Гарри Гаррисон - Galactic Dreams

For long seconds there was just the crackling silence; then Dan’s voice came in, the same controlled, Texas drawl.

“Roger, Gino, stand by for computer signal. I think we can meet in the next orbit.”

The moon takeoff went as smoothly as the rehearsal had gone in the mock-up back on earth; and Gino was too busy doing double duty to have time to think about what had happened. He was strapped in when the computer radio signal fired the engines that burned down into the lower portion of the Bug and lifted the upper half free, blasting it upwards the rendezvous in space with the orbiting mother ship. The joined sections of the Apollo came into sight and Gino realized he would pass in front of it, going too fast: he made the course corrections with a sensation of deepest depression. The computer had not allowed for the reduced mass of the lunar rocket with only one passenger aboard. After this, matching orbits was not too difficult and minutes later he crawled through the entrance of the command module and sealed it behind him. Dan Coye stayed at the controls, not saying anything until the cabin pressure had stabilized and they could remove their helmets.

“What happened down there, Gino?”

“An accident, a crack in the lunar surface, covered lightly, sealed over by dust. Glazer just … fell into the thing. That’s all. I tried to get him out, I couldn’t reach him. I went to the Bug for some wire, but when I came back he had fallen deeper … it was…”

Gino had his face buried in his hands, and even he didn’t know if he was sobbing or just shaking with fatigue and strain.

“I’ll tell you a secret, I’m not superstitious at all,” Dan said, reaching deep into a zippered pocket of his pressure suit. “Everybody thinks I am, which just goes to show you how wrong everybody can be. Now I got this mascot, because all pilots are supposed to have mascots, and it makes good copy for the reporters when things are dull.”

He pulled the little black rubber doll from his pocket, made famous on millions of TV screens, and waved it at Gino.

“Everybody knows I always tote my little good-luck mascot with me, but nobody knows just what kind of good luck it has. Now you will find out, Major Gino Lombardi, and be privileged to share my luck. In the first place this bitty doll is not rubber, which might have a deleterious effect on the contents, but is constructed of a neutral plastic.”

In spite of himself, Gino looked up as Dan grabbed the doll’s head and screwed it off.

“Notice the wrist motion as I decapitate my friend, within whose bosom rests the best luck in the world, the kind that can only be brought to you by sour-mash one-hundred-and-fifty proof bourbon. Have a slug.”

He reached across and handed the doll to Gino.

“Thanks, Dan.” He raised the thing and squeezed, swallowing twice. He handed it back.

“Here’s to a good pilot and a good guy, Eddie Glazer,” Dan Coye said raising the flask, suddenly serious. “He wanted to get to the Moon and he did. It belongs to him now, all of it, by right of occupation.”

He squeezed the doll dry and methodically screwed the head back on and replaced it in his pocket. “Now let’s see what we can do about contacting control, putting them in the picture, and start cutting an orbit back towards Earth.”

Gino turned the radio on but did not send out the call yet.

While they had talked their orbit had carried them around to the other side of the Moon; its bulk effectively blocked any radio communication with Earth. They hurtled in their measured arc through the darkness and watched — another sunrise over the sharp lunar peaks: then the great globe of the Earth swung into sight again. North America was clearly visible and there was no need to use repeater stations. Gino beamed the signal at Cape Canaveral and waited the two and a half seconds for his signal to be received and for the answer to come back the 480,000 miles from Earth. The seconds stretched on and on, and with a growing feeling of fear he watched the hand track slowly around the clock face.

“They don’t answer ….”

“Interference, sunspots … try them again,” Dan said in a suddenly strained voice.

The control at Canaveral did not answer the next message, nor was there any response when they tried the emergency frequencies. They picked up some aircraft chatter on the higher frequencies, but no one noticed them or paid any attention to their repeated calls. They looked at the blue sphere of Earth, with horror now, and only after an hour of sweating strain would they admit that, for some unimaginable reason, they were cut off from all radio contact with it.

“Whatever happened, happened during our last orbit around the Moon. I was in contact with them while you were matching orbits,” Dan said, tapping the dial of the ammeter on the radio. “There couldn’t be anything wrong…?”

“Not at this end,” Gino said firmly. “But — maybe something has happened down there.”

“Could it be … a war?”

“It might be. But with whom and why? There’s nothing unusual on the emergency frequencies and I don’t think ….”

“Look!” Dan shouted hoarsely. “The lights-where are the lights?”

In their last orbit the twinkling lights of the American cities had been seen clearly through their telescope. The entire continent was now black.

“Wait, see South America, the cities are lit up there, Gino. What could possibly have happened at home while we were in that orbit?”

“There’s only one way to find out. We’re going back. With or without any help from ground control.”

They disconnected the lunar Bug and strapped into their acceleration couches in the command module, then fed data to the computer. Following its instructions they jockeyed the Apollo into the correct altitude for firing. Once more they orbited the airless satellite and at the correct instant the computer triggered the engines in the attached service module. They were heading home.

With all the negative factors taken into consideration, it was not that bad a landing. They hit the right continent and were only a few degrees off in latitude, though they entered the atmosphere earlier then they liked. Without ground control of any kind it was an almost miraculously good landing.

As the capsule screamed down through the thickening air its immense velocity was slowed and the airspeed began to indicate a reasonable figure. Far below, the ground was visible through rents in the cloud cover.

“Late afternoon,” Gino said. “It will be dark soon after we hit the ground.”

“At least it will still be light for awhile. We could have been landing in Beijing at midnight, so let’s hear no complaints. Stand by to let go the parachutes.”

The capsule jumped twice as the immense chutes boomed open. They opened their faceplates, safely back in the sea of air once more.

“Wonder what kind of reception we’ll get?” Dan asked, rubbing the bristle on his big jaw.

With the sharp crack of split metal a row of holes appeared in the upper quadrant of the capsule: air whistled in, equalizing their lower pressure.

“Look!” Gino shouted, pointing at the dark shape that hurtled by outside. It was egg-shaped and stub-winged, black against the afternoon sun. Then it twisted over in a climbing turn and for a long moment its silver skin was visible to them as it arched over and came diving down. Back it came, growing instantly larger, red flames twinkling in its wing roots.

Grey haze cut off the sunlight as they fell into a cloud. Both men looked at each other: neither wanted to speak first.

“A jet,” Gino finally said. “I never saw that type before.”

“Neither did I, but there was something familiar … Look, you saw the wings didn’t you? You saw…?”