Over the Darkened Landscape - By Derryl Murphy Page 0,16
world. Then things were silent for a few more seconds, just the hiss of air and his breathing echoing around inside his helmet.
“You read?” The tinny voice of the Mission Specialist calling jolted him out of his momentary reverie. He tried responding, but found both his throat and his lips were dry. He licked his lips then swallowed, tried again.
“Loud and clear. How long do I have?”
“We open the box in less than a minute. The site is still in shadow, but you’ll only have another thirty seconds or so before it starts.”
“Roger that. Just hope we can keep in touch after I launch.”
“Thirty seconds. They tell us you’ll be able to. I’m sure they’re right.”
He grunted. “Hope so.”
“Get ready. Box is opening now. Water’s running.”
Another voice came on. “Check. Pressure acceptable.”
“Clear the pad,” said the Mission Specialist. “Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Confirmation. Target has acquired light.”
He gritted his teeth, waiting for the first jolt, hoping it would only be that and not he and his vessel being crushed. But nothing came. He was about to ask what was happening when the second voice came on again.
“We have contact on all three stalks.”
“Roger,” came a third voice. “Automated systems working fine. The mirrors are steering them, directing the light correctly, no faults found.”
“Ready the latches.”
A row of gauges and blinking lights sat above his head. He reached up and cleared the board, readied three switches. “Tell me when.”
“Get ready,” said the Mission Specialist. “Number Two now.”
He flipped up the second switch. There was a scraping sound and the vehicle slid up and to the left a bit.
“Number One now.”
He threw the first switch. More scraping, and this time the nose tilted up and to the right.
“Number Three now.”
He threw the final switch, listened to the grinding as it bumped against the hull and then was caught by the latch. “All green inside,” he said.
“Roger that,” came the reply. “Looks like three good contacts from down here. Liftoff is going fine, and velocity is increasing.”
He could feel more motion now. At first the most he was getting was the sensation of being jostled and bumped back and forth. But now he was beginning to feel the acceleration, enough that he was even being pressed back into his couch.
“Five hundred meters,” said the Mission Specialist.
“Roger.” Checking his chronometer, he blinked in surprise. Test launches had never gone this quickly. Of course, limited resources had kept them from using more than one in each of the two previous tests, rather than the three for this voyage. He hoped he wouldn’t overshoot.
“Thousand meters,” came the voice again. It was sounding more distant and tinny. They were going to try and hook repeaters along the length of it, but if they weren’t successful, he could count on losing contact very soon now.
Nothing to concern himself about now. He busied himself by checking instrumentation, making sure everything was working all right. Every once in a while he looked out the small window in the hatch, watching the Moon as it grew ever larger.
“Fifteen hundred meters.” The voice sounded even farther away now. “Damn it. Sorry, we weren’t able to get the repeaters on. The whole load got crushed when one of the stalks coiled over.” He closed his eyes, listened to his breathing and to the steady rumble as he ascended higher and higher.
“Roger. Watch for me at the appointed hour, no matter.”
“Affirmative.” The voice scratched, broke up for a few seconds, then for a moment was overridden by voices from the Firmament, mysterious message crackling and hissing in the background: “Welcher Engel ist dies? Von welcher Höhe sprichts du?” Then one last whisper from Earth. “Do us proud.”
He knew he was going to be on his own this trip anyhow, with or without communication with home. More Firmamental interference was starting to slip through, so he shut off the choralis and turned to watch the Moon grow larger.
Soon he would be there, and no matter what happened after, he would always be known as Jack Armstrong, First Man on the Moon.
Provided the beanstalk was able to get him there.
The face of the Moon now covered the entire sky. He could now see the gardens the astrologers had divined, long rows of green marching alongside the blue of a finger-shaped lake. And at the end of the lake there hovered the clouds that were there each and every day, hiding what no one knew.