The Moonfall

"Look at it this way," she said. "We have a chance to demonstrate the usefulness of a nuclear-powered vessel. Maybe when this is over, somebody'll realize the advantage of having a Percival Lowell. I mean, we've built the first one. This is the one that cost all the money. Now it's just nickels and dimes." Micro Flight Deck. 6:51 A.M.

The Micro was approaching the Spaceport. They were on auto, following the beacon down, when the radio came alive. "Tony? This is Moonbase." Bigfoot's voice.

"Go ahead, Moonbase. We copy."

"Change in plans. They're sending the Percival Lowell over this morning. You and another of the buses are going to rendezvous with it. You'll have about forty-five minutes' turnaround time. You'll take nine people up." That was the usual eight, plus one for the vacancy they'd created by losing Shen.

"Roger that, Bigfoot. We get to see the nuke in action, huh?"

"Nothing but the best for the jocks."

"I wonder how many people they have to move off," Saber asked.

Tony didn't respond, and she switched her attention to the comet, which was showing a second tail in the scopes.

"Maybe it's breaking up," he said. "Maybe we'll get lucky."

"That would be nice." Saber looked at her screen. "But don't count on it. It says here that two tails are common."

"Oh." The comet had begun to take on a personal aspect, as if it were a living thing. It would have given Tony a great deal of visceral pleasure to watch it come apart.

The green lamps, the GO indicators, were blinking on Saber's board. Lights were coming on in the center of Alphonsus as the Spaceport opened its doors to receive them. The attitude jets fired, fired again, and the Micro rotated, aligning itself to the approach corridor. Had either Tony or Saber been watching closely, they might have seen traces of gray haze outside the bus. Whether the haze would have been recognized as unburnt fuel, as powdered aluminum being forced into an engine at twice the rate it could be used, is doubtful. But it would have given someone pause.

Alphonsus was pocked with numerous rills and secondary craters. The central uplift, which was characteristic of large craters, threw a harsh shadow across the terrain. Moonbase itself was safely tucked beneath the regolith, its location marked only by its lights.

"Micro," said Moonbase, "you are looking good."

The jets fired again. Tony felt the bus turning on its axis.

And again.

"Hot and normal," said Saber.

"Micro, you are cleared to land."

Forty-five minutes. Just enough time to eat. "Want to try for breakfast?" he asked.

"Yeah." She nodded. "Good idea-"

An orange warning lamp blinked on. Saber looked at the overhead display. "Fuel consumption's up. Attitude jets."

Tony followed her eyes. They'd lost a few pounds.

"Something loose maybe," he suggested.

"Don't know. It was all right before the six-thousand maintenance."

Tony grumbled about Moonbase techs. "We'd be better off if they'd just leave it alone." He flipped the comm switch. "Moonbase, this is the Micro. Attitude jets are using excess fuel."

"Roger."

"Check it out for me during the turnaround, okay? It's probably just a leak."

2.

Interview with Dr. Alice Finizio of the Jet Propulsion Lab by Co

Moonbase Spaceport. 7:10 A.M.

Moonbus AVR/2665, designated Wobble by its crew, lifted off with twenty-six passengers, whom it would deliver to the Copenhagen-based space plane when it arrived. A couple of scales had been brought in and station perso

When they made their rendezvous, two flight attendants would debark along with the passengers, thereby increasing the number of people the bus could carry on subsequent liftoffs.

A half hour after Wobbles departure, Tony and Saber were back in the passenger lounge at the Spaceport. They too had to submit to getting weighed, one-ninety-eight for Tony, one-thirty for Saber. So we can tabulate accurately, they were told.

Following Tony's suggestion, the maintenance people had checked the fuel lines for a leak. "Nothing," Bigfoot told him. "We probably pulled the hose too soon last time. Left you a little short of fuel. It happens." He shrugged. "Our fault."

"I don't like not knowing what the problem is," said Tony.

"Not like it's critical," said Bigfoot. He was the most muscular man Tony had ever seen up close. His name was Elrond Caparatti. The nickname dated from football days. He'd been a defensive lineman, briefly, with the Packers. The story, according to Bigfoot, was that someone had come down hard on his knee on his very first play. Tony suspected the story was embellished, but it was a fact that his career had ended early. He still limped.

"It's only a few pounds light," Bigfoot shrugged. "Look, if I thought it was serious, Tony, we'd give it a complete rundown. But it's not, and we're already behind. It won't matter anyway. We're just going to abandon the damned thing Saturday."

Tony nodded. He trusted Bigfoot. "Okay," he said. "Thanks."