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DESTINATION MOON by Robert A Heinlein

“Provided they have rigged a beam on us, same as NAA.”

“Well, keep trying, Mannie.”

Traub slipped his earphone back in place. Bowles went on, “It’s nothing to get excited about. We’ll be picked up anywhere.” He chuckled. “Soviet stations will be listening to us shortly. They will be broadcasting denials at the same time stations in Australia are telling the world the truth.”

Corley looked up. “But I won’t get to talk to Hastings!”

Bowles said very gently:

“As I said, that isn’t important in the long run.”

Barnes said, “Stow it, Red. Don’t get downhearted, Doe-there is a good chance that some other station will beam us. Keep trying, Mannie.”

“Will you guys please shut up?”

He did keep trying over and over again; in the intervals he listened, not only to the beam frequency’ofNAA, but all over the dial. —

More than eight hours later the last faint arc of Earth had vanished. No one had thought to eat and Traub had not left his post for any purpose. —

They went on preparing to leave, but their hearts were not in it. Corley stayed at his desk,’ except for snatches of sleep, trying to make up by effort for the lack of fine tools. He set the departure ahead to, give him more time.

The aching, cloudless lunar day wore on and the sun sank to the west. They planned to risk it just at sundown. It was admitted by Corley-and by Barnes, who checked his figures-that the situation theoretically did not permit success. By the book, they would rise, curve around the Moon, and approach the border where the fields of Earth and Moon balance-but they would never reach it; they would fall back and crash.

It was also agreed, by everyone, that it was better to die trying than to wait for death. Bowles suggested that they wait a month until next sight of Earth, but arithmetic shut off that chance; they would not starve; they would not die of thirst-they would suffocate.

Bowles took it serenely; Traub lay in his bunk or moved like a zombie. Corley was a gray-faced automaton, buried in figures. Barnes became increasingly imtable. —

As a’sop to Corley, Bowles made desultory readings on the instruments Corley had not bad — time to use. Among

the chores was developing the films taken on the flight across the back face. It had been agreed to keep them, they weighed ounces only, and it was desirable to develop them to prevent fogging by stray radioactivity. Barnes assigned Traub the task, to keep him busy.

Traub worked in the airlock, it being the only darkroom. Presently he came poking his head up through the hatch. “Mr. Barnes?”

“Yes, Mannie?” Barnes noted with satisfaction that Traub showed his first touch of animation since his

ordeal. —

“See what you make of this.” Traub handed him a negative. Barnes spread it against a port. “See those little round things? What are they?”

“Craters, I guess.”

“No, these are craters. See the difference?”

Barnes tried to visualize what the negative would look like in positive. “What do you think?”

“Well, they look like hemispheres. Odd formation, huh?”

Barnes looked again. “Too damned odd,” he said slowly. “Mannie, let’s have a ‘punt.”

“There’s no print paper, is there?”

“You’re right; my error.”

Bowles joined them. “What’s the curiosity? Moon maidens?”

Barnes showed him. “What do you make of those things?”

Bowles looked, and looked again. Finally he asked, “Mannie, how can we enlarge this?”

It took an hour to jury-rig a magic lantern, using a pilfered camera lens. They all gathered in the airlock and Traub switched on his improvised projector.

Bowles said, “Focus it, for cripes’ sake.” Traub did so. The images of his “hemispheres” were reasonably distinct. They were six in number, arranged in a semicircle — and they were unnatural in appearance.

Barnes peered at them. “Red-you were a bit late when you claimed this planet.”•

Bowles said, “Hmmm — ” Finally he emphatically added, “Constructions.”

“Wait a minute,” protested Corley. “They look artificial, but some very odd formations are natural.”

“Look closer, Doe,” Barnes advised. “There is no reasonable doubt. The question: were we a year or so late in claiming the Moon? Or millions of years?”

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Categories: Heinlein, Robert
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