Rocket to Luna

“Full jets,” Jack answered.

“My,” the corporal said dryly, “ain’t you salty?” He yawned and swung a Z-shaped handle over to the left. The quiet hum of machinery reached Ted’s ears. The corporal pressed a button to slide the door of the car shut. “Hold your hats,” he said.

Almost imperceptibly, the car began to rise in the open shaft. Slowly, the ground dropped from beneath them as the car began its long climb. Behind them was the blue-black hull of the three-stage, so close that Ted could have reached out to touch it. The corporal looked up once, and his features were already blurred by the distance. The guard booth was smaller now, a carton set alongside the fence. The lift kept climbing, higher, higher, and Ted could see the entire field now, the blasting pits looking like tarnished pennies on a white canvas. The radar tower had become a miniature stack of toothpicks, and the ground crew moved over the concrete like white ants. The sky spread out around them, and Ted could see the ocean, green waves lashing the white, endless stretch of the beach.

“Pretty high,” he said, his voice slightly breathless.

Jack grinned. “If you think this is high, wait until we reach the Station.”

The lift was slowing. It glided to a smooth stop beside the air-lock door in the nose of the rocket. When they had passed through the lock and secured the toggles on the inner door, Jack led Ted to a ladder and started climbing.

“This way, lubber,” he said, not unpleasantly.

Ted followed Jack up the ladder, his nerves jangling against each other. They were going up to the control room, he knew, the room he’d seen a hundred times in diagrams and slide projections at the Academy. Jack disappeared through a circular opening in the overhead, and Ted followed him up. When they had passed through the hatch, Jack dropped the hatch cover, turning the wheel that would hold it tight to the deck.

“It’s about time,” a deep voice said.

“Hi, George,” Jack called. He took Ted’s elbow, steering him over to the four men clustered around one of the radar panels. The man Jack had called George looked at his watch and frowned. Ted noticed the double silver bars of an Air Force captain on the wings of his collar, and he wondered about Jack’s familiarity.

“Fellows,” Jack said, “I’d like you to meet Ted Baker. He’s going up to the Station for his senior year.”

The Air Force captain took a step toward Ted and extended his hand. He was short, with black hair curling over his high forehead. His eyes were brown, and they glittered with lively intelligence. He had a somewhat long, slender nose that curved gently down to his full lips. He gave Ted the impression of an eager cocker spaniel. Ted took his hand, returning the captain’s firm grip.

“My name’s Merola,” the captain said. “George Merola. I’m pilot and navigator of the Moon rocket.” He paused. “I suppose Jack has told you all about our little trip?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m also supposed to be in charge of this jet-propelled apartment house, so perhaps we’d best make ready for blastoff.”

Ted smiled, liking the man instantly.

“All right,” Merola said, “let’s get to the couches on the double.”

As if to lend urgency to his order, the loud-speaker on the bulkhead of the ship rasped, “Blastoff in six minutes. Repeat. Blastoff in six minutes.”

“Turn off that darned speaker, Jack,” Merola said. “Makes me jumpy, calling off the time like a cuckoo clock.”

Jack moved to the bulkhead speaker and clicked the toggle.

Ted stood by anxiously, hearing the thrum of the engines as they warmed up. He knew the ship was automatically set now, like a gigantic time bomb, and that she’d blast off in six minutes whether the men inside were ready or not.

“Dr. Phelps,” Merola called, “take Couch One on the starboard side. Dan, you take Two, Starboard.”

Two men moved from the control panel simultaneously, and Ted wondered which was which. He imagined the older man to be the doctor, but he wasn’t at all sure.

“Dr. Phelps is an M.D.,” Merola said. “Dan Forbes is our engineer.”

The men smiled and nodded as they passed, walking to the couches.

“Jack, you’ll take Three, Starboard. Dr. Gehardt, Two, Port. Ted, Three, Port. I’ll be in One, Port.”

Ted moved quickly to the port side of the ship, climbed up to the third couch. The couches were bolted to the bulkheads, one over the other, three on the starboard side, and three on the port side. Each couch was covered with thick foam rubber, enough to absorb the tremendous thrust of acceleration. Ted lay back, then looked across the cabin to where Jack lay in the top couch on the starboard side.

“Tighten your safety belts,” Merola said. “What time is it on the chrono, Jack?”

“1456, prime one,” Jack answered.

“That gives us about four minutes,” Merola replied. “Check rear radar, Dan.”

Ted couldn’t see the engineer too clearly, but he knew he was swinging an instrument panel in place over his couch and flicking on the rear radar switches.

“Rear radar loud and clear,” Dan said.

“Roger. Forward radar.”