"Are you sure?"
"Quite sure. Altitude nineteen point three-correction: point two...closing."
"Acceleration stations!"
Barnes was diving toward his couch as he shouted.
Traub and Corley followed him. As he strapped down
Barnes called out, "Co-pilot-get a contact prediction.
All hands, stand by for maneuvers." He studied his own board. He could not doubt it; they were in something less
than a perfect circle.
He was trying to make a prediction from his display when Bowles reported, "I make it contact in nine minutes, Captain, plus or minus a minute."
Barnes concentrated. The radar track was jiggling as much as five or ten percent, because of mountains below them; the prediction line was a broad band. As near as he could tell, Bowles was right.
"What now, Captain?" Bowles went on. "Shall I swing her to blast forward?" A slight nudge would speed up the ship, in effect, lift her, permit her to fall -- around the Moon rather than -- curve down.
It would also waste reaction mass.
Nine minutes...nine hundred miles, about. He tried to figure how many minutes it would be until they raised Earth over the horizon, ahead. --
Seven -- minutes, possibly-and Earth would be in sight. A landing at Sinus Medli was impossible but they still might land in sight of Earth without using more precious water to correct their orbit. "Mannie," he. snapped, "we land in seven minntes-or we never land. Make up your mind.1"
Traub did not answer.
Barnes waited, while a minute coursed by. Finally he -- said in a weary voice, "Co-pilot-swing to blast forward. All hands, prepare for departure."
Traub suddenly spoke up. "That's what we came for, wasn't it? To land on the Moon? Well, let's land the damn thing!"
Barnes caught his breath. "Good boy! Co-pilot, cancel that last. Steady ship for deceleration. Sing out when you see Earth."
"Aye aye, sir!"
"There's Earth!"
Barnes glanced up, saw, Terra pictured in the TV screen, rising behind a wall of mountains. Bówles went on, "Better land, Jim. You'll never get over those moun -- tains."
Barnes did not argue; their altitude was barely three miles now. He shouted, "Stand by. Red, start swinging as soon as I cut off."
"Right!"
-- "Fire!" He stabbed the button. This maneuver was manual, intended only to stop their forward motion. He watched -- his ground-speed radar while the -- ship shivered-nine-tenths...seven...five...four.;. three...two...one...six-hundredths. He jerked his finger off just before it dropped to zero and prayed that a mushy cutoff would equal his anticipation
He started to shout to Bowles, but the ship was already swinging. -- -- --
Earth and the horizon swung up in the TV screen and out of sight. --
For a crawling ten seconds, while they fell straight down, the Luna crept into position for a tail-first landing. They were less than three miles up -- now. Barnes shifted scale from miles to feet and started his prediction.
Bowles beat him to an answer. "Contact in seventy-two seconds, Skipper."
Barnes relaxed. "See the advantage of a Type 'B' landing, Doe," he remarked cheerfully. "No hurry-just like an elevator."
"Quit gabbing and get us down," Corley answered taut1y~ --
"Right," Barnes agreed. "Co-pilot, predict the blast altitude."-- His own hands were busy to the same end.
Bowles answered, "Jim, yOu going manual or automatic?"
"Don't know yet." Automatic firing was quicker, possibly more certain-but that mushy cutoff could bounce them like a pingpong ball. He steadied crosshairs on his autopilot display and read the answer: "Blast at five two oh feet. What do you get, Red?"
"Check." Bowles added, "That's less than three seconds blast, Jim. Better make it automatic."
"Tend to your knitting."
"My mistake."
Nearly forty seconds passed and they had fallen to eleven thousand feet before he decided. "Power plant, set for manual landing. Co-pilot, cover me at five hun
dred feet."
"Jim, that's too late," Bowles protested.
"You will be covering me all of a tenth of a second -- after I should fire."
Bowles subsided. Barnes grabbed a glance at the TV screen; the ground under them seemed level and there was no perceptible drift. He looked back at his board. "Correction-cover at five ten."
"Five ten-right."
The seconds clicked past; he had his finger poised over the button when Bowles shouted, "Jim-look at the screen!"
He looked up-the Luna, still carrying a trifle of drift, was now over a long crack, or riM-and they were about to land in it.
Barnes jabbed the button.
He let up at once; the Luna coughed to silence. The rill, canyon, or crevasse was still in sight but no longer centered. "Co-pilot-new prediction!"
"What happened?" Corley demanded. --
"Quiet!"
"Prediction," Bowles chanted, "blast 'at-at three nine oh."
Barnes was adjusting verniers for his own prediction as Bowles reported. "Check," he answered. "Cover at three seven oh." He threw one glance at the TV screen. The crevasse was toward the edge of the screen; the ground below looked fairly smooth. Unquestionably the ship had a slight drift. All he could do was hope that the gyros would -- keep them from toppling. "Brace for crash!"
480 -- 450 -- 400 -- He jabbed the button.
The terrible pressure shoved his bead back; he lost sight of the altimeter. He caught it again -- 190 -- 150 -- 125 -- At "fifty" he snatched his finger away and prayed.
The jet cut off sloppily as always. A -- grinding jar slammed him more deeply into the cushions The ship lurched like an unsteady top-and stayed upright.
Barnes found that he had been -- holding his breath a long time. --
VIII --
Columbus found -- a pleasant climate rich land docile natives. Nowhere in our System did explorers find conditions friendly to men-and -- nowhere was this more brutally true than on our nearest neighbor.
-- Farquharson, Ibid., III: 420
Barnes felt dazed, as if wakening from a confusing dream. Bowles' voice recalled him to the present. "Jacks are down, skipper. Unclutch the gyros?"
He pulled himself together. "Check our footing first. I'll-Say! We're on the Moon!" Frantically he unstrapped.
"We sure are!" answered Bowles. "A fine landing, Jim. I was scared."
"It was terrible, and you know it."
"We're alive, aren't we? Never mind-we made it."
Corley interrupted them. "Power plant secured."
Barnes looked startled. "Oh, sure. Traub, your department okay?"
Mannie answered weakly, "I guess so. I think I fainted."
"Nonsense!" Bowles reassured him. "Come on-let's look."
The four crowded at the portside port and stared out across an umber plain, baking under an unchecked sun, now not far from zenith. Miles away, jutting up into black, star-studded sky, were the peaks they had seen. In the middle distance was a single pock mark, a crater a 'mile or less across. Nothing else broke the flat desolation
-- . ...endless, lifeless waste, vacuum sharp and kiln dry.
Traub broke the silence with an awed whisper. "Gosh, what a place! How long do we stay, Mr. Barnes?"
"Not long, Mannie." He tried to make his words carry conviction. "Doe," he went on, "let's check the mass ratio."
"Okay, Jim."
Bowles went to the starboard port; one glance through it and he sang out, "Hey-see this."
They joined him. Below was the dark chasm in which they had almost landed. It ran close to the ship; one jack almost touched the edge. Barnes looked -- down into its awesome depths and felt no regret about expending mass to avoid it. -- . --
Bowles stared at it. "I repeat, Jim, -- a fine landing."
"Too close for comfort."