Fantastic Stories Present the Galaxy Science Fiction Super Pack #1. Edgar Pangborn

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СКАЧАТЬ rubbed his eyes sleepily. “Sore, aren’t you?”

      “Kind of. Who wouldn’t be?”

      “Well, don’t let it throw you. They’ve never been here on the Moon. They don’t know what it’s like. All they’re trying to do is get a good man to stay on the job a while longer.”

      “All they’re trying to do,” Chapman said sarcastically. “They’ve got a fat chance.”

      “They think you’ve found a home here,” Donley said.

      “Why the hell don’t you guys shut up until morning?” Dahl was awake, looking bitter. “Some of us still have to stay here, you know. Some of us aren’t going back today.”

      No, Chapman thought, some of us aren’t going back. You aren’t. And Dixon’s staying, too. Only Dixon isn’t ever going back.

      Klein jerked his thumb toward Dahl’s bunk, held a finger to his lips, and walked noiselessly over to the small electric stove. It was his day for breakfast duty.

      The others started lacing up their bunks, getting ready for their last day of work on the Moon. In a few hours they’d be relieved by members of the Third research group and they’d be on their way back to Earth.

      And that includes me, Chapman thought. I’m going home. I’m finally going home.

      He walked silently to the one small, quartz window in the room. It was morning—the Moon’s “morning”—and he shivered slightly. The rays of the Sun were just striking the far rim of the crater and long shadows shot across the crater floor. The rest of it was still blanketed in a dark jumble of powdery pumice and jagged peaks that would make the Black Hills of Dakota look like paradise.

      A hundred yards from the research bunker he could make out the small mound of stones and the forlorn homemade cross, jury-rigged out of small condensed milk tins slid over crossed iron bars. You could still see the footprints in the powdery soil where the group had gathered about the grave. It had been more than eighteen months ago, but there was no wind to wear those tracks away. They’d be there forever.

      That’s what happened to guys like Dixon, Chapman thought. On the Moon, one mistake could use up your whole quota of chances.

      Klein came back with the coffee. Chapman took a cup, gagged, and forced himself to swallow the rest of it. It had been in the can for so long you could almost taste the glue on the label.

      *

      Donley was warming himself over his cup, looking thoughtful. Dowden and Bening were struggling into their suits, getting ready to go outside. Dahl was still sitting on his hammock, trying to ignore them.

      “Think we ought to radio the space station and see if they’ve left there yet?” Klein asked.

      “I talked to them on the last call,” Chapman said. “The relief ship left there twelve hours ago. They should get here”—he looked at his watch—“in about six and a half hours.”

      “Chap, you know, I’ve been thinking,” Donley said quietly. “You’ve been here just twice as long as the rest of us. What’s the first thing you’re going to do once you get back?”

      It hit them, then. Dowden and Bening looked blank for a minute and blindly found packing cases to sit on. The top halves of their suits were still hanging on the bulkhead. Klein lowered his coffee cup and looked grave. Even Dahl glanced up expectantly.

      “I don’t know,” Chapman said slowly. “I guess I was trying not to think of that. I suppose none of us have. We’ve been like little kids who have waited so long for Christmas that they just can’t believe it when it’s finally Christmas Eve.”

      Klein nodded in agreement. “I haven’t been here three years like you have, but I think I know what you mean.” He warmed up to it as the idea sank in. “Just what the hell are you going to do?”

      “Nothing very spectacular,” Chapman said, smiling. “I’m going to rent a room over Times Square, get a recording of a rikky-tik piano, and drink and listen to the music and watch the people on the street below. Then I think I’ll see somebody.”

      “Who’s the somebody?” Donley asked.

      Chapman grinned. “Oh, just somebody. What are you going to do, Dick?”

      “Well, I’m going to do something practical. First of all, I want to turn over all my geological samples to the government. Then I’m going to sell my life story to the movies and then—why, then, I think I’ll get drunk!”

      Everybody laughed and Chapman turned to Klein.

      “How about you, Julius?”

      Klein looked solemn. “Like Dick, I’ll first get rid of my obligations to the expedition. Then I think I’ll go home and see my wife.”

      They were quiet. “I thought all members of the groups were supposed to be single,” Donley said.

      “They are. And I can see their reasons for it. But who could pass up the money the Commission was paying?”

      “If I had to do it all over again? Me,” said Donley promptly.

      They laughed. Somebody said: “Go play your record, Chap. Today’s the day for it.”

      The phonograph was a small, wind-up model that Chapman had smuggled in when he had landed with the First group. The record was old and the shellac was nearly worn off, but the music was good.

      Way Back Home by Al Lewis.

      *

      They ran through it twice. They were beginning to feel it now, Chapman thought. They were going to go home in a little while and the idea was just starting to sink in.

      “You know, Chap,” Donley said, “it won’t seem like the same old Moon without you on it. Why, we’ll look at it when we’re out spooning or something and it just won’t have the same old appeal.”

      “Like they say in the army,” Bening said, “you never had it so good. You found a home here.”

      The others chimed in and Chapman grinned. Yesterday or a week ago they couldn’t have done it. He had been there too long and he had hated it too much.

      The party quieted down after a while and Dowden and Bening finished getting into their suits. They still had a section of the sky to map before they left. Donley was right after them. There was an outcropping of rock that he wanted a sample of and some strata he wished to investigate.

      And the time went faster when you kept busy.

      Chapman stopped them at the lock. “Remember to check your suits for leaks,” he warned. “And check the valves of your oxygen tanks.”

      Donley looked sour. “I’ve gone out at least five hundred times,” he said, “and you check me each time.”

      “And I’d check you five hundred more,” Chapman said. “It takes only one mistake. And watch out for blisters under the pumice crust. You go through one of those and that’s СКАЧАТЬ