There was an answering rumble from the crowd, as Mike and Jimmy slipped away from its outskirts. “The ‘idolaters,’” Mike remarked, as they sidled into a building, “sounds like us. I would recommend, with all due respect to the gentleman’s religious convictions, that steps be taken. With an ax, for choice, before he starts gumming the works.”
“There appears to be something in what you say. Personally, I have no desire to become a martyr to science before it’s absolutely necessary. Let’s get the chief of the Federal police on the wire, and have him gather our friend in and send his congregations home. And some guards with machine guns and things around the space ports might not be amiss. We haven’t any time to be bothered by fools!”
* * * *
In the next few days there was an epidemic of raids on the pseudo-religious protest meetings, and there was a great gathering-in of the more rabid of the fanatics, including Obidiah Miller, who was planted, gently but firmly, in a lunatic asylum. Guards were placed around the space ports, and assigned to the more important of the scientists who were employed on the gigantic task. There were a few attempts at sabotage and assassination, but all of them failed.
The work was pressed. The astronomical observatory on the Moon was dismantled and carried to the Earth piecemeal, as were many of the valuable fittings of the space port there. Since the development of atomic power, this port was not as necessary as it had been in the old days of combustion rockets. Then, the huge atomic drills, operated by men in space suits, started the excavation of the deep shafts that were to act as rocket tubes. Some fifty of them were drilled, most of them parallel, but a few at divergent angles, to act as the steering mechanism of the huge space ship into which Luna was being converted. At the bases of these shafts the reaction chambers were excavated, and lined with refractory material. The automatic fuel-supply system was installed, whereby millions of tons of the very material of the satellite itself were carried to the reaction chambers.
There, the lighter elements, oxygen, silicon, aluminum, etc., were to be converted into iron vapor, which was to be driven out of the rocket tubes by the atomic energy released in the process. Iron itself, though common on the Moon, was not suitable as a fuel, since, in respect to atomic changes, it is the most stable of all the elements. The whole fuel system was automatically controlled, with all controls in duplicate.
The controlling mechanism, which consisted, in effect, of fifty throttles—one for each rocket tube—was arranged to be controlled by remote radio control from a space ship, which would convoy the huge projectile to its destination. All the rocket tubes, of course, were on one hemisphere of the Moon, since there would be no need of stopping it in its course, once it had been started.
Thousands of men were needed for the construction work—of all types from manual laborers to astrophysicists. And all of them were working at high pressure. Work never stopped for months at a time. Accidents were many—an atomic drill is not the safest instrument in the universe, and working in a space suit is always dangerous.
As a result, the work took a steady toll of lives, and there was a steady inflow of new labor onto the job. But the work went on in spite of accidents. It had to. When a man was killed, if there was anything at all left of him, the body was tossed to one side and another man took his place. The record of the construction would be an epic in itself—one which there is no space to record here.
The plan of operation was simple—in theory. The Moon was to be gradually dragged away from the Earth—gradually, to avoid inducing huge tides and devastating Earthquakes, then driven north “above” the solar system, out of the plane of the ecliptic. It was to be driven into the minus planet at such an angle and at such a velocity that the latter would be deflected away from the Earth, and the residual mass of neutrons would fall directly into the Sun, where they would do no harm. It was calculated that the normal matter of the Moon would a little more than neutralize the negative matter of the minus planet, so that the residue that finally reached the Sun would consist of a small planetoid of normal matter surrounding an extremely massive core of neutrons.
* * * *
IV.
It was July 6, 2157. Carter and Poggenpohl were rechecking the calculations of the course the Moon would have to take on its last voyage. Finally, they finished with the last decimal and leaned back. “And that, my boy, is how it shall be done!” Jimmy threw his pencil at the calculating machine and inserted his face into a liter of beer.
“All you have to do is push the button and save the world. We’ll have to do some reckoning, though, on the initial escape from the Earth. Otherwise, if we’re a little brusque about it, the tides will put New York under fifty feet of water, and the mayor might possibly be annoyed with us. How far behind schedule are those Primates of engineers, who are supposed to be building the rocket tubes on that soon-to-be excompanion of our more romantic moments?”
“They ain’t. Bill Douglas was here last night, and he said that they would be ready to go in two weeks. And we have three to spare. He’s a week ahead of schedule. There’s just a little more wiring to do. And we don’t have to do any calculating on tidal effects, either. I did it myself a month ago. It won’t be as tough as it looks—a gradual acceleration of the Moon’s velocity in its orbit, and a gradual, simultaneous acceleration away from the Earth. I planned those rocket tubes, too, so that they won’t shower the Earth with vaporized iron. They won’t point this way until they’re a long way from here. You stick to my firing chart, and you’ll get away with it. And I figured what the tides would be, too, so you don’t have to worry about that. I done it with my little calculator!”
“I say—I thought I was the genius around here! I’ll have to have the brass hats increase your salary fifteen, or possibly twenty, cents a week!”
“You don’t have to worry about that, either!” Mike grinned like a gargoyle. “I’ve already attended to it. I caught the commissary of science in a good mood the other day and hit him for five hundred dollars more per week. Got it, too. In fact, it’s already spent. You’re invited to come and help drink some of it to-night.”
“Accepted without qualification. How about those tides, though? How bad will they be?”
“Not so bad. About three meters maximum above mean high water along the coast. They’ve almost finished building concrete sea walls around the cities and the important communications along the coast, and they’re evacuating the other coastal lowlands. But you wouldn’t know about that. You’ve been too busy with that trick integraph of yours to know whether you’re alive or—”
* * * *
A buzz of the communicator interrupted Mike. He flicked the switch, and the agitated face of the chief of the Federal police appeared on the screen. “Dr. Poggenpohl! That nut, Obidiah Miller, escaped from the loony bin last night! We haven’t been able to track him down. Probably get him in a couple of days, but watch yourself in the meantime, and warn Dr. Carter. I’ll send over a couple more guards. No sense in taking any chances now.”
“Thanks, chief. I’ll warn Dr. Carter. But there isn’t much our little friend can do right now. The job’s almost done. Thanks for the warning, though.” He flicked off the switch. “Oh, hell, nothing we can do about it! I only hope he stays away from here. I don’t like nuts. They get in my hair. And by the way, there’s another guy who is cursing us up one side and down the other. The power commissary is quite wrathy.
“We’re taking the Moon away from him, and he can’t produce any tidal power any more. He’ll have to rip up all his plants and convert them into atomic-power outfits. He doesn’t love us. He wants to write off the original investment on the old plants, so that his department can make a good showing. And they didn’t have any upkeep to speak of, and the power was free and required no brains whatever to produce. So, as I remarked, he does not love us. In fact, I think that he’d like to boil us in oil or do something else equally lingering and humorous to us.”
“Oh, well. Invite him to the party
. Perhaps, if we get him tight enough he won’t mind it so much.”
* * * *
V.
It was August 1, 2157. The last of the construction crews had been removed from the Moon; all the movable equipment had been returned to the Earth, and everything was ready for the start. The control space ship was waiting for Carter and Poggenpohl, who were to guide the Moon on its last journey. In twenty hours, at exactly 16:27, GMT, August 2, 2157, the first rocket was to be fired.
Mike had strolled out to the ship, where he was intent on inspecting his quarters, when there was a frantic ringing of alarm bells, and a white-faced field attendant raced across the field. “Dr. Poggenpohl! Stop! There’s trouble on the Moon! Just got word. A-” He stopped suddenly as Jimmy ran up alongside of him.
“There’s going to be hell, Mike! That damned nut Miller’s gummed things. When he got loose he got himself included in one of the last construction crews on the Moon, and when they left for Earth he hid and stayed there. And he’s wrecked the remote-control apparatus completely!”
“How do you know?”
“He had to brag about it. He called me up on the communicator three minutes ago and told me what he’d done. Just wanted to rub it in. He’s a martyr, of course. Perfectly willing to die with the Earth if he can keep everybody else from living. And there isn’t any time to fix the control; we have to start in twenty hours, come hell or high water. And they’ll both come if we don’t. Wait until I catch that messiah! I’ll roast his liver over a slow fire!”
“What are you going to do about it, Jimmy? That damned minus planet will rip us out by the roots if we don’t do something fast!”
“I’m going to the Moon and run the thing by hand. Tell them to get the experimental rocket ready.”
“The hell you say! You’ll get yourself annihilated! And how are you going to do it, anyway?”
“Oh, there’s an auxiliary control for the tubes on the Moon itself, off to one side of the rocket area. Rather on the edge, between the rocket hemisphere and the forward or blank hemisphere. I can control it from there—if I can get there before our friend Obidiah thinks of smashing it, too.”
“Maybe so, but you’ll get yourself killed just the same. How are you going to get out from under when the two hit?”
“I’ll have the rocket parked alongside,” said Jimmy, “and dive into it when I have Luna lined up for a direct hit. I’ve a pretty good chance—maybe one in ten, or so. I’ll go alone, of course. There’s no sense in anybody else’s taking the chance.”
“That’s what you think!” Mike’s red hair bristled even more belligerently than usual, and he glared up at the other’s face. “I’m going along. You can’t handle that brute alone for a week—you’re just nuts! And if you can draw to an inside straight, so can I!
“Hey!” he shouted across the field. “Provision the experimental rocket for two men for four weeks! And make it fast! I’ll tear your liver out if I have to wait twenty minutes! Jimmy, get your gun! We’ll have to settle with Obidiah.”
Nobody’s liver was torn out. Fifteen minutes later the little rocket roared clear of the field with the two men inside. Ten hours later they were in their space suits, bounding in long, ungainly leaps across the Lunar landing field toward the control room. In the helmet radio, Jimmy could hear Mike cursing fluently in three languages. “Lord,” he thought, “if that ape has smashed things already—then we shall be in a jam!”
* * * *
They reached the control cubicle, and peered in the ports. The control board was invisible from there. They crept into the air lock. As the inner door swung silently open they saw a gaunt figure in a space suit raising a huge spanner over the main controls.
Jimmy’s gun roared. The figure pitched forward between the levers, and the spanner clanged to the floor. “This is no time for chivalry, Mike. Throw that thing out the air lock, will you, while I see if the controls are all right? The fool must have just remembered the direct controls. It’s lucky that we arrived when we did!”
It was August 2, 2157, 16:24 GMT. The rocket had been moored by huge steel cables, with a quick-release arrangement, against the door of the control room. Three minutes to go.
Both men were in the padded and pivoted chairs before the control board. “We, who are about to die,” Jimmy said casually, “salute you. Is everything ready?” He swung the safety-release lever over, activating the control buttons. “Will you tell them that I died in the odor of sanctity?”
“No,” said Mike, “I will not. Your odor is not of sanctity. It reminds me more of beer. You may fire when you are ready, Gridley!”
Jimmy glued his eyes to the firing chart, and his fingers to the first bank of buttons. Twenty seconds to go. Mike shivered a little, and tried to disguise the shiver with a yawn. He started counting seconds.
“Ten—nine—eight—seven—six—five—four—three—two—one—fire!”
There was a shattering, ground-transmitted roar. The Moon under their feet trembled, and through the ports, silhouetted against a hellish glare, they saw the construction scaffolding fall to the ground. The roaring increased. It was like a continuous explosion. Mike tore his handkerchief into bits, stuffed pieces into his ears, and did the same for Jimmy, who was too busy with the controls to do anything for himself.
The roar increased and the flares waxed to an absolutely unendurable brightness, and there was a feeling of acceleration, as though the floor beneath their feet were tilting. Mike covered the ports against the glare, and sat down again. He lighted two cigarettes, one of which he placed in Jimmy’s mouth.
The wall against which the rocket was moored had become the floor. The Moon was traveling faster than it had for millions of years, and was gradually drawing away from the Earth. They had no instruments with which to observe the latter, but Mike could imagine the growing tides, the tremblers, and the spectacle in the sky. “I hope they make movies from the Earth,” he remarked to nobody in particular. “I’d like to see them if we ever get out of this.”
He broke open some food and water, ate, and took the controls while Carter ate, and then, plugging his ears more thoroughly, lay down on an air mattress and went placidly to sleep, after setting an alarm to wake him, with an electric shock, after six hours. Any alarm depending on sound for its effect would be completely useless.
When he awoke and took the controls, the Earth was far behind, and the minus planet was a brilliant spot on the view plate, a little left of dead center. It was coming closer all the time. The roaring of the jets continued unabated. The whole hemisphere of the Moon “below” them, when he ventured to look, was one white glare, with the incandescent iron vapor shooting hundreds of miles into space.
* * * *
August 12th, 3:28: The last watch was in progress. Jimmy was at the controls. Both of them were in their space suits, and the doors of the control-room air lock, which now appeared, because of the acceleration, to be below them, were wide open directly over the open, outer door of the air lock of the rocket, into which a rope dangled from a stanchion beside the control board.
The minus planet was visible through the port in the opposite wall—now the roof—filling most of the sky, and rapidly growing larger. The acceleration was still at maximum, as the greatest possible velocity at the time of the collision was not only desirable but necessary. The seconds sped, and yet dragged, as the minus planet grew.
3:30: Jimmy held up two fingers. Two minutes more! He waved Mike toward the air lock. The latter looked around the room to see if he had forgotten anything, and then slid “down” into the rocket’s air lock and grabbed the control that would free the moorings.
3:31: The minus planet was bigger—much bigger. It filled most of the sky. Mike gazed anxiously up at Jimmy.
3:32: Jimmy leaped from the controls and slid down into the air lock. He tossed out the rope as Mike released the moorings and slammed the outer door of the lock. There was the sudden baffling sensation of weightlessness, as all acceleration l
eft the ship, which was now falling freely after the Moon, toward the intruder. There was a whoosh as they opened the inner door, not waiting for the pressure to equalize, and pulled themselves by the guide rails toward the control cabin. The gyroscopes were already turning over at full speed, and the rocket tubes had been warmed up.
3:34: Mike slammed himself into the control seat, swung the stick which controlled the motors turning the ship around the stabilizing gyroscopes, and, heading her out to one side of the impending collision, jammed on the maximum safe acceleration of five gravities. Jimmy had managed to reach a chair, and was attempting to pull off his space suit, but the acceleration forced his arms down by his sides, and almost pulled him through the seat of the chair. Mike shoved the acceleration up another notch, and switched on all the view plates.
Before The Golden Age - A SF Anthology of the 1930s Page 121