First on the Moon

by Jeff Sutton

  CHAPTER 2

  Crag woke with a start, sensing he was not alone. The sound cameagain--a key being fitted into a lock. He started from bed as the doorswung open.

  "Easy. It's me--Gotch." Crag relaxed. A square solid figure took form.

  "Don't turn on the light."

  "Okay. What gives?"

  "One moment." Gotch turned back toward the door and beckoned. Anotherfigure glided into the room--a shadow in the dim light. Crag caught theglint of a uniform. Air Force officer, he thought.

  Gotch said crisply; "Out of bed."

  He climbed out, standing alongside the bed in his shorts, wondering atthe Colonel's cloak-and-dagger approach.

  "Okay, Major, it's your turn," Gotch said.

  The newcomer--Crag saw he was a major--methodically stripped down to hisshorts and got into bed without a word. Crag grinned, wondering how theMajor liked his part in Step One. It was scarcely a lead role.

  Gotch cut into his thoughts. "Get dressed." He indicated the Major'suniform. Crag donned the garments silently. When he had finished theColonel walked around him in the dark, studying him from all angles.

  "Seems to fit very well," he said finally. "All right, let's go."

  Crag followed him from the room wondering what the unknown Major must bethinking. He wanted to ask about his double but refrained. Long ago hehad learned there was a time to talk, and a time to keep quiet. This wasthe quiet time. At the outer door four soldiers sprang from the darknessand boxed them in. A chauffeur jumped from a waiting car and opened therear door. At the last moment Crag stepped aside and made a mock bow.

  "After you, Colonel." His voice held a touch of sarcasm.

  Gotch grunted and climbed into the rear seat and he followed. Thechauffeur blinked his lights twice before starting the engine. Somewhereahead a car pulled away from the curb. They followed, leaving the foursoldiers behind. Crag twisted his body and looked curiously out the rearwindow. Another car dogged their wake. Precautions, always precautions,he thought. Gotch had entered with an Air Force officer and hadostensibly left with one; ergo, it must be the same officer. Hechuckled, thinking he had more doubles than a movie star.

  They sped through the night with the escorts fore and aft. Gotch was asilent hulking form on the seat beside him. It's his zero hour, too,Crag thought. The Colonel had tossed the dice. Now he was waiting fortheir fall, with his career in the pot. After a while Gotch saidconversationally:

  "You'll report in at Albrook, Major. I imagine you'll be getting in abit of flying from here on out."

  Talking for the chauffeur's benefit, Crag thought. Good Lord, did everymove have to be cloak and dagger? Aloud he said:

  "Be good to get back in the air again. Perhaps anti-sub patrol, eh?"

  "Very likely."

  They fell silent again. The car skimmed west on Highway 80, leaving thesilver rocket farther behind with every mile. Where to and what next? Hegave up trying to figure the Colonel's strategy. One thing he was sureof. The hard-faced man next to him knew exactly what he was doing. If itwas secret agent stuff, then that's the way it had to be played.

  * * * * *

  He leaned back and thought of the task ahead--the rocket he had livedwith for over a year. Now the marriage would be consummated. Everydetail of the Aztec was vivid in his mind. Like the three great motorstucked triangularly between her tail fins, each a tank equipped with aflaring nozzle to feed in hot gases under pressure. He pictured the fueltanks just forward of the engines; the way the fuels were mixed,vaporized, forced into the fireports where they would ignite and reactexplosively, generating the enormous volumes of flaming hot gas to driveout through the jet tubes and provide the tremendous thrust needed toboost her into the skies. Between the engines and fuel tanks was a mazeof machinery--fuel lines, speed controllers, electric motors.

  He let his mind rove over the rocket thinking that before many hourshad passed he would need every morsel of the knowledge he had socarefully gathered. Midway where the hull tapered was a joint, theseparation point between the first and second stages. The second stagehad one engine fed by two tanks. The exterior of the second stage wassmooth, finless, for it was designed to operate at the fringe of spacewhere the air molecules were widely spaced; but it could be steered bysmall deflectors mounted in its blast stream.

  The third stage was little more than a space cabin riding between thetapered nose cone and a single relatively low-thrust engine. Between theengine and tanks was a maze of turbines, pumps, meters, motors, wires. Agenerator provided electricity for the ship's electric and electronicequipment; this in turn was spun by a turbine driven by the explosivedecomposition of hydrogen peroxide. Forward of this was the Brain, acomplex guidance mechanism which monitored engine performance, kepttrack of speed, computed course. All that was needed was the human hand.His hand.

  * * * * *

  They traveled several hours with only occasional words, purring acrossthe flat sandy wastes at a steady seventy. The cars boxing them in keptat a steady distance.

  Crag watched the yellow headlights sweep across the sage lining thehighway, giving an odd illusion of movement. Light and shadow danced ineerie patterns. The chauffeur turned onto a two-lane road heading north.Alpine Base, Crag thought. He had been stationed there several yearsbefore. Now it was reputed to be the launch site of one of the threedrones slated to cross the gulfs of space. The chauffeur drove past ahousing area and turned in the direction he knew the strip to be.

  * * * * *

  Somewhere in the darkness ahead a drone brooded on its pad, one of thechildren of the silver missile they'd left behind. But why the drone?The question bothered him. They were stopped several times in the nexthalf mile. Each time Gotch gave his name and rank and extended hiscredentials. Each time they were waved on by silent sharp-eyed sentries,but only after an exacting scrutiny. Crag was groping for answers whenthe chauffeur pulled to one side of the road and stopped. He leaped outand opened the rear door, standing silently to one side. When theyemerged, he got back into the car and drove away. No word had beenspoken. Figures moved toward them, coming out of the blackness.

  "Stand where you are and be recognized." The figures tookshape--soldiers with leveled rifles. They stood very still until onewearing a captain's bars approached, flashing a light in their faces.

  "Identity?"

  Crag's companion extended his credentials.

  "Colonel Michael Gotch," he monotoned. The Captain turned the light onGotch's face to compare it with the picture on the identification card.He paid scant attention to Crag. Finally he looked up.

  "Proceed, Sir." It was evident the Colonel's guest was very muchexpected.

  Gotch struck off through the darkness with Crag at his heels. The starsshone with icy brilliance. Overhead Antares stared down from its lair inScorpio, blinking with fearful venom. The smell of sage filled the air,and some sweet elusive odor Crag couldn't identify. A warmth stoleupward as the furnace of the desert gave up its stored heat. He strainedhis eyes into the darkness; stars, the black desert ... and the hulkingform of Gotch, moving with certain steps.

  He saw the rocket with startling suddenness--a great black silhouetteblotting out a segment of the stars. It stood gigantic, towering,graceful, a taper-nosed monster crouched to spring, its finned haunchessquatted against the launch pad.

  They were stopped, challenged, allowed to proceed. Crag pondered thereason for their visit to the drone. Gotch, he knew, had a good reasonfor every move he made. They drew nearer and he saw that most of thecatwalks, guardrails and metal supports had been removed--a certain signthat the giant before them was near its zero hour.

  Another sentry gave challenge at the base of the behemoth. Crag whistledto himself. This one wore the silver leaf of a lieutenant colonel! Theritual of identification was exacting before the sentry moved aside. Aladder zigzagged upward through what skeletal framework still remained.Crag lifted his eyes. It terminat
ed high up, near the nose.

  This was the Aztec! The real Aztec! The truth came in a rush. The hugesilver ship at Burning Sands, which bore the name Aztec, was merely afake, a subterfuge, a pawn in the complex game of agents andcounter-agents. He knew he was right.

  "After you," Gotch said. He indicated the ladder and stepped aside.

  Crag started up. He paused at the third platform. The floor of thedesert was a sea of darkness. Off in the distance the lights of AlpineBase gleamed, stark against the night. Gotch reached his level and laida restraining hand on his arm.

  Crag turned and waited. The Colonel's massive form was a black shadowinterposed between him and the lights of Alpine Base.

  "This is the Aztec," he said simply.

  "So I guessed. And the silver job at Burning Sands?"

  "Drone Able," Gotch explained. "The deception was necessary--a part ofthe cat and mouse game we've been playing the last couple of decades. Wecouldn't take a single chance." Crag remained silent. The Colonel turnedtoward the lights of the Base. He had become quiet, reflective. When hespoke, his voice was soft, almost like a man talking to himself.

  "Out there are hundreds of men who have given a large part of theirlives to the dream of space flight. Now we are at the eve of making thatdream live. If we gain the moon, we gain the planets. That's the destinyof Man. The Aztec is the first step." He turned back and faced Crag.

  "This is but one base. There are many others. Beyond them are thefactories, laboratories, colleges, scientists and engineers, right downto Joe the Riveter. Every one of them has had a part in the dream.You're another part, Adam, but you happen to have the lead role." Heswiveled around and looked silently at the distant lights. The momentwas solemn. A slight shiver ran through Crag's body.

  "You know and I know that the Aztec is a development from the ICBM'sguarding Fortress America. You also know, or have heard, that out in SanDiego the first atom-powered spaceship is nearing completion." He lookedsharply at Crag.

  "I've heard," Crag said noncommittally.

  Gotch eyed him steadily. "That's the point. So have others. Our spaceprogram is no secret. But we've suspected--feared--that the first stabat deep space would be made before the atom job was completed. Notsatellites but deep space rockets. That's why the Aztec was pushedthrough so fast." He fell silent. Crag waited.

  "Well, the worst has happened. The enemy is ready to launch--may havelaunched this very night. That's how close it is. Fortunately our gamblewith the Aztec is paying off. We're ready, too, Adam.

  "We're going to get that moon. Get it now!" He reached into a pocket andextracted his pipe, then thought better of lighting it. Crag waited. TheColonel was in a rare introspective mood, a quiet moment in which hementally tied together and weighed his Nation's prospects in thefrightening days ahead. Finally he spoke:

  "We put a rocket around the moon, Adam." He smiled faintly, notingCrag's involuntary start of surprise. "Naturally it was fullyinstrumented. There's uranium there--one big load located in the mostinaccessible spot imaginable."

  "Arzachel," Crag said simply.

  "The south side of Arzachel, to be exact. That's why we didn't pick asoft touch like Mare Imbrium, in case you've wondered."

  "I've wondered."

  "Adam," the Colonel hesitated a long moment, "does the name Pickeringmean anything to you?"

  "Ken Pickering who--"

  "What have you heard?" snapped Gotch. His eyes became sharp drills.

  Crag spoke slowly: "Nothing ... for a long time. He just seemed to dropout of sight after he broke the altitude record in the X-34." He lookedup questioningly.

  "Frankly, I've always wondered why he hadn't been selected for this job.I thought he was a better pilot than I am," he added almost humbly.

  Gotch said bluntly: "You're right. He is better." He smiled tolerantly."We picked our men for particular jobs," he said finally. "Pickering ...we hope ... will be in orbit before the Aztec blasts off."

  "Satelloid?"

  "The first true satelloid," the Colonel agreed. "One that can ride thefringes of space around the earth. A satelloid with fantastic altitudeand speed. I'm telling you this because he'll be a link in Step One, acommunication and observation link. He won't be up long, of course, butlong enough--we hope."

  Silence fell between them. Crag looked past the Colonel's shoulder. Allat once the lights of Alpine Base seemed warm and near, almost personal.Gotch lifted his eyes skyward, symbolic of his dreams. The light ofdistant stars reflected off his brow.

  "We don't know whether the Aztec can make it," he said humbly. "Wedon't know whether our space-lift system will work, whether the dronescan be monitored down to such a precise point on the moon, or thedangers of meteorite bombardment. We don't know whether our safeguardsfor human life are adequate. We don't know whether the opposition canstop us....

  "We don't know lots of things, Adam. All we know is that we need themoon. It's a matter of survival of Western Man, his culture, his way oflife, his political integrity. We need the moon to conquer theplanets ... and some day the stars."

  His voice became a harsh clang.

  "So does the enemy. That's why we have to establish a proprietoryownership, a claim that the U.N. will recognize. The little nationsrepresent the balance of power, Adam. But they sway with the politicalwinds. They are the reeds of power politics ... swaying between theSputniks and Explorers, riding with the ebb and flow of power ... alwaystrying to anticipate the ultimate winner. Right now they're watching tosee where that power lies. The nation that wins the moon will tilt thebalance in its favor. At a critical time, I might add. That's why wehave to protect ourselves every inch of the way."

  He tapped his cold pipe moodily against his hand. "We won't be here tosee the end results, of course. That won't be in our time. But we're thestarters. The Aztec is the pioneer ship. And in the future our economycan use that load of uranium up there."

  He smiled faintly at Crag. "When you step through the hatch you've leftearth, perhaps for all time. That's your part in the plan. Step One isyour baby and I have confidence in you." He gripped Crag's arm warmly.It was the closest he had ever come to showing his feelings toward theman he was sending into space.

  "Come on, let's go."

  Crag started upward. Gotch followed more slowly, climbing like a manbearing a heavy weight.

  * * * * *

  The Aztec's crew, Max Prochaska, Gordon Nagel and Martin Larkwell, cameaboard the rocket in the last hour before take-off. Gotch escorted themup the ladder and introduced them to their new Commander.

  Prochaska acknowledged the introduction with a cheerful smile.

  "Glad to know you, Skipper." His thin warm face said he was glad to bethere.

  Gordon Nagel gave a perfunctory handshake, taking in the space cabinwith quick ferret-like head movements.

  Martin Larkwell smiled genially, pumping Crag's hand. "I've been lookingforward to this."

  Crag said dryly. "We all have." He acknowledged the introductions withthe distinct feeling that he already knew each member of his crew. Itwas the odd feeling of meeting old acquaintances after long years ofseparation. As part of his indoctrination he had studied the personnelrecords of the men he might be so dependent on. Now, seeing them in theflesh, was merely an act of giving life to those selfsame records. Hestudied them with casual eyes while Gotch rambled toward an awkwardfarewell.

  Max Prochaska, his electronics chief, was a slender man with sparsebrown hair, a thin acquiline nose and pointed jaw. His pale blue eyes,thin lips and alabaster skin gave him a delicate look--one belied by hisrecord. His chief asset--if one was to believe the record--was that hewas a genius in electronics.

  Gordon Nagel, too, was, thin-faced and pallid skinned. His black hair,normally long and wavy, had been close-cropped. His eyes were small,shifting, agate-black, giving Crag the feeling that he was uneasy--animpression he was to hold. His record had described him as nervous inmanner but his psychograph was smooth. He was an expert
in oxygensystems.

  Martin Larkwell, the mechanical maintenance and construction boss, inmany ways appeared the antithesis of his two companions. He wasmoon-faced, dark, with short brown hair and a deceptively sleepy look.His round body was well-muscled, his hands big and square. Crag thoughtof a sleek drowsy cat, until he saw his eyes. They were sparkling brownpools, glittering, moving with some strange inner fire. They were theeyes of a dreamer ... or a fanatic, he thought. In the cabin's softlight they glowed, flickered. No, there was nothing sleepy about him, hedecided.

  All of the men were short, light, in their early thirties. In contrastCrag, at 5' 10" and 165 pounds, seemed a veritable giant. A smallphysique, he knew, was almost an essential in space, where every ouncewas bought at tremendous added weight in fuel. His own weight had been aserious strike against him.

  Colonel Gotch made one final trip to the space cabin. This time hebrought the _Moon Code Manual_ (stamped TOP SECRET), the crew personnelrecords (Crag wondered why) and a newly printed pamphlet titled "MoonSurvival." Crag grinned when he saw it.

  "Does it tell us how to get there, too?"

  "We'll write that chapter later," Gotch grunted. He shook each man'shand and gruffly wished them luck before turning abruptly toward thehatch. He started down the ladder. A moment later his head reappeared.

  He looked sharply at Crag and said, "By the way, that twosome at theBlue Door got it last night."

  "You mean...?"

  "Burp gun. No finesse. Just sheer desperation. Well, I just wanted tolet you know we weren't altogether crazy."

  "I didn't think you were."

  The Colonel's lips wrinkled in a curious smile. "No?" He looked at Cragfor a long moment. "Good luck." His head disappeared from view and Cragheard his footsteps descending the ladder.

  Then they were alone, four men alone. Crag turned toward his companions.