Rocket to Luna

“Then drive like blazes. Get started now. Come on, Dan, we need you. We need you like all get-out.”

“I’ll see you,” Forbes said tersely. “We’re coming through.”

The tractor lurched forward in a sudden burst of speed.

At the same instant, the Sun hit them. It splashed into their helmets with feral fury, the brilliance blinding them for an instant. The helmet seemed to grow hot instantly, and Ted groped for the heating controls, turning the unit off at once.

He was immediately covered with sweat. The heat was intolerable. It replaced the cold suddenly, and he could hear his helmet strain against the sudden change in temperature. He knew that in the space of a heartbeat, the temperature had probably ranged some 350 degrees!

The Sun was frightening somehow. This was a different Moon. The Sun somehow added a new face. It cast deep shadows, black against the brilliant ground. The Moon had been an old man before, clothed in deep black garments, clothed in Death. It had crouched silently in a shadow-filled corner, a mourner at its own wake. And now it burst forth like a blazing diamond, still dead, but dead in a different way. There was none of the deep mystery any more. It was as if an all-revealing spotlight had been turned onto a disinterred corpse, exposing its dust-filled mouth, its angular bones, its rotting skin. The Moon, trapped in the glare of the Sun, gave itself willingly, shedding its cloak of darkness instantly, succumbing to the blazing fire of “day” with the meek resignation of habit.

The sunlight was as powerful as a slap in the face. It covered the two completely, an almost physical force that gathered them up in a fiery embrace, planting suffocating kisses on them. Its breath was hot, and it invaded their helmets with the unleashed ferocity of a blowtorch. The ice-covered face plate seemed like something from another world. They had stepped into a roaring blast furnace, a furnace alive with the fires of Hades. Heat licked at them from everywhere. The ground was hot, and their suits were hot, and their helmets were sizzling. Ted longed for a cloud to obscure the Sun, knowing there were no clouds on the Moon. He longed for a rainstorm to cool the baking ground, to ease the stifling pressure of the heat. There could be no rain on the Moon.

Forbes suddenly slumped over the wheel of the tractor, his helmet collapsing onto the spokes. Ted reached for him, trying desperately to keep him erect as the tractor swerved violently to one side. He threw his arm around Forbes, grasping the wheel with his free hand, trying to keep the tractor on a steady course.

He opened his mouth, sucking in great gulps of air. The sweat poured down his face, saturated his clothing. He suddenly remembered that he was wearing several layers of woolen clothing. The thought made him feel hotter.

The steering wheel suddenly became three steering wheels, and Ted blinked his eyes, wondering which one he should grab. The ground sloped over to the left and then hurled itself over in the opposite direction. Ted’s mouth was dry, as if a caterpillar had crawled into it and made a nest there. He blinked his eyes once more, shook his head within the helmet. Everything was a bright yellow. There was no color but yellow. It seared his eyeballs and scorched his brain, and then it burst like a star shell and he knew he was groping for the wheel, knew he was falling, knew his hands were trembling, knew the tractor was spinning out of control, but there was nothing he could do about it.

He was almost relieved when the yellow was replaced by a blackness as deep as space.

Something cool was on his forehead.

It felt good. It felt like a tall glass of lemonade on a sweltering day. It felt very good. Like the breeze from the ocean, like the spray against an upturned face, like a spring shower. Ahhh, it felt wonderful.

Ted opened his eyes.

The first color he saw was cool gray. He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes again. After a little while, he opened them once more and studied the gray color. It curved above him in a clean, sweeping arc, and it was studded with little mounds of metal. Rivets. Gray metal with rivets. Like a rocket ship, Ted thought. Just like a rocket ship. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

“Now all three of them are unconscious,” the voice said. “I told George he couldn’t leave that couch. I warned him about what might happen. No, he wouldn’t listen.”

“He was nearly frantic with worry,” another voice said. It had a strange accent. German, perhaps. Yes, German. Ted kept his eyes closed and listened to the voices.

“Forbes and Baker should be around soon,” the first voice said. “I hope so.”

“What about Merola?”

“I don’t know. If he’d only have stayed put, as I told him to. There was no reason for him to go running out there. No reason at all. We could have gone, you and I!”

“Yes,” the second voice agreed. “Yes. But there was no holding him. And he did save them. He did bring them back.”