Anti-Ice

surface, and suspended the bag by two straps from my back in the manner of an outsize knapsack.

Holden began to argue that the significance of the moment—man’s first steps on the surface of another world—was such that I should spend some time on some form of ceremonial.

“Out of the question,” Traveller snapped. “We don’t have time for such nonsense. Ned is going out to save our lives, in conditions of severe hazard; not to stand on his hands and do tricks for the King.”

Holden bristled. “Sir Josiah, despite the importunate nature of our journey, we have nevertheless succeeded in landing where no explorer has arrived before. And we therefore have the duty to claim this lunar continent in the name of the Empire. I would remind you that young Ned is a representative of His Majesty’s government. Perhaps the raising of the Union Flag over the dust of the Moon—”

Bourne barked short laughter. “How like you British that would be. How obscene to desecrate such a place with your ugly flag.”

Holden drew himself up, thrusting his pot belly out before him. “The very objections of the Frenchie, Sir Josiah, show that such a course would be eminently suitable.”

Traveller had been working at my suit seals. Now he straightened up and rested his hands on his hips, leaving me and Pocket to struggle alone. “Holden, I have never listened to such asinine balderdash. I have two objections. First, thanks to the airlessness of the lunar surface, there would be no wind to support your flag. It would hang for all eternity, limp and helpless; is this a suitable symbol of the Empire? Of course we could prop it open with some sort of crutch—a metal rod, perhaps…” He laughed. “Who but the most pompous ass would consider such a course? And in any event, my second objection is rather more conclusive: it is that I do not carry flags of any description on this craft; not the Union Flag, not the tricolore, not any nation’s flag. So unless you are a nimble seamstress, Mr. Holden, I suggest your ambition will remain unfulfilled.”

“And,” said Bourne, “the more dignity we will retain for that.”

But Holden would not accept this point of view; and soon a three-cornered debate between Holden, Bourne and Traveller was raging. Meanwhile I had completed my enrobement and was standing waiting with Pocket, helmet tucked under my arm, for my adventure to begin.

After some minutes I lost patience. I raised the globe helmet in both hands and with a dramatic flourish brought it crashing down on the glass case which contained Traveller’s model of the Great Eastern. The debate was stilled at once, and Pocket set to work with dustpan and brush to retrieve the shattered glass. With my mittened hand I reached into the ruin and extracted the model ship; it was perhaps three feet long, and I handled it with great care, endeavoring not to damage any of the detailed working. “Sir Josiah, you will forgive my impulsive and destructive act. Gentlemen, since it is I who must venture beyond these walls, it is I who should decide on the ceremonial gesture to be made.

“I will carry this model of Brunel’s great ship and leave it in some appropriate place. This should take no more than a moment, and it will satisfy all our purposes. Holden, the Eastern is one of the Empire’s greatest engineering achievements, and thus symbolizes the great civilization which has reached this pinnacle. Sir Josiah, you will surely endorse a memorial on this distant plateau to the engineer who has inspired and informed much of your work. And Bourne: I hope you will join with me in regarding this model as a symbol of the endless inventiveness and enterprise of man, which has brought us even to this astonishing land.

“And if our venture should fail,” I went on, somewhat surprised at my own eloquence, “then let some future generation of mankind find this artifact and wonder at those who might have brought it here.”

There was a moment’s silence. Then Holden said, “Well done, Ned. You’ve put us in our place.”

“Are we ready to proceed?”

Traveller indicated the air cupboard with a flourish. “All is prepared, Ned.”

I nodded. “There is something I would like to request first, however…”

* * *

Once more the helmet was screwed over my head, enclosing me in a dismal miniature universe dominated by the tang of copper, the stale taste of pumped air, and the sound of my own ragged breathing. I climbed into the coffin-like air cupboard. After final handshakes from my companions—my huge mittens enclosed their tiny hands —the heavy hatch was closed down, excluding me from the cozy warmth of the Cabin. I hesitated for some moments, clutching the Eastern model against my leather vest; then, grabbing my courage, I grasped the wheel set in the hatchway below me and turned it with resolution.

After three or four turns the seal was broken and I heard the final sigh of atmosphere being expelled into the airless lunar environs. My joints stiffened as the suit expanded to the limits of its flexibility.

Then, at last, the hatch swung open, and I found myself staring down at a square yard of lunar soil.

This ground, some ten feet below me, looked fairly even, yet it was strewn with sharp-edged pebbles which cast long shadows in the sunlight; and the shadows were as black as ink. This cruel sharpness, and the unwavering stillness in the lack of air, spoke instantly to me of my un-Earthly situation, and I spent some minutes with the blood pounding through my ears simply inspecting that patch of soil.

At length I found the strength to proceed. I pulled a rope ladder from the air cupboard and let it unravel. Then I swung my legs down through the hatch and proceeded to climb down, pausing after a few rungs to pick up the Great Eastern. When my head cleared the hatchway my helmet was filled with dazzling sunlight which caused my eyes to smart; thereafter I took care to avert my eyes from the naked Sun, which lay dangerously close to the horizon.

I paused on the last rung above the ground, with my foot poised above the lunar soil. A sense of pride and occasion swept over me. That it should have been me to whom the honor had been granted of first walking on the surface of another world! I reflected on the strange chain of accidents which had led me to this point, and wondered briefly how things might have been different had it not been for that greatest accident of all, which is anti-ice. Might men have reached the Moon nevertheless? Surely a way would have been found, based upon rockets of a type not yet dreamed of; although it would have taken many more years—perhaps even until the turn of the century into the twentieth—before a successful voyager reached so far. Still, as in all things industrial and technological, Great Britain would have led the way in this parallel adventure, and so some other Briton—perhaps better prepared than I—would have stood at the foot of another ladder.

I indulged in a moment of self-pride and wished that the fair Francoise could raise her eyes from the troubled fields of France and look across space to see me in this moment of celestial glory. But this conceit did not survive a moment’s reflection on the extraordinary historical significance of my situation. To set foot on another world was surely the most significant achievement in human development since the Ark—or, if Sir Charles Darwin is to be believed, since our monkey forebears desisted from hurling bananas at each other and climbed down from the trees to walk upright on the land. So, as I pressed my leather slipper into the firm, gravel-like soil, I said this prayer, unheard by any other human soul: “Lord, with this single step, like Noah I walk upon a new continent delivered to us in your grace; and I carry the hopes of all mankind with me as I take it.”

I stood unsupported on the lunar soil, connected to the Phaeton only by a length of air hose. I could feel the keenness of jagged pebbles through my slippers; it was like walking on the breast of a young beach. I plotted each step with circumspection, for I was very fearful of rupturing the suit or the air hose.

Clutching my model ship, and with the axe and Ruhmkorff lamp bouncing against my leg, I walked down a slope into the lunar silence for some thirty feet—my hose extended only forty feet in total—and looked about me.

The landscape was a desolation of ruined and smashed rocks; these varied from pebbles to boulders far larger than the ship. The rubble extended to a horizon which, thanks to the Moon’s small radius, appeared surprisingly close—a phenomenon which gave rise to the illusion that I was crossing the summit of a broad hill.

The walls of Traveller Crater were, of course, invisible to me, lying many thousands of miles away in every point of the compass.

The rubble-strewn floor was not level. It featured many hills, or hummocks; these were low, circular domes of a surprising uniformity of shape, although their size varied greatly, with the smallest scarcely taller than I was and the largest reaching perhaps fifty feet from the common level and stretching a good eighth of a mile from side to side. There must be, I speculated, some volcanic explanation for these configurations. In the invigorating