All the dwellings were grouped together. Deep in the walls of the opposite side lay the big atomic generators that furnished all their power, arid the chemical laboratories and high-vacuum plants were near by; here almost zero absolute temperature could be had in any shaded section, and a nearly perfect vacuum lay all around them. Such industries were the backbone of their trade with Earth.
Even their food was grown underground in tanks containing water and chemicals, and these hydroponic gardens were lighted artificially. Sunlight was missing for fourteen days and then was much too intense for the next fourteen. It was easier to regulate fluorescent lighting.
Svensen tugged at Chuck’s hand, and the boy climbed onto the little tramcar. Two other men in suits had already boarded it—Jose Ibanez from the loading sheds and Abdul ibn Hamet, who worked in the uranium mines—the only uranium deposit discovered on the Moon. Both grinned warmly, and the Arab bent forward to touch helmets with Chuck, so that his words could be heard.
“Bonan vesperon, amiko,” he greeted. The moon operated on a twenty-four-hour day, in spite of its twenty-eight Earth-day period, and Chuck realized it was already afternoon to them. “Domaĝo, îu ne?”
Chuck thought it was more than a shame as he returned the greeting. The starting of the little car cut off further comments, though, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He was in no mood to discuss his bad luck with anyone yet. He was glad when the two men moved off toward the garden entrance after the car stopped.
Half a mile away, the entrance to a small one-man air lock marked the “apartment house” where the Svensens lived. Chuck lagged behind, half-dreading the questioning of his eight-year-old sister, Kay. At the lock, he let his father go first, waited until the green light Indicated the lock was clear, and followed uncertainly. When he passed the inner door, his father was stripping off his suit and storing it with the others in the lockers along the walls.
“I. told them no party tonight,” he told Chuck, as the boy began removing his own suit. “I knew you’d want a little peace. And, Chuck—don’t worry; we won’t talk about the trip for a while. Right?”
Chuck met his father’s understanding glance, and his voice choked a little. He should have known how they’d take it. ‘Thanks, Dad. But tell me, what did happen?”
The observatory spotted a small swarm of meteorites that would intercept the ship’s course part way to Mars. They had to refigure it to avoid that, and it worked out-best if the ship left two days sooner. So you lost. The charter is pretty stiff about the age limits, but Governor Braithwaite is pulling strings, and he may be able to get it stretched that much. After all, they have to have a radar operator…. Come on, supper will be cold.”
The apartment was on the same level as the tunnel, and they moved toward it. Chuck saw that the door was already open. He let out a yell, and a small, furry dog suddenly shot out at him, wriggling and leaping all over him..
‘Tippy! You old rascal. Miss me?”
“Went crazy looking for you,” Svensen answered. The| little dog had been smuggled to the Moon when he was just a puppy by Jeff Foldingchair two years before, to become one of the six dogs on the Moon. Growing up there, he took Lunar conditions for granted; in fact, he even had a small space suit, complete with a sleeve for his tail. But he still acted like any other dog whose master had left him| too long.
Then Chuck’s mother was hugging him. Tears were running down her plump, pleasant face, but she only kissed him once quickly, before rushing back into the little-kitchen. His sister was dancing around, her shrill voice cutting through the sound of Tippy’s barking. “Didja bring me a present, Chuck? Did ya, huh?” Chuck located a small box of carefully wrapped chocolates and a second later her mouth was too full for further sounds.
He turned into his own room to clean up. It was just as he’d left it, with a thin coating of dust over the mess of home-built radar apparatus that filled most of one end and had been his hobby since their arrival here; it must have bothered his mother, but she’d left it undusted, as he’d asked. The only change was an acknowledgment card from an Earth station he had contacted just before leaving.
He was home, no question about it. He tried to tell bun-self that Jeff was right, and only a fool would want to leave this. But he couldn’t make himself believe it He hardly tasted the dinner his mother had so carefully prepared.
In the morning, he was still awake when he heard his father getting ready for work. Automatically, Chuck gathered up his work clothes and began dressing. They ate hastily and went out through the air lock, where a little electric tractor was waiting with the other men who were going on the early shift.
The little tractor carried them onto the cogwheel tram which climbed slowly up to the surface. Then it sped out across the bottom of the big crater toward Junior. There was no tram there to take them down, but an inclined ramp had been built, and they moved down that
The big rocket ship was nearly completed. The scaffolding had been pulled away, and it stood upright on its three leg-fins. Fully fueled, it would weigh nearly thirty tons by Earth weight—about five tons on. the Moon. It stretched upward to a height of nearly a hundred feet Unlike the smaller rockets, this looked something like a huge flying oil tank. It was sixty feet in diameter at its base, its wings were tiny things, and the points rounded out bluntly. With only the very thin atmosphere of Mars to be fought, it didn’t need streamlining.
The outer skin was complete, down to the name—Eros. All the main parts inside had been installed. The atomic engine lay above the big rocket tubes; then came the fuel tanks, the hydroponic gardens, and finally the crew quarters and control room. Only a small amount of work remained.
Chuck turned up to the control room, leaving his father, who was supervising adjustment of the engine. The radar equipment was still in need of work, and the boy had been doing a large part of the installing of that.
Big Richard Steele, the trip engineer, was already in the control room, testing the air circulation. Chuck barely closed the main hatch as the man threw over the valves. Air hissed in, and the two threw back their helmets. “Hi, Chuck.” The engineer had the rich voice with which many Negroes are blessed. His face was streaked with sweat that glistened against the walnut-brown of his skin, but the lines of fatigue only deepened the calm sureness of his expression. He sniffed the air that was circulating, and nodded approval. “I’ve been here all night getting the raw paint smell worked out, but it’s okay now. Might as well enjoy a little breather outside our helmets. How’s the boy?”
“Fine, Dick—I guess.”
“You guess? Oh, that! Well, you’re going, if the rest of us have anything to say. We had a powwow with Governor Braithwaite as soon as we got the news. Didn’t we get you picked for the trip?”
‘This is different,” Chuck pointed out. ‘This is a charter rule.”
The big man nodded slowly. “Yeah, I know. But I haven’t heard that they’ve appointed anyone else, and we aren’t going without a radar operator; you can bet on that. This ship is meant for six men, and it’s going to leave with all six. Better close up—I’m pumping the air back.”
Chuck reached for his helmet snaps as the air began thinning out. Steele watched the meters. Then he slapped Chuck’s back, and went down the hatch.