THE GREEN HILLS OF EARTH

«Unless you are dead set on space-to-space, I can use you on the regular Luna City run. Quarters here or Luna City? Want it?»

He heard himself saying, «Luna City. I'll take it.»

He tore up his third letter as he walked into Luna City post office. At the telephone desk he spoke to a blonde in a blue moonsuit. «Get me Mrs. Jake Pemberton, Suburb six-four-oh-three, Dodge City, Kansas, please.»

She looked him over. «You pilots sure spend money.»

«Sometimes phone calls are cheap. Hurry it, will you?»

Phyllis was trying to phrase the letter she felt she should have written before. It was easier to say in writing that she was not complaining of loneliness nor lack of fun, but that she could not stand the strain of worrying about his safety. But then she found herself quite unable to state the logical conclusion. Was she prepared to face giving him up entirely if he would not give up space? She truly did not know ... the phone call was a welcome interruption.

The viewplate stayed blank. «Long distance,» came a thin voice. «Luna City calling.»

Fear jerked at her heart. «Phyllis Pemberton speaking.»

An interminable delay – she knew it took nearly three seconds for radio waves to make the Earth-Moon round trip, but she did not remember it and it would not have reassured her. All she could see was a broken home, herself a widow, and Jake, beloved Jake, dead in space.

«Mrs. Jake Pemberton?»

«Yes, yes! Go ahead.» Another wait – had she sent him away in a bad temper, reckless, his judgment affected? Had he died out there, remembering only that she fussed at him for leaving her to go to work? Has she failed him when he needed her? She knew that her Jake could not be tied to apron strings; men – grown-up men, not mammas' boys – had to break away from mother's apron strings. Then why had she tried to tie him to hers? – she had known better; her own mother had warned her not to try it.

She prayed.

Then another voice, one that weakened her knees with relief: «That you, honey?»

«Yes, darling, yes! What are you doing on the Moon?»

«It's a long story. At a dollar a second it will keep. What I want to know is – are you willing to come to Luna City?»

It was Jake's turn to suffer from the inevitable lag in reply. He wondered if Phyllis were stalling, unable to make up her mind. At last he heard her say, «Of course, darling. When do I leave?»

«When – say, don't you even want to know why ?»

She started to say that it did not matter, then said, «Yes, tell me.» The lag was still present but neither of them cared. He told her the news, then added, «Run over to the Springs and get Olga Pierce to straighten out the red tape for you. Need my help to pack?»

She thought rapidly. Had he meant to come back anyhow, he would not have asked. «No. I can manage.»

«Good girl. I'll radiostat you a long letter about what to bring and so forth. I love you. 'Bye now!»

«Oh, I love you, too. Goodbye, darling.»

Pemberton came out of the booth whistling. Good girl, Phyllis. Staunch. He wondered why he had ever doubted her.

The Long Watch

«Nine ships blasted off from Moon Base. Once in space, eight of them formed a globe around the smallest. They held this formation all the way to Earth.

«The small ship displayed the insignia of an admiral – yet there was no living thing of any sort in her. She was not even a passenger ship, but a drone, a robot ship intended for radioactive cargo. This trip she carried nothing but a lead coffin – and a Geiger counter that was never quiet.»

–from the editorial After Ten Years ,

film 38, 17 June 2009, Archives of the N. Y. Times

I

Johnny Dahlquist blew smoke at the Geiger counter. He grinned wryly and tried it again. His whole body was radioactive by now. Even his breath, the smoke from his cigarette, could make the Geiger counter scream.

How long had he been here? Time doesn't mean much on the Moon. Two days? Three? A week? He let his mind run back: the last clearly marked time in his mind was when the Executive Officer had sent for him, right after breakfast —

«Lieutenant Dahlquist, reporting to the Executive Officer.» Colonel Towers looked up. «Ah, John Ezra. Sit down, Johnny. Cigarette?»

Johnny sat down, mystified but nattered. He admired Colonel Towers, for his brilliance, his ability to dominate, and for his battle record. Johnny had no battle record; he had been commissioned on completing his doctor's degree in nuclear physics and was now junior bomb officer of Moon Base.