Oliver Saari

“ Jessup felt an ancient horror clutching at him—a horror that should have been totally foreign to the vast sweep of space.
He was buried alive.
"Like a stone in a puddle of mud," said Markley gloomily to White, the Station's Second. "Maybe we ought to be thankful; the stuff probably saved his life!"
"Saved him! What for, if he can't get out?"
The colonel shrugged his shoulders, his face an expressionless mask for his thoughts. White could sense the tortured anxiety of the older man. More than anyone, he had worked for and pushed Project Moon. He'd never really been a military man. ”

“ A poor, blind man, buried under a mountain of dust....
"Jessup says he can't tell much yet about the ship," said the radioman. "He says to hold on."
"We'll be out of beam range in fifteen minutes," said Markley hollowly, his heavy shoulders hunched forward as if he were trying to reach his arms out to the sunken rocket.
White felt the same helplessness. They could not even stop the Station in its hurtling chase around the Earth. Soon the Moon would be lost from sight behind the vast, misty mass of the planet. ”

“ The voice droned on unheeding for an interminable time, then:
"Jess!" it deafened him "Hey, Colonel! I've got him! He's alive! Jess—"
The voice of Colonel Markley broke in, "What happened, Jessup?" Then there was a deathly silence, a waiting.
"I ... I don't know," said Jessup. "It's dark out there—the bull's-eye's dark. Or maybe I can't see—"
He checked his voice as he sensed its rising pitch. His groping hand found the emergency switch, and the panel lights came on before him like round eyes in the dark.
"Jessup, what's wrong?" roared the colonel's voice. "You've been silent for an hour. ”

“ But he doesn't really connect those figures with the moon out there! He doesn't feel what it is!"
White knew what the colonel meant. He himself had experienced a peculiar change of viewpoint on coming to the Space Station. Call it a change in Cosmic Perspective.
"You can't blame them if they lose interest a little," he said lamely. "It's been nothing but moon, moon in the news for years now. When Jessup landed, they had a right to expect something exciting. This thing is a terrible anti-climax."
"They expected the moon brought home to them, I suppose," sighed Markley. ”

“ The chronometer showed that Markley had exaggerated: he'd been out only ten minutes. And he was losing air! Sickeningly he visualized the mess that must be down below, the jets and undercarriage smashed and twisted.... Then Markley's voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Yes, yes, I see it—" the colonel was shouting at someone on the other end. Then his voice became low, hesitant, "Jess—we may have something here.... I'm looking at a photo of the spot you went down. I don't see your rocket, but there's a—a—uh, pit that looks different from the rest of the smallpox. Like a dent in a hill of sand. ”

“ At that, I don't know if a few feet of that dust would stop shortwave—"
"Might be fifteen feet," muttered Markley, his face gray and tired-looking. "God! Maybe he's still sinking!"
"Sir, we don't know that he's that deep," cautioned White. "I don't see how an impact could bury him like that."
"What do we know of the conditions?" moaned the colonel. "That stuff must be absolutely dry—and loosely packed. In the light gravity it probably flows like water—quicksand! I should have thought of it—"
"Jessup wants to know if there are any orders, sir," said the radioman. ”

“ Rescue is still out of the question, but Jessup appears to be in good spirits. He is acting on expert advice, but Colonel Markley says that suggestions from any source will be considered. If anything in your experience can help Bob Jessup, get in touch with your nearest radio or television station—now!"
"Hm-m. Expect anything?" asked White.
"No."
"Then why—?"
"It keeps them interested," said Markley.
"Interested! Surely—"
"Surely nothing!" cried Markley with a strange, wild emphasis. "Do you know why we weren't on the moon ten years ago? ”

“ He kicked clumsily at the pedal which actuated the outer door of the airlock. The door plug scraped unpleasantly on his metal boots as it slid aside.
Push ... kick.... The legs moved stiffly, like pipe joints. ”