Clarke, Arthur C - SSC 04 (17 page)

All the optical equipment of the three
expeditions seemed to have been gathered together to record the performance.
Telescopes, spectroscopes, motion-picuure cameras, and everything else one
could think of were lined up ready for action. And this, I knew, was nothing
compared with the battery that must be zeroed on us from Earth. Every amateur astronomer
who could see the moon tonight would be standing by in his back garden,
listening to the radio commentary that told him of the progress of the
experiment. I glanced up at the gleaming planet that dominated the sky above
me; the land areas seemed to be fairly free from cloud, so the folks at home
should have a good view. That seemed only fair; after all, they were footing
the bill.

There were still fifteen minutes to go. Not
for the first time, I wished there was a reliable way of smoking a cigarette
inside a space suit without getting the helmet so badly fogged that you
couldn’t see. Our scientists had solved so many much more difficult problems;
it seemed a pity that they couldn’t do something about
that
one.

To pass the time – for this was an experiment
where I had nothing to do – I switched on my suit radio and listened to Dave
Bolton, who was making a very good job of the commentary. Dave was our chief
navigator, and a brilliant mathematician. He also had a glib tongue and a
picturesque turn of speech, and sometimes his recordings had to be censored by
the BBC. There was nothing they could do about this one, however, for it was
going out live from the relay stations on Earth.

Dave had finished a brief and lucid
explanation of the purpose of the experiment, describing how the cloud of
glowing sodium would enable us to analyse the lunar atmosphere as it rose
through it at approximately a thousand miles an hour. ‘However,’ he went on
tell the waiting millions on Earth, ‘let’s make one point clear. Even when the
bomb has gone off, you won’t see a darn thing for ten minutes – and neither
will we. The sodium cloud will be completely invisible while it’s rising up
through the darkness of the moon’s shadow. Then, quite suddenly, it will flash
into brilliance as it enters the sun’s rays, which are streaming past over our
heads right now as we stare up into space. No one is quite sure how bright it
will be, but it’s a pretty safe guess that you’ll be able to see it in any
telescope bigger than a two-inch. So it should just be within the range of a
good pair of binoculars.’

He had to keep this sort of thing up for
another ten minutes, and it was a marvel to me how he managed to do it. Then
the great moment came, and Anderson closed the firing circuit. The bomb started
to cook, building up pressure inside as the sodium volatilised. After thirty
seconds, there was a sudden puff of smoke from the long, slender nozzle
pointing up at the sky. And then we had to wait for another ten minutes while
the invisible cloud rose to the stars. After all this build-up, I told myself,
the result had better be good.

The seconds and minutes ebbed away. Then a
sudden yellow glow began to spread across the sky, like a vast and unwavering
aurora that became brighter even as we watched. It was as if an artist was
sprawling strokes across the stars with a flame-filled brush. And as I stared
at those strokes, I suddenly realised that someone had brought off the greatest
advertising coup in history. For the strokes formed letters, and the letters
formed two words – the name of a certain soft drink too well known to need any
further publicity from me.

How had it been done? The first answer was
obvious. Someone had placed a suitably cut stencil in the nozzle of the sodium
bomb, so that the stream of escaping vapour had shaped itself to the words.
Since there was nothing to distort it, the pattern had kept its shape during
its invisible ascent to the stars. I had been skywriting on Earth, but this was
something on a far larger scale. Whatever I thought of them, I couldn’t help
admiring the ingenuity of the men who had perpetrated the scheme. The O’s and
A’s had given them a bit of trouble, but the C’s and L’s were perfect.

After the initial shock, I am glad to say
that the scientific programme proceeded as planned. I wish I could remember how
Dave Bolton rose to the occasion in his commentary; it must have been a strain
even for his quick wits. By this time, of course, half the Earth could see what
he was describing. The next morning, every newspaper on the planet carried that
famous photo of the crescent moon with the luminous slogan painted across its
darkened sector.

The letters were visible, before they
finally dispersed into space, for over an hour. By that time the words were
almost a thousand miles long, and were beginning to get blurred. But they were
still readable until they at last faded from sight in the ultimate vacuum
between the planets.

Then the real fireworks began. Commander
Vandenburg was absolutely furious, and promptly started to grill all his men.
However, it was soon clear that the saboteur – if you could call him that – had
been back on Earth. The bomb had been prepared there and shipped ready for
immediate use. It did not take long to find, and fire, the engineer who had carried
out the substitution. He couldn’t have cared less, since his financial needs
had been taken care of for a good many years to come.

As for the experiment itself, it was
completely successful from the scientific point of view; all the recording
instruments worked perfectly as they analysed the light from the unexpectedly
shaped cloud. But we never let the Americans live it down, and I am afraid poor
Captain Vandenburg was the one who suffered most. Before he came to the moon he
was a confirmed teetotaller, and much of his refreshment came from a certain
wasp-waisted bottle. But now, as a matter of principle, he can only drink beer
– and he hates the stuff.

I have already described the – shall we say
– jockeying for position before take-off on the first flight to the moon. As it
turned out, the American, Russian, and British ships landed just about
simultaneously. No one has ever explained, however, why the British ship came
back nearly two weeks after the others.

Oh, I know the official story; I ought to,
for I helped to concoct it. It is true as far as it goes, but it scarcely goes
far enough.

On all counts, the joint expedition had been
a triumphant success. There had been only one casualty, and in the manner of
his death Vladimir Surov had made himself immortal. We had gathered knowledge
that would keep the scientists of Earth busy for generations, and that would
revolutionise almost all our ideas concerning the nature of the universe around
us. Yes, our five months on the moon had been well spent, and we could go home
to such welcomes as few heroes had ever had before.

However, there was still a good deal of
tidying up to be done. The instruments that had been scattered all over the
lunar landscape were still busily recording, and much of the information they
gathered could not be automatically radioed back to Earth. There was no point
in all three of the expedition staying on the moon to the last minute; the
personnel of one would be sufficient to finish the job. But who would volunteer
to be caretaker while the others went back to gain the glory? It was a
difficult problem, but one that would have to be solved very soon.

As far as supplies were concerned, we had
little to worry about. The automatic freight rockets could keep us provided
with air, food, and water for as long as we wished to stay on the moon. We were
all in good health, though a little tired. None of the anticipated
psychological troubles had cropped up, perhaps because we had all been so busy
on tasks of absorbing interest that we had had no time to worry about going
crazy. But, of course, we all looked forward to getting back to Earth, and
seeing our families again.

The first change of plan was forced upon us
by the
Ziolkovski
being put out of commission when the ground beneath
one of her landing legs suddenly gave way. The ship managed to stay upright,
but the hull was badly twisted and the pressure cabin sprang dozens of leaks.
There was much debate about on-the-spot repairs, but it was decided that it
would be far too risky for her to take off in this condition. The Russians had
no alternative but to thumb lifts back in the
Goddard
and the
Endeavour
;
by using the
Ziolkovski
’s unwanted fuel, our ships would be able to
manage the extra load. However, the return flight would be extremely cramped
and uncomfortable for all concerned because everyone would have to eat and
sleep in shifts.

Either the American or the British ship,
therefore, would be the first back to Earth. During those final weeks, as the
work of the expedition was brought to its close, relations between Commander
Vandenburg and myself were somewhat strained. I even wondered if we ought to
settle the matter by tossing for it….

Another problem was also engaging my
attention – that of crew discipline. Perhaps this is too strong a phrase; I
would not like it to be thought that a mutiny ever seemed probable. But all my
men were now a little abstracted and liable to be found, if off duty,
scribbling furiously in corners. I knew exactly what was going on, for I was involved
in it myself. There wasn’t a human being on the moon who had not sold exclusive
rights to some newspaper or magazine, and we were all haunted by approaching
deadlines. The radio-teletype to Earth was in continuous operation, sending
tens of thousands of words a day, while ever larger slabs of deathless prose
were being dictated over the speech circuits.

It was Professor Williams, our very
practical-minded astronomer, who came to me one day with the answer to my main
problem.

‘Skipper,’ he said, balancing himself
precariously on the all-too-collapsible table I used as my working desk inside
the igloo, ‘there’s no technical reason, is there, why we should get back to
Earth first?’

‘No,’ I said, ‘merely a matter of fame,
fortune, and seeing our families again. But I admit those aren’t technical
reasons. We could stay here another year if Earth kept sending supplies. If you
want to suggest that, however, I shall take great pleasure in strangling you.’

‘It’s not as bad as that. Once the main body
has gone back, whichever party is left can follow in two or three weeks at the
latest. They’ll get a lot of credit, in fact, for self-sacrifice, modesty, and
similar virtues.’

‘Which will be very poor compensation for
being second home.’

‘Right – we need something else to make it
worthwhile. Some more material reward.’

‘Agreed. What do you suggest?’

Williams pointed to the calendar hanging on
the wall in front of me, between the two pin-ups we had stolen from the
Goddard
.
The length of our stay was indicated by the days that had been crossed off in
red ink; a big question mark in two weeks’ time showed when the first ship
would be heading back to Earth.

‘There’s your answer,’ he said. ‘If we go
back then, do you realise what will happen? I’ll tell you.’

He did, and I kicked myself for not having
thought of it first.

The next day, I explained my decision to
Vandenburg and Krasnin.

‘We’ll stay behind and do the mopping up,’ I
said. ‘It’s a matter of common sense. The
Goddard
’s a much bigger ship
than ours and can carry an extra four people, while we can only manage two
more, and even then it will be a squeeze. If you go first, Van, it will save a
lot of people from eating their hearts out here for longer than necessary.’

‘That’s very big of you,’ replied
Vandenburg. ‘I won’t hide the fact that we’ll be happy to get home. And it’s
logical, I admit, now that the
Ziolkovski
’s out of action. Still, it
means quite a sacrifice on your part, and I don’t really like to take advantage
of it.’

I gave an expansive wave.

‘Think nothing of it,’ I answered. ‘As long
as you boys don’t grab all the credit, we’ll take our turn. After all, we’ll
have the show here to ourselves when you’ve gone back to Earth.’

Krasnin was looking at me with a rather
calculating expression, and I found it singularly difficult to return his gaze.

‘I hate to sound cynical,’ he said, ‘but
I’ve learned to be a little suspicious when people start doing big favours
without very good reasons. And frankly, I don’t think the reason you’ve given
is good enough. You wouldn’t have anything else up your sleeve, would you?’

‘Oh, very well,’ I sighed. ‘I’d hoped to get
a
little
credit, but I see it’s no use trying to convince anyone of the
purity of my motives. I’ve got a reason, and you might as well know it. But
please don’t spread it around; I’d hate the folks back on Earth to be
disillusioned. They still think of us as noble and heroic seekers after
knowledge; let’s keep it that way, for all our sakes.’

Then I pulled out the calendar, and
explained to Vandenburg and Krasnin what Williams had already explained to me.
They listened with scepticism, then with growing sympathy.

‘I had no idea it was
that
bad,’ said
Vandenburg at last.

‘Americans never have,’ I said sadly.
‘Anyway, that’s the way it’s been for half a century, and it doesn’t seem to
get any better. So you agree with my suggestion?’