by Anthology
Harold squirmed back through the hole into the nose, waved and shut the door.
* * * * *
Orville aimed the flashlight at the outer door. He turned the valve beside the door, feeling the suit puff out around him, and when the pressure in the compartment was gone, he reached toward the handle. His eyes were watering. He had to use all of his strength to move the handle; then the door popped open, swinging out and down, and he was looking out at the Moon.
There was glaring light and a kind of fog. He laid down the flashlight and, groping, found the soup carton in which he'd put the refuse accumulated during the trip, and flung the box into the fog.
He looked out again. There was nothing but the glaring white void. "Well, that settles that!" There was no use getting out. On the other hand, how about a souvenir?
He stuck a leg out through the opening, which was now about two feet high and four feet wide. By wriggling, he got the other leg out, but he couldn't touch the ground. He reached his left foot a little farther and touched something that rolled slightly, then was solid. That's far enough, he thought; to hell with the souvenir!
But the mittens were too clumsy. He couldn't pull himself back in. He lowered himself farther and stood. He shuffled among the loose, rolling stones and reached down and picked one of them up. Harold was right: they weighed a lot less than the rocks on Earth. He cradled the thing in one arm and stood there.
Here he was, standing on the Moon! The very first man! He hugged the souvenir to his body. They'd keep it on the coffee table, between those two awful ashtrays Polly had brought back from Niagara Falls, and when anyone asked him what was that funny rock lying there, he'd say--
Orville had been reaching, trying to touch the ship. His hand met nothing....
Now keep calm, he thought. Don't get turned around. And don't panic. It can't be far away. He reached out in another direction and took a step, but still his waving hand met nothing. Try this way then....
As he turned, his elbow struck the edge of the opening. Maybe he'd been waving his arm through the opening all the time!
He tossed in the souvenir. He wriggled in after it. Careful! What did Harold say about tearing the suit?
He closed the outer door. As he returned the pressure to the compartment, the suit became limp against him, and Orville was so weak that he sank to the floor. He was still lying there when Harold took off the headpiece.
"It's a total flop," Orville told him. "It's been a waste of time. No use going out."
* * * * *
He told Harold about the narrow escape he'd had in the fog. Fog on the Moon? This didn't sound right to Harold. He was fooling with the helmet, scratching frost from the inside of the visor. "Couldn't you get the defroster working? This little button right here. I showed you."
Orville knew, to his shame and disgust, that he had been looking at his own breath all of that time.
Harold now insisted on going out. Orville shined the flashlight around. He was looking for the souvenir, and he found it, near their feet.
It was a package carefully wrapped in paper, some of the refuse which he had thrown outside.
That figures, he thought bitterly. Well, anyway, I was first man. They can't take that away from me!
Harold was gone a long time. The nose of the ship was becoming very cold and the only light came from the luminous dial of Orville's watch. What was Harold doing out there? Maybe he'd snagged his suit and blown up like a soap bubble. How long should Orville wait before giving up? He should have learned how to run the ship, in case of an emergency like this.
A distant clank startled him. The ship rolled slightly. Orville reached out a hand in the dark to steady himself and chilled when he realized what he'd put his hand on. It was the starting switch.
What was that idiot doing out there?
Then Harold was back, breathing hard, squinting through his one good lens. "Boy, what a sight! I'd give anything for a camera!"
"Never mind that! Let's go! I'm freezing!"
They were off without any trouble and the dim violet light returned and the ice on the compartment walls began to melt. When the ship was settled on course, Harold took off the rest of the spacesuit, pulled some paper from the glove compartment of the dashboard and began writing.
"It's the official report," Harold said presently. "Getting it all down while it's fresh in my mind."
"Let's see that!" Orville couldn't read Harold's handwriting. "What's it say?"
"You really want to hear it? Well...." Harold cleared his throat modestly and began to read. "'The Discovery'--decided to call her the Discovery on account of--'the Discovery was lying on her side in the shade, but a blinding light was coming down from some peaks. It nearly blinded me! Boy, what a--'" Harold squinted over a word--"'sight!'"
"Wait a minute! You giving me credit?"
"What for?"
"For being the first man."
"Oh, sure. I mention that in here some place."
"Just so there's no mistake!" Orville suddenly felt very drowsy. He curled up facing the wall and went to sleep.
When he awoke, he saw Harold leaning against the wall, his glasses sliding down, his head nodding. Orville reached over and jerked his foot.
"There now," he said. "Old neighbor. You go to sleep. I'll watch her for a while."
* * * * *
Orville felt fine now. While Harold slept, he opened a jar of Rosie's peaches, drank off the juice and dug in with the spoon. It wasn't really so bad, not shaving or taking a bath, roughing it out here in space!
He dug into his coat pocket, found a cigar, but it was crushed. Oh, well. He flung it into the trash. He folded his arms, leaned back his head.
They sat at the head of a banquet table, he and Harold. The mayor was there, and the college president, and way down the table was the boss, old Haverstrom, real proud to be in such important company. And the governor was there and--by gosh! Sitting right next to Orville was the President of the United States!
Someone was making a speech--they were awarding some kind of prize for first man and there was applause and they were waiting for Orville to get up. He stood, waited for applause to die down.
"Thank you, friends ... all of you ... being no speechmaker ... but I do want to say right here and now ... no more idea of receiving this great honor tonight than of--flying to the Moon!"
That would get a laugh. Then he'd go on and give due credit to Harold, poor old Harold sleeping there, innocent as a baby about such things.
Why, the publicity angle alone could take up a man's full time. Guest appearances on TV. Getting signed up as technical adviser in Hollywood. But that was just the beginning.
Take the metal in this ship. Harold had made it out of junk from the city dump, melting it in a forge he'd fashioned out of an old oil drum. It had to be cheap and easy to make--but you could probably use it for almost anything. There was your whole metal industry shot to pieces!
This thing he called a scope now. With a big corporation behind it, Lord only knew what it would do to the communications setup.
But the big thing was this counter-grav business! There was where you got into the big leagues. If Harold could do this with it, think what General Motors could do! Orville could see TWA, B&O and steamship companies bidding against each other for it. And car manufacturers and freight handlers--and tugboat owners--and taxi fleets-and the armed forces--
Harold was waking up. He rubbed his skimpy whiskers, put on his broken glasses, creaked over to the scope and turned it on. Harold, old boy, Orville thought tenderly, you don't know it yet, but your troubles are all over!
"What do you see, Harold?"
"The Earth."
Orville went over. There was a dark green spot on the scope, bright against deep black. "You sure?"
"Almost positive. That's the only thing that size there is right around here."
"Well, fine! That calls for a celebration, doesn't it?"
"Oh, yes. Forgot that. We can open
the tuna."
IV
"It's about time," Orville said, "that we started figuring out a plan." He scraped the bottom of the can. The tuna tasted fine. He took a swig of pineapple juice and passed the can back to Harold.
"Yeah, I been thinking about that," said Harold.
"I've had more experience in that line than you, so maybe--"
"Do you think mankind is ready for my secret?"
"There, you see?" Orville laughed heartily. "Now don't you worry about such things."
"But look what they did with the atomic bomb. And if this ever got loose--"
"Harold!" Orville's laugh was less hearty. "Do you think you could keep this a secret? The minute we land, they'll be all over us. The government can impound this ship, you know."
"Won't do them any good. They can tear it all apart and never find out a thing."
Hours later, they were still arguing.
"If the government had it, they'd build a war machine and then the Russians would steal it--"
"Harold! That's Communist talk!"
"Shoot! I'm no Communist!"
"You're playing right into their hands...."
It went on and on. Then: "Harold--as your neighbor--won't you tell me what it is?"
"I'll try...."
Orville sat up, tingling. You take gravity, Harold said. What do we know about it? Was it like a lot of rubber bands, stretching back and forth between everything, or was it a flow, like water? Now if it was a flow, it would have to flow back some way, or else you'd run out, wouldn't you? Then if you hooked onto this counter-flow--
Orville nodded. This wasn't so hard to understand. He felt a little nervous. "Go on, Harold."
"I guess it's none of those things." Harold gave his inane giggle.
Orville felt cheated. "You call this neighborly? Remember when I drove clear out into the country with a gallon of gas that time when you got stuck?"
"I'm trying. You gotta think of it up to that point, then you gotta think the other way. But you can't explain it. You just do it."
* * * * *
Harold picked up two of the rings from Rosie's fruit jars and moved them back and forth across one another. He tried with three rings, dropped them.
"It's no use."
"Try harder."
Harold shook his head. "I suppose if I wanted to bad enough.... But now that we been to the Moon, there's nothing else I want to do."
Orville reached for the rings and tried.
Suddenly, Harold sprang up. "Oh, my socks!"
He turned on the scope and swung it wildly back and forth. "You made me commit a boo-boo. I think we've shot right past the Earth!"
The scope was getting weak. They could not find the Earth until Harold had reversed course. Then Orville saw it, the edge filling part of the scope. Harold's eyes were watering. He wiped the good lens of his glasses and leaned close.
"Can you make out any land?" he asked Orville.
"This looks like Indian Lake. I've fished there lots of times."
"It would be something bigger. Say, Greenland or South America."
This was the first time Orville realized they might not land squarely in Harold's back yard. He began looking intently at the scope.
"What's this kidney-bean shape?"
Harold squinted. "Think that's Australia. Now we're getting somewhere."
"But it belongs down here."
"We're coming up on it the other way."
"Can't we get closer to home than that?"
"I'll not be too particular where it is, just so it's land. The Earth is mostly covered with water."
Harold began turning the knobs and muttering. "Let me see now ... gotta miss Mount Everest...." At last, he turned off the scope. "It's clear gone. I'm taking her down slow. Will you look outside, Orville?"
Orville gulped. But Harold said it was the only way, so he squeezed into the other compartment. There were now about six of the little circles going back and across inside of him. He stood a little to one side and struck the lever of the outer door sharply with the palm of his hand. The door gave a faint "swoosh" and was open about an inch. His ears crackled and there was a dull whispering in his head like the sound in a sea-shell.
He put his face to the door, but saw nothing except the blue sky.
"You sure we came to the right place?" he asked worriedly.
"Positive ... almost," Harold called back. "Are we over land or water?"
Orville looked up. There was a brown, black and white landscape. Trees hung down like icicles around a frozen lake.
"There's land, but it's upside down."
"Just a minute." Harold did something and the trees and land swirled around until they were underneath.
* * * * *
Not far away, as they came down gently, Orville saw a building with people outside. Or he thought they were people. Harold set the ship down on its side in the snow and Orville stepped out. Then Harold was out beside him, slapping him on the shoulder.
"Well, old buddy-buddy! How about that?"
"Yeah." Orville spoke with less enthusiasm. "How about that?"
He proposed that they get in and ride back to civilization, but Harold said there wasn't enough power left and it couldn't be done. They started walking toward the house Orville had seen.
Halfway there, they met four men wearing gray overcoats and furry hats. One carried a rifle, and as Harold ran shouting up to him, the man lifted the rifle and struck Harold across the head, knocking him into the snow and breaking the other lens of his glasses. For a while, Orville wondered if it was the right planet after all. But, he decided, the men were Russian soldiers somewhere in Siberia.
Since the men were more interested in looting the ship than guarding the prisoners, it was not hard to slip away and get to a railroad that ran east and west. Even Harold knew which direction to take. Their journey out of Siberia, through Korea and Japan to San Francisco, though more difficult than their trip to the Moon, was not very interesting. Once, on a freighter in mid-Pacific, Harold tried to convince a fellow deckhand that they were on their way back from the Moon. He agreed not to talk of it again.
"Looks like Rosie's still gone," Harold said as they slunk up the alley behind Harold's shed. All the leaves had fallen and the place looked forlorn without the spaceship poking up through the roof.
"Wonder what they thought," Orville said, "when the ship disappeared, and us with it?"
"Nothing, I expect."
"If we'd disappeared with a couple of blondes now, the whole world would know about it."
* * * * *
They parted. The back door was locked. As Orville went around the house, he heard the TV going. Polly sat in the turquoise armchair, sewing on a dress. She put down the sewing and folded her arms.
The oration lasted five minutes. He could still hear her upstairs through the noise of the shower.
Then, after a visit to the barber's, he went to face old Haverstrom. This lecture was not quite as long, and through it the boss had a trace of a leer, and a certain respect, though he let Orville know these disappearances should not become a habit.
Harold did not do so well. His old job was gone and he was a whole week getting another. Rosie did not come back for still another week.
It was hard for Orville to believe that a moonstruck fellow like Harold could change his ways, but that was what happened. It was as though that one wild trip had satisfied something inside Harold, for he never fooled with things like that again. He even joined church.
As for Orville: some evenings, when he reads of artificial satellites or of trips to the Moon, he feels a sharp rise in blood pressure and he breathes fast. But a glance across the room at Polly in her turquoise chair sewing is enough to make him swallow and squirm back and keep his mouth shut.
* * *
Contents
EARTHMEN BEARING GIFTS
By Fredric Brown
Dhar Ry sat alone in his room, meditating. From outside the door he caught a thou
ght wave equivalent to a knock, and, glancing at the door, he willed it to slide open.
It opened. "Enter, my friend," he said. He could have projected the idea telepathically; but with only two persons present, speech was more polite.
Ejon Khee entered. "You are up late tonight, my leader," he said.
"Yes, Khee. Within an hour the Earth rocket is due to land, and I wish to see it. Yes, I know, it will land a thousand miles away, if their calculations are correct. Beyond the horizon. But if it lands even twice that far the flash of the atomic explosion should be visible. And I have waited long for first contact. For even though no Earthman will be on that rocket, it will still be first contact--for them. Of course our telepath teams have been reading their thoughts for many centuries, but--this will be the first physical contact between Mars and Earth."
Khee made himself comfortable on one of the low chairs. "True," he said. "I have not followed recent reports too closely, though. Why are they using an atomic warhead? I know they suppose our planet is uninhabited, but still--"
"They will watch the flash through their lunar telescopes and get a--what do they call it?--a spectroscopic analysis. That will tell them more than they know now (or think they know; much of it is erroneous) about the atmosphere of our planet and the composition of its surface. It is--call it a sighting shot, Khee. They'll be here in person within a few oppositions. And then--"
Mars was holding out, waiting for Earth to come. What was left of Mars, that is; this one small city of about nine hundred beings. The civilization of Mars was older than that of Earth, but it was a dying one. This was what remained of it: one city, nine hundred people. They were waiting for Earth to make contact, for a selfish reason and for an unselfish one.
Martian civilization had developed in a quite different direction from that of Earth. It had developed no important knowledge of the physical sciences, no technology. But it had developed social sciences to the point where there had not been a single crime, let alone a war, on Mars for fifty thousand years. And it had developed fully the parapsychological sciences of the mind, which Earth was just beginning to discover.