Apollo's Outcasts (30 page)

"No one," I said, and kept walking.

The terrain got rougher the farther east I traveled, but at least it remained level. I kept the nagging voice out of my head by asking
Arthur to tell me a story. In his memory were the collected short stories of his namesake; he recited "Rescue Party" and followed it with "The Sentinel." Both were obviously written long before people actually went into space, so there were a number of anachronisms, but they were still pretty good, and they kept me from talking to myself.

I'd almost exhausted my first tank of air by the time I called it quits for the day. By then, I was in sight of Mt. Tobor. The massive butte thrust up from Alphonsus like the snout of a buried dragon, casting its shadow across a pair of deep rills that lay between me and the mountain. I'd already walked fifteen and a half miles, and was too tired to take on the rills, so I decided to make camp and get some sleep.

The tent was a small, inflatable A-frame that could be pressurized from within. It was used by the Rangers for rescue operations in case someone needed to camp out until help arrived. I removed it from the mule, spread it out on the ground, then attached its nitrogen cylinder and turned on the pump to inflate it. While that was going on, I refilled my suit air from the second tank, then unpacked the meal kit and another water bottle. Once the tent was set up, I switched off the pump, then got down on my hands and knees and climbed inside.

The tent was airtight, its silver outer skin reflecting the harsh and constant sunlight. Once it was sealed, I switched on its internal air supply and thermal control system. It took a few minutes for the tent to pressurize and become warm enough to be habitable; I made sure that the carbon-dioxide filtration system worked, then switched off my suit air and opened the faceplate. The tent was lit by a small light-patch in the ceiling; there wasn't enough room for me to climb out of my suit, but at least I was able to brace my back against an inflatable pillow that had been generously provided. It didn't matter that I'd have to sleep in my suit; I was too tired to care.

Dinner came from a pair of self-heating pouches. One was supposed to be beef stew and the other banana cream pie, but those were rather misleading descriptions; they both tasted like kindergarten paste. Again, I didn't care; I sucked the pouches dry and promised
myself a pizza when I got back to Apollo. The tent's air supply was good for six hours. That would give me enough time to sleep. I asked Arthur to wake me in five and a half hours, then I lay back against the pillow and closed my eyes.

I don't remember what I dreamed about, but the last image I retained had something to do with Hannah asking me if she could borrow my swim fins so that she could go moonwalking. Then Arthur was telling me to get up and playing Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" to ease me awake. I had enough time for a breakfast pouch--allegedly oatmeal with apples and cinnamon; whoever made these things was a bad liar--before the tent's air ran out. I closed my faceplate and reactivated my life support pack, depressurized the tent and unsealed it, then crawled out into the burning sunlight.

Once I broke camp and loaded the mule again, I had a decision to make. According to both my heads-up display and the plastic map I pulled from the mule, the rill that lay directly ahead of me was too long to go around, at least not without adding another four or five miles to my trek. However, if I took a slight detour to the south, I'd come upon a small, level ridge that separated the rill from its nearby companion. Once I crossed the ridge, all I'd have to do was head northeast until I resumed the eastbound course that would take me past Mt. Tobor. The detour would add another mile or two to the distance I needed to travel, and thus cut into my remaining air supply, but it would keep from having to go through the rill.

There was also a third option: go straight through the rill. It was a deep crevice, like a dry riverbed back on Earth. When I got closer, I saw that the other side was only about 300 yards away. So the shortest distance was definitely a straight line. But its walls were both steep and deep, and there was a possibility that, if I went down there, I might have a hard time getting out. And I also had to consider the mule; would it get trapped down there, therefore depriving me of my cargo carrier?

Studying the problem, I walked a few dozen feet south, and suddenly
came upon something I'd given up hope of seeing: signs that someone had been there before me.

A pair of footprints approached the rill from the southwest, followed by wheel tracks identical to those left by my mule. No doubt they'd been left by another Third Class Ranger who had made his walkabout through Alphonsus.

I followed the tracks, and sure enough, they went down into the rill. So whoever had been here before me had decided not to make the detour. But did that person get out again? The rill's opposite side was too far away for me to discern any footprints, but the fact that I couldn't see any didn't give me any comfort.

I thought about it for a minute or so, and decided to play it safe. I took the detour instead.

The ridge was an easy traverse. I walked between the two rills with no problem at all. But by the time I reached the place where I would have emerged from the northern rill if I had descended into it, my suit was alerting me that it was time to replenish my air supply again. I recharged the suit from the third tank; only one more was left. The detour had cost me air, all right...but I didn't find any more tracks on the other side of the rill. Unless my predecessor had found a rocket down there, he must have gotten stuck.

Billy never told me why he'd failed his first attempt to make a walkabout. He refused to talk about it. I had a feeling I'd learned the reason why.

Now I had a different problem. Past the rills, the terrain sloped upwards, forming a steep grade that surrounded Mt. Tobor on all sides. There was no way around that; I'd have to climb. So I began the long, hard trudge up the mountain's lower slopes, relying on the direction finder to show me the way.

One small step. Then another. And then another. The slope rose before me as a steep wall made of loose regolith and gravel; every time I'd plant a booted foot in front of me, it seemed as if it would slide back to where it had been a moment before. Before long I was using
my hands to pull myself upward. Sweat flowed down my forehead and dripped into my eyes.

--
Having fun yet?
the annoying little voice said to me.

"Loads," I replied behind gasps. "Shut up and...let me work."

"Who are you talking to?"
Arthur asked.

"Same guy...I was...before."

--
Sure you are. And you still haven't answered my question. Why are you putting yourself through all this?

"Because...I need to...I need to...help my family."

--
Dad and Jan? They're almost a quarter of a million miles away. How is this going to help them?

"If I...if I become a Ranger..." My right foot skidded on loose regolith and I fell to my knees again. I cursed under my breath, then pulled myself to my feet. "I can...I can protect Apollo. That's what...Jan wants me to do."

--
Yeah, okay. That's why you decided to join, sure. But isn't there something more? Like trying to live up to your mother's memory? She's remembered as a hero. What does that make you?

He was right. That was a big part of why I'd decided to join the Rangers; I just hadn't admitted it to myself until now. "All right," I mumbled, "you got me there. Now...shut the hell up and let me..."

--
That's all I wanted to know. Oh, but just one more thing. What happened to your mule?

I stopped to look back. The mule had fallen behind...way behind. Sixty feet or more. As I watched, I saw that its wheels were spinning uselessly as it tried to make the ascent. It wasn't designed for mountain climbing, and it was clear that it wouldn't be able to keep up with me.

Again, I had no choice. I went back downhill and unlashed the remaining air tank and water bottles from its cargo bed, then used the cords to strap them against my back. Their combined weight was negligible, but they were cumbersome all the same. The mule carried nothing else I'd need; if I didn't make it to the beacon before my air
ran out, the tent wouldn't do me any good. I'd have to call Apollo and tell them to send Gordie.

I was damned if I was going to let that happen. So I kept climbing.

It seemed as if it took hours for me to struggle the rest of the way up the slope, but it really wasn't that long. All of a sudden, I found myself at the top of the rise. Mt. Tobor was at my back; before me lay the eastern side of Alphonsus.

I celebrated by drinking a mouthful of water, then I checked the direction finder again. The beacon's yellow arrowhead was pointing at something on the crater floor; for the first time, I could see my destination with my own two eyes. About three miles away, something reflected the sunlight.

The mountain's eastern slope was shorter and less steep than the western side; I made it to the bottom in less than an hour. Once I was there, though, I had to stop to replenish my life support pack again. That was it for the air reserves, and I was down to one last water bottle. If there were any more nasty surprises in those last two miles, I was sunk.

There weren't. No longer having to worry about the mule, but still carrying the empty tank and bottle, I bounced the rest of the way to my destination. I didn't have to rely on the direction finder or the beacon; the reflection was sufficient to guide me there. And the closer I came, the more obvious it became that I was approaching something man-made.

At the end of my journey, I came upon a pile of wreckage. A long time ago, an object had crashed into the surface of the Moon, sending pieces of twisted metal in all directions. The heap at the center of the debris field was surrounded by footprints and tire tracks; I definitely wasn't the first person to visit this place. And, indeed, as I walked closer, I came upon something that had been left behind.

Beneath the tripod holding the radio beacon I'd been following for the last two days was a burnished aluminum plaque. It was engraved with the image of a space probe that looked a little like a witch's hat that had sprouted wings, and below it was written:

R
ANGER
9
U
NITED
S
TATES OF
A
MERICA
N
ATIONAL
A
ERONAUTICS AND
S
PACE
A
DMINISTRATION
M
ARCH
24, 1965
F
OURTH
S
PACECRAFT TO
R
EACH THE
M
OON

Aha. Now I knew the real reason why Lunar Search and Rescue were called the Rangers. No one had ever told me that. It was a secret that was reserved only for those who'd made the long, lonely walk to reach this place.

"Hello, Old Ranger," I said. "Nice to meet you."

Then I got on the radio, called Apollo, and asked Gordie to come pick me up at the beacon.

Gordie picked me up about forty-five minutes later. He had been on standby for the last couple of days, waiting for my call and hoping that it wouldn't come too soon. When his Pegasus touched down a hundred yards from Ranger 9, I saw that a personnel module was now attached to the strongback. I climbed in and discovered that it already had a passenger.

Mr. Garcia was sitting on one of benches, wearing a skinsuit. He stood up as I came aboard.
"Hello, Jamey,"
he said.
"Or perhaps I should say, Ranger Second Class Barlowe."

I don't know which was the bigger surprise: the fact that he was there, or what he had just said. "Pardon me?"

"Is there something wrong with your comlink
?" A smile appeared behind his faceplate. "
You heard me right. You've successfully completed your walkabout, which means that you've earned the rank
." He stuck out his hand. "
Congratulations, son. I'm proud of you."