«Enemy,» Kinsman echoed bleakly. «She couldn’t have been more than twenty years old.»
Murdock’s face went slack. «She?»
Kinsman nodded. «Your honest-to-God hero murdered a terrified girl. That’s something to be proud of, isn’t it?»
FIFTEEN MILES
SEN. ANDERSON: Does that mean that man’s mobility
on the moon will be severely limited?
MR. WEBB: Yes, sir; it is going to be severely limited, Mr. Chairman.
The moon is a rather hostile place.
U.S. Senate Hearings on National Space Goals,
23 August 1965
«Any word from him yet?»
«Huh? No, nothing.»
Kinsman swore to himself as he stood on the open platform of the little lunar rocket-jumper.
«Say, where are you now?» The astronomer’s voice sounded gritty with static in Kinsman’s helmet earphones.
«Up on the rim. He must’ve gone inside the damned crater.»
«The rim? How’d you get … ?»
«Found a flat spot for the jumper. Don’t think I walked this far, do you? I’m not as nutty as the priest.»
«But you’re supposed to stay down here on the plain! The crater’s off limits.»
«Tell it to our holy friar. He’s the one who marched up here. I’m just following the seismic rigs he’s been planting every three-four miles.»
He could sense Bok shaking his head. «Kinsman, if there’re twenty officially approved ways to do a job, I swear you’ll pick the twenty-second.»
«If the first twenty-one are lousy.»
«You’re not going inside the crater, are you? It’s too risky.»
Kinsman almost laughed. «You think sitting in that aluminum casket of ours is safe?»
The earphones went silent. With a scowl, Kinsman wished for the tenth time in an hour that he could scratch his twelve-day beard. Get zipped into the suit and the itches start. He didn’t need a mirror to know that his face was haggard, sleepless, and his black beard was mean-looking.
He stepped down from the jumper—a rocket motor with a railed platform and some equipment on it, nothing more—and planted his boots on the solid rock of the ringwall’s crest. With a twist of his shoulders to settle the weight of the pressure suit’s bulky backpack, he shambled over to the packet of seismic instruments and fluorescent marker that the priest had left there.
«He came right up to the top, and now he’s off on the yellow brick road, playing moon explorer. Stupid bastard.»
Reluctantly, he looked into the crater Alphonsus. The brutally short horizon cut across its middle, but the central peak stuck its worn head up among the solemn stars. Beyond it was nothing but dizzying blackness, an abrupt end to the solid world and the beginning of infinity.
Damn the priest! God’s gift to geology … and I’ve got to play guardian angel for him.
«Any sign of him?»
Kinsman turned back and looked outward from the crater. He could see the lighted radio mast and squat return rocket, far below on the plain. He even convinced himself that he saw the mound of rubble marking their buried base shelter, where Bok lay curled safely in his bunk. It was two days before sunrise, but the Earthlight lit the plain well enough.
«Sure,» Kinsman answered. «He left me a big map with an X to mark the treasure.»
«Don’t get sore at me!»
«Why not? You’re sitting inside. I’ve got to find our fearless geologist.»
«Regulations say one man’s got to be in the base at all times.»
But not the same one man, Kinsman flashed silently.
«Anyway,» Bok went on, «he’s got a few hours’ oxygen left. Let him putter around inside the crater for a while. He’ll come back.»
«Not before his air runs out. Besides, he’s officially missing. Missed two check-in calls. I’m supposed to scout his last known position. Another of those sweet regs.»
Silence again. Bok didn’t like being alone in the base, Kinsman knew.
«Why don’t you come on back,» the astronomer’s voice returned, «until he calls in. Then you can get him with the jumper. You’ll be running out of air yourself before you can find him inside the crater.»
«I’m supposed to try.»
«But why? You sure don’t think much of him. You’ve been tripping all over yourself trying to stay clear of him when he’s inside the base.»
Kinsman suddenly shuddered. So it shows! If you’re not careful you’ll tip them both off.
Aloud he said, «I’m going to look around. Give me an hour. Better call Earthside and tell them what’s going on. Stay in the shelter until I come back.» Or until the relief crew shows up.
«You’re wasting your time. And taking an unnecessary chance.»
«Wish me luck,» Kinsman answered.
«Good luck. I’ll sit tight here.»
Despite himself, Kinsman grinned. Shutting off the radio, he said to himself, «I know damned well you’ll sit tight. Two scientific adventurers. One goes over the hill and the other stays in his bunk two weeks straight.»
He gazed out at the bleak landscape, surrounded by starry emptiness. Something caught at his memory:
«They can’t scare me with their empty spaces,» he muttered. There was more to the verse but he couldn’t recall it.
«Can’t scare me,» he repeated softly, shuffling to the inner rim. He walked very carefully and tried, from inside the cumbersome helmet, to see exactly where he was placing his feet.
The barren slopes fell away in gently terraced steps until, more than half a mile below, they melted into the crater floor. Looks easy … too easy.
With a shrug that was weighted down by the pressure suit, Kinsman started to descend into the crater.
He picked his way across the gravelly terraces and crawled feet first down the breaks between them. The bare rocks were slippery and sometimes sharp. Kinsman went slowly, step by step, trying to make certain he didn’t puncture the aluminized fabric of his suit.
His world was cut off now and circled by the dark rocks. The only sounds he knew were the creakings of the suit’s joints, the electrical hum of its motor, the faint whir of the helmet’s air blower, and his own heavy breathing. Alone, all alone. A solitary microcosm. One living creature in the one universe.
There was still more to it: the tag line that he couldn’t remember.
Finally he had to stop. The suit was heating up too much from his exertion. He took a marker-beacon from the backpack and planted it on the broken ground. The moon’s soil, churned by meteors and whipped into a frozen froth, had an unfinished look about it, as though somebody had been blacktopping the place but stopped before he could apply the final smoothing touches.
From a pouch on his belt Kinsman took a small spool of wire. Plugging one end into the radio outlet on his helmet, he held the spool at arm’s length and released the catch. He couldn’t see it in the dim light, but he felt the spring fire the wire antenna a hundred yards or so upward and out into the crater.
«Father Lemoyne,» he called as the antenna drifted in the moon’s easy gravity. «Father Lemoyne, can you hear me? This is Kinsman.»
No answer.
Okay. Down another flight.
After two more stops and nearly an hour of sweaty descent, Kinsman got his answer.
«Here … I’m here …»
«Where?» Kinsman snapped. «Do something. Make a light.»
«… can’t …» The voice faded out.
Kinsman reeled in the antenna and fired it out again. «Where the hell are you?»
A cough, with pain behind it. «Shouldn’t have done it. Disobeyed. And no water, nothing …»