Rocket to Luna

Jack was in that lock now, getting into his space suit, making himself ready for the space taxi that would carry him to the Moon rocket.

Everything was set in Ted’s mind. He would ask Jack to do his own deciding. If Jack confessed his injury to the authorities, there would probably be no punishment. In fact, he would likely be commended for his honesty.

If, on the other hand, he insisted on jeopardizing Man’s first stab at the Moon, Ted would report him. There was no other way out. Friendship was one thing, but...

There was a faint shuffling sound at the end of the long passageway. Ted gulped hard and quickened his movements, reaching out ahead of him for space-eating grips on the heavy ropes.

He was at the end of the passageway before he realized it. He released his grip on the ropes and floated down into the lock, his face grim.

Jack was floating above the hatch leading to the landing berth below. He had already put on a space suit, and was lacking only a helmet to complete the costume. Behind him, firmly secured to the bulkheads with metal brackets, Ted saw the rows of neatly folded space suits. Above these, like so many empty heads, the corresponding helmets clung to their brackets.

Jack looked immense in the space suit. The heavy nylon added inches to his chest and arms, and his hands looked large and powerful in their bulky gloves. He looked up quickly as Ted floated into the lock.

“What are you doing here?” he said. His voice was harsh and strained. His red brows were pulled together tightly, angling upward from a deep line just above his nose.

“I want to talk to you,” Ted said. He shoved his hand against the bulkhead, floating over beside Jack.

Jack clenched his fists inside the thick gloves, and a scowl darkened his face. He stared at Ted for a long moment, and then said, “We’ve got nothing to talk about, Baker.”

“We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

“I’m busy,” Jack said. He pushed his gloved hand against the supply tube jutting up from the deck. The shove sent him floating to the helmets bracketed on the bulkhead. He clamped his big hands on one and pulled it toward him.

“You’re not too busy to hear this.”

The helmet refused to budge, and Jack tugged at it again. It came free this time, and the sudden release sent Jack hurtling back across the compartment again. He turned on Ted bitterly, the helmet clenched in his hands. “You going to read me a section of the Manual?”

“No.”

“What then?” Jack gave a short laugh.

“I want you to tell the doctor about your injury.”

“You’re crazy!”

“No, I’m just thinking of the Moon rocket.”

“So am I,” Jack answered quickly.

“I’m thinking of what acceleration may do to that bone.”

“Don’t worry about me, Baker. I can take care of myself.”

“I’m not worrying about you,” Ted shot back. “I’m worrying about the other men on the trip. And I’m worrying about the years of planning behind this, and the energy expended, and the money invested, and the hope of every man...”

“Cut it out, will you?” Jack said. “You’ll have me weeping.”

“Jack, if you don’t tell them about your injury, I will.”

Jack digested Ted’s ultimatum for a moment. He grinned then, floating on the air like a bloated specter.

“I’d break every bone in your body, Baker,” he said. The smile vanished from his face, and there was only a warning left; a warning in the slitted eyes and flaring nostrils, a warning in the razor-slit mouth.

“You don’t scare me, Jack,” Ted said. “If you think a beating will...”

They both looked up suddenly as the speaker on the bulkhead belched static. A man blew into the microphone somewhere on the Station, testing it, and then his voice sounded in the compartment.

“Moon rocket ready for firing. Jack Talbot report to Moon rocket on the double.”

“Hear that?” Jack asked.

“I heard it.”

“They’re waiting for me, Baker. I suggest you clear out.”

Ted shook his head. “You’re not going, Jack.”

“Look, hero,” Jack said, “don’t get me sore. I’ve listened to about enough of your half-baked ideas.”

Abruptly, Jack pushed his hand against the overhead and began drifting toward the hatch in the deck. Ted reached out quickly, his fingers closing around the toggle in the metal shoulder plate of the suit. Like two dancers in a seriocomic ballet, they floated down to the deck.

Ted quickly reached for the wheel in the hatch, wrapping his fingers tightly around it.

“Get away from that hatch,” Jack said. He dropped to the deck and wrapped one gloved hand around the wheel, clinging to the helmet with the other.

“You’re not getting into that taxi, Jack,” Ted said.

“Get out of my way!” Jack warned.