Rocket to Luna

Ted heard a series of clicks, looked up to see a wide expanse of cloudless sky on the radar panel over his head.

“Forward radar loud and clear,” Dan said.

“Roger. Focus rear radar and hold,” Merola ordered.

Ted kept watching the screen overhead as Dan fiddled with his dials. The blurred picture merged into sharp intensity, and Ted saw the panorama of the field below. Figures scurried away from the blasting pit, moving out beyond the wire fence. Two first-aid trucks, red crosses on their sides, pulled up beyond the fence. A mechanic in greasy coveralls waved his arms over his head, crossing them.

“Time, Jack,” Merola called.

“1457, prime three,” Jack replied.

“We’ve got a few minutes,” Merola said. He leaned his head out of his couch and looked up. “You all right, Baker?”

“Fine, sir.”

“Scared?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. You understand how this baby works?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Anyone who doesn’t?” Merola asked.

“I hate to sound stupid,” a voice cut in. There was the faint trace of a German accent clinging to the otherwise excellent English, and Ted imagined the voice belonged to Dr. Gehardt.

“No trouble at all,” Merola said. “You’re not expected to understand the workings of a rocket ship.”

In explanation, he called up to Ted, “Dr. Gehardt is our geologist, Baker.”

“Yes, sir,” Ted replied.

“It’s simple, Doc,” Merola went on. “In order to reach the Space Station’s orbit, we’d need a cut-off speed of 17,500 miles per hour. We can’t do that with one rocket, so we’ve piled three rockets on top of each other — a sort of piggy-back arrangement. Got that?”

“Yes,” Dr. Gehardt replied. Ted smiled as he remembered the many lectures he’d listened to on this identical subject.

“There are fifty-one rocket motors in the first stage of this baby,” Merola continued. “That’s our tail section. Our middle section has thirty-four rocket motors, and our nose has five. We’re in the nose now, Doc. The nose is the only section that will reach the Station.”

“I do not quite understand,” Dr. Gehardt said.

“About a minute and a half now,” Jack interrupted.

“We drop the first stage, the tail section, eighty-four seconds after blastoff. By that time, its fifty-one motors will have consumed 5,250 tons of fuel. In other words, when we drop the tail section, we’ll be losing seventy-five per cent of our overall original weight.”

“I see,” Dr. Gehardt said.

“The motors of the second stage begin blasting automatically after the first stage is dropped. They’ll burn 770 tons of fuel, and we’ll drop the entire second stage after one hundred and twenty-four additional seconds.”

“That leaves just us in the nose section,” Jack said.

“And the nose section will take us to the Station,” Merola concluded.

“Better watch that clock,” Dan advised.

“One minute,” Jack said.

“A few last words of warning,” Merola said, clearing his throat. “You may black out. If you do, don’t worry about it. The ship is controlled by automatic gyropilot for the entire trip, and there’s nothing any of us have to do. If you don’t black out, you’re going to feel darned uncomfortable — but that’ll pass too. Whatever happens, don’t get excited. Every maneuver this ship will make has been timed precisely, and the instruments were thoroughly checked before blastoff. There’s the slightest possibility that something may go haywire, but I wouldn’t put money on it.

“About blacking out,” he added, “if you feel you’re going to lose consciousness, don’t fight it. Just let it come. You’ll think a ten-ton truck is resting on your chest when we start to accelerate, but don’t let it worry you.”

He stopped abruptly. “Any questions?”

“Yes, Captain,” Dan Forbes cracked, “if I’m a good boy, will you give me the popcorn concession on the Moon?”

Merola laughed, and then asked, “What’s your rank, Forbes?”

“First Lieutenant, sir,” Forbes snapped.

“You are now a Second Lieutenant,” Merola said with mock severity.

“Oh, thank you. Thank you, sir.”

Merola laughed again and said, “Seriously, if there are no questions, you’d better check your belts again and then relax. I think we’re about ready to...”

A violent shudder shoved its way through the ship. Ted gripped the sides of the couch and swallowed the hot ball of lead in his throat. In the radar screen overhead, he could see the entire launching site, devoid of any humans or machines now.

“Here we go,” Jack said.

“Bon voyage,” Forbes whispered.

At first, Ted wasn’t even aware they were moving. He heard the tremendous roar from somewhere far below him, a sound like a cageful of tigers bellowing for their noonday meal. He saw the red-yellow gleam of the tail jets against the blasting pit, in the radar screen overhead. And then the ground began to drop away slowly, very slowly, until he could see the entire pit, scorched black from the heat of the exhaust.

He was vaguely disappointed. He had expected to scream away from the Earth like a frightened banshee. Instead, for the first few seconds, there was just the slow, slow climb — almost as slow as the lift that had carried him to the nose section.