Bouncing Off the Moon

by David Gerrold

  Something about the way he said that last part. "Nothing too serious … ?"

  "Nothing you can't handle, little dingaling. Get past this part first, please?" He turned back to the wall. It was harder to take a range sighting on the top of the ridge because it was blazing bright and the laser dot was invisible in the glare. Finally, Alexei gave up in disgust. "Never mind. I know how high from Lunar survey. I do this by ear."

  He sighted carefully and fired the dart gun—the dart soared lazily up, unfolding its long grappling prongs as it went. It rose out of shadow and blazed in the hard light of the sun. The line followed it up in silence, uncurling and turning bright as it went. At the apex of its flight, the dart hung motionless in space for a long moment—then it began drifting back with a deliberate slow grace, arcing over and down—it disappeared out of view behind the glare of the wall above us. The line went looping after it, flying across space in lazy swirls.

  Eventually, the line began to settle and fall back. After what seemed like forever, it finally went slack. Alexei waited until it was hanging like a bright yellow streak against the wall; he held up the display on the base of the dart gun so I could see. It showed a row of green ready signals. According to the readouts on the butt of the pistol, the grapple-dart had landed somewhere over the wall of rock and the grapples had securely deployed. We hadn't heard anything, of course, so we had to depend on the signal sent back through the line. Alexei punched a couple of buttons, and two more green signals appeared. "Grapple has tested itself," he announced. "It will hold us." He locked the safety and hung the gun on the back of his balloon.

  "Hokay. Now pay attention. I teach dingalings to do this. Is not too hard—even a dingaling can learn. First, take hands out of gloves. Now put gloves away, please. You do not want them sticking out and catching on something. Here, I'll help. Now reach below and switch to other gloves—big red gloves under regular ones. Put your hands in—da, feel that? See how glove is molded around big castanet-claw? That's your grabber. Close glove, feel how it clicks shut? Make sure you feel click. That click means grabber has closed very tight around cord or tool or anything else you reach for—holds very very tight, so don't put anything tender inside. Especially not anything you are attached to."

  "How do you unclick it?" Douglas asked.

  "Is good question. Squeeze again, also press with thumb and middle finger—feel little click? That is grabber releasing grip. Very easy. Click, unclick. Grabber holds you up even if hands get tired. Pay attention to this, Charles dingaling. Make sure grabber goes click. If it doesn't go click, you have no grip. Very bad news. You don't want that. Do not try to hold cord without grip. You will risk slipping. If you slip, maybe you cut or rip glove. Very bad news if that happen. I have to write letter to manufacturer of bubble and ask for refund. So don't slip. Instead, make sure grabber goes click. Practice now. Click, unclick. See?"

  He made me do it over and over again until he was sure I had it right. "Hokay, good. Now this is how you will pull self up, hand over hand. Slowly. Grab, click, pull—unclick other grabber, grab, click, pull—unclick first grabber, grab, click, pull. Understand? If no click, stop and try again. Don't unclick one until the other is clicked. Don't go to next step until you check that previous step is success."

  "What if the clicker breaks?"

  "I will write letter and get refund."

  "I mean—what happens to me?"

  "You will not have to worry about letter. I will."

  "Oh, good. I hate writing letters."

  "All right, watch me now. I will go first. To show you how it is done. Pay attention to feet. Watch what I do. Do you know how to rap-pel?"

  "Rappel?"

  "Down mountainside. Kick, slide, kick, slide—? You have seen pictures, da? We are going to rappel. But not down—up. You do not want to scrape bubble against rock, do you? Nyet. Hook feet in loops there. Pull knees up. Brace yourself against wall. Kick away from wall. Then pull self up. Lift knees again and brace self to come back. Hold self against wall, kick and pull. Brace, hold, kick and pull. Understand? Watch. I will go first. I will make it look easy. Then you will follow. You will make it look clumsy. We will all laugh at you. But you will get to top without mishap, because you will be slow and careful. And we will all pat you on back, and say, 'good job, well-done, little dingaling.' And you will have great adventure to tell grandchildren about someday. Unless you are like Mickey and Douglas. Then you will have to tell someone else's grandchildren. Not to worry, I will lend you some of mine. They will not believe that senile old Lunatic smuggled crazy terries across Lunnaya zhopa. Bottom of moon. Moon's rectum. Place where sun never shines. Truthfully, it never does. We will be there soon. The priamaya kishka. You will tell them you were crazy terrie. They will believe. Hokay? Watch now, here I go."

  Was he serious? Or was he saying all that stuff to distract me? Either way, it worked. I was distracted.

  Alexei pulled himself up the cliff wall in a series of three fast bounces. His movements were quick, but they were also deliberate and careful. He'd done this before and his experience showed. He stretched his right arm as high as he could, grabbed and clicked. He kicked away from the wall, pulled himself up as high as he could, grabbed and clicked. His feet came back to the wall and he braced himself. He looked down at me and grinned, unclicked his lower hand, reached up, grabbed, clicked, kicked away from the wall, and pulled.

  Once more and he was at the top. He kicked away from the wall and pulled sharply at the same time—he floated over the edge of the shelf and disappeared from view for a moment. He popped back into view and waved down at us. "Hokay, dingaling! Your turn."

  "It's Dingillian," I corrected.

  "If you can get to top, I will learn new pronunciation. Until you get up, you are still dingaling."

  Douglas moved up beside me. "You okay, Chigger?"

  "Yeah, I can do it. Can you?"

  He nodded. "I'm getting tired, but I can do it. Let's get this over with."

  I closed my eyes and visualized the steps—what they would feel like. I took a deep breath. I reached up with my right hand. I grabbed. I squeezed. The glove went click. "Remember to kick!" Alexei shouted. I had almost forgotten. I kicked and pulled at the same time—I was a little heavier than I expected, but a lot lighter than I was used to. I bounced up and away from the wall. I reached as high as I could with my left hand, grabbed, and clicked. "Pull your knees up—" I had plenty of time to brace, everything was slow motion. My feet hit the wall. "Don't look down—" Too late. I was already looking.

  I was higher than I thought. But I wasn't scared. I'd been this high when I did the rope climb in gym class. As long as I didn't look back to see the rest of the slope we'd climbed—

  I took a breath, visualized what I had to do next. And did it. This time it was easier. Unclicked the right hand. Kicked away. Swung up. Grabbed. Clicked. Pulled up knees. Braced. Looked up. Alexei waved. He was closer than I expected.

  "Is good. One more. Da?

  "Da." Closed eyes. Took a breath. Opened eyes. Unclicked, kicked, swung, pulled, grabbed, clicked, braced. It was easier to do than describe.

  Alexei was almost close enough to reach out and pull me up. "Kick and pull sharply up," he said. I did, and he grabbed my arm—both arms—and swung me over the top, setting me down firmly on a slab of Lunar rock. He reached over and slapped the top of my head. "Is good job, little dingaling. Not as clumsy as I expected."

  The monkey patted my head too. I'd almost forgotten it was there.

  "I thought you said you weren't going to call me dingaling anymore."

  He pointed to the wall above us, where it turned into blazing sunlit rock. "I said when we get to top!"

  TO THE TOP

  Douglas came up the wall next. Despite the weight of Stinky on his back, he came up easily. At least, it looked easy to me. He was only a little bit out of breath when he bounced onto the shelf. Mickey came right after; he pulled the inflatable airlock up after himself.


  We took a rest break then. We weren't catching our breath so much as cooling off. Alexei wanted us to turn off our heaters and radiate away some of our heat. I don't know how much good he thought that would do, I was already cold, and it scared me to think of the kind of heat we'd be experiencing in a few minutes. But he kept saying, "Not to worry. Is just an extra precaution. Bubbles are insulated both ways."

  When we checked each other's air, Alexei advised each of us to release a few seconds of oxygen into our bubbles from the spare tanks we carried. "And put rebreather tube in mouth for climb up, please?" I was beginning to think this was far more dangerous than he was letting on.

  To the east, the hills were outlined by an edge of light. Sunrise. We were just below the edge of their shadow. Just how bright was the full force of the sun in hard vacuum? We were about to find out—one good bounce upward and we'd know.

  I reached up and touched the monkey on my head. "Why don't you swing down and climb into the harness on my back?" I said. To my surprise, it understood exactly what I wanted. It bounced down, climbed up under the poncho, and secured itself in the harness on my back, just like Stinky was secured on Douglas's back. "Thank you," I said to it. I bounced lightly on my feet, testing my balance.

  "Hokay," said Alexei. "Anybody ready? I go now. Watch please?" He grabbed the cord. "Here I go—" He bounced up into the light. His bubble glittered with reflections. And then he was up and up and up and over the top and gone.

  A second later his voice came loud in our ears. "I am fine, thank you for worrying." He added, "Is not as hard as it looks. Is nice view from up here. Charles dingaling, is your turn."

  Douglas gave me a good luck slap on top of the head, and I clicked onto the rope. I closed my eyes, visualized, and leapt—

  The sudden bright wash of light from the east felt like a hammer-blow. Even my goggles weren't enough to keep me from being dazzled. I felt like I'd opened a furnace door, just from the glare alone. The whole inside of the bubble sparkled with reflections that wouldn't quit.

  —and grabbed the rope and clicked. Released, kicked, and pulled. Suddenly my goggles were blurry, with hot tears streaming from my eyes. From the light. Grabbed for the rope, missed—clicked anyway, and swung around out of control for a moment, turning first away from the sun, and then right back into the full force of it—I unclicked my empty hand, looked up for the rope, found it, grabbed, clicked, remembered to test, banged the wall, I'd forgotten to bring my knees up, bounced and hung for a moment, and said, "Oh, chyort!" The tears were real now. Tears of frustration.

  "Keep coming!" cried Alexei from above. "Don't stop!" shouted Douglas and Mickey from below.

  I swallowed hard, visualized—was it getting hot in here or was it my imagination? Had I scraped my bubble? Did I hear something hissing? Was I losing air?—visualized again and unclicked, kicked, and climbed. I fumbled again—but this time grabbed the cord anyway, clicked, and hung, braced myself against the wall. I couldn't see. The tears were a torrent. The light was awful. If I could just see—

  "Only three more and you are here, dingaling! Keep coming!"

  Visualized, unclicked, kicked, grabbed, clicked and pulled—okay, I could do this. Two more times. Took a breath, did it all again on the other side. Once more—except I couldn't see a thing. My goggles were wet, my eyes were flowing. I pulled my hand out of the lower glove and pushed my goggles up, tried to wipe my eyes with my wrist. That was a mistake. My goggles fell off my head and bounced away somewhere below me. I felt them hit the floor of the bubble. Even with my eyes closed, the light was an orange blast. I said some of those words that mom hated so much.

  "What just happened?" Douglas demanded.

  "He dropped his goggles," Alexei said. "Not to worry. Is easy enough, we do it with eyes closed. Come up, dingaling. You are almost here."

  It was getting hot in here. It wasn't my imagination. The sweat was dripping from my armpits. If I could just see—I squinted up. The rope was a blurry line. Maybe if I could get the goggles. I pulled my knees up, bringing the floor of the bubble almost up within reach. I reached around, fumbling for the goggles. If I could just find the goggles—my hand scrabbled frantically.

  "Charles!" That was Douglas. "Don't stop! Keep climbing!"

  "I just want to grab my goggles. I can't see!"

  "Forget stupid goggles! You are close enough to do without."

  And then I swung around just a little bit and my view widened beyond the bubble to the scenery outside.

  I was hanging on the inside wall of a Lunar crater. It was big, round, and deep. The pod had come down on the far side and we'd crossed the rubble-strewn floor, always keeping to the shadow until we'd finally climbed its steepening slopes—until we'd finally had to pull ourselves up the wall. From this perspective, it looked bigger and deeper than the Barringer Crater in Arizona, only it was painted in hard colors of black and silver and bright.

  And I was hanging halfway up the inner wall.

  In a bubble of air. Baking in the sun. Surrounded by vacuum and dark. And nothing below me and nothing above me, hanging only by a single arm. My arm was getting tired. And no one anywhere could save me.

  I knew the distances weren't the same here on the moon. I knew the gravity wasn't the same. I knew my weight was lighter. But my eyes told me distance and my brain remembered Earth. And my stomach clenched.

  "Please, little Dingillian. Put hand back in glove. Reach up. I will pull you, but you will have to kick away from wall. Hokay?"

  For a moment, I forgot everything—even the light. I could hear myself thinking—This is a really stupid way to die. And then the other side of my brain argued—No it isn't. This is really dramatic.

  And then I got annoyed, and said, "You're both wrong—"

  "What's that, dingaling?"

  I didn't answer. Somehow I got my hand back into the glove. I ignored the light and heat and unclicked. I kicked away from the wall, swung myself up, grabbed, and clicked, braced against the wall, unclicked, kicked, swung, grabbed, clicked, braced—"Now!"—and kicked straight down, bounced up—and Alexei grabbed my arm and pulled me over the top, pushing me into the shadow of a looming crag.

  I flopped down cross-legged on the broken Lunar rocks and let the tears flood out of me. My eyes were dazzled so badly, I could hardly see.

  "Is he all right? Is he all right?" That was Douglas.

  "He is fine. He is just shaked and baked a little. Wait—" Alexei hovered over me, checking air and temperature and everything else he could think. He looked all over my bubble for leaks, but the pressure meter said it was fine.

  "Can you sit here quietly, Charles? I bring your brother up?"

  I managed to nod, and Alexei moved back into the light, and started calling instructions down to Douglas.

  I wiped my eyes with my hands, again and again. Suddenly, someone was handing me an alcohol-wipe. The monkey. The package was already open, but my hand was shaking so bad I couldn't take it. So the monkey reached up and began gently washing my face. I had to laugh at the absurdity of it. When the monkey finished, it held up my missing goggles. It wiped them off carefully and dried them, then made a big show of inspecting them with a harsh monkey squint. Finally, it handed them over, and I managed to get them back on and my poncho adjusted.

  "Okay, you," I said. "On my head again." The monkey did it in a single bounce.

  I stood up and turned around. Alexei was just swinging Douglas over the edge, pushing him into the shadow next to me. He grabbed my arms. "Are you all right?" His tone was beyond concerned. It was scared.

  I nodded. But I still felt jittery. He stood there, watching me, waiting for me to say something, but I was caught in another one of those terrible churning wunderstorms, realizing a thousand things at once. Not just the ordinary stuff about how dangerous adventures were—but the extraordinary stuff about how much I loved my brothers and how lost I'd feel without them—and how much it would hurt them if they lost me. I didn't want to hurt them anymore.
>
  And there were a bunch of other thoughts in that wunderstorm too—about Mickey and Alexei and the monkey. But I couldn't say any of it right now. I couldn't say anything. It would all have to wait.

  SUMMIT

  After Mickey pulled himself up, he and Alexei checked me over again. Then they checked Douglas. Then Douglas checked them. It was a little crowded in the shadow of the crag, but it was safe enough for the moment.

  Alexei insisted that we each drink some water and take a few bites of high-energy pack. He wanted us rested before we started down the other side. There was probably a lot that we all wanted to say. I knew that Douglas was angry—he probably wanted to know why Alexei was putting us all in such danger and why Mickey had agreed to this. Mickey should have known better. I could almost hear the argument—it sounded a lot like Mom and Dad.

  But Douglas was smart enough not to raise the subject here. We weren't exactly out of danger, and our first priority had to be getting to safety. And after we got to safety, then the argument wouldn't matter anymore, would it?

  For a while we sat in silence. Mostly, I was waiting for my eyes to undazzle. All I could see were big purple splotches everywhere. Nobody said anything at all. We just listened to ourselves breathe. We were tired. This wasn't fun anymore. And even though none of us would say so, we were all scared. It was real now—we could die out here.

  Alexei had deliberately chosen this landing site because it would be hard to get to. He had chosen this path across the broken Lunar surface because we would be hard to track. We were out of view of any of the Lunosynchronous satellites, and the ones in polar orbit were equally unlikely to spot us.

  We were hidden in the shadows, we were masked by the rocks. And even our thermal signatures would be partially lost in the hash of heat and cold. So there wasn't much likelihood of someone finding us. We weren't going to be picked up unless …

  Douglas was thinking the same thing. He looked to Mickey. He took a breath. "Mickey … ?"