at it and then Father’s voice came slow and wonderingly, “It’s an amplifier! Why, with that, it wouldn’t even take a Motiver to make it to the moon. Three or four people lifting, coordinating in this, this amplifier, could do it, if they didn’t tire.”
” ‘Coordinate and lift off!’” cried Remy. “Four exclamation points!”
Father had laid the ship on its side so we could find what damage had been done by Remy and me when we churned the poor thing up and down in the shaft. Mother and I went back home to check on Tom and to ready things for the voyage. No one needed to say we’d go. We all knew we’d go. The men were busy repairing the beat- up undercarriage or whatever you’d call that part of the ship, and we brought a picnic supper out to them a little while before sunset.
We all sat around on the flat. I sat on an anthill first and moved in a hurry. We ate and feasted our eyes on the ship. Remy had come out the other side of ecstasy and was serenely happy. Father and Ron were more visibly excited than he. But then they hadn’t lived with the ship and the idea as long as Remy had.
Finally a silence fell and we just sat and watched the night come in from the east, fold by fold of deepening darkness. In the half light came Ron’s astonished voice.
“Why, that’s what it is! That’s what it is!”
“That’s what what is?” came Father’s voice, dreamily from where he lay looking up at the darkening sky.
“The ship,” said Ron. “I’ve been trying all afternoon to remember what it reminds me of. Now I know. It’s almost the same pattern as our life-slips.”
“Our life-slips?” Father sat up slowly. “You mean the ones the People escaped in when their ships were disabled entering Earth’s atmosphere?”
“Exactly!” Ron’s voice quickened. “It’s bigger and it’s cluttered with a lot of gadgets we didn’t have, but basically, it’s almost identical! Where did those fellows get the design of our life-slips? We didn’t keep any. We don’t need to with our Group memory-“
“And it’s motive power.” Father’s voice was thoughtful.
“It’s the power the People use. And Tom’s son was supposed to know how to make it go. Did you suppose Tom-“
“No.” Mother’s voice came softly in the darkness. “I Sorted him after we took him to the house. He’s not one of Us.”
“His wife then, maybe,” I said. “So many of us were scattered after the Crossing. And their son could have inherited-” My voice trailed off as I remembered what his son had inherited-the darkness, the heap of stones, and no chance ever for the stars, not even a reflection of them.
“We could rouse Tom and ask?” offered Remy questioningly.
“Tom is past remembering,” said Mother. “He’s long since been Called and as soon as we waken him, he will be gone.”
“Well,” Ron sighed, “we don’t need to know.”
“No,” I admitted. “But it would he fun to know if Our Own built the ship.”
“Whoever did,” said Father, “is Our Own whether he ever knew the Home or not.”
So we went, the next day.
But first, Ron and Father spent a quiet hour or so in the drift and emerged bearing between them a slender pine box with a small flag fluttering atop it. By now the ship was upright again and Remy, Mother, and I had provisioned it. When we were ready to go, we all went back to the house and got Tom, still and lifeless except for the flutter of a pulse faintly in his throat and a breathing that seemed to stop forever after each outflowing sigh. We brought him, cot and all, and put him in the ship.
And then, our Voyage Prayer and the lift-off-not blastoff. No noise pushed us on our way nor stayed behind to shout of our going.
Slowly, at first, the Earth dropped behind us, alternately convex and concave, changing sometimes from one to the other at a blink of the eyes. I won’t tell you in detail how it all looked, I’ll let you find it all new when you make your first trip. But I will say my breath caught in a sob and I almost wept when first the whole of Earth outlined itself against the star-blazing blackness of space. At that point, Ron and Father put the ship on maintain while they came and looked. We had very little to say. There are no word patterns yet for such an experience. We just stood and worshiped. I could feel unsaid words crowding up against my wonder-filled heart.
But even a wonder like that can’t hold the restlessness of a boy for long, and Remy soon was drifting to all parts of the ship, clucking along with the different machines that were now clucking back at him as they activated to keep the ship habitable for us. He was loving every bolt and rivet, every revolution and flutter of dial, because they were his, at least by right of operation.
Mother and I lasted longer at the windows than Remy. We were still there when Ron and Father finally could leave the ship on maintain and rejoin us.
I’m the wrong one to be telling this story if you want technical data. I’m an illiterate for anything like that. I can’t even give you the time it took. Time is the turning of the Earth and we were free of that tyranny for the first time in our lives.
I know that finally Father and Ron took the ship off maintain and swung it around to the growing lunar wonder in our windows and I watched again that odd curve and collapse sequence as we plunged downward.
Then we were there, poised above the stripped unmovingness of the lunar landscape. We landed with barely a thud and Father was out, testing his personal shield to see if that would be sufficient protection for the time needed to do what we had to do. It was. We all activated our shields and stepped out, closing the door carefully behind us to safeguard the spaced gasping of Tom.
We stood there looking up at the full Earth, losing ourselves in its flooding light, and I found myself wondering if perhaps it wasn’t only the reflection of the sun, if Earth had its own luminousness.
After a while we went back in and warmed ourselves a little and then the men brought out the slender pine box and laid it on the pumicey crunch of the ground. I stirred the little flag with my fingers so that it might flutter its last flutter.
