Mission to the Moon

by Lester Del Rey

  Gantry came over with the two crewmen. The airlock was at the bottom of the globe, and he saw the mess of the wiring as soon as he was inside. But he stepped back to let one of the crew look at it.

  The man whistled as he studied it. "Really chewed things up, didn't it? I don't have all the colors of wire, so I can't code it again. But I reckon we can patch it. Ted, get up to locker seventeen there and pass down that wire. And insulation."

  "You seem to know where every ship carries its spares," Jim said in surprise.

  "All carry the same stuff in the same maintenance lockers," the man told him. "It's my business to know about that."

  It sounded logical enough, but it was the first Jim had known of it. He'd have to study the directory more carefully in the future. He watched as the wire was passed down. On the deck overhead, the other passengers were spread out, their heads projecting over the hole. Only Nora was missing, and she must have been sitting at the controls. But with the work in progress, and the mechanic's obvious assurance, Jim saw no reason to chase anyone back. It would serve some useful purpose in relieving boredom.

  There wasn't much to watch, though. The man stripped away the tubing with metal snips and plugged in a soldering torch. His fingers laid out the good parts of the cabling neatly and he began pulling off the insulation with a stripping tool. There was no fumbling or uncertainty as he located each coded strand and began connecting the ends with the black wire he was using.

  The watchers got bored in time and went back to their discussion. But Jim stayed there, trying to learn what he could of the skill required. It wouldn't do any harm to know how to make his own repairs.

  It was finished finally, and the mechanic nodded. "I guess she'll hold. With the alloys they use in these things to save weight, I'm not too crazy about doing all that soldering. But to fix it right, I'd have to build a whole new cable."

  "But will it last long enough?" Jim asked.

  The man shrugged. "I can't guarantee anything. Nobody can test it without using it. But it should do the trick. Want to sign this for me?"

  Jim stared at the voucher book held out to him incredulously. Then he bent over, laughing. Gantry chuckled, too. "It looks silly, Jim, but there's logic to it. It isn't just bookkeeping. They need to know what went wrong, and why replacements were needed, for future trips."

  It probably did make sense, but the idea of signing for a job out here, as he might done back on Earth, still struck Jim as funny. It offered the comic relief the trip badly needed. After Gantry and the men had left, he repeated it to the others, and "Sign this" was good for half a day of jokes before they exhausted it.

  Pierotti was serving as radioman, passing on the words from Earth. Here on the bigger ship, they had a set that could reach back from the Moon, and there was no loss of communication. There was a lot of routine encouragement, along with news from the World Congress, which was busy on space travel again. This time there was a demand from the smaller nations that space be internationalized—made free to all, with no rights to colonization or exploitation belonging to any single nation, as in the case of the seas. It was an idea that had appeared before, though it seemed better organized this time.

  Pierotti, Charkejian and Jonas were all excited about it, but Jim had large doubts. The attempt had failed before. The number of the smaller countries meant nothing against the power of the Combine and the United States. Why should a nation already in space give up what it had?

  Of course, some lip service was already being paid to the idea, as shown by the presence of Pierotti and Charkejian. But they were still only observers, not accepted officially as part of the personnel. Maybe it wouldn't matter in the long run. The former colonies in the New World were nearly all free now, and colonies in space would probably also win independence. But that was far in the future. At the moment, Jim had enough things to face without worrying about what he couldn't control.

  The fourth day gave them a fine view of the Moon. Jim had seen it before, but those who were making their first trip found it fascinating, particularly when Charkejian pointed out the spot where they would try to land.

  It was at the beginning of the fifth day when Pierotti suddenly shouted and turned up the volume. Jim felt a shock go through him at the words coming over. The World Congress had internationalized space! The smaller nations had won. Space could belong to no nation, but would be free to all, under a special committee being set up. The amazing thing was that both the Combine and the United States had signed the agreement, demanding only a twenty-five thousand mile limit to protect the stations they owned.

  Jim heard the others discussing it, while his own mind whirled. But he had to save thoughts on that for later. They had crossed the "line" by then, and were picking up speed toward the surface that was coming toward them, still off to the side.

  They were still too far away to have any hope of spotting the ships of Freddy or Mark, but he kept straining his eyes there. It seemed doubtful to him now that either could have lived. Men weren't supposed to get into space in such hasty, makeshift fashion. It was ridiculous, when there had been this whole carefully planned trip nearly ready. And even with all the plans, things could go wrong.

  They'd lived long enough to reach the Moon. But that was the easiest part of it. Getting to the surface in ships not designed for the job was another matter.

  He had Pierotti turn the antenna toward the Moon and try to put through a call, but it was too far to be sure the negative results meant anything. With these ultra-short waves, anything between them and the two ships down there could cut off the signal. Pierotti kept trying without answer.

  Gantry called the other pilots, checking with them on their course. The errors had been small ones, but he had decided to correct them now, instead of waiting to make a combined correction and landing orbit. Jim suspected that it was to give him a chance to try out the repaired controls. He'd been wanting to do so, but hadn't thought it possible, since it might waste a trifle of their fuel and since they would be separated unless all acted together.

  His hands were sticky as he prepared to follow the procedure the three pilots had finally agreed on. It would be fine to test the repairs—but what could he do if nothing worked? It would simply give him longer time in which to realize that the trip would end with a crash on the surface! Yet he had to know.

  He waited for Gantry's count, and then touched the controls gingerly. They would operate only at the lowest power and for a minimum time—with only a single tube in the big rocket bank doing the work. The ships needed only a trifling correction.

  Then he felt the faint pressure of acceleration and saw a bit more of the surface of the Moon through the observation window, to indicate the ship had moved.

  "All clear now?" Gantry asked.

  "Everything perfect," Jim answered.

  But he wondered. All the test had showed was that a single tube had responded to his controls, and for a few seconds. For all he knew, others might fail on the trip down.

  Then he grimaced at his fears. Actually, it had been a pretty fair test. If one were hooked up properly, it showed that the mechanic had known his business, and the chances of the others working would be excellent. It was no absolute guarantee, but it was promising.

  Time crept along as the ship seemed to be running toward the surface. If the fall weren't checked, they would land at a speed of six thousand miles an hour-enough to crush them completely. On their present course there was no chance of missing contact and sailing on by. They would strike straight for Dewey Bay.

  "Nervous?" Nora asked him.

  He nodded. "I guess scared is a better word. I can think of more things that might go wrong in a minute now than I could in a whole day before. How about you?"

  "Pretty bad. But at least I don't have the responsibility. I wonder what it's like with Gantry."

  Jim grinned in spite of his worries. "I get a picture of him finding something wrong. He'd climb out on the front of the ship and get ready to bat t
he Moon out of his path. And maybe he'd do it, tool"

  "It sounds like the hard way to me," she said, but she smiled a little at the idea.

  "It would be the hard way. Gantry has always had to do things the hard way. But he does them. Sometimes I wish I were more like him."

  She snorted softly. "You don't know yourself very well, then, Jim. You are like him. You may have some advantages he doesn't have, but you go at life the same way. I guess that's why you and he trust each other. You both fight for things you can't possibly get—and you both get them!"

  It didn't fit the picture Jim had of himself. He'd run into a lot of good luck, and there'd been more than his share of help from others. Some luck had been bad, of course, but that had to be expected. Sometimes things had looked horrible, but there'd always been some solution.

  He shook his head. It was a fine time to start worrying about what he was really like!

  "Would you do it all again, Jim?" Nora asked.

  He realized then that she was only making conversation to kill the growing tension, and he was grateful for it. But he considered her question carefully. "Of course I would. I knew when I first wanted to go to rocket school that it wasn't the easiest or safest way to live. I heard enough about the early test pilots and what happened to them. What else would I do, though?"

  "Nothing, I guess," she answered. "And you don't think you're exactly like Gantry! How do you think he'd answer that question?"

  She had a point there, Jim saw. Gantry had no questions about whether he'd picked the right job. He knew. And so did Jim. It was right, even if the rockets wouldn't fire when he needed them. Somebody had to open up space, after all!

  The radio went on again, and Gantry was calling the figures that gave their course. "Three minutes," he said. "We still can't spot the other ships. We'll head for the central area and make correction to land as near anything we can spot as possible. The first man who sees a ship down there will take command at once and guide us all down. Okay?"

  It was about the only system they could use now. They agreed, and Gantry hesitated. "Two minutes," he called.

  Then Nora pointed. On the rear screen, near the southern section of Dewey Bay, there had been a brief glimpse of something white. She was cranking up the magnification, and it could only be the ferry ship Freddy had used. There was no way to tell what condition it was in. There wasn't even time to think.

  "Stanley taking over," Jim said into the microphone. He was forcing his mind over the courses and corrections possible, scribbling marks on the course chart. "One minute . . . fifty seconds . . . forty seconds ...?

  He'd hoped that Gantry would spot the ship. He hadn't wanted the job. It was bad enough to know that ten lives depended on his skill at something he had never done before. Now there were fifty. But he couldn't back out after their agreement.

  "... Seven... six... five . . . four . . . three . .. two . . . one. Zero!"

  He had already called the first figures for the blast correction, and set them up on his board. At the final count, his hand hit the controls.

  Chapter 18

  Lunar Landing

  I

  he Goddard reeled under the shock of sudden acceleration as the rockets blasted out. For a split second, Jim wondered if any were missing. Then he was sure all were working. He couldn't mistake the feel of sound tubes at work, fighting against their speed and the pull of the satellite only five hundred miles below them.

  Even at full magnification, though, it was still too soon to locate the best landing site. He could remember the details of the photograph, but it had been too much territory to memorize fully. He'd have to pick the best spot on the way down, and then pray there was a place for all of them. In the last few hundred feet, it would be every man for himself, until they touched the surface.

  At two hundred miles up, he could begin to see some detail. Nora touched the screen, pointing to a

  speck there. "Mark," she whispered. Jim nodded and went on correction course. They would have to find a level place, fairly free of any large debris; the three main legs of the ship, attached to the motor platform, were self-leveling to some extent on their spring mounts, but on really rough ground, they might hit potholes or touch the edge of a rock that would roll at the wrong time. If one of the ships ever tilted, it would be ruined. Even if the men inside survived, there would be no way of getting it upright again, or taking it up from the surface.

  Mark's ship had apparently landed about three miles from that of the boy. It seemed to be in the middle of a rough, ragged section where no landing should have been made, with no obvious path between. The ideal spot for the rescue ships would be somewhere between, to increase the chance of reaching both ships. But that was impossible.

  Jim had to decide which would come first, and to make up his mind immediately. There wasn't fuel enough for any fancy maneuvering or hovering. The two had both been fools, of course. But Freddy had been the cause of the trouble, and he'd had less reason to disobey orders. He'd also had his father to consider, while Mark hadn't involved anyone else in whatever might have happened to him.

  Yet Jim had promised Halpern that he'd look after Freddy! Reluctantly, Jim set his course to bring him near the boy's ferry. It would leave the other ship even nearer, but separated from their site by a section of rocks that might be nearly impassable. That couldn't be helped. There had been no other choice possible.

  Jim's eyes danced from the course figures to the viewing screen. The whole section looked worse than he liked, though it was still too early to be sure. A few miles further out, there was a nearly ideal place, from what could be seen, but it would put them hours further from the rescue.

  They were equipped with a small tractor on the ship which could travel across the lunar landscape, powered by the breaking down of hydrogen peroxide without the need of air for its motor. But they were limited on fuel for it, and couldn't trust it on too long a trip until it had been tried in actual use. They had meant to bring two of them, but a lot of such details had been planned, and then had been dropped to save on weight and time in the final rush. As it was, they couldn't risk the one tractor in too long a rescue attempt.

  The trip down seemed to be taking forever, though Jim knew that it would be no more dian ten minutes from the first blast until they touched the surface. He was simply draining the most out of each second, his mind churning in all directions at once, and still managing to stick to the basic business of setting their course.

  So far, maneuvers had been familiar enough. It wouldn't be too strange until the last few minutes. The tough part would be the judging of the blast to kill the final bit of their speed exactly as they came in contact with the surface. There was a feeler "leg" in the middle of the rockets, designed to solve that problem; within reason, if they came down too fast, it would be jarred up and turn on full blast to kill their speed; if they slowed too much, it would help somewhat in the following drop. And in any event, once they were fully down, it would cut off all rocket power instantly. But it was a fine way to waste fuel, hovering up and down. This had to be done right.

  They were only about a hundred miles up now, slowing satisfactorily. Details began to appear on the screen. Jim blinked his eyes, catching a quick glimpse of the other big ships beside him. Then he looked back at the screen. The slight rest had helped his vision. He could begin to make out the lay of the land now.

  He saw that it was a good thing he hadn't picked a site near Mark's ship. The little dot on the screen was in the middle of what seemed to be knife-sharp hills and pitted valleys. It was inconceivable that the pilot could have deliberately chosen such a site. Remembering the account of the landing he had heard, Jim was sure that Mark hadn't chosen it. He must have been coming down toward the clearer section where Freddy's ship lay when the boy appeared on his screen. Only desperation to avoid a collision with the ferry could account for the location of Marks ship.

  Jim couldn't believe now that Mark had lived through it. The landing on
such terrain must have smashed most of the ship to splinters.

  At fifty miles, there were more details. And things looked worse instead of better. There seemed to be no really good spot to land. Even in the seemingly smooth sections, there were deep holes and sharp bumps that stood out in the glaring black-and-white sunlight.

  One spot in the level section looked as good as another, and the place Jim had originally chosen still was his best bet. He continued on down toward it. Nora flipped on the polarizing screen, hoping it would alter the appearance enough to give them more details, but he shook his head. It only made the seeing harder. She flipped it aside again.

  Jim began to realize now that he wouldn't be able to make a final choice until the last five miles of the descent. It would leave no time for maneuvering, but it couldn't be helped. The slanting rays of the sunlight exaggerated heights by casting long shadows, but left hollows their normal size. If there had been any atmosphere to diffuse and soften the light, seeing wouldn't have been so bad. But here everything seemed cut out in hard, sharp lines of ink and chalk. There must have been grays down there, since re-

  fleeted light would bounce into some of the shadows, but he couldn't detect it from this height.

  At twenty miles, it began forming a clearer pattern, and Jim could see that his proposed site was even rougher than he had thought. He slid his eyes across the screen, hunting. Nothing nearer Freddy's ship looked at all promising. The only area that seemed safe lay at least twenty miles further away.

  He had no choice now. It had to be the site he'd picked or nothing. The ships couldn't continue maneuvering for any distance, and it was the only section within their reach. Jim began reeling out the change in course, toward the best spot in his chosen location, with no time to figure it accurately. There was nothing he could do but reach an approximation and trust to luck.