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+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
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+
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #67316 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/67316)
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-The Project Gutenberg eBook of The First, by Edward Ludwig
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
-most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
-of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
-will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
-using this eBook.
-
-Title: The First
-
-Author: Edward Ludwig
-
-Release Date: February 4, 2022 [eBook #67316]
-
-Language: English
-
-Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed
- Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
-
-*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FIRST ***
-
-
-
-
-
- THE FIRST
-
- By EDWARD LUDWIG
-
- _"Man will need signposts to
- guide the way to infinity." That's
- a quotation from--and a description
- of--this inspiring story_
-
- [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
- Infinity Science Fiction, November 1955.
- Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
- the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
-
-
-The city was enchanted. It was a colossal music box blaring forth a
-thousand chants of victory. It was a rainbow torn down from the sky and
-poured over the earth. It was a magic nursery through which eager-eyed
-children swarmed to behold a sparkling new toy.
-
-Three spacemen, three conquerors-to-be, sat stiffly in the back seat
-of a blue-bannered convertible. The car moved snail-like toward the
-Capitol steps, escorted by a hundred bands, eight hundred flowered
-floats, and ten thousand marching men.
-
-In its front seat, standing, waving to the crowd, was Captain George
-Everson. Everson--the legless man. Everson--the bronzed giant whose
-first rocketship had exploded at take-off, and yet who had lived to
-walk on artificial legs, to build a second rocket, and to infect all
-the world with his square-jawed determination.
-
-It was barely eight o'clock on this April morning of the year 1982, yet
-the onslaught against the spacemen had begun. Confetti rained on them.
-Breeze-filled flags dazzled them. Band music deafened them. The flow
-of shouting spectators dizzied them. It was a day when holiday hats
-and mathematicians' formulae, roasted peanuts and ancient dreams were
-blended in a fury of joy.
-
-The magic wand that had enchanted the city was Everson's _Lunar Lady_.
-And it _was_ like a wand--1,000 tons of it, poised on the take-off
-field on the outskirts of the city, its needle-point nose turned
-skyward and shining silver in the morning sunlight.
-
-Tonight, at sunset, when the city was saturated with speeches and music
-and popcorn and prayer, the great rocket would rumble and belch flame
-and rise. Mankind would begin its first flight to the moon!
-
-So it seemed that the people of all the earth were basking in joy and
-hope, every man, woman and child--with one exception.
-
- * * * * *
-
-Jeffrey Simon rose from his bed, awakened by the rhythm of march music
-outside his small apartment. He shuffled sleepily to a window. He
-blinked at the array of flags and bunting that lined the street.
-
-The music became louder.
-
-He ran a shaky, withered hand over his wizened face, brushed stringy
-white hair back from his forehead. His lips curved in a grim
-half-smile.
-
-"It's starting," he murmured, "--the day that should have been yours."
-
-He realized that he was talking to himself again. But although he was
-only fifty-six, talking aloud seemed natural to him. It not only eased
-his loneliness; it also helped him to clarify his muddled thoughts.
-
-"Today is your last chance. Not tomorrow or the next day. It _has_ to
-be today."
-
-The thump-thump of a base drum was like a gigantic heart-beat shaking
-all the land. The blare of trumpets was a victory song, strong enough
-to live in the mind of a man forever, strong enough to silence forever
-the voices of fear and loneliness that might haunt a spaceman.
-
-"That's the music," Jeffrey Simon muttered, "that should have been
-yours."
-
-A crimson-lettered banner said: EVERSON--THE FIRST.
-
-What a mockery those words were! It was like worshiping an evil,
-false-faced goddess. The illusion should and must be destroyed.
-
-He jerked erect. He must move quickly. He must put an end to this
-cosmic lie.
-
-He dressed in a freshly-cleaned, single-breasted tweed suit. His tie
-was hastily knotted. There was no time for breakfast.
-
-He strode to a drawer of his bureau, yanked it open, dug away a layer
-of under-clothing. He smiled as he beheld two objects.
-
-His hands moved gently. His hands were like those of a florist
-arranging a garland of delicate blossoms. They were like the hands of a
-surgeon fearful of a fatal error. They were like the hands of a father
-upon his first-born.
-
-He picked up the stone.
-
-It was a bright, phosphorescent green, mottled with flecks of gold and
-no larger than an apple. Its glow seemed to fill all the room. Jeffrey
-remembered the cave at the base of Luna's Mount Pico from where he'd
-chipped it. The cave's eerie glow had almost seemed alive, quivering
-and pulsing with alien energy. Jeffrey, in his space-suit and half
-blinded, had staggered when he left with his specimen.
-
-Next, he touched the photograph.
-
-It was a moment of eternity captured long ago and still imprisoned
-in a wrinkled, yellowed paper. On it was the rocket, the _Marilyn_,
-which had been his home for fifteen years. Behind it, on a rise in the
-pock-marked Lunar terrain, was one of the launching stations which
-had never been used. In the background loomed the nightmarish Tenerife
-Mountains. And hovering above all in a sky of black velvet was a
-shining, blue-green ball--the earth.
-
-Carefully, Jeffrey placed the photograph in a large envelope and slid
-it, with the stone, into his coat's inner pocket.
-
-"They'll believe now," he murmured. "They ignored the letters, the
-telegrams. Now, with proof, they'll believe. They'll learn what is a
-lie and what is the truth. They'll learn who was _really_ first."
-
-A moment later he was on the street, struggling to filter through the
-crowd. For a few seconds he knew terror, because those in the crowd
-had surrendered all individuality. They had become a single, automatic
-entity, hypnotized by the tapestry of color and sound and responding
-to it alone. The crowd closed in upon him like the tentacles of an
-octopus, imprisoning him and thrusting him forward and back.
-
-At last, panting, he broke free. He found a side street--one that would
-not be invaded by the parade. He walked swiftly. Then, although breath
-came hard, he ran.
-
- * * * * *
-
-Carved above the entrance of the huge stone building were the words:
-
- UNITED STATES BUREAU
- OF INTERPLANETARY
- RESEARCH
-
-Jeffrey stopped to catch his breath. How many of his letters had
-passed over that mountainous series of steps? How many, like those to
-Congress, to the Pentagon and to the President, had been crumpled,
-torn, tossed into waste baskets?
-
-It didn't matter. He was doing now what he should have done a month
-ago--appearing in person with his proof.
-
-He lumbered up the stone steps. His watery eyes widened at the bright
-murals in the vast foyer--murals of stars and planets, of rockets and
-spacemen, all centered about a gigantic and symbolic pair of human
-hands reaching upward.
-
-Jeffrey squinted down the white, clean, cool halls.
-
-So this was where spacemen of today lived, studied, worked,
-experimented. How different from that battered quonset hut in the hot,
-wind-burnt New Mexican desert.
-
-"May I help you, sir?"
-
-The voice snapped him back to reality.
-
-He turned and saw a young man seated at a desk a short distance away.
-The man was sleepy-eyed, with black, close-cropped hair and ears that
-were too big. On the desk was a placard that said: _Officer of The Day:
-Lieutenant Andrews_.
-
-The lieutenant drummed his fingers on the desk. "Speak up, old timer.
-What is it? If you want information on today's flight, just help
-yourself to these folders."
-
-"No, no." Jeffrey walked up to the desk, brushed away the folders.
-"I--I want to see someone in authority. There's something I have to
-tell them."
-
-"I'm in charge. Go ahead and tell it to me."
-
-Jeffrey trembled. "It's going to sound crazy. You might not believe--"
-
-"Go ahead and tell it. Then I'll decide whether to believe."
-
-Confidence came to Jeffrey. He touched the reassuring bulge of the
-stone and the photograph in his pocket. Then he began to speak.
-
-"Well, you've read how things were back in 1957. The world cut in half.
-Communism on one side, Democracy on the other. Both sides threatening
-the other. Both building faster and faster jets and bigger and bigger
-H-bombs. People felt like they were walking on tight-ropes.
-
-"In August of '57 the Russians announced that they had the biggest
-H-bomb ever made. The President and his cabinet and the top brass met.
-The Army Chief of Staff was already on record in saying there was no
-perfect defense against an H-bomb attack. Radar nets, anti-aircraft
-and fighter planes would take care of a lot of attacking bombers
-or missiles, but some would probably get through. There had to be
-something else--something as daring as the first A-bomb project back in
-World War II.
-
-"The answer was obvious: a _manned_ artificial satellite."
-
-The lieutenant stiffened. He made a sucking noise with his lips.
-
-"Yep," Jeffrey continued, "a manned satellite. Our scientists had
-developed the tiny, unmanned 'mouse.' A full-scale version was
-tougher--but possible.
-
-"And a nation in control of such a satellite would watch over all
-the world. From its near-zero gravity it could launch guided atomic
-missiles to any point on the earth."
-
-Jeffrey cleared his throat. His listener was still attentive.
-
-"So Project Pandora began. Like the Manhattan Project, it was top
-secret, because we didn't want the Russians to start like crazy on
-their own Project. I never learned how many men were involved--probably
-about 100,000. But all except maybe a hundred or so thought they were
-working on new types of jets or fuels.
-
-"A new town--Pandora City--sprang up in New Mexico for general
-research. Really top secret stuff, like the construction of our
-rockets, was handled in Hell Canyon, which probably still isn't on your
-maps. You couldn't get there except by cargo-carrying helicopter.
-
-"I was a guided missile man transferred from Point Mugu to the Canyon.
-Entering that hell-hole was like being sentenced for life. We had our
-movies and beer, but the sun and mountains were still there. I used to
-look at those mountains and wonder if I dared try to escape. Then I
-thought of the desert on the other side. There _was_ no escape--except
-through death or by finishing the damn project.
-
-"By the fall of '58 we had our fuel. Dilute monatomic
-hydrogen--powerful as the guts of an H-bomb, but controllable, suitable
-for atomic engines. Powered with that fuel, a rocket could rip through
-the old seven-mile-a-second barrier like a knife cutting through tissue
-paper.
-
-"Then a new question came up. Was the artificial satellite the ideal
-solution to our problem? Even at a height of a thousand miles, it could
-be visible to Russian astronomers. Russian knowledge of our secret
-could start off a Third World War. And, if the Russians developed their
-own guided missile program, the satellite might be vulnerable.
-
-"We'd developed an alloy of rare earths for our jet tubes, so there was
-no reason why we couldn't hit the moon direct. A Lunar station could be
-camouflaged, and launching platforms for missiles could be scattered.
-Most important, the moon would give us utter secrecy."
-
-Jeffrey's voice trailed. A cloud of memory seemed to drift before his
-vision. "And--and I guess there was something else, too. We didn't want
-to stop with just a satellite. We had the power to take space by the
-nose and pull it around like a whipped dog. The first men to leave our
-planet--think of those words. The first, the very first. The thought
-makes you a little drunk."
-
-He smiled. "The President, his cabinet, the top brass okayed our ideas.
-So the moon it was!"
-
- * * * * *
-
-Lieutenant Andrews rose, his mouth a tight, white line.
-
-"Afraid we'll have to call it a day," he muttered. "It's time for me to
-go off duty. Sorry."
-
-"But--but your relief isn't here. You can't--"
-
-"Sorry." The man's gaze avoided Jeffrey's face.
-
-He moved swiftly, his tall body easing around the desk, then striding
-down the hall.
-
-Jeffrey was like a statue, an absurd, bulging-eyed statue with right
-hand still raised in a climactic, melodramatic gesture.
-
-"But I haven't finished!" he cried. "You haven't heard--"
-
-The lieutenant marched away, oblivious to Jeffrey's pleading voice.
-Abruptly, his bright uniform disappeared into one of the labyrinth's
-many rooms.
-
-Jeffrey was a fragile leaf mauled by winds of desperation. He dug
-furiously into his coat's inner pocket.
-
-"You haven't seen my proof!" he screamed.
-
-There was no reply save the cold, hollow, hundred-tongued echo of his
-own words.
-
-Jeffrey looked down at his outstretched hands. They were holding the
-faded photograph and the shining stone, offering them to the silence.
-
- * * * * *
-
-Outside, the city was like a merry-go-round whirling faster and faster.
-Music had swelled to a dizzying crescendo. Colors were brighter in the
-noon sunlight. Voices were louder, prayers stronger.
-
-"Ten to one they don't make it," said a rat-faced man. "I'll take _all_
-bets."
-
-"They will not be alone," the solemn man in the black robe intoned to
-his congregation. "For yea, though I walk through the valley of the
-shadow of death...."
-
-"Why must Daddy go up into the sky, Mama? Why?" asked the child.
-
-"He's going to be a pioneer, dear. He's going to be one of the first to
-go to the moon."
-
-"But why, Mama? Why?"
-
-The bearded man shouted, "The wrath of God will fall upon us and upon
-our children and our children's children. Man was not meant--"
-
-"We have our Marco Polo, our Columbus, our Wright Brothers and our
-Lindbergh. Now, by the grace of God, we have our George Everson!"
-
-"Step right up, folks! Get your souvenir programs here! And don't
-forget your dark glasses for the take-off. Special today--only one
-dollar!"
-
- * * * * *
-
-A clock struck one.
-
-"No," said the stiffly polite girl, "the city editor isn't in. No, our
-reporters are covering the flight. Sorry."
-
-A clock struck two.
-
-"Sorry."
-
-Jeffrey sighed. What else was there? The Research Bureau. The
-Department of Defense, the Pentagon. _The Times_, _The Herald_, _The
-Post_. He hadn't wanted to take his story to the newspapers, but they
-had given him a last, futile hope. Now, even they had refused to listen.
-
-There was still _The Mirror_. The twilight news. The love nests, the
-exposés, the screaming headlines that most papers were saving for the
-second coming of Christ.
-
-Jeffrey found himself walking up dark, thinly carpeted stairs, pushing
-a faded swinging door. Then someone was leading him forward. Sounds of
-clacking typewriters and rustling papers filled the air.
-
-The photograph and the moon-stone were in his hands. He was thrusting
-them forward.
-
-"This is my proof," he mumbled automatically.
-
-For a long time his surroundings were like the terrain in a dimly
-remembered dream. Then hands helped him into a chair.
-
-A deep voice grunted at him. "Okay, proof of what?"
-
-Jeffrey blinked. His brain fought to break through the wall of
-weariness that enclosed it. He saw that the man before him was
-middle-aged, balding, small-eyed. His trace of a smile was not
-unpleasant.
-
-"What's it all about, fellow?" the man asked, leaning back in his chair.
-
-_Thank you, God_, thought Jeffrey, _that I have another chance._
-
-He began again. 1957, the H-bomb, Project Pandora. Lord, if he could
-only show this man the images that still hung in his memory!
-
-But how could you capture the dizzying blackness of space, the hypnotic
-silver of stars, and recreate their magic in mere words? How feeble
-were words. They were like broken fingers trying to carry sand.
-
-Nevertheless, the man listened. Jeffrey came to the words, "So the moon
-it was!" And even then the man said nothing. Jeffrey went on:
-
-"Our first rocket was ready by the summer of '59. We named it the
-_Marilyn_--after Marilyn Monroe, the top glamour gal of those days.
-And I was in the ship's first crew.
-
-"Our take-off wasn't like this circus today. No music, no speeches, no
-parades. We had a shot of brandy in the morning. We shook hands with
-our friends and puffed on cigarettes and the C.O. said a prayer. Then
-we took off."
-
-Jeffrey weighed words and memories in his mind. "It'd take me a year to
-tell about how space looks and how the moon is; and how you feel when
-all the things you love are in a cloud-wrapped ball 240,000 miles away.
-Or how it feels to see your buddies slip through the paper-thin crust
-that covers parts of the moon and go down into nothingness, just as if
-the hand of God wiped them out of the universe.
-
-"Anyway, we hit the moon. The ship stayed long enough for us to build
-a dome. Then we split the crew in half. Five stayed, the rest shuttled
-back to Earth for more supplies. Three months later the second rocket,
-the _June Randy_, was ready, and life got a little easier. We began
-to get an occasional case of beer and mail from home. Our families
-thought they were writing to Pandora City. To think that those little
-three-cent letters would go all the way to Luna would have seemed a
-lunatic's dream to them.
-
-"By the summer of '61 Project Pandora was completed. We had two domes
-and four launching stations, each a hundred miles apart. The missiles
-on the launching platforms were like those beds of nails the yogis are
-supposed to lie on--only a hundred times bigger. And each nail was a
-uranium-lithium-tritium-headed rocket.
-
-"1961 slipped by, and '62 and '63. There were a few aborted revolutions
-on earth, a few moments of tension, but no war."
-
-A veil of loneliness seemed to fall over his vision, separating him
-from his listener.
-
-"Go ahead," the man prompted him.
-
-"Well, new faces appeared in our crews. The older fellows were given
-memory-washes so they wouldn't start blabbing when they returned to
-Earth. Psychiatry was pretty primitive in those days. The treatment
-wasn't much more than hypnosis, creating an artificial psychic block in
-their minds. After a while, it seemed like men were coming and going
-like figures on a treadmill--but, me, I stayed on."
-
-"You stayed on? Why?"
-
-Jeffrey thought for an instant. "Because there were two kinds of
-loneliness for us. One was being on the moon, in silence and emptiness.
-The other was being on Earth, in the midst of life and knowing the
-biggest secret in the world and not being able to talk about it. And of
-the two kinds of loneliness, to me, the last was the worst. So I stayed
-on the _Marilyn_."
-
- * * * * *
-
-Jeffrey tried to keep his voice calm, his manner confident.
-
-"Then came the Russian Revolution of '74, the rise of democracy behind
-the crumbling Iron Curtain. The rest of the world watched and waited.
-We kept those launching platforms ready--just in case. But by '76,
-there was no doubt about it. Communism was over and done. The world was
-at peace.
-
-"And with the arrival of peace, man's energies had to be directed into
-new channels. Till now, the government had quietly discouraged any talk
-about space flight. But now man craved adventure. Newspapers and public
-opinion began to beat the drum for that first flight to the moon."
-
-He chuckled softly. "The President must have been tearing his hair out.
-What the hell was he going to do with Project Pandora? The Russians
-mustn't know that for fifteen years our missiles had been ready to
-blast them to eternity. The old hates had been buried. They couldn't be
-allowed to rise again.
-
-"So Project Pandora became Project Garbage. The domes and platforms
-were dismantled and carried back to Pandora City. The moon was the
-biggest garbage dump in the Solar System, but it had to be cleaned up
-to the last beer can and cigarette butt. It had to become virgin again,
-ready to receive what Earth would later call the first pioneers of
-space. And it was then, when discipline was low, that I smuggled out
-the moon-stone and the photo.
-
-"Everybody got the memory-wash--from the President on down. I was a
-civilian again with a nice pension. For the first couple of years I
-couldn't remember a thing. I only knew I'd done secret work for the
-government. I'd look at my photo and stone and wonder where I got them.
-
-"But gradually my memory came back. Maybe it was because of the photo,
-or maybe because I'd been on Luna and the _Marilyn_ so much longer than
-the others.
-
-"Last year I got mad when Everson announced plans to hit the moon.
-His name was in headlines every day. He was becoming a hero without
-even leaving the ground. And there were a hundred men whose bodies were
-already lost on Luna. They were the real heroes, the real pioneers.
-This celebration today--it's a mockery. I want the world to know the
-truth."
-
- * * * * *
-
-For the space of a minute the small-eyed man was silent. His fingers
-toyed with the stone and the photograph.
-
-Finally he murmured, "Suppose I publish your story. How much do you
-want for it?"
-
-To Jeffrey, the words were like April sunshine streaking into a
-cobwebbed winter attic.
-
-"You--you want to use the story? You believe me?"
-
-"I didn't say I believe it. I don't give a damn whether it's true or
-not. My job is to sell newspapers. I asked how much you want for it."
-
-"Nothing," Jeffrey said softly.
-
-The small-eyed man grunted. "We could flood the city with the afternoon
-edition. People are buying anything with a moon angle. The Russians
-wouldn't shout for joy, but there shouldn't be any harm done at this
-late date."
-
-His eyes brightened. "We might get away with it. We've got your stone.
-We could demand that Everson locate the place where you got it and
-either prove or disprove your story. Why, that'd be good for months!"
-
-He laughed. "What a damper we'll put on _this_ celebration! We'll make
-the city seem like a morgue. It's a dirty, lousy trick, but by God
-it'll sell papers!"
-
-Jeffrey leaned forward, squinting. "A dirty, lousy trick? What do you
-mean?"
-
-"Skip it." The man's enthusiasm was rising. He was like fizzing soda in
-a thumb-stoppered, shaken bottle. "We got to get this story in print.
-Hey, Marty! Get the dicto-typer over here! I've been waiting all my
-life to yell stop those presses. Marty! _Stop those goddamn presses!_"
-
-"What did you mean?" Jeffrey insisted. "How can telling people the
-truth be a dirty, lousy trick?"
-
-The small-eyed man laughed again. "You don't think folks'll _like_ this
-story, do you? You don't think they'll feel like celebrating when they
-read this, do you? It's a cinch they won't start cheering _you_ for
-what you did almost twenty years ago! Say, wait'll Everson sees that
-moon pic plastered on my front page. _There's_ an angle! A pic of
-Everson's expression! Hey, Marty! Get me--"
-
- * * * * *
-
-Restlessly, Jeffrey rose and shuffled to a window. One of the city's
-myriad parades, like a battalion of colored ants, was streaming down
-the street.
-
-The small-eyed man yelled, "Come on, let's have that story again! This
-time it's for publication."
-
-Jeffrey didn't answer. Odd thoughts were stirring in deep recesses of
-his mind.
-
-"Come on! Let's have that story!"
-
-Jeffrey stared out the window, a far-away gaze in his eyes. "Do--do
-you suppose I was the only one who remembered? There must be others. I
-couldn't be the only one."
-
-"Sure, there could be others--if your yarn is true. Maybe they've tried
-to tell and nobody believed 'em. Or maybe they're keeping quiet. Maybe
-they don't want to make dopes out of Everson and his men. Maybe they
-want to keep 'em heroes. Now, gimme that story!" He flicked a switch on
-the dicto-typer.
-
-Words echoed in Jeffrey's brain. _Maybe they don't want to make dopes
-out of Everson and his men. Maybe they want to keep 'em heroes. It's
-a cinch they won't start cheering you for what you did almost twenty
-years ago._
-
-The world has need of heroes, he thought. There's Luna, and then there
-are Venus and Mars and Jupiter and all the others; and, always, there
-are the stars. And, between, there are miles and years of darkness and
-loneliness, and courage is a candle flame too easily extinguished.
-Mankind will need songs of daring and tales of heroes and signposts to
-guide the way to infinity. You can't make heroes out of men whose very
-names are forgotten. You can't make heroes out of tired old bones.
-
-Jeffrey frowned as the hum of presses echoed in his ears.
-
-The great headlines would descend upon the enchanted city like a black
-tidal wave. They would swirl through the streets, devour the bright
-color, absorb the gay sound, suck the joy into dark waters of doubt and
-suspicion.
-
-The small-eyed man was shouting at him. He did not hear.
-
-_After all_, Jeffrey told himself, _this is for you. It's not for
-Everson and his men, really. It's for the pioneers, for those who dare
-to be first. The eyes are not on you, and the voices do not speak to
-you. Yet all this, really, is for you--for you were the first. Would
-you destroy this day that is yours?_
-
-A voice was swearing at him.
-
-What a day it was! Why, it must be the greatest in the history of
-Earth. It was a day for all history books everywhere, always. It was a
-shame that the minutes were piling one upon the other so rapidly. How
-wonderful if they could be bottled and sealed like sweet perfume, to be
-dispensed slowly, a scent a month, a drop a year.
-
-Hands were tugging at his arm. He shook himself free. He turned back to
-the desk, seized the moon-stone and the photograph, replaced them in
-his pocket.
-
-Silently, head high, he strode past the naked, astonished faces.
-
- * * * * *
-
-Dusk. A silence blanketed the take-off field. The seconds hung in the
-air like bits of fire and ice.
-
-Captain George Everson, the man with no legs, waved to the multitude
-as he entered his silver rocket.
-
-Presently there was a sound of thunder, and the land trembled. Flame
-belched from the stern of the _Lunar Lady_. Slowly, the rocket began to
-rise. The multitude drew back, like frightened red ghosts in the fiery
-glare from the grumbling jets.
-
-A greater avalanche of flame spewed from the rocket. A furnace-hot wind
-shrilled over the field, lashing at hair and clothing, at banner and
-flag.
-
-And suddenly the _Lunar Lady_ was gone. It was a needle of fire high in
-the twilight sky, a vanishing target for a million narrowed eyes.
-
-A hushed, reverent murmur rose from the field.
-
-A small girl in a pink party dress tugged at her mother's skirt.
-
-"Look, Mommy," she whispered. "Look at that funny old man. He keeps
-saying, 'This is for you,' and he's crying and laughing at the same
-time!"
-
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-<body>
-<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The First, by Edward Ludwig</p>
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
-most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
-of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
-at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you
-are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the
-country where you are located before using this eBook.
-</div>
-
-<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The First</p>
-<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Edward Ludwig</p>
-<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 4, 2022 [eBook #67316]</p>
-<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p>
- <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net</p>
-<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FIRST ***</div>
-
-<div class="titlepage">
-
-<h1>THE FIRST</h1>
-
-<h2>By EDWARD LUDWIG</h2>
-
-<p><i>"Man will need signposts to<br />
-guide the way to infinity." That's<br />
-a quotation from&mdash;and a description<br />
-of&mdash;this inspiring story</i></p>
-
-<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br />
-Infinity Science Fiction, November 1955.<br />
-Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br />
-the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<div class="figcenter">
- <img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/>
-</div>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p>The city was enchanted. It was a colossal music box blaring forth a
-thousand chants of victory. It was a rainbow torn down from the sky and
-poured over the earth. It was a magic nursery through which eager-eyed
-children swarmed to behold a sparkling new toy.</p>
-
-<p>Three spacemen, three conquerors-to-be, sat stiffly in the back seat
-of a blue-bannered convertible. The car moved snail-like toward the
-Capitol steps, escorted by a hundred bands, eight hundred flowered
-floats, and ten thousand marching men.</p>
-
-<p>In its front seat, standing, waving to the crowd, was Captain George
-Everson. Everson&mdash;the legless man. Everson&mdash;the bronzed giant whose
-first rocketship had exploded at take-off, and yet who had lived to
-walk on artificial legs, to build a second rocket, and to infect all
-the world with his square-jawed determination.</p>
-
-<p>It was barely eight o'clock on this April morning of the year 1982, yet
-the onslaught against the spacemen had begun. Confetti rained on them.
-Breeze-filled flags dazzled them. Band music deafened them. The flow
-of shouting spectators dizzied them. It was a day when holiday hats
-and mathematicians' formulae, roasted peanuts and ancient dreams were
-blended in a fury of joy.</p>
-
-<p>The magic wand that had enchanted the city was Everson's <i>Lunar Lady</i>.
-And it <i>was</i> like a wand&mdash;1,000 tons of it, poised on the take-off
-field on the outskirts of the city, its needle-point nose turned
-skyward and shining silver in the morning sunlight.</p>
-
-<p>Tonight, at sunset, when the city was saturated with speeches and music
-and popcorn and prayer, the great rocket would rumble and belch flame
-and rise. Mankind would begin its first flight to the moon!</p>
-
-<p>So it seemed that the people of all the earth were basking in joy and
-hope, every man, woman and child&mdash;with one exception.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>Jeffrey Simon rose from his bed, awakened by the rhythm of march music
-outside his small apartment. He shuffled sleepily to a window. He
-blinked at the array of flags and bunting that lined the street.</p>
-
-<p>The music became louder.</p>
-
-<p>He ran a shaky, withered hand over his wizened face, brushed stringy
-white hair back from his forehead. His lips curved in a grim
-half-smile.</p>
-
-<p>"It's starting," he murmured, "&mdash;the day that should have been yours."</p>
-
-<p>He realized that he was talking to himself again. But although he was
-only fifty-six, talking aloud seemed natural to him. It not only eased
-his loneliness; it also helped him to clarify his muddled thoughts.</p>
-
-<p>"Today is your last chance. Not tomorrow or the next day. It <i>has</i> to
-be today."</p>
-
-<p>The thump-thump of a base drum was like a gigantic heart-beat shaking
-all the land. The blare of trumpets was a victory song, strong enough
-to live in the mind of a man forever, strong enough to silence forever
-the voices of fear and loneliness that might haunt a spaceman.</p>
-
-<p>"That's the music," Jeffrey Simon muttered, "that should have been
-yours."</p>
-
-<p>A crimson-lettered banner said: EVERSON&mdash;THE FIRST.</p>
-
-<p>What a mockery those words were! It was like worshiping an evil,
-false-faced goddess. The illusion should and must be destroyed.</p>
-
-<p>He jerked erect. He must move quickly. He must put an end to this
-cosmic lie.</p>
-
-<p>He dressed in a freshly-cleaned, single-breasted tweed suit. His tie
-was hastily knotted. There was no time for breakfast.</p>
-
-<p>He strode to a drawer of his bureau, yanked it open, dug away a layer
-of under-clothing. He smiled as he beheld two objects.</p>
-
-<p>His hands moved gently. His hands were like those of a florist
-arranging a garland of delicate blossoms. They were like the hands of a
-surgeon fearful of a fatal error. They were like the hands of a father
-upon his first-born.</p>
-
-<p>He picked up the stone.</p>
-
-<p>It was a bright, phosphorescent green, mottled with flecks of gold and
-no larger than an apple. Its glow seemed to fill all the room. Jeffrey
-remembered the cave at the base of Luna's Mount Pico from where he'd
-chipped it. The cave's eerie glow had almost seemed alive, quivering
-and pulsing with alien energy. Jeffrey, in his space-suit and half
-blinded, had staggered when he left with his specimen.</p>
-
-<p>Next, he touched the photograph.</p>
-
-<p>It was a moment of eternity captured long ago and still imprisoned
-in a wrinkled, yellowed paper. On it was the rocket, the <i>Marilyn</i>,
-which had been his home for fifteen years. Behind it, on a rise in the
-pock-marked Lunar terrain, was one of the launching stations which
-had never been used. In the background loomed the nightmarish Tenerife
-Mountains. And hovering above all in a sky of black velvet was a
-shining, blue-green ball&mdash;the earth.</p>
-
-<p>Carefully, Jeffrey placed the photograph in a large envelope and slid
-it, with the stone, into his coat's inner pocket.</p>
-
-<p>"They'll believe now," he murmured. "They ignored the letters, the
-telegrams. Now, with proof, they'll believe. They'll learn what is a
-lie and what is the truth. They'll learn who was <i>really</i> first."</p>
-
-<p>A moment later he was on the street, struggling to filter through the
-crowd. For a few seconds he knew terror, because those in the crowd
-had surrendered all individuality. They had become a single, automatic
-entity, hypnotized by the tapestry of color and sound and responding
-to it alone. The crowd closed in upon him like the tentacles of an
-octopus, imprisoning him and thrusting him forward and back.</p>
-
-<p>At last, panting, he broke free. He found a side street&mdash;one that would
-not be invaded by the parade. He walked swiftly. Then, although breath
-came hard, he ran.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>Carved above the entrance of the huge stone building were the words:</p>
-
-<p class="ph1">UNITED STATES BUREAU<br />
-OF INTERPLANETARY<br />
-RESEARCH</p>
-
-<p>Jeffrey stopped to catch his breath. How many of his letters had
-passed over that mountainous series of steps? How many, like those to
-Congress, to the Pentagon and to the President, had been crumpled,
-torn, tossed into waste baskets?</p>
-
-<p>It didn't matter. He was doing now what he should have done a month
-ago&mdash;appearing in person with his proof.</p>
-
-<p>He lumbered up the stone steps. His watery eyes widened at the bright
-murals in the vast foyer&mdash;murals of stars and planets, of rockets and
-spacemen, all centered about a gigantic and symbolic pair of human
-hands reaching upward.</p>
-
-<p>Jeffrey squinted down the white, clean, cool halls.</p>
-
-<p>So this was where spacemen of today lived, studied, worked,
-experimented. How different from that battered quonset hut in the hot,
-wind-burnt New Mexican desert.</p>
-
-<p>"May I help you, sir?"</p>
-
-<p>The voice snapped him back to reality.</p>
-
-<p>He turned and saw a young man seated at a desk a short distance away.
-The man was sleepy-eyed, with black, close-cropped hair and ears that
-were too big. On the desk was a placard that said: <i>Officer of The Day:
-Lieutenant Andrews</i>.</p>
-
-<p>The lieutenant drummed his fingers on the desk. "Speak up, old timer.
-What is it? If you want information on today's flight, just help
-yourself to these folders."</p>
-
-<p>"No, no." Jeffrey walked up to the desk, brushed away the folders.
-"I&mdash;I want to see someone in authority. There's something I have to
-tell them."</p>
-
-<p>"I'm in charge. Go ahead and tell it to me."</p>
-
-<p>Jeffrey trembled. "It's going to sound crazy. You might not believe&mdash;"</p>
-
-<p>"Go ahead and tell it. Then I'll decide whether to believe."</p>
-
-<p>Confidence came to Jeffrey. He touched the reassuring bulge of the
-stone and the photograph in his pocket. Then he began to speak.</p>
-
-<p>"Well, you've read how things were back in 1957. The world cut in half.
-Communism on one side, Democracy on the other. Both sides threatening
-the other. Both building faster and faster jets and bigger and bigger
-H-bombs. People felt like they were walking on tight-ropes.</p>
-
-<p>"In August of '57 the Russians announced that they had the biggest
-H-bomb ever made. The President and his cabinet and the top brass met.
-The Army Chief of Staff was already on record in saying there was no
-perfect defense against an H-bomb attack. Radar nets, anti-aircraft
-and fighter planes would take care of a lot of attacking bombers
-or missiles, but some would probably get through. There had to be
-something else&mdash;something as daring as the first A-bomb project back in
-World War II.</p>
-
-<p>"The answer was obvious: a <i>manned</i> artificial satellite."</p>
-
-<p>The lieutenant stiffened. He made a sucking noise with his lips.</p>
-
-<p>"Yep," Jeffrey continued, "a manned satellite. Our scientists had
-developed the tiny, unmanned 'mouse.' A full-scale version was
-tougher&mdash;but possible.</p>
-
-<p>"And a nation in control of such a satellite would watch over all
-the world. From its near-zero gravity it could launch guided atomic
-missiles to any point on the earth."</p>
-
-<p>Jeffrey cleared his throat. His listener was still attentive.</p>
-
-<p>"So Project Pandora began. Like the Manhattan Project, it was top
-secret, because we didn't want the Russians to start like crazy on
-their own Project. I never learned how many men were involved&mdash;probably
-about 100,000. But all except maybe a hundred or so thought they were
-working on new types of jets or fuels.</p>
-
-<p>"A new town&mdash;Pandora City&mdash;sprang up in New Mexico for general
-research. Really top secret stuff, like the construction of our
-rockets, was handled in Hell Canyon, which probably still isn't on your
-maps. You couldn't get there except by cargo-carrying helicopter.</p>
-
-<p>"I was a guided missile man transferred from Point Mugu to the Canyon.
-Entering that hell-hole was like being sentenced for life. We had our
-movies and beer, but the sun and mountains were still there. I used to
-look at those mountains and wonder if I dared try to escape. Then I
-thought of the desert on the other side. There <i>was</i> no escape&mdash;except
-through death or by finishing the damn project.</p>
-
-<p>"By the fall of '58 we had our fuel. Dilute monatomic
-hydrogen&mdash;powerful as the guts of an H-bomb, but controllable, suitable
-for atomic engines. Powered with that fuel, a rocket could rip through
-the old seven-mile-a-second barrier like a knife cutting through tissue
-paper.</p>
-
-<p>"Then a new question came up. Was the artificial satellite the ideal
-solution to our problem? Even at a height of a thousand miles, it could
-be visible to Russian astronomers. Russian knowledge of our secret
-could start off a Third World War. And, if the Russians developed their
-own guided missile program, the satellite might be vulnerable.</p>
-
-<p>"We'd developed an alloy of rare earths for our jet tubes, so there was
-no reason why we couldn't hit the moon direct. A Lunar station could be
-camouflaged, and launching platforms for missiles could be scattered.
-Most important, the moon would give us utter secrecy."</p>
-
-<p>Jeffrey's voice trailed. A cloud of memory seemed to drift before his
-vision. "And&mdash;and I guess there was something else, too. We didn't want
-to stop with just a satellite. We had the power to take space by the
-nose and pull it around like a whipped dog. The first men to leave our
-planet&mdash;think of those words. The first, the very first. The thought
-makes you a little drunk."</p>
-
-<p>He smiled. "The President, his cabinet, the top brass okayed our ideas.
-So the moon it was!"</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>Lieutenant Andrews rose, his mouth a tight, white line.</p>
-
-<p>"Afraid we'll have to call it a day," he muttered. "It's time for me to
-go off duty. Sorry."</p>
-
-<p>"But&mdash;but your relief isn't here. You can't&mdash;"</p>
-
-<p>"Sorry." The man's gaze avoided Jeffrey's face.</p>
-
-<p>He moved swiftly, his tall body easing around the desk, then striding
-down the hall.</p>
-
-<p>Jeffrey was like a statue, an absurd, bulging-eyed statue with right
-hand still raised in a climactic, melodramatic gesture.</p>
-
-<p>"But I haven't finished!" he cried. "You haven't heard&mdash;"</p>
-
-<p>The lieutenant marched away, oblivious to Jeffrey's pleading voice.
-Abruptly, his bright uniform disappeared into one of the labyrinth's
-many rooms.</p>
-
-<p>Jeffrey was a fragile leaf mauled by winds of desperation. He dug
-furiously into his coat's inner pocket.</p>
-
-<p>"You haven't seen my proof!" he screamed.</p>
-
-<p>There was no reply save the cold, hollow, hundred-tongued echo of his
-own words.</p>
-
-<p>Jeffrey looked down at his outstretched hands. They were holding the
-faded photograph and the shining stone, offering them to the silence.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>Outside, the city was like a merry-go-round whirling faster and faster.
-Music had swelled to a dizzying crescendo. Colors were brighter in the
-noon sunlight. Voices were louder, prayers stronger.</p>
-
-<p>"Ten to one they don't make it," said a rat-faced man. "I'll take <i>all</i>
-bets."</p>
-
-<p>"They will not be alone," the solemn man in the black robe intoned to
-his congregation. "For yea, though I walk through the valley of the
-shadow of death...."</p>
-
-<p>"Why must Daddy go up into the sky, Mama? Why?" asked the child.</p>
-
-<p>"He's going to be a pioneer, dear. He's going to be one of the first to
-go to the moon."</p>
-
-<p>"But why, Mama? Why?"</p>
-
-<p>The bearded man shouted, "The wrath of God will fall upon us and upon
-our children and our children's children. Man was not meant&mdash;"</p>
-
-<p>"We have our Marco Polo, our Columbus, our Wright Brothers and our
-Lindbergh. Now, by the grace of God, we have our George Everson!"</p>
-
-<p>"Step right up, folks! Get your souvenir programs here! And don't
-forget your dark glasses for the take-off. Special today&mdash;only one
-dollar!"</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>A clock struck one.</p>
-
-<p>"No," said the stiffly polite girl, "the city editor isn't in. No, our
-reporters are covering the flight. Sorry."</p>
-
-<p>A clock struck two.</p>
-
-<p>"Sorry."</p>
-
-<p>Jeffrey sighed. What else was there? The Research Bureau. The
-Department of Defense, the Pentagon. <i>The Times</i>, <i>The Herald</i>, <i>The
-Post</i>. He hadn't wanted to take his story to the newspapers, but they
-had given him a last, futile hope. Now, even they had refused to listen.</p>
-
-<p>There was still <i>The Mirror</i>. The twilight news. The love nests, the
-exposés, the screaming headlines that most papers were saving for the
-second coming of Christ.</p>
-
-<p>Jeffrey found himself walking up dark, thinly carpeted stairs, pushing
-a faded swinging door. Then someone was leading him forward. Sounds of
-clacking typewriters and rustling papers filled the air.</p>
-
-<p>The photograph and the moon-stone were in his hands. He was thrusting
-them forward.</p>
-
-<p>"This is my proof," he mumbled automatically.</p>
-
-<p>For a long time his surroundings were like the terrain in a dimly
-remembered dream. Then hands helped him into a chair.</p>
-
-<p>A deep voice grunted at him. "Okay, proof of what?"</p>
-
-<p>Jeffrey blinked. His brain fought to break through the wall of
-weariness that enclosed it. He saw that the man before him was
-middle-aged, balding, small-eyed. His trace of a smile was not
-unpleasant.</p>
-
-<p>"What's it all about, fellow?" the man asked, leaning back in his chair.</p>
-
-<p><i>Thank you, God</i>, thought Jeffrey, <i>that I have another chance.</i></p>
-
-<p>He began again. 1957, the H-bomb, Project Pandora. Lord, if he could
-only show this man the images that still hung in his memory!</p>
-
-<p>But how could you capture the dizzying blackness of space, the hypnotic
-silver of stars, and recreate their magic in mere words? How feeble
-were words. They were like broken fingers trying to carry sand.</p>
-
-<p>Nevertheless, the man listened. Jeffrey came to the words, "So the moon
-it was!" And even then the man said nothing. Jeffrey went on:</p>
-
-<p>"Our first rocket was ready by the summer of '59. We named it the
-<i>Marilyn</i>&mdash;after Marilyn Monroe, the top glamour gal of those days.
-And I was in the ship's first crew.</p>
-
-<p>"Our take-off wasn't like this circus today. No music, no speeches, no
-parades. We had a shot of brandy in the morning. We shook hands with
-our friends and puffed on cigarettes and the C.O. said a prayer. Then
-we took off."</p>
-
-<p>Jeffrey weighed words and memories in his mind. "It'd take me a year to
-tell about how space looks and how the moon is; and how you feel when
-all the things you love are in a cloud-wrapped ball 240,000 miles away.
-Or how it feels to see your buddies slip through the paper-thin crust
-that covers parts of the moon and go down into nothingness, just as if
-the hand of God wiped them out of the universe.</p>
-
-<p>"Anyway, we hit the moon. The ship stayed long enough for us to build
-a dome. Then we split the crew in half. Five stayed, the rest shuttled
-back to Earth for more supplies. Three months later the second rocket,
-the <i>June Randy</i>, was ready, and life got a little easier. We began
-to get an occasional case of beer and mail from home. Our families
-thought they were writing to Pandora City. To think that those little
-three-cent letters would go all the way to Luna would have seemed a
-lunatic's dream to them.</p>
-
-<p>"By the summer of '61 Project Pandora was completed. We had two domes
-and four launching stations, each a hundred miles apart. The missiles
-on the launching platforms were like those beds of nails the yogis are
-supposed to lie on&mdash;only a hundred times bigger. And each nail was a
-uranium-lithium-tritium-headed rocket.</p>
-
-<p>"1961 slipped by, and '62 and '63. There were a few aborted revolutions
-on earth, a few moments of tension, but no war."</p>
-
-<p>A veil of loneliness seemed to fall over his vision, separating him
-from his listener.</p>
-
-<p>"Go ahead," the man prompted him.</p>
-
-<p>"Well, new faces appeared in our crews. The older fellows were given
-memory-washes so they wouldn't start blabbing when they returned to
-Earth. Psychiatry was pretty primitive in those days. The treatment
-wasn't much more than hypnosis, creating an artificial psychic block in
-their minds. After a while, it seemed like men were coming and going
-like figures on a treadmill&mdash;but, me, I stayed on."</p>
-
-<p>"You stayed on? Why?"</p>
-
-<p>Jeffrey thought for an instant. "Because there were two kinds of
-loneliness for us. One was being on the moon, in silence and emptiness.
-The other was being on Earth, in the midst of life and knowing the
-biggest secret in the world and not being able to talk about it. And of
-the two kinds of loneliness, to me, the last was the worst. So I stayed
-on the <i>Marilyn</i>."</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>Jeffrey tried to keep his voice calm, his manner confident.</p>
-
-<p>"Then came the Russian Revolution of '74, the rise of democracy behind
-the crumbling Iron Curtain. The rest of the world watched and waited.
-We kept those launching platforms ready&mdash;just in case. But by '76,
-there was no doubt about it. Communism was over and done. The world was
-at peace.</p>
-
-<p>"And with the arrival of peace, man's energies had to be directed into
-new channels. Till now, the government had quietly discouraged any talk
-about space flight. But now man craved adventure. Newspapers and public
-opinion began to beat the drum for that first flight to the moon."</p>
-
-<p>He chuckled softly. "The President must have been tearing his hair out.
-What the hell was he going to do with Project Pandora? The Russians
-mustn't know that for fifteen years our missiles had been ready to
-blast them to eternity. The old hates had been buried. They couldn't be
-allowed to rise again.</p>
-
-<p>"So Project Pandora became Project Garbage. The domes and platforms
-were dismantled and carried back to Pandora City. The moon was the
-biggest garbage dump in the Solar System, but it had to be cleaned up
-to the last beer can and cigarette butt. It had to become virgin again,
-ready to receive what Earth would later call the first pioneers of
-space. And it was then, when discipline was low, that I smuggled out
-the moon-stone and the photo.</p>
-
-<p>"Everybody got the memory-wash&mdash;from the President on down. I was a
-civilian again with a nice pension. For the first couple of years I
-couldn't remember a thing. I only knew I'd done secret work for the
-government. I'd look at my photo and stone and wonder where I got them.</p>
-
-<p>"But gradually my memory came back. Maybe it was because of the photo,
-or maybe because I'd been on Luna and the <i>Marilyn</i> so much longer than
-the others.</p>
-
-<p>"Last year I got mad when Everson announced plans to hit the moon.
-His name was in headlines every day. He was becoming a hero without
-even leaving the ground. And there were a hundred men whose bodies were
-already lost on Luna. They were the real heroes, the real pioneers.
-This celebration today&mdash;it's a mockery. I want the world to know the
-truth."</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>For the space of a minute the small-eyed man was silent. His fingers
-toyed with the stone and the photograph.</p>
-
-<p>Finally he murmured, "Suppose I publish your story. How much do you
-want for it?"</p>
-
-<p>To Jeffrey, the words were like April sunshine streaking into a
-cobwebbed winter attic.</p>
-
-<p>"You&mdash;you want to use the story? You believe me?"</p>
-
-<p>"I didn't say I believe it. I don't give a damn whether it's true or
-not. My job is to sell newspapers. I asked how much you want for it."</p>
-
-<p>"Nothing," Jeffrey said softly.</p>
-
-<p>The small-eyed man grunted. "We could flood the city with the afternoon
-edition. People are buying anything with a moon angle. The Russians
-wouldn't shout for joy, but there shouldn't be any harm done at this
-late date."</p>
-
-<p>His eyes brightened. "We might get away with it. We've got your stone.
-We could demand that Everson locate the place where you got it and
-either prove or disprove your story. Why, that'd be good for months!"</p>
-
-<p>He laughed. "What a damper we'll put on <i>this</i> celebration! We'll make
-the city seem like a morgue. It's a dirty, lousy trick, but by God
-it'll sell papers!"</p>
-
-<p>Jeffrey leaned forward, squinting. "A dirty, lousy trick? What do you
-mean?"</p>
-
-<p>"Skip it." The man's enthusiasm was rising. He was like fizzing soda in
-a thumb-stoppered, shaken bottle. "We got to get this story in print.
-Hey, Marty! Get the dicto-typer over here! I've been waiting all my
-life to yell stop those presses. Marty! <i>Stop those goddamn presses!</i>"</p>
-
-<p>"What did you mean?" Jeffrey insisted. "How can telling people the
-truth be a dirty, lousy trick?"</p>
-
-<p>The small-eyed man laughed again. "You don't think folks'll <i>like</i> this
-story, do you? You don't think they'll feel like celebrating when they
-read this, do you? It's a cinch they won't start cheering <i>you</i> for
-what you did almost twenty years ago! Say, wait'll Everson sees that
-moon pic plastered on my front page. <i>There's</i> an angle! A pic of
-Everson's expression! Hey, Marty! Get me&mdash;"</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>Restlessly, Jeffrey rose and shuffled to a window. One of the city's
-myriad parades, like a battalion of colored ants, was streaming down
-the street.</p>
-
-<p>The small-eyed man yelled, "Come on, let's have that story again! This
-time it's for publication."</p>
-
-<p>Jeffrey didn't answer. Odd thoughts were stirring in deep recesses of
-his mind.</p>
-
-<p>"Come on! Let's have that story!"</p>
-
-<p>Jeffrey stared out the window, a far-away gaze in his eyes. "Do&mdash;do
-you suppose I was the only one who remembered? There must be others. I
-couldn't be the only one."</p>
-
-<p>"Sure, there could be others&mdash;if your yarn is true. Maybe they've tried
-to tell and nobody believed 'em. Or maybe they're keeping quiet. Maybe
-they don't want to make dopes out of Everson and his men. Maybe they
-want to keep 'em heroes. Now, gimme that story!" He flicked a switch on
-the dicto-typer.</p>
-
-<p>Words echoed in Jeffrey's brain. <i>Maybe they don't want to make dopes
-out of Everson and his men. Maybe they want to keep 'em heroes. It's
-a cinch they won't start cheering you for what you did almost twenty
-years ago.</i></p>
-
-<p>The world has need of heroes, he thought. There's Luna, and then there
-are Venus and Mars and Jupiter and all the others; and, always, there
-are the stars. And, between, there are miles and years of darkness and
-loneliness, and courage is a candle flame too easily extinguished.
-Mankind will need songs of daring and tales of heroes and signposts to
-guide the way to infinity. You can't make heroes out of men whose very
-names are forgotten. You can't make heroes out of tired old bones.</p>
-
-<p>Jeffrey frowned as the hum of presses echoed in his ears.</p>
-
-<p>The great headlines would descend upon the enchanted city like a black
-tidal wave. They would swirl through the streets, devour the bright
-color, absorb the gay sound, suck the joy into dark waters of doubt and
-suspicion.</p>
-
-<p>The small-eyed man was shouting at him. He did not hear.</p>
-
-<p><i>After all</i>, Jeffrey told himself, <i>this is for you. It's not for
-Everson and his men, really. It's for the pioneers, for those who dare
-to be first. The eyes are not on you, and the voices do not speak to
-you. Yet all this, really, is for you&mdash;for you were the first. Would
-you destroy this day that is yours?</i></p>
-
-<p>A voice was swearing at him.</p>
-
-<p>What a day it was! Why, it must be the greatest in the history of
-Earth. It was a day for all history books everywhere, always. It was a
-shame that the minutes were piling one upon the other so rapidly. How
-wonderful if they could be bottled and sealed like sweet perfume, to be
-dispensed slowly, a scent a month, a drop a year.</p>
-
-<p>Hands were tugging at his arm. He shook himself free. He turned back to
-the desk, seized the moon-stone and the photograph, replaced them in
-his pocket.</p>
-
-<p>Silently, head high, he strode past the naked, astonished faces.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>Dusk. A silence blanketed the take-off field. The seconds hung in the
-air like bits of fire and ice.</p>
-
-<p>Captain George Everson, the man with no legs, waved to the multitude
-as he entered his silver rocket.</p>
-
-<p>Presently there was a sound of thunder, and the land trembled. Flame
-belched from the stern of the <i>Lunar Lady</i>. Slowly, the rocket began to
-rise. The multitude drew back, like frightened red ghosts in the fiery
-glare from the grumbling jets.</p>
-
-<p>A greater avalanche of flame spewed from the rocket. A furnace-hot wind
-shrilled over the field, lashing at hair and clothing, at banner and
-flag.</p>
-
-<p>And suddenly the <i>Lunar Lady</i> was gone. It was a needle of fire high in
-the twilight sky, a vanishing target for a million narrowed eyes.</p>
-
-<p>A hushed, reverent murmur rose from the field.</p>
-
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