By Earthlight Page 2
"It couldn't be bigger," the anonymous man said. "Than a one-way tripto the moon!"
* * * * *
The man explained some things to Barlow. Barlow didn't say anything.Maybe there was a slight tremor in his lips, but he didn't think so.
_The first man into space. The first man to the Moon!_
"... a world atomic war may break within six months. In spite ofpropaganda being fed to the people, trying to paint this atomic war asjust another war, we know it will probably be the last war, the end ofcivilization. So our philosophical revolution, the revolution of men'sminds, will begin in approximately six months from tonight. But ifthis last war breaks, our centuries-old plan will fail; it will nevereven materialize.
"The revolution is quite delicate. Simultaneously, all over the world,at a specific time, and under rigidly-controlled and favorablecircumstances, the movement we have been building so long will springup. Nothing can stop it then, once the spiritual fires begin to burn!But it can't begin until the exact scheduled moment. Your job will beto attempt to prolong this present 'peace' until our plan can go intoeffect. That's why you're making this trip to the moon."
Barlow laughed. "That doesn't mean a damn thing to me. To me, the onlyimportant thing is that I'm the first man into space. That's enoughfor anyone to know."
"Is it?"
"I'm just Hal Barlow, a guy who's had several other names, and who'sreally only a number! I joined the Brotherhood for kicks, notlectures! I'll do this job, in my own way, because I want to do it.For Hal Barlow!"
The man in the shadows nodded slowly. "Can't you feel what it means?Our spiritual revolution? You've read some of the works we've printedon it. This feeling of oneness with humanity. That's the real value.Can't you--"
Barlow said. "Isn't the offer of my life enough?"
The shadow said. "Maybe--for us, for people. But what about you? Maybethere are some things even you can't face alone. And think of thosepeople out there; they need and cling to each other, even to eachothers' madness. Living in futile hope while going on down the crazytoboggan-ride to their own destruction. The living loudly and inpublic, because to be silent allows reality to enter in on feet ofterror; and because 'to be alone' means madness. The simulated gaietyof the bars every night, with the shadows outside that never seem togo away, even under the glare of neon. They've never had a chance toplan, to live with any hope for the future. Burdened down by anxiety,they've built up a defense of falseness, and underneath, the terriblefear of the atomic bomb is a constant inner sickness!"
Barlow grinned. "A nice speech, but I already know those things. WhatI'm really interested in is what I'm supposed to do."
So the man explained to Barlow some things about why he was going on aone-way trip to the moon in a rocket intended for no man to be in, ina rocket intended for no living thing.
After the man had gone, Barlow quickly snapped on the radio again, andhe felt better with the music and human voices. For a moment there, hehad seemed to feel a tinge of fear. What the devil? Psyche-screening?So he was capable of fear; who wasn't? He didn't need psyching. Whatindignity to the individual--to have the fingerprints of psychiatristsall over your brain!
_I'm Hal Barlow! The first man into space. The first man to the Moon!_
He had gotten to the rocket-launching site early and had sat in themoonlight smoking a cigarette. He felt odd inside and he didn't knowwhy. The moon had a cold effect on him. He was worried, about himself.
The whole area had been painted and disguised with all the arts ofcamouflage; everything appearing from the air looked like sand andsage and rock and hill. The rocket itself was built inside the hill,which served as a giant launching-barrel to guide the rocket with theexact accuracy demanded in its take-off.
The moon had loomed large and still and cold.
"_... ten, nine, eight...._"
So he was back inside the suit, inside the rocket, jammed into abarrel like a wad of ammo. Now he was beginning to see what mightcause his terror. His Achilles Heel. But it was too late. What wouldthey have found if they'd psyched him?
A wild kid--old, but still driven by the urges of a kid who hadn'tgrown up. A lot of surface things, the inside of him covered over.Obsessed with exterior things, he had never given himself a chance tosee inside himself. Afraid. Always been with people, beer, women,bars, juke-boxes, noises, excitement. Never alone--
No parents that he could remember. He'd run away from the middle-westorphanage and heard about the Brotherhood from a friendly priest, andthe priest had taken him into the organization. Strictly for kicksthough, Barlow had warned. The priest had smiled with wisdom--"Youdon't know your own true motives, my boy."
"_... seven, six, five, four...._"
* * * * *
Just Hal Barlow. That was all right, but the real Hal Barlow wasunknown. He'd never realized, with all his screaming aboutindividualism, how much he'd depended on people. He had loved no one.He had seemed to love them when he was with them, but could never formany solid associations. Now all the people he had never really knownbecame as shadows thrown upon the wall of his brain. He felt the sweatsoaking his skin. Alone. Destined for it like a twin, whose double hasdied at birth. Always--in league with those on the other side of thelooking-glass.
"_... three... two...._"
He screamed; _no, I can't do it, I can't face it--_
_Someone--listen--_
The dull muted explosion miles away, and the terrific compression andthe wash of numbing, deafening sound beating back around him.Everything inside him seeming to whirl up and come down in a crash.The seeming to slide around in the dihedrals of time and space,slipping in and out of being like a ball-bearing in a maze....
First man to the moon. In a rocket meant for no man. Not a rocket. Acoffin--on a one-way trip--
_And I--maybe the one, the very one they should never have sent._
* * * * *
With each degree of returning consciousness, more and more capacityfor fighting the fear. He cursed the fear and wrestled with it like aman with an invisible opponent down an endless flight of stairs.
He felt too alone, isolated; then he thought of the readings. Theycould be flashed into a small screen in the face-plate by manipulatingthe fingers of his right hand. He tried to concentrate on the readingsas an aid in fighting the fear.
... in the stratosphere, eighty kilometers, rocket's temperature minusa hundred and fifty degrees. Hundred and twenty-five kilometers, lowerpart of ionosphere, up plus one hundred and fifty--and then on upwhere it was somewhere around a thousand degrees, and who cared? Hewas beyond that--away way out--somewhere--
It went on a long time and then ... nothing but darkness ... thelonely song of the gyroscopes. His own voice ... distant, alien ...raving ... a kind of delirium ... then sometime, an awareness of thecutting down of power, the brief warning of intuition, the concussion.And as consciousness came back again, the knowing that he had hit toohard in spite of the lighter moon gravity.
His head throbbing crazily and around him the absolute darkness andsilence and the warm ache in his head, the dizziness and the warmstickiness flowing down his face.
He lay there, afraid of retching. He moved his finger to release moreoxygen. He could smell himself, the sharp bite of fear and the odor ofblood.
He felt panic. He experimented. He could move easily here where theseven-hundred pound suit weighed only 140 pounds. He switched on thesuit's light beam. The anonymous man had said. "_Get out of the rocketat once, silently!_"
He squeezed out of the barrel, into the larger compartment. He got thecompartment door open. Half blind by shock, he was out in the Lunarnight. "_When you get outside, stop right there. Read theinstructions!_"
He had a panicky desire to fall to his knees, cling to the rocket. Hestood there stiffly. "It isn't fair," he whispered over and over. "Ican't do it!"
_Read the instru
ctions._
* * * * *
Alone, a man--one man--on the moon. No movement, no sound, no air, nolife. Only sharp black and white contrast of lifeless shadow toaccentuate the awful and final loneliness. Occasional meteors strikinginto the pumice dust--silently, voicing the stillness of his ownterror.
He read the instructions. He hooked the capsule out of the kit, openedit. The suit's single light beaming like a Cyclopean eye.
The giant walls of Albategnius the center of the moon's visible disktowered bleakly up around ... everywhere ... lifelessness, just brokenrock ... no water to erode. No voices, no faces, no life anywhere.Just Barlow. Barlow and a rocket.
And the stars and somewhere, the earth in the sky, sharp as