Galactic Dreams

The moon takeoff went as smoothly as the rehearsal had gone in the mock-up back on earth; and Gino was too busy doing double duty to have time to think about what had happened. He was strapped in when the computer radio signal fired the engines that burned down into the lower portion of the Bug and lifted the upper half free, blasting it upwards the rendezvous in space with the orbiting mother ship. The joined sections of the Apollo came into sight and Gino realized he would pass in front of it, going too fast: he made the course corrections with a sensation of deepest depression. The computer had not allowed for the reduced mass of the lunar rocket with only one passenger aboard. After this, matching orbits was not too difficult and minutes later he crawled through the entrance of the command module and sealed it behind him. Dan Coye stayed at the controls, not saying anything until the cabin pressure had stabilized and they could remove their helmets.

“What happened down there, Gino?”

“An accident, a crack in the lunar surface, covered lightly, sealed over by dust. Glazer just … fell into the thing. That’s all. I tried to get him out, I couldn’t reach him. I went to the Bug for some wire, but when I came back he had fallen deeper … it was…”

Gino had his face buried in his hands, and even he didn’t know if he was sobbing or just shaking with fatigue and strain.

“I’ll tell you a secret, I’m not superstitious at all,” Dan said, reaching deep into a zippered pocket of his pressure suit. “Everybody thinks I am, which just goes to show you how wrong everybody can be. Now I got this mascot, because all pilots are supposed to have mascots, and it makes good copy for the reporters when things are dull.”

He pulled the little black rubber doll from his pocket, made famous on millions of TV screens, and waved it at Gino.

“Everybody knows I always tote my little good-luck mascot with me, but nobody knows just what kind of good luck it has. Now you will find out, Major Gino Lombardi, and be privileged to share my luck. In the first place this bitty doll is not rubber, which might have a deleterious effect on the contents, but is constructed of a neutral plastic.”

In spite of himself, Gino looked up as Dan grabbed the doll’s head and screwed it off.

“Notice the wrist motion as I decapitate my friend, within whose bosom rests the best luck in the world, the kind that can only be brought to you by sour-mash one-hundred-and-fifty proof bourbon. Have a slug.”

He reached across and handed the doll to Gino.

“Thanks, Dan.” He raised the thing and squeezed, swallowing twice. He handed it back.

“Here’s to a good pilot and a good guy, Eddie Glazer,” Dan Coye said raising the flask, suddenly serious. “He wanted to get to the Moon and he did. It belongs to him now, all of it, by right of occupation.”

He squeezed the doll dry and methodically screwed the head back on and replaced it in his pocket. “Now let’s see what we can do about contacting control, putting them in the picture, and start cutting an orbit back towards Earth.”

Gino turned the radio on but did not send out the call yet.

While they had talked their orbit had carried them around to the other side of the Moon; its bulk effectively blocked any radio communication with Earth. They hurtled in their measured arc through the darkness and watched — another sunrise over the sharp lunar peaks: then the great globe of the Earth swung into sight again. North America was clearly visible and there was no need to use repeater stations. Gino beamed the signal at Cape Canaveral and waited the two and a half seconds for his signal to be received and for the answer to come back the 480,000 miles from Earth. The seconds stretched on and on, and with a growing feeling of fear he watched the hand track slowly around the clock face.

“They don’t answer ….”

“Interference, sunspots … try them again,” Dan said in a suddenly strained voice.

The control at Canaveral did not answer the next message, nor was there any response when they tried the emergency frequencies. They picked up some aircraft chatter on the higher frequencies, but no one noticed them or paid any attention to their repeated calls. They looked at the blue sphere of Earth, with horror now, and only after an hour of sweating strain would they admit that, for some unimaginable reason, they were cut off from all radio contact with it.

“Whatever happened, happened during our last orbit around the Moon. I was in contact with them while you were matching orbits,” Dan said, tapping the dial of the ammeter on the radio. “There couldn’t be anything wrong…?”

“Not at this end,” Gino said firmly. “But — maybe something has happened down there.”

“Could it be … a war?”

“It might be. But with whom and why? There’s nothing unusual on the emergency frequencies and I don’t think ….”

“Look!” Dan shouted hoarsely. “The lights-where are the lights?”