Complete Short Fiction, page 224
“All right,” agreed LaVerne. “It would be better if I had something to serve as a shovel, but let’s get at it. I’m using oxygen just standing here worrying.”
For a while it looked possible, if not really hopeful. Carrying the dusty snow in his armored hands proved impractical, but he found that he could do fairly well pushing a mass of it ahead of him as he crawled—and crawling was far easier than trying to walk. Essentially, he was sweeping rather than carrying. He managed to get what would have been several shovelfuls, if he had had a shovel, against the space at the edge of the tank where the Mesklinites had disappeared once more. At his call they strained upward again, and as quickly as he could he pushed the material into the widening space. “That’s all,” he reported when he had done his best, and the students relaxed again. So did the pile of snow. LaVerne, optimistic by nature, felt sure that the tank had not settled quite back to its original position, and kept trying; but after an hour which left him more exhausted than he had ever felt in his three Earth years on Mesklin, he had to admit that the idea was qualitatively sound but quantitatively inadequate.
During those days, the student who was trying to climb the slope had made little progress. Once he had gotten nearly a third of the way before sliding most of the way back in a smother of white dust; four or five times he had lost the fight in the first yard or two. The rest of his attempts came between those limits.
But it finally became evident that the man’s air was not going to be the real limiting factor. Destigmet pointed out another one to him. “Some time ago, Doctor, one of your fellows taught us about a fact he claimed was very basic—the Law of Conservation of Energy. If I have the terminology right, we can apply very large forces by your standards, but as that law should tell you, there is a limit to the amount of work we can do without food. None of us expected to need food in this class, and we brought none with us.”
One of the others cut in. “Won’t people from the College start looking for us anyway? This class should have been over days ago.”
LaVerne frowned invisibly behind the blood-stained face plate, which he had no means of cleaning. “They’ll be looking, but finding us will be another story,” he said. “They’d expect to see the tank miles away on the smooth surface of the peninsula. When they don’t, they’ll think we got swept into the sea, or went off to the forest country for some reason. They won’t look over this area closely enough to find the hole we left, I suspect. It’s possible we’ll get out of this with their help, but don’t count on it.”
Estnerdole suddenly became excited. “Why not build a tower we can climb, with the water ice from the cliff? We can chip it out easily enough without tools, or even melt it out with the snow—no, that wouldn’t leave us any to work with, but—” His voice trailed off as more difficulties became apparent to him.
LaVerne was pessimistic, too, after the just-completed practical demonstration of how much material would be needed even to prop up the tank. Then he brightened. “We could use the ice to get this machine upright—big chunks of it would be more practical and easier to move than the snow. Of course, even that doesn’t get us any closer to getting out of here; the tank certainly isn’t going to climb this sandhill even if I get into it. If only—” He paused, and the ensuing silence stretched out for long seconds. Even with the man hidden in his armor, the listeners got the impression that something had happened. Then he spoke again, and his tone confirmed the suspicion. “Thanks, Es. That does it. Start digging ice, gentlemen. We’ll be out of here in a couple of hours!”
Actually, it took less than three days.
“You look bothered,” remarked Thomasian, LaVerne’s department head. “Delayed shock from your narrow escape, or what?”
“It wasn’t that narrow,” replied the teacher. “I had hours of air still in the suit when the spinner picked us up, and we could have worked the tank upright to get at more if I had needed it. You’d have searched the area closely enough to find that hole sooner or later.”
“Later would probably have been too late—and the really narrow squeak I was thinking of was the fall. Fifteen meters under three gees—sooner you than me. If it hadn’t been for that snow bank, we’d have had to cut you out of the flattened remains of that tank—not that it would have been worth doing. Of course any of your students should have been able to think of tossing pieces of water ice over the slope, especially after you’d discussed with them why the cuesta was so deeply undercut. So should you, for that matter—”
“Hogback,” LaVerne responded almost automatically. “Sure, all sorts of ideas are obvious afterward. At the time, I wasn’t quite sure that this one would work, even if I did sound as enthusiastic as I could and even though I did have experience to go by. Still, I was afraid it would simply melt holes in the slope; but it went fine. The liquid formed where the two ices met just soaked into the surrounding snow, spreading out and diluting the water ice until the mixture’s melting point came up to the local temperature again—and froze into a continuous mass. It was hard enough for Estnerdole to climb out and go for help in less than an hour, I’d guess; I didn’t actually time it.”
“What was the experience you could go by? And if it was so easy and safe, what’s bothering you?”
“The same thing. A teaching problem. They claim that Mesklinite psychology is enough like ours for teaching techniques to be about the same, effectively. They expect us to—er—‘relate’ new facts to known experience.”
“Of course. So?”
“So the experience in question should obviously be one familiar to the students, not just the teacher. What sparked this idea for me was the memory of sugar getting lumpy in the bowl when it gets damp. You know, I’m just a little shaky on the local biochemistry, chief—tell me: what do Mesklinites use for coffee, and what do they put in it?”
1974
Mistaken For Granted
The stars said die . . . and they only seemed to lie!
I
PEOPLE can usually get used to the weightlessness of space flight during the days or weeks it takes to cross from one world to another. In a long orbit it is easy to convince oneself that one’s ship is not about to fall onto anything, even though the sensation of weightlessness is that of endless falling. There simply is nothing visible nearby to hit. Of course, travelers have had nervous breakdowns in spaceships too badly designed to let them see out.
To a physicist or an experienced space pilot, a bounce ride is just another orbit. Unfortunately most of the orbit is underground, like that of a baseball—though, as with a baseball, the underground part is not what is used. Traveling by bounce from, say, Ley Base in Sommering Crater to Wilsonburg under Taruntius X, the trip takes only thirty-five minutes and is never much more than two hundred miles above the Moon. But during the final third of it anybody can see that most definitely he is falling toward the ground.
Rick Suspee had gladly shown off his adaptation to free-fall during the long trip from Earth. He hoped, however, that no one was watching him now. In his mind he knew that the bounce-shuttle’s computer was keeping track of position and velocity through its radar eyes. That the computer would light the main engines at the proper instant. That a second computer with a separate power source and independent sensors would fire a solid-fuel safety brake if the first engine failed to ignite. That a living, highly competent pilot with his own sighting equipment and firing circuits could take over if both the automatics failed. Rick’s mind knew all that but the lower parts of his nervous system were not convinced. Traveling at thousands of feet a second on a downward slant low over the moon’s surface still made him tense.
Annoyed and frightened as he was, Rick felt sorry for his stepmother as he glanced back and saw the expression on her face. She was petrified. He decided it would be best to talk, and luckily he had seen enough Moon charts to be able to talk sense.
“We’re past the peak now, I think. That’s Ariadaeus behind on the left, just into the sunlight. You can relax for a while—we’re still more than two hundred miles up. Look for a white beacon flashing three times a second just to the south of our arc. That will be the Tranquility Base monument. We’re out over the Mare now. Look—on the horizon ahead you can see Crisium and the mountains where Wilsonburg is.”
The rocket swung slowly around so that its main engines pointed “forward.” The braking blast was about due.
The mountains southwest of Mare Crisium were looming huge “ahead” and below. The Mare itself stretched beyond the horizon, which was much nearer than it had been a quarter-hour before. The pilot’s calm voice sounded.
“Thirty seconds to power. Check your safety straps and rest your heads in the pads.” The two passengers obeyed. The pad allowed Rick Suspee to see the stars beyond the rocket’s bow, nothing else.
The braking stage was made at two Earth gravities, the computer applying changes of one percent or so in power and a fraction of a degree in direction every tenth of a second throughout firing time—none of these adjustments could be sensed by human nerves. The only change at touchdown was from two Earth gravities to one Lunar pull.
“You may unstrap,” the pilot said, “but stay in your seats until we’re inside the lock. I’ll tell you when there’s air enough for you to exit.”
Rick watched the mobile rack trundle the rocket toward the side of the sixty-foot circle of smooth rock on which it had settled. The circle was the bottom of a craterlet in one of the hills over Wilsonburg. The bottom had been leveled and the side next to the upward slop of the hill cut to a vertical wall. In this wall was the lock, now yawning open to gulp the shuttle.
The craft was through the huge outer valve in moments. The black sky and sunlit rock outside were cut off from view as portals slid shut.
The pilot spoke again. “You can start for the door now. There’s a pound and a half of oxygen outside and it will be up to three before I get our own valves open. It’s been a pleasure to have you aboard.”
Rick was on his feet before the speech was over. His stepmother was more careful. She did not exactly mind weighing only twenty-one pounds, but she was not yet used to it and the ceiling was low. She was about to make some remark about inadequate gravity, Rick w sure, when she was distracted by what she saw outside.
“Rick! Look! There’s Jim! He hasn’t changed a bit. I don’t see Edna, though—”
Rick picked out the man easily enough from the dozen figures at the foot of the ladder outside. He was the heaviest and obviously the oldest. Rick gave less thought to the whereabouts of his aunt. He was noticing that none of the group were wearing spacesuits. Yes, the air had to be all right outside. This realization was supported by a slight pop in his ears as the shuttle’s air pressure changed slightly. Evidently the pilot had opened both valves of the vehicle’s airlock. Rick headed rapidly for the exit, leaving his stepmother to follow more cautiously.
THE top of the ladder was forty-five feet from the floor of the big lock. Rick accomplished the distance in a single jump—at least, he meant it for a jump. In terms of energy, this was about the same as an eight-foot drop on Earth; in time, it took rather more than four seconds. Which was enough to let Jim Talles step forward and catch him, the catch being embarrassingly necessary because the four seconds were also quite long enough to permit Rick to complete the best part of a unintended somersault. His Moon coordination not good as he had supposed—he had left the top step with more spin than he realized. His uncle’s first words were a tactful reproof.
“Watch it, lad. Carelessness can be dangerous on the Moon. I take it your mother is aboard?”
“Sure is. I—I guess you’re my Uncle Jim. Uh—hello.” Rick could not decide whether he was more frightened or embarrassed. It had been a weird sensation on the way down, something like that of a diver leaving the board to do a jackknife and deciding too late to turn it into a half-twist. That was bad enough—but still worse, Rick felt, was the fact that the five young persons accompanying his uncle were all about Rick Suspee’s own age. None had laughed or even smiled, but he could imagine what they were thinking. For about the five-hundredth time since his fifteenth birthday he told himself to stop showing off. Then he took a closer look at the five teenagers.
One, on second glance, appeared almost too old for that category. He was about Rick’s own height—five-and-a-half feet—but stouter, sturdier. His broad shirtfront was covered even more solidly than Rick’s own by competence badges, many of which the Earth boy could not recognize—naturally enough.
A quick glance showed that all the others were similarly decorated. But Rick saw with relief that none exhibited nearly as much badge area as he did. Maybe they would be impressed enough by his Earth-gained skills to be able to forget, or at least discount, the slip he had just made. For one thing, none of them could possibly hold an underwater rating. Rick’s scuba badge had been earned so recently that he was still gloating over it.
“Jim! It’s so wonderful to meet you at last!” His stepmother’s voice pulled Rick from his thoughts. She stood at the top of the ladder, Jim Talles posting himself at the foot to cover possible accidents. An unnecessary precaution. Mrs. Suspee’s methods of showing off were more subtle than her son’s. She descended slowly and carefully, reaching the bottom quite safely. She embraced her brother-in-law with an enthusiasm Rick suspected was due to her relief that the bounce ride was over. Then she asked about Edna’s health and whereabouts, delivered messages from her husband and sundry friends, and finally allowed Talles to shepherd the party out of the lock chamber and make introductions.
“Edna couldn’t get off the job,” Jim Talles said. “But she’ll be home by the time we get there. The kids here with me will be hosting Rick a lot”—Rick gulped; these would be just the ones he’d played the fool for—“and will probably show him a good deal more than I could. This is Aichi Yen, chairman by earned competence of the group known officially as the Fresh Footprints. Usually they call themselves by less formal names.” Talles indicated the oldest member, whose badges Rick had already particularly noticed. His face, to Rick, seemed rather nondescript. His hair, cut short in the common Moon style so as to give no trouble inside a space helmet, was jet black. His eyes gave just a suggestion of the ancestry implied by his name although the color of his skin suggested suntan much more than Earth’s Orient.
“This is Marie D’Nombu.” A girl certainly not yet sixteen nodded in greeting. She was several inches shorter than Rick and Aichi but her shirt was well covered with badges. Her lips were parted in a good-humored smile, and Rick wished he were sure she was not laughing at him. “Orm Hoffman—Peter Willett—Audie Rice.” A tall, unbelievably thin boy of Rick’s own age, a fourteen-year-old with a shy expression and skin almost as dark as Marie’s, and a girl about twenty pounds more massive than Marie acknowledged their names in turn. All were looking more at Rick’s shirt than at his face.
“Rick will come with me for now,” Talles told the young people. “It was good of you to trouble to meet him here. I’ll be glad to see all of you at my place around ten P.M. and as long after as anyone can stay awake. I know you’re busily scheduled now—so thanks again for coming.”
Aichi Yen shook hands with Talles and, as an afterthought, with Rick, then nodded to Mrs. Suspee and disappeared into a nearby tunnel mouth. Three of the others did the same. Marie altered the pattern by speaking.
“I’m glad to meet you, Rick. I’ve been looking forward to it ever since Chief Jim told us you were coming. I’ve read, a lot about Earth. I’ve tried to imagine what it’s like to be able to go outdoors with no special preparation unless it’s raining or something like that. I hope you’ll tell us about wind and rainbows and glaciers and such—”
“I can try. I’ve never seen a glacier, though.”
“Well, that makes us even. I’ve never seen a radical trap.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll tell you tonight if the Chief hasn’t beaten me to it. I’m supposed to be in class now. ‘Bye.” She was gone on the track of the others.
“Those seem interesting youngsters,” Mrs. Suspee remarked as the girl disappeared. “I’m not sure I approve of that flaunting of badges, though. It seems like showing off. I was hoping we’d be away from that sort of thing on the Moon. We get enough of it at home.”
“If the badges are properly earned, why not display ‘em?” responded her brother-in-law. “There are a lot worse things than letting the world know what you can do well.”
“Well, Jim, I won’t argue. And you’ll notice I didn’t forbid Rick to wear his badges here, even if I did hope they’d turn out to be out of style.” She gazed off to her left. “I think those must be our bags over there. Do we take a cab, or do you live close by?”
“Our place is about eight miles away.” Talles seemed amused. Smiling, he added, “We walk, and carry our baggage.”
His sister-in-law looked at him, stupefied. Rick, too, was startled. The bags weren’t heavy, especially on the Moon, but—
“There’s no public transportation here. We could probably work out some arrangement for getting the luggage delivered, but it would inconvenience a lot of people.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” Mrs. Suspee frowned. “I suppose this is a sort of frontier town, in a way.”
Talles laughed. “Maybe it is, but that’s not why we walk. You’re on the Moon now. You weigh about a sixth of what you did on Earth. You need exercise, plenty of it, or your muscle tone goes down, your circulation falters, your bones start getting soft. A good rule of thumb is ten miles of fast walking every day for each hundred pounds of body mass. If your work doesn’t give you time for that, you get a doctor to prescribe some specific exercises and you do ‘em faithfully. All right—traveling!”
