A Fall of Moondust by Arthur C. Clarke Read Free Book Online

extra work, and could do with some
     assistance. Our biggest problem, frankly, is going to be boredom. By the way, did
     anyone bring any books?”
    There was much scrabbling in handbags and baskets. The total haul consisted of assorted
     lunar guides—including six copies of the official handbook; a current best-seller
The Orange and the Apple
, whose unlikely theme was a romance between Nell Gywnn and Sir Isaac Newton; a Harvard
     Press edition of
Shane
, with scholarly annotations by a professor of English; an introduction of the logical
     positivism of Auguste Comte; and a week-old copy of the
New York Times
, Earth edition. It was not much of a library, but with careful rationing it would
     help to pass the hours that lay ahead.
    “I think we’ll form an Entertainments Committee to decide how we’ll use this material,
     though I don’t know how it will deal with Monsieur Comte. Meanwhile, now that you
     know what our situation is, are there any questions—any points you’d like Captain
     Harris or myself to explain in more detail?”
    “There’s one thing I’d like to ask, Sir,” said the English voice that had made the
     complimentary remarks about the tea. “Is there the slightest chance that we’ll
float
up? I mean—if this stuff is like water, won’t we bob up sooner or later, like a cork?”
    That floored the Commodore completely. He looked at Pat and said wryly: “That’s one
     for you, Mr. Harris. Any comment?”
    Pat shook his head.
    “I’m afraid it won’t work. True, the air inside the hull must make us very buoyant,
     but the resistance of this dust is enormous. We
may
float up eventually—in a few thousand years.”
    The Englishman, it seemed, was not easily discouraged.
    “I noticed that there was a space-suit in the airlock. Could anyone get out and
swim
up? Then the search party will know where we are.”
    Captain Harris stirred uneasily. He was the only one qualified to wear that suit,
     which was purely for emergency use.
    “I’m almost sure it’s impossible,” he answered. “I doubt if a man could move against
     the resistance—and of course he’d be absolutely blind. How would he know which way
     was up? And how would you close the outer door after him? Once the dust had flooded
     in, there would be no way of clearing it. You certainly couldn’t pump it out again.”
    He could have said more, but decided to leave it at that. They might yet be reduced
     to such desperate expedients, if there was no sign of rescue by the end of the week.
     But that was a nightmare that must be kept firmly at the back of his mind, for to
     dwell too long upon it could only sap his courage.
    “If there are no more questions,” said Hansteen, “I suggest we introduce ourselves.
     Whether we like it or not, we have to get used to each other’s company, so let’s find
     out who we are. I’ll go round the room and perhaps each of you in turn will give your
     name, occupation and home-town. You first, sir.”
    “Robert Bryan, civil engineer, retired—Kingston, Jamaica.”
    “Irving Schuster, Attorney at Law, Chicago—and my wife, Myra.”
    “Nihal Jayawardene, Professor of Zoology, University of Ceylon, Peradeniya.”
    As the roll-call continued, Pat Harris once again found himself grateful for the one
     piece of luck in this desperate situation. By character, training and experience Commodore
     Hansteen was a born leader of men: already he was beginning to weld this random collection
     of individuals into a unit, to build up that indefinable
esprit de corps
that transforms a mob into a team. These things he had learned while his little fleet—the
     first ever to venture beyond the orbit of Neptune, almost three billion miles from
     the Sun—had hung poised week upon week in the emptiness between the planets. Pat Harris,
     who was thirty years younger and had never been away from the Earth-Moon system, felt
     no resentment at the change of command that had tacitly taken place. It was