Heinlein, Robert A – Expanded Universe

grippers for the top edge; thus a pleat could be taken. They fastened it with

maximum pleat. “How’s that?” asked Sam.

“The collar cuts my shoulders.”

“It won’t under pressure. If we leave slack, your head will pull out of the

helmet like a cork.” Sam strapped the air, water, radio, and duffel-rack backpack to

Bruce’s shoulders. “Pressure check, Chubby.”

“We’ll dress first.” While Chubby and Sam dressed, Bruce located his intake

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and exhaust valves, the spill valve inside his collar, and the water nipple beside

it. He took a drink and inspected his belt.

Sam and Bruce donned helmets. Sam switched on Bruce’s walkie-talkie, clipped

a blood-oxygen indica

tor to Bruce’s ear, and locked his helmet on. “Stand by for pressure,” he said, his

words echoing in Bruce’s helmet. Chubby hooked hose from a wall gauge to Bruce’s air

intake.

Bruce felt the collar lift. The air in the suit grew stuffy, the helmet

fogged. At thirty pounds Chubby cut the intake, and watched the gauge. Mr. Andrews

joined them, a Gargantuan helmeted figure, toting a pack six feet high. “Pressure

steady, sir,” Chubby reported.

Sam hooked up Bruce’s air supply. “Open your intake and kick your chin valve

before you smother,” he ordered. Bruce complied. The stale air rushed out and the

helmet cleared. Sam adjusted Bruce’s valves. “Watch that needle,” he ordered,

pointing to the blood-oxygen dial on Bruce’s belt. “Keep your mix so that reads

steady in the white without using your chin valve.

“I know.”

“So I’ll say it again. Keep that needle out of the red, or you’ll explain it

to Saint Peter.”

The Scoutmaster asked, “What load are you giving him?”

“Oh,” replied Sam, “just enough to steady him-say three hundred pounds,

total.”

Bruce figured-at one-sixth gravity that meant fifty pounds weight including

himself, his suit, and his pack. “I’ll carry my full share,” he objected.

“We’ll decide what’s best for you,” the Scoutmaster snapped. “Hurry up; the

troop is ready.” He left.

Sam switched off his radio and touched helmets. “Forget it,” he said

quietly. “The Old Man is edgy at the start of a hike.” They loaded Bruce

rapidly-reserve air and water bottles, a carton of grub, short, wide skis and ski

poles-then hung him with field gear, first-aid kit, prospector’s hammer, two

climbing ropes, a pouch of pitons and snap rings, flashlight, knife. The Moon Scouts

loaded up; Sam called, “Come

Mr. Andrews handed the lockmaster a list and stepped inside; the three

Scouts followed. Bruce felt his suit expand as the air sucked back into the

underground city. A light blinked green; Mr. Andrews opened the outer door and Bruce

stared across the airless lunar plain.

It dazzled him. The plain was bright under a blazing Sun. The distant

needle-sharp hills seemed painted in colors too flat and harsh. He looked at the sky

to rest his eyes.

It made him dizzy. He had never seen a whole skyful of stars undimmed by

air. The sky was blacker than black, crowded with hard, diamond lights.

“Route march!” the Scoutmaster’s voice rang in his helmet. “Heel and toe.

Jack Wills out as pathfinder.” A boy left the group in long, floating strides,

fifteen feet at a bound. He stopped a hundred yards ahead; the troop formed single

column fifty yards behind him. The Pathfinder raised his arm, swung it down, and the

troop moved out.

Mr. Andrews and a Scout joined Sam and Bruce. “Speedy will help you,” he

told Sam, “until Bruce gets his legs. Move him along. We can’t heel-and-toe and

still make our mileage.”

“We’ll move him.”

“Even if we have to carry him,” added Speedy.

The Scoutmaster overtook the troop in long leaps. Bruce wanted to follow. It

looked easy-like flying. He had not liked the crack about carrying him. But Sam

grasped him by his left belt grip while Speedy seized the one on his right. “Here we

go,” Sam warned. “Feet on the ground and try to swing in with us.”

Bruce started off confidently. He felt that three days of low gravity in the

corridors of Luna City had given him his “legs”; being taught to walk, like a baby,

was just hazing.