helplessly, “why didn’t you fill your tank before we left?”
“What are you talking about? Does your suit have a water tank?”
I couldn’t answer. Peewee’s suit was for tourists-for those “scenic walks amidst incomparable grandeur on the ancient face of the Moon” that the ads promised. Guided walks, of course, not over a half-hour at a time-they wouldn’t put in a water tank; some tourist might choke, or bite the nipple off and half drown in his helmet, or some silly thing. Besides, it was cheaper.
I began to worry about other shortcomings that cheap-jack equipment might have-with Peewee’s life depending on it. “I’m sorry,” I said humbly. “Look, I’ll try to figure out some way to get water to you.”
“I doubt if you can. I can’t die of thirst in the time it’ll take us to get there, so quit worrying. I’m all right. I just wish I had my bubble gum. Ready?”
“Uh . . . ready.”
The hills were hardly more than giant folds in lava; we were soon through them, even though we had to take it cautiously over the very rough ground. Beyond them the ground looked natter than western Kansas, stretching out to a close horizon, with mountains sticking up beyond, glaring in the Sun and silhouetted against a black sky like cardboard cutouts. I tried to figure how far the horizon was, on a thousand-mile radius and a height of eye of six feet-and couldn’t do it in my head and wished for my slipstick. But it was awfully close, less than a mile.
Peewee let me overtake her, touched helmets. “Okay, Kip? All right, Mother Thing?”
“Sure.”
(“All right, dear.”)
“Kip, the course from the pass when they fetched me here was east eight degrees north. I heard them arguing and sneaked a peek at their map. So we go back west eight degrees south-that doesn’t count the jog to these hills but it’s close enough to find the pass. Okay?”
“Sounds swell.” I was impressed. “Peewee, were you an Indian scout once? Or Davy Crockett?”
“Pooh! Anybody can read a map”-she sounded pleased. “I want to check compasses. What bearing do you have on Earth?”
I said silently: Oscar, you’ve let me down. I’ve been cussing her suit for not having water-and you don’t have a compass.
(Oscar protested: “Hey, pal, that’s unfair! Why would I need a compass at Space Station Two? Nobody told me I was going to the Moon.”) I said, “Peewee, this suit is for space station work. What use is a compass in space? Nobody told me I was going to the Moon.”
“But- Well, don’t stop to cry about it. You can get your directions by Earth.”
“Why can’t I use your compass?”
“Don’t be silly; it’s built into my helmet. Now just a moment-“ She faced Earth, moved her helmet back and forth. Then she touched helmets again. “Earth is smacko on northwest . . . that makes the course fifty three degrees left of there. Try to pick it out. Earth is two degrees wide, you know.”
“I knew that before you were born.”
“No doubt. Some people require a head start.”
“Smart aleck!”
“You were rude first!”
“But- Sorry, Peewee. Let’s save the fights for later. I’ll spot you the first two bites.”
“I won’t need them! You don’t know how nasty I can-“
“I have some idea.”
(“Children! Children!”)
“I’m sorry, Peewee.”
“So am I. I’m edgy. I wish we were there.”
“So do I. Let me figure the course.” I counted degrees using Earth as a yardstick. I marked a place by eye, then tried again judging fifty-three degrees as a proportion of ninety. The results didn’t agree, so I tried to spot some stars to help me. They say you can see stars from the Moon even when the Sun is in the sky. Well, you can-but not easily. I had the Sun over my shoulder but was facing Earth, almost three-quarters full, and had the dazzling ground glare as well. The polarizer cut down the glare-and cut out the stars, too.
So I split my guesses and marked the spot. “Peewee? See
“What are you talking about? Does your suit have a water tank?”
I couldn’t answer. Peewee’s suit was for tourists-for those “scenic walks amidst incomparable grandeur on the ancient face of the Moon” that the ads promised. Guided walks, of course, not over a half-hour at a time-they wouldn’t put in a water tank; some tourist might choke, or bite the nipple off and half drown in his helmet, or some silly thing. Besides, it was cheaper.
I began to worry about other shortcomings that cheap-jack equipment might have-with Peewee’s life depending on it. “I’m sorry,” I said humbly. “Look, I’ll try to figure out some way to get water to you.”
“I doubt if you can. I can’t die of thirst in the time it’ll take us to get there, so quit worrying. I’m all right. I just wish I had my bubble gum. Ready?”
“Uh . . . ready.”
The hills were hardly more than giant folds in lava; we were soon through them, even though we had to take it cautiously over the very rough ground. Beyond them the ground looked natter than western Kansas, stretching out to a close horizon, with mountains sticking up beyond, glaring in the Sun and silhouetted against a black sky like cardboard cutouts. I tried to figure how far the horizon was, on a thousand-mile radius and a height of eye of six feet-and couldn’t do it in my head and wished for my slipstick. But it was awfully close, less than a mile.
Peewee let me overtake her, touched helmets. “Okay, Kip? All right, Mother Thing?”
“Sure.”
(“All right, dear.”)
“Kip, the course from the pass when they fetched me here was east eight degrees north. I heard them arguing and sneaked a peek at their map. So we go back west eight degrees south-that doesn’t count the jog to these hills but it’s close enough to find the pass. Okay?”
“Sounds swell.” I was impressed. “Peewee, were you an Indian scout once? Or Davy Crockett?”
“Pooh! Anybody can read a map”-she sounded pleased. “I want to check compasses. What bearing do you have on Earth?”
I said silently: Oscar, you’ve let me down. I’ve been cussing her suit for not having water-and you don’t have a compass.
(Oscar protested: “Hey, pal, that’s unfair! Why would I need a compass at Space Station Two? Nobody told me I was going to the Moon.”) I said, “Peewee, this suit is for space station work. What use is a compass in space? Nobody told me I was going to the Moon.”
“But- Well, don’t stop to cry about it. You can get your directions by Earth.”
“Why can’t I use your compass?”
“Don’t be silly; it’s built into my helmet. Now just a moment-“ She faced Earth, moved her helmet back and forth. Then she touched helmets again. “Earth is smacko on northwest . . . that makes the course fifty three degrees left of there. Try to pick it out. Earth is two degrees wide, you know.”
“I knew that before you were born.”
“No doubt. Some people require a head start.”
“Smart aleck!”
“You were rude first!”
“But- Sorry, Peewee. Let’s save the fights for later. I’ll spot you the first two bites.”
“I won’t need them! You don’t know how nasty I can-“
“I have some idea.”
(“Children! Children!”)
“I’m sorry, Peewee.”
“So am I. I’m edgy. I wish we were there.”
“So do I. Let me figure the course.” I counted degrees using Earth as a yardstick. I marked a place by eye, then tried again judging fifty-three degrees as a proportion of ninety. The results didn’t agree, so I tried to spot some stars to help me. They say you can see stars from the Moon even when the Sun is in the sky. Well, you can-but not easily. I had the Sun over my shoulder but was facing Earth, almost three-quarters full, and had the dazzling ground glare as well. The polarizer cut down the glare-and cut out the stars, too.
So I split my guesses and marked the spot. “Peewee? See
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