Rocket to Luna

The stars glowed steadily behind it, a million eyes that watched Forbes drop to the ground like a dancer caught in a slow-motion shot. The pumice at his feet rose in a noiseless swirl and settled silently again. Dr. Phelps dropped down beside him. None of the men spoke, as if they had agreed beforehand to be as solemnly silent as the Moon itself. Dr. Gehardt clung to the bottom rung for a moment and then released it, dropping slowly to the ground. Ted dropped down beside him.

The night sky covered them like a black hood pinpointed with endless miles of bright white holes. The sky started abruptly where the land ended, with stars dancing on the horizon, almost close enough to touch, it seemed. Like a sprawling wisp of smoke above, the Milky Way trailed across the blackness of the sky.

There was a brittle feeling of crispness everywhere. Ted knew it was intensely cold outside, even though his battery-powered suit heater kept him comfortable. There was no dust, no cloud, no mist, no fog — no sound.

There was only a clear stillness, a stillness as deep and as cold as the void of space.

They stood together in a tight knot, the first men to land on the Moon. They said nothing, and Ted felt a sudden bond with the other men, a bond bred of the eerie silence.

“It’s... it’s awfully quiet,” Forbes said, his voice faintly distorted in the suit radio.

“Yes,” Dr. Gehardt replied.

“George would have liked this,” Forbes said, a tired remorse replacing the bitterness in his voice. Ted felt the same hopeless desire to know the man better, to share the inner workings of his mind.

There were no emotions visible through the darkened face plates of the men’s helmets. They stood about stiffly, as if they were uncomfortable in these strange surroundings. Ted had no way of knowing what the other men were feeling. He could only guess.

Forbes: the dream realized. Elation and disappointment. Elation because the dream was realized. And disappointment because the unconscious Merola was not here to share it.

Dr. Gehardt: the scientific puzzle. Craters to he investigated, rocks to be weighed and tested, minerals to be discovered. A new world of new experiences.

Dr. Phelps: the challenge. A careful analysis of physical stamina as pitted against this land of violently opposite temperatures and unfriendly terrain. The human machine against nature. And he was the mechanic who kept the machine running.

And Ted?

There was no guesswork there. No, he knew exactly what he was feeling. It was a mixture of awe and pride, of humbleness and pulsing excitement, of joy and sadness. It was all those things mixed into a crazy ball that throbbed in his throat.

“Let’s look around,” Forbes said.

They started out across the floor of Mare Crisium, the mare that meant “sea” in Latin, named long ago when scientists thought the darker areas on the Moon were actually seas. All of the maria had been given fanciful Latin names, and Ted thought of them briefly as they picked their way over the jagged, razor-sharp rocks underfoot.

Mare Nectaris: the Sea of Nectar.

Mare Serenitatis: the Sea of Tranquillity.

Mare Nubium: the Sea of Clouds.

Mare Imbrium: the Sea of Showers — and incidentally the sea that held their supplies at the moment.

He had learned the names of the thirty-odd gray areas during astronomy classes as the Academy, and he marveled at his memory of them now.

Mare Crisium. That’s where they were now. The Sea of Crises. It had been aptly named, Ted thought. A thousand miles from their supplies, they were indeed facing a crisis. The Moon had chosen a fitting background.

He turned his head within his helmet as he walked, breathing in the oxygen that flowed from the tank strapped to his back.

He wondered exactly how cold it was outside. Probably somewhere down around 200 degrees below zero Fahrenheit. Despite the chemical sprayed on the inside of his face plate, despite the heat circulating throughout the suit, the plate was beginning to frost up around the edges.

He was suddenly thankful for the protection of the suit. He shivered involuntarily, picturing himself out on the surface of the Moon without a space suit. He almost stumbled over a sharp rock, righted himself quickly, and kept his eyes on the ground as he walked.