x
No matter how many times you left Earth, Dr. Rick Marshall told himself, the excitement never really palled. He'd been to Mars once, to the Moon three times, and to the various space stations more often than he could remember. Yet as the moment of takeoff approached, he was conscious of a rising tension, a feeling of wonder and awe---yes; and of nervousness---which put him on the same level as any lubberterráqueo about to receive his first baptism of space.441Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7OsBXUvCsu
The jet that had rushed him here from Brasilia, after that midnight briefing with the President, was now dropping down toward one of the most familiar, yet most exciting, landscapes in all the world. There lay the first two generations of the Brazilian Space Age, spanning twenty miles of the Lagoa dos Patos all the way to Rio de Janeiro in the south, outlined by winking red warning lights, were the giant gantries of the Alfas and Betas, that had set men on the path to the planets, and had now passed into history. Near the horizon, a gleaming silver tower bathed in floodlights, stood the last of the Alfa Vs, for almost twenty years a national monument and a place of pilgrimage. Not far away, looking against the sky like a man-made mountain, was the incredible bulk of the Vehicle Assembly Building, still the largest single structure on Earth.
But these things now belonged to the past, and he was flying toward the future. As they banked, Dr. Marshall could see below him a maze of buildings, then a broad, dead-straight scar across the fiat Brazilian landscape---the multiple rails of a giant launch-lug track. At its end, surrounded by vehicles and gantries, a spaceplane lay gleaming in a pool of light, being readied for its leap to the stars. In a sudden failure of perspective, brought on by his swift changes of speed and height, it seemed to Marshall that he was looking down on a small silver moth, caught in the beam of a flashlight.
Then the tiny, scurrying figures on the ground brought home to him the real size of the spacecraft; it must've been 200 feet across the narrow V of its wings.
And that enormous vehicle, Marshall told himself with some incredulity---yet also with some pride---is waiting for me. As far as he knew, it was the first time that a whole mission had been set up just to take one man to the Moon.
Though it was 2:00 in the morning, a group of reporters and cameraman intercepted him on his way to the floodlit Omega IV spacecraft. He knew several of them by sight, for as Chairman of the Viagens Interplanetarias, the news conference was part of his way of life. This was neither the time nor the place for one, and he had nothing to say; but it was important not to offend the gentlemen of the communications media.
"Dr. Marshall? I'm Justino Brito of UOL . Could you give us a few words about this flight of yours."
"No, I'm sorry. I can't."
"Did you meet with the President earlier this evening?" asked a familiar voice.
"Oh---hi, Tulio. I'm afraid you've been dragged out of bed for nothing. Definitely no comment."
"Can you at least confirm or deny that some kind of epidemic has broken out on the Moon?" a TV reporter asked, managing to jog alongside and keep Marshall properly framed in his miniature TV camera.
"Sorry," said Marshall, shaking his head.
"What about the quarantine?" asked another reporter. "How long will it go on?"
"Still no comment."
"Dr. Marshall," demanded a very short and determined lady of the press, "what possible justification can there be for this total blackout of news from the Moon? Has it anything to do with the political situation?"
"What political situation?" Marshall asked dryly. There was a storm of laughter, and someone called, "Have a nice trip, Doctor!" as he made his way into the sanctuary of the boarding gantry.
As long as he could remember, it had not been a "situation" as much as a permanent crisis. Since the Third World War, the was now dominated by two problems, which, ironically, tended to cancel each other out.
Earth had Brazil as the most powerful nation after World War III greatly weakened the United States and destroyed the Russian Federation. Space exploration today was monopolized by the Brazilian-dominated Viagens Interplanetarias, South America's premier space agency. Brazil itself was a virtual paradise on an overpopulated planet---the population of the world was now six billion, unfortunately. Laws had even been passed in some authoritarian societies limiting families to two children, but their enforcement had proved impracticable. As a result, food was short in every country; even Brazil had meatless days, and widespread famine was predicted within 15 years, despite heroic efforts to farm the sea and to develop synthetic foods.
With the need for international cooperation more urgent than ever, there were still as many frontiers as in any earlier age. In a million years, the human race had lost few of its aggressive instincts; along symbolic lines visible only to politicians, the 38 nuclear power (of which Brazil was one) watched each other with belligerent anxiety. Among them, they possessed sufficient megatonnage to remove the entire surface crust of the planet. Although there had been (miraculously) no use of nuclear weapons, this situation could hardly forever.
And now, for their own inscrutable reasons, the Chinese were offering to the smallest have-not nations a complete nuclear capability of 50 warheads and delivery systems. The cost was under $200,000,000, and easy terms could be arranged.
Maybe they were only trying to shore up their sagging economy, by turning obsolete weapons systems into hard cash, as some observers had suggested. Or maybe they had discovered methods of warfare so advanced that they no longer had need of such toys; there had been talk of radio-hypnosis from satellite transmitters, compulsion viruses, and blackmail by synthetic diseases for which they alone possessed the cure.
These charming ideas were almost surely propaganda or outright fantasy, but it was unsafe to discount any of them. Every time Marshall took off from Earth, he wondered if it would still be there when the time came to return.
The trim Negro stewardess greeted him as he entered the cabin. "Bom dia, Dr. Marshall. I'm Ms. Paz----I'd like to welcome you aboard on behalf of Captain Lopez and our copilot, First Officer Pinto."
"Obrigado," said Marshall with a smile, wondering why stewardesses always had to sound like robot tour guides.
"Takeoff's in five minutes," she said, gesturing into the empty 20-passenger cabin. "You can take any seat you want, but Captain Lopez recommends the forward window seat on the left, if you want to watch the docking operations."
"I'll do that," he answered, moving toward the preferred seat. The stewardess fussed over him awhile and then moved to her cubicle at the cabin's rear.
Marshall settled down in his seat, adjusted the safety harness around waist and shoulders, and strapped his briefcase to the adjacent seat. One moment later, the loudspeaker came on with a soft popping noise. "Bom dia," said Miss Paz's voice. "This is Special Flight 3, Goulart to Space Station Hyperion."
She was determined, it seemed, to go through the full routine for her sole passenger, and Marshall could not resist a smile as she continued inexorably.
"Our transit time will be 55 minutes. Maximum acceleration will be two-gee, and we will be weightless for 30 minutes. Please do not leave your seat until the safety sign is lit."
Marshall looked over his shoulder and called, "Thank you." He caught a glimpse of a slightly embarrassed by charming smile.
He leaned back into his seat and relaxed. This trip, he calculated, would cost the taxpayers over a million cruzeros. If it was not justified, he would be out of his job; but he could always go back to the university and to his interrupted studies of planetary formation.
"Auto-countdown procedures all Go," the captain's voice said over the loudspeaker with the soothing singsong used in RT chat. "Liftoff in one minute."
As usual, it seemed more like one hour. Marshall became acutely aware of the gigantic forces coiled up around him, waiting to be let go. In the fuel tanks of the two spacecraft, and in the power storage system of the launching track, was pent up all the energy of a nuclear warhead. And it would all be used to take him a mere 200 miles from Earth.
There was none of the old-fashioned FIVE-FOUR-THREE-TWO-ONE-ZERO business, so hard on the human nervous system.
"Launching in 15 seconds. You will be more comfortable if you start breathing deeply."
That was good psychology, and good physiology.
Marshall felt himself well charged with oxygen, and ready to tackle anything, when the launching track started to sling its 1000-ton payload out over the South Atlantic.
It was hard to tell when they lifted from the track and became airborne, but when the roar of the rockets suddenly doubled its fury, and Marshall found himself sinking deeper, ever deeper into the cushions of his seat, he knew that the 1st-stage engines had taken over. He wished he could look out of the window, but it was an effort even to turn his head. Yet there was no pain; indeed, the pressure of acceleration and the overwhelming thunder of the motors produced an extraordinary euphoria. His ears ringing, the blood pounding in his veins, Marshall felt more alive than he had for years. He was young again, he wanted to sing out loud---which was certainly safe, as nobody could possibly hear him.
The mood passed quickly, as he suddenly realized that he was leaving Earth, and everything he'd ever loved. Down there were his three children, motherless since his wife had taken that fatal flight to Australia ten years ago. (Ten years? No way! Yet it was true...) Maybe, for their sake, he should have remarried.
He had nearly lost sense of time when the pressure and the noise abruptly slackened, and the cabin speaker announced: "Preparing to separate from lower stage. Here was go."
There was a slight jolt; and suddenly Marshall remembered a quotation of Leonardo da Vinci's which he had once seen displayed in a V.I. office (in Portuguese, of course):
The Great Bird will take its flight on the back of the great bird, bringing glory to the nest where it was born.
Well, the Great Bird was flying now, beyond all the dreams of da Vinci, and its worn-out companion was winging its way back to Earth. In a 10,000-mile arc, the empty lower stage would glide down into the atmosphere, trading speed for distance as it homed in on Goulart. In a few hours, serviced and refueled, it would be ready again to lift another companion toward the celestial silence which it could never reach.
Now, thought Marshall, we are on our own, more than halfway to orbit. When the acceleration returned, as the upper stage rockets fired, the thrust was gentler: indeed, he felt no more than normal gravity. But it would have been impossible to walk, since "Up" was straight toward the front of the cabin. If he had been foolish enough to leave his seat, he would've crashed at once against the rear wall!
This effect was a little unnerving, as it seemed like the ship was standing on its tail. To Marshall, who was at the very front of the cabin, all the seats seemed to be fixed on a wall topping vertically beneath him. He was doing his best to ignore this uncomfortable illusion when dawn exploded outside the ship.441Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGE4c5QkGWq
In seconds, they shot through veils of crimson, pink, gold and blue into the piercing white of day.441Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnBrbVo2JFU
Though the windows were heavily tinted to reduce the glare, the probing beams of sunlight that now slowly swept across the cabin left Marshall half-blinded for several minutes. He was in space, yet there was no question of his being able to see the stars.441Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzCQiPm6P4z
He shielded his eyes with his hands and tried to peer through the window beside him. Out there the swept-back wing of the ship was blazing like white-hot metal in the reflected sunlight; there was utter darkness all around it, and that darkness must be full of stars---but it was not possible to see them.441Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMXhWJQdjAV
Weight was slowly ebbing; the rockets were being throttled back as the ship eased itself into orbit. The thunder of the engines dropped to a muted roar, then a gentle hiss, then died into silence. Had it not been for the restraints, Marshall would have floated out of his seat; his stomach felt as though it was going to do so anyway. He hoped that the pills he'd been given thirty minutes and 10,000 miles ago would perform as advertised. He had been spacesick just once on his career, and that was much too often.441Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTXqDAO1mZc
The pilot's voice was firm and confident as it came over the cabin speaker. "Please observe all Zero-gee regulations. We will be docking at Space Station Hyperion in 45 minutes."441Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNxPs0HMWSN
The stewardess came walking up the narrow corridor to the right of the closely spaced seats. There was a slight buoyancy about her steps, and her feet came away from the floor reluctantly as if entangled in glue. She was keeping the bright yellow band of Velcro carpeting that ran the full length of the floor....and of the ceiling. The carpet, and the soles of her sandals, were covered with myriads of tiny hooks, so that they clung together like burrs. This trick of walking in free fall was immensely reassuring to disoriented passengers.441Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtLdVynop8g
"Would you like some coffee or Argentine yerba mate, Dr. Marshall?" she asked cheerfully.441Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqnVcloVLWZ
"No, thanks," he smiled. He always felt like a baby when he had to suck at one of those plastic drinking tubes.441Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRY5r3JdEMy
The stewardess was still hovering anxiously around him as he popped open his briefcase and prepared to remove his papers.441Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUmbiCCu1Sm
"Dr. Marshall, may I ask you a question?"441Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡD3ZkeNtVWN
"Of course," he answered, looking up over his glasses. 441Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuTVTgQec2u
"My fiancé is a geologist at Dumont," said Miss Paz, measuring her words carefully, "and I haven't heard from him for over a week."441Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡffSDX92RSD
"I'm sorry to hear that; maybe he's away from his base, and out of touch."441Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrXK4TAAiLW
She shook her head. "He always tells me when that's going to happen. And you can imagine how worried I am----with all these rumors. Is it really true about an epidemic on Moon?"441Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAAGWMrAUqz
"If so, there's still no cause for alarm. Remember, there was a quarantine back in '09, over that mutated flu virus. A lot of people were sick---but nobody died. And that's all I can say," he concluded firmly.441Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVWZl5n8Wzb
Miss Paz smiled pleasantly and straightened up. "Well, thank you anyway, Dr. I'm sorry to have disturbed you."441Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4j23YhTyH9
"You haven't," he said gallantly, although not very accurately. Then he buried himself in his endless technical reports, in a desperate last-minute assault on the usual backlog.441Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSZZ2b6uci2
He would have no time for reading when he got to the Moon.441Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTk1FskYSQu
441Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVLXQlrTz7i
