenly billowed up beneath them like an opening metal flower casting sharp seeds to the wind. The metal pinged around the compartment, bouncing off the bulkheads, imbedding itself in the couches. There was another explosion, and a lance of fire leaped up through the hole in the deck, scorching the overhead black.

The ship screamed in protest like a wounded animal with its entrails dripping. The bulkheads shook as if they would tear loose at any second. In the radar screen, the surface of the Moon was large and close.

Frantically, Ted stabbed at the button, cutting the jets. He reached for the landing-gear controls, releasing the stilts. The stilts screeched against the jagged surface, filling the cabin with the high whine of tearing metal. Ted clenched his teeth, his insides knotted into a tight ball, as the ship hit the surface.

It bounced like a rubber ball, landing stilts crumbling, metal buckling, tubes crushed beneath the descending force of the ship. It bounced again, then fell like a stone, toppling over to its side, a sickening crunch reverberating into the cabin.

It was all over.

There was only silence now — the silence of the Moon coupled with the deadly silence of the men inside the crippled ship.

He had failed. He had been given his second chance, and he had failed again. He didn’t look up. He covered his face with his hands, holding back the bitter tears of defeat. He bit his lip until it bled, his hands tight over his face.

When he heard Dr. Phelps’s voice, he didn’t believe it. Someone was playing a horrible joke. Someone was trying to make him feel worse than he did.

“We made it!”

He refused to listen. He turned his face to the bulkhead, wanting to crawl in between the atoms of the metal, wanting to hide forever.

“You did it, Ted! You did it!”

He shook his head. Why were they persecuting him? Why did they have to rub it in? He’d crashed the ship, yes; he was sorry, yes, sorrier than they’d ever know. But did they have to...

“Look, Ted. Just take a look!”

He turned, then, partly out of curiosity and partly because Dr. Phelps’s voice sounded so excited.

He looked through the viewport.

Scattered on the bleak pumice, like the colored bulbs on a Christmas tree, were a red rocket, a blue rocket, a yellow rocket, and a green rocket.

He opened his eyes in amazement.

“The... the supply dump!” he said, his voice sticking to the lining of his throat.

“Yes, the supply dump,” Dr. Gehardt practically sang. “Yes! Yes!”

A new despair filled Ted. “The ship. I crashed her. I...”

“Great Jupiter, boy,” Dr. Phelps said, “you’re not blaming yourself for that, are you?”

“But... but it was me... I mean...”

“There were two people responsible for this crash, Ted,” Dr. Phelps said. “Fred and I are the guilty culprits.”

“But how...”

“You know what caused that crash as well as we do, Ted,” Dr. Gehardt said. “When you pressed the firing stud, your power had no outlet. It erupted into the ship rather than where it should have.”

Dr. Phelps nodded. “The tubes were blocked, Ted. And Fred and I were the ones who repaired them. If anyone’s to blame, it’s us.”

“No, I crashed...”

“Yes,” Dr. Phelps insisted. “The tubes were blocked. You can’t get around that, and you shouldn’t even try.” He wagged his forefinger at Ted. “You’d better be careful, young man. You’re developing a strong guilt complex.”

“Mixed with a bit of a persecution complex,” Dr. Gehardt added.

Ted shook his head adamantly. “What’s the difference? We crashed, didn’t we? That means we’re stuck here now. We’ll never get back to the Station.”

Dr. Phelps smiled. “You’re forgetting something, aren’t you, Ted?”

“What?”

“The supply dump. It’s right outside. Don’t you see? There’s no reason for us to rush now. Why, we’ve got all the time in the world!”

Ted blinked, and then a broad grin covered his face. Somehow, he’d never thought of that.

Forbes was the first to come around. His eyelids twitched for a few minutes, and then he popped his eyes open.

“Hey!” he shouted. “What’s going on?”

He swung his legs over the side of the couch and tried to stand, collapsing almost immediately when his bad foot hit the deck.

“Forgot all about this baby,” he murmured, looking down at his bandaged foot.

“I didn’t,” Dr. Phelps said. “I thought I might have to amputate a few toes, but...”

“What?” Forbes shouted.

“But I don’t think that’ll be necessary now. Just keep your foot out of the refrigerator.”

“I still can’t feel anything down there,” Forbes said.

“It’ll take a little while,” Dr. Phelps answered. “But you’ll be all right.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Forbes said. “Thanks a lot.”

“Thank Ted,” Dr. Phelps said. “If he hadn’t got us to the supplies, it wouldn’t have mattered how many toes you lost.”

“Then we’re here? We’re in Mare Imbrium?”

“Yes.”

Forbes opened his mouth wide and shouted, “Yippee-e-e-e-e-e!”

A new voice joined the group. “Never mind the celebrating,” it said. “Check the ship for leakage.”

“George,” Forbes said, “George, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Merola said dryly. He looked at the gaping hole in the deck and shook his head sadly. “That deck sure looks charming.”

For no good reason, the men all began to laugh.

They had a good supper, feasting on food they took from the yellow supply rocket. Before they ate, they replaced their worn batteries with new ones from the dump.

Merola shook his head again while they were eating.

“I’ll never understand it. This ship looks as if it’s been through a clothes wringer — and yet there are only small leaks which we can repair at our leisure. A miracle.”

“No miracle,” Forbes said. “Engineering skill.”

“The deuce you say!”

“The only real miracle is the fact that you’re still alive, George. With that head wound and the heat...”

“Aw, my head feels fine,” Merola protested. “And what’s a little sunburn?”

Dr. Gehardt nodded his head and said, “I think I’m very happy.”

“Well, don’t you know, Doc?”

“Yes, yes, I am very happy. We can stay on the Moon now. We are all healthy, and there is plenty to eat and drink, and enough materials to build our base. Yes, I am happy.”

“We’ll have to get started on a power plant right away,” Merola said. “Rig up some system to capture and utilize solar energy. I’d say the plant is one of the most...”

“The plant!” Ted shouted.

“The plant!” Forbes echoed. “My space suit. What’d you do with it?” He leaped to his feet, collapsing back into his chair as his foot gave way under him. “Don’t just stand there. The plant!”

“What on Earth are you talking about?” Dr. Phelps asked.

Ted shoved his chair back and sprang across the cabin, almost falling through the hole in the deck. He began tossing space suits around like sacks of old rags, looking for Forbes’s suit.

“That’s it,” Forbes yelled, “that’s the one. It’s in the pocket. Down near the knee.”

Ted reached into the pocket greedily, and then pulled out his hand slowly. He stared down at the bit of green on his palm, crossing the cabin and standing near the table.

“This is our plant,” he said.

Dr. Phelps showed mild interest. “Very nice.”

“We found it outside,” Forbes said calmly.

“Well, it’s very nice,” Dr. Phelps said. “Especially since you found it...” He stopped short, his eyes widening. “OUTSIDE? Did you say outside?”

“Yes, on our trip to the supplies.”

“Great heavens, let me see that.” He took the plant gingerly, turning it over between thumb and forefinger. “Life, Fred,” he said. “Life!”

Merola sat dumfounded, looking at the plant’s small, shriveled roots.

“Life,” Dr. Gehardt echoed. “The first life found on our new outpost.”

Dr. Phelps moved a glass to the center of the table and dropped the plant into the water. It floated for an instant, and then sank to the bottom of the glass, the water magnifying it.

The men finished their meal in silence, each man watching the plant, almost as if they expected it to start talking at any moment.

After supper, they contacted the Space Station by radio. Merola told the whole story to General Pepper, pausing only to catch his breath between long paragraphs. When he’d finished, the general asked, “And you think you can hold out for six months?”

“Six months?” Merola began chuckling softly. “Pardon me, sir, but we can hold out for six years. Man is on the Moon to stay.”

“Good. Excellent. Wonderful. By thunder, Merola, that’s... that’s...” The general paused, and they heard him shout to someone, “Did you hear that, Charlie? Get on your confounded relay and broadcast that to Earth. Tell them the crew is safe and the Moon is ours. Tell them... tell them this is just the beginning. By jove, tell them... tell them... what are you standing there for, Charlie? Get moving.”

The general came back to the microphone and asked, “Is Baker there, Merola?”

Ted’s heart stopped beating for an instant.

“Yes, sir,” Merola answered.

“There’s someone here who’d like to talk to him. Put him on, will you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Ted took the microphone from Merola and said, “Baker, sir.”

“Just a moment, Baker.”

Ted gripped the hand microphone tightly, the sweat beginning to bead his forehead again. This was it. This was probably some big-shot general, or maybe the President of the United States. It was all over. Finished. Good-by, Baker, it was nice having you.

“Hello, Ted.”

Ted tried to place the voice. It sounded vaguely familiar, but he wasn’t sure because of the distortion.

“Hello,” he said meekly.

“This is Jack. Jack Talbot.”

“Who?” Ted leaned forward closer to the receiver, his eyes wide in surprise.

“Jack Talbot. I... I wanted to apologize, Ted. I wanted to tell you that you were right. The Moon trip was too important for someone like me to spoil. I’ve told them all about it down here, Ted. Everything. They’re releasing all charges against you.”

“What about you, Jack. I wouldn’t want you to...”

“I don’t deserve it, but they’re giving me another chance. I... I think maybe they feel I’ve learned a little something, Ted. Something a guy like you knew all along.”

“Well, well, Jack...”

“Baker!” the general’s voice snapped. “He’s right. What he said about all charges being dropped is true. And Baker?”

“Yes, sir?”

“You’re a good man, Baker. We won’t forget what Merola’s told us about you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“All right, we’re going to sign off now. You men get a good night’s sleep. You can call us in the morning again.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“Out.”

They didn’t go straight to sleep. They sat around talking for a long time, planning everything they would do, planning every move now that their time on the Moon was unlimited.

And at last, when they were too tired to talk any further, they crawled into their couches and bid each other good night.

Ted lay back, his arms behind his head, his eyes fastened to the viewport.

Far off in the distance, like a pale blue globe hung against the sky, he could see Earth.

It was strange, but it didn’t seem very far away any more.