Space

by James A. Michener

  “He’s twenty-six,” Mott said.

  “I think of him still as a boy,” Rachel said, and her husband added, “It’s a shock when your son exhibits traits that you, well ...” He stopped in confusion, then blurted out: “We’re lending him the money to get his store started, and I for one am proud of what he’s been able to accomplish. He’s well spoken of in the Skycrest community.”

  “Young Christopher’s troubles are more serious,” Rachel said. “He’s been arrested for selling marijuana.”

  “Drugs?” Liesl asked.

  “I’m afraid so. Tell me,” Rachel asked, throwing herself, as it were, upon the mercy of her audience. “How do you keep your children out of trouble in this permissive society?”

  “There is a vast difference,” Senator Grant said as he watched the televisions. “When I was a boy in Clay, every element in the society was supportive. The police were friendly. Sunday School teachers wanted us to do the right thing. Our football coach was an admirable figure, and I remember one day when I sneaked into the poolroom to see for myself what infamous things were going on, and two of the town roustabouts took me aside and said, “Norman, you’re supposed to grow up into a fine man. Maybe marry the judge’s daughter or something like that. You’re [532] not meant to be in poolrooms. Now get out.”

  “It’s not that way any longer,” Rachel Mott said. “Right now our son’s in Miami chanting ‘Ho, ho, ho! Ho Chi Minh!’ ”

  Senator Grant turned from the televisions. “He’s what?”

  “It’s a childish nonsense. They think it’s funny to make us older people angry.”

  “But what’s the Ho Chi Minh nonsense? Surely your son is not ...”

  “They want the war in Vietnam to end. They insist we get out.”

  “That’s government policy,” Grant snapped. “That’s not for puling children to determine on their own.”

  “Christopher’s no child. He’s nineteen. He’s terrified of the draft.”

  Grant rose. “When we faced a much more terrible enemy, two of them, my generation volunteered. You did, didn’t you, Mott?”

  “The Army picked me up,” he said evasively, not wishing to admit on this night that he had not been in uniform.

  “How about you, Pope? You volunteered, didn’t you?”

  “I was playing football, sir. Still in high school.”

  “But in Korea?”

  “I was already in uniform, sir, but I did a lot of combat flying over there.”

  “You certainly volunteered for the German side, didn’t you, Kolff?”

  “I fought on the Russian front,” Dieter said, not caring to explain that it took four Nazi detectives to find him in the fields of southern Germany before the Army could throw him into uniform.

  “In time of crisis,” Grant said, “men rally to the support of their homelands.”

  “Millard, out in Colorado, denies it’s a crisis. He told us in his last letter that he’s sure the whole thing is contrived.”

  “Contrived!” Grant snorted. “When the Congress of the United States ...”

  “That was his major point,” Rachel said. “Congress has not had the courage to declare actual war. Millard says it’s all a political game, an avoidance of reality.”

  “Your Millard had better watch out, Mrs. Mott.”

  “He says it’s what he calls a ploy. A way to get the [533] children of the poor to defend the privilege-, of the rich without disturbing business as usual.”

  “He sounds like a Communist.”

  “He tells us that most of the young people in Colorado think the same way. Two of his friends have escaped to Canada. To avoid the draft.”

  “Escaped? America’s no prison. If they ran away to Canada, they did so because they’re cowards. President Nixon and Congress have laid out certain plans, and it’s the duty of all citizens to obey them.”

  Stanley Mott, not wishing this argument to proceed any further, asked, “In a time of wildly changing mores, what can a parent do to keep his children stable?”

  “Sometimes,” Liesl Kolff said, “sometimes you have to take a hammer and smash the trumpet.”

  More than six hours had passed since the module Eagle had landed on the Moon, and the two astronauts who occupied it had rested fitfully in order to be at maximum alert when the time came to leave their secure pouch and, like baby kangaroos, venture forth to leap about. During this interval, experts had congratulated NASA for having adopted the simplest and safest mode of approaching the Moon, lunar-orbit rendezvous rather than a direct shot from Earth, with all the massive construction that would have required, or Earth-orbit rendezvous, with its added complexity. The science consultant for ABC-TV had said:

  “The genius of this flight was the man who pleaded with NASA to reevaluate procedures and study afresh the difficulties of other modes and the essential rightness of this one. We do not know that man’s name. Most likely he was a committee, but even in committees it takes some one person with insight and courage to urge upon his companions the right course of action, and then to defend it against challenge. So as we wait for our astronauts to venture forth upon the Moon, let us salute the organizational genius responsible for the decision that enabled them to get this far so easily and so correctly.”

  “He’s speaking of you, Mott,” Senator Grant cried.

  “Me and a dozen others.”

  “Was it an argument difficult to win?”

  [534] Mott was about to make a grandiloquent statement concerning the protracted debate when he chanced to look in the direction of Dieter Kolff, one of the men he had been required to oppose most vigorously, and he saw two things: that Kolff was moody and depressed at this moment of triumph, and that it would be most ungenerous to expatiate upon his defeat. Let it go at that.

  Now, as 2200 approached, a miracle almost beyond comprehension occurred. In the landing module resting on the Moon one of the astronauts positioned a television camera so that the movements of the other man could be photographed and sent to Earth, which meant that all the world would be able to see, almost as it happened-plus the 1.3 seconds it required the signal to travel the 238,000 miles at the speed of light-an event of supreme historical importance. It was as if cameras had been aligned on the Santa Maria to catch the landing of Columbus, or under the apple tree to chronicle the moment when Isaac Newton conceived his theory of gravity, or in the fires of Moscow in 1812 to record the second when Napoleon decided to turn back. The world would visibly participate in the dawning of a new age, the Exploration of Outer Space.

  The door to the module opened. A figure clothed in cumbersome white slowly backed down the short ladder, reached the last rung, and felt tentatively with a booted foot. Firmly, confidently, the man left the security of the ladder and stepped safely upon the Moon. Lunar dust did not envelop him as some had predicted, nor did the granules burst into flame as others had warned.

  And then over the radio, so incredibly far away, came the human voice, as clear as if the speaker were in the next room: “That’s one small step for man, uhh, one giant leap for mankind.” Later, NASA would amend it into the form it would take in history books: “One small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind.”

  Seven of the eight people in the motel room at the Longhorn burst into applause, and each man kissed his wife in sheer jubilation. For Dieter Kolff, depressed as he appeared to have been, it was a mighty victory, for his rocket had behaved just as he had predicted. For Senator Grant it was a triumph of his careful planning and unwavering leadership. For Stanley Mott it was vindication in his protracted [535] struggle to get NASA to adopt lunar rendezvous. And for the Popes it was a double victory: John’s demonstrations in Gemini 13 had sped the day when the Moon trip became viable, and Penny’s faithful shepherding of her committee had kept the vast project on track. She had helped supervise the spending of some $23,000,000,000.

  “We’ve shown them!” Grant exulted. “We’ve shown the Russians!”

  They did it so
effectively,” Pope said in admiration of his fellow astronauts, and the celebrators wanted to know what Armstrong and Aldrin were really like. Liesl Kolff said, “I wonder how that Michael Collins feels, all alone out there.”

  “That’s his job,” Pope said. “If I’d been chosen for this flight, that would have been my job.”

  “Isn’t he lonely?”

  “I spent sixteen days with this much space between me and my commander.” He held his hands eight inches apart. I’d have been glad for a little loneliness.”

  “Look at them!” Grant shouted. “Look at those American boys on the Moon.”

  Toasts were proposed and there were general congratulations, after which Elinor Grant, smiling at the vanity of these seven unaware people, excused herself and went to bed. Liesl Kolff had now had six Tuborgs, and she, too, departed, unsteadily. Rachel Mott, sensing that the men would celebrate for a long time, preferred to go to bed, but Penny Pope, who felt herself a part of the great adventure, remained behind, throwing beer bottles into a wastebasket and ordering some more sandwiches and pretzels from room service.

  When things had quieted down, and the four men were comfortable in their chairs, they listened to a remarkable broadcast by a correspondent in Spain:

  “It was early Sunday evening in Spain when word of the Moon landing was broadcast to the nation, and shortly thereafter a Father Tomás Uruzippe, a Jesuit scientist of note, came on the radio to assure the citizens of Spain that the Pope had been kept aware of all developments, that he had given the Moon mission his blessing, and that walking on the Moon in no way transgressed Biblical instructions. And [536] now I quote Father Uruzippe’s words as he closed his homily to the nation: ‘I repeat that the Pope has been kept fully informed by the American government of its plan to send men to the Moon, and His Holiness has found no reason to protest. I assure you again that everything is all right and in accordance with Biblical teaching.’ ”

  “I should think that would be very comforting,” Senator Grant said, but then he caught sight of one of the astronauts pogo-sticking across the lunar surface, and he said something which proved extremely discomforting to two of his listeners: “Well, we’ve certainly shown the Russians. Now we can turn to other things.”

  At one in the morning John Pope had to leave for Mission Control, where he would put in his next stint as communicator, so Penny departed with him, and after further celebration of this historic moment, Senator Grant trailed off. Now Mott and Kolff were left alone with the two televisions:

  KOLFF (with real anxiety): Did you hear what he said? “Now that we’ve shown the Russians, we can turn to other things.”

  MOTT: Battle fatigue. He’s worked very hard to achieve this victory.

  KOLFF: It all ends tonight, Stanley. And it’s your fault.

  MOTT: Don’t throw guilt at me. I feel none. Look at those celebrations.

  KOLFF: The circus will soon be over. The dancing bears will retire. And we can turn down the lights.

  MOTT: Quit? No. We already have eight or nine more shots on schedule.

  KOLFF: But the steam goes out of the calliope. I’m so worried about this night. Now that we’ve shown the Russians, the accountants will move in. The grand adventure.

  MOTT: Maybe a society can absorb only so much. Maybe it has to pause to catch its breath.

  KOLFF: One part of society is allowed to pause. Senator Grant has finished his job. He’s exhausted intellectually. I’m not surprised at that. “Now we can get on with more important things.”

  MOTT: Wait a minute. He didn’t say it that way.

  [537] KOLFF: But he meant it. Bring the men back to Earth. Tackle the problems here.

  MOTT: Do you know what my own son wrote in his last letter? “Science runs wild in our society. It sponsors great boondoggles.”

  KOLFF: What are these boondoggles?

  MOTT: Moon shots. What you call circuses.

  KOLFF: I’m sixty-two. Two more years, I must retire from the battle. And it breaks my heart to think that I leave with everyone in retreat.

  MOTT: Now that’s a silly statement. I’m not in retreat. I’m looking forward to the Mars shot, the exploration of Jupiter and Saturn.

  KOLFF: The things you speak of are niggardly. Less than they should be at this time in man’s intellectual history. We should be bursting at our seams, men like you and me.

  MOTT: I am. Have you been following the discoveries of Penzias and Wilson? The Bell Laboratory people?

  KOLFF: Of course. That’s what makes me so uneasy tonight. We should be building on what men like them have found.

  MOTT: I am. If they’re right, and the sounds they hear are echoes of the Big Bang which occurred at the start of things, we can begin to assemble a logical theory of the universe.

  KOLFF: But not unless we move forward on every front. We must have our instruments in the sky, our minds down here working on the data. We’re in an age of fabulous discovery, Stanley, and that damned Moon has nothing to do with it.

  MOTT: It’s a first step. An exciting one.

  KOLFF: But now do you confess the folly of your decisions?

  MOTT: I do not.

  KOLFF: Watch what happens. When those men climb down off that Moon we’ll make gods of them.

  MOTT: We should. They’re the Columbuses of our day.

  KOLFF: And we’ll let it go at that, our job is done. Let’s get on with other more important things.

  MOTT: A little hero worship never damaged a long-range program.

  [538] KOLFF: That was your first error. To send men instead of machines.

  MOTT: No! Glancey was right. Americans understand men. They can’t identify with your machines. And without emotional identification, we have nothing.

  KOLFF: My machines could have startled the world.

  MOTT (pointing at the television): My way worked. Look at the celebrations.

  KOLFF: And what does it leave you with? A program that you can build on?

  MOTT: You heard them. Even in Spain they’re celebrating.

  KOLFF: And in the morning, what will we have left? The capacity to place useless men on a useless Moon. While the Russians forge constantly ahead in the real tasks.

  MOTT: Wait! Wait! Don’t you think the Kremlin is biting its nails now in frustration? Who in Paris will give a damn for Yuri Gagarin when Neil Armstrong rides down the Champs-Elysées?

  KOLFF: Mere exhibitionism.

  MOTT: Let me assure you, exhibitionism counts ... among nations. I’ll let you in on a secret. Washington has alerted me to be ready to honcho a tour of the Moon astronauts to sixteen major nations, once they get out of quarantine. That’s what your circus produces.

  KOLFF: But the noble task ... it lies sidetracked.

  MOTT: What is your noble task?

  KOLFF: We live within a universe. Our petty lives are spent within its constructs. Our nations rise and fall in accordance with its limitations. We know almost nothing about it, and it’s our obligation to know.

  MOTT: The information may not be knowable.

  It was now toward four in the morning, and although each of the men was exhausted by this long, eventful day, neither wanted to break this exploration, for it dealt with the remaining years of their lives: the things they would be attempting, the hopes they would be passing along to others, and it was Dieter Kolff, the inheritor of those stubborn Germans of the Raketenflugplatz in Berlin who had first dreamed seriously of how to throw great machines toward the stars and of those even more stubborn Prussians at Peenemünde who had actually tried to do it, who sustained the clearest vision of the future, but before he [539] could elaborate upon that future, he was interrupted by two figures who passed through the Longhorn bar without seeing him. One was Cindy Rhee, coming back from celebrations at Mission Control, and she was accompanied by Ed Cater, whose wife, Gloria, had stayed at headquarters. They formed a stunning pair, she in one of those exquisite gray-tan Korean dresses that dropped in a straight line from a point just below the n
eck, he in blue California shorts and matching T-shirt, and when they came to the parting point, from which she should go to her room and he to his, he suddenly caught her in his arms, lifted her high off the floor and kissed her ardently where her neck joined her shoulder. When he put her down she grasped his hand and they walked dreamily toward her room.

  KOLFF: Your astronauts attend to the simpler problems ... and leave the universe to us.

  MOTT: Whenever I see one of the young men, I think of Harry Jensen. You didn’t know him, Dieter, but he was a young Scandinavian god ... out of the sagas.

  KOLFF: I’m so sad in this moment of celebration. So many of the things we dreamed of at Peenemünde are decaying into insequentiality ... (He tried to pronounce inconsequentiality again, fumbled it and stopped.) Would you mind if we spoke in German? Well, you continue in English, but I want to express myself accurately.

  MOTT: Go ahead.

  KOLFF: At any moment in intellectual history things arise which must be attended to. Who determines the ought? Not governments, not self-appointed individuals. Only the vast sweep of human knowledge. Copernicus felt this and so did Dr. Harvey with the bloodstream. The Russians felt it long before we did and that’s why they got to the Moon first. (Mott raised his eyebrows.) Yes, in our celebrations we’ll try to forget that they got there first, landed first, got samples first, photographed the far side first.

  MOTT: Don’t exaggerate. Russia’s like Spain and the New World. We’re like England. Spain may have got here first, but it was England that did something important about it.

  KOLFF: You don’t call South America important?

  MOTT: Not really.

  [540] KOLFF: We’re very arrogant tonight, aren’t we?

  MOTT: I sure am. My team set out to do something extremely difficult. We chose the one right way to do it. And we succeeded. If you want to do something different, you find your right way. But don’t complain about mine, because for its task it was perfection. Let’s order more beer.