Rocket to Luna

She sat over the blasting pit, her stabilizer fins straddling the discolored depression in the ground. She looked like an enormous spear, squat and wide at the bottom, and tapering up to a finely pointed nose. Close to that nose, she wore a pair of slanted wings; and below these, a third of the way down the side of the ship, was another, larger pair of wings. Ted knew her dimensions well. He’d studied them and restudied them at the Academy for the past three years.

He almost laughed aloud as he remembered old Colonel York, with his beady eyes and sharply curving nose. The colonel would rap on his desk with the plastic tip of his riding crop and bellow, “Overall length, Baker! What’s the overall length?”

“Two hundred and sixty-five feet, sir,” Ted had always replied. He knew the figures as well as he knew his own age. But they had been only figures until just a little while ago. He’d known, of course, that two hundred and sixty-five feet were a heck of a lot of feet. But he had never formed a real concept of just what the three-stage looked like.

Even when the colonel had cleared his throat and shouted, “The base is sixty-five feet in diameter, gentlemen. Sixty-five feet. This is a rocket, gentlemen, not a toy. This is the machine that will take you to the Space Station in your senior year,” even then Ted had only vaguely pictured it.

No, nothing but a look at the three-stage could really explain it. She was huge, truly huge, taller than a high building, and just as solid-looking. She weighed fourteen million pounds, the figures said, seven thousand tons of metal and engines and equipment that would supply the power for the escape from Earth.

She was definitely not a toy.

She sat complacently on the horizon now, her fueling hoses winding around her like rubbery snakes. She drank thirstily, and the coveralled men scurried around her like obedient hand-servants. Ted watched her, the excitement climbing in his blood. He turned away then, sighed deeply, and began walking toward the commissary with long, full strides. The wind, blowing fresh over the Pacific, lifted the sandy strands of his hair, tossing them back against his forehead. He was a tall boy, with wide shoulders wedging down to a narrow waist. His eyes were blue, a deeper, darker blue than the sky above, and his nose was straight, plunging down to a narrow-lipped mouth. When his face was at rest, he looked extremely serious, almost too serious for a seventeen-year-old. But when he smiled, his whole face seemed to erupt into brilliance, and his eyes sparkled to match the even flash of his teeth.

He was serious now as he walked, head bent, to the commissary. His eyes appraised the long, low, clean-looking lines of the building. He quickened his pace and passed through the electric eye trigger across the doorjamb. The large glass, double doors swung wide, and he walked into the interior of the building. He felt the cool blast of the air-conditioning unit at once, and mused that it felt more like September inside than it did outside. He still couldn’t get used to the idea of September without leaves turning russet and brown, without the brisk winds of autumn tickling the back of his neck. It was only with great effort that he could remember he was out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, ready to board a rocket that would carry him 1,075 miles above the Earth.

A chill of apprehension wormed its way up his back again, and he knew it wasn’t caused by the air-conditioning system. He sought out the food counter and began crossing the noisy room. Here, as outside, everyone seemed to be in a hurry. There was a more playful, relaxed atmosphere here, but there was still the feeling that everything had to be done fast or not at all. He was walking toward the food counter when the voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Ted! Ted Baker!”

He whirled rapidly, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar faces milling around the counter. Now who...?

“Over here, boy. Here!”

Ted’s eyebrows climbed onto his forehead, and his teeth showed in a wide grin. “Jack! Well, for crying out loud. What...”

“Come on over, boy,” Jack called. Ted gestured impatiently, surprise and happiness mingled on his face. He shouldered his way through the crowd, nimbly dodging balanced trays and hurrying figures. He reached the food counter at last, smiled happily and held out an eager hand.

“Boy, this is a surprise,” he said, pumping Jack’s free hand. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m going up to the Space Station,” Jack replied. He held his tray balanced on his left hand as he moved along the counter. He was slightly taller than Ted, a little broader across the chest and shoulders. His arms were heavy and muscular, curling with red hair that matched the naming crest atop his head. His gray eyes were set on either side of a freckle-spattered nose, and he had full lips that tilted impishly. “You want something to eat?” he asked.

“No, no.” Ted said. “Boy, it’s good to see you.”