A Fall of Moondust

by Arthur C. Clarke

  Time seemed to be frozen; for an age, nothing happened. Then there was a slow and beautiful miracle, breath-taking because it was so unexpected, yet so obvious if one had stopped to think about it.

  A ring of brilliant white light appeared among the crimson shadows of the ceiling. It grew steadily thicker and brighter—then, quite suddenly, expanded into a complete and perfect circle as the section of the roof fell away. The light pouring down was only that of a single glow tube twenty meters above, but to eyes that had seen nothing but dim redness for hours, it was more glorious than any sunrise.

  The ladder came through almost as soon as the circle of roofing hit the floor. Miss Morley, poised like a sprinter, was gone in a flash. When Mrs. Schuster followed—a little more slowly, but still at a speed of which no one could complain—it was like an eclipse. Only a few stray beams of light now filtered down that radiant road to safety. It was dark again, as if, after that brief glimpse of dawn, the night had returned with redoubled gloom.

  Now the men were starting to go—Baldur first, probably blessing his position in the alphabet. There were only a dozen left in the cabin when the barricaded door finally ripped from its hinges, and the pent-up avalanche burst forth.

  The first wave of dust caught Pat while he was halfway up the slope of the cabin. Light and impalpable though it was, it slowed his movements until it seemed that he was struggling to wade through glue. It was fortunate that the moist and heavy air had robbed it of some of its power, for otherwise it would have filled the cabin with choking clouds. Pat sneezed and coughed and was partly blinded, but he could still breathe.

  In the foggy gloom he could hear Sue counting—“Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen—“ as she marshaled the passengers to safety. He had intended her to go with the other women, but she was still down here, shepherding her charges. Even as he struggled against the cloying quicksand that had now risen almost to his waist, he felt for Sue a love so great that it seemed to burst his heart. Now he had no possible doubt. Real love was a perfect balance of desire and tenderness. The first had been there for a long time, and now the second had come in full measure.

  “Twenty—that’s you, Commodore—quickly!”

  “Like hell it is, Sue,” said the Commodore. “Up you go.”

  Pat could not see what happened—he was still partly blinded by the dust and the darkness—but he guessed that Hansteen must have literally thrown Sue through the roof. Neither his age nor his years in space had yet robbed him of his Earthborn strength.

  “Are you there, Pat?” he called. “I’m on the ladder.”

  “Don’t wait for me—I’m coming.”

  That was easier said than done. It felt as if a million soft yet determined fingers were clutching at him, pulling him back into the rising flood. He gripped one of the seat-backs—now almost hidden beneath the dust—and pulled himself toward the beckoning light.

  Something whipped against his face; instinctively, he reached out to push it aside, then realized that it was the end of the rope ladder. He hauled upon it with all his might, and slowly, reluctantly, the Sea of Thirst relaxed its grip upon him.

  Before he entered the shaft, he had one last glimpse of the cabin. The whole of the rear was now submerged by that crawling tide of gray; it seemed unnatural, and doubly sinister, that it rose in such a geometrically perfect plane, without a single ripple to furrow its surface. A meter away—this was something Pat knew he would remember all his life, though he could not imagine why—a solitary paper cup was floating sedately on the rising tide, like a toy boat upon a peaceful lake. In a few minutes it would reach the ceiling and be overwhelmed, but for the moment it was still bravely defying the dust.

  And so were the emergency lights; they would continue to burn for days, even when each one was encapsulated in utter darkness.

  Now the dim-lit shaft was around him. He was climbing as quickly as his muscles would permit, but he could not overtake the Commodore. There was a sudden flood of light from above as Hansteen cleared the mouth of the shaft, and involuntarily Pat looked downward to protect his eyes from the glare. The dust was already rising swiftly behind him, still unrippled, still smooth and placid—and inexorable.

  Then he was straddling the low mouth of the caisson, in the center of a fantastically overcrowded igloo. All around him, in various stages of exhaustion and dishevelment, were his fellow passengers; helping them were four space-suited figures and one man without a suit, whom he assumed was Chief Engineer Lawrence. How strange it was to see a new face, after all these days.

  “Is everyone out?” Lawrence asked anxiously.

  “Yes,” said Pat. “I’m the last man.” Then he added, “I hope,” for he realized that in the darkness and confusion someone might have been left behind. Suppose Radley had decided not to face the music back in New Zealand -

  No—he was here with the rest of them. Pat was just starting to do a count of heads when the plastic floor gave a sudden jump—and out of the open well shot a perfect smoke ring of dust. It hit the ceiling, rebounded, and disintegrated before anyone could move.

  “What the devil was that?” said Lawrence.

  “Our lox tank,” answered Pat. “Good old bus—she lasted just long enough.”

  And then, to his helpless horror, the skipper of Selene burst into tears.

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  “I still don’t think those flags are a good idea,” said Pat as the cruiser pulled away from Port Roris. “They look so phony, when you know they’re in vacuum.”

  Yet he had to admit that the illusion was excellent, for the lines of pennants draped around the Embarkation Building were stirring and fluttering in a nonexistent breeze. It was all done by springs and electric motors, and would be very confusing to the viewers back on Earth.

  This was a big day for Port Rons, and indeed for the whole Moon. He wished that Sue could be here, but she was hardly in proper shape for the trip. Very literally; as she had remarked when he kissed her good-by that morning: “I don’t see how women could ever have had babies on Earth. Fancy carrying all this weight around, in six times our gravity.”

  Pat turned his mind away from his impending family, and pushed Selene II up to full speed. From the cabin behind him came the “Oh’s” and “Ah’s” of the thirty-two passengers, as the gray parabolas of dust soared against the sun like monochrome rainbows. This maiden voyage was in daylight; the travelers would miss the Sea’s magical phosphorescence, the night ride up the canyon to Crater Lake, the green glories of the motionless Earth. But the novelty and excitement of the journey were the main attractions. Thanks to her ill-fated predecessor, Selene II was one of the best-known vehicles in the solar system.

  It was proof of the old saying that there is no such thing as bad publicity. Now that the advance bookings were coming in, the Tourist Commissioner was very glad that he had taken his courage in both hands and insisted on more passenger space. At first he had had to fight to get a new Selene at all. “Once bitten, twice shy,” the Chief Administrator had said, and had capitulated only when Father Ferraro and the Geophysics Division had proved, beyond reasonable doubt, that the Sea would not stir again for another million years.

  “Hold her on that course,” said Pat to his copilot. “I’ll go back and talk to the customers.”

  He was still young enough, and vain enough, to savor the admiring glances as he walked back into the passenger cabin. Everyone aboard would have read of him or seen him on TV; in fact, the very presence of these people here was an implicit vote of confidence. Pat knew well enough that others shared the credit, but he had no false modesty about the role he had played during the last hours of Selene I. His most valued possession was the little golden model of the cruiser that had been a wedding present to Mr. and Mrs. Harris “From all on the last voyage, in sincere appreciation.” That was the only testimonial that counted, and he desired no other.

  He had walked halfway down the cabin, exchanging a few words with a passenger her
e and there, when he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.

  “Hello, Captain,” said an unforgotten voice. “You seem surprised to see me.”

  Pat made a quick recovery and flashed his most dazzling official smile.

  “It’s certainly an unexpected pleasure, Miss Morley. I had no idea you were on the Moon.”

  “It’s rather a surprise to me. I owe it to the story I wrote about Selene I. I’m covering this trip for Life Interplanetary.”

  “I only hope,” said Pat, “that it will be a little less exciting than last time. By the way, are you in touch with any of the others? Doctor McKenzie and the Schusters wrote a few weeks ago, but I’ve often wondered what happened to poor little Radley after Harding marched him off.”

  “Nothing—except that he lost his job. Universal Travel Cards decided that if they prosecuted, everyone would sympathize with Radley, and it would also give other people the same idea. He makes a living, I believe, lecturing to his fellow cultists about ‘What I Found on the Moon.’ And I’ll make you a prediction, Captain Harris.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Some day, he’ll get back to the Moon.”

  “I rather hope he does. I never did discover just what he expected to find in the Mare Crisium.”

  They both laughed. Then Miss Morley said: “I hear you’re giving up this job.”

  Pat looked slightly embarrassed.

  “That’s true,” he admitted. “I’m transferring to the Space Service. If I can pass the tests.”

  He was by no means sure that he could, yet he knew that he had to make the effort. Driving a moon bus had been an interesting and enjoyable job, but it was also a dead end—as both Sue and the Commodore had now convinced him. And there was another reason.

  He had often wondered how many other lives had been changed or diverted when the Sea of Thirst had yawned beneath the stars. No one who had been aboard Selene I could fail to be marked by the experience, in most cases for the better. The fact that he was now having this friendly talk with Miss Morley was sufficient proof of that.

  It must also have had a profound effect on the men who had been involved in the rescue effort-especially Doctor Lawson and Chief Engineer Lawrence. Pat had seen Lawson many times, giving his irascible TV talks on scientific subjects; he was grateful to the astronomer, but found it impossible to like him. It seemed, however, that some millions of people did.

  As for Lawrence, he was hard at work on his memoirs, provisionally entitled “A Man about the Moon”—and wishing to God he’d never signed the contract. Pat had already helped him on the Selene chapters, and Sue was reading the typescript while waiting for the baby.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” said Pat, remembering his duties as skipper, “I must attend to the other passengers. But please look us up next time you’re in Clavius City.”

  “I will,” promised Miss Morley, slightly taken aback but obviously somewhat pleased.

  Pat continued his progress to the rear of the cabin, exchanging a greeting here, answering a question there. Then he reached the air-lock galley and closed the door behind him—and was instantly alone.

  There was more room here than in Selene I’s little air lock, but the basic design was the same. No wonder that memories came flooding back. That might have been the space suit whose oxygen he and McKenzie had shared while all the rest were sleeping; that could have been the wall against which he had pressed his ear, and heard in the night the whisper of the ascending dust. And this whole chamber, indeed, could have been where he had first known Sue, in the literal and Biblical sense.

  There was one innovation in this new model—the small window in the outer door. He pressed his face against it, and stared across the speeding surface of the Sea.

  He was on the shadowed side of the cruiser, looking away from the sun, into the dark night of space. And presently, as his vision adjusted itself to that darkness, he could see the stars. Only the brighter ones, for there was enough stray light to desensitize his eyes, but there they were—and there also was Jupiter, most brilliant of all the planets next to Venus.

  Soon he would be out there, far from his native world. The thought exhilarated and terrified him, but he knew he had to go.

  He loved the Moon, but it had tried to kill him: never again could he be wholly at ease out upon its open surface. Though deep space was still more hostile and unforgiving, as yet it had not declared war upon him. With his own world, from now on, there could never be more than an armed neutrality.

  The door of the cabin opened, and the stewardess entered with a tray of empty cups. Pat turned away from the window, and from the stars. The next time he saw them, they would be a million times brighter.

  He smiled at the neatly uniformed girl, and waved his hand around the little galley.

  “This is all yours, Miss Johnson,” he said. “Look after it well.”

  Then he walked back to the controls to take Selene II on his last voyage, and her maiden one, across the Sea of Thirst.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Sir Arthur Charles Clarke was born in Minehead, England, in 1917, and now lives in Colombo, Sri Lanka. He is a graduate, and Fellow, of King’s College, London, and Chancellor of the International Space University and the University of Moratuwa, near the Arthur C. Clarke Centre for Modern Technologies.

  Sir Arthur has twice been Chairman of the British Interplanetary Society. While serving as an RAF radar officer in 1945, he published the theory of communications satellites, most of which operate in what is now called the Clarke Orbit. The impact of this invention upon global politics resulted in his nomination for the 1994 Nobel Peace Prize.

  He has written over seventy books, and shared an Oscar nomination with Stanley Kubrick for the movie based on his novel 2001: A Space Odyssey. The recipient of three Hugo Awards and three Nebula Awards as well as an International Fantasy Award and a John W. Campbell Award, he was named a Grand Master from the Science Fiction Writers of America. His Mysterious World, Strange Powers, and Mysterious Universe TV series have been shown worldwide. His many honors include several doctorates in science and literature, and a host of prizes and awards including the Vidya Jyothi (“Light of Science”) Award by the President of Sri Lanka in 1986, and the CBE (Commander of the British Empire) from H. M. Queen Elizabeth in 1989. In a global satellite ceremony in 1995 he received NASA’s highest civilian honour, its Distinguished Public Service Medal. And in 1998 he was awarded a Knighthood “for services to literature” in the New Year’s Honours List.

  His recreations are SCUBA diving on Indian Ocean wrecks with his company, Underwater Safaris, table tennis (despite Post Polio Syndrome), observing the moon through his fourteen-inch telescope, and playing with his Chihuahua, Pepsi, and his six computers.