Rocket to Luna

It was all wrong. Somehow, it felt all wrong, like running for a pop fly when you’re certain you’re going to miss it. Ted felt just that way. He watched the surface of the Moon expand in the radar screen, and he knew with sickening insight that he had missed the supply dump.

The Moon clung to the sky like a luminous, yellow egg, and the rocket moved swiftly toward the slender slice of darkness on its Western rim.

Forbes looked up at the radar, then snapped his eyes to Ted. “You’re way off, Baker,” he said tersely. Ted said nothing. He stared at the radar and licked his lips. The thunder of the engines filled the rocket as the ship descended rapidly, its speed diminishing as the engines decelerated by blasting.

“Don’t just sit there!” Forbes shouted. “Do something. You’re bringing her down in the wrong spot.”

Ted gulped hard. “There’s nothing I can do, sir.”

“What do you mean there’s...”

“Let him alone,” Dr. Phelps snapped. “Can’t you see he’s got his hands full?”

Forbes retreated into a gloomy silence. The men’s faces all turned to the radar screen and the growing picture of the Moon.

“Brace yourselves,” Ted said.

The screen was full now, brimming with the Moon’s light. The ship descended like a fast-moving elevator, its jet trail licking at the surface below.

“A few more seconds,” Ted said.

The ground came up suddenly, pitted, pockmarked. It filled the screen completely, blotting out the sky.

“This is it!” Ted shouted.

He pressed a button, and the engines stopped abruptly. Quickly Ted stabbed at another button, watching the indicator that showed the landing stilts were telescoping out of the ship.

“We’re coming down too fast,” Forbes screamed.

There was the sudden scrape of metal against rock. It screeched through the ship like the spine-curdling wail of chalk across a blackboard.

“Hold tight,” Ted warned.

The high whine of twisting, wrenching metal filled the cabin. The ship gave a sudden lurch to port, and Ted knew the landing stilt on that side had buckled beneath the too-rapidly descending weight of the rocket. He pressed a button on the panel in an attempt to retract that stilt, but his efforts led to more splintering noises. And above these, like the whine of a buzz saw combined with the crashing sound of spilling garbage cans, Ted heard the deafening roar of the rocket tubes digging into the Moon’s surface. Sudden fear raced through his nerves, and he felt a fine sheet of sweat burst out all over his body. The rocket teetered dangerously now, and he clung to the side of his couch. There was one last scream of tearing metal, and then the ship gave a convulsive shudder and settled back against the ground, still tilting to port.

Forbes was the first man out of his couch. He dropped to the deck and walked quickly to Merola’s couch. He peered in, satisfied himself that the captain was all right, and then walked to the viewport.

“You’ve done it, Baker,” he said bitterly. “This time you’ve really done it.”

Dr. Gehardt dropped to the deck, testing his long strides against the new-found gravity. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Baker’s smashed our landing gear, that’s for sure,” Forbes answered, “and he’s probably crippled the living daylights out of our tubes.”

Dr. Gehardt walked over to the viewport and stood alongside Forbes. “We can repair those, can’t we?”

“Maybe,” Forbes said briefly. “Now you’d better ask Wonder Boy where we are.”

Dr. Gehardt turned to Ted. “Well?” he asked.

Ted nervously wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I don’t know,” he answered.

“Well, I know,” Forbes put in. “Take a look out there, Doc.”

Dr. Gehardt peered through the viewport, his eyes softening. “The Moon,” he said simply, and there was wonder in his voice and a note of humbleness.

“Sure, the Moon. And darkness. Darkness.”

Dr. Phelps crowded up against the viewport. “What’s so strange about that?”

“Nothing strange about it at all. Except that at this phase of the Moon, our supplies should be in the sunlight. If we’d landed near our supplies, there’d be no darkness outside.”

“Then we are not near our supplies?”

“I must have turned the ship over too soon,” Ted said. “I just fouled up, I guess. I shouldn’t have tried it.”

“You should have thought of that beforehand,” Forbes said. He whirled from the viewport and crossed the cabin.

“What are you going to do?” Dr. Gehardt asked. He was still worried-looking, his face tired and drawn.

“I’m going to radio the Station. Maybe they can tell us just how badly Baker fouled up.” He sat down in a chair riveted to the deck before the powerful radio transmitter, closed a knife switch without hesitation. The gentle hum of the transmitter filled the cabin, and Ted waited as it wanned up.

His shoulders slumped, and he kept his head bent. He wanted to crawl under one of the couches and hide there. He wanted to bury his face in his hands and turn away from the eyes of the other men. He wanted to die.