Heinlein, Robert A – Expanded Universe

“Just a minute. Professor Warner. Doctor Mansfield. You were not fooling

with me? Every word you had to say is God’s own truth?”

“As you’re standing there, Paddy.”

“And Doctor Mansfield-Professor Warner, do you trust Doctor Mansfield’s

figuring?”

“There’s no man in the United States better qualified to make such an

estimate. That’s the truth, Paddy.”

“Well, then-” Hughes turned toward where his employer sat nodding over the

cash register on the restaurant side of the room and whistled loudly between his

teeth. “Schreiber! Come take the bar.” He started stripping off his apron.

“Hey!” said Warner, “where you going? I ordered a Manhattan.”

“Mix it yourself,” said Hughes. “I’ve quit.” He reached for his hat with one

hand, his coat with the other, and then he was out the door.

Forty seconds later he was on an uptown express; he got off at 34th Street

and three minutes thereafter he was buying a ticket, west. It was ten minutes later

that he felt the train start to roll under him, headed out of the city.

But it was less than an hour later when his misgivings set in. Had he been

too hasty? Professor Warner was a fine man, to be sure, but given to his little

jokes, now and again. Had he been taken in by a carefully contrived hoax? Had Warner

said to his friend, we’ll

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have some fun and scare the living daylights out of the old Irishman?

Nor had he made any arrangements for someone to feed Sad Sack. The cat had a weak

stomach, he was certain, and no one else gave the matter any attention at all. And

Molly’s grave-Wednesday was his day to do his gardening there. Of course Father

Nelson would see that it was watered, just for kindness’ sake, but still- When the

train paused at Princeton Junction he

slipped off and sought out a telephone. He had in mind what he meant to say if he

was able to reach Professor Warner-a good chance, he thought, for considering the

hour the gentlemen probably stayed on for a steak. Professor Warner, he would say,

you’ve had your fun and a fine joke it was as I would be the first to say and to buy

a drink on it, but tell me-man to man-was there anything to what you and your friend

was telling me? That would settle it, he thought.

The call went through promptly and he heard Schreiber’s irritated voice.

“Hello,” he said.

The line went dead. He jiggled the hook. The operator answered, “One moment,

please-” then, “This is the Princeton operator. Is this the party with the call to

New York?”

“Yes. I-”

“There has been a temporary interruption in service. Will you hang up and

try again in a few minutes, please?”

“But I was just talking-”

“Will you hang up and try again in a few minutes, puhlease?”

He heard the shouting as he left the booth. As he got outdoors he could see

the great, gloriously beautiful, gold and purple mushroom still mounting over where

had been the City of New York.

FOREWORD

This story was written twenty-one years before Dr. Neil Armstrong took “one

short step for a man, a giant leap for mankind”-hut in all important essentials it

has not (yet) become dated. True, we do not know that formations such as “morning

glories” exist on Luna and we do not know that there are areas where footgear midway

between skis and snowshoes would be useful. But the Lunar surface is about equal in

area to Africa; a dozen men have explored an area smaller than Capetown for a total

of a few days. We will still be exploring Luna and finding new wonders there when

the first interstellar explorers return from Proxima Centauri or Tau Ceti.

This story is compatible with the so-called “Future History” stories. It is

also part of my continuing postWar-lI attempt to leave the SF-pulp field and spread

out. I never left the genre puips entirely, as it turned out to be easy to write a

book-length job, then break it into three or four cliff-hangers and sell it as a

pulp serial immediately before book publication. I did this with a dozen novels in