Off The Main Sequence

by Robert A. Heinlein

  “As it should be," Corley interrupted.

  “You don’t see the point, Doctor. Their only purpose is to forestall us claiming the Moon — we, who actually are making the trip. To forestall us, you understand, so that the United States will not be able to found a base on the Moon without permission — permission that is certain to be vetoed."

  “But," pointed out Corley, “it works both ways. We would veto Russia establishing a base on the Moon. Admiral, I’ve worked with you because it was a way to get on with my life’s ambition, but, to be frank, using the Moon as a rocket launching base — by anybody — sticks in my craw."

  Bowles turned red. “Doctor, this is not an attempt to insure the neutrality of the Moon; this is the same double-talk they used to stop world control of atomics. The commissars simply want to tie us up in legalisms until they have time to get to the Moon. We’ll wake up one morning to find Russia with a base on the Moon and us with none — and World War Three will be over before it starts."

  “But — Admiral, you can’t know that."

  Bowles turned to Barnes. “Tell him, Jim."

  Barnes gestured impatiently. “Come out of your ivory tower, Doc. Space travel is here now — we did it. There is bound to be a rocket base on the Moon. Sure, it ought to be a United Nations base, keeping the peace of the world. But the, United Nations has been helpless from scratch. The first base is going to belong to us — or to Russia. Which one-do you trust not to misuse the power? Us — or the Politburo?"

  Corley covered his eyes, then looked at Bowles. “All right," he said dully. “It has to be — but I don’t like it."

  Traub broke the ensuing silence with “Uh, I don’t see how this ties in with whether we land or not?"

  Bowles turned to him. “Because of this: the rest of that message restored me to active duty and directed me to claim the Moon in the name of the United States — as quickly as possible. We would have what the diplomats call a fait accompli. But to claim the Moon I have to land!"

  Traub stared. “Oh. I see.“Bowles went on in a gentle voice, “Mannie, this goes beyond you and me, or even your kids. The surest way to make sure that your kids grow up in a peaceful, free world is to risk your neck right now. So we’ve got to land."

  Traub hesitated; Bowles went on, “You see that, don’t you? It’s for your kids — and millions of other kids."

  Barnes interrupted him. “Red — quit working on him!"

  “Eh?"

  “He’ll make a free choice — after we’ve leveled off and looked the situation over."

  “But, Jim, I thought we saw eye to eye. You told Doc —"

  “Pipe down! You’ve stated your case, now quit trying to work him up into being a martyr."

  Bowles turned bright red. “I must inform you, sir, that besides being returned to active duty I was given authority to commandeer this ship."

  Barnes locked eyes with him. “You can take your authority and — do whatever you think proper with it. I’m skipper and will stay so as long as I’m alive." He looked around. “All hands — get ready for approach. Doe, go ahead with trial calculations, Type B. Mannie, warm up the pilot radar. Bowles!"

  Finally Bowles answered, “Yes, sir."

  “Rig the autocamera in the starboard port. We’ll take a continuous strip as we pass around the far side."

  “Aye aye, sir."

  Traub leaned from his couch and peered out the starboard port. “It’s just like the other side."

  Barnes answered, “What did you expect? Skyscrapers? Copilot, how do you track?"

  “Speed over ground — one point three seven. Altitude, fifty-one point two, closing slowly."

  “Check. I project closest approach at not less than twenty-one — no contact. What do you get?"

  “Closer to twenty, but no contact."

  “Check. Take over orientation. I’ll blast when altitude changes from steady to opening."

  “Aye aye, sir!"

  The Luna was swinging around the unknown far face of the Moon, but her crew was too busy to see much of the craggy, devil-torn landscape. She was nearing her closest approach, travelling almost horizontally. She was pointed tail first, ready to blast back from a top speed of a mile and a half a second to a circular orbit speed of a mile a second. At Barnes’ order Bowles gave his attention to placing her axis precisely horizontal.

  The television screen read “View Aft"; in its center was a cross mark lying over a picture of the mountainous horizon they were approaching. He jockeyed the ship against the reaction of the flywheel, then steadied her by gyros when one cross line held steady on the horizon.

  Barnes set his controls on semiautomatic, ready both to fire and cut off with one punch of the firing button. Into his autopilot he fed the speed change he wished to achieve. Altitude dropped to forty miles, to thirty, to less than twenty-five. “Power plant," Barnes called out, “stand by for blasting!"

  “Ready, Jim," Corley reported quietly.

  “Electronics?"

  “Everything sweet, Skipper."

  Barnes watched ground speed with one eye, the radar altimeter with the other… twenty-three, it said… twenty-two… twenty-one and a half.

  Twenty-one point five … twenty-one - point four — point four again — and again. Point five! and crawling up. His finger stabbed at the firing button.

  The blast was fourteen seconds only, then it cut off, but in the same mushy fashion which it had before. Barnes shook his head to clear it and looked at his board. Altitude twenty-one point five; ground speed, one plus a frog’s whisker — they were in orbit as planned. He sighed happily. “That’s all for now, troops. Leave everything hot but you can get out of your hammocks."

  Bowles said, “Hadn’t I better stay and watch the board?"

  “Suit yourself — but they won’t repeal the law of gravitation. Doc, let’s see how much juice we have left." He glanced at a clock. “We’ve got an hour to make a decision. It will be almost half an hour before Earth is in sight again."

  “I don’t like the way she cuts off," Corley complained.

  “Quit fretting. I used to have a car that sounded its horn every time I made a left turn."

  Bowles got a container of coffee, then joined Traub at the starboard port. They peered around the automatic camera and watched the moonscape slide past. “Rugged terrain," Bowles remarked.

  Traub agreed. “There’s better stuff going to waste in California."

  They continued to stare out. Presently Bowles turned in the air and slithered back to his acceleration couch.

  “Traub!"

  Mannie came to the desk. “Mannie," Barnes said, pointing at a lunar map, “we figure to land spang in the middle of the Earthside face — that dark spot, Sinus Medii. It’s a plain."

  “You figure to land, then?"

  “It’s up to you, Mannie. But you’ll have to make up your mind. We’ll be there in about — uh, forty minutes."

  Traub looked troubled. “Look,chief, you shouldn’t —"

  He was interrupted by Bowles’ voice. “Captain! We are closing, slowly."

  “Are you sure?"

  “Quite sure. Altitude nineteen point three — correction: point two… closing."

  “Acceleration stations!"

  Barnes was diving toward his couch as he shouted.

  Traub and Corley followed him. As he strapped down

  Barnes called out, “Copilot — get a contact prediction.

  All hands, stand by for maneuvers." He studied his own board. He could not doubt it; they were in something less than a perfect circle.

  He was trying to make a prediction from his display when Bowles reported, “I make it contact in nine minutes, Captain, plus or minus a minute."

  Barnes concentrated. The radar track was jiggling as much as five or ten percent, because of mountains below them; the prediction line was a broad band. As near as he could tell, Bowles was right.

  “What now, Captain?" Bowles went on. “Shall I swing her to blast forward
?" A slight nudge would speed up the ship, in effect, lift her, permit her to fall around the Moon rather than curve down.

  It would also waste reaction mass.

  Nine minutes… nine hundred miles, about. He tried to figure how many minutes it would be until they raised Earth over the horizon, ahead.

  Seven minutes, possibly — and Earth would be in sight. A landing at Sinus Medii was impossible but they still might land in sight of Earth without using more precious water to correct their orbit. “Mannie," he snapped, “we land in seven minutes — or we never land. Make up your mind!"

  Traub did not answer.

  Barnes waited, while a minute coursed by. Finally he said in a weary voice, “Copilot — swing to blast forward. All hands, prepare for departure."

  Traub suddenly spoke up. “That’s what we came for, wasn’t it? To land on the Moon? Well, let’s land the damn thing!"

  Barnes caught his breath. “Good boy! Copilot, cancel that last. Steady ship for deceleration. Sing out when you see Earth."

  “Aye aye, sir!"

  “There’s Earth!"

  Barnes glanced up, saw, Terra pictured in the TV screen, rising behind a wall of mountains. Bowles went on, “Better land, Jim. You’ll never get over those mountains."

  Barnes did not argue; their altitude was barely three miles now. He shouted, “Stand by. Red, start swinging as soon as I cut off."

  “Right!"

  “Fire!" He stabbed the button. This maneuver was manual, intended only to stop their forward motion. He watched his ground-speed radar while the ship shivered — nine-tenths … seven … -five … four.;. three.. . two. . one … six-hundredths. He jerked his finger off just before it dropped to zero and prayed that a mushy cutoff would equal his anticipation.

  He started to shout to Bowles, but the ship was already swinging.

  Earth and the horizon swung up in the TV screen and out of sight.

  For a crawling ten seconds, while they fell straight down, the Luna crept into position for a tail-first landing. They were less than three miles up now. Barnes shifted scale from miles to feet and started his prediction.

  Bowles beat him to an answer. “Contact in seventy-two seconds, Skipper."

  Barnes relaxed. “See the advantage of a Type 'B’ landing, Doc," he remarked cheerfully. “No hurry — just like an elevator."

  “Quit gabbing and get us down," Corley answered taut1y.

  “Right," Barnes agreed. “Copilot, predict the blast altitude." His own hands were busy to the same end.

  Bowles answered, “Jim, you going manual or automatic?"

  “Don’t know yet." Automatic firing was quicker, possibly more certain — but that mushy cutoff could bounce them like a ping-pong ball. He steadied crosshairs on his autopilot display and read the answer: “Blast at five two oh feet. What do you get, Red?"

  “Check." Bowles added, “That’s less than three seconds blast, Jim. Better make it automatic."

  “Tend to your knitting."

  “My mistake."

  Nearly forty seconds passed and they had fallen to eleven thousand feet before he decided. “Power plant, set for manual landing. Copilot, cover me at five hundred feet."

  “Jim, that’s too late," Bowles protested.

  “You will be covering me all of a tenth of a second — after I should fire."

  Bowles subsided. Barnes grabbed a glance at the TV screen; the ground under them seemed level and there was no perceptible drift. He looked back at his board. “Correction — cover at five ten."

  “Five ten — right."

  The seconds clicked past; he had his finger poised over the button when Bowles shouted, “Jim — look at the screen!"

  He looked up — the Luna, still carrying a trifle of drift, was now over a long crack, or rill — and they were about to land in it.

  Barnes jabbed the button.

  He let up at once; the Luna coughed to silence. The rill, canyon, or crevasse was still in sight but no longer centered. “Copilot — new prediction!"

  “What happened?" Corley demanded.

  “Quiet!"

  “Prediction," Bowles chanted, “blast at — at three nine oh."

  Barnes was adjusting verniers for his own prediction as Bowles reported. “Check," he answered. “Cover at three seven oh." He threw one glance at the TV screen. The crevasse was toward the edge of the screen; the ground below looked fairly smooth. Unquestionably the ship had a slight drift. All he could do was hope that the gyros would keep them from toppling. “Brace for crash!"

  480 — 450 — 400 — He jabbed the button.

  The terrible pressure shoved his head back; be lost sight of the altimeter. He caught it again — 190 — 150 — 125 — At “fifty" he snatched his finger away and prayed.

  The jet cut off sloppily as always. A grinding jar slammed him more deeply into the cushions The ship lurched like an unsteady top — and stayed upright.

  Barnes found that he had been holding his breath a long time.

  Chapter Eight

  Columbus found a pleasant climate rich land docile natives. Nowhere in our System did explorers find conditions friendly to men — and nowhere was this more brutally true than on our nearest neighbor.

  -Farquharson, Ibid., III: 420

  Barnes felt dazed, as if wakening from a confusing dream. Bowles’ voice recalled him to the present. “Jacks are down, skipper. Unclutch the gyros?"

  He pulled himself together. “Check our footing first. I’ll — Say! We’re on the Moon!" Frantically he unstrapped.

  “We sure are!" answered Bowles. “A fine landing, Jim. I was scared."

  “It was terrible, and you know it."

  “We’re alive, aren’t we? Never mind — we made it."

  Corley interrupted them. “Power plant secured."

  Barnes looked startled. “Oh, sure. Traub, your department okay?"

  Mannie answered weakly, “I guess so. I think I fainted."

  “Nonsense!" Bowles reassured him. “Come on — let’s look."

  The four crowded at the portside port and stared out across an umber plain, baking under an unchecked sun, now not far from zenith. Miles away, jutting up into black, star-studded sky, were the peaks they had seen. In the middle distance was a single pock mark, a crater a mile or less across. Nothing else broke the flat desolation … endless, lifeless waste, vacuum sharp and kiln dry.

  Traub broke the silence with an awed whisper. “Gosh, what a place! How long do we stay, Mr. Barnes?"

  “Not long, Mannie." He tried to make his words carry conviction. “Doc," he went on, “let’s check the mass ratio."

  “Okay, Jim."

  Bowles went to the starboard port; one glance through it and he sang out, “Hey — see this."

  They joined him. Below was the dark chasm in which they had almost landed. It ran close to the ship; one jack almost touched the edge. Barnes looked down into its awesome depths and felt no regret about expending mass to avoid it.

  Bowles stared at it. “I repeat, Jim, a fine landing."

  “Too close for comfort."

  Bowles pushed his face to the quartz and tried to see farther to right and left. “I’m turned around," he complained. “Which way is Earth?"

  “Earth is east, of course," Corley answered.

  “Which way is east?"

  “Man, you certainly are confused. East is out the other port."

  “But it can’t be. We looked out there first and Earth wasn’t in sight." Bowles crossed back to the other port.

  “See?"

  Corley joined him. “That’s east," he stated. “Look at the stars."

  Bowles looked. “But something is screwy. I saw Earth before we landed, in the screen. You saw it, didn’t you, Jim?"

  “Yes, I saw it."

  “You; Doc?"

  “I was too busy. How high was it?"

  “Just rising. But I saw it."

  Corley looked at the sky, then at the mountains. “Sure, you did. And it’s there —
back of those mountains."

  Barnes whistled tonelessly. “That’s it. I’ve landed us a few miles too short."

  Bowles looked whipped. “Out of line-of-sight," he said dully. “I could claim it until hell freezes — and I can’t get the message back."

  Traub looked startled. “We’re cut off from Earth? But I saw it, too."

  “Sure, you did," agreed Barnes, “you saw it while we had altitude. Now we’re down too low."

  “Oh." Traub looked out. “But it isn’t serious, is it?

  Earth is back of those mountains — but it’s in the east; it will rise after a bit. How fast does the Moon turn? Twenty-eight days and something?"

  Barnes turned to Corley. “You tell him, Doc."

  “Mannie — the Earth doesn’t rise or set."

  “Huh?"

  “The Moon keeps the same face to the Earth all the time. From any one spot, the Earth doesn’t move; it just hangs."

  “Huh?" Traub raised his hands, stared at them; it could be seen that he was visualizing it, using his fists for Earth and Moon. “Oh — I get it." He looked dismayed. “Say, that’s bad. That’s really bad."

  “Snap out of it, Mannie," Barnes said quickly. “If we can’t contact Earth, we’ll just have to wait until we get back." He said nothing about his own fears.

  Bowles smashed a fist into a palm. “We’ve got to contact Earth! It doesn’t matter whether we get back; four casualties is cheap. But to get a message through now — this message, that a United States vessel has landed and taken possession — can mean the salvation of the United States." He turned to Corley. “Doctor, we have enough power to lift us over those mountains, haven’t we?"

  “Eh? Why, yes."

  “Then let’s do it — now." He turned toward his couch. “Hold it, Red!" Bowles stopped; Barnes went on, “If we make one lift and drop, to near those mountains, you know what that does to our chances of getting back."

  “Of course! It’s not important; we owe it to our country."

  “Maybe so. Maybe not." Barnes paused. “If it turns out that we don’t have enough juice left to break free of the Moon, I’ll concede your point."

  “Jim Barnes, we can’t consider ourselves against the safety of our country."

  “Speak for yourself, Red. Conceded that a claim to the Moon might help out the State Department this week — again it might not. It might stimulate Russia into going all out for space travel while the United States stumbles along as before, proud that we claimed it, but unwilling to spend real money to make it stick."