Robert A Heinlein - Destination Moon

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DESTINATION MOON
Today, with space full of ships, colonies on the inner planets, and Earth’s Moon so close that
pilots on the Luna run sleep home nights, it is• hard to imagine when ‘flying to the Moon” was a
figure of speech for the impossible, when men who thought it could be done were visionaries,
crackpots.
It is hard to realize the opposition they faced, to understand why they persisted, what they
thought.
— Farquharson, History of Transportation, III: 414
I
The Mojave Desert was gray with first morning light, but at the construction site lights were
still burning in the office of the technical director. The office was quiet, save for petulant
burbling of a pot of coffee.
Three men were present—the director himself, Doc
tor Robert Corley, Lincoln-tall and lean, Rear Admiral “Red” Bowles, regular navy retired, and Jim
Barnes, head of Barnes Aircraft, Barnes Tool Works, other enterpnses.
All three needed shaves; Barnes badly needed a haircut as well. Barnes was seated at
Corley’s desk; Bowles sprawled on a couch, apparently asleep and looking like a fat, redheaded
baby; Doctor Corley paced the room, following a well worn pattern.
He stopped, and stared out the window. A thousand yards away on the floor of the desert a
great ship, pointed and sleek, thrust up into the sky, ready to punch out through Earth’s thick
atmosphere.
Wearily he turned away and picked up a letter from the desk; it read:
Reaction Associates, Inc.
Mojave, California.
Gentlemen:
Your request to test the engine of your atomic-powered rocket ship at the site of its
construction is regretfully denied.
Although it is conceded that no real danger of atomic explosion exists, a belief in such
danger does exist in the public mind. It is the policy of the Commission—Corley skipped down to
the last paragraph:—therefore, test is authorized at the Special Weapons Testing Center, South
Pacific. Arrangements may be—
He stopped and shoved the letter at Barnes. “If we’ve got to test at Eniwetok, we’ve got to find
the money to do it.”
Barnes’ voice showed exasperation. “Doc, I’ve told you the syndicate won’t put up another
dime; there is no other money to be found.”
“Confound it—we should have government money!”
Barnes grunted. “Tell that to Congress.”
Without opening his eyes Bowles commented, “The United States is going to stall around and
let Russia get to the Moon first—with hydrogen bombs~ That’s what you call ‘policy.”
Corley chewed his lip. “It’s got to be now.”
“I know it.” Barnes got up and went to the window. The rising sun caught a highlight on
the polished skin of the great ship. “It’s got to be now,” he repeated soffly.
He turned and said, “Doc, when is the next favorable time to leave?”
“When we planned on it—next month.”
“No, I mean this month.”
Corley glanced at the wall calendar, dug into a bookcase for a well-thumbed volume, did a
quick estimate. “Tomorrow morning—around four o’clock.”
“That’s it, then. We blast off tomorrow morning.”
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Admiral Bowles sat up with a jerk. “Blast off in an untested ship? Jim, you’re crazy!”
“Probably. But now is the time—now. If we wait even a month, we will be tangled in some
new snafu. That ship is ready, except for testing the power plant. So we’ll skip the test!”
“But we haven’t even selected a crew.”
Barnes grinned. “We’re the crew!”
Neither Corley nor Bowles answered. Barnes went on, “Why not? The takeoff is automatic.
Sure, we agreed that we should have young men, fast reflexes, and all that malarkey—and every
damned one of us has been trying to figure out a reason why he should be included. You, Red, you
sneaked off to Moffeatt Field and took a pilot’s physical. Flunked it, too. Don’t lie to me;~ I
know. And you, Doc, you’ve been hinting that you ought to nurse the power plant yourself—you’ve
been working on your wife, too.”
“Eh?”
“She wanted me to say that the syndicate would object to yOur going. Don’t worry; I didn’t
agree.”
Corley looked at him levelly. “I’ve always intended to go. She knows that.”
“That’s my boy! Red?”
Bowles heaved himself to his feet. “Shucks, Jim, I didn’t bust that physical much—just
overweight.”
“You’re in. I don’t want an eager young beaver as co-pilot anyhow.”
“‘Co—pilot?’”
“Want to rassle me for skipper? Red, I’ve meant to gun this crate myself ever since the
day—Lordy, four years ago!—when you brought Doc to see me with a satôhelful of blueprints.” He
drew a breath and looked around. exultantly.
Bowles said, “Let’s see. You for pilot; I’m co-; Doc is chief. That leaves nobody but the
radarman. You can’t possibly train a man in the electronics of that ship by tomorrow morning.”
Barnes shrugged. “Hobson’s choice—it has to be Ward.” He named the chief electronics
engineer of the project.
Bowles turned to Corley. “Does Ward hanker to go?” Corley looked thoughtful. “I’m sure he
does. We haven’t discussed it.” He reached for the phone. “I’ll call his quarters.”
Barnes stuck a hand .j~ the way. “Not so fast. Once the word got out, the Commission has
twenty-four hours in which to stop us.”
Bowles glanced at his watch. “Twenty-one hours.”
“Long enough, anyhow.”
Corley frowned. “We can’t keep it secret. We’ve got to load that ship. I’ve got to reach
Dr. Hastings and get our ballistic calculated.”
~“One thing at a time.” Barnes paused, frowning.
“Here’s the plan: we’ll tell everybody that this is just a. dress rehearsal, but complete
in all details, road blocks, rations, reporters, check-off lists, the works. Doc, you get the
power plant ready. Red, you’re in charge of loading. Me, I’m going into Mojave and phone Hastings.
Then I’ll phone the University and arrange for the big computer.”
“Why drive twenty miles?” Corley protested. “Call from here.”
“Because these wires are probably tapped—and I don’t mean the F.B.I.! Aside ffom us three
and Ward, Hastings is the one man who must know the truth— when he figures that ballistic, he’s
got to know it matters.”
Barnes reached for his hat. “Doc, you can call Ward now—here I go.”
“Wait!” said Bowles. “Jim, you’re going off half cocked. You can at least find out from
here where Hastings is. You may have to fly down to Palomar and get him.”
Barnes snapped his fingers. “I am half cocked, Red. I forgot the most important item—the
reason why I can’t use my plane myself; I need it for the Resident Inspector.” He referred to the
project representative of the Atomic Energy Commission.
“Holmes? Why does he need your plane?”
“To get lost in. I’m going to persuade Ned Holmes to go to Washington and make one last
plea for us to be allowed to test our engine here. He’ll do it; turning us down wasn’t his idea.
Our boy Andy will fly him in my plane—and Andy will be forced down in the desert, forty miles from
a phone. Very sad.”
Corley grudged a smile. “Sounds like kidnapping.”
Barnes looked innocent.
“Of course Holmes will put the Commission’s seal on the power pile before he leaves.”
“And we’ll break it. Any more objections? If not, let’s get Andy, Holmes, and Ward, in
that order.”
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Admiral Bowles whistled. “Doc,” he said, “that engine of yours had better work, or we will
spend the rest of our lives in jail. Well, let’s get busy.”
II
The morning was well worn by the time Jiiii Barnes drove back to the construction site. The
company guard
at the pass gate waved him through; he stopped nevertheless. “Howdy, Joe.”
“Morning, Mr. Barnes.”
“I see the gate is open. Any orders from the front office?”
“About the gate? No. Somebody called and said today was dress rehearsal for the Big Boy.”
The guard hooked a thumb toward the ship, two miles away.
“That’s right. Now listen; this dress rehearsal must be letter perfect. Keep that gate
locked. Clear with me, or Admiral Bowles, or Doctor Corley himself before unlocking it.”
- “Gotcha, Mr. Barnes.”
“Just remember that there are people who would do anything to keep that ship over there
from leaving the ground—and they don’t necessarily have foreign accents.”
“Pon’t worry, Mr. Barnes.”
But he did worry; corking up the gate still left fourteen miles of unguarded fence.
Oh, well—it was a risk that must be accepted. He drove on past the living quarters,
through the circle of shops. The area swarmed with people, on foot, in trucks, in jeeps. Trucks
were lined up at the entrance to the bull pen surrounding the ship itself. Barnes pulled up at the
administration building.
In Corley’s office he found Bowles, Corley himself— and Corley’s wife. Corley looked
harassed; Mrs. Corley was quite evidently angry. “Greetings, folks,” he said. “Am I butting in?”
Corley looked up. “Come in, Jim.”
Barnes bowed to Mrs. Corley. “How do you do, ma’am?”
She glared at him. “You! You’re responsible for this!”
“Me, Mrs. Corley? For what?”
“You know very well ‘what’! Oh you.. . you. . .“ She caught her breath, then gave vent to
one explosive word: “Men!” She slammed out of the room.
When the door had closed behind her, Barnes let his
eyebrows seek their natural level. “I see she knows. You shouldn’t have told her, not yet, Doe.”
“Confound it, Jim. I didn’t expect her to kick up a fuss.”
Bowles faced around in his chair. “Don’t be a fool, Jim. Doe’s wife had to know—wives
aren’t hired hands.”•
“Sorry. The damage is done. Doc, have you put any check on phone calls?”
“Why, no.”
“Do it. Wait, I’ll do it.” He stepped to the door. “Countess, call our switch board. Tell
Gertie to switch all outgoing calls to you. You tell ‘em firmly that outside lines are all in use,
find out who it is, why they want to call, and whom—then tell the Director, Admiral Bowles, or me.
Same for incoming calls.”
He closed the door and turned back to Bowles.
“Your wife knows?”
“Of course.”
“Trouble?”
“No. Navy wives get used to such things, Jim.”
“I suppose so. Well, I got Hastings squared away. He says that he will be here with the
tape not later than two in the morning. Ive got a plane standing by for him.”
Corley frowned. “That’s cutting it fine. We ought to have more time to set up the
autopilot.”
“He says he can’t promise it sooner. How about things here?”
“Loading is coming all right,” answered Bowles, “provided the trucks with the oxygen
aren’t late.”
“You should have flown it in.”
“Quit uttering. The trucks are probably in Cajon Pass this minute.”
“Okay, okay. Power plant, Doe?”
“I haven’t broken Ned Holmes’ seal on the atomic pile yet. The water tanks are filling,
but they’ve just started.”
He was interrupted . by the telephone at his elbow. “Yes?”
His secretary’s voice sounded in the room. “Your wife
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