Edward W. Ludwig

Summary

Edward W. Ludwig Spacemen Die at Home

You can go into space, I thought, and try to do as much living in ten years as normal men do in fifty. You can be like Everson, who died in a Moon crash at the age of 36, or like a thousand others who lie buried in Martian sand and Venusian dust. Or, if you're lucky, like Charlie—a kind of human meteor streaking through space, eternally alone, never finding a home.
Or there's the other path. To stay on this little prison of an Earth in cool, comfortable houses. To be one of the solid, rooted people with a wife and kids.
Source: Gutenberg

Edward W. Ludwig Spacemen Die at Home

His home, Laura, was the Universe, where the ship was his house, the crew his father, mother, brothers, the planets his children.
You say that the beauty of the other side of the mountain vanishes after you reach it. But how can one ever be sure until the journey is made? Could I or Charlie or the thousand before us bear to look upon a star and think, I might have gone there; I could have been the first?
We said, too, that the life of a spaceman is lonely. Yet how could one be lonely when men like Charlie roam the spaceways?
Source: Gutenberg

Edward W. Ludwig Spacemen Die at Home

Though it was daytime, I saw the stars in my mind's vision, the great shining balls of silver, each like a voice crying out and pleading to be explored, to be touched by the sons of Earth.
They expect a lot from us. They expect us to make a new kind of civilization and a better place out of Earth. They expect all this and a hell of a lot more. They think there's nothing we can't do.
Source: Gutenberg

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