Tongues of the Moon

Broward kissed Ingrid. "It's good-bye now. Or, as the Axe says, hasta la vista. Give me another kiss."

"Hasta la vista, sweetheart. I'll do what you said while you're gone."

He looked back once at the branching of the corridor and waved. She smiled and waved back, but he was sure that, as soon as he was out of sight, she would run weeping back into the room. He felt tears forming over his own eyes.

In the briefing room, Scone and the officers concerned with the business of getting him to Mars were examining the map projected on the wall by a wristwatch-sized box. Scone turned from it and said, "You don't look very rested." Broward saluted and said, "I didn't feel like sleeping."

"Your briefing will not be so brief. About one and a half hours."

He seemed jubilant; he was even smiling. Could he be so happy at the possibility of getting rid of his competition with Ingrid? No, it would take something more than the chance of wi

Broward looked puzzled. Scone gri

"I have just received a report from them. They have gained entrance to the ships at Clavius. They have familiarized themselves with the controls of the vessels and are ready to move against the ships now in orbit above the Moon. The small ships will carry some men to Eratosthenes and Fracastorius; these will try to enter the craft there."

"So, we're not going to hide like rats in a hole, waiting for word from you before we dare scuttle out," said Scone. "We're going out to battle the Axe. And you will have a much better chance of getting away undetected during the fight. Even if a ship spots you, it's going to be too busy with our battlebirds to get involved with an insignificant scout."

He sobered and said, "Unfortunately, an enemy detected the scout that reported to me. It called in three other ships, and they are now cruising around this area. Undoubtedly, they're using magnetometers and will find this bubble.

But, at the rate they're going, they won't be near here for another two and a half hours. Plenty of time to get you prepared and for the birds to get ready for battle. Every ship we have, except the Zemlya, of course, is in this."

"And so we go forth," said Broward. "We may return behind our shields, but, if we lose, there will be no one to carry us back on our shields."

"What?" said Scone. "What did you say? Sometimes Broward..."

"Never mind. What is the plan?"

Two hours later, Broward sat at the controls of his ship. It lay in line behind three battlebirds. Behind him the other vessels of the fleet were arranged in order.

Outside was darkness and the blazing many-colored eyes of the sky, most of them blotted out by the towering bulk of the cruiser in front of him. The floor of the bubble sloped away downwards from its mouth so that the noses of the spaceships on the floor pointed upwards. But the entrance was set halfway up the side of an immense mountain, and, on the ledge outside, a TV camera, hidden inside a pseudo-boulder, transmitted a picture of the three enemy vessels. These were separated by a distance of two kilometers each and were proceeding parallel to each other at a very slow pace towards the bubble.

"One minute to go," said Scone's voice from a transmitter set in the arm of Broward's chair. "When the buzzer is activated, the Washington, Jefferson, and Roosevelt will proceed as directed.

"Broward, five seconds after the Roosevelt has launched, you will launch at an initial velocity of 1000 kilometers per hour and will hold down the full-acceleration button until you think you are safe. The second sounding of the buzzer will be your signal to go into action."

He thought, "Ingrid, will I ever see you again?" and then the first buzz sounded. Suddenly, the three great bulks were gone.

He counted so slowly that the buzzer came again before he had voiced the "four." At the command of his fingers, which were operating the controls on a small swinging panel at chest-height, the scout rose. He pushed the velocity stick forward to the designated mark. No sensation of the cavern's rock walls sliding by or of the mouth flying at him. Suddenly, he was out above the moon, or, at least, he supposed he was, for he could not see it. Without

thinking about the move, still slightly bewildered by the change, he depressed the FA button. And, as quickly as he had left the bubble, he was out of the shadow and in the sunlight. In the plates showing him the view from 'behind' and 'below,' the Moon was dwindling fast, shooting away from him. And there was nothing on the radar to indicate that any objects were in pursuit of him.

He began to activate the various controls needed to initiate the program for sending him Marsward. The equipment in the ship was already determining its approximate location by radar and by light: the relative positions and angles of the Moon, Earth, Sun, and several stars. Though he was not aware of it, except by observation of the panel indicators, the ship had changed course and was on the path that would take it to its destination. Broward remained in the chair. He could not leave it until he turned off the stasis field, and he could not do that, without committing suicide, until he had slowed the scout down to an acceleration he could endure. There was no need for that now; the best policy was to allow the ship to travel at top speed until he had to shut off stasis. If he must perform natural functions such as eating, and excreting, he had the facilities for those in various compartments in the chair. Sleeping was also done there. He wished that he could have been in a larger vessel, for these provided for complete facilities. Some of the higher officers in the big ships even had small cabins enclosed in stasis during the dangerous speeds. The only drawback was that the larger the stasis, the more power was required, and all objects within the field were in free fall. Scoutships, to conserve fuel, restricted stasis to as small an area as possible. He sat in the chair, ate a little when he felt hungry, slept, did some exercising, making sure that during it his body did not come into contact with the field. In the viewplate, polarized to dim the full glory, the sun grew larger. It raved and ravened; tongues of flame shot upwards, blazing globs large as the continent of America were hurled outwards, then fell back, aborted worlds. Fascinated and fearful despite his knowledge that the ship's speed was greater than the escape velocity required, Broward watched the sun for hours. It was so inconceivably huge and violent that he felt an awe approaching that which the primitive sun-worshippers must have experienced. Perhaps, his exceeded theirs, for he was closer to the terribleness of it.

Then, it began to shrink and to drift towards the right of the viewplate. Then, it was gone. And he knew that he had 78 hours to go.

Five times during that period he decelerated to the point at which he could shut off stasis. At 1.2 G, he walked around the narrow confines of the cabin and even crawled around into the storage hold to give himself much-needed exercise. He did pushups and kneebends until he was panting and was so tired that he had no trouble falling asleep. He talked to himself and he listened to music and drama and poetry from the pocket player. At times, he felt he would go mad if he did not have a cigarette, but he did not. Endlessness. Loneliness. Insignificance.