“Dan... how... how long?” Merola asked.
“To braking?” Forbes asked.
Merola opened his mouth as if to speak. He closed it then, as if the effort were too tiring. He nodded his head instead, his eyes clenched tight, his face lax.
“Tomorrow sometime,” Forbes answered.
Merola nodded again. He seemed to lapse into unconsciousness once more, and he remained silent for so long that Forbes finally whispered, “George, can you hear me?”
Merola tried to nod his head, his features distorted in pain. “Hurts,” he whispered. “Hurts like... like the...”
“Don’t try to talk,” Forbes said. “You’ll be all right by tomorrow. You’ll be able to land us.”
There was a long silence, and Ted could hear the heavy breathing of the men. The two doctors were crowded in behind Forbes, anxiously looking down at Merola.
A tired sigh escaped Merola’s drawn lips. He shook his head vaguely and whispered, “No... won’t... hurts...”
“You’ll be fine,” Forbes reassured him.
“No,” Merola said again. “Boy... Jack...”
“Jack’s not with us, George,” Forbes said gently.
Merola nodded weakly, then breathed deeply. “Know... I know. Ted, I mean. Baker... Baker...”
Ted’s heart quickened at mention of his name. He walked across the cabin, drawing closer to the men, hoping they wouldn’t send him off again.
“What about Baker?” Forbes asked, his voice harsh in spite of his obvious attempt to keep it gentle.
“Land... Baker... Academy boy,” Merola mumbled.
“You mean...”
A low sigh escaped Merola’s lips again; a long, tired, “Oh-h-h-h-h.” His eyes flickered briefly, almost as if he were struggling to open them, and then he seemed to sag back against the cushion.
“I think that’s all he’ll say now,” Dr. Phelps said. He pushed his way past Forbes and lifted Merola’s hand, his fingers closing around Merola’s pulse. “We’d better let him rest.”
“Do you think...?” Forbes started.
Dr. Phelps shook his head. “No. He won’t be strong enough by tomorrow.”
“Sir!”
Forbes whirled rapidly. “What are you doing here, Baker?”
“I didn’t want to eavesdrop, sir, but I couldn’t help hearing what Captain Merola...”
“I’m not interested in what you heard,” Forbes said tersely.
Ted’s eyes flashed with sudden anger. He paused a moment, gaining control of his emotions, and then said, “I could land the ship, sir. At least, I could make a good try at it.”
“You’re not making a try at anything,” Forbes answered. “Not while I’m in command.”
“Just a moment,” Dr. Phelps put in. “Let’s hear the boy out.” He turned to face Ted. “What makes you think you can land her?”
“I’m not sure I can, Dr. Phelps. But our Academy courses covered...”
“Did your Academy courses cover rocket landings on the Moon?” Forbes asked sarcastically.
“No, sir. But they did cover...”
“Look, Baker,” Forbes interrupted, “let’s get something straight right now. You’re on this ship as an intruder, an illegal stowaway in someone else’s place. We’re not interested in any more of your glory-seeking plans. If I were you...”
“I’m not a glory hound,” Ted shouted, unable to control himself any longer. “I’m only trying to help. If you had any sense, you’d realize...”
“That’s enough, Baker.”
“You’d realize I’m offering...”
“I said that’s enough!”
The cabin was suddenly silent. All sound seemed to have stopped with Forbes’s last words. Ted stared at him helplessly, wanting to break through to the man, but finding it impossible.
Dr. Phelps was the first to speak. “I don’t want to question your authority, Dan,” he said, “but our present position seems to transcend personal feelings. If Baker thinks he can...”
“I wish you wouldn’t question my authority, Doc,” Forbes said curtly.
“Come, come,” Dr. Gehardt interceded, “there is no need for this kind of talk,” He shook his head as if he wondered about the motivations of men.
“I won’t stand on ceremony, Dan,” Dr. Phelps said. He sighed heavily. “You know as well as I the way I feel about Baker. But my personal feelings — or yours — aren’t worth a tinker’s toot at the moment. We’re supposed to take this ship to the Moon. You said yourself we’d crash if George weren’t conscious to land the ship. Well, George isn’t conscious, and I doubt if he will be, in time to land.”
“That doesn’t mean...”
“It means,” Dr. Phelps went on, “that we can choose to crash the ship and kill ourselves — or give Baker a stab at saving her.”
“What makes you think Baker can save her?” Forbes asked.
“Suppose we let Baker tell us,” Dr. Phelps said softly.
“I’m not sure,” Ted said.
“Then why’d you say you could land her?”
“I’ve had three years of Navigation, sir,” Ted answered, “I know all the theories behind landing. I know how to turn a rocket, and I could probably learn these controls pretty quickly.”
“But you’ve never actually landed one, have you?”
“No, sir.”
There was silence again. Then Dr. Gehardt said, “It’s a matter of degree, isn’t it?”
“How do you mean?”
Dr. Gehardt shrugged. “No one has ever landed a rocket on the Moon.” He paused. “Not even George.”
“But George is an experienced pilot and navigator,” Forbes complained. “He’s brought more than a hundred rockets back safely from the Station to Earth.”
“But he’s never landed one on the Moon,” Dr. Gehardt repeated.
“Hang it all, you’re arguing on a technicality. George has gone over the approximate landing procedure more times than I can count. Back on Earth he sat in the dummy control booth for days, practicing turnover and deceleration under conditions similar to the ones we’ll meet. He could figure just when to turn over, just how long to blast, just where we’re to put her down. You seem to be forgetting that we can’t just bring this baby down anywhere. Supplies are waiting for us on the Moon. And fuel for the return trip. We’ve got to put down almost on a dime — or we’ll be worse off than we are now.”
“You’re describing ideal conditions,” Dr. Phelps said. “Unfortunately, those conditions do not exist now. Even assuming that Baker fails — even assuming that he crashes the ship and we’re all killed — will we be doing any better if we simply allow it to crash of its own accord?”
Forbes turned his back on the men and walked to the viewport. “Of all the rotten luck,” he muttered.
“We can’t cry over our ill luck,” Dr. Phelps said. “We either face it and try to do something about it, or we give up. I for one, do not want to lose either the rocket or my life. I say we give Baker a chance.”
Forbes whirled suddenly. “And I say no!”
“Are there maps of the Moon on the ship?” Dr. Gehardt asked.
“What difference does that make?” Forbes replied.
“The supply and fuel dump should be marked on the maps.”
“Yes, there are maps,” Forbes said grudgingly. “We’ll be able to see the spot on the radar, anyway. A marker was sent up beforehand. It exploded when it hit the Moon’s surface, marking the spot with plaster of Paris.”
“Then Baker would know where to put it down.”
“Where isn’t the problem. The problem is when, and how.”
Dr. Gehardt shrugged and spread his palms wide. “I don’t see that we have any choice, Dan.”