Robert Heinlein - The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress

Could not. Didn't need to open helmet to know this steel can had not stayed gas tight, knew at once, naturally, from way p-suit felt. Oh, drugs I had for Prof, heart stimulants and so forth, were in field ampules; could jab them through his suit. But how to check heart and breathing? His suit was cheapest sort, sold for Loonie who rarely Leaves warren; had no readouts.

His mouth hung open and eyes stared. A deader, I decided. No need to ex Prof beyond that old limen; had eliminated himself. Tried to see pulse on throat; his helmet was in way.

They had provided a program clock which was mighty kind of them. Showed I had been out forty-four-plus hours, all to plan, and in three hours we should receive horrible booting to place us in parking orbit around Terra. Then, after two circums, call it three more hours, we should start injection into landing program--if Poona Ground Control didn't change its feeble mind and leave us in orbit. Reminded self that was unlikely; grain is not left in vacuum longer than necessary. Has tendency to become puffed wheat or popped corn, which not only lowers value but can split those thin canisters like a melon. Wouldn't that be sweet? Why had they packed us in with grain? Why not just a load of rock that doesn't mind vacuum?

Had time to think about that and to become very thirsty. Took nipple for half a mouthful, no more, because certainly did not want to take six gees with a full bladder. (Need not have worried; was equipped with catheter. But did not know.)

When time got short I decided couldn't hurt Prof to give him a jolt of drug that was supposed to take him through heavy acceleration; then, after in parking orbit, give him heart stimulant--since didn't seem as if anything could hurt him.

Gave him first drug, then spent rest of minutes struggling back into straps, one-handed. Was sorry I didn't know name of my helpful friend; could have cursed him better.

Ten gees gets you into parking orbit around Terra in a mere 3.26 x 10^7 microseconds; merely seems longer, ten gravities being sixty times what a fragile sack of protoplasm should be asked to endure. Call it thirty-three seconds. My truthful word, I suspect my ancestress in Salem spent a worse half minute day they made her dance.

Gave Prof heart stimulant, then spent three hours trying to decide whether to drug self as well as Prof for landing sequence. Decided against. All drug had done for me at catapulting had been to swap a minute and a half of misery and two days of boredom for a century of terrible dreams--and besides, if those last minutes were going to be my very last, I decided to experience them. Bad as they would be, they were my very own and I would not give them up.

They were bad. Six gees did not feel better than ten; felt worse. Four gees no relief. Then we were kicked harder. Then suddenly, just for seconds, in free fall again. Then came splash which was not "gentle" and which we took on straps, not pads, as we went in headfirst. Also, don't think Mike realized that, after diving in hard, we would then surface and splash hard again before we damped down into floating. Earthworms call it "floating" but is nothing like floating in free fall; you do it at one gee, six times what is decent, and odd side motions tacked on. Very odd motions-- Mike had assured us that solar weather was good, no radiation danger inside that Iron Maiden. But he had not been so interested in Earthside Indian Ocean weather; prediction was acceptable for landing barges and suppose he felt that was good enough--and I would have thought so, too.

Stomach was supposed to be empty. But I filled helmet with sourest, nastiest fluid you would ever go a long way to avoid. Then we turned completely over and I got it in hair and eyes and some in nose. This is thing earthworms call "seasickness" and is one of many horrors they take for granted.

Won't go into long period during which we were towed into port. Let it stand that, in addition to seasickness, my air bottles were playing out. They were rated for twelve hours, plenty for a fifty-hour orbit most of which I was unconscious and none involving heavy exercise, but not quite enough with some hours of towing added. By time barge finally held still I was almost too dopy to care about trying to break out.

Except for one fact-- We were picked up, I think, and tumbled a bit, then brought to rest with me upside down. This is a no-good position at best under one gravity; simply impossible when supposed to a) unstrap self, b) get out of suit-shaped cavity, c) get loose a sledgehammer fastened with butterfly nuts to bulkhead. d) smash same against breakaways guarding escape hatch, e) batter way out, and f) finally, drag an old man in a p-suit out after you.

Didn't finish step a); passed out head downwards.

Lucky this was emergency-last-resort routine. Stu LaJoie had been notified before we left; news services had been warned shortly before we landed. I woke up with people leaning over me, passed out again, woke up second time in hospital bed, flat on back with heavy feeling in chest--was heavy and weak all over--but not ill, just tired, bruised, hungry, thirsty, languid. Was a transparent plastic tent over bed which accounted for fact I was having no trouble breathing.

At once was closed in on from both sides, a tiny Hindu nurse with big eyes on one side, Stuart LaJoie on other. He grinned at me, "Hi, cobber! How do you feel?"

"Uh... I'm right. But oh bloody! What a way to travel!"

"Prof says it's the only way. What a tough old boy he is."

"Hold it. Prof said? Prof is dead."

"Not at all. Not in good shape--we've got him in a pneumatic bed with a round-the-clock watch and more instruments wired into him than you would believe. But he's alive and will be able to do his job. But, truly, he didn't mind the trip; he never knew about it, so he says. Went to sleep in one hospital, woke up in another. I thought he was wrong when he refused to let me wangle it to send a ship but he was not--the publicity has been tremendous!"

I said slowly, "You say Prof 'refused' to let you send a ship?"

"I should say 'Chairman Selene' refused. Didn't you see the dispatches, Mannie?"

"No." Too late to fight over it. "But last few days have been busy."

"A dinkum word! Here, too--don't recall when last I dossed."

"You sound like a Loonie."

"I am a Loonie, Mannie, don't ever doubt it. But the sister is looking daggers at me." Stu picked her up, turned her around. I decided he wasn't all Loonie yet. But nurse didn't resent. "Go play somewhere else, dear, and I'll give your patient back to you--still warm--in a few minutes." He shut a door on her and came back to bed. "But Adam was right; this way was not only wonderful publicity but safer."

"Publicity, I suppose. But 'safer'? Let's not talk about!"

"Safer, my old. You weren't shot at. Yet they had two hours in which they knew right where you were, a big fat target. They couldn't make up their minds what to do; they haven't formed a policy yet. They didn't even dare not bring you down on schedule; the news was full of it, I had stories slanted and waiting. Now they don't dare touch you, you're popular heroes. Whereas if I had waited to charter a ship and fetch you... Well, I don't know. We probably would have been ordered into parking orbit; then you two--and myself, perhaps-- would have been taken off under arrest. No skipper is going to risk missiles no matter how much he's paid. The proof of the pudding, cobber. But let me brief you. You're both citizens of The People's Directorate of Chad, best I could do on short notice. Also, Chad has recognized Luna. I had to buy one prime minister, two generals, some tribal chiefs and a minister of finance--cheap for such a hurry-up job. I haven't been able to get you diplomatic immunity but I hope to, before you leave hospital. At present they haven't even dared arrest you; they can't figure out what you've done. They have guards outside but simply for your 'protection'--and a good thing, or you would have reporters nine deep shoving microphones into your face."