I, said Jo, simply want to see green trees and blue sky.
The clerk nodded. I know what you mean. It's long ago and far away. Well, have fun. Are you taking three months or six?
We're not coming back, Allan stated flatly. Three years of living like a fish in an aquarium is enough.
So? The clerk shoved the papers toward him and added without expression, Well hot jets.
Thanks. They went on up to the subsurface level and took the crosstown slidewalk out to the rocket port. The slidewalk tunnel broke the surface at one point, becoming a pressurized shed; a view window on the west looked out on the surface of the Moon and, beyond the hills, the Earth.
The sight of it, great and green and bountiful, against the black lunar sky and harsh, unwinking stars, brought quick tears to Jo's eyes. Home that lovely planet was hers! Allan looked at it more casually, noting the Greenwich. The sunrise line had just touched South America must be about eight-twenty; better hurry.
They stepped off the slidewalk into the arms of some of their friends, waiting to see them off. Hey where have you lugs been? The Gremlin blasts off in seven minutes.
But we aren't going in it, MacRae answered. No, siree.
What? Not going? Did you change your minds?
Josephine laughed. Pay no attention to him, Jack. We're going in the express instead; we swapped reservations. So we've got twenty minutes yet.
Well! A couple of rich tourists, eh?
Oh, the extra fare isn't so much and I didn't want to make two changes and spend a week in space when we could be home in two days. She rubbed her bare middle significantly.
She can't take free flight, Jack, her husband explained. Well, neither can I I was sick the whole trip out. Still, I don't think you'll be sick, Jo; you're used to Moon weight now.
Maybe, she agreed, but there is a lot of difference between one-sixth gravity and no gravity.
Jack Crail's wife cut in. Josephine MacRae, are you going to risk your life in an atomic-powered ship?
Why not, darling? You work in an atomics laboratory.
Hummph! In the laboratory we take precautions. The Commerce Commission should never have licensed the expresses. I may be old-fashioned, but I'll go back the way I came, via Terminal and Supra-New York, in good old reliable fuel-rockets.
Don't try to scare her, Emma, Crail objected. They've worked the bugs out of those ships.
Not to my satisfaction. I
Never mind, Allan interrupted her. The matter is settled, and we've still got to get over to the express launching site. Good-by, everybody! Thanks for the send-off. It's been grand knowing you. If you come back to God's country, look us up.
Good-by, kids!
Good-by, Jo good-by, Allan,
Give my regards to Broadway!
So long be sure to write.
Good-by.
Aloha hot jets!
They showed their tickets, entered the air lock, and climbed into the pressurized shuttle between Leyport proper and the express launching site. Hang on, folks, the shuttle operator called back over his shoulder; Jo and Allan hurriedly settled into the cushions. The lock opened; the tunnel ahead was airless. Five minutes later they were climbing out twenty miles away, beyond the hills that shielded the lid of Luna City from the radioactive splash of the express ships.
In the Sparrowhawk they shared a compartment with a missionary family. The Reverend Doctor Simmons felt obliged to explain why he was traveling in luxury. It's for the child, he told them, as his wife strapped the baby girl into a small acceleration couch rigged stretcher-fashion between her parents' couches. Since she's never been in space, we daren't take a chance of her being sick for days on end. They all strapped down at the warning siren. Jo felt her heart begin to pound. At last...at long last!
The jets took hold, mashing them into the cushions. Jo had not known she could feel so heavy. This was worse, much worse, than the trip out. The baby cried as long as acceleration lasted, in wordless terror and discomfort.
After an interminable time they were suddenly weightless, as the ship went into free flight. When the terrible binding weight was free of her chest, Jo's heart felt as light as her body. Allan threw off his upper strap and sat up. How do you feel, kid?
Oh, I feel fine! Jo unstrapped and faced him. Then she hiccoughed. That is, I think I do.
Five minutes later she was not in doubt; she merely wished to die. Allan swam out of the compartment and located the ship's surgeon, who gave her an injection. Allan waited until she had succumbed to the drug, then left for the lounge to try his own cure for spacesickness Mothersill's Seasick Remedy washed down with champagne. Presently he had to admit that these two sovereign remedies did not work for him or perhaps he should not have mixed them.
Little Gloria Simmons was not spacesick. She thought being weightless was fun, and went bouncing off floorplate, overhead, and bulkhead like a dimpled balloon. Jo feebly considered strangling the child, if she floated within reach but it was too much effort.
Deceleration, logy as it made them feel, was welcome relief after nausea except to little Gloria. She cried again, in fear and hurt, while her mother tried to explain. Her father prayed.
After a long, long time came a slight jar and the sound of the siren. Jo managed to raise her head. What's the matter? Is there an accident?
I don't think so. I think we've landed.
We can't have! We're still braking I'm heavy as lead.
Allan grinned feebly. So am I. Earth gravity remember?
The baby continued to cry.
They said good-by to the missionary family, as Mrs. Simmons decided to wait for a stewardess from the skyport. The MacRaes staggered out of the ship, supporting each other.
It can't be just the gravity, Jo protested, her feet caught in invisible quicksand. I've taken Earth-normal acceleration in the centrifuge at the 'Y' back home I mean back in Luna City. We're weak from spacesickness.
Allan steadied himself. That's it. We haven't eaten anything for two days.
Allan didn't you eat anything either?
No. Not permanently, so to speak. Are you hungry?
Starving.
How about dinner at Kean's Chophouse?
Wonderful. Oh, Allan, we're back! Her tears started again. They glimpsed the Simmons' once more, after chuting down the Hudson Valley and into Grand Central Station. While they were waiting at the tube dock for their bag, Jo saw the Reverend Doctor climb heavily out of the next tube capsule, carrying his daughter and followed by his wife. He set the child down carefully. Gloria stood for a moment, trembling on her pudgy legs, then collapsed to the dock. She lay there, crying thinly.
A spaceman pilot, by his uniform stopped and looked pityingly at the child. Born in the Moon? he asked.
Why yes, she was, sir. Simmons' courtesy transcended his troubles.
Pick her up and carry her. She'll have to learn to walk all over again. The spaceman shook his head sadly and glided away. Simmons looked still more troubled, then sat down on the dock beside his child, careless of the dirt.
Jo felt too weak to help. She looked around for Allan, but he was busy; their bag had arrived. It was placed at his feet and he started to pick it up, and then felt suddenly silly. It seemed nailed to the dock. He knew what was in it, rolls of microfilm and colorfilm, a few souvenirs, toilet articles, various irreplaceables fifty pounds of mass. It couldn't weigh what it seemed to.
But it did. He had forgotten what fifty pounds weigh on Earth. Porter, mister? The speaker was grey-haired and thin, but he scooped up the bag quite casually. Allan called out, Come along, Jo, and followed him, feeling foolish. The porter slowed to match Allan's labored steps.
Just down from the Moon? he asked.
Why, yes.
Got a reservation?
No.