The Wanderer

The two men were part of the little cortege plodding through sand and sea-grass toward the beach gate of Vandenberg Two. The cortege was led by Paul, Margo with Miaow, and Doc. Then came Hunter, the Ramrod, and two other men lugging by its four corners an aluminum cot with folded legs, on which Wanda — the fat woman — reposed, groaning a little now and then. Beside the cot walked the thin woman, but without her radio, which had been lost in the slide. She talked soothingly to Wanda. The rear guard consisted of Rama Joan, Ann, and Clarence Dodd — the Little Man — with Ragnarok on leash and nervous.

The aluminum cot was another you-name-it-we-got-it item from the Little Man’s station wagon. (Margo had asked him if he had a primus stove and fuel. He had replied, without batting an eyelash: “Yes, I do, but I see no point in taking it with us this time.")

Just after Doc had made his not entirely frivolous suggestion about Jupiter, Rama Joan called out for them all to look at the Wanderer again. They had already noticed considerable changes in the past forty minutes. The duck (or dinosaur) had all its body on the lefthand side of the disk, its head sticking out to the right as if part of a north pole gold-cap. In the new purple area swinging into view there had appeared a large central yellow patch, in shape halfway between an equilateral triangle and a solid capital D.

“See, just after the D,” Rama Joan called, “there’s a thin black crescent coming. The moon almost hides it.”

“That’s the shadow of the moon on the new planet!". Doc yelled excitedly after a few freezing seconds. “And if it’s any smaller than Luna I can’t see the difference. Ross, they can’t be more than a few thousand miles apart! Now we know that planet is Earth-size, almost exactly.”

“Mommy, does that mean they almost hit each other?” Ann whispered. “Why’s Mr. Brecht so happy? Because they missed?”

“Not exactly, dear. He’d probably have enjoyed the spectacle. Mr. Brecht is happy because he likes to know exactly where things are, so he can put his hands on them in the dark.”

“Mr. Brecht can’t put his hands on the new planet, Mommy.”

“No, dear, but now he can put his thoughts there.”

Oxyhelium mix gradually filled the cabin of the Baba Yaga from the tank Don Merriam had valved open. Its pressure sealed the inner hatch and opened two doors in Don’s helmet. Little fans went on around the cabin, keeping the new air moving in spite of it being in free fall. It pushed into Don’s helmet, replacing the foul air there. His features twitched and he shuddered a little. His breathing strengthened and he went into a deep, healthy sleep.

The Baba Yaga reached the top of its trajectory, poised there, then began to fall back toward the moon. As it fell, it tumbled slowly. Every thirty seconds, about, its spacescreen looked at the moon, and fifteen seconds later at Earth. As it tumbled, the dust-filmed spacesuit with Don inside began to move across the floor, rolling very slowly.

The Little Man called ahead to Paul: “I don’t mean to impugn your veracity, Mr. Hagbolt, but the Vandenberg Two beach gate seems to be a lot farther away than you led us to believe. Easy, Ragnarok!”

“It’s right in front of the blinking red light,” Paul told him, wishing he were inwardly as sure of that as he tried to make his voice sound. He added, “I have to admit I underestimated the distance of the light”

“Don’t worry, Doddsy. Paul will get us there,” Doc pronounced confidently.

The three of them were preparing to relieve Hunter, the Ramrod, and one of the two other men at the three corners of the fat woman’s stretcher.

“How are you feeling, Wanda?” the thin woman asked, kneeling by the cot in the sand. “You can have another digitalis.”

“A little better,” the fat woman murmured, fluttering her eyes open. They rested on the Wanderer. “Oh, my God,” she groaned, turning her head away.

The strange orb, inexorably rotating, presented a new aspect. The remains of the dinosaur, or penguin, made a huge yellow C around the lefthand rim of the planet, while the solid yellow D had swung to the center, so that the effect was of D-in-C. The Little Man did another quick sketch, labeling it simply, “Two Hours.”

Ann said, “I think the C is a straw basket on its side and the D a piece of cake with lemon frosting. And the moon is a honeydew melon!”

“I know who’s hungry,” her mother said.

“Or you can think of the D as the eye of a giant purple needle,” Ann quickly pointed out.

The Golden Serpent coils around the Broken Egg, the Ramrod thought. Chaos is hatched.

The moon and its shadow had moved all the way across the planet. There was a feeling of relief when a thread of night-sky appeared between the two orbs.