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The opening · free to read
Courage will be a big qualification for the pilot who flies the first moon rocket. But who decides if a man is brave--or a coward?...
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy April 1954 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The base diner was hot and stuffy that night as Scotty Johnson sat with Mitch and Jack and the other boys, sipping his last cup of coffee before Zero Hour rolled around. Mitch and Jack had succeeded in sneaking him out of town before the reporters had guessed what was happening. Now they sat in silence, sipping their coffee, glancing at him from time to time as though to make sure he were still there. It annoyed Scotty. This was the time to laugh, and joke, and bull away as if nothing was going to happen at all.
The waitress trotted over with a coffee pot, and Scotty gave her his widest leer. "You know, I can't think of anything I'd rather have right now than a cup of coffee from you," he said. "How about a date in about ten days?"
The girl looked startled, and glanced away nervously. Mitch gave a tight little laugh. "Better watch out. Scotty. She's liable to be waiting on the landing field when you get back--"
They all laughed at that, and then silence fell again. They were nervous. Scotty could sense it, even though they tried to cover it up. All through these weeks of preparation in the hot New Mexico sun, the tension had been growing. But he should be the one to be nervous, not these lads. After all, who was the star of this show? Scotty nuzzled his coffee, and twisted his wiry five-foot-two inch frame around so that he could see the door. "Better drink up," he said. "The jeep should be here any minute."
Mitch nodded and emptied his cup as the jeep's tires screeched on the pavement outside. The door of the coffeeshop burst open, and a head with an MP's crash helmet popped in. "All set, Scotty? Let's go!"
Scotty nodded. His blue eyes were bright as he buttoned up his jacket and winked at the waitress. Then he led the group to the door. "Love that gal," he said.
The driver raced the motor as they piled in and the jeep took off down the concrete strip with a roar. The driver turned an admiring glance toward Scotty. "All set for the big trip, man?"
Scotty grinned. "Been sleeping in a coffin all week, just for practice."
"Man, you may need that practice. You'll be good and stiff before you get out--" He broke off, horrified at the pun.
Scotty roared with glee. "You think you're kidding! That's all right--the way I see it, I'm getting ten days vacation on the Government, and plenty of pay besides. And once I get up there, I won't need much muscle to make my way around, they tell me." He lit a cigarette, peering down the strip ahead of them. Far ahead he could see the batteries of searchlights, picking out the tall, shiny spire of the ship. It stood tall in its scaffolding, pointing like a needle toward the black star-lit sky. Already the ground below it was swarming with tiny figures, moving about on the final check-down. My ship, thought Scotty. I helped to build it. And here's one job where they need a cocky, loud-mouthed little shrimp more than anything else in the world--
Another jeep swerved in beside them on the strip. Scotty caught a glimpse of the General and a couple of official-looking civilians.
"Everybody's going to see you off," said Mitch from the back seat.
"Yeah--the whole damned crowd. My big day."
"You sure you got everything down cold?"
Scotty gave him a scornful glance. "You kidding? How could I miss?" His freckled face broke into a grin from ear to ear, and his eyes were bright with excitement. "Why I've got nothing to do but crawl in and zip things up after me. Don't even have to throw the fatal switch--they take care of everything from outside. I'm telling you, it's a cinch. Three days to tell myself sea stories--and then I'll crawl out and tell you boys what Lady Moon really looks like."
A crowd of reporters and photographers were waiting as the jeep sped up to the huge barbed-wire enclosure surrounding the ship. Scotty stuck his head out of the jeep and gave them a big grin. The flashbulbs popped. Then the jeep roared on toward the field shack. Scotty stepped out, staring up at the tall sleek ship. A little bottom-heavy now, perhaps, but with the first and second stages disengaged--a beauty of a ship. He stepped into the field shack, and grinned up at the General. "Final check go all right?"
The General nodded and smiled. "This is the Secretary of Defense, Scotty--"
"Well! Guess I'm rating big visitors tonight!" He gave the man's hand a jaunty shake.
"You're taking a big trip," said the Secretary. "Tell me, Mr. Johnson--how does it feel to be the first man to go to the Moon?"
"Can't say. I haven't been there yet."
"You'd better get aboard," said the General. "Everything's been checked down. You'll have half an hour to make your own checks from inside. How's your weight?"
"Down to 128."
"Fine. That's better than we'd hoped. But don't be afraid to holler if something doesn't look right--" He extended his hand, gripped Scotty's tightly. "Good luck, lad. We're with you all the way."
A soldier rode up the gantry with him, high up past the break-lines of the first and second stages, to the small open port in the final stage of the rocket. Scotty could feel the eyes on him from below as he climbed into the port--one lone man to jockey the first manned ship to the Moon. A big job, a job that really took guts. He grinned, and slid through into the passenger chamber. Carefully he reached back and slammed the port shut behind him with a farewell wave to the soldier, and gave the lock-wheel a spin, until he heard the seal click. Then he slipped down into the half-sitting, half-reclining couch which nearly filled the tiny chamber. His heart was pounding in his throat as he snapped on the radio phone. "Okay, I'm in," he said.
"Got her locked up?" Mitch's voice grated in his earphones.
"Ay, ay."
"Give her a careful check inside there. Then stand by."
Scotty nodded and checked the banks of instruments on the tiny panel before him. He was the payload on this trip; the ship was little more than an upholstered tube, with him jammed tight in one end and enough fuel to land him on the Moon and shoot him off again in behind him. The other sections, far huger than this little pellet with him in the middle, would drive him out, break the frightful hold that Earth held on her subjects. But there was nothing superfluous here, nothing he did not actually need, and he checked quickly. Then he leaned back and flipped on the forward televiewer....
The vast black expanse of space, peppered with a thousand bright pinpoints of light, suddenly appeared on the screen inches from his face. It took him by surprise; his hand jerked down on the switch again, and he wiped a line of droplets from his upper lip, and closed his eyes, his heart pounding against his ribs.
The radio blipped in his ear. "Thirty minutes to Zero," it said--
His lips formed a sneer, and he tried to fight the idea out of his mind. He was no longer afraid of anything. Those days were gone, far away. Nothing could scare Scotty Johnson--not even being completely alone. He reached out his hand, ran a finger over the control board. Oxygen, chamber pressure, emergency anaesthetic, blast-control--his hand trembled, and the thought seeped back into his mind again. A voice was whispering, deep in his ear, you're afraid, little man, afraid--! He could feel the droplets of moisture forming on his forehead, and even the sound of his breath was muted in the silent chamber.
The seconds ticked by. Still the voice whispered. He was alone--alone and afraid. No one could help him now, no one in the world. This was his own world, here in this tight little cabin, and he could die here and nobody would ever know--
He shook his head savagely. Alone? Ridiculous! At the foot of the ship were a hundred people, all watching, all thinking about him. They had built this ship, they were for him all the way. They would get him safely off the ground, and then it would be just like a subway ride--
But after the blast-off--what then? The hundred men were staying behind. There were no men where he was going. There was nothing there. Nothing but death.
His breath was coming faster, and he felt the first chill of panic stir in his mind. He tried to fight it down angrily. What was there to get excited about? Nobody had forced him into this seat. He'd begged for it! For five long years it had been an obsession, his wildest dream, to be sitting in this seat, waiting for the Zero-count to come through the headphones. Years of hoping, of pulling strings, of talking to people and dropping chance remarks, of studying and working and practicing--and finally, the note in his box, the trip down to the General's field office that day.
Inside the office the General had sat down, regarding him for a long moment with those cool grey eyes of his. Then he said, "You're sure you want to do this, Scotty? Dead sure?"
Scotty had nodded, hardly able to find his voice. "I'd give anything. You've got to let me go."
The General nodded slowly. "You might have to give your life. Does it mean that much to you? Millions of dollars have gone into this ship, but there's no way to be sure of it. It's a fearful gamble."
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