Apollo's Outcasts (29 page)

"How far away is it?" I asked.

"31.06 miles."

I hissed between my teeth. Damn, that was a long walk! Of course, I could dump everything off the mule and try to ride the whole way, but that would be dumb. The mule carried four air tanks to replenish the six-hour supply...make that five hours and nineteen minutes...I presently had in my suit, along with the water, food and tent I'd also need. So my legs were in for a workout.

"Where am I?" I asked.

"I can't tell you that,"
Arthur said, and I could have sworn there was an apologetic tone to his voice.
"You'll have to determine your approximate location for yourself before I can show you a map."

Oh, hell. Someone must have reprogrammed Arthur to limit the amount of assistance he could give me; otherwise a translucent map would have immediately appeared within my visor.

"Silence the beacon, please," I asked, and the beeping stopped. At least I wouldn't have that to drive me crazy. "Now show me a compass."

"I cannot do that either. However, if you successfully tell me where you think you are, I can provide you with a map, compass, and direction finder."

So this was my first test: figuring out my position without the
aid of either a map or digital direction finder. Of course, I had a set of rolled-up topographic maps among my equipment, but they wouldn't do me much good unless I knew my latitude and longitude. And Earth-type compasses are useless on the Moon because of its almost nonexistent magnetic field. Since Arthur was being uncooperative, I'd have to work out the problem from what I could see with my own two eyes.

All right, then...looking up at the sky, I noted Earth's apparent position from where I stood. On the lunar near side, Earth is always in the same place, depending on the observer's location; although it regularly changes phases, just as the Moon does when seen from Earth, it doesn't rise or set. Since Apollo was just seven degrees south of the equator, Earth perpetually remained almost directly overhead. Here, though, it was slightly closer to the horizon...about twelve to fifteen degrees below zenith, I estimated...which meant that I was still near the equator, but probably a hundred miles or more from Apollo.

Another helpful thing about celestial navigation from the lunar surface is that, because the Moon is rotation-locked with Earth, most of the major constellations are visible from or near the equator. So it was easy to find Draco, a small constellation midway between Ursa Major and Ursa Minor. Most of the time, Draco points toward the lunar North Pole, just as Polaris points toward the North Pole on Earth; the Moon's rotational wobble causes its pole star to periodically change, but for now Draco was the way to find the lunar true-north.

Once I had that direction, I determined the other points of the compass and compared them with Earth's position. That confirmed my belief that I was still south of the equator. I could have reached into the map case and pulled out one of the scrolls, but I didn't have to. I'd learned enough about lunar geography to make a good guess where I was.

"I'm on the west side of Alphonsus crater, Arthur. About...oh, 125 to 150 miles from Apollo. Is that right?"

"Yes, you are correct. Would you like to see a map and compass?"

I let out my breath in relief. "Yes, please."

A topo map of the Alphonsus region was superimposed upon my faceplate; a digital compass synched to Apollo's navigation satellites appeared in the top right corner. The direction finder pinpointed my present location as a tiny green triangle near Alphonsus's west side, and the beacon was a blue triangle near just past the crater's center. Studying the map, I noticed that the beacon was located just beyond Mt. Tobor, an isolated peak in the middle of the crater.

It looked as if I'd have to go around the mountain in order to reach the beacon. "Show me a direct line between my current location and the beacon, Arthur," I said, and he obligingly traced a red line between here and there. Sure enough, the line was 31.06 miles long, and appeared as if it would take me past Mt. Tobor.

Out of curiosity, I asked Arthur to trace another line to Apollo. It lay to the northeast, 155 miles away. Glancing in that direction, I had to smile; this was exactly the way the Pegasus had gone after it had dropped me off. Gordie had been trying to give me a hint. I suspected his comment about "saying hello to the Old Ranger" was another, but I hadn't the foggiest idea what he meant by that.

"Drop map and direction finder, display horizontal compass," I said. The map and direction finder disappeared, to be replaced by a horizontal bar that stretched across the middle of my faceplate. The bar was marked in degrees of longitude, with a red E and the beacon's yellow arrowhead silently glowing straight ahead.

So...I had just a little under thirty hours of air, and just a little more than thirty-one miles to cross before my supply ran out. If I set a pace of about two or three miles per hour, I could reach the beacon in about ten to fifteen hours, give or take an hour or so. But that was only if I didn't stop to rest, and I knew I couldn't do that. Sooner or later, I'd have to get some sleep.

"Is there anything else you want?"
Arthur asked.

"Nope. Not a thing." I let out my breath, flexed my arms and legs a little bit. "Follow me," I said to the mule, and then I started walking.

The Lunar Search and Rescue exercise required for advancement from Third to Second class was technically called the Extravehicular Solo Lunar Excursion, but no one ever used that term. It got the name "walkabout" after something practiced by Australian aborigines; they'll sometimes leave their tribal communities and hike into the outback on their own, walking and walking, with no particular direction in mind. They do that to get away from people for a while, but it's also said that someone who goes walkabout eventually meets up with himself. The last part sounded a little too mystical for me; so far as I was concerned, it was just another way of saying that I was going to be do an awful lot of walking.

There's not much resemblance between the Australian desert and the surface of the Moon, appearances not withstanding: no brush, no water holes, and not a kangaroo in sight. And it wasn't as though I lacked either direction or destination. All I had to do was reach that beacon, then I could radio Apollo and wait for Gordie to retrieve me. Simple, really. Or so it seemed. But going solo was harder than I expected, and it wasn't long before I realized that this would be one of the toughest things I'd ever done.

For one thing, I made less time than I thought I would. The first couple of miles from the drop-off point took me down a slope that, while not treacherous, nonetheless prevented me from bunny-hopping. When I tried to do that, I lost my footing on the loose regolith and came close to falling head-first against a rock that would have shattered my helmet faceplate. That close-call sobered me up; from then on, I kept to a slower, more deliberate gait.

My pace was also restricted by the mule. Although it was solar-powered and could operate indefinitely, it travelled no more than a couple of miles an hour, and often had to roll around rocks that I easily stepped over. It wasn't long before I realized that I was in danger of leaving it behind. I couldn't afford to lose the stupid thing,
so I frequently had to stop and wait for it to catch up with me. It gave me a chance to catch my breath and sip a little water from the tube inside my helmet, but it also nibbled away at my time-factor.

I thought I might be able to speed things up a bit once I reached the bottom of the slope and started making my way across the crater floor. Instead, I found that Alphonsus was a rougher place than Ptolemaeus. The ground was uneven, pocked with impact craters and strewn with boulders the size of cars. I could dodge most of this stuff, but the mule had to pick its way around them, and every so often it got stuck. When that happened, I'd have to go back, grab its tow-bar, and haul it out of a pit or over a rock. If the mule hadn't been carrying everything I needed to stay alive, I probably would have kicked it over on its side and left it there.

On Earth, when you're standing at ground level on flat terrain, your visible horizon is about three miles away. On the Moon, though, it's only about a mile and half. This meant that I couldn't see Mt. Tobor even though the map and direction finder told me that I was heading toward it. After awhile it felt as if, no matter how far I walked, I wasn't getting any closer to my destination. The mountain remained perpetually over the horizon; I knew it was there, but I couldn't see it.

So the going was much slower than I thought it would be. About eight miles after I left the drop-off point, a bell chimed and red light flashed on my heads-up display, signaling me that I needed to replenish my air supply. The way I'd originally estimated my consumption, I shouldn't have had to do that until I'd walked at least ten miles. I stopped, went back to the mule, and attached the feedline from one of the air tanks to the inlet port on the lower left side of my life support pack. It took only a few minutes to refill my pack; while I was at it, I also topped off the suit's drinking water tank.

I thought about discarding the empty air tank, but decided against it. We were supposed to be conscientious about littering the lunar terrain. Besides, now that the spare tank was empty, it wouldn't
save that much weight for the mule to have to carry. Something occurred to me just then: I hadn't seen any other footprints. Tracks remain forever in the regolith; there's no wind or rain to erode them. That meant I was the first person to set foot on this part of the Moon. If other Third Class Rangers had made their walkabouts in Alphonsus, they hadn't traveled the same way I did.

Not only was I alone, but I was also in a place where no one had ever been. This realization was both awesome and terrifying. I looked up at Earth, and saw that it was nothing more than a thin silver crescent in the sky.

"Arthur," I asked, "what time is it in Maryland?"

"It is 11:47 PM, Jamey."

Almost midnight back home. Wherever Jan or Dad were, if they could see the Moon, they'd be looking up at me...but they'd have no idea where I was. If something went seriously wrong, if I had an accident so catastrophic that I didn't have time to either save myself or call for help, then I would die in this place and my sister and father would never know about it. Or at least not until someone at Apollo saw that I was overdue and a Ranger team came out to search for my body.

I tried to shrug it off as I kept walking, but the thought haunted me. What was I doing here? What was I trying to prove to myself?

--
This is a hell of a time to ask that
, said a little voice that sounded like mine.

"Okay, so maybe it is," I replied. "But I still want to know why."

"What do you want to know, Jamey?"
Arthur asked.

"I didn't mean you, Arthur," I said. "I'm..."

--
Talking to yourself?
That's the first sign you're going crazy, isn't it?

"No, it isn't. People talk to themselves all the time." I concentrated on putting one foot in front of another.

--
Sure they do. But let's not change the subject. Why are you doing this? Are you trying to impress someone? Nicole, maybe?

"No. Nicole is going with Logan now. And it's not Hannah, either."

--
Really? Maybe you're right. You really haven't been paying much attention to her, have you? But she likes you a lot. I mean, she's kissed you a couple of times, and that St. Christopher's medal you're wearing under your suit...that means something, doesn't it?

"I know what it means. And, yeah, I really should spend more time with her. But that's not why I'm doing this."

--
So what's the point? I mean, look at you. You're walking on the Moon. A couple of months ago, you couldn't even get to the bathroom without crutches. Jan and Dad would be impressed, sure...but they have no idea what you're doing, so why are you putting yourself through all this? If you'll just give up
...

"I'm not giving up!"

--
Suit yourself. Maybe they'll carve that on your tombstone.

My stomach was beginning to rumble; it had been quite a while since I'd had anything to eat. I'd learned during training that, if you're expecting to spend more than a few hours in a moonsuit, you shouldn't have any solid food. Not unless you want to take a dump in your suit and are willing to live with the consequences; peeing was easier, though, because the urine went into the suit's wastewater recycling loop and was used as coolant.

So my last meal had been the bowl of tomato soup Ms. Lagler had given me for breakfast. The voice in my head was hunger talking. But I couldn't feed myself until I made camp, and I had miles to go before I could afford to do that.

--
Call out for a pizza. Or better yet, call Gordie and ask him to pick you up. In an hour, you can be having tacos with chettuce
...

"Shut up and leave me alone."

"Jamey, who are you talking to?"
Arthur asked.