Destination Moon

by Robert A. Heinlein

  After a long time the radio came suddenly to life-NAA, Washington, Traub soon learned, had rigged a reflector to beam directly at them. "Can you take code groups?" he was asked.

  - He assured them that he could. "Despatch for Rear Admiral Bowles," NAA rapped back at him. "Zero zero zero one: code groups follow-love, uncle, king, easy, roger-boy, able, dog, item, peter -- " The groups continued for a longtime. --

  "Doctor Corley!"

  Corley looked around vaguely, as if awakening in a strange place. "Eh? Yes, Mannie? I'm busy."

  "Doctor Hastings calling."

  "Oh, fine," Corley acknowledged. "Slide out of there and let me take it."

  They changed places with effort, bothered by weightlessness. Traub felt a touch on his arm. "What is it, Mannie?"

  He turned; Barnes and Bowles had waked -- up and loosed themselves. "Howdy, Skipper. It's Doctor Hastings."

  "Good!"

  "Uh, Admiral-got something for you." Traub hauled out the code dispatch.

  Bowles stared at it. Barnes remarked, "Race results?"

  Bowles did not answer. He shoved himself toward the forward bulkhead, as far away as possible. He then took a thin book from an inner pocket, and started studying the message with the aid of the book. Barnes looked surprised but said nothing.

  Hastings' report was short but not sweet. They would reach the Moon's orbit where 'planned, but more than fifty hours too soon-and would miss the Moon by more than 90,000 miles!

  Barnes whistled. "Hot pilot Barnes, they call me."

  Corley said, "It's no joke."

  "I wasn't laughing, Doe," Barnes answered, "but there is no use crying. It will be tragic soon enough."

  Traub broke in. "Hey-what do you mean?"

  "He means," Bowles said bluntly, "that we are headed out and aren't coming back."

  "On out? And out-out into outer space? Where the stars are?"

  "That's about it." -- "Not that," Corley interrupted, "I'd estimate that we would reach our farthest point somewhere around the orbit of Mars."

  Traub sighed. "So it's Mars, now? That's not so bad, is it? I mean -- they say people live on Mars, don't they? All those canals and things? We can get another load of water and come back."

  "Don't kid yourself, Mannie," Bowles said. "Just be glad you're a bachelor."

  "A bachelor? Who said I was?"

  "Aren't you?"

  "Me? I'm a very domestic type guy. Four kids-and married -- fourteen years."

  Corley looked stricken. "Mannie, I didn't know." "What's that got to do with it? Insurance I've got, with a rocket experimentation rider. I knew this was no picnic."

  Barnes said, "Mannie, if! had known, I wouldn't have asked you to go. I'm sorry." He turned'to Corley, "When do we run out of water-and air?"

  Corley raised his voice. "Please! Everybody! I -- didn't say we weren't going to get back. I said -- "

  "But you -- "

  "Shut up, Red! I said this orbit is no good. We've got to vector west, toward the Moon. And we've got to do it at -- " He glanced at a clock. "Good grief! Seven minutes from now."

  Barnes jerked his head ar~ind. "Acceleration stations, everybody! Stand by to maneuver!"

  VII

  The most treacherous maneuver known to space flight is a jet landing on an airless planet. Even today, it commands the highest pay, the most skilled pilots -- Farquharson, Ibid., III: 418

  For forty hours they fell toward the Moon. The maneuver had worked; one could see, even with naked eye, that they were closing with the Moon. The four took turns at the radio, ate and slept and talked and stared out at the glittering sky. Bciwles and Traub discovered a common passion for chess and played off the "First Annual Interplanetary Championship" -- so dubbed by the Admiral -- using pencil marks on paper. Traub won, four out of seven.

  Some two hundred thousand miles out the Luna slid past the,null point between Earth and Moon, and began to shape her final orbit. It became evident that the correction vector had somewhat overcompensated and that they were swinging toward the Moon's western limb -- "western" as seen from Earth: the Luna's orbit would intersect her namesake somewhere on the neveryet-seen far side-or it was possible that the ship would skim the far side at high speed, come around sharply and head back toward Earth.

  Two principal styles of landing were possible-Type A, in which a ship heads in vertically, braking on her jets to a landing in one maneuver, and Type B, in which a ship is first slowed to a circular orbit, then stopped dead, then backed to a landing when she drops from the point of rest. --

  "Type A, Jim-it's simplest."

  Barnes shook his head. "No, Doc. Simple on paper only. Too risky." If they corrected course to head straight in (Type A), their speed at instant of braking would be a mile and a half a second and an error of one second would land them 8000 feet above-or below! -- the surface. --

  Barnes went on, "How about a modified 'A'?" Modified Type A called for intentionally blasting too soon, then cutting the jets when the radar track showed that the ship hovered, allowing it to fall from rest, then blasting again as necessary, perhaps two or three times.

  "Confound it, Jim, a modified 'A' is so damned wasteful."

  "I'd like to get us down without wrecking us."

  "And I would like us to get home, too. This ship was' figured for a total change of twelve and a half miles per second. Our margin is paper thin."

  "Just the same, I'd like to set the autopilot to kick her a couple of seconds early."

  "We can't afford it and that's that."

  "Land her yourself, then. I'm not Superman."

  "Now, Jim -- "

  "Sorry." Barnes looked at the calculations. "But why Type A? Why not Type B?"

  "But Jim, Type B is probably ruled out. It calls for decelerating at point of closest approach and, as things stand now, 'closest approach' may be contact."

  "Crash, you mean. But don't be so damned conventional; you can vector into a circular orbit from any position."

  "But that wastes reaction -- mass, too."

  "Crashing from a sloppy Type A wastes more than reaction mass," Barnes retorted. "Get to work on a 'B'; I won't risk an 'A."

  Corley looked stubborn. Barnes went on, "There's a bonus with Type B, Doe-two bonuses."

  "Don't be silly. Done perfectly, it takes as much reaction mass as Type A; done sloppily, it takes more."

  "I won't be sloppy. Here's your bonus: Type A lands us on this face, but Type B lets us swing around the Moon and photograph the back side before we land. How does that appeal to your scientific soul?"

  Corley looked tempted. "I thought about that, but we've got too little margin. It takes a mile and a half of motion to get down to the Moon, the same to get up-three miles. For the trip back I have to save enough mass to slow from seven miles a second to five before we dip into the atmosphere. We used up seven to blast off-it all adds up to twelve. Look at the figures; what's left?"

  Barnes did so and shrugged. "Looks like a slightly fat zero."

  "A few seconds of margin at most You could waste it on the transitions in a Type B landing."

  "Now the second bonus, Doe," Barnes said slowly. "The Type B gives you a chance to change your mind after you get into a circular orbit; the straight-in job commits you beyond any help."

  Corley looked shocked. "Jim, you mean go back to Earth without landing?"

  Barnes lowered his voice. "Wait, Doc. I'd land on the Moon if I had enough in tanks to get down-and not worry about getting up again. I'm a bachelor. But there's Mannie Traub. No getting around it; we stampeded him. Now it turns out he has a slew of kids, waiting for poppa to come borne. It makes a difference."

  Corley pulled at his scalp lock. "He should have told us."

  "If he had, we wouldn't have taken off."

  "Confound it, things would have been all right if I hadn't suggested that you test the engine."

  "Nonsense! If I hadn't scared those babies off with a blast, they probably would have wrecked the ship."


  "You can't be sure."

  "A man can't be sure of anything. How about Traub?"

  "You're right-I, suppose. Okay, we leave it up to Traub."

  From the other end of the compartment Traub looked around from his chess game with Bowles.

  "Somebody call me?"

  "Yes," Barnes agreed. "Both of you. We've got things to decide."

  Barnes outlined the situation. "Now," he said, "Doe and I agree that, after we get into a circular orbit and have had time to add up what's left, Mannie should decide whether we land, or just swing around and blast for home."

  Bowles looked amazed, but said nothing.

  Traub looked flustered. "Me? It ain't my business to decide. I'm the electronics department."

  "Because," Barnes stated, "you're the only one with kids."

  "Yes, but -- Look here-is there really a chance that, if we landed, we wouldn't be able to get back?"

  "Possible," Barnes answered and Corley nodded.

  "But don't you know?"

  "Look, Mannie," Barnes countered, "we've got water in the tanks to land, take off, and return to Earth-but none for mistakes."

  "Yes, but you won't make any mistakes, will you?"

  "I can't promise. I've already made one and it's brought us -- to this situation."

  Traub's features worked in agonized indecision. "But it's not my business to decide!"

  Bowles spoke up suddenly. "You're right; it's not!" He went on, "Gentlemen, I didn't intend to speak, because it never crossed my mind that we might not land. But now the situation demands it. As you know, I received a coded message.

  "The gist was this; our trip has caused grave international repercussions. The Security Council has been in 'constant session, with the U.S.S.R. demanding that the Moon be declared joint property of the United Nations -- "

  "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."

  Bôwles 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, Doe. 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? Co-pilot, 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. Doe, 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. --

  T
raub 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, "Co-pilot-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 Medli 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 minntes-or we never land. Make up your mind.1"