Robert Heinlein - Destination Moon

"Eh? Look, Jim, what's the final speed -- of a rocket, ideal case?"

"What is this? A quiz show? Jet speed times the logarithm of the mass ratio. Pay me."

"And you changed the mass ratio! No wonder we're running 'high."

"Me?"

"We both did-my fault as much as yours. Listen; you spilled a mass of water in scaring off that truckload of thugs-but Hastings' figures were based on us lifting that particular mass all the way to the Moon. The ship should have grossed almost exactly two hundred fifty tons at takeoff; she was shy what you had used-so we're going too fast."

"Huh? I wasted reaction mass, so we're going too fast? That doesn't make sense." Barnes hooked a foot into the legs of the stool to anchor himself, and did a rough run-through of the problem with slide rule and logarithm table. "Well, boil me in a bucket!" He added humbly, "Doc, I shouldn't have asked to be skipper. idon't know enough."

Corley's worried features softened. "Don't feel that way, Jim. Nobody knows enough-yet. God knows I've put in enough time on theory, but I went ahead and urged you to make the blunder."

"Doe, how important is this? The error is less than one percent. I'd guess that we would reach the Moon about an hour early."

"And roughly you'd be wrong. Initial speed is critical, Jim; you know that!"

"How critical? When do we reach the Moon?"

Corley looked glumly at the pitiful tools he had with him-a twenty-inch log-log slide rule, seven place tables, a Nautical Almanac, and an office-type calculator which bore the relation to a "giant brain" that a firecracker does to an A-bomb. "I don't know. I'll have to put it up to Hastings." He threw his pencil at the desk top; it bounced off and floated away. "The question is: do we get there at'all?"

"Oh, it can't be that bad!"

"It is that bad."

From across the compartment Bowles called out, "Come and get it-or I throw it to the pigs!"

But food had to wait while Corley composed a message to Hastings. It was starkly simple: OFF TRAJECTORY. USE DATA WHITE SANDS MUROC AND COMPUTE CORRECTION VECTOR. PLEASE USE UTMOST HASTE-CORLEY.

After sending it Traub announced that he wasn't -- hungry and didn't guess he would eat.

Bowles left the "galley" (one lonely hot plate) and moved to Traub's couch. Traub had strapped himself into it to have stability while he handled his radio controls. "Snap out of it, man," Bowles advised. "Must eat, you know."

Traub looked gray. "Thanks, Admiral, but I couldn't."

"So you don't like my cooking? By the way, my friends call me 'Red.'"

"Thanks, uh-Red. No, I'm just not hungry."

Bowles brought his head closer and spoke in low tones. "Don't let it get you, Mannie. I've been in worse jams and come out alive. Quit worrying."

"I'm not worrying."

BOwles chuckled. "Don't be ashamed of it, son. We all get upset, first time under fire. Come eat."

"I can't eat. And I've been under fire."

"Really?"

"Yes, really! I've got two Purple Hearts to prove it. Admiral, leave me alone, please. My stomach is awful -- uneasy."

Bowles said, "I beg your pardon, Mannie." He added, "Maybe you need another seasick pilL"

"Could be."

"I'll fetch one." Bowles did so, then returned again shortly with a transparent sack filled with milk-to be exact,' a flexible plastic nursing cell, complete with nipple. "Sweet milk, Mannie. Maybe it'll comfort your stomach."

Traub looked at it curiously. "With this should go a diaper and a rattle," he announced. "Thanks, uh -- Red."

"Not at all, Mannie. If that stays down, I'll fix you a sandwich." He turned in the air and rejoined the others.

The Luna plunged on; Earth dropped away; radio signals grew weaker-and still no word from Hastings. Corley spent the time trying endlessly and tediously to anticipate the answer he expected from Hastings, using the tools be had. Traub stood guard at the radio. Barnes and Bowles spent a lengthy time staring out the ports-back at the shrinking, cloud-striped Earth, forward at the growing gibbous Moon'and brilliant steady stars-until Bowles fell asleep in mid-sentence, a softly snoring free balloon.

Barnes nudged him gently toward his couch and there strapped him loosely, to keep him from cluttering up the cramped cabin. He eyed 'his own couch longingly, then turned to Traub instead.

"Out of there, Mannie," he ordered. "I'll relieve you while you catch some shut-eye."

"Me? Oh, that's all right, Skipper. You get some sleep yourself and I'll take a rain check."

Barnes hesitated. "Sure you don't want to be relieved?"

"Not a bit. I feel -- " He broke off and added, "Just aminute," and turned to his controls. He was on earphones now, rather than speaker. He settled them in place and said sharply, "Go ahead, Earth."

Presently Traub turned to Barnes: "Chicago Tribune -- they want an exclusive story from you."

"No, I'm going to sleep."

Traub reported Barnes' answer, then turned baCk. "How about the Admiral or Doctor Corley?"

"The co-pilot is asleep and Doctor Corley is not to be disturbed."

"Mr. Barnes?" Traub's manner was diffident. "Do you mind if they get one from mer'

Barnes chuckled. "Not at all. But stick them plenty." As Barnes closed his eyes he could hear Traub dickering with some faceless negotiator. He wondered if Traub would ever get to spend the fee? What was a man like Traub doing up here anyhow, in a ship headed nowhere inahellofahurry? --

For that matter, why was Jim Barnes here?

- After his -- interview, Traub continued guarding the radio. Signals grew fainter and presently reduced to garble. The room was quiet, save for the soft murmur of the air replenisher. -- --

After a long time the radio came suddenly to life-NAA, Washington, Traub soon learned, had rigged a reflector to beam directly at them. "Can you take code groups?" he was asked.

- He assured them that he could. "Despatch for Rear Admiral Bowles," NAA rapped back at him. "Zero zero zero one: code groups follow-love, uncle, king, easy, roger-boy, able, dog, item, peter -- " The groups continued for a longtime. --

"Doctor Corley!"

Corley looked around vaguely, as if awakening in a strange place. "Eh? Yes, Mannie? I'm busy."

"Doctor Hastings calling."

"Oh, fine," Corley acknowledged. "Slide out of there and let me take it."

They changed places with effort, bothered by weightlessness. Traub felt a touch on his arm. "What is it, Mannie?"

He turned; Barnes and Bowles had waked -- up and loosed themselves. "Howdy, Skipper. It's Doctor Hastings."

"Good!"

"Uh, Admiral-got something for you." Traub hauled out the code dispatch.

Bowles stared at it. Barnes remarked, "Race results?"

Bowles did not answer. He shoved himself toward the forward bulkhead, as far away as possible. He then took a thin book from an inner pocket, and started studying the message with the aid of the book. Barnes looked surprised but said nothing.

Hastings' report was short but not sweet. They would reach the Moon's orbit where 'planned, but more than fifty hours too soon-and would miss the Moon by more than 90,000 miles!

Barnes whistled. "Hot pilot Barnes, they call me."

Corley said, "It's no joke."

"I wasn't laughing, Doe," Barnes answered, "but there is no use crying. It will be tragic soon enough."

Traub broke in. "Hey-what do you mean?"

"He means," Bowles said bluntly, "that we are headed out and aren't coming back."

"On out? And out-out into outer space? Where the stars are?"

"That's about it." -- "Not that," Corley interrupted, "I'd estimate that we would reach our farthest point somewhere around the orbit of Mars."

Traub sighed. "So it's Mars, now? That's not so bad, is it? I mean -- they say people live on Mars, don't they? All those canals and things? We can get another load of water and come back."