Rocket to Luna

A distorted voice sounded inside his helmet as soon as he dropped through the hatch. “Hurry it up, boy! Those guys on the rocket are likely tearing their hair by this time.” The voice, despite its distortion, couldn’t have belonged to anyone but a Southerner. Somehow, the mellow inflection took away from the urgency of his words.

Ted reached the taxi and climbed into the open top. The taxi was wedged tightly in the landing berth, sealing the Station from the pressure outside.

“Come on, boy, we’re late,” the voice said again.

Ted looked at the face plate of the helmet that was craned over the front seat of the taxi. The plate was darkened, and he could not make out the features behind it. He realized with sudden understanding that his own face was unrecognizable. He knew then that the pilot had probably mistaken him for Jack.

“Look,” he said into his helmet transmitter, “I’m not...”

“My friend,” the Southern voice drawled, “no excuses, please. If I don’t get you to that rocket in ten seconds flat, I’ll be back Earthside so fast...” He didn’t finish his sentence. He seemed to remember he was wasting time talking, and he stabbed his forefinger at a button in the instrument panel. Ted heard the whine of the jets behind him as the small rocket leaped away from the landing berth.

The short distance from the Station to the waiting Moon rocket seemed like a thousand miles to Ted. He drummed his gloved fingers against the cushion of his seat, his eyes scanning the stars that stared down in indifferent boredom. He fidgeted nervously, the sweat streaming down his face inside the helmet. It occurred to him once that he should make another stab at telling the taxi pilot who he was. He shrugged this aside, figuring it would only slow up the trip to the rocket — and he had to get there as soon as possible.

“Here we are, boy,” the Southerner said. “You better get in there right quick.”

Ted fairly leaped over the side of the taxi, gripping the rungs outside the air lock of the Moon rocket. Unlike the three-stage that had taken him to the Station, the Moon rocket was almost squat in design, looking like the triangular head of a rattlesnake. Its jets stuck out behind it like a row of yellowed buck teeth. Ted glanced briefly at the button in the air-lock door. He pressed it with his forefinger, and the door swung wide, admitting him to the lock. He twirled the wheel on the inside of the door, sealing the ship. He looked around the lock in confusion for several minutes. The Academy courses had never mentioned Moon rockets! He finally found two buttons set in the bulkhead, one green and one red, set above each other like the lamps in a traffic light. He pressed the green button and waited, satisfied when he heard the slow hiss of air in the lock.

The seconds dragged by slowly, tiringly. He waited until a light began blinking over the inner door of the lock, then floated quickly to the door, not stopping to remove his helmet. He twisted the heavy wheel and put his shoulder against the door, pushing it open. Quickly, he slammed the door behind him, turning the wheel on the other side.

He began loosening the toggles on his helmet as he stared around the unfamiliar cabin. A ladder ran from the deck to the overhead, leading to a closed hatch that undoubtedly opened on the control room above. At any rate, Ted assumed this smaller rocket would follow the same general design of the larger three-stage. He hesitated while he finished unfastening the toggles. He lifted his helmet off and placed it securely between the brackets on the wall.

He started for the ladder, reaching up high to grip the rungs, his feet coming up from the deck. He stopped climbing when his head was just beneath the hatch. He twisted the wheel, cursing the diabolical intelligence that had designed space ships with so many wheels to turn and unturn. He swung the wheel all the way to the left and then lifted the hatch cover with his shoulders, climbing into the cabin. He stooped down quickly and secured the hatch again. Then he stood up and turned toward the acceleration couches.

Merola’s voice came to him first. “That you, Jack? What on earth kept you?”

“It’s me,” he said. “Ted Baker!”

“What?” Merola swung upright on the couch, turning his body to face the hatch. “What the deuce are you doing here?”

“Jack is hurt.” Ted said quickly. “You’ve got to stop blastoff.”

Merola leaped to the deck, drifting downward, and Dan Forbes dropped down beside him. Behind them, Ted could see the worried faces of the two doctors.

“What are you talking about?” Merola asked. “What do you mean Jack’s hurt?”

“I had to knock him unconscious.” Ted blurted. “That is, I didn’t want to, but he insisted on coming to the rocket. I had to stop him somehow, and the only way I could was...”

“Make sense!” Merola snapped. “Where’s Jack now?”

“Back in the air lock. At the Station.” Ted took a deep gulp and added, “You’ve got to stop blastoff, sir. Jack’s...”