Jeff Sutton by First on the Moon Read Free Book Online Page A

represented
error in the precise computations of escape. Well, the extra weight was
negligible. At the same time, they couldn't afford- added acceleration. He
became aware that the last vestige of weight had vanished. He moved his hand.
No effort No effort at all. Space, he thought, the first successful manned
space ship.
    Elation
swept him. He, Adam Crag, was in space. Not just the top of the atmosphere but
absolute space—the big vacuum that surrounded the world. This had been the aim
the dream . . . the goal. And so quick!
    He
flicked his mind back. It seemed almost no time at all since the Germans had
electrified the world with the V-2, a primitive rocket that scarcely reached
seventy miles above the earth, creeping at a mere 3,000 miles per hour.
    The
Americans had strapped a second stage to the German prototype, creating the
two-stage V-2-Wac Corporal and sending it 250 miles into the tall blue at
speeds better than 5,000 miles per hour. It had been a battle even then, he
thought, remembering the dark day the Russians beat the
    West
with Sputnik I . . . seemingly demolished it with Sputnik II—until the U. S.
Army came through with Explorer I. That had been the real beginning. IRBM's and
ICBM's had been born. Missiles and counter-missiles. Dogs, monkeys and mice had ridden the fringes of space. But never man.
    A
deep sense of satisfaction flooded him. The Aztec had been the first. The Aztec under Commander Adam Crag. The full sense of the
accomplishment was just beginning to strike him. We've beaten the enemy, he
thought. We've won. It had been a grim battle waged on a technological front; a
battle between nations in which, ironically, each victory by either side took
mankind a step nearer emancipation from the world. Man could look forward now,
to a bright shiny path leading to the stars. This was the final step. The Big Step. The step that would tie
together two worlds. In a few short days the Aztec would reach her
lonely destination, Arzachel, a bleak spot in the universe. Adam Crag, the Man
in the Moon. He hoped. He turned toward the others, trying to wipe the smug
look from his face.
    The
oddity of weightlessness was totally unlike anything he had expected despite the fact its symptoms had been carefully explained during the indoctrination
program. He was sitting in the pilot's seat, yet he wasn't. He felt no sense of
pressure against the seat, or against anything else, for that matter. It was,
he thought, like sitting on air, as light as a mote of dust drifting in a
breeze. Sure,-he'd experienced weightlessness before, when pushing a research
stratojet through a high-speed trajectory to counter the pull of gravity, for
example. But those occasions had lasted only brief moments. He moved his hand
experimentally upward—a move that ended like the strike of a snake. Yeah, it
was going to take some doing to leam control of his movements. He looked at
Prochaska. The Chief was feeding data to Alpine Base. He finished and grinned
broadly at Crag. His eyes were elated.
    "Sort of startling,
isn't it?"
    "Amen,"
Crag agreed. "I'm almost afraid to loosen my harnessing."
    "Alpine says we're right on the
button—schedule, course and speed. There's a gal operator on now."
    "That's
good. That means we're back to routine." Crag loosened his harnesses and
twisted around in his seat. Lark-well was moving his hands experimentally. He
saw Crag and grinned foolishly. Nagel looked ill. His face was pinched,
bloodless, his eyes red-rimmed. He caught Crag's look and nodded, without
expression.
    "Pretty
rough," Crag said sympathetically. His voice, in the new-bom silence,
possessed a curious muffled effect. "We're past the worst"
    Nagel's lips twisted
derisively. "Yeah?"
    The
querulous tone grated Crag and he turned back to the controls. Every minor irritant assume major proportions. That's what Doc Weldon had
warned. Well, damnit, he wouldn't let Nagel get him down. Besides, what was his
gripe? They were all in the same boat. He turned