Rocket to Luna

“Moon rocket calling Space Station,” Forbes’s voice said into the microphone. “Hello, Space Station, this is Moon rocket. Come in, Space Station.” He paused and fiddled with one of the dials. “Hello, Space Station, Space Station, Space Station. This is Moon rocket calling Space Station. Can you hear me, Space Station?”

A brief crackle of static erupted from the loudspeaker on the bulkhead.

“Hello, Space Station,” Forbes went on, “this is Moon rocket calling. Come in, Space Station.”

There was static again, and then a voice intruded into the static, a voice that sounded distant. It wavered and fell, distorted enormously, but it was intelligible. “Hello, Moon rocket, this is Space Station. Come in, Moon rocket.”

“Lieutenant Forbes on Moon rocket reporting crash landing. Do you read me, Space Station?”

“We read you, Moon rocket. State your message.”

“Time: 2134. Repeat, 2134. Estimated time of landing: 2130. Report crash landing. Damage unknown. Assume landing stilts and blasting tubes damaged. Present position unknown. Request approximate position. Over.”

“Hello, Forbes. This is General Pepper. Any casualties aboard? Over.”

“Yes, sir. Captain Merola suffered head injury during flight. He’s still in a state of unconsciousness. Over.”

“That boy with you? Baker? Over.”

“Yes, sir. Over.”

Ted waited breathlessly as a burst of static splintered the silence.

“Just tell him he’ll be in hot water when you get back here, Forbes. Now stand by while I get that fix you requested.”

“Roger.”

Ted expected Forbes to smile at the news. Instead, Forbes kept his eyes on the transmitter readings, apparently too occupied to allow Ted’s misfortune to disturb him. Ted sighed heavily. Hot water, the general had said.

“Hello, Forbes. Have you got a map there? Over.”

“Stand by, sir.” Forbes snapped his fingers and pointed to one of the drawers. Dr. Phelps quickly opened the drawer and pulled out a sheaf of maps. He brought these to Forbes, and the lieutenant spread them on the table before him. “Yes, sir, I’ve got a map. Over.”

“We tracked you all the way up, Forbes. Figured something was wrong when you began turnover ahead of schedule. Have you got a pencil? Over.”

“Yes, sir. Over.”

“All right, start marking. Your supplies are in Mare Imbrium, over on the Eastern half of the Moon. Three miles east of the crater Archimedes. Have you got that point?”

“Stand by, sir. Yes, yes, here it is. Over.”

“All right, mark it. Those are your supplies.”

“Roger. And where are we, sir?”

There was a long pause. The static crackled into the compartment as they waited for the general’s voice again.

“You’re not going to like this, Forbes. We tracked you as you came down, and we’re pretty sure this is the ship we’ve got in the screens now. At any rate, it’s in the area you were falling toward.”

“I see, sir. And where is that?”

“You’re in Mare Crisium.”

“Roger. Stand by, sir.” Forbes bent over the map studying it. He scratched his head, then, and picked up the microphone. “I can’t seem to locate that, sir.”

“Where are you looking, Forbes?”

“Well, quite a ways over to the West. I figure we crashed in darkness and...”

“How far over?”

“The area around Mare Serenitatis.”

“You’re not far enough over, Forbes. Keep going. You’re almost on the Western rim.”

“Stand by, sir.” Forbes consulted the map again, and then seemed to recoil from the microphone. “Did you say Mare Crisium, sir?”

“You’ve found it?”

“Yes, sir. But... but it’s... it’s quite a distance from...”

“You’re approximately one thousand miles from the supplies, Forbes. Mark your position in the center of Mare Crisium.”

Forbes’s hand moved to the map, and he scribbled something onto its surface.

“I’ve marked it, sir.”

“Have you got both positions marked?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It looks bad, doesn’t it?”

Forbes looked at the map, sighing heavily.

“Yes, sir,” he said. “It looks very bad.”

“I’m contacting Earth now, Forbes,” the general said. “I’m trying to see what we can do about getting more supplies to you. Stand by for radio contact in an hour. And keep your chin up.”

“Roger. Out.”

Forbes opened the knife switch, and the transmitter clicked off. Without the hum, it was suddenly very quiet in the cabin.

Forbes swung the swivel chair around and folded his hands in his lap. “Well,” he said, “you heard.”

“They’ll get supplies to us,” Dr. Gehardt said confidently.

“I’m not so sure.”

“It should be simple,” Dr. Phelps put in. “They wouldn’t need a crew. Just unmanned rockets like the ones that took the other supplies here.”

“Mm-m-m,” Forbes murmured. He held out the map. “Take a look at this.”

The men studied the map, and Forbes shook his head forlornly. “A thousand miles,” he said. “And he was probably giving it to us in round figures. It’s probably more than that.”

“Why worry about the distance?” Dr. Gehardt asked. “If they send up more supplies, we can forget about the others.”

“Sure. If.”

“Is there a chance they won’t?”

“I don’t know. There must be some doubt or the Old Man wouldn’t have had to call Earth.”

“That’s true,” Dr. Phelps said.