several days I had spent as an invalid following my supposedly heroic jaunt into space—but I forbore. I said, “And then you turned the ship around.”
“Yes; now we are falling backside first toward the Moon,” he confirmed cheerfully. “The thrust you feel is about the gravitational acceleration we should experience on the surface of the Moon, which has been computed to be a sixth part of Earth’s. I have reduced our speed to an acceptably low level, and now I am firing the rockets in order to keep our speed constant.” He fixed me with a quizzical eye. “I presume you understand the dynamics of our situation?—that the equality of lunar gravity and the rocket thrust is no coincidence?”
“Perhaps we could go over the theory later,” I said drily. I raised myself to my toes and bounced up and down on the deck; in my enfeebled state even this fractional gravity felt significant, but I was able to jump easily into the air. “So this is how it would feel if one could walk around on the Moon?”
“Quite so.” Now he craned back his neck and peered into his periscope. “Now I must fix on our landing site. We will land amid lunar mountains, during a sunset.”
Clinging to the couch I turned to look through the windows. The sky above, away from the Sun, was utterly dark; and as we were descending toward the Moon’s hidden face Earth herself was concealed from us now. All around us gaunt fingers of rock, shattered in that ancient explosion, reached serrated edges toward us, and shadows pooled like spilt blood.
I asked, “Why not land in a daylit area? Those shadows must make a choice of a safe landing spot virtually impossible.”
With some impatience Traveller replied, “But the
We sank into the lunar landscape. Tumbled mountains rose around us, and wisps of dust fled from beneath us, agitated by the nearness of our rocket nozzles.
I began to believe I might live through this.
The sound of the rockets, which had been a steady, deep-chested roar, now coughed uncertainly and died away. I turned with a wild hope. Were we down? Then I stared at my feet, for, to my horror, they were leaving the deck. “Traveller!” I screamed. “I am floating once more!”
“Our fuel is gone, Ned,” he said calmly. “We are falling freely toward the lunar surface. I have done my best; now we can only pray.”
The lunar landscape rushed to meet us, tilting.
A thousand questions washed through my mind. How far had we been from the surface when the engines failed? And how quickly would one accrue speed, falling through the Moon’s enfeebled gravity? What size of impact could the
There was a grind of metal on rock.
I was hurled to the deck once more. I heard a smashing of glass, a ripping of cloth and leather. The deck tilted crazily, and I slid along it for several feet, fetching up at last against a bank of instruments. Then the deck came back to a level. I pressed my face to the riveted floor, waiting for the moment when the hull burst and the air was sucked for the final time from my lungs…
But the noise of our impact died away; the ship settled a little further into whatever rocky cradle it had carved for itself. A great hush fell over the craft. But there was no rush of air, no more tearing of metal; I was still alive, and breathing as comfortably as I ever had.
I climbed slowly to my feet, mindful of the weak lunar gravity. Traveller stood on his couch, abandoned restraints coiled around his feet; with hands on hips and stovepipe hat fixed jauntily in place, he peered out at his new domain.
I climbed up beside him, with little effort; I saw how his frock coat had been torn down the back, and how blood seeped steadily down his wrinkled cheek from a cut to the temple.
A city of rock lay all around us. Shadows fled from a Sun which was barely hidden behind a distant peak. The place was airless, desolate, utterly forbidding of human life—and yet conquered.
“Dear God, Traveller, you have brought us to the Moon. I could compliment your skill as a pilot, your genius as an engineer—but surely it is your sheer nerve, your audacious vision, which shines out above all.”
He grunted dismissively. “Pretty speeches are for funerals, Ned. You and I are very much alive, and we have work to do.” He pointed to the Sun. “Another six to eight hours, I should say, and that Sun will be hidden behind the spire, not to reappear for a full fortnight, and we shall slowly but surely freeze solid. We need water, Ned; and the sooner we get out there and bring it in the sooner Pocket can brew us a healthy pot of tea and we can set off for Mother Earth!”
Despite the feebleness of the gravity I felt as if I should fall, so weak did every one of my joints become. For once more Traveller had looked ahead in a manner which evaded me. Even if bucketfuls of precious water lay just behind those rocks over there, one of us would have to leave the craft and fetch it in. And I knew that could only be me!
10
AN ENGLISHMAN ON THE MOON
Traveller unfurled a rope ladder and we rejoined our companions in the Smoking Cabin. There we found an atmosphere of euphoria, aided by the deck’s noticeable tilt which leant an air of enchantment to the proceedings. Traveller and his manservant settled down to opening up the access to the lower compartment of the craft. The sullen Bourne was staring out of the windows at the tumbled lunar landscape. Holden was bounding about the Cabin; with whoops of pleasure he launched himself five or six feet into the air before settling back to the deck, as gentle as a rotund autumn leaf. I could not help but smile at the crimson glow of his face. “My word, Ned, these lunar conditions are enchanting; it’s exactly like being a child again,” he said.
Holden was all for breaking out the brandy and celebrating our successful conquest of the Moon, but Traveller would have none of it. “There is no time for frivolities,” he admonished the journalist. “This is not a picnic; we have a few hours in which to win the struggle for our very survival.” He looked at me with something resembling concern—although he might have been regarding some fragile but vital component of machinery. “Ned, your comfort is of the essence now. Would you care for some tea, or even a light meal, to fortify yourself before your adventure?—and I would strongly recommend, as before, purging your system before venturing from the craft. Pocket!”
And so it was that I, surrounded by my companions and sitting in a comfortable chair, bit into sandwiches of cucumber and tomato and sipped a blend of the finest Indian teas—while all around me the desolation of the Moon, lifeless and cold, stretched to the horizon!
Though I tried, I found it impossible to purge my bowels as Traveller had recommended.
Then, all too soon, I was climbing once more into the stinking confines of Traveller’s leather air suit. The hose which brought air to the suit—and which I had severed during my perilous entry into the Bridge—had been repaired by Pocket. Traveller and the others assembled items of equipment. I was given a length of rope to knot around my waist, a small electrical lantern improvised from one of the Bridge’s lesser instruments, and an ice pick made from Traveller’s stock of spare parts. Traveller rigged up a bag from the oilcloth which had once covered the floor. This bag, a substantial affair about four feet wide, was double-walled, and between the walls of cloth Sir Josiah inserted cushion stuffing. This satchel was intended for me to lug water ice about the lunar surface, and, said Sir Josiah, the purpose of the stuffing was to provide the precious substance with some protection from the rays of the sun.
I fixed the axe and lamp to my waist, so as to leave my mittened hands free for my climb down to the
