Bouncing Off the Moon

by David Gerrold

  And then we stopped.

  Brightness lay ahead. "Oh, chyort!"

  Alexei laughed at my outburst. "Remind me to explain that to you." His voice came muffled in my ears.

  —but the chyort was real. We'd run out of shadow.

  Ahead, the ground rose up into sunlight. Perpetual dawn slammed sideways across the landscape. It blazed and sparkled. It was too bright to look at, even with the goggles fully polarized.

  "Is not to worry," said Alexei. I wanted to kick him. "Is not as bad as it looks."

  "Not as bad—" That was Mickey. "How far does this extend?"

  Alexei hesitated. "Is less than one kilometer. We can do it. We rest here. Turn off heaters. Get very cold. We run for fifteen minutes, straight that way. We warm up, da. We get hot. But we have fifteen minutes before bubble suits turn into little ovens. Who cannot run one kilometer in fifteen minutes? On Luna, is piece of cheese."

  "You're crazy," said Douglas. "Absolutely crazy. Why didn't you tell us this before? Why didn't you tell us about the mountain climbing and the zip line and the bubble suits and everything?"

  "Because if I tell you, you would say, 'no, Alexei, I'm afraid not. That sounds like much too hard. We will much rather sit here like little potted plants to be pickled in our own juices.' But I tell you that no, you are not little cabbages, and here we are, almost home, and you find you are much bigger and much braver than you thought. You do the mountain, you do the zip line, you do everything else—you can do this too. You have to. Is no alternative to this. You stay here, you die. And little stinking one with you. But you come with me across sunlight and you live to laugh about it. Get ready now. Time you stand here thinking about this is time you will not have on other side. Mikhail, help me check air on everyone, please." He was already peering at my readouts. Without looking up, he said, "Mikhail, do not give me that look. Remember, I promise to take care of you. I am keeping that promise. Right now I am taking better care of you than you are taking yourself. You should thank me. You will thank me soon enough. Come, please. I have too much money invested in you already. I do not intend to lose my investment. Charles Dingillian, you are fine. I have turned your air up just a little. You will do fine. Be grateful monkey does not breathe, you would not have enough air for both of you; otherwise, one of you would have to stay behind. As soon as we are all too cold to move, we will go. Come, Mikhail, let me check you now."

  Alexei kept up a steady stream of chatter. Maybe his mind really was that peripatetic, spinning from thought to thought like a dervish. And maybe he was doing it deliberately to keep us from thinking what a stupid thing we were about to do. In all likelihood, we were going to end up as a bunch of fried mummies, baking on the Lunar plain. I wondered what kind of weird life-forms would evolve in our sealed and abandoned bubble suits. What would future Lunar explorers find growing here in the blazing sun? Flesh-eating fungi? Vacuum-breathing mold? Something dreadful, no doubt—especially Grottius Stinkoworsis.

  I shuddered. It turned into a shiver. A whole bunch of shivers. I was cold. I could see my breath. "Uh—Alexei?"

  "Yes, yes, I know. We are just waiting for Douglas to chill. Ha-ha, I make joke there. Old-fashioned slang. Never mind. Douglas and Robert mass more than everyone else. They generate more body heat. It will take longer for them to chill out. We want temperature in bubble suit to be almost freezing. Below would be better, but we do not want to risk frostbite either. We are almost there. Please be patient. Douglas? Are you ready? Mikhail? Charles? Hokay. There is no more time for chattering—except teeth, perhaps. When I say we go, everyone follow me. Don't fall down. Just keep going, no matter what. Remember to pace yourself. We are not racing. We are bouncing like before, only faster. Everybody ready? Get set? Go!"

  And with that, he was off—a black stick figure racing into the light, carrying his bubble suit over his shoulder. Douglas followed immediately after. I hesitated for half a heartbeat—then plunged ahead. Mickey called, "I'm right behind you!"

  We bounced into the light and it was like coming out of a tunnel. The sun slammed sideways into us like a wall of radiance. It was blinding. It dazzled and glared and my eyes started watering almost immediately. But I knew that part of it was just that my eyes hadn't adjusted yet. I found my rhythm and kept going. Hop with the left foot, hop with the right—I skipped steadily after Alexei and Douglas, bouncing high with every step.

  We would have been floating through the air—if there had been air, but there wasn't; so we bumbled gracefully through space—bouncing across the land like gossamer hippopotami.

  Everything was still too bright, the sideways glare etched every rock and boulder in sandpaper detail, the plains looked painful—but I wasn't hot in the bubble suit. Not yet. I was still shivering from the prolonged cold of the long Lunar shadows. I was almost impatient for the suit to start warming up. So far, this wasn't too bad. But we had a long way to go, and the sun's heat would be cumulative.

  Behind me, I could hear Mickey counting off checkpoints. We passed the first one and I realized I wasn't shivering anymore, but the bubble suit still felt cold. Maybe it was just the exertion that was warming me up. I glanced back. The line of shadow had receded into the distance. A little farther and it would be over the horizon. That would be the worst—when we were out of sight of shadow.

  Despite the long shadows, there was little refuge out here. The boulders were too small, their shadows were stretched out thin and insignificant. The light came in at us from the side, like the flame of a giant torch. All around us, the surreal landscape glowed; we pushed headlong into a world of dazzling glare. The inside of the bubble flashed and sparkled with rogue reflections. I was getting comfortably warm.

  I maintained my pace, occasionally glancing back to see if Mickey was keeping up. He was close behind me. Ahead, Douglas was maintaining a steady pace, even burdened as he was with Stinky. Even farther ahead, I could see the flashing black figure of Alexei bounding through the sunlight. He wasn't having a problem with this, he'd already done it twice—once across, then back again when he'd heard us following him. His Scuba suit was refrigerated. He could go farther than any of us.

  We passed the second checkpoint, still pounding across the silvery white dust, and I began to feel optimistic about making it. Maybe this wasn't going to be as bad as I feared. All I had to do was keep Alexei and Douglas in sight. Just keep bouncing. Watch out for the boulders. Pay intention. And try not to notice the cold drop of sweat running down my side—

  It was getting warmer out here. It was getting warmer in here. Inside the bubble. Not uncomfortable yet, but …

  I glanced back. Mickey was still close behind me. "Pay intention, Chigger!"

  It wasn't Mickey I was worried about. It was the distance to shadow. Every bounce forward was also a bounce farther from darkness. And I had no idea how far we still had to go to get to the shadows on the other side. We were heading deeper into the heart of brightness. I began to worry. I wasn't hot yet, but—I was thinking about hot. The cumulative heat was building up.

  I began to worry that Alexei had miscalculated. He had the refrigerated suit. We didn't. What if we were like the swimmer who swims too far out and has no strength left for getting back. What if the heat in our bubbles became intolerable before we got to the other side? What if we were getting too far out into the light to reach any shade safely? What if we could only get most of the way across, but not the last half klick? What if we couldn't make the last hundred meters? What if we couldn't make the last ten meters—?

  Ohell. What if we couldn't even get halfway to safety? What if we had already passed the point of safe return? What if we were already doomed? What if we were already burning up and didn't know it?

  "Shut up!"

  "Huh?" said Mickey, right behind me. "I didn't say anything."

  "I wasn't talking to you. I was talking to the little voices. Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"

  "Chigger, are you all right?"

  Oh great. Now he was thi
nking I was going crazy—

  I looked at my numbers. "I'm fine."

  These bubble suits weren't designed for this. They were meant for emergencies. All this stuff, it was supposed to be used for keeping folks alive until the rescue boat could get to them—nobody ever intended these things for Lunar exploration. Not for long-distance hikes across the Lunar surface. Not like this. Alexei had told us not to worry, it was part of the design specification because who knew what might be needed in an emergency, but just because a bubble suit can doesn't mean it should. And besides … what if Alexei was lying about the suits? Then what?

  But why would he lie to us? What was the point in that? Did he want to kill us? How would he benefit from that? Well, there was a thought …

  We passed the next checkpoint. I'd lost count. I had no idea what Alexei and Mickey were using as checkpoints. I couldn't tell one rock from another anymore. I wasn't warm anymore. I was hot, the sweat was running down my body. I'd skip into space—lifting up high to see the glowing landscape ahead of us, then each time as I'd float back down, the droplets would go coursing down my underarms in warm sluggish trails that made me think of snails—and then I'd bounce down onto the silvery floor of sparkling light and the droplets would splatter off, into my already-clammy jumpsuit. With each hop and skip, the damp material plastered itself against me like a used towel. Everything was wet and smelly with sweat.

  I'd been in the sauna a few times, at school. I didn't like it. It was too hot. This was almost as hot. Not quite. But getting there. I thought about cold orange juice—real orange juice—not the orange-colored stuff that Mom always bought. I thought about ice. I thought about ice water. I thought about swimming in ice water.

  Another checkpoint. And I still didn't see any shadows on the horizon. We were in the middle of a dazzling plate of fire. We were under a magnifying glass. The hard black sky was overruled by the scorching blaze of light in the east. The sweat poured off me. So did the tears.

  "You're doing fine, Chigger. Just keep on. Only a little farther." That was Mickey's voice.

  I couldn't see anyone clearly anymore. There was a dark figure bouncing in front of me. And a blurry bubble too. Mickey's occasional comments came from behind me. Were they suffering as much as I was? I couldn't imagine it—

  Maybe Alexei really did want us dead, so he could skip off into the darkness with the monkey …

  Sure, that was it. That's why he'd left us up on the rim of the crater. He wasn't going for help. He was just going. And going. And then what—? It was too hot to think of the next step. But if he knew where the monkey was and nobody else did, then he could sell it to whoever would pay the most and nobody else could get to it if we were dead—and the moon was the perfect place to lose anything. Or anyone.

  How much more of this could my bubble suit take before it popped? Was it already bigger because the air was heating up and expanding? And why didn't we float up into the air like the hot-air balloons in Albuquerque? Weren't we hot enough? Oh, we were hot enough, but there wasn't any air to float up into—

  Another checkpoint. Mickey's voice sounded bad. Somewhere ahead, Stinky was crying—or screaming. I bounced up, floated down, bounced up, floated down—watched the landscape drop away, peered into the distance, floated down—everything was brightness in all directions.

  Ice water, ice water, ice water, swimming in ice water, diving in ice water. Dying in ice water. It didn't work anymore. It was too hot. It was burning. It was hotter than the sauna. I wasn't going to make it. I didn't see how I could make it. I bounced up, floated down, I couldn't see anything but solar glare. We had come too far to get back and there was no shadow anywhere. We'd bounced and skipped into sunlight and we were going to die here—

  I kept going anyway. I wanted to lie down, but I didn't. I didn't have any more sweat. It had all been boiled out of me. I went to take a sip of water but it was too hot to drink. And as fast as I sipped, it just dripped right out of me. There were droplets bouncing around the inside of the bubble now. There were little puddles splashing lazily around the bottom in a graceful slow-motion ballet.

  Another checkpoint—

  If I fell down, I wouldn't be able to get up. I had to pay intention. This was the hard part. I wasn't going to be the first to fall—

  Just before we had started across the frying pan, while Alexei was checking Mickey's air, Douglas had pulled me aside, had talked to me like an adult. "I'm responsible for Bobby. You're responsible for Charles. I can't be responsible for both of you. If you fall down, Charles, I can't save you. I can't come back for you. Neither can Mickey. If it gets so bad out there that you can't get up, no one else can pick you up either. Don't fall down. If you fall down, and I try to save you, we all die. Don't fall down."

  "I won't." It had been easy to reassure him at the time. Because I didn't know. Not then. Now I knew. And I wasn't sure I could keep the promise. I could barely see anymore. I followed the bouncing blur.

  One more bounce. Take the next bounce. Just one more bounce. Keep going. It won't get better if you stop. Another bounce. And another. Keep on bouncing. Bouncing. Keep on, Charles—keep your promise. Don't fall. Pay intention.

  And then—"There it is!" Mickey's voice.

  I didn't see it. I saw bright scorching solar blur. I saw purple splotches floating in front of my eyes. I saw noise and dazzle. I didn't see any shadow. He was lying. He was just saying that to keep me going—

  "Straight ahead, Chigger! Almost there!"

  "Almost where?" But I didn't have any voice. Just croak. Not even loud enough to be heard.

  I bounced, I floated, I looked. Painful brightess. Something angled. Maybe. Bounced, floated, looked—something flat and rectangular, angled toward the sun. But not darkness. It still didn't resolve. Bounced, floated, looked—it didn't make sense, but it wasn't sunlight and I bounced and floated toward it.

  Alexei was already there, in the shade of it. Shade! Something dark was humped into the ground. He was opening a hatch, standing and waving, beckoning. Douglas was just bouncing into the shadow of something—it was real!

  And then I tripped. And bounced and rolled, ass over elbow, every which way—had I punctured my bubble? Was I dead and didn't know it yet?—I was still rolling. I heard voices.

  "Let him go, Mikhail—get out of the sun! We can't lose both of you—" That was Alexei! And then, "I am get him."

  I was trying to get up, but my arms weren't working. My feet kept kicking uselessly at the bottom of the bubble. I didn't have the air to scream. I felt like a frog in a frying pan. I probably looked like one too. Just add butter—never mind, I'll lie here and boil in my own juices. A fat lot of help you are, you stupid monkey—

  And then, someone was rolling me around, I wasn't doing it, something black blurred around my vision, and then I was vaguely upright—"Can you move, or do I carry you?" Without waiting for an answer, Alexei grabbed my bubble suit by one of the plastic handles on the outside; he held me high, and began bouncing toward the blackness ahead—

  The light went out abruptly—not the heat, I was still baking like a clam in my own shell. But at least the light was gone. Hands pushed at me, pushed me into a dark tube, pushed me farther. Pushed. Through a series of horizontal hatches that opened in front of me and closed behind me. I felt helpless to resist—I couldn't see anything but splotches of purple dazzle. I bounced off something—I heard hissing. I heard a hatch slam. I heard voices, not in my earphones, but from farther away. I heard sounds I couldn't identify. A voice swearing in Russian. An argument. Douglas calling out—"Is Charles all right?"

  "Is not dead yet," said Alexei. And that would have been reassuring to hear if I didn't have more accurate information than he did. And then the hissing got louder, and louder—someone was unzipping my bubble suit—I tried to slap them away, but I didn't have strength to resist, so I just lay on the floor and waited to die. I took hungry deep breaths, filled myself with hot air, that was a mistake, the vacuum would rip it out of
my lungs like a scream—and then the hissing stopped and—cooler air rolled around me, surprising me like a wet slap in the face, and I youched aloud and tried to sit up, but I still couldn't, and then the hands were pulling wet plastic up and off me, and suddenly I was out of the bubble and the air wasn't baking around me. I rolled sideways and blinked at the darkness, there were people moving in the purple dazzle. Douglas and Bobby and Mickey and someone still in black. КРИСЛОВ.

  "We made it!" Mickey cracked in a voice like old dust.

  "Da!" said Alexei, pulling off his hood. "We made it. I did not think you would, but you do pretty good for terries. I only had to drag one of you into the shade. Welcome to Prospector's Station." He glanced at his watch. "You make very good time too. For terries."

  "You didn't think we'd make it—?" That was Douglas. Weakly.

  "Da. But if I tell you that, you wouldn't try."

  "If you didn't think we'd make it … " Douglas began slowly, " … then why did you let us try?"

  "Because I assume—rightly—that like all terries, you are too stupid to lie down and die. You keep going anyway. Yell at me later, Douglas. You have prove me right again. Save voice for now. You are all dehydrated. Here, drink water." He started passing out plastic water bags. He popped the nipple of mine and held it to my face. "Drink slowly—little gulps. You have been through much. Give body time to recover. We have plenty time before train arrives. Over an hour."

  THE DARK SIDE OF THE LOON

  Prospector's Station was three cargo pods, laid end to end, half-buried in the Lunar dust. They were sheltered by three near-vertical sails of solar panels. The pods were linked together on a north-south orientation, and the solar panels were mounted on gimbals so they could swing down on either side to block the sun's rays at dawn and dusk and all the positions in between. The habitability of the shelter depended solely on the maintenance of the motors.

  The pods were divided into two levels; the bottom level of each pod was storage, the top was function. The pod at the north end was a hydroponics farm, the pod at the south was a machine shop, the center pod was the living area. Nobody lived here permanently, it was a communal site. Everybody who used it had to replace what they used and make sure that the station was in working order for whoever might stay here next.