Chapter 11 The Plan

Merola looked pale. He sat up, a pair of pneumatic cushions behind him. Dr. Phelps hovered over him nervously, adjusting the bandage under his jaw and across his forehead. The bandage was only slightly whiter than the drawn skin over Merola’s cheekbones. His deep brown eyes burned like smoldering coals in his face. His hair was startling black against his blanched skin.

The first thing he said was, “How is it outside, Dan?”

Forbes grinned. “Bleak. You didn’t miss a thing.”

Ted stood behind the other men, peering over their shoulders at the captain.

Merola tried to smile, and his lips trembled. “I would miss the best part, wouldn’t I?” He shrugged forlornly. “Who brought the ship down?”

Forbes hesitated, then answered, “Baker.”

“And everything is all right?”

“I haven’t really checked yet,” Forbes said. “One of our stilts is shot, and I think our tubes are damaged pretty badly.”

“Oh!” Merola looked around. “Where’s Baker?”

“Here, sir.”

“Come here where I can see you,” Merola said.

Ted shouldered his way through the tight ring around the couch. “Yes, sir,” he said.

“Was it tough, Baker?”

“I miscalculated, sir.”

“So I understand.”

“I’m really sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to...”

“Were there any casualties?” Merola asked.

“No, sir.”

“Anyone injured?” He repeated.

“No, sir.”

“Considering everything then, I’d say you did a fairly good job.”

“Maybe you won’t feel that way when...” Forbes started.

“Dan!” Dr. Phelps cut in. “For the love of...” He clamped his mouth shut suddenly, as if he’d realized his outburst was as bad as Forbes’s. The cabin became silent, and Merola studied the faces grouped around the couch.

“All right,” he said at last, “what is it?”

“Nothing,” Dr. Phelps answered.

“What is it?” Merola repeated. He looked very tired.

“Maybe Baker should tell you,” Forbes said.

“Why don’t you tell me, Dan?”

“All right, George. We’re...”

“Dan!” Dr. Phelps snapped. “There’s no sense...”

“He’s got a right to know. He’s in command, and it’s his ship.”

There was silence again. Dr. Phelps shrugged in resignation. Forbes took a deep breath and said, “We’re about a thousand miles from the supplies. Baker took us down in the wrong spot.” He said it all in a rush, as if anxious to get it over with.

Merola considered the information for a moment, then scratched his head. “That’s not so good.”

“You can thank Baker,” Forbes said bitterly.

“I can thank Baker we’re still alive,” Merola snapped.

For an instant, both men stared at each other. Forbes licked his lips quickly, and a hurt expression flickered in his eyes and then was gone immediately.

Merola shook his head as if trying to clear it. “I’m sorry I shouted, Dan,” he said. “I guess I’m still a little groggy.”

“Sure,” Forbes answered. His face tried a smile that didn’t work.

“Can we get more supplies?” Merola asked.

“Maybe. The Station’s checking with Earth now. They’re going to call back in...” His eyes swept to the bulkhead chrono. “Holy crow, it’s time!”

He ran across the deck, forgetting the Moon’s gravity for a moment, and sailed across the cabin to collide with the viewport.

“Be careful,” Merola called, anxiety in his voice.

Forbes got to his feet and worked his shoulder. “I’m okay,” he said. He squeezed into the chair behind the transmitter and closed the knife switch.

The heavy gear hummed into the cabin, and Ted looked around at the faces of the other men.

Dr. Phelps was leaning against the support of the couch above Merola. His lips were pressed together, making his mouth look wider somehow than it was. His black brows were pulled together into a tight knot over his nose. He stroked his long, angular jaw and stared at Forbes fiddling with the dials.

Dr. Gehardt seemed to have retreated inside his coveralls, almost as if he were seeking refuge there. His shining pate poked out over the neck of the coveralls like a turtle’s emerging head. He rubbed the back of his hand across his small nose and wet his lips with the tip of his tongue.

Merola’s eyelids blinked rapidly as he lay back against the cushions. He tapped his fingers nervously against the side of the couch. His eyes were curiously serious. He stared at the bulkhead, not looking at anyone in the cabin, and yet Ted felt he knew everything that was going on around him — like some sort of electronic brain computing impulses of sound into meanings.

“It’ll be a while until this warms up,” Forbes said.

“Have you got any idea where we are?” Merola asked.

“Sure. Mare Crisium.”

Merola whistled softly. “That’s a far shout from Mare Imbrium.”

“Yeah.”

“Is it dark outside?”

“Yes,” Dr. Gehardt replied.

“That figures. It would be dark in Mare Crisium at this phase of the Moon. We’ll have to find out exactly how old the Moon’s day is. The Station should be able to help us on that.”

Forbes swung the chair around as a blast of static sounded from the receiver. He twisted a dial, lowering the volume. A voice suddenly intoned, “...ing Moon rocket. Come in, Moon rocket. Space Station calling Moon rocket. Come in, Moon rocket.”

“Hello, Space Station, this is Moon rocket standing by. Over.”

“I’ll make this quick because I don’t want you to use your batteries any more than you have to.” Ted recognized General Pepper’s voice, and he listened intently as the general went on. “I’ve contacted Earth, Forbes. There are no supply rockets available at present. Repeat, there are no supply rockets available at present. Have you got that?”

“Y-y-yes, sir.”

“Ask him how soon,” Merola prompted.

“How soon, sir?” Forbes repeated.

“I was coming to that, Forbes. You’ve got to understand that this is an unforeseen accident. The only supply rockets we had were sent to the Moon a long while ago. They’re waiting for you now in Mare Imbrium.”

“I understand that, sir. But...”

“We didn’t figure we’d need more rockets, and there simply aren’t any. You can understand that, can’t you, Forbes?”

“Yes, sir.”

There was a long pause, a static-filled interlude.

“Well, Forbes, I’ll give it to you straight. We’re starting some new rockets now, going full-speed-ahead on them. It’ll take time. A rocket has to be big to carry all the fuel you’ll need to get you back here. We’ll send a food rocket first, of course, but that’ll take time too.”

“How long, sir?”

“Six months.”

“What?” Merola shouted, leaning forward. He started to get out of the couch, and Dr. Phelps held him down. “Tell that egghead we need...”

“Can’t we have anything sooner, sir?” Forbes asked.

“This is at top speed, Forbes. It would normally take about two years to build one rocket. We’re going to try to get three for you in twelve months.”

“Ask him what he expects us to do in the meantime?” Merola shouted.

“Sir...”

“Forbes,” the general said sincerely, “I wish there were something more I could do for you, believe me. I can’t tell you how happy we are to know that you’re alive. Six months is the best we can do. Forbes, believe me, we’re... well look, we’ve got everything started already. As soon as you contacted us, work was begun immediately. Everyone is pulling for you, everyone! We’ve had donations from all over the world. Everyone wants to help. But it’s physically impossible to produce in less than six months. Darn it, Forbes, I’d climb up there with my bare hands if I thought it’d do any good.”

“I understand, sir.”

Merola shook his head sadly. “He’s doing all he can, Dan. Tell him we appreciate his help and that well... we’ll...”

“We’ll what, George?”

“We’ll get along, I guess.”

Forbes repeated the message into the microphone, and there was another long pause.

“Ask him how old the Moon is,” Merola said.

“Sir, can you give us any idea how old the Moon is? Captain Merola would like to know.”

“Merola? Is he all right again?”

“Yes, sir. He came around just a little while ago.”

“Good, good. May I speak to him?”

“No,” Dr. Phelps said quickly.

“Sorry, sir,” Forbes said into the microphone, “the doctor won’t allow him up.”

“Very well,” General Pepper said. “Give him my best.” He paused awkwardly. “You’ll need your batteries, Forbes. We’d better sign off for now. And Forbes...”

“Yes, sir?”

“Good luck, Forbes.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I... we’re all behind you, Forbes. You and the crew. Tell them we’re all behind you.”

“Thank you, sir. We’d better...”

“Dan, you’re forgetting the Moon’s age!” Merola shouted.

“Sir? General Pepper?”

“Yes, Forbes?”

“Are you getting that information we wanted?”

“Yes, yes, just one moment, Forbes.”

There was a long static-filled pause. Forbes sat at the transmitter, the microphone clutched in his fist.

“Hello, Forbes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The Moon is now eighteen days old. About nine and one-third days to New Moon.”

“I’ve got that, sir.”

“Good luck again, Forbes. And...” He paused and then murmured, “Out.”

Forbes pulled at the knife switch, killing the transmitter. He folded his arms on the small table before the gear and dropped his head into them. “Six months.”

Ted digested the information. Six months. That was a long time. It would be a long time anywhere. It could be forever on the Moon. A wash of guilt flooded his body. If he hadn’t brought the ship down in the wrong spot, there’d be no trouble now. The men would be concentrating on building a Lunar base instead of...

“We’ll go after the supplies,” Merola said suddenly.

Forbes lifted his head from his arms and stared at the captain. “A thousand miles,” he said.

“We can travel close to 300 miles a day up here,” Merola said. “It shouldn’t take us more than a little over three days.”

“I wouldn’t advise it,” Dr. Phelps said.

“Why not?”

“The heat. The Moon is now eighteen days old. That means that the area to the East of us is still in sunlight, and will be for another nine days.”

“We’ll wait a week, then,” Merola said. “In seven days, Mare Imbrium should be in darkness. We’ll be able to travel by night and come back by night.”

“How do you figure that?” Forbes asked.

“No, I’m wrong,” Merola said, shaking his head. “If we wait a week and then start, it would take us three days to reach the supplies, and by that time the sun already would be rising on the Western rim. We’d be caught in sunlight before we got back to the ship.” He scratched at his chin and thought silently for a few moments. “Get me a piece of paper, will you, Dan?”

Forbes opened one of the drawers and pulled out a sheet of paper and a pencil. He crossed the cabin and handed it to Merola.

“Now, let’s see.” Merola said. “It takes the sun approximately fourteen days to cross the face of the Moon. The Moon’s diameter is 2,160 miles... so if we divide that by fourteen... let’s see...” He scribbled a few figures on the paper, his brow wrinkled. “That’s approximately 154 miles every day. Right?”

“Approximately,” Forbes said.

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to do,” Dr. Phelps said.

“I’m just trying to figure out when we’d have to start from here in order to reach Mare Imbrium in darkness and make the trip back in darkness. You see, the Sun is now retreating across the face of the Moon at the rate of approximately 154 miles a day. Now, if we can work up some sort of a chart here.”

Quickly, Merola began writing on the sheet of paper, scribbling in figures and words:

“All right,” Forbes said, “now explain it.”

“Simple,” Merola answered, grinning. “The top line is simply a listing of the days. The second line shows how many miles the retreating Sun will have traveled at the end of each day. And the bottom line shows how many miles the supply party will have traveled at the end of each day.”

Forbes studied Merola’s figures for a moment. “In other words, if we leave here four days from now, the area of sunlight will always be ahead of us. We’ll be traveling by ‘night’ all the time.”

“Right. By the end of the seventh day, darkness will have spread approximately 1,078 miles from our present position. We should reach Mare Imbrium just as ‘night’ is falling there — or maybe a little after ‘night’ has fallen.”

“And what about getting back?” Forbes asked.

“The Moon is now eighteen days old. Add the three-day wait and the four days to get us to the supplies, and that makes 25 days. Another two and one-third days for the Moon to be in complete darkness. And another four days for the rising Sun to reach our present position. That gives us six and two-thirds days to get back here while it’s still dark. That’s plenty of time, even if we’re carrying a full load.”

“It might work,” Forbes said.

“What about oxygen?” Dr. Phelps asked.

“We’ll only need enough to get us to the supply dump. We can load up there for the return trip.”

“That’s still a lot of oxygen,” Forbes put in. “Each cylinder carries only enough for about twelve hours.”

“I figure two men will go,” Merola said. “They’ll be a little more than three days getting to the supplies... two cylinders of oxygen for each day... that means each man will need six cylinders of oxygen. We’ll give each eight, just to make sure.”

“That’s impossible,” Dr. Gehardt said. “They’d never be able to carry that many.”

“No, they wouldn’t,” Merola said, his eyes clouding.

“Not on their backs, anyway,” Forbes said.

“Do they have to carry them on their backs?” Ted asked. Forbes shot a glance at him, and Ted regretted speaking as soon as the words had left his mouth.

“Baker’s right,” Merola said, the spark leaping into his eyes again. “We can build a sled or something, and pile the cylinders onto it. We could make it that way!”

“Maybe,” Forbes said.

The men fell silent, and Ted knew they were each weighing the chances of reaching the supply dump alive.

“What about food?” Dr. Phelps asked. “You won’t be able to open your face plates out there. How will you eat?”

“We’ll carry tubes of chocolate in our helmets,” Merola answered quickly. “That’ll keep us going.”

“For ten days?”

“It’ll have to do.”

“One question,” Forbes said. “What happens when we reach the supply dump? Do we bring back enough material to keep us on the Moon indefinitely?”

“That would be impossible.”

“Sure. It would also be impossible to bring back enough fuel to get us off the Moon.”

“To get us back to Earth, you mean,” Merola corrected.

“I don’t follow you,” Forbes said.

“We can bring back enough to get us off the Moon, if we plan on dropping back to the Moon again.”

“What good would that do?” Forbes wanted to know.

“It means we can bring back just enough fuel to allow us to blast off and come down again near the supply dump. After that, our worries are over.”

Dr. Phelps nodded his head. “Enough fuel to get us to Mare Imbrium, you mean.”

“Exactly.”

Forbes nodded too. “It might work. It just might work.”

“Providing,” Dr. Gehardt put in.

“Providing what?”

“Well, I hate to be a wet blanket, gentlemen, but what happens to the men who remain behind? How will they survive? Will the batteries hold out? Will there be enough food? Enough water? Enough oxygen? Or will the returning party find a ship full of dead men?”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Merola admitted.

“What difference does it make?” Forbes asked

“We’ll make a check,” Merola said. “If the men left behind can’t possibly survive...” He paused and scratched his chin. “Heck, I don’t know what to say.”

“If there’s any doubt about it,” Forbes said, “we’ll all make the trip together.”

“Do we have enough oxygen?”

“I think we’d better check.”

“Okay, Dan. And while you’re checking the oxygen cylinders, you might as well go down below and see how the batteries are holding up.”

“Roger.”

Forbes grinned briefly and started for the hatch in the deck. He took two long strides, pulling up short beside the hatch. Quickly, he turned the wheel and pulled back the lid. As he started belowdecks, Merola turned back to the other men.

“Dr. Phelps, I’d like you to check our food. Dr. Gehardt, will you check our water supply?”

“Certainly.”

The two doctors started off, and Ted fidgeted uncomfortably, standing by Merola’s couch.

“I think it’ll work, Baker,” Merola said. “If we can bring back enough fuel for a blastoff to the supply dump, we can stay on the Moon as long as we like.”

“Yes, sir,” Ted said.

“Does that mean you agree with me, or are you just being polite?”

“I don’t know, sir. I mean, I don’t know if it’ll work. A thousand miles seems like such a long distance.”

“Well, it’s not exactly right around the corner.”

“That’s what I mean, sir. The two men who go. They’ll be out there for ten days. Will their suit batteries last that long?”

Merola considered this. “They may be able to replace their batteries at the dump. In fact, I’m quite sure they can. That means they’ll only need their batteries for the four-day trip to the dump.”

“Three and one-third days, sir,” Ted corrected.

“Yes, of course.”

Dr. Gehardt made his way across the cabin, shaking his head. He stopped before Merola and smoothed the skin back on the top of his head. “It doesn’t look good, George,” he said.

“How much water?”

“A little more than four gallons.”

“No, that’s not good at all.” Merola paused. “But it’ll have to do.” He turned his head quickly as he heard footsteps. Dr. Phelps crossed the cabin, a sheet of paper in his hands.

“What’s the story, Doc?” Merola asked.

“Not too bad,” the physician replied. “Not too bad.”

“How bad?”

“Well, we won’t eat like kings, of course, but I don’t suppose any of us expected to.”

“What is it, Doc?”

“If we cut down to half-rations, our food’ll last two weeks. If we’re careful. That’ll give us just enough for the four-day wait and the ten days the men will be gone.”

“Good. If Dan reports affirmative on the oxygen, he and I will be leaving in four days.”

“What?”

“I said...”

“I heard you. I heard what you said.”

“Well, then...”

“That blow on your head must have really unbalanced you.”

“What do you mean, Doc?”

“I mean that you are in no condition to get out of that couch, no less travel a thousand miles in freezing temperatures.”

“Doc!”

“No ‘docs’ about it, George. You’re not leaving that couch. That’s an order.”

“I thought I was in command of this ship.”

“Not when it comes to physical welfare.” He paused, then added, “And if you get out of that couch, I can’t promise you you’ll be in command very long.”

“Look, Doc...”

“I’m not being foolish or stubborn, George. I’m being practical and maybe a little selfish. I can guarantee that you’re not strong enough to reach the supply dump. If you went, the effectiveness of the mission would be cut exactly in half.”

Merola considered this a moment. “You’re sure?”

“I’m positive. That blow was a nasty one.”

“Maybe...”

“No, George. Forget it.”

Merola shrugged and let out his breath. “Who’ll go then?”

“I’d volunteer myself,” Dr. Phelps said, “but that would defeat the purpose of keeping you here. That wound is going to need care during the next few weeks.”

“I’ll go,” Dr. Gehardt said simply.

Dr. Phelps avoided the geologist’s eyes. “I wouldn’t advise that, either, Fred.”

“Why not?”

“The trip should really have a more... a younger man along. It will be somewhat strenuous, Fred.”

Dr. Gehardt smiled. “I didn’t really think I should go, Peter. But I thought, perhaps...”

“That leaves you, Baker,” Merola said. “What do you say?”

“I don’t know, sir. Lieutenant Forbes might...”

“How do you feel about it?”

“Whatever you say, sir.”

“Okay,” Forbes piped from the hatch. “There are enough cylinders to last close to three weeks.” He climbed up onto the deck and slammed the hatch shut behind him, turning to the men. “The batteries are doing fine. Should last about thirteen days under normal operating conditions.”

“Good,” Merola said, nodding. “You’ll be leaving in four days, Dan.”

“Fine.” Forbes paused. “Who’s going with me?”

Merola took a deep breath. “Baker.”

“What?”

“Baker’s going with you. He’s the only man who’s...”

“For crying out loud, George, how can you...”

“You’ll leave in four days,” Merola snapped. “You and Baker. That’s an order.”

Forbes stared at Merola for a long time. He turned away then, starting for his couch, a pained expression on his face.

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled.