Ted’s mouth opened in surprise. “Why no, sir. That’s not it at all! Jack...”
“George,” Dr. Phelps called hurriedly. “The Station. They’re sending up a flare.”
Merola sidestepped Ted and shoved himself hastily to the viewport. A red flare arced high over the Station, like a spark leaping from the rim of a wheel. It burst in the sky like an opening red hand, its brilliance tinting the inside of the rocket.
“That’s a danger flare,” Merola said. He whirled from the viewport, facing Ted with a solemn look in his eyes.
“What does Dan mean, Baker?”
“I don’t know, sir. I didn’t come aboard in Jack’s place. I came here to tell you to stop blastoff. Sir, I...”
“Then what was all that talk this afternoon, Baker?” Forbes interrupted. “About wanting to do something you knew would hurt someone else? About it being as important as the Moon trip? I tried to tell myself I was wrong about you, Baker, but you proved I was right. The temptation proved to be too much, didn’t it?”
Panic rushed into Ted’s eyes. “Sir, I... I...” he stammered. “You... you’ve got to understand.”
“Attention, Moon rocket!” the bulkhead speaker blared. “Attention, Moon rocket!”
“Here it is now,” Merola said. “Maybe this’ll clear it up.”
“You have a stowaway,” the voice on the speaker said.
“No!” Ted shouted. “That’s not true. I didn’t...”
“You have a stowaway, Moon rocket. You have a stowaway.”
“All right, Baker,” Forbes said. “That confirms it.”
“Sir...”
Merola’s face was grim. “I’m a little disappointed in you, Baker. I thought... well, no matter.”
“What are we going to do, George?” Forbes asked.
“What can we do? He goes with us.”
“No,” Ted pleaded. “We can’t do that. I just wanted you to stop because Jack was hurt and...”
“You planned it this way, Baker,” Forbes said. “Why chicken out now?”
“I didn’t plan anything!” Ted shouted. He turned to the two doctors still lying on the couches. They stared at him incredulously. “Dr. Phelps, Dr. Gehardt,” he pleaded. “Won’t you listen to me?”
Dr. Phelps turned away, his silence more cutting than any words could have been.
Dr. Gehardt seemed to waver for a moment. He shook his head slowly then and said, “I remember on the trip to the Station, your talk about the Moon rocket.”
“But I didn’t mean...”
“Stand by for blastoff,” the bulkhead speaker warned.
“Captain Merola,” Ted said, “you’ve got to believe me. I didn’t want to come on the Moon trip. I was perfectly happy to stay at the Station.” He bit his lip, dangerously close to frustrated tears, holding them back before these older men.
“Then what are you doing here?” Merola asked.
“Jack was injured. I came to tell you.”
“Sure,” Forbes said. “You knocked him cold. You just admitted it a while ago.”
“No, not that,” Ted said. “He...”
“Zero minus two,” the speaker warned.
“Let’s get to the couches,” Merola said. “We can talk about this later.”
“But, Captain,” Ted started. “I...”
“Get to your couch, Baker,” Merola said, his voice stern.
“Zero minus one.”
“Wh-which couch, sir?”
“Above Dr. Gehardt. Snap to it!”
“Sir, I...”
“You’ve caused enough trouble already, Baker. If you foul up our blastoff, I’ll...”
“Fifty-five...”
“Let’s hop to it, George,” Forbes said.
“Fifty...”
Merola went quickly across the deck and piled into his couch. He swung the movable radar screen into place over his chest, began clicking toggles.
“I’m checked, Dan,” he said.
“Roger.”
“Thirty...”
“Are those the seconds the speaker is counting off?” Dr. Gehardt asked.
“Forward radar loud and clear,” Forbes called.
“Roger.”
“Twenty...”
Ted lay back on his couch, his fingers digging into the foam rubber. He didn’t want to be going to the Moon. He only wanted them to believe him. He wanted them to know he’d been telling the truth, that he’d only been thinking of...
“Port radar loud and clear.”
“Roger.”
“Starboard radar loud and clear.”
“Roger.”
“Ten...”
“Rear radar loud and clear.”
“Roger.”
“Stand by, Moon rocket. Nine, eight, seven, six, five...”
Ted felt his stomach curl around his spine. He listened to the speaker on the bulkhead, and his skin erupted into goose-pimples. His lip began to tremble, and he clamped his jaws shut against his rattling teeth. This was no hop to the Station. They were shooting for the Moon. The Moon...
“Four, three...”
“Get set,” Merola shouted.
“Two...”
“This is it,” Forbes said, and his voice was peculiarly tight.
“One!”
Chapter 7
One Alone
Two minutes can be a very short time. It can zip by with lightning rapidity when your team is behind in the last quarter of a football game. It can seem like two seconds when you’re rushing to class before the bell rings. It can be gone before you realize it when you’re in the middle of an interesting discussion and you suddenly learn it’s time to go home.
Or it can be a very, very long time.
When you’re tight in the grip of acceleration, it can be a lifetime.
Ted fought it this time. He struggled against it with every muscle in his body. His teeth clenched tightly, and the cords in his neck stood out like thick wires. His eyes were squeezed shut, filled with a searing pain that threatened to push them through the back of his skull. The force pressed against him, and he retreated back into the depth of the cushion, his mind fighting the blackness that lurked on the fringes of his consciousness.
Two minutes, he kept repeating to himself. Two minutes and it’ll be all over. Two minutes minutes minutes minutes...
The pound of the jets picked up the chant in his head, echoed it back to him in a thousand roaring voices that filled the cabin of the ship. The bulkheads vibrated in response to the unleashed fury of the rockets.
The pain reached deep into his skull, probed at his brain, curled along his spine.
Two minutes. Two minutes.
It was easier to black out. It was far easier to succumb to the incessant force. He fought it tenaciously, like a man holding to the tail of an enraged tiger.
And then it was over. The two minutes had passed. They were dead, and the trail of fire that had lanced across the sky had died with them.
Ted lay back on the couch, his eyes still closed, his body covered with a fine sweat. His breathing was coarse and uneven. He lay there and rested, feeling the strength seep back into his exhausted muscles. He thought briefly of Jack, wondering if the acceleration would have finished his collarbone. He did not think of the Moon. The Moon was a distant sphere in the sky, something cold and bleak, something inaccessible. He did not think of it at all, and it never even remotely occurred to him that he was now speeding for the Moon with fantastic rapidity.
It seemed hot in the cabin, and he knew this was ridiculous because the temperature was undoubtedly controlled by air conditioning. Still, it seemed hot. He knew he was drenched with perspiration, but he made no move to wipe the moisture from his face; he lay there, instead, with one arm dangling over the side of the couch, his legs widespread, his mouth open.