For the technical information on the three-stage rocket and the Space Station, I am grateful to and have relied upon figures taken from Man Will Conquer Space Soon, a symposium published in Collier’s magazine, March 22, 1952, and subsequently published in expanded form by The Viking Press under the title Across the Space Frontier.

My thanks, too, to Arthur C. Clarke, who graciously answered several tricky questions about the Moon.

R. M.

Man will someday leave the Earth. No one witnessing the marvels of today’s science can really seriously doubt this mild premise. As certain as Man learned to cross the seas, as certain as he learned to build wings with which he left the ground, he will leave the Earth for Space.

The question then is not, “Will he?”

It is, “When will he?”

This story is set thirty years in the future. The date is 1983, and Man is attempting his first trip to the Moon. By that time, the Space Station described in the following chapters should be a reality. In fact, thirty years seems like an outside guess in view of the amazing strides science has taken in the past decade.

It is logical that Man’s first trip into Space should be made to our own satellite, and nearest heavenly neighbor, the Moon.

In comparison to the planets in our solar system, the Moon is a stone’s throw away: a mere mean distance of 238,857 miles. Compare this to Venus which, when at her closest to Earth, is still 25,000,000 miles away-or Mars, whose distance from the Earth ranges between 35,000,000 and 63,000,000 miles when the two planets are in opposition.

Or think of the Sun, which is approximately 93,000,000 miles away!

There can be no question that the Moon will be our first stop on the road to the planets.

In the following pages, I have tried to picture some of the problems which may confront our first Moon explorers. These problems are based on facts now available about the Moon.

In the near future, all these facts will be checked at first-hand, by space-suited men roaming the surface of the Moon.

The sons of today will be those men.

And for their sons?

The planets... and the stars!

Ted Baker leaned against the tower and watched the frantic figures hurry across the concrete area of the field. High above him, the Air Force’s Sugar Yoke radar antenna swept the skies like a giant, revolving bedspring. The sky was intensely blue, a clear wash of bright ink spilled onto a sheet of drawing paper. Bloated, lazy clouds broke the clear blue, somehow resembling white areas that had escaped the flow of the ink.

The excited activity of a spaceport in full gear was everywhere around him. Trucks, bright red under the brilliant canopy of the sky, flashed over the ground like bewildered beetles. Motor scooters and jeeps twisted in and out between the toolsheds, the radar and radio towers, the fuel tanks, the repair shops, the astronomical labs, the meteorological stations, the weather towers, the bright red and yellow markers on the field.

Men in coveralls, grease-spattered and sweat-stained, hurried over the field with the intensity of marauder ants.

“There will be no smoking in the fueling area,” the loud-speakers blared, their metallic voices loud and strident. “Repeat. There will be no smoking in the fueling area.”

Ted’s eyes roved over the field, picking up clusters of men and vehicles, following moving lines of equipment and testing gear. Like hungry insects drawn to a fallen morsel of food, the men and the machines moved steadily toward a towering perpendicular form that sharply jutted up into the blue.

Ted’s heart gave a sudden leap again, the way it did every time he thought of the spaceport and the three-stage rocket. He was here. He was really here on Johnston Island, far out in the Pacific, far from home and the Space Academy. And in just a little while, he would board that rocket.

A grin worked its way onto his face, and he passed a nervous hand over the bridge of his nose. He looked around him, caught up in the frantic movement of the island, yet wishing there were someone he could talk to. The excitement bubbled up inside him like a seething volcano, and he wanted to stop one of the hurrying men and shout, “Hey! I’m going up to the Space Station. Me, Ted Baker. What do you think of that?”

The figures hurried past, intent on their separate jobs, rushing toward the enormous rocket on the edge of the field. The blasting pits, heat-scorched holes dug deep into the concrete, stretched before him like a row of discolored pockmarks that led to the ship itself.

His eyes studied the sleek outlines of the ship, and the grin magically popped onto his face again. She was a beauty, all right, a dream materialized in metal.

She sat over the blasting pit, her stabilizer fins straddling the discolored depression in the ground. She looked like an enormous spear, squat and wide at the bottom, and tapering up to a finely pointed nose. Close to that nose, she wore a pair of slanted wings; and below these, a third of the way down the side of the ship, was another, larger pair of wings. Ted knew her dimensions well. He’d studied them and restudied them at the Academy for the past three years.

He almost laughed aloud as he remembered old Colonel York, with his beady eyes and sharply curving nose. The colonel would rap on his desk with the plastic tip of his riding crop and bellow, “Overall length, Baker! What’s the overall length?”

“Two hundred and sixty-five feet, sir,” Ted had always replied. He knew the figures as well as he knew his own age. But they had been only figures until just a little while ago. He’d known, of course, that two hundred and sixty-five feet were a heck of a lot of feet. But he had never formed a real concept of just what the three-stage looked like.

Even when the colonel had cleared his throat and shouted, “The base is sixty-five feet in diameter, gentlemen. Sixty-five feet. This is a rocket, gentlemen, not a toy. This is the machine that will take you to the Space Station in your senior year,” even then Ted had only vaguely pictured it.

No, nothing but a look at the three-stage could really explain it. She was huge, truly huge, taller than a high building, and just as solid-looking. She weighed fourteen million pounds, the figures said, seven thousand tons of metal and engines and equipment that would supply the power for the escape from Earth.

She was definitely not a toy.

She sat complacently on the horizon now, her fueling hoses winding around her like rubbery snakes. She drank thirstily, and the coveralled men scurried around her like obedient hand-servants. Ted watched her, the excitement climbing in his blood. He turned away then, sighed deeply, and began walking toward the commissary with long, full strides. The wind, blowing fresh over the Pacific, lifted the sandy strands of his hair, tossing them back against his forehead. He was a tall boy, with wide shoulders wedging down to a narrow waist. His eyes were blue, a deeper, darker blue than the sky above, and his nose was straight, plunging down to a narrow-lipped mouth. When his face was at rest, he looked extremely serious, almost too serious for a seventeen-year-old. But when he smiled, his whole face seemed to erupt into brilliance, and his eyes sparkled to match the even flash of his teeth.

He was serious now as he walked, head bent, to the commissary. His eyes appraised the long, low, clean-looking lines of the building. He quickened his pace and passed through the electric eye trigger across the doorjamb. The large glass, double doors swung wide, and he walked into the interior of the building. He felt the cool blast of the air-conditioning unit at once, and mused that it felt more like September inside than it did outside. He still couldn’t get used to the idea of September without leaves turning russet and brown, without the brisk winds of autumn tickling the back of his neck. It was only with great effort that he could remember he was out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, ready to board a rocket that would carry him 1,075 miles above the Earth.

A chill of apprehension wormed its way up his back again, and he knew it wasn’t caused by the air-conditioning system. He sought out the food counter and began crossing the noisy room. Here, as outside, everyone seemed to be in a hurry. There was a more playful, relaxed atmosphere here, but there was still the feeling that everything had to be done fast or not at all. He was walking toward the food counter when the voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Ted! Ted Baker!”

He whirled rapidly, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar faces milling around the counter. Now who...?

“Over here, boy. Here!”

Ted’s eyebrows climbed onto his forehead, and his teeth showed in a wide grin. “Jack! Well, for crying out loud. What...”

“Come on over, boy,” Jack called. Ted gestured impatiently, surprise and happiness mingled on his face. He shouldered his way through the crowd, nimbly dodging balanced trays and hurrying figures. He reached the food counter at last, smiled happily and held out an eager hand.

“Boy, this is a surprise,” he said, pumping Jack’s free hand. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m going up to the Space Station,” Jack replied. He held his tray balanced on his left hand as he moved along the counter. He was slightly taller than Ted, a little broader across the chest and shoulders. His arms were heavy and muscular, curling with red hair that matched the naming crest atop his head. His gray eyes were set on either side of a freckle-spattered nose, and he had full lips that tilted impishly. “You want something to eat?” he asked.

“No, no.” Ted said. “Boy, it’s good to see you.”

He moved alongside Jack as the other boy made his way down the counter, picking up a large slab of chocolate cake and a glass of milk. He was really happy to have found Jack among all these strangers, and he kept smiling as he watched Jack pay the cashier. Jack joined him, and they crossed the room, finding an unoccupied table in a far corner.

Jack put his tray down and pulled up a chair. “There,” he said.

Ted sat opposite him, pulling his chair close to the table. “You know,” he said, “I guess I didn’t hear you right. You didn’t say you were going up to the Station, did you?”

Jack sliced a large piece of cake, scooped it onto his fork, and stuffed it into his mouth. “Yep.”

“But how come? You’ve already been there. I mean, you were graduated from the Academy last year, weren’t you?”

Jack shoveled another piece of cake into his mouth. “Yep.”

Ted tried again. “Does your speciality involve further training at the Station?”

“Nope.”

Ted scratched his jaw and sighed, cocking one eyebrow. “I guess you’re not feeling very talkative.”

A smile tilted the corners of Jack’s mouth, and his gray eyes narrowed. Somehow, Ted didn’t like the smile. It was more like a superior smirk, a condescending pat on the head for a curious little boy. The smile troubled him, but he tried to tell himself he was wrong. After all, he’d known Jack quite well at the Academy, even though the older boy had been a term ahead of him.

“Is it some kind of secret?” he asked. “Your going up there, I mean?”

“I suppose I can tell you,” Jack said, shrugging his broad shoulders. He picked up the glass of milk and half drained it. Ted watched, then fidgeted uncomfortably as he waited for Jack to begin. Instead, Jack turned to the chocolate cake again, seemingly fascinated by it.

Ted let out an exasperated sigh. “Look, Jack,” he began, “if you’re going to tell me, then I wish...”

“I’m going to the Moon,” Jack interrupted calmly.

Ted stopped speaking abruptly as the full impact of Jack’s words hit him. He clamped his jaws shut, and his eyes opened wide. When speech returned, he could only manage a stammering “Wh-wh-what?”

Jack smiled his superior smile again, and shoved the cake plate away from him. “You heard me.”

“The Moon, you said?”

“The Moon.” Jack nodded calmly.

Ted leaned across the table, lowering his voice as if he were discussing a military secret. “The Moon? Our satellite?”

“How many moons are there?” Jack asked.

Ted studied Jack’s face for a moment, and then leaned back in his chair. He waved an open palm at Jack and said, “You’re kidding me.”

“All right,” Jack said, shrugging, “I’m kidding you.”

“No one’s ever been to the Moon,” Ted insisted, as if trying to convince himself.

“I know.”

The noises in the background seemed to have faded, and Ted had the strange feeling that he and Jack were sitting alone in a large vacuum, and that he was the butt of some strange joke.

“Are you really going to the Moon, Jack? Is this on the level?”

Jack’s face turned serious for a moment. “I’m not kidding, Ted. I’m going up to the Station, and a rocket to Luna is waiting there.”

Ted spread his hands wide in helpless wonder. “Why, that’s terrific! Jack, that’s wonderful! You, going to the Moon, why...” He cut himself short and asked, “You’re not going alone, are you?”

“Heck, no,” Jack said, chuckling. “There’ll be five of us, all told.”

“But why you? I mean, the first trip to the Moon. I should think...”

“Well,” Jack said, “there are several good reasons for my going along.”

“Let’s hear them.” Ted leaned forward excitedly. “Brother, you must be in seventh heaven. I can hardly sit still.”

“I’ve gotten used to the idea by now.”

“How can you ever get used to that idea?” Ted said. “It’s a wonder you aren’t turning cart wheels. But how come you’re...”

“I started to explain,” Jack interrupted. “My marks at the Academy were pretty high, you know.”

“Sure, I know.”

“In fact, I placed highest in the graduating class. That’s what finally swung the deal, I suppose.”

“Well, that’s wonderful.”

“Don’t get the idea that I’m just going along for the ride,” Jack said quickly. “The Air Force figured an Academy man would be valuable on the expedition. All those courses in navigation, engineering, geology...”

“Sure,” Ted agreed. “I can see where they’d come in handy.”

“The idea is for me to be a sort of pinch hitter,” Jack went on. “If anything goes wrong with any member of the crew, I’ll be able to take his place. Except the doctor, of course.”

Ted nodded wordlessly. His eyes were shining and he couldn’t keep the smile off his lips. He wanted to slap Jack on the back and congratulate him for his good fortune, carry him around the room on his shoulders.

“Then, too, there’s the strictly commercial angle,” Jack said. “The gimmick.”

“How do you mean?”

“Simple,” Jack said. “Nobody gives you anything for nothing. If this trip to the Moon is successful, just about every guy and his brother will want to join the Academy — especially if an Academy grad is one of the first men to land on the Moon. Don’t forget, Ted, we’re going to need a lot of spacemen if this trip is successful. This may be the gateway to interplanetary flight.”

Ted nodded, his face serious. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Well, the Air Force thought of it. I’m partly useful and partly pure propaganda for the Academy.” He grinned and added, “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. I’d have gone along if they offered me the job of scraping the jets.”

Ted laughed, and several scurrying, coveralled employees turned to look at him. “I’ll bet you would have. You’re getting a break any guy would...”

“Attention, please! Attention, please!”

Ted looked up as the loud-speaker on the wall cut through the noise in the commissary.

“Attention, please. All passengers for Rocket Ship Sugar Sugar report to blasting pit at once.”

“Sugar Sugar,” Ted said. “That’s S.S.”

“You’ve got it, boy,” Jack said. “S.S. for Space Station.”

“Repeat,” the metallic voice on the speaker said. “All passengers for Rocket Ship Sugar Sugar report to blasting pit at once.”

“We’d better go,” Ted said, shoving his chair back.

“Relax,” Jack advised, spreading his hand palm downward. “That means we’ve got at least fifteen minutes to blastoff.”

“But shouldn’t we...”

“Look, kid,” Jack said, “they’re not going to leave without us, believe me.”

“I know, but...”

“Attention, please,” the speaker repeated. “Ground crews report to launching site at once. Blastoff in fifteen minutes. Repeat. Blastoff in fifteen minutes.”

Jack smiled. “See?”

Activity within the commissary seemed to speed up. Chairs were shoved back rudely, coffees gulped hastily. The room began to clear as men and women in coveralls made their way toward the exit doors. Ted watched them, and the blood began to pound in his temples. He was getting closer, much closer. Soon. Soon. He began to drum his fingers nervously on the table, his lower lip caught between his teeth, his feet tapping the floor.

Jack watched him quietly, the smile clinging to his face.

“Look,” Ted said at last, “shouldn’t we go? The Manual says all hands should be aboard at least...”

Jack laughed, and there was something harsh in his laughter which Ted hadn’t noticed at the Academy. “Forget the Manual,” he said. “The Manual is for Earthlubbers. When you get up into space, you’ll see that nobody ever looks at the rules book.”

Ted got up, and then carefully pushed his chair under the table again. “Well, I’m still a lubber,” he said. “You coming?”

Jack shrugged. “Okay, okay. No need to get your jets all fired.” He pushed his chair back and stretched. “Come on.”

Ted set the pace, walking quickly to the large glass doors. The electric eye triggered them out, and as they stepped into the sunshine, every speaker on the field roared, “Stand by for blastoff. Blastoff in ten minutes.

“Repeat. Blastoff in ten minutes!”

They ran breathlessly across the field, past the scurrying men and women, past the radar tower and the toolsheds, past the blasting pits that stretched out like a row of oversized dimples. When they reached the steel-wire fence enclosing the three-stage, an Air Force captain with a Colt .45 strapped to his hip stepped out of a small guard booth, blocking their path.

“Let’s slow down,” he barked.

“We’ve got to get on that ship, sir,” Ted blurted.

Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheaf of papers, handing them to the captain. “My friend’s a lubber, sir,” he said. “First time on the milk run.”

The captain nodded briefly. “There’s a first time for everyone,” he said, his voice dry.

A slow flush crept around Ted’s neck, shoved its way up into his face. He fumbled in his pockets, dug out his identification shield and his authorization papers.

“Sorry, sir,” he mumbled. “I just didn’t...”

“That’s all right.” The captain turned his scrutiny to the papers, examining them carefully. He lifted his hat, held it in his hand as he wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. He sighed, replaced his hat, and gave one last look at the papers. “These look all right,” he said. He pointed to the portable elevator rig standing in place beside the tall rocket. “Just take the lift up to the control cabin.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ted said, pocketing his papers.

The captain nodded. “Nice trip.”

“Thank you, sir.” Ted restrained the urge to run to the lift. Instead, he kept his pace down to a very fast walk, Jack beside him all the way. He glanced up once to look at the rocket, fully expecting it to leap into the air without him at almost any moment.

When they reached the skeletal structure of the lift, a corporal triggered the electronic lock on the gate, and the door slid back soundlessly. They stepped into the car, their backs to the rocket.

“All set?” the corporal asked, a tired expression on his face.

“Full jets,” Jack answered.

“My,” the corporal said dryly, “ain’t you salty?” He yawned and swung a Z-shaped handle over to the left. The quiet hum of machinery reached Ted’s ears. The corporal pressed a button to slide the door of the car shut. “Hold your hats,” he said.

Almost imperceptibly, the car began to rise in the open shaft. Slowly, the ground dropped from beneath them as the car began its long climb. Behind them was the blue-black hull of the three-stage, so close that Ted could have reached out to touch it. The corporal looked up once, and his features were already blurred by the distance. The guard booth was smaller now, a carton set alongside the fence. The lift kept climbing, higher, higher, and Ted could see the entire field now, the blasting pits looking like tarnished pennies on a white canvas. The radar tower had become a miniature stack of toothpicks, and the ground crew moved over the concrete like white ants. The sky spread out around them, and Ted could see the ocean, green waves lashing the white, endless stretch of the beach.

“Pretty high,” he said, his voice slightly breathless.

Jack grinned. “If you think this is high, wait until we reach the Station.”

The lift was slowing. It glided to a smooth stop beside the air-lock door in the nose of the rocket. When they had passed through the lock and secured the toggles on the inner door, Jack led Ted to a ladder and started climbing.

“This way, lubber,” he said, not unpleasantly.

Ted followed Jack up the ladder, his nerves jangling against each other. They were going up to the control room, he knew, the room he’d seen a hundred times in diagrams and slide projections at the Academy. Jack disappeared through a circular opening in the overhead, and Ted followed him up. When they had passed through the hatch, Jack dropped the hatch cover, turning the wheel that would hold it tight to the deck.

“It’s about time,” a deep voice said.

“Hi, George,” Jack called. He took Ted’s elbow, steering him over to the four men clustered around one of the radar panels. The man Jack had called George looked at his watch and frowned. Ted noticed the double silver bars of an Air Force captain on the wings of his collar, and he wondered about Jack’s familiarity.

“Fellows,” Jack said, “I’d like you to meet Ted Baker. He’s going up to the Station for his senior year.”

The Air Force captain took a step toward Ted and extended his hand. He was short, with black hair curling over his high forehead. His eyes were brown, and they glittered with lively intelligence. He had a somewhat long, slender nose that curved gently down to his full lips. He gave Ted the impression of an eager cocker spaniel. Ted took his hand, returning the captain’s firm grip.

“My name’s Merola,” the captain said. “George Merola. I’m pilot and navigator of the Moon rocket.” He paused. “I suppose Jack has told you all about our little trip?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m also supposed to be in charge of this jet-propelled apartment house, so perhaps we’d best make ready for blastoff.”

Ted smiled, liking the man instantly.

“All right,” Merola said, “let’s get to the couches on the double.”

As if to lend urgency to his order, the loud-speaker on the bulkhead of the ship rasped, “Blastoff in six minutes. Repeat. Blastoff in six minutes.”

“Turn off that darned speaker, Jack,” Merola said. “Makes me jumpy, calling off the time like a cuckoo clock.”

Jack moved to the bulkhead speaker and clicked the toggle.

Ted stood by anxiously, hearing the thrum of the engines as they warmed up. He knew the ship was automatically set now, like a gigantic time bomb, and that she’d blast off in six minutes whether the men inside were ready or not.

“Dr. Phelps,” Merola called, “take Couch One on the starboard side. Dan, you take Two, Starboard.”

Two men moved from the control panel simultaneously, and Ted wondered which was which. He imagined the older man to be the doctor, but he wasn’t at all sure.

“Dr. Phelps is an M.D.,” Merola said. “Dan Forbes is our engineer.”

The men smiled and nodded as they passed, walking to the couches.

“Jack, you’ll take Three, Starboard. Dr. Gehardt, Two, Port. Ted, Three, Port. I’ll be in One, Port.”

Ted moved quickly to the port side of the ship, climbed up to the third couch. The couches were bolted to the bulkheads, one over the other, three on the starboard side, and three on the port side. Each couch was covered with thick foam rubber, enough to absorb the tremendous thrust of acceleration. Ted lay back, then looked across the cabin to where Jack lay in the top couch on the starboard side.

“Tighten your safety belts,” Merola said. “What time is it on the chrono, Jack?”

“1456, prime one,” Jack answered.

“That gives us about four minutes,” Merola replied. “Check rear radar, Dan.”

Ted couldn’t see the engineer too clearly, but he knew he was swinging an instrument panel in place over his couch and flicking on the rear radar switches.

“Rear radar loud and clear,” Dan said.

“Roger. Forward radar.”

Ted heard a series of clicks, looked up to see a wide expanse of cloudless sky on the radar panel over his head.

“Forward radar loud and clear,” Dan said.

“Roger. Focus rear radar and hold,” Merola ordered.

Ted kept watching the screen overhead as Dan fiddled with his dials. The blurred picture merged into sharp intensity, and Ted saw the panorama of the field below. Figures scurried away from the blasting pit, moving out beyond the wire fence. Two first-aid trucks, red crosses on their sides, pulled up beyond the fence. A mechanic in greasy coveralls waved his arms over his head, crossing them.

“Time, Jack,” Merola called.

“1457, prime three,” Jack replied.

“We’ve got a few minutes,” Merola said. He leaned his head out of his couch and looked up. “You all right, Baker?”

“Fine, sir.”

“Scared?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. You understand how this baby works?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Anyone who doesn’t?” Merola asked.

“I hate to sound stupid,” a voice cut in. There was the faint trace of a German accent clinging to the otherwise excellent English, and Ted imagined the voice belonged to Dr. Gehardt.

“No trouble at all,” Merola said. “You’re not expected to understand the workings of a rocket ship.”

In explanation, he called up to Ted, “Dr. Gehardt is our geologist, Baker.”

“Yes, sir,” Ted replied.

“It’s simple, Doc,” Merola went on. “In order to reach the Space Station’s orbit, we’d need a cut-off speed of 17,500 miles per hour. We can’t do that with one rocket, so we’ve piled three rockets on top of each other — a sort of piggy-back arrangement. Got that?”

“Yes,” Dr. Gehardt replied. Ted smiled as he remembered the many lectures he’d listened to on this identical subject.

“There are fifty-one rocket motors in the first stage of this baby,” Merola continued. “That’s our tail section. Our middle section has thirty-four rocket motors, and our nose has five. We’re in the nose now, Doc. The nose is the only section that will reach the Station.”

“I do not quite understand,” Dr. Gehardt said.

“About a minute and a half now,” Jack interrupted.

“We drop the first stage, the tail section, eighty-four seconds after blastoff. By that time, its fifty-one motors will have consumed 5,250 tons of fuel. In other words, when we drop the tail section, we’ll be losing seventy-five per cent of our overall original weight.”

“I see,” Dr. Gehardt said.

“The motors of the second stage begin blasting automatically after the first stage is dropped. They’ll burn 770 tons of fuel, and we’ll drop the entire second stage after one hundred and twenty-four additional seconds.”

“That leaves just us in the nose section,” Jack said.

“And the nose section will take us to the Station,” Merola concluded.

“Better watch that clock,” Dan advised.

“One minute,” Jack said.

“A few last words of warning,” Merola said, clearing his throat. “You may black out. If you do, don’t worry about it. The ship is controlled by automatic gyropilot for the entire trip, and there’s nothing any of us have to do. If you don’t black out, you’re going to feel darned uncomfortable — but that’ll pass too. Whatever happens, don’t get excited. Every maneuver this ship will make has been timed precisely, and the instruments were thoroughly checked before blastoff. There’s the slightest possibility that something may go haywire, but I wouldn’t put money on it.

“About blacking out,” he added, “if you feel you’re going to lose consciousness, don’t fight it. Just let it come. You’ll think a ten-ton truck is resting on your chest when we start to accelerate, but don’t let it worry you.”

He stopped abruptly. “Any questions?”

“Yes, Captain,” Dan Forbes cracked, “if I’m a good boy, will you give me the popcorn concession on the Moon?”

Merola laughed, and then asked, “What’s your rank, Forbes?”

“First Lieutenant, sir,” Forbes snapped.

“You are now a Second Lieutenant,” Merola said with mock severity.

“Oh, thank you. Thank you, sir.”

Merola laughed again and said, “Seriously, if there are no questions, you’d better check your belts again and then relax. I think we’re about ready to...”

A violent shudder shoved its way through the ship. Ted gripped the sides of the couch and swallowed the hot ball of lead in his throat. In the radar screen overhead, he could see the entire launching site, devoid of any humans or machines now.

“Here we go,” Jack said.

“Bon voyage,” Forbes whispered.

At first, Ted wasn’t even aware they were moving. He heard the tremendous roar from somewhere far below him, a sound like a cageful of tigers bellowing for their noonday meal. He saw the red-yellow gleam of the tail jets against the blasting pit, in the radar screen overhead. And then the ground began to drop away slowly, very slowly, until he could see the entire pit, scorched black from the heat of the exhaust.

He was vaguely disappointed. He had expected to scream away from the Earth like a frightened banshee. Instead, for the first few seconds, there was just the slow, slow climb — almost as slow as the lift that had carried him to the nose section.

And then, quite without warning, the rocket lurched ahead like an unleashed thunderbolt, its tail jets streaking fire, its nose slashing through the air as it roared up into the clouds.

It was worse than he ever imagined it could be. Far worse. At first he wanted to scream. He tried to open his mouth, but his jaw muscles didn’t seem to be working. He wondered about this, and he tried to lift his hand to touch his jaw, but something was holding his arm down tight against the foam-rubber cushion.

And then the force of acceleration got to work in earnest.

It pressed down on his body like a giant, mail-covered hand, pushing against his chest with suffocating force. He felt his back sink into the foam rubber, and there was a helpless feeling to the slow, sinking movement that made him want to cry out in panic. The only couch he could see from his position was Jack’s. He saw Jack’s body sinking into the cushion, and then Jack’s mouth popped open in an expression of sheer, raw pain. Sudden fear knifed its way up Ted’s spine as he anticipated the same ripping anguish Jack seemed to be experiencing.

The pain didn’t come. In its place, he felt the tremendous force clawing at the skin on his face, stretching it tight against his skull, pulling his lips back over his teeth, twisting his features into a horrible mask.

He sank deeper and deeper into the foam rubber, the roar of the rockets echoing in his ears. He tried to focus the picture in the radar screen overhead, wondering why it had suddenly become so blurred. Behind the screen, the metal overhead seemed to tilt at a crazy angle, and the cabin seemed to be growing darker. Ted’s mind felt fuzzy, and he wanted to shake his head in an effort to clear the dizziness that was invading his skull. But there were tight metal bands holding his head to the couch, it seemed: formidable bands of steel that forbade movement of any kind.

The blackness struck swiftly, without warning. It seemed to grow in the center of his skull, starting as a small dot and bursting into complete blackness in the space of a heartbeat.

He didn’t fight it.

He allowed it to claim his mind and his body completely as he drifted off into complacent nothingness.

As soon as they had removed their space suits at the Station, Ted left the other men to report to the Commanding Officer.

General Pepper was an impressive-looking man with a high crown of hair graying slightly at the temples. His face was as compact as a rivet, giving the feeling that there had been no lack of economy or efficiency in the arrangement of his features. He looked at Ted’s papers briefly and then leaned back in his chair. His collar was open at the throat, the two stars of his rank gleaming on either wing.

“Well, Baker,” he said, “you’re going to be lonely for a week or so.”

“Sir?”

“Until your classmates get here. Ordinarily, four more seniors would have accompanied you on this last hop. We had to give priority to the crew of the Moon ship, though.”

“I see, sir.”

“At any rate, another rocket is due tomorrow, and there’ll be one every day for the remainder of the week.” He chuckled and added, “I wish we had as many Moon rockets.”

“There’s only one, isn’t there, sir?”

“That’s right, Baker.” He leaned forward. “Did you see her outside?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “What did you think of her?”

“A beauty, sir.”

General Pepper nodded. “Nonetheless,” he said, getting back to the subject, “your entire class should be assembled by the end of the week. Until then...” He shrugged. “I suppose you might just as well get acquainted with the Station. Can’t see any harm in that, as long as you don’t get underfoot.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’ll be sleeping in compartment 12 Charlie. You can take any sack you like, since you’re the first one here. A lieutenant will be assigned to the group later, though, and he may want to rearrange things.” General Pepper allowed his voice to trail off, a smile tilting the corners of his mouth. “You know how shavetails are.”

“Yes, sir. I mean...”

“All right, Baker, you’re on your own for now. If you run into any problems, just ask anyone for help. You’ll find our crew to be a most co-operative one. Dismissed.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ted repeated. He saluted the general, about-faced, and left the compartment.

He found his sleeping quarters without any trouble. He wondered if his baggage had arrived yet, figuring he could spend some of his idle time in unpacking. The last he’d seen of it had been when he’d turned it over to the weighing section back on Johnston Island. Leaving the compartment, he debated whether he should stop a crew member to find out what the procedure with baggage was. He decided against it, reasoning that he’d find Jack or one of the other fellows soon, and they’d explain the setup to him.

Finding Jack turned out to be a matter of chance. Ted had wandered through the metal corridors of the Station for more than a half-hour, reluctant to ask directions since everyone seemed so busy. He was rounding another bend when he spotted a familiar crest of red hair.

“Jack!” he shouted. “Hey, Jack!”

Jack turned suddenly, his eyes widening. “Oh,” he murmured. “It’s you.”

“Brother, am I glad to see you,” Ted said, realizing he’d said almost the same words when he’d met Jack at the spaceport. He was a little embarrassed by his own enthusiasm now since Jack didn’t seem at all happy about the chance meeting.

“What’s the trouble?” Jack asked.

“Nothing. Except I need a road map of this place. How do you find your way around?”

“You’ll get used to it,” Jack told him. His face was unusually glum, the pained expression still clinging to his features. The Jack whom Ted had known at the Academy was full of life, always ready to share in a prank. This new Jack was a stranger.

“Well,” Ted said, “I was wondering if you knew where they’d dumped my baggage.”

Jack smiled briefly. “The Baggage Blues, eh? Come on, I’ll take you to the Loading-In Section.” He started down the corridor without another word, and Ted tailed behind him.

They passed an open door, and Ted called, “Hey, Jack, hold up a minute.”

Jack turned back, plainly displeased with the interruption. “What is it?” he asked.

“That’s what I wanted to ask you. Is this the Earth Viewing Room?”

Jack peeped through the open door. “That’s it.”

“Do you suppose we could go inside?”

“I think you’d better wait until your classes begin. You’ll get so much of Earth Viewing, it’ll be coming out of your ears.”

Ted stood in the doorway, fascinated by what he saw inside. A series of radar screens were set in the bulkhead, showing the section of the Earth over which the Station was now passing. The first screen covered an area of one hundred miles. The screen on its right covered a twenty-mile segment of the area on the first screen. The third screen pin-pointed a two-mile area. And the last screen, almost phenomenal in its telescopic power, had focused on a five-hundred-yard area, revealing the shore of an island far below, complete with palm trees and leaping surf. Men stood before each screen, wearing sound-powered phones through which all the data was passed up to Control.

“Come on,” Jack said. “I thought you wanted to find your baggage.”

Ted nodded, completely absorbed in the radar screens. Jack took his elbow and pulled him away from the door. “You’ll be standing watch on those screens,” he said. “We’ll see how much they fascinate you when you’ve got to nurse them along at four in the morning.”

They walked silently for what seemed like a long while, although Ted imagined they’d actually covered a very short distance in the winding corridor.

At last, Jack stopped before a panel in the bulkhead. Set into the panel was an arrangement of keys that looked very much like the keyboard of a typewriter. Each key was lettered alphabetically, starting with A in the first row, and ending with Z on the last key in the last row.

“Just punch out your last name on the keys,” Jack said. “The computer will sort out your baggage tags and pass the information on to the live crew on the deck above. They’ll pass your baggage down through the chute.”

Ted walked to the panel, studied it for a moment, and then punched out the letters B-A-K-E-R. He heard a faint humming sound as the electronic computer whirred into action. There was an immediate clicking as the information was relayed up to the top deck.

“It’ll be a few minutes,” Jack said. “The human element is a little slower than the machine element.”

Jack leaned against the bulkhead, a blank expression on his face. Ted wondered if it were simply boredom, or preoccupation with his thoughts of the Moon trip. There was a swish, followed by a thud against the bulkhead.

“That’s it,” Jack said. “Better wait until it all arrives.”

“There should be two suitcases and a barracks bag,” Ted said. Two more thuds sounded in the corridor, and Ted grinned. “I guess that’s all.”

He walked to the door set in the bulkhead at shoulder level. Quickly, he turned the wheel and threw it open, reaching inside for a suitcase. He deposited this on the deck and then put a second suitcase down beside it. He stepped close to the opening then and pulled the heavy barracks bag onto his shoulder.

“Want to close this door, Jack?” he asked.

“Sure.” Jack slammed the door shut, giving the wheel a quick twist. “I’ll help you with those suitcases,” he said.

“Well, thanks.”

Ted stood by, balancing the barracks bag on his shoulders, while Jack reached down for the heaviest of the two suitcases. Jack suddenly straightened, releasing his grip on the suitcase. His face turned a pasty white, and he staggered back against the bulkhead, his mouth twisted in pain. His right hand went up to his collarbone, and he closed his eyes tightly.

Ted dropped the barracks bag to the deck. “Jack, what is it? Are you...”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” He ground the words out through tightly clenched teeth.

Ted moved closer, his hands stretched out before him, indecision making his movements clumsy and ineffective. “Jack... I... what...?”

“I told you it was nothing,” Jack snapped. He turned violently, and then screamed as he clutched at his collarbone again.

“I’m going to get the doctor,” Ted said.

“No!” Jack shouted.

“But...”

“I said no! I’m all right. Just let me alone.”

“You’re not all right,” Ted insisted. “A blind man could see that.”

“Shut up!” Jack said, his voice low and hissing. “Do you want the whole Station down on our ears?”

Ted stared at his friend, his arms hanging at his sides, a puzzled look on his face. “I don’t understand, Jack,” he said at length. “Why don’t you want me to get a doctor?”

“Brother, how stupid can you get?” A new spasm of pain ripped through Jack’s body. He ducked his head, his lips skinned back over his teeth. He bent slightly at the waist, as if the pain were too much to bear standing erect.

“I’m going,” Ted said suddenly. He started to move, and Jack reached out with one hand, sinking his fingers into Ted’s shoulder. He whirled Ted around, slammed him against the bulkhead, the effort bringing new agony to his face.

“Look,” he gasped, “keep... keep your silly... nose out of this. Understand?”

He drew back his arm suddenly, and Ted saw pain knifing his features again.

“When did you hurt yourself?” he asked.

Jack didn’t answer for a moment. He kept his head bent, his fingers pressed against his collarbone. “It’ll pass,” he murmured. “The pain only comes... every... now and then.”

Ted suddenly remembered the blastoff from Earth and the pain that had contorted Jack’s features. “Was it during blastoff?” he asked. “Was that when you hurt yourself?”

Jack nodded, swallowing hard. “That’s when. Yes. Yes.”

“Where?”

“My collarbone.”

“Is it broken?”

“I don’t think so. No.”

“I’m going to get a doctor,” Ted said again.

Jack lifted his head, his eyes blazing. “You’ll do nothing,” he whispered. “You’ll keep your mouth shut and forget all about this.”

“But you said...”

“Just forget everything I said. Just go about your business and forget you even know me. Until I’m on my way to the Moon.”

Ted pulled his brows together and looked at Jack huddled against the bulkhead, his fingers massaging his injured collarbone.

“You can’t go to the Moon like that,” he said. “Acceleration might break the bone — if it’s not broken already.”

“It’s not broken,” Jack insisted, “and I’m not worried about acceleration.”

“You’ll be endangering your life,” Ted said. “The Manual says no man should undergo acceleration unless he’s in top physical...”

“Stop harping on that Manual,” Jack said. “School days are school days, and this is something entirely different. You think I’m going to pass up a shot at the Moon because of a rules book? You think I’m crazy?”

Ted’s eyes narrowed. “You’re supposed to be going along as a possible replacement for any man in the crew. How can you replace anyone if you’re going to need replacement yourself?”

“Let me worry about that,” Jack said.

“Suppose something should go wrong? Suppose one of the men gets sick? How will you...”

“Look, Ted,” Jack interrupted, “I’m going to the Moon. I’ve come this far, and I’m going the rest of the way, collarbone or no collarbone.”

“You’re being downright selfish. You’re not only gambling with your own life; you’re endangering the life of every man in the crew.”

“Stop being a kid, for crying out loud! I’m due for pilot and navigator training after this hop. You know what this will mean? I’ll be made. I can write my own ticket anywhere after this. You think I’m going to let a bruised bone stop me? Grow up, will you?”

Ted considered this for a moment. “Suppose I tell the doctor anyway?”

“That’ll mean washout for me. I’ll be through as far as the Air Force is concerned.” He paused. “You wouldn’t want that to happen, would you?”

“I... I don’t know.”

Jack smiled. “This bone bruise is nothing, Ted, Acceleration won’t hurt it a bit. You’ll see.”

“If it’s nothing to worry about, why won’t you see a doctor?”

“Because I don’t want to get tangled up in a lot of red tape. By the rules book, I’d be out. But you know, as well as I do, that the rules don’t always apply.”

Ted passed a nervous hand over his face. “Jack, why don’t you...?”

The smile had left Jack’s face, and a scowl darkened his features now. “This is none of your business, Ted,” he warned. “Just keep out of it. Your job is to stay here at the Station for a year.” He paused. “My job is to reach the Moon.”

“But will you reach it? That’s just my point. With a bruised bone, you’re liable to...”

“That’s my worry,” Jack said again. He looked down at the suitcases on the deck. “I think you’d better carry these yourself. I don’t want to take any chances.”

He started down the corridor, leaving Ted with the baggage. At the end of the metal hall, he turned and said, “I’m going to the Moon, Ted, and no one’s going to stop me.”

His mouth set into a tight line, and there was no compromise on his face. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your mouth shut!”

Ted dreamed that night. The dream started with a screaming rocket that blazed a fiery trail across the blackness of his mind. The rocket tore up from Earth and disappeared into the clouds, its trail disintegrated into dead ashes among the stars.

And then the sky fell down.

It split open with a terrifying crack, tearing apart like a sheet of black paper. The stars seemed to loosen suddenly from the paper, and they tumbled recklessly toward the ship, closing on it like a giant trap with fiery teeth.

Someone screamed, “Acceleration!” and the stars converged on the metal skin of the ship, battering it in explosive fury. The ship tossed and pitched against the crumbling black paper. There was another terrifying sound, the sound of splintering metal, the grating rasp of the bulkheads ripping apart.

The ship snapped in half, a blinding red flash erupting from its torn skin. Someone shouted, “Acceleration!” again, and Ted sat up in his bunk, sweat covering his body, his pajamas sticking to his skin. He breathed harshly, staring into the darkness.

It was a little while before he realized he himself had been doing the screaming.

A distorted voice sounded inside his helmet as soon as he dropped through the hatch. “Hurry it up, boy! Those guys on the rocket are likely tearing their hair by this time.” The voice, despite its distortion, couldn’t have belonged to anyone but a Southerner. Somehow, the mellow inflection took away from the urgency of his words.

Ted reached the taxi and climbed into the open top. The taxi was wedged tightly in the landing berth, sealing the Station from the pressure outside.

“Come on, boy, we’re late,” the voice said again.

Ted looked at the face plate of the helmet that was craned over the front seat of the taxi. The plate was darkened, and he could not make out the features behind it. He realized with sudden understanding that his own face was unrecognizable. He knew then that the pilot had probably mistaken him for Jack.

“Look,” he said into his helmet transmitter, “I’m not...”

“My friend,” the Southern voice drawled, “no excuses, please. If I don’t get you to that rocket in ten seconds flat, I’ll be back Earthside so fast...” He didn’t finish his sentence. He seemed to remember he was wasting time talking, and he stabbed his forefinger at a button in the instrument panel. Ted heard the whine of the jets behind him as the small rocket leaped away from the landing berth.

The short distance from the Station to the waiting Moon rocket seemed like a thousand miles to Ted. He drummed his gloved fingers against the cushion of his seat, his eyes scanning the stars that stared down in indifferent boredom. He fidgeted nervously, the sweat streaming down his face inside the helmet. It occurred to him once that he should make another stab at telling the taxi pilot who he was. He shrugged this aside, figuring it would only slow up the trip to the rocket — and he had to get there as soon as possible.

“Here we are, boy,” the Southerner said. “You better get in there right quick.”

Ted fairly leaped over the side of the taxi, gripping the rungs outside the air lock of the Moon rocket. Unlike the three-stage that had taken him to the Station, the Moon rocket was almost squat in design, looking like the triangular head of a rattlesnake. Its jets stuck out behind it like a row of yellowed buck teeth. Ted glanced briefly at the button in the air-lock door. He pressed it with his forefinger, and the door swung wide, admitting him to the lock. He twirled the wheel on the inside of the door, sealing the ship. He looked around the lock in confusion for several minutes. The Academy courses had never mentioned Moon rockets! He finally found two buttons set in the bulkhead, one green and one red, set above each other like the lamps in a traffic light. He pressed the green button and waited, satisfied when he heard the slow hiss of air in the lock.

The seconds dragged by slowly, tiringly. He waited until a light began blinking over the inner door of the lock, then floated quickly to the door, not stopping to remove his helmet. He twisted the heavy wheel and put his shoulder against the door, pushing it open. Quickly, he slammed the door behind him, turning the wheel on the other side.

He began loosening the toggles on his helmet as he stared around the unfamiliar cabin. A ladder ran from the deck to the overhead, leading to a closed hatch that undoubtedly opened on the control room above. At any rate, Ted assumed this smaller rocket would follow the same general design of the larger three-stage. He hesitated while he finished unfastening the toggles. He lifted his helmet off and placed it securely between the brackets on the wall.

He started for the ladder, reaching up high to grip the rungs, his feet coming up from the deck. He stopped climbing when his head was just beneath the hatch. He twisted the wheel, cursing the diabolical intelligence that had designed space ships with so many wheels to turn and unturn. He swung the wheel all the way to the left and then lifted the hatch cover with his shoulders, climbing into the cabin. He stooped down quickly and secured the hatch again. Then he stood up and turned toward the acceleration couches.

Merola’s voice came to him first. “That you, Jack? What on earth kept you?”

“It’s me,” he said. “Ted Baker!”

“What?” Merola swung upright on the couch, turning his body to face the hatch. “What the deuce are you doing here?”

“Jack is hurt.” Ted said quickly. “You’ve got to stop blastoff.”

Merola leaped to the deck, drifting downward, and Dan Forbes dropped down beside him. Behind them, Ted could see the worried faces of the two doctors.

“What are you talking about?” Merola asked. “What do you mean Jack’s hurt?”

“I had to knock him unconscious.” Ted blurted. “That is, I didn’t want to, but he insisted on coming to the rocket. I had to stop him somehow, and the only way I could was...”

“Make sense!” Merola snapped. “Where’s Jack now?”

“Back in the air lock. At the Station.” Ted took a deep gulp and added, “You’ve got to stop blastoff, sir. Jack’s...”

“How the deuce do you propose we do that?” Merola stormed. “I thought you Academy guys...” He clamped his mouth shut in exasperation and then lowered his voice as he went on. “This ship is primed to go, Baker. We couldn’t stop blastoff if we wanted to. Suppose you start explaining this from the be...”

“I didn’t think you’d have the guts,” Forbes said suddenly. “I didn’t think you’d go through with it, Baker.”

For an instant, Ted didn’t realize Forbes was addressing him. He turned to face the lieutenant then and asked, “Sir?”

“Don’t give me the baby-blue-eyes treatment, Baker,” Forbes snapped. “Of all the filthy tricks, this takes the cake!”

“What are you talking about?” Merola asked.

“Our eager senior here,” Forbes said. His gray eyes flashed with unveiled anger. He gestured at Ted with his close-cropped blond head and said, “He’s sabotaged Jack and come aboard in his place!”

Ted’s mouth opened in surprise. “Why no, sir. That’s not it at all! Jack...”

“George,” Dr. Phelps called hurriedly. “The Station. They’re sending up a flare.”

Merola sidestepped Ted and shoved himself hastily to the viewport. A red flare arced high over the Station, like a spark leaping from the rim of a wheel. It burst in the sky like an opening red hand, its brilliance tinting the inside of the rocket.

“That’s a danger flare,” Merola said. He whirled from the viewport, facing Ted with a solemn look in his eyes.

“What does Dan mean, Baker?”

“I don’t know, sir. I didn’t come aboard in Jack’s place. I came here to tell you to stop blastoff. Sir, I...”

“Then what was all that talk this afternoon, Baker?” Forbes interrupted. “About wanting to do something you knew would hurt someone else? About it being as important as the Moon trip? I tried to tell myself I was wrong about you, Baker, but you proved I was right. The temptation proved to be too much, didn’t it?”

Panic rushed into Ted’s eyes. “Sir, I... I...” he stammered. “You... you’ve got to understand.”

“Attention, Moon rocket!” the bulkhead speaker blared. “Attention, Moon rocket!”

“Here it is now,” Merola said. “Maybe this’ll clear it up.”

“You have a stowaway,” the voice on the speaker said.

“No!” Ted shouted. “That’s not true. I didn’t...”

“You have a stowaway, Moon rocket. You have a stowaway.”

“All right, Baker,” Forbes said. “That confirms it.”

“Sir...”

Merola’s face was grim. “I’m a little disappointed in you, Baker. I thought... well, no matter.”

“What are we going to do, George?” Forbes asked.

“What can we do? He goes with us.”

“No,” Ted pleaded. “We can’t do that. I just wanted you to stop because Jack was hurt and...”

“You planned it this way, Baker,” Forbes said. “Why chicken out now?”

“I didn’t plan anything!” Ted shouted. He turned to the two doctors still lying on the couches. They stared at him incredulously. “Dr. Phelps, Dr. Gehardt,” he pleaded. “Won’t you listen to me?”

Dr. Phelps turned away, his silence more cutting than any words could have been.

Dr. Gehardt seemed to waver for a moment. He shook his head slowly then and said, “I remember on the trip to the Station, your talk about the Moon rocket.”

“But I didn’t mean...”

“Stand by for blastoff,” the bulkhead speaker warned.

“Captain Merola,” Ted said, “you’ve got to believe me. I didn’t want to come on the Moon trip. I was perfectly happy to stay at the Station.” He bit his lip, dangerously close to frustrated tears, holding them back before these older men.

“Then what are you doing here?” Merola asked.

“Jack was injured. I came to tell you.”

“Sure,” Forbes said. “You knocked him cold. You just admitted it a while ago.”

“No, not that,” Ted said. “He...”

“Zero minus two,” the speaker warned.

“Let’s get to the couches,” Merola said. “We can talk about this later.”

“But, Captain,” Ted started. “I...”

“Get to your couch, Baker,” Merola said, his voice stern.

“Zero minus one.”

“Wh-which couch, sir?”

“Above Dr. Gehardt. Snap to it!”

“Sir, I...”

“You’ve caused enough trouble already, Baker. If you foul up our blastoff, I’ll...”

“Fifty-five...”

“Let’s hop to it, George,” Forbes said.

“Fifty...”

Merola went quickly across the deck and piled into his couch. He swung the movable radar screen into place over his chest, began clicking toggles.

“I’m checked, Dan,” he said.

“Roger.”

“Thirty...”

“Are those the seconds the speaker is counting off?” Dr. Gehardt asked.

“Forward radar loud and clear,” Forbes called.

“Roger.”

“Twenty...”

Ted lay back on his couch, his fingers digging into the foam rubber. He didn’t want to be going to the Moon. He only wanted them to believe him. He wanted them to know he’d been telling the truth, that he’d only been thinking of...

“Port radar loud and clear.”

“Roger.”

“Starboard radar loud and clear.”

“Roger.”

“Ten...”

“Rear radar loud and clear.”

“Roger.”

“Stand by, Moon rocket. Nine, eight, seven, six, five...”

Ted felt his stomach curl around his spine. He listened to the speaker on the bulkhead, and his skin erupted into goose-pimples. His lip began to tremble, and he clamped his jaws shut against his rattling teeth. This was no hop to the Station. They were shooting for the Moon. The Moon...

“Four, three...”

“Get set,” Merola shouted.

“Two...”

“This is it,” Forbes said, and his voice was peculiarly tight.

“One!”

Two minutes can be a very short time. It can zip by with lightning rapidity when your team is behind in the last quarter of a football game. It can seem like two seconds when you’re rushing to class before the bell rings. It can be gone before you realize it when you’re in the middle of an interesting discussion and you suddenly learn it’s time to go home.

Or it can be a very, very long time.

When you’re tight in the grip of acceleration, it can be a lifetime.

Dr. Phelps pulled himself out of his couch and drifted over to the huddled group. His face was pale, his eyes streaked with the bleariness of sleep. His shaggy black brows seemed even more unruly than usual. When he spoke, his voice was a whisper.

“What’s the trouble, Dan?”

Forbes swallowed hard. “George. His head... he...”

Dr. Phelps nodded briefly. Somehow, he was no longer the unkempt scarecrow in baggy coveralls who asked simple questions about rocket behavior. He was now in complete command of the situation. “Fred,” he said to Dr. Gehardt, “get the medical kit. Dan, get us some sandals and weights to hold George down.” He shoved himself closer to Merola, his slim fingers spreading the matted hair around the open wound, his eyes narrowing.

“Nasty,” he said. “How’d this happen?”

“He took a swing at a loose...” Ted started to explain.

“Baker found a loose rivet,” Forbes said, a touch of bitterness in his voice. “George was trying to fix it.”

Dr. Phelps nodded, waiting as Forbes brought him a pair of magnetized sandals. He slipped these on quickly, wrapped his arms around Merola’s waist.

“Give me a push down,” he said to Ted.

Ted braced himself by clinging to one of the couches, then shoved down hard on the doctor’s shoulder. Together with his burden, Dr. Phelps floated to the deck. His magnetized sandals gripped the metal and held him firmly rooted there, his arms still tight around Merola’s waist.

“Let’s hurry,” he called to Dr. Gehardt.

Forbes, sandals on his own feet now, helped Dr. Phelps lower Merola to the deck. He threw a line over Merola’s chest, the magnetic blocks on either end clinging to the deck. He did the same to the captain’s knees, then held his head up while Dr. Phelps examined the wound more closely.

“Here’s the kit, Peter,” Dr. Gehardt said, drifting over from one of the lockers.

“Thank you.” Dr. Phelps took the kit and rested its magnetic bottom on the deck. He lifted the lid a trifle, removing a plastic container of alcohol and slamming the lid tight again. He squirted some alcohol onto his hands and rubbed them briskly. He then reached into the kit for a wad of cotton, saturating it with alcohol. Methodically, deftly, he began to clean the wound.

“I hope it’s just a fracture,” he murmured.

Beads of sweat stood out on Forbes’s forehead beneath his close-cropped hair. There was a worried expression on his face. He licked his lips quickly.

“What else could it be, Doc?”

Dr. Phelps didn’t look up. His fingers kept moving rapidly around the wound. “Concussion,” he murmured.

Ted watched them from above, wanting to help, but knowing there was nothing he could really do.

“Is that bad?” Forbes asked.

Dr. Phelps’s black brows curled up onto his forehead in surprise. “Concussion?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Dr. Phelps nodded solemnly. “Yes, I’m afraid concussion would be very bad.”

Forbes let out a deep breath.

“The bleeding doesn’t seem to be too bad though,” Dr. Phelps went on. He barely turned his head. “Fred, let me have one of those sulfapaks.”

Dr. Gehardt lifted the lid of the kit too quickly, and a roll of gauze floated up into the air, unrolling as it went. Dr. Gehardt made a stab at recapturing it.

“Let it go,” Dr. Phelps said quickly. “The sulfapak, please.”

Dr. Gehardt’s fingers fumbled inside the kit. He was trembling when he finally handed Dr. Phelps the package. The physician ripped the package open, stared at the pad for a moment and then quickly placed it over the wound.

“There are some large squares of cotton in the kit,” he said. “The material, not the absorbent cotton. May I have several of them?”

Dr. Gehardt found the handkerchief-size pieces of cloth and handed them to Dr. Phelps. Quickly the doctor’s fingers formed the squares into a solid-looking ring pad, slightly larger than the wound and resembling a cloth quoit. “Get the gauze now,” he said.

Ted snatched the roll of gauze out of the air and brought it down to the doctor. Dr. Phelps took the end of the roll, placed the ring pad in place over the dressing, and then looped the gauze under Merola’s chin, up over his head and the wound, under the chin again. He kept unwinding the roll until the ring pad was completely covered with several layers of gauze. He snipped off a half-inch of adhesive then, and taped the bandage in place. He ran another bandage across Merola’s forehead and over the wound, taping this too.

“All right,” he said, “let’s move him to one of the couches.”

Forbes clumped across the deck in his heavy sandals and guided Merola’s feet, as Dr. Phelps steered his shoulders into the bottom couch on the starboard side of the ship. They laid him down gently, pulling the straps over his shoulders and waist.

Dr. Phelps squirted some more alcohol onto his hands, rinsing off the blood. He dried his hands, his eyes never leaving Merola’s inert figure on the couch.

He shook his head then. “There’s nothing more we can do. Except wait. And maybe pray.”

It was all wrong. Somehow, it felt all wrong, like running for a pop fly when you’re certain you’re going to miss it. Ted felt just that way. He watched the surface of the Moon expand in the radar screen, and he knew with sickening insight that he had missed the supply dump.

The Moon clung to the sky like a luminous, yellow egg, and the rocket moved swiftly toward the slender slice of darkness on its Western rim.

Forbes looked up at the radar, then snapped his eyes to Ted. “You’re way off, Baker,” he said tersely. Ted said nothing. He stared at the radar and licked his lips. The thunder of the engines filled the rocket as the ship descended rapidly, its speed diminishing as the engines decelerated by blasting.

“Don’t just sit there!” Forbes shouted. “Do something. You’re bringing her down in the wrong spot.”

Ted gulped hard. “There’s nothing I can do, sir.”

“What do you mean there’s...”

“Let him alone,” Dr. Phelps snapped. “Can’t you see he’s got his hands full?”

Forbes retreated into a gloomy silence. The men’s faces all turned to the radar screen and the growing picture of the Moon.

“Brace yourselves,” Ted said.

The screen was full now, brimming with the Moon’s light. The ship descended like a fast-moving elevator, its jet trail licking at the surface below.

“A few more seconds,” Ted said.

The ground came up suddenly, pitted, pockmarked. It filled the screen completely, blotting out the sky.

“This is it!” Ted shouted.

He pressed a button, and the engines stopped abruptly. Quickly Ted stabbed at another button, watching the indicator that showed the landing stilts were telescoping out of the ship.

“We’re coming down too fast,” Forbes screamed.

There was the sudden scrape of metal against rock. It screeched through the ship like the spine-curdling wail of chalk across a blackboard.

“Hold tight,” Ted warned.

The high whine of twisting, wrenching metal filled the cabin. The ship gave a sudden lurch to port, and Ted knew the landing stilt on that side had buckled beneath the too-rapidly descending weight of the rocket. He pressed a button on the panel in an attempt to retract that stilt, but his efforts led to more splintering noises. And above these, like the whine of a buzz saw combined with the crashing sound of spilling garbage cans, Ted heard the deafening roar of the rocket tubes digging into the Moon’s surface. Sudden fear raced through his nerves, and he felt a fine sheet of sweat burst out all over his body. The rocket teetered dangerously now, and he clung to the side of his couch. There was one last scream of tearing metal, and then the ship gave a convulsive shudder and settled back against the ground, still tilting to port.

Forbes was the first man out of his couch. He dropped to the deck and walked quickly to Merola’s couch. He peered in, satisfied himself that the captain was all right, and then walked to the viewport.

“You’ve done it, Baker,” he said bitterly. “This time you’ve really done it.”

Dr. Gehardt dropped to the deck, testing his long strides against the new-found gravity. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Baker’s smashed our landing gear, that’s for sure,” Forbes answered, “and he’s probably crippled the living daylights out of our tubes.”

Dr. Gehardt walked over to the viewport and stood alongside Forbes. “We can repair those, can’t we?”

“Maybe,” Forbes said briefly. “Now you’d better ask Wonder Boy where we are.”

Dr. Gehardt turned to Ted. “Well?” he asked.

Ted nervously wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I don’t know,” he answered.

“Well, I know,” Forbes put in. “Take a look out there, Doc.”

Dr. Gehardt peered through the viewport, his eyes softening. “The Moon,” he said simply, and there was wonder in his voice and a note of humbleness.

“Sure, the Moon. And darkness. Darkness.”

Dr. Phelps crowded up against the viewport. “What’s so strange about that?”

“Nothing strange about it at all. Except that at this phase of the Moon, our supplies should be in the sunlight. If we’d landed near our supplies, there’d be no darkness outside.”

“Then we are not near our supplies?”

“I must have turned the ship over too soon,” Ted said. “I just fouled up, I guess. I shouldn’t have tried it.”

“You should have thought of that beforehand,” Forbes said. He whirled from the viewport and crossed the cabin.

“What are you going to do?” Dr. Gehardt asked. He was still worried-looking, his face tired and drawn.

“I’m going to radio the Station. Maybe they can tell us just how badly Baker fouled up.” He sat down in a chair riveted to the deck before the powerful radio transmitter, closed a knife switch without hesitation. The gentle hum of the transmitter filled the cabin, and Ted waited as it wanned up.

His shoulders slumped, and he kept his head bent. He wanted to crawl under one of the couches and hide there. He wanted to bury his face in his hands and turn away from the eyes of the other men. He wanted to die.

“Moon rocket calling Space Station,” Forbes’s voice said into the microphone. “Hello, Space Station, this is Moon rocket. Come in, Space Station.” He paused and fiddled with one of the dials. “Hello, Space Station, Space Station, Space Station. This is Moon rocket calling Space Station. Can you hear me, Space Station?”

A brief crackle of static erupted from the loudspeaker on the bulkhead.

“Hello, Space Station,” Forbes went on, “this is Moon rocket calling. Come in, Space Station.”

There was static again, and then a voice intruded into the static, a voice that sounded distant. It wavered and fell, distorted enormously, but it was intelligible. “Hello, Moon rocket, this is Space Station. Come in, Moon rocket.”

“Lieutenant Forbes on Moon rocket reporting crash landing. Do you read me, Space Station?”

“We read you, Moon rocket. State your message.”

“Time: 2134. Repeat, 2134. Estimated time of landing: 2130. Report crash landing. Damage unknown. Assume landing stilts and blasting tubes damaged. Present position unknown. Request approximate position. Over.”

“Hello, Forbes. This is General Pepper. Any casualties aboard? Over.”

“Yes, sir. Captain Merola suffered head injury during flight. He’s still in a state of unconsciousness. Over.”

“That boy with you? Baker? Over.”

“Yes, sir. Over.”

Ted waited breathlessly as a burst of static splintered the silence.

“Just tell him he’ll be in hot water when you get back here, Forbes. Now stand by while I get that fix you requested.”

“Roger.”

Ted expected Forbes to smile at the news. Instead, Forbes kept his eyes on the transmitter readings, apparently too occupied to allow Ted’s misfortune to disturb him. Ted sighed heavily. Hot water, the general had said.

“Hello, Forbes. Have you got a map there? Over.”

“Stand by, sir.” Forbes snapped his fingers and pointed to one of the drawers. Dr. Phelps quickly opened the drawer and pulled out a sheaf of maps. He brought these to Forbes, and the lieutenant spread them on the table before him. “Yes, sir, I’ve got a map. Over.”

“We tracked you all the way up, Forbes. Figured something was wrong when you began turnover ahead of schedule. Have you got a pencil? Over.”

“Yes, sir. Over.”

“All right, start marking. Your supplies are in Mare Imbrium, over on the Eastern half of the Moon. Three miles east of the crater Archimedes. Have you got that point?”

“Stand by, sir. Yes, yes, here it is. Over.”

“All right, mark it. Those are your supplies.”

“Roger. And where are we, sir?”

There was a long pause. The static crackled into the compartment as they waited for the general’s voice again.

“You’re not going to like this, Forbes. We tracked you as you came down, and we’re pretty sure this is the ship we’ve got in the screens now. At any rate, it’s in the area you were falling toward.”

“I see, sir. And where is that?”

“You’re in Mare Crisium.”

“Roger. Stand by, sir.” Forbes bent over the map studying it. He scratched his head, then, and picked up the microphone. “I can’t seem to locate that, sir.”

“Where are you looking, Forbes?”

“Well, quite a ways over to the West. I figure we crashed in darkness and...”

“How far over?”

“The area around Mare Serenitatis.”

“You’re not far enough over, Forbes. Keep going. You’re almost on the Western rim.”

“Stand by, sir.” Forbes consulted the map again, and then seemed to recoil from the microphone. “Did you say Mare Crisium, sir?”

“You’ve found it?”

“Yes, sir. But... but it’s... it’s quite a distance from...”

“You’re approximately one thousand miles from the supplies, Forbes. Mark your position in the center of Mare Crisium.”

Forbes’s hand moved to the map, and he scribbled something onto its surface.

“I’ve marked it, sir.”

“Have you got both positions marked?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It looks bad, doesn’t it?”

Forbes looked at the map, sighing heavily.

“Yes, sir,” he said. “It looks very bad.”

“I’m contacting Earth now, Forbes,” the general said. “I’m trying to see what we can do about getting more supplies to you. Stand by for radio contact in an hour. And keep your chin up.”

“Roger. Out.”

Forbes opened the knife switch, and the transmitter clicked off. Without the hum, it was suddenly very quiet in the cabin.

Forbes swung the swivel chair around and folded his hands in his lap. “Well,” he said, “you heard.”

“They’ll get supplies to us,” Dr. Gehardt said confidently.

“I’m not so sure.”

“It should be simple,” Dr. Phelps put in. “They wouldn’t need a crew. Just unmanned rockets like the ones that took the other supplies here.”

“Mm-m-m,” Forbes murmured. He held out the map. “Take a look at this.”

The men studied the map, and Forbes shook his head forlornly. “A thousand miles,” he said. “And he was probably giving it to us in round figures. It’s probably more than that.”

“Why worry about the distance?” Dr. Gehardt asked. “If they send up more supplies, we can forget about the others.”

“Sure. If.”

“Is there a chance they won’t?”

“I don’t know. There must be some doubt or the Old Man wouldn’t have had to call Earth.”

“That’s true,” Dr. Phelps said.

Ted stood by the viewport, listening. He was filled with a deep sadness, a sadness that permeated every bone in his body. No matter how much he tried to convince himself that his motives had been purely unselfish, he couldn’t shake the knowledge that it had been he who had crashed the ship and tossed them into their present position. He wanted to go to Forbes and say, “Sir, I’m sorry about everything that’s happened, more sorry than you can know. But I really tried my best, and I really did want to help and...”

No. No, he could never do that. In the first place, Forbes wouldn’t believe him for a moment. He couldn’t very well blame the lieutenant, although he felt Forbes’s judgment had been a trifle too hasty. It was something like condemning a man to be hanged before he’d been given a trial. Forbes had based his entire case on a batch of innocent questions Ted had asked.

He had started with the basic assumption that Ted willingly and wilfully considered taking Jack’s place on the Moon rocket. From there, his theory had snowballed with remarkable rapidity, until he further assumed that Ted had deliberately kayoed Jack and had come aboard in his place. After that, Forbes’s imagination had taken over completely, and there were no limits to the extent of his accusations. Why, Ted wouldn’t be surprised if Forbes secretly blamed him for Merola’s injury... as... as a ruse... a trick to give Ted a chance at landing the ship!

Well, he was here, and he’d have to make the best of it. Of one thing he was certain. He could not convince Forbes of his honest intentions by any amount of talking, Forbes had made up his mind, and Ted appeared in that mind as a double-dyed villain.

In a way, he was sorry about the ill feeling Forbes carried for him, sorrier in a way that went beyond his own personal discomfort. Forbes had seemed like a nice guy, a person Ted would have enjoyed knowing better. Him and Merola. On the brief trip to the Space Station, he had found himself admiring the way these two men seemed to complement each other. He somehow sensed that a friendship such as theirs was a rare combination, and he felt himself wishing he could somehow be included in the duet. It was almost as if Forbes and Merola thought with the same mind. Whenever Merola started the first line of a gag, Forbes would grin in anticipation, almost as if he knew the punch line from the start. They seemed to share a secret thing between them, a mutual bond that required neither words nor gestures to make meanings clear.

Ted would have liked to explore this bond more fully and eventually become a friend of both men.

It seemed that that was impossible now.

A number of things seemed impossible now. The general’s words. What had he meant, Ted wondered. Washout, expulsion from the Academy? Or worse? What could be worse? What could be worse than washout in your senior year?

Or should he be worrying about washout? Would he ever get back to the Station to face court-martial?

Survival.

Survival on the Moon. Yes, that was another problem, a definite...

“Baker!”

It was Forbes’s voice. Ted turned from the viewport, ready for whatever was coming next.

“Yes, sir.”

“We’re going outside, Baker.”

“Very good, sir.”

“You’re coming with us,” Forbes said.

“Sir?”

“You heard me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you wondering why I’m allowing you to set foot on the Moon? Are you wondering why I’m allowing you that pleasure and honor?”

“Yes, sir,” Ted said. “I am a bit surprised.”

“It’s very simple, Baker. Very simple. George... Captain Merola... is a sick man. This ship is a valuable one with millions of dollars worth of equipment in it. Do you understand now?”

“No, sir, I’m afraid...”

“I don’t trust you, Baker. I wouldn’t trust you as far as I can throw the Moon. And I certainly won’t trust you in the same ship with my best friend and a dozen dials and gadgets you can fool with. In other words, Baker, I can’t leave the rat in his trap, so I’m taking him with me. Now do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Ted’s voice was small, and he could feel the blood rushing to his face. He stared down at the deck.

“Then get into a space suit, and make it fast. We’re going outside in about five minutes!”

They crawled down the side of the ship, hand over hand, reaching for the rungs with heavily gloved hands and thickly soled boots. They moved slowly, four men in a thin line that hung from the open air lock like a human thread. The ship poked into the sky behind them, tilting at a crazy angle, its blasting tubes a twisted jumble of metal.

The Moon sat like a stiff old man with a jagged, crooked mouth.

It was silent.

Dead silent.

There was no sound, no movement.

The stars glowed steadily behind it, a million eyes that watched Forbes drop to the ground like a dancer caught in a slow-motion shot. The pumice at his feet rose in a noiseless swirl and settled silently again. Dr. Phelps dropped down beside him. None of the men spoke, as if they had agreed beforehand to be as solemnly silent as the Moon itself. Dr. Gehardt clung to the bottom rung for a moment and then released it, dropping slowly to the ground. Ted dropped down beside him.

The night sky covered them like a black hood pinpointed with endless miles of bright white holes. The sky started abruptly where the land ended, with stars dancing on the horizon, almost close enough to touch, it seemed. Like a sprawling wisp of smoke above, the Milky Way trailed across the blackness of the sky.

There was a brittle feeling of crispness everywhere. Ted knew it was intensely cold outside, even though his battery-powered suit heater kept him comfortable. There was no dust, no cloud, no mist, no fog — no sound.

There was only a clear stillness, a stillness as deep and as cold as the void of space.

They stood together in a tight knot, the first men to land on the Moon. They said nothing, and Ted felt a sudden bond with the other men, a bond bred of the eerie silence.

“It’s... it’s awfully quiet,” Forbes said, his voice faintly distorted in the suit radio.

“Yes,” Dr. Gehardt replied.

“George would have liked this,” Forbes said, a tired remorse replacing the bitterness in his voice. Ted felt the same hopeless desire to know the man better, to share the inner workings of his mind.

There were no emotions visible through the darkened face plates of the men’s helmets. They stood about stiffly, as if they were uncomfortable in these strange surroundings. Ted had no way of knowing what the other men were feeling. He could only guess.

Forbes: the dream realized. Elation and disappointment. Elation because the dream was realized. And disappointment because the unconscious Merola was not here to share it.

Dr. Gehardt: the scientific puzzle. Craters to he investigated, rocks to be weighed and tested, minerals to be discovered. A new world of new experiences.

Dr. Phelps: the challenge. A careful analysis of physical stamina as pitted against this land of violently opposite temperatures and unfriendly terrain. The human machine against nature. And he was the mechanic who kept the machine running.

And Ted?

There was no guesswork there. No, he knew exactly what he was feeling. It was a mixture of awe and pride, of humbleness and pulsing excitement, of joy and sadness. It was all those things mixed into a crazy ball that throbbed in his throat.

“Let’s look around,” Forbes said.

They started out across the floor of Mare Crisium, the mare that meant “sea” in Latin, named long ago when scientists thought the darker areas on the Moon were actually seas. All of the maria had been given fanciful Latin names, and Ted thought of them briefly as they picked their way over the jagged, razor-sharp rocks underfoot.

Mare Nectaris: the Sea of Nectar.

Mare Serenitatis: the Sea of Tranquillity.

Mare Nubium: the Sea of Clouds.

Mare Imbrium: the Sea of Showers — and incidentally the sea that held their supplies at the moment.

He had learned the names of the thirty-odd gray areas during astronomy classes as the Academy, and he marveled at his memory of them now.

Mare Crisium. That’s where they were now. The Sea of Crises. It had been aptly named, Ted thought. A thousand miles from their supplies, they were indeed facing a crisis. The Moon had chosen a fitting background.

He turned his head within his helmet as he walked, breathing in the oxygen that flowed from the tank strapped to his back.

He wondered exactly how cold it was outside. Probably somewhere down around 200 degrees below zero Fahrenheit. Despite the chemical sprayed on the inside of his face plate, despite the heat circulating throughout the suit, the plate was beginning to frost up around the edges.

He was suddenly thankful for the protection of the suit. He shivered involuntarily, picturing himself out on the surface of the Moon without a space suit. He almost stumbled over a sharp rock, righted himself quickly, and kept his eyes on the ground as he walked.

The floor of the mare was covered with a dark gray pumice that stirred lazily as he pushed his heavy boots through it. It did not linger long above the ground. It was not lifted on gusts of wind because there was no wind. It was not held aloft in the air because there was no air. It drifted back as soon as they passed through it, silently, effortlessly.

A huge, barren, desolate wasteland seemed to spread around them endlessly.

That, and the silence. Almost a physical force, almost a part of the Moon, as much a part of the Moon as the pumice underfoot, the jagged, pointed rocks, the craters.

They walked on in silence, and then they seemed to stop as if a signal had been given. They stared around them, overwhelmed by the frigid silence. It was as if they had stumbled into a crypt, a dust-covered crypt as old as the universe, a crypt that defied invasion. There was a sense of timelessness here, an attitude of quiet resolution, as if the Moon had taken a solid stand and would not be budged from it.

And there was a feeling of changelessness, something that stirred in the silence to whisper, “I am now what I have ever been.”

The stillness was unnatural and eerie, and it sent a shiver of apprehension up Ted’s spine. He stared off to the distant jagged peaks that rose like splintered crowns beyond the horizon, crowns set with the brilliant stars as jewels.

To the people back on Earth, the Moon was a slice of lemon in the sky, a warm, pleasant-looking oval, a boy-and-girl moon, a moon for an autumn night with falling leaves.

The people on Earth were not confronted with the deathly silence, Ted thought, or the knowledge that a tear in a space suit could lead to almost immediate freezing. They didn’t know how heavy a helmet could become when it pressed down on your shoulders, nor did they know the queer feeling of watching tiny slivers of frost spearing the edges of your face plate.

To the people back on Earth, night was a comparatively short thing. You went to sleep with it, and it was gone in the morning, replaced by the cheering rays of the sun. If Ted had guessed correctly, night was just falling on the Moon. But “night” here was no rapidly passing thing. It took the Moon fourteen Earth days to pass from New Moon to Full Moon, and another fourteen days to complete the cycle. The “night” in other words, was a period of utter darkness and freezing temperatures approximately 336 hours long. When “day” came, it was sudden and sharp, like the unexpected sting of a bumblebee. The temperature shot up immediately, zooming from something like -250° Fahrenheit to a temperature near the boiling point of water! There was no such thing as dawn or twilight on the Moon. There was “night” and “day” and the line between them was a clean, swift one.

Ted almost smiled as he realized the only changeable thing on the Moon was the temperature.

Forbes suddenly stopped and faced the other men. “I think we ought to claim the old girl,” he said.

“Go on,” Dr. Phelps prompted.

“I’ve never claimed a moon before,” Forbes said. “What does one say?”

“Just say it,” Dr. Phelps put in.

Forbes seemed to concentrate for a moment while the satellite’s silence closed in around them. When he began speaking, his voice was strangely solemn.

“In the name of the United States of America on the planet Earth, we do hereby claim the Moon and everything on the Moon with God as our witness in this year of our Lord one thousand, nine hundred and eighty-three.”

They stood in silence for several moments, and then Forbes turned and began leading the way back to the ship. He suddenly stopped dead in his tracks and said, “There’s something George would want to try if he were out here with us.”

Without further preamble, he leaped into the air, rising high above the heads of the other men and coming down in a cloud of pumice some twenty feet away.

“Be careful,” Dr. Phelps warned. “This gravity can be tricky.”

“And the rocks are sharp,” Dr. Gehardt added.

“I’m all right,” Forbes assured them.

Ted thought back to the Academy classes again, remembering the many times Colonel York had gone over the gravity of Earth’s satellite.

He would stand in the front of the room, his beady eyes blinking.

“I can see by your blank expression,” he would say to the assembled class, “that you have no idea what this means. I will explain further, but only because I am a patient man. Gravity on the Moon’s surface is one-sixth that of Earth’s.” He would pause then and tap his riding crop as he studied his class. “Still no impression, eh?” Shouting, then: “That means that a man weighing 175 pounds on Earth would weigh 29 1/6 pounds on the Moon. That means that he could lift his center of gravity six times as high. That means he’d be able to jump long distances, lift heavy weights six times as easily. Does that penetrate, gentlemen?” A sigh, and a long pause. “Heaven protect us if any of you are the first men to land on the Moon!”

What would Colonel York say if he knew that Ted Baker was one of the first men on the Moon? Ted wondered about this, and he remembered what the colonel had said in one of his rare introspective moments.

“If we ever reach the Moon, gentlemen, during my lifetime, I shall kneel down and kiss Mother Earth — and then I’ll drink a glass of port and smoke a fifty-cent cigar in tribute to the ingenious scientists with whom we are blessed.”

Was the colonel enjoying his cigar now? Or was he wondering about the men who’d brought the ship to the Moon? Ted smiled, fondly recalling the irascible, lovable old man.

Forbes was standing again, brushing the pumice from his knees, as if he were flicking a speck of dirt from a tuxedo. Ted longed to test the gravity, too, trying to visualize himself floating through the air. It’s a bird, he thought wryly. No, it’s a plane! No, it’s Ted Baker! Faster than a flashing meteor, able to leap tall rocket ships: Ted Baker, who is in reality...

He cut his commercial short when he heard Forbes’s voice sound in his helmet receiver. “Snap it up, Baker. We haven’t got all day.”

No, Forbes wouldn’t like it at all if he were to try a leap. Not at all. Ted shrugged his shoulders within the suit and shuffled after the other men. They climbed up the side of the ship, and Ted found himself peering over his shoulder, looking down at the cold, lifeless waste of the Moon.

They climbed into the air lock, sealing the door behind them. Forbes set the pressurizing machinery in action, and they waited while the pressure in the lock equalized itself to that inside the rest of the ship. The light finally began blinking over the inner door of the lock.

Forbes opened the door and stepped into the compartment below the control deck. Quickly the men took off their helmets.

“My face plate is all frosted over,” Forbes said.

“I am not usually a man of extreme statements,” Dr. Gehardt said, wagging his bald head. “But I should say it is colder out there than we have ever known it to be cold — and I have known it to be exceedingly cold at times.”

Forbes nodded. “No wonder. Figure it this way. The highest and lowest temperatures ever recorded on Earth are 136° and -94° Fahrenheit. We can expect it to go higher than the temperature of boiling water here — 212 degrees — and as low as 250° below zero. That’s hot and cold for you!”

“I’m anxious to see how George is getting along,” Dr. Phelps said. He had removed his suit and was starting toward the ladder that led to the control deck.

Forbes remembered Merola suddenly, and the smile dropped from his face. He shot a quick glance at Ted and then turned away to follow Dr. Phelps up the ladder.

Ted and Dr. Gehardt were left alone in the compartment, and Ted sensed that the geologist was uncomfortable in his presence. The doctor struggled with the back of his suit, trying to unfasten his oxygen tank. He wrestled with it for several moments and then turned to Ted.

He hesitated, unsure whether or not he should speak. “I... would you be so kind...”

“Sure,” Ted said. He walked behind the doctor and unclipped the tank, gingerly unscrewing the air hose. “There.”

The doctor nodded politely. “Thank you.” He took off his suit then, carefully folding it and putting it in one of the lockers. He started for the ladder, and stopped, turning to face Ted. “Baker,” he said, “I’m not sure you are as black as you’re being...”

“Dr. Gehardt,” Forbes called down from above, his voice excited. “Come on up here! George is with us again. He’s come around!”

Merola looked pale. He sat up, a pair of pneumatic cushions behind him. Dr. Phelps hovered over him nervously, adjusting the bandage under his jaw and across his forehead. The bandage was only slightly whiter than the drawn skin over Merola’s cheekbones. His deep brown eyes burned like smoldering coals in his face. His hair was startling black against his blanched skin.

The first thing he said was, “How is it outside, Dan?”

Forbes grinned. “Bleak. You didn’t miss a thing.”

Ted stood behind the other men, peering over their shoulders at the captain.

Merola tried to smile, and his lips trembled. “I would miss the best part, wouldn’t I?” He shrugged forlornly. “Who brought the ship down?”

Forbes hesitated, then answered, “Baker.”

“And everything is all right?”

“I haven’t really checked yet,” Forbes said. “One of our stilts is shot, and I think our tubes are damaged pretty badly.”

“Oh!” Merola looked around. “Where’s Baker?”

“Here, sir.”

“Come here where I can see you,” Merola said.

Ted shouldered his way through the tight ring around the couch. “Yes, sir,” he said.

“Was it tough, Baker?”

“I miscalculated, sir.”

“So I understand.”

“I’m really sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to...”

“Were there any casualties?” Merola asked.

“No, sir.”

“Anyone injured?” He repeated.

“No, sir.”

“Considering everything then, I’d say you did a fairly good job.”

“Maybe you won’t feel that way when...” Forbes started.

“Dan!” Dr. Phelps cut in. “For the love of...” He clamped his mouth shut suddenly, as if he’d realized his outburst was as bad as Forbes’s. The cabin became silent, and Merola studied the faces grouped around the couch.

“All right,” he said at last, “what is it?”

“Nothing,” Dr. Phelps answered.

“What is it?” Merola repeated. He looked very tired.

“Maybe Baker should tell you,” Forbes said.

“Why don’t you tell me, Dan?”

“All right, George. We’re...”

“Dan!” Dr. Phelps snapped. “There’s no sense...”

“He’s got a right to know. He’s in command, and it’s his ship.”

There was silence again. Dr. Phelps shrugged in resignation. Forbes took a deep breath and said, “We’re about a thousand miles from the supplies. Baker took us down in the wrong spot.” He said it all in a rush, as if anxious to get it over with.

Merola considered the information for a moment, then scratched his head. “That’s not so good.”

“You can thank Baker,” Forbes said bitterly.

“I can thank Baker we’re still alive,” Merola snapped.

For an instant, both men stared at each other. Forbes licked his lips quickly, and a hurt expression flickered in his eyes and then was gone immediately.

Merola shook his head as if trying to clear it. “I’m sorry I shouted, Dan,” he said. “I guess I’m still a little groggy.”

“Sure,” Forbes answered. His face tried a smile that didn’t work.

“Can we get more supplies?” Merola asked.

“Maybe. The Station’s checking with Earth now. They’re going to call back in...” His eyes swept to the bulkhead chrono. “Holy crow, it’s time!”

He ran across the deck, forgetting the Moon’s gravity for a moment, and sailed across the cabin to collide with the viewport.

“Be careful,” Merola called, anxiety in his voice.

Forbes got to his feet and worked his shoulder. “I’m okay,” he said. He squeezed into the chair behind the transmitter and closed the knife switch.

The heavy gear hummed into the cabin, and Ted looked around at the faces of the other men.

Dr. Phelps was leaning against the support of the couch above Merola. His lips were pressed together, making his mouth look wider somehow than it was. His black brows were pulled together into a tight knot over his nose. He stroked his long, angular jaw and stared at Forbes fiddling with the dials.

Dr. Gehardt seemed to have retreated inside his coveralls, almost as if he were seeking refuge there. His shining pate poked out over the neck of the coveralls like a turtle’s emerging head. He rubbed the back of his hand across his small nose and wet his lips with the tip of his tongue.

Merola’s eyelids blinked rapidly as he lay back against the cushions. He tapped his fingers nervously against the side of the couch. His eyes were curiously serious. He stared at the bulkhead, not looking at anyone in the cabin, and yet Ted felt he knew everything that was going on around him — like some sort of electronic brain computing impulses of sound into meanings.

“It’ll be a while until this warms up,” Forbes said.

“Have you got any idea where we are?” Merola asked.

“Sure. Mare Crisium.”

Merola whistled softly. “That’s a far shout from Mare Imbrium.”

“Yeah.”

“Is it dark outside?”

“Yes,” Dr. Gehardt replied.

“That figures. It would be dark in Mare Crisium at this phase of the Moon. We’ll have to find out exactly how old the Moon’s day is. The Station should be able to help us on that.”

Forbes swung the chair around as a blast of static sounded from the receiver. He twisted a dial, lowering the volume. A voice suddenly intoned, “...ing Moon rocket. Come in, Moon rocket. Space Station calling Moon rocket. Come in, Moon rocket.”

“Hello, Space Station, this is Moon rocket standing by. Over.”

“I’ll make this quick because I don’t want you to use your batteries any more than you have to.” Ted recognized General Pepper’s voice, and he listened intently as the general went on. “I’ve contacted Earth, Forbes. There are no supply rockets available at present. Repeat, there are no supply rockets available at present. Have you got that?”

“Y-y-yes, sir.”

“Ask him how soon,” Merola prompted.

“How soon, sir?” Forbes repeated.

“I was coming to that, Forbes. You’ve got to understand that this is an unforeseen accident. The only supply rockets we had were sent to the Moon a long while ago. They’re waiting for you now in Mare Imbrium.”

“I understand that, sir. But...”

“We didn’t figure we’d need more rockets, and there simply aren’t any. You can understand that, can’t you, Forbes?”

“Yes, sir.”

There was a long pause, a static-filled interlude.

“Well, Forbes, I’ll give it to you straight. We’re starting some new rockets now, going full-speed-ahead on them. It’ll take time. A rocket has to be big to carry all the fuel you’ll need to get you back here. We’ll send a food rocket first, of course, but that’ll take time too.”

“How long, sir?”

“Six months.”

“What?” Merola shouted, leaning forward. He started to get out of the couch, and Dr. Phelps held him down. “Tell that egghead we need...”

“Can’t we have anything sooner, sir?” Forbes asked.

“This is at top speed, Forbes. It would normally take about two years to build one rocket. We’re going to try to get three for you in twelve months.”

“Ask him what he expects us to do in the meantime?” Merola shouted.

“Sir...”

“Forbes,” the general said sincerely, “I wish there were something more I could do for you, believe me. I can’t tell you how happy we are to know that you’re alive. Six months is the best we can do. Forbes, believe me, we’re... well look, we’ve got everything started already. As soon as you contacted us, work was begun immediately. Everyone is pulling for you, everyone! We’ve had donations from all over the world. Everyone wants to help. But it’s physically impossible to produce in less than six months. Darn it, Forbes, I’d climb up there with my bare hands if I thought it’d do any good.”

“I understand, sir.”

Merola shook his head sadly. “He’s doing all he can, Dan. Tell him we appreciate his help and that well... we’ll...”

“We’ll what, George?”

“We’ll get along, I guess.”

Forbes repeated the message into the microphone, and there was another long pause.

“Ask him how old the Moon is,” Merola said.

“Sir, can you give us any idea how old the Moon is? Captain Merola would like to know.”

“Merola? Is he all right again?”

“Yes, sir. He came around just a little while ago.”

“Good, good. May I speak to him?”

“No,” Dr. Phelps said quickly.

“Sorry, sir,” Forbes said into the microphone, “the doctor won’t allow him up.”

“Very well,” General Pepper said. “Give him my best.” He paused awkwardly. “You’ll need your batteries, Forbes. We’d better sign off for now. And Forbes...”

“Yes, sir?”

“Good luck, Forbes.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I... we’re all behind you, Forbes. You and the crew. Tell them we’re all behind you.”

“Thank you, sir. We’d better...”

“Dan, you’re forgetting the Moon’s age!” Merola shouted.

“Sir? General Pepper?”

“Yes, Forbes?”

“Are you getting that information we wanted?”

“Yes, yes, just one moment, Forbes.”

There was a long static-filled pause. Forbes sat at the transmitter, the microphone clutched in his fist.

“Hello, Forbes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The Moon is now eighteen days old. About nine and one-third days to New Moon.”

“I’ve got that, sir.”

“Good luck again, Forbes. And...” He paused and then murmured, “Out.”

Forbes pulled at the knife switch, killing the transmitter. He folded his arms on the small table before the gear and dropped his head into them. “Six months.”

Ted digested the information. Six months. That was a long time. It would be a long time anywhere. It could be forever on the Moon. A wash of guilt flooded his body. If he hadn’t brought the ship down in the wrong spot, there’d be no trouble now. The men would be concentrating on building a Lunar base instead of...

“We’ll go after the supplies,” Merola said suddenly.

Forbes lifted his head from his arms and stared at the captain. “A thousand miles,” he said.

“We can travel close to 300 miles a day up here,” Merola said. “It shouldn’t take us more than a little over three days.”

“I wouldn’t advise it,” Dr. Phelps said.

“Why not?”

“The heat. The Moon is now eighteen days old. That means that the area to the East of us is still in sunlight, and will be for another nine days.”

“We’ll wait a week, then,” Merola said. “In seven days, Mare Imbrium should be in darkness. We’ll be able to travel by night and come back by night.”

“How do you figure that?” Forbes asked.

“No, I’m wrong,” Merola said, shaking his head. “If we wait a week and then start, it would take us three days to reach the supplies, and by that time the sun already would be rising on the Western rim. We’d be caught in sunlight before we got back to the ship.” He scratched at his chin and thought silently for a few moments. “Get me a piece of paper, will you, Dan?”

Forbes opened one of the drawers and pulled out a sheet of paper and a pencil. He crossed the cabin and handed it to Merola.

“Now, let’s see.” Merola said. “It takes the sun approximately fourteen days to cross the face of the Moon. The Moon’s diameter is 2,160 miles... so if we divide that by fourteen... let’s see...” He scribbled a few figures on the paper, his brow wrinkled. “That’s approximately 154 miles every day. Right?”

“Approximately,” Forbes said.

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to do,” Dr. Phelps said.

“I’m just trying to figure out when we’d have to start from here in order to reach Mare Imbrium in darkness and make the trip back in darkness. You see, the Sun is now retreating across the face of the Moon at the rate of approximately 154 miles a day. Now, if we can work up some sort of a chart here.”

Quickly, Merola began writing on the sheet of paper, scribbling in figures and words:

“All right,” Forbes said, “now explain it.”

“Simple,” Merola answered, grinning. “The top line is simply a listing of the days. The second line shows how many miles the retreating Sun will have traveled at the end of each day. And the bottom line shows how many miles the supply party will have traveled at the end of each day.”

Forbes studied Merola’s figures for a moment. “In other words, if we leave here four days from now, the area of sunlight will always be ahead of us. We’ll be traveling by ‘night’ all the time.”

“Right. By the end of the seventh day, darkness will have spread approximately 1,078 miles from our present position. We should reach Mare Imbrium just as ‘night’ is falling there — or maybe a little after ‘night’ has fallen.”

“And what about getting back?” Forbes asked.

“The Moon is now eighteen days old. Add the three-day wait and the four days to get us to the supplies, and that makes 25 days. Another two and one-third days for the Moon to be in complete darkness. And another four days for the rising Sun to reach our present position. That gives us six and two-thirds days to get back here while it’s still dark. That’s plenty of time, even if we’re carrying a full load.”

“It might work,” Forbes said.

“What about oxygen?” Dr. Phelps asked.

“We’ll only need enough to get us to the supply dump. We can load up there for the return trip.”

“That’s still a lot of oxygen,” Forbes put in. “Each cylinder carries only enough for about twelve hours.”

“I figure two men will go,” Merola said. “They’ll be a little more than three days getting to the supplies... two cylinders of oxygen for each day... that means each man will need six cylinders of oxygen. We’ll give each eight, just to make sure.”

“That’s impossible,” Dr. Gehardt said. “They’d never be able to carry that many.”

“No, they wouldn’t,” Merola said, his eyes clouding.

“Not on their backs, anyway,” Forbes said.

“Do they have to carry them on their backs?” Ted asked. Forbes shot a glance at him, and Ted regretted speaking as soon as the words had left his mouth.

“Baker’s right,” Merola said, the spark leaping into his eyes again. “We can build a sled or something, and pile the cylinders onto it. We could make it that way!”

“Maybe,” Forbes said.

The men fell silent, and Ted knew they were each weighing the chances of reaching the supply dump alive.

“What about food?” Dr. Phelps asked. “You won’t be able to open your face plates out there. How will you eat?”

“We’ll carry tubes of chocolate in our helmets,” Merola answered quickly. “That’ll keep us going.”

“For ten days?”

“It’ll have to do.”

“One question,” Forbes said. “What happens when we reach the supply dump? Do we bring back enough material to keep us on the Moon indefinitely?”

“That would be impossible.”

“Sure. It would also be impossible to bring back enough fuel to get us off the Moon.”

“To get us back to Earth, you mean,” Merola corrected.

“I don’t follow you,” Forbes said.

“We can bring back enough to get us off the Moon, if we plan on dropping back to the Moon again.”

“What good would that do?” Forbes wanted to know.

“It means we can bring back just enough fuel to allow us to blast off and come down again near the supply dump. After that, our worries are over.”

Dr. Phelps nodded his head. “Enough fuel to get us to Mare Imbrium, you mean.”

“Exactly.”

Forbes nodded too. “It might work. It just might work.”

“Providing,” Dr. Gehardt put in.

“Providing what?”

“Well, I hate to be a wet blanket, gentlemen, but what happens to the men who remain behind? How will they survive? Will the batteries hold out? Will there be enough food? Enough water? Enough oxygen? Or will the returning party find a ship full of dead men?”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Merola admitted.

“What difference does it make?” Forbes asked

“We’ll make a check,” Merola said. “If the men left behind can’t possibly survive...” He paused and scratched his chin. “Heck, I don’t know what to say.”

“If there’s any doubt about it,” Forbes said, “we’ll all make the trip together.”

“Do we have enough oxygen?”

“I think we’d better check.”

“Okay, Dan. And while you’re checking the oxygen cylinders, you might as well go down below and see how the batteries are holding up.”

“Roger.”

Forbes grinned briefly and started for the hatch in the deck. He took two long strides, pulling up short beside the hatch. Quickly, he turned the wheel and pulled back the lid. As he started belowdecks, Merola turned back to the other men.

“Dr. Phelps, I’d like you to check our food. Dr. Gehardt, will you check our water supply?”

“Certainly.”

The two doctors started off, and Ted fidgeted uncomfortably, standing by Merola’s couch.

“I think it’ll work, Baker,” Merola said. “If we can bring back enough fuel for a blastoff to the supply dump, we can stay on the Moon as long as we like.”

“Yes, sir,” Ted said.

“Does that mean you agree with me, or are you just being polite?”

“I don’t know, sir. I mean, I don’t know if it’ll work. A thousand miles seems like such a long distance.”

“Well, it’s not exactly right around the corner.”

“That’s what I mean, sir. The two men who go. They’ll be out there for ten days. Will their suit batteries last that long?”

Merola considered this. “They may be able to replace their batteries at the dump. In fact, I’m quite sure they can. That means they’ll only need their batteries for the four-day trip to the dump.”

“Three and one-third days, sir,” Ted corrected.

“Yes, of course.”

Dr. Gehardt made his way across the cabin, shaking his head. He stopped before Merola and smoothed the skin back on the top of his head. “It doesn’t look good, George,” he said.

“How much water?”

“A little more than four gallons.”

“No, that’s not good at all.” Merola paused. “But it’ll have to do.” He turned his head quickly as he heard footsteps. Dr. Phelps crossed the cabin, a sheet of paper in his hands.

“What’s the story, Doc?” Merola asked.

“Not too bad,” the physician replied. “Not too bad.”

“How bad?”

“Well, we won’t eat like kings, of course, but I don’t suppose any of us expected to.”

“What is it, Doc?”

“If we cut down to half-rations, our food’ll last two weeks. If we’re careful. That’ll give us just enough for the four-day wait and the ten days the men will be gone.”

“Good. If Dan reports affirmative on the oxygen, he and I will be leaving in four days.”

“What?”

“I said...”

“I heard you. I heard what you said.”

“Well, then...”

“That blow on your head must have really unbalanced you.”

“What do you mean, Doc?”

“I mean that you are in no condition to get out of that couch, no less travel a thousand miles in freezing temperatures.”

“Doc!”

“No ‘docs’ about it, George. You’re not leaving that couch. That’s an order.”

“I thought I was in command of this ship.”

“Not when it comes to physical welfare.” He paused, then added, “And if you get out of that couch, I can’t promise you you’ll be in command very long.”

“Look, Doc...”

“I’m not being foolish or stubborn, George. I’m being practical and maybe a little selfish. I can guarantee that you’re not strong enough to reach the supply dump. If you went, the effectiveness of the mission would be cut exactly in half.”

Merola considered this a moment. “You’re sure?”

“I’m positive. That blow was a nasty one.”

“Maybe...”

“No, George. Forget it.”

Merola shrugged and let out his breath. “Who’ll go then?”

“I’d volunteer myself,” Dr. Phelps said, “but that would defeat the purpose of keeping you here. That wound is going to need care during the next few weeks.”

“I’ll go,” Dr. Gehardt said simply.

Dr. Phelps avoided the geologist’s eyes. “I wouldn’t advise that, either, Fred.”

“Why not?”

“The trip should really have a more... a younger man along. It will be somewhat strenuous, Fred.”

Dr. Gehardt smiled. “I didn’t really think I should go, Peter. But I thought, perhaps...”

“That leaves you, Baker,” Merola said. “What do you say?”

“I don’t know, sir. Lieutenant Forbes might...”

“How do you feel about it?”

“Whatever you say, sir.”

“Okay,” Forbes piped from the hatch. “There are enough cylinders to last close to three weeks.” He climbed up onto the deck and slammed the hatch shut behind him, turning to the men. “The batteries are doing fine. Should last about thirteen days under normal operating conditions.”

“Good,” Merola said, nodding. “You’ll be leaving in four days, Dan.”

“Fine.” Forbes paused. “Who’s going with me?”

Merola took a deep breath. “Baker.”

“What?”

“Baker’s going with you. He’s the only man who’s...”

“For crying out loud, George, how can you...”

“You’ll leave in four days,” Merola snapped. “You and Baker. That’s an order.”

Forbes stared at Merola for a long time. He turned away then, starting for his couch, a pained expression on his face.

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled.

The time passed rapidly. There was much to be done, and they wasted no time getting started. Forbes took Dr. Gehardt and Dr. Phelps outside to show them the extent of the damage and to explain the repairs needed. The doctors wanted to start the repair work at once, but Forbes told them there’d be plenty of time after the trip to the supply dump had been started.

Besides, a sled had to be built, a sled strong enough to carry fourteen cylinders of oxygen. These, together with the two tanks Ted and Forbes would be carrying on their backs when they left, would insure enough for the trip to the dump — providing there was no overexcessive delay.

The men got to work at once, building the sled outside the ship in the bitter cold. The temperature kept dropping steadily as night moved its way across the barren satellite.

On the first day they recorded the temperature at -219°. That was when they began building the sled.

On the second day the temperature dropped to -223°.

On the third day with the temperature at -230°, they finished the sled and began stacking the oxygen cylinders, passing them down the side of the ship with slender wire cables. They strapped the cylinders to the sled, using a buckle arrangement which could be loosened or tightened when wearing heavy gloves. The sled was a simple affair with four crossbars welded onto two runners. It would not be difficult to pull it across the face of the Moon, and the men were counting on the light gravity for help.

On the morning of the fourth day — morning only because the ship’s chrono said 0730, even though it was still “night” on the Moon — Ted and Forbes left the ship. The temperature outside was 238° below zero.

The insides of their helmets were lined with containers of hot chocolate and vitamin concentrates. The rubber tubes on the containers trailed around the inside of Ted’s helmet like a nest of garden snakes. He had only to move his head in order to reach any one of the tubes with his mouth.

Both he and Forbes wore several layers of woolen underwear beneath their coveralls. They had both put on three pairs of heavy woolen socks, tucking the legs of their coveralls into the tops of the socks. Their suit batteries sent electricity running to the coils that zigzagged through the inside lining of each suit. As long as their batteries lasted, they would be warm.

Their face plates had been sprayed with a frost-resisting chemical, and rubber ducts had been cemented in place just below the plates. These ducts were connected to small blowers which would force blasts of hot air against the face plates should these begin to freeze up.

The belts strapped around their waists carried hammers, screw drivers, pliers, rubber tape, wire.

That was the extent of their equipment — that, and the sled they would tow behind them, the sled carrying the oxygen to sustain them on their trip.

They paused outside the ship, and Ted looked up at the viewport. Dr. Gehardt waved down. Dr. Phelps stood beside him, his features blurred by the distance.

Silently, Ted and Forbes started for the sled.

Forbes stooped down and picked up the wire tow strap.

“Let’s get something straight right from the start, Baker,” he said over the suit radio. Ted listened, knowing in a way what was coming — and fervently wishing he was wrong. “If I had my way, I’d make this trip alone rather than with you. Have you got that?”

“I’ve got it,” Ted said, surprised at the tone of his own voice.

“Good. You’ll obey orders on this trip, and the less conversation the better. All I’m interested in is getting there and back.”

“That’s all I’m interested in,” Ted said.

“Do you know the route we’re taking?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll go over it again, just to make sure.”

Forbes reached into a pouch hanging from his waist strap and pulled out a map which he unfolded clumsily. He laid a heavily gloved hand, forefinger extended, on the paper.

“We’re here in Mare Crisium. Well travel east across Mare Serenitatis, crossing just above the Caucasus Mountains. We’ll pass between the craters Aristillus and Autolycus, past Archimedes, and we should find the supply dump from there. Got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Cut out the ‘sir’ stuff, Baker. I told you once before. You don’t deserve the honor of using Air Force tradition.”

“Have it your own way,” Ted said.

“That’s just the way I will have it. Let’s get moving.” Forbes folded the map and pushed it into the pouch. Without another word, he picked up the tow strap again, waiting for Ted to get a grip on it too.

Silently, they began moving.

The sled was light, or at least it was not heavy. They pulled it with comparative ease, trying to match their strides. Ted glanced back occasionally, afraid the cylinders would tumble off the sled, but they seemed to be securely strapped. Set on the inside of his helmet, just to the left of his face plate, and partly obscured by the maze of rubber tubes jutting out of the containers, was a luminous chrono. Ted checked the time: 0735. In just twelve hours they’d have to change oxygen cylinders, ditching the spent ones. 0735, less the five minutes they’d spent studying the map. That made it 0730. They’d have to make the change at 1930.

The Moon seemed quieter than it had been on the day they claimed it. The stars spread around them in unwavering brightness, clear and sharply detailed. What an astronomer’s paradise, Ted thought. No atmosphere to cloud proper viewing. And so far up in the sky! Closer to the planets than Man had ever been. “The gateway to interplanetary flight,” Jack had said. If the trip were a success. Ted thought of Jack now, wondering what was going on at the Space Station. He tried to picture the situation as it would be if Jack had made the trip as he was supposed to. Even assuming Jack’s collarbone had not withstood the strain of acceleration, what then? He consoled himself with the proposition that Dr. Phelps would now have had two injured men on his hands rather than one. Assuming, of course, that Merola would have injured himself even if Jack had been along. That was foolish. Ted certainly didn’t believe that any one factor in a series of events could be changed without subsequently changing the entire series. Jack may not have spotted the loose rivet, in which case Merola would not have attempted to fix it, in which case he would not have been injured, in which case he would have landed the rocket himself — probably with great success.

On the other hand, if the loose rivet had not been spotted, the seam might have weakened and split, in which case the entire crew might have been lost together with the ship.

It was futile to figure on what-might-have-happened-if.

Jack hadn’t been on the trip, and Ted had. The loose rivet had been discovered. Merola was injured. The rocket was damaged. And the supplies were a long way off. Those were the facts. They could not be changed unless everything leading up to them was also changed.

Ted felt himself stumbling, and he dropped the tow line in an effort to maintain his balance.

“Watch your step!” Forbes snapped.

Ted planted his feet firmly on the ground and picked up the line again. He heard Forbes exhale, the sound carrying to Ted over the radio. Forbes was probably shaking his head within his helmet, suffering with the knowledge that Ted was an unwelcome companion.

Well, Forbes could take it or leave it! Ted wasn’t particularly delighted with his presence, either.

They passed over a partially rock-covered stretch of ground, and Ted noticed that the outcroppings were unusually sharp and jagged. He wondered what would happen if one of them fell onto a sharp rock splinter, and the thought sent a chill over his flesh. With the temperature at 238° below zero, a tear in the suit would probably mean instant freezing of a part of the body. The thought caused him to glance unconsciously at the battery reading on the dial just above the chrono. It glowed in the darkness of his helmet, the fluorescent needle swinging far to the right to register a positive charge. When that needle nudged the left-hand side of the dial, they’d be in trouble. Without batteries, there’d be no heat. And without heat...

Ted shoved the thought aside.

They kept moving, traveling at a fast pace, the time ticking by as they covered mile after mile. They tried to keep the sled away from the rocks, as difficult as it was, knowing that a sharp blow might cause the metal to snap in two because of the extreme cold.

Ted studied the ground as they walked, their strides longer than they would be under normal gravity. There were countless pockmarks underfoot, hundreds upon hundreds of craters of different sizes and shapes.

Ted knew it was the loose custom to call any craterlike object on the Moon a “crater.” He also knew, however, that there were a great many types within this loose classification.

The mountain-walled plains were the largest, with Archimedes being a good example of this type. A shiver of apprehension shot through his body as he realized he would soon be seeing this well-known crater with its fifty-mile diameter — if they reached the supplies.

There was always that big if.

He tried not to think of this. He thought of the ship, and he thought of the Space Station, and he thought of the Academy. Colonel York popped into his head again, and he smiled inside his helmet as he thought of the old man. Wouldn’t the colonel have loved this? Wouldn’t he have hopped for joy to be seeing the various formations he’d taught about day after day.

The mountain-ringed plains, smaller in diameter than the “walled” type, and surrounded with circular ramparts as opposed to the only roughly circular or polygonal shape of the walled type.

Or the crater-rings. Wouldn’t Colonel York love to see one of those.

“Memorize this!” he would shout to the class. “A crater-ring is anywhere from 3 to 10 miles in diameter, with slightly elevated walls and well-depressed insides. Have you got that? Good! Then see if your minds can absorb another fact. The Moon is dotted with craterlets and crater-pits, each too numerous to count. These are your smallest ‘craters’ and they cover the Moon like smallpox.”

A smart man, Colonel York, and a good teacher. He sold craters to the class the way one would sell a box of candy. All sizes and shapes, an assortment to choose from.

As small as a dime or a watermelon or a fireman’s net or a circular swimming pool. As large as a city block or a county or a state. Take your choice.

I’ll choose Earth, thank you, Ted thought.

No craters with 140-mile diameters, please. And no jagged mountain peaks tearing at the sky, higher than Mt. Everest, appearing even higher on the smaller surface of the Moon. You could keep the lighter gravity, too, thanks, and welcome to it.

Earth. Just simple old Earth.

That would be a nice place to be, all right. Clouds and a blue sky, and maybe a plain of waving green grass, and butterflies, and a little brook spilling over.

“Let’s take a break,” Forbes said suddenly.

The voice startled Ted. “What?”

“I said, ‘Let’s take a break.’ I wish you’d try to catch these things the first time, Baker. I’m not fond of repetition.”

“I’m sorry,” Ted said. “I guess I was...”

“Just skip it.”

“Sure.” Ted hesitated. “Sure, whatever you say.”

“You know, Baker, I’m not sure I like your tone.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“I’m not sure I like it at all,” Forbes persisted.

“I said I was sorry, sir.” Ted felt the blood rushing to his temples.

“That’s what I mean, Baker. The way you said that just now. I didn’t like it. Not one bit.”

“That’s unfortunate, sir.”

“For you, Baker.”

“Sure, for me.” Ted shrugged his shoulders. He was getting terribly weary of listening to Forbes constantly ride him. He heard Forbes expel his breath inside his helmet, and he knew this wasn’t the end of it. He could not see too clearly through Forbes’s face plate, but he could well imagine the look on the lieutenant’s face.

“Let’s shove,” Forbes said.

He picked up the tow line and waited for Ted to pick up his end. They started off in silence, a tense wall between them, a wall intensified by the alien terrain, the sharp rocks, the silent pumice, the winking stars, the knowledge that their lives depended on the success of this trip.

The miles slid by underfoot, and the hands on the helmet chrono pointed to 1143. They kept moving, the night an endless thing ahead of them, the Moon waiting like a field of broken glass, the pointed shards of its rocks jutting out of its surface. It was getting more difficult. The sled seemed heavier somehow, and Ted could feel a fine film of sweat on his forehead, despite the bitter cold outside. For a moment he had the insane desire to rip off his helmet and wipe away the sweat. He kept thinking about it, and the desire grew until he actually raised his gloved hand and passed it over his face plate.

The stars began to annoy him. They watched the two struggling figures with aloof disdain, hanging on the horizon, wheeling overhead, steady, dead-white eyes punched into the sweeping sky. Why didn’t they stop staring? Why were they so steady? Ted longed for them to stop. With every ounce of energy in his body, he willed them to stop, willed just one lone star to go out.

He began to concentrate on the ground in an effort to take his mind off the stars. He watched the pumice rise as he pushed through it, watched it fall back silently. The ground was colored a deathly gray, like a sick old man on a bed of ashes. It flashed by rapidly as they half-ran, half-walked. Ted watched the rocks and the pockmarks, and the sand, and the pumice, and the cracks. His head began to spin.

He lifted his eyes and stared at the luminous dial of the chrono until the hands etched themselves against his retina.

1150.

1152.

1153.

On and on, across the endless wastes, across the blackness of night, on and on.

1155.

1156.

Nothing broke the stillness. Ted longed for the wail of the wind, for the gentle rustling of leaves clinging to a tree, the shrill call of a train whistle in the darkness. There were none of these.

1158.

1159.

1200.

1201.

Ted was getting weary. His neck muscles hurt from supporting the heavy helmet, and his back muscles ached from pulling the sled. His body felt confined, and he longed for the unfettered freedom of an un-space-suited body. It was getting warm inside the suit, too — much too warm for comfort. The heat of his body was adding to the heat of the coils, and the result was a torrid prison of metal and nylon and rubber. He fumbled on the breastplate of his suit, reaching for the thermostat. The fingers inside his gloved hand felt big and clumsy. Awkwardly, he lowered the control and waited for the suit to cool off a bit.

Time was a world of blackness to be crossed. Time was a series of jagged rocks to be counted. Time was a million stars.

Time fled by.

Forbes called another halt. They stopped beside a long cleft in the Moon’s surface, a fissure fully twenty feet long and three feet wide. The large crack was filled with darkness, almost like a long black finger against the gray background.

Forbes squatted on the edge of the cleft, peering down its smooth sides. Ted leaned against a rock, his oxygen cylinder resting against the ragged surface.

“Something down there,” Forbes said softly, almost to himself.

Ted didn’t answer. He closed his eyes against the stars, breathing deeply of the oxygen that flowed into his helmet.

“There’s something down there, Baker!”

There was an undercurrent of excitement in Forbes’s voice that caused Ted’s eyes to pop open quickly.

“What?”

“On the bottom of this fissure. Something... something... green.”

Ted scrambled to his feet and walked rapidly to the edge of the cleft. Forbes was already stretched out on the ground, stomach down, his hands clinging to the cleft as he stared into its murky depth.

“Are you sure?” Ted asked.

“I’m going down there,” Forbes replied.

“Wait a second! You don’t even know how deep it is.”

“I can see the bottom, and there’s something green covering it. I think it’s life, Baker.”

“Life?”

“Life, life!” Forbes uncoiled a spool of wire from his belt. He attached one end to a loop in the belt and swung the other end around a sharply jutting rock near the edge of the cleft. “Hold this end, Baker. I’m going down.”

Ted pushed the wire through a ring in his own belt as Forbes dropped his legs into the yawning chasm. He clung to the lip with gloved hands as he studied the sides of the cleft for another foothold. He moved his hands then and began moving deeper into the fissure. The blackness swallowed him up instantly.

Ted paid out the wire, watching the top of Forbes’s helmet.

“Bottom,” Forbes called. There was a moment of silence, and then Forbes shouted, “Frost, Baker! There’s frost down here.”

Ted felt his heart lurch against his ribs. “That means water.”

“I’ve found something, Baker. By jumping Jehoshaphat, this is really something!”

“What is it?” Ted swallowed hard, waiting.

“I’m coming up. Give me room. I’m going to try a jump.”

Ted backed away, his eyes glued to the fissure. He could hear Forbes’s frantic breathing over the radio, could sense the lieutenant’s excitement like an electric shock that ran between them. Forbes suddenly sailed out of the cleft, dropping to the ground several feet in front of Ted. He fell to his hands and knees, then quickly rose.

“Look! Take a look at this!”

He opened his glove, and a bright spot of green appeared against the palm of his hand.

It was small, its leaves pulled in tightly around it. It was dark green — although the color may have seemed darker because of Ted’s face plate — and it seemed to be curled up into a tight ball as protection against the cold. The roots were torn where Forbes had ripped it from the rocks. But it was unmistakably green, unmistakably alive!

“A plant,” Ted murmured.

He lifted his head, and for an instant — despite the darkened face plates — he thought he detected a spark of rapport in Forbes’s eyes.

“Life,” Forbes said, his voice hushed in awe. “Life, Baker. Life on the Moon. Life.”

“In spite of the extreme heat and cold,” Ted said. “Life.”

“It was under a jutting ledge,” Forbes said, “growing close to the wall. Probably not enough sun reaches it to burn it out, and there’s just enough water to keep it going. But do you know what this means, Baker? Life on the Moon. By jumping Jehoshaphat we’ve found life!”

He took a step closer to Ted, and he seemed almost ready to embrace him. He stopped, hesitated for a moment like a man on the edge of a diving board.

He stood there in indecision, his eyes glowing behind the darkened face plate, the tiny plant in the center of his open, outstretched hand.

That was when the meteors began to fall.

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.

They didn’t speak at all now. There was nothing to say. One thought pressed on both their minds like a suffocating blanket. They had twelve hours of oxygen left and a fifteen-hour trip ahead.

Unless. Unless what, Ted wondered. Unless they could travel at breakneck speed, catching up on time, forcing time back, gaining those three hours they needed so desperately.

The suit chrono became a dreaded thing. It sat above the tubes of chocolate and vitamin concentrate like a relentless, smirking mouth. Its hands became live things that swung around ceaselessly, mocking Ted with their rapid movement.

Ted watched that chrono with morbid fascination. The sweat clung to his forehead in shimmering globules. Every muscle in his body was tense, the nerves tangled into jangling knots. The wire strap under his armpits did its best to bite its way through the material of the space suit. The sled, bearing only Forbes now, seemed heavier, in spite of its comparative lightness.

Ted nearly gave up when the sled snagged itself on a tall rock. He struggled with it tenaciously, like a man struggling with a weed that’s threatening to snuff out the other plants in his garden. When he finally loosened the sled, they had lost ten precious minutes. The clock seemed to mock Ted openly, sitting against the metal helmet with smug superiority.

They kept moving, the pace a fast one now. Ted practically ran, tempted to leave the sled and its bulky awkwardness, tempted to leap through the air in space-devouring jumps that would bring him to the supplies. He thought of Forbes then, a foot that was probably frozen solid in the boot of his suit, a cylinder of oxygen that would last twelve hours on his back. No, he couldn’t take to the air. He had to stick to the ground and the sled, and somehow make up for lost time. They didn’t consult the map again. They knew where they were, and checking on it would only waste more time. The high peaks of the Haemus Mountains stretched off on Ted’s left, and on his right he could see the jagged heights of the Caucasus Mountains. That meant that Archimedes was dead ahead. And three miles beyond that was the supply dump.

Dead ahead.

But, oh, so far ahead. So very far ahead.

There was nothing to do but keep going.

The Moon did its best to hinder their passage. It erected its best obstacle course, and then sat back to watch the struggling humans. The best obstacle was the razor-sharp rock. The Moon had plenty of these, situated strategically. Jagged, coarse, jutting out of the surface like stained dragons’ teeth, waiting to bite and tear. The pumice was good too. It was thick and it clung and pulled and hung. The Moon did its very best, enjoying the spectacle immensely. The people back on Earth looked up and smiled. The Moon was a thin crescent against the blackness, hanging there like a lopsided, grinning mouth.

Time was running out. Ted knew it, and he dreaded it. He hadn’t turned back to look at Forbes since they’d strapped on the new cylinders and started their race. He felt like a victim being led to the execution chamber, with a big-faced clock ticking off the seconds to his death. Ted’s clock didn’t tick, and that made it worse. It didn’t have to tick. He wanted to reach up and smash its glowing face, but the clock was inside his helmet and he couldn’t reach it without opening his face plate. And if he did that, he’d suffocate. He smiled grimly. The way things were going, he’d probably suffocate anyway. Was it pleasant to die by asphyxiation? Ted wondered about it. He tried to center his anger on the chronometer, knowing that anger at the Moon would do him no good, knowing that anger at the dagger-like rocks and deep pumice would only cause carelessness. The chrono was a good scapegoat, and he blamed all their ills on it. Doggedly, he pushed on, licking his lips anxiously.

The Moon, dissatisfied with the ineffectualness of its obstacle course, dug into its bag of tricks and pulled out another weapon. The weapon had been there all the time, of course, but the Moon began using it in earnest now. It sat back to watch the effects.

“My face plate is frosting up,” Ted said suddenly.

“What?”

These were the first words spoken since the race had started. They sounded strange, the way a shout would in a quiet church.

“My face plate. It’s covered with ice.”

“Give it a blast of hot air,” Forbes said. “The lever is outside on your...”

“I know where the lever is,” Ted snapped. “Something’s wrong. No air is coming through the tubes.”

“Try it again, Baker.”

“Why? It’s not working, I tell you.”

“Take it easy, Ted.”

Ted stopped short in the middle of a word. Forbes had called him “Ted.” He tried to calm himself. The frost was closing in on his helmet, thick ice forming on the edges, where plexiglass joined metal. It shot long white lances across the transparent surface, spearing its way toward the center of the face plate, leaving a circle of clearness in the center.

Frantically, Ted rubbed at the outside of the face plate with his gloved hand.

“It’s no use,” he said. “Something’s blocking the tube.”

“Is it bad?” Forbes said.

“I’m looking through a spot the size of a quarter. That’ll probably be covered in a few minutes.”

The Moon wasted no time. It summoned all its strength and concentrated on the remaining clear area in the center of the face plate. The ice moved rapidly, covering the plexiglass, completely blanking out all vision. In thirty seconds, Ted could see nothing but the inside of his helmet.

“I can’t see,” he said. He stopped abruptly, aware of the luminous hands of the chrono staring back at him. “What are we going to do, Forbes?”

“What’s blocking that duct?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well find out, hang it!” Forbes’s voice was sharp.

Ted stared down the length of his nose, trying to locate the source of trouble. The rubber tubes from the chocolate and vitamin cylinders twisted around the sides of the helmet in a twining maze. Ted’s eyes opened wide as he saw what had blocked the hot-air duct.

“It’s one of the tubes,” he shouted. “It’s hanging right over the opening of the duct.”

“Can you reach it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Try.”

Ted reached out with his chin, snapping at the trouble-making tube with his teeth. The tube dangled enticingly several inches from his mouth. He stuck out his tongue, tried to wrap it around the tube, succeeded only in feeling the cold blast of ice that covered the face plate.

“I can’t do it,” he said.

“All right, forget it. We’re wasting time. Follow the strap back to the sled. I’ll take your hand when you get here.”

Ted turned and wiggled out of the strap. He grabbed it firmly in his hands and followed it hand over hand back to the sled. He groped like a blind man, the sheet of ice before his face as formidable as blinkers.

He felt Forbes’s hand close over his. He waited.

“I’ll lead you around to the back of the sled. You’ll have to push from now on. I’ll call directions.”

“All right.”

Forbes swung his arm around, and Ted followed it to the back of the sled. He groped around clumsily, finally found the runners and gripped them tightly.

“I’m ready,” he said.

“We’ve got clear sailing for about fifty yards. We turn right then to avoid a high rock. I’ll let you know just when. Let’s go, boy.”

Ted began pushing, bent over double, his arms and shoulders bearing down against the runners. It was a change, that much he could say. His muscles ached from pulling, and now they were pushing. He felt terribly confined within his helmet. A wall of white met his eyes whenever he glanced up. And he knew that each time he exhaled, moisture was being added to that wall, moisture that froze instantly. He kept pushing.

“A little to the right,” Forbes called. “That’s it. Now to your left, just a trifle. That’s the boy. Straight ahead. Fine. Fine.”

The calling went on as the figures fought their way against the night. A crippled man directing a boy with a blanked-out face plate. The halt leading the blind. The Moon no longer found it funny.

The calls stopped suddenly.

Ted jerked the sled to a halt and looked up. “Forbes?”

No answer.

“Forbes?”

“Straight... ahead,” the voice came. It was feeble, weak.

Panic clutched at Ted’s heart. “Forbes!” he shouted. “Are you all right?”

“Straight ahead.” The voice was weaker this time.

“Forbes!” Ted sprang erect and groped his way around the side of the sled. He fell to his knees, clambered to his feet again. He tripped over a sharp rock and fell flat on his stomach, rolling away from the sled. He sat up then and stared around. Tentatively, he reached out with his hands, feeling for the sled. He leaned forward.

Where was the sled? Where had it gone?

He got to his knees, his tongue swollen in his mouth, the taste of dead ashes in his throat. He pawed the ground, pulling his gloved hand back when it contacted a sharp rock.

He was bathed in sweat now, a prisoner within the space suit, a blind man groping for a sled on the face of the Moon. Slowly, carefully, he got to his feet.

He stood stockstill, seeing no farther than the white sheet of ice four inches from his nose.

“Forbes?”

Nothing broke the stillness. Nothing but the sound of his own heart hammering against his ears.

“Dan! Dan, where are you?”

He stretched out his foot, feeling the ground gently. Carefully, he put it down, his arms outstretched. He lifted his other foot, placed that down. He took a third step.

“Dan? Dan, please, where are you?”

He lifted his foot and was about to put it down when the ground disappeared beneath it. He pitched forward slowly, like a balloon falling on the wind. He was rolling over then, and the tubes slithered over his face like a nest of snakes disturbed. He kept rolling, head over heels, down, down, seeing nothing, feeling only the sharp prods of rocks as they scraped against his suit.

Finally he stopped. He was lying flat on his back and the tubes were trailing over his face. He took a deep breath, despair flooding his senses. They’d never make it now, never. All this time wasted. He shook his head, surprised when his chin bumped against one of the tubes.

The tubes!

The fall had rearranged them, tearing some loose from their moorings. He tried to locate the troublesome tube that was blocking the hot-air duct.

He found it, and his heart skipped an anxious beat. It was hanging several inches from his mouth. He wet his lips and then stuck out his tongue. The tip of his tongue nudged the tube, filling his mouth with a rubbery taste. He craned his neck forward and suddenly closed his mouth around the tube. Elation filled him as he yanked back his head. The tube was firmly stuck to the duct.

A new thought sent terror racing through his brain. Suppose the duct had frozen over. Suppose...

Viciously, he yanked at the tube again.

It came free this time, almost pulling the cylinder from the wall of the helmet. Quickly he fumbled with the lever on the breastplate outside his suit. He heard a rush of air into his helmet, felt the blast of warmth as it reached curling fingers for his face.

He watched the heat attack the ice slowly. Impatiently, he turned up the lever to full, watching the ice turn shiny and wet, watching it finally dissolve into big chunks that slithered down the plexiglass and fell against his chest.

He could see a little now. The heat kept steaming up against the ice, boring a path through the whiteness. The face plate was getting clearer. He could make out a few rocks now. And suddenly the remaining ice seemed to crumble completely, like the ice around the freezing unit of a refrigerator when the box is being defrosted. It fell onto his chest and slithered down the length of his body. The face plate was completely clear now.

He saw the sled first, and he ran to it, shaking Forbes.

“Dan, Dan,” he cried.

“Straight ahead.” Forbes mumbled.

Ted stole a quick glance at the chrono. They had been traveling for almost twelve hours, the last few hours in total blindness. He tore his eyes from the luminous dial and looked out through the face plate.

He blinked his eyes, refusing to believe what he saw.

Archimedes!

No, no, it couldn’t be!

But it was, it was! Archimedes! He’d have recognized the crater anywhere. That meant... that meant the supplies! The supplies were only three miles away. Three miles — why he could make that in a matter of minutes. He didn’t bother with the strap this time. He picked up Forbes, getting a firm grip beneath his knees and his shoulders.

He began leaping across the face of the Moon, a weird bullfrog hopping across the night.

They rested for a moment or two and then went to work. They were anxious to get started immediately, knowing they had lost time already — and knowing that the rising sun would not wait for them. They had to get back to the ship before it was bathed in sunlight, or they might not get back at all.

They worked quickly, Forbes directing Ted, since he knew exactly which rockets bore which materials. The rockets were painted in various colors. The yellow rocket bore all the food they would need. They paid no attention to this one. The green rocket contained batteries, tools, metal, all the equipment necessary for the start of a Lunar base. They ignored this one too.

The blue rocket contained the oxygen cylinders, and Ted marveled at his luck in going to this rocket first, ignorant as he had been about its contents. It also contained vehicles for easier transportation on the Moon. They selected a tractor and quickly dragged it onto the ground, Forbes sitting on the flat surface and using his arms to guide the wire as the tractor came over the lip of the hatch.

“I may not be able to use my leg,” he said, “but there’s nothing wrong with my arms and shoulders.”

The tractor was powered by a turbine using rocket fuel, an air-breathing engine being worthless on the atmosphere-less Moon. They loaded enough oxygen onto the vehicle for the return trip, giving themselves more than enough in case of delay, and then they moved over to the large red rocket bearing the fuel they would need for the ship back in Mare Crisium.

Forbes felt better behind the wheel of the tractor. He managed to drive it expertly, using one foot which he shifted constantly on the floorboards.

They set to work loading their fuel. The fuel was packaged in large tanks. Whoever had designed the tanks had apparently been farsighted, though; a fact for which Ted raised a silent prayer. The tanks were not bulky. They could be carried fairly easily, the object being to make transportation simple on the Moon. They were designed to be emptied into the larger tanks of the rocket ship, each separate tank being equipped with its own fueling hose.

Forbes backed the tractor against the loading port of the red supply rocket, and they started the unloading process at once.

“There will be no smoking in the fueling area,” Forbes cracked.

“Repeat,” Ted said, as he swung one of the tanks onto the tractor, using the rocket’s boom and loading net. “There will be no smoking in the fueling area.”

“And no fooling while fueling,” Forbes said.

“Roger.”

It took them longer than they figured. Forbes estimated the number of gallons they’d need, down to the last pint. He was thoroughly familiar with the Moon ship’s potential, and he knew just how much fuel she’d need to blast free of the Moon’s surface, swing into an orbit, and then come down by braking.

For a while they thought the tractor would not be large enough to carry all they’d need. The tanks seemed to take up so much room. Ted sighed in relief when Forbes announced one more tank would do the trick. They lowered the tank into place and then began lashing everything down.

When they had finished, they surveyed the supply dump with careful eyes, wondering if they’d forgotten anything.

Oxygen. Fuel. Food? No, they’d be back soon, if everything went as planned. Water, ditto.

“I guess we’ve got everything,” Ted said.

“Yep. Let’s get started.”

Ted hopped into the tractor, and Forbes started it, backing away from the rockets. They had gone several hundred feet from the dump when Ted shouted, “Our batteries!”

“Holy jumping...”

Forbes swung the tractor around without hesitation. He drove up to the bright yellow rocket, the one bearing the food.

“There should be an air lock on this one,” Forbes said.

“How do you figure?”

“Simple. A man sometimes has to taste food to see if it’s gone bad. You can’t taste food when you’re wearing a helmet. Therefore, an air lock. Listen, we engineers think of everything.”

Forbes turned out to be right, though Ted doubted if his reasoning were exactly accurate. Nonetheless, there was an air lock, and when Ted had taken two batteries from the green rocket, he carried Forbes piggy-back into the lock, and they waited for the blinking light to flash.

The first thing they did when the pressure had equalized was remove their helmets.

“Brother, that feels good,” Forbes said. Ted put him down and helped him out of his suit. Then he took his own off.

He quickly put the batteries in place inside the suits, and they began dressing once more. Before they left the rocket, they stuffed their mouths with grapes which they found in one of the refrigerator lockers. Then they clamped on their helmets and went down to the tractor.

If they hurried, they would make it. This time it would be a race against the Sun.

Forbes stared at the wrench as if it had slapped him across the face. “It... it just... broke,” he said, surprise raising his voice.

“The cold,” Ted said. “The cold made it brittle, and when you pulled on it...”

Forbes regained his composure immediately. “That’s all right. We’ve got other wrenches.”

He spread the packet on his chest and picked up the wrenches one at a time, holding them alongside the head of the broken wrench. The wrench had snapped close to the head, leaving the open jaws on a short, two-inch stump, hardly enough to grip firmly.

Forbes kept comparing the wrenches while Ted watched. He was beginning to get a little uneasy. They were wasting precious time, and the Sun was probably already up on the Western rim.

“None of these are any good.” Forbes said.

“They’re no good?” Ted asked, realizing how foolish he sounded.

“Too big or too small. This was the only one that was just right.”

Ted allowed the information to penetrate. “Wh-what are we going to do?”

“That’s a problem, all right.”

“We can’t just sit here.”

“No. No, we can’t.”

They stared up at the nut, helpless in the clutches of its stubbornness.

“Are there any more wrenches up there?” Forbes asked.

“No. Only this packet. There was a hammer. Maybe we could jar the nut loose.”

“I’d be afraid to. You saw what happened to the wrench. Suppose we knocked off the nut and bolt?”

“Well, what can we do?”

Forbes thought for a few minutes, and then said, “There was something my dad used to say when I was a kid.”

Ted glanced at Forbes quickly. “Really, Dan, this is no time for...”

“I was pretty young, and I used to pick up the chops from my plate in my fingers and eat them that way. My mother didn’t like the idea. She felt it was barbaric, and she told me so.”

“Dan, what about the nut? What are we...”

“My father always came to my rescue. I realize now he was encouraging my barbarism, but at the time I thought he really hit the nail on the head. He used to say to Mom, ‘Betty, you’ve got to remember one thing: fingers were invented before forks.’”

“What’s that got to do with...”

“Fingers were invented before wrenches, too,” Forbes said.

He reached up for the nut and wrapped his gloved hands around it. He hesitated a moment, and then began applying pressure. Ted could barely see his face through the plexiglass on his helmet. He saw lines of strain appear, though, thick lines that ran from the wings of Forbes’s nose down to his mouth. He could hear Forbes grunting over the suit radio. He wanted to reach up and help, but there was barely enough room for Forbes’s own fingers on the troublesome nut.

“It moved.” Forbes muttered.

He lifted his back from the ground, his arms straining against the unyielding nut.

“Ug-g-g-gh,” he grunted. He tore at the nut again. “Ug-g-gh.”

He kept pulling, his hands tight around the metal, twisting, trying to dislodge it. “Come on,” he said tightly. “Come on, come on, COME ON!”

He tugged again, and again, grunting all the while, wrestling with the tiny piece of metal as if he had a bear for an opponent.

“There... there... there she goes!” he shouted triumphantly.

He lay back for an instant, and Ted was surprised to feel sweat on his own forehead. Forbes got up almost instantly and began turning the nut in the other direction, tightening it on the bolt. “That should hold,” he said. He paused. “Tough old bird, wasn’t it?”

They lost no time now. They kept the tractor moving at a rapid pace. They had lost too much time already, and Forbes wasn’t at all sure his makeshift job on the nut would last until they reached the ship.

They were thankful for the night now, glad that it was still dark.

They didn’t speak.

Forbes drove swiftly, curving around deep holes, steering clear of clefts in the surface, avoiding all the rocks that sprang up in their path. They couldn’t afford another mishap. Time was a precious thing, like a rare jewel. If they could have, they would have locked it in a safe and stood guard over it. They couldn’t. Their rare jewel spilled out of their hands as they sped along, and they knew that the Sun would not wait for them. They had to beat the Sun or suffer the consequences. They could only guess at what those consequences would be like. They were not anxious to taste them.

But behind their haste, there seemed to be a sense of utter resignation. It was almost as if they knew they could not beat the Sun, almost as if they knew it would overtake them in their mad rush. When, after many days of travel, they saw the first rays of the Sun, they were not surprised. It was what they had expected all along.

“Dan!”

“I see it. The Sun is rising.”

“What now?”

“I’m going to try to contact the ship. We can’t be too far off.”

Together, they fiddled with the dials on the breastplates of their suits, trying to get the ship’s frequency.

“Here goes nothing,” Forbes murmured. “Hello, Moon rocket. Forbes calling Moon rocket, come in, Moon rocket, this is Forbes calling Moon rocket, Moon rocket, Moon rocket.”

Ted adjusted the dials of his set until Forbes’s voice reached him clearly.

“Come in, Moon rocket, come in, Moon rocket. Please come in.”

On the horizon, the Sun splashed over the ground, replacing blackness with brilliance, covering darkness with blazing light. No dawn was this. No dawn in the usual sense of the word. No wash of oranges and reds. Just brilliance that flowed like molten gold, filling the shadows, covering the pockmarks with gilt.

“Dan!” the voice erupted. “Is that you?”

“George?”

“Dan, where are you?”

“I don’t know. The Sun is almost on us. I’ll give it a few minutes before it hits us.”

“Are you all right? And Baker?”

“Fine. Look, George, the Sun...”

“Did you say it was almost on you?”

“Yes, George.”

“It hit us a few minutes ago. You can’t be far from the ship.”

“What’ll we do, George?”

“Are you on foot?”

“Tractor.”

“Then drive like blazes. Get started now. Come on, Dan, we need you. We need you like all get-out.”

“I’ll see you,” Forbes said tersely. “We’re coming through.”

The tractor lurched forward in a sudden burst of speed.

At the same instant, the Sun hit them. It splashed into their helmets with feral fury, the brilliance blinding them for an instant. The helmet seemed to grow hot instantly, and Ted groped for the heating controls, turning the unit off at once.

He was immediately covered with sweat. The heat was intolerable. It replaced the cold suddenly, and he could hear his helmet strain against the sudden change in temperature. He knew that in the space of a heartbeat, the temperature had probably ranged some 350 degrees!

The Sun was frightening somehow. This was a different Moon. The Sun somehow added a new face. It cast deep shadows, black against the brilliant ground. The Moon had been an old man before, clothed in deep black garments, clothed in Death. It had crouched silently in a shadow-filled corner, a mourner at its own wake. And now it burst forth like a blazing diamond, still dead, but dead in a different way. There was none of the deep mystery any more. It was as if an all-revealing spotlight had been turned onto a disinterred corpse, exposing its dust-filled mouth, its angular bones, its rotting skin. The Moon, trapped in the glare of the Sun, gave itself willingly, shedding its cloak of darkness instantly, succumbing to the blazing fire of “day” with the meek resignation of habit.

The sunlight was as powerful as a slap in the face. It covered the two completely, an almost physical force that gathered them up in a fiery embrace, planting suffocating kisses on them. Its breath was hot, and it invaded their helmets with the unleashed ferocity of a blowtorch. The ice-covered face plate seemed like something from another world. They had stepped into a roaring blast furnace, a furnace alive with the fires of Hades. Heat licked at them from everywhere. The ground was hot, and their suits were hot, and their helmets were sizzling. Ted longed for a cloud to obscure the Sun, knowing there were no clouds on the Moon. He longed for a rainstorm to cool the baking ground, to ease the stifling pressure of the heat. There could be no rain on the Moon.

Forbes suddenly slumped over the wheel of the tractor, his helmet collapsing onto the spokes. Ted reached for him, trying desperately to keep him erect as the tractor swerved violently to one side. He threw his arm around Forbes, grasping the wheel with his free hand, trying to keep the tractor on a steady course.

He opened his mouth, sucking in great gulps of air. The sweat poured down his face, saturated his clothing. He suddenly remembered that he was wearing several layers of woolen clothing. The thought made him feel hotter.

The steering wheel suddenly became three steering wheels, and Ted blinked his eyes, wondering which one he should grab. The ground sloped over to the left and then hurled itself over in the opposite direction. Ted’s mouth was dry, as if a caterpillar had crawled into it and made a nest there. He blinked his eyes once more, shook his head within the helmet. Everything was a bright yellow. There was no color but yellow. It seared his eyeballs and scorched his brain, and then it burst like a star shell and he knew he was groping for the wheel, knew he was falling, knew his hands were trembling, knew the tractor was spinning out of control, but there was nothing he could do about it.

He was almost relieved when the yellow was replaced by a blackness as deep as space.

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.