Rocket to Luna

It split open with a terrifying crack, tearing apart like a sheet of black paper. The stars seemed to loosen suddenly from the paper, and they tumbled recklessly toward the ship, closing on it like a giant trap with fiery teeth.

Someone screamed, “Acceleration!” and the stars converged on the metal skin of the ship, battering it in explosive fury. The ship tossed and pitched against the crumbling black paper. There was another terrifying sound, the sound of splintering metal, the grating rasp of the bulkheads ripping apart.

The ship snapped in half, a blinding red flash erupting from its torn skin. Someone shouted, “Acceleration!” again, and Ted sat up in his bunk, sweat covering his body, his pajamas sticking to his skin. He breathed harshly, staring into the darkness.

It was a little while before he realized he himself had been doing the screaming.

He thought about that dream all during the next day. He tried to interest himself in the various marvels of the Station. He visited the Communications Center and listened to the various messages coming from and going to Earth. He found the Celestial Viewing Room, and tried to lose himself in the unhampered vision of the heavens. It was no use.

The dream kept intruding into his conscious mind, and he was finally forced to think about what he knew the dream actually meant.

Jack.

Jack and his injured collarbone.

He wandered down to the mess hall and sat brooding over a glass of milk, his chin cupped in one hand while he traced a pattern on the table top with the other.

He knew that Jack shouldn’t go on the Moon trip. Jack’s sole value was as a spare for any injured member of the crew. Should anything happen to Jack on the trip, he would lose all value completely.

There remained the faint possibility that his collarbone injury was not a serious one. If such were the case, acceleration might not damage it further.

But on the other hand, there was the chance that acceleration would hurt it further, snap it in two perhaps — or perhaps worse.

All right, he asked himself, what are you going to do about it?

He didn’t know. He simply didn’t know.

If Jack were willing to gamble with his own body, or even with his own life, that should be Jack’s business, shouldn’t it? Who was he to interfere?

He nodded his head, mentally agreeing with himself.

A persistent idea shoved at the corners of his mind, though, and he knew he was trying to fool himself.

Jack wasn’t gambling with his own life alone. He was gambling with the safety of every man in the crew. And he was also increasing the odds against the success of the Moon trip.

So what? Ted asked himself. What am I supposed to do — run and tell on him? That would ruin him. Four years of study and hard work down the drain.

He sipped at his milk, put the glass down on the table again.

Supposing you’d seen Jack murder someone, a probing voice in his brain insisted, would you forget about it, or go to the authorities?

Ted passed his hand over his forehead, wiping away the sweat. This was different, of course. Jack hadn’t murdered anyone, so the comparison couldn’t really be drawn.

But if the Moon trip is a failure because of Jack, the probing voice continued, we can say he caused the death of every man in the crew. We can say...

Ted pressed his fist against his forehead, trying to shut out the conflict in his mind.

“Got a problem?” a voice asked. “Or just a headache?”

Ted looked up suddenly, almost afraid his thoughts had been read. Lieutenant Forbes pulled up a chair beside him, depositing a cup of coffee on the table.

“Oh,” Ted said. “Hello, sir.”

Forbes picked up a teaspoon and began stirring the coffee. “Which one is it?” he asked. “We can take care of a headache in Sick Bay. A problem, well, that’s another thing again.”

Ted smiled weakly. “I’m afraid we can’t cure this one with an aspirin, sir.”

Forbes smiled back. “Maybe I can help.”

“I don’t think so, sir.”

Forbes shrugged. “Okay.” He lifted his cup, sipped at the coffee, putting it down quickly. “Hot.”

Ted stared into his glass for a long while, not saying anything. Forbes picked up his cup again and took another sip, blowing at the brown surface first.

“Suppose,” Ted started, “suppose...”

Forbes looked up. “Uhm?”

“Well, suppose you knew you should do something. I mean, suppose you really wanted to do something.”

Forbes put down his cup and turned to face Ted, his gray eyes thoughtful. “Yes?”

“I mean...” Ted scratched his jaw. “Look, let’s suppose I wanted to do a certain thing — a thing that really should be done. That is, things would be better all around if I did this thing.”

Forbes continued to look thoughtful. “Go on.”