In the original plans, Dearborn would have done the work, with Tominbang’s assistance. Now it was up to Sampson and me.
Within an hour, Sampson emerged from the airlock, stepping onto the surface and uttering one simple word: “Wow”.
He went for a short scout while, with Eva-Lynne’s help, I repressurized the airlock and moved inside with the array package. “Sure you don’t want to come out?” I said.
“Very sure. This is close enough for me.”
Mission rules dictated that one of us had to remain inside Quicksilver. Eva-Lynne had volunteered: I don’t believe she had a great deal of faith in her hastily-modified pressure suit. (In fact, once she landed, she unzipped it, and eventually shed the whole thing.)
She gave me a kiss, then closed the inner hatch.
Once the air pressure had bled down, I opened the outer hatch and hauled myself out. Moving was incredibly difficult, not because of lunar gravity (which, thanks to the heavy suit, felt the same as Earth gravity to me). I slid rather than climbed down the side of Quicksilver, and fell to my knees in the lunar soil. I saw the slightest puff of gray dust, which settled instantly.
“Oh, beautiful,” Sampson said, sarcastically.
I thought at first he was referring to my inelegant first steps, but instead he was looking at the undercarriage of Quicksilver:
A shiny gash ran from back to front. The cause was obvious… a small, rounded rock that rose about a foot higher than the otherwise flat, soft lunar soil around it. “Did that do any damage?”
“Hard to tell,” Sampson said, getting on his hands and knees and trying to look under the vehicle. “There’s a stain on the skin of the ship, but that could have been there before landing, or even before we took off.”
Sampson’s attitude suggested a man who was confronted with, at worst, a flat tire. I envied that, as I stared at what could only be a fuel leak, knowing we needed to fire the main engine before I could perform a lift that would send us flying back to Earth. “What do we do?” I said, trying not to sound as terrified as I felt.
He was back on his feet, bouncing toward the array package I had dropped. “Complete the mission. We’ll deal with the other problem in its turn.”
“It’s too bad this had to happen,” Sampson said abruptly, about halfway through the construction of Tominbang’s array. Just when I thought he was going to address our problem, he continued: “If the damn Takisians hadn’t arrived, this would be the biggest story on the planet! ‘Man on the Moon’! Can you imagine? Thousands of people would be listening on the radio. We might even have television here.
“And we would just be the first. There would be other landings, too. Scientists would come up here. Even tourists. Once the human race proved it could do something like this, it would never turn back!”
I could have argued with him: I wasn’t too sure that the human race “would never turn back”. We’d “turned back” every chance we got.
Or I could have told Sampson that a certain mobster in southern California agreed with him completely. But all I said was, “If the Takisians hadn’t come, neither of us would be here.”
So we completed our mission, performing an hour of pointless work under the glare of a naked sun. Only when we were starting back toward Quicksilver did I pause to attempt to appreciate the fact that I could die in a place no humans had ever visited. I remember thinking it was an honor I would rather have done without.
Eva-Lynne would die, too, which made it even worse.
As Sampson loped ahead of me, I stopped and, using my boot, wrote the following in the soiclass="underline" “Cash + Eva-Lynne”. I wondered how long it would be before human eyes saw it. If they ever saw it.
Sampson was already back at his controls when I emerged from the airlock. He acted as if everything were fine. “Strap in, gang. No sense hanging around longer than we have to.”
As I finished removing my suit (it was covered with dust, and my oxygen tanks were empty), I put my head close to Eva-Lynne’s. “Did he-?”
“I was listening,” she said, finishing my question. We had no time for further conversation, because Sampson snapped, “Let’s go back there!”
I was angry, but I strapped in. In fact, I tried to reassure Eva-Lynne. “It might be nothing,” I said, whispering.
Sampson finished his checklist, and with twenty seconds’ warning, punched the engine start button. With a dull drone, it started up-
Then died. Now the warning lights flashed. “Dammit.” It was the first time I had heard Sampson use profanity. “We’ve got fuel, but we’ve got a leak in the line that runs to the main engine.” Which meant we didn’t have enough energy to get off the surface of the Moon.
I looked at Eva-Lynne; it was her turn to see panic in my face. For a moment she seemed lost. Then that disturbing, yet attractive knowing look appeared on her face, and she leaned close to me. Her hair, stirred by small breezes from the ventilation fans, surrounded me, caressing me. I forgot about the stale odor of the Quicksilver interior as I inhaled perfume.
And felt her warm breath on my neck and her hand on my chest. Her lips brushed my ear. I think I mumbled a syllable of protest. “Sshh,” she said. Then: “Colonel, why don’t you step inside the airlock.”
Sampson didn’t hesitate. With a look on his face that combined disgust and hope, he crawled past us and into the chamber, dogging the hatch.
My straps seemed to unbuckle themselves. Eva-Lynne’s under-garment removed itself, as did mine. I took her in my arms, feeling her breasts against me, her mouth on mine.
Moments later, I fumbled for the tiller, and faster than any rocket, we fired off the Sea of Storms.
That is the inside story of the first human flight to another world. This is, as far as I know, the only record of it. None of the support team talked. I don’t believe many of them knew what our true destination was.
I never saw or heard from Tominbang again, though the relay station was fully operational. Did he survive to make his transactions?
Sampson is now a major general, first chief of the new Space Command. He’ll never talk, at least not until he’s safely retired. He was mortified at witnessing my love-making with Eva-Lynne. (He wouldn’t meet our eyes on the flight home.) An association with our highly-illegal operation would also be bad for his military career, which is going great. He took the lessons he learned from Quicksilver and applied them to a revamped vehicle called the Hornet, which flies into orbit without the need of an assist from a horny deuce.
Nor will you find Eva-Lynne or Cash Mitchell on Paregrine’s Perch telling tales of that first flight to the Moon. Not as long as Warren Skalko lives. Skalko never forgets.