Sea of Crises (17 page)

Despite himself, Cartwright also took some comfort in that.

Fortunately, Cartwright’s mother had not hesitated when she’d learned of her daughter-in-law’s tragic death. Widowed five years earlier, she immediately uprooted herself from the small Indiana town where she’d lived her entire life, and she moved in with Cartwright and the boys.

Cartwright had realized quickly that the nomadic life of a naval aviator would, without Barbara there to provide stability, be too much to ask his boys to continue to endure. He’d heard there was to be another round of selections for the space program and that priority was being given to qualified pilots. A month after Barbara’s death, he applied for a spot in the new group, and two months after that, he was accepted. The five of them were able to settle down in one place, and, over the past seven years, Cartwright had done his best to fill the role of single parent to the boys.

He was very proud of his sons. All three of them were extraordinarily smart, Nate, perhaps, even more so than the twins, which was saying a lot. His eldest was remarkably steady and capable. When Cartwright looked at Nate, he saw himself as a young man, for all that implied, good and bad. He worried, though, that, as serious and hard working as Nate was, he’d burn himself out if he wasn’t careful. The one thing Cartwright knew with certainty, and it helped ease his concerns, was that, if anything were to happen to him, Nate would be there for his brothers.

Peter was the sensitive one. He reminded Cartwright so much of Barbara. The boy was at once inquisitive and insightful. He could be serious, but he could also be hilarious. Most importantly, he possessed an inner strength that would serve him well should he have to face life on his own.

And then there was Matt. The wild one. What would become of Matt? There was really no question in Cartwright’s mind that the boy would be able to fend for himself. He was as independent as any kid his age could ever be. But there was no getting around the fact that he was impulsive, inclined to leap before thinking. And that, Cartwright feared, could be his undoing. And, if it happened, it would be a terrible shame. Because, he knew, deep inside of Matt, well down below where most of the world could see, was a truly marvelous soul.

Bob Cartwright wasn’t a particularly religious man, but, lying there in his hammock, on the floor of the Mare Crisium, a quarter of a million miles from home, he said a silent prayer, asking God that he be allowed to see his boys again.

#

Apparently, Cartwright had finally found sleep, because he was startled to wakefulness by a harsh sound that he didn’t immediately recognize. After a moment, he realized that, through the earphone on the cap he wore, the one the astronauts referred to as the “Snoopy cap,” Houston was pumping a rousing rendition of
Anchors Aweigh
. It dawned on him after a moment, that it was in his honor. A few seconds later, it abruptly stopped and was replaced by the chipper voice of Rick Delahousse.

“Rise and shine, sleepy heads. Thought you might want to take a walk this morning.”

Stifling a chuckle, Cartwright said, “Aw, come on, Mom. Five more minutes?”

“What,” Delahousse replied, “and let all the good spots on the moon get taken by everyone else?”

“All right,” Cartwright said, pulling himself up by gripping the handle on the overhead docking hatch and swinging his body out of the hammock. “If you insist.” Suspended for a moment in the fractional gravity, he twisted his torso, keeping his legs curled, looked down, and identified a clear spot on the module floor. Then he extended his legs, making contact with the deck a couple of seconds later.

Gale, he saw, was already up. The man had stowed his hammock and taken a seat on the ascent engine cover. He was in the process of eating from one of the clear plastic bags in which their meals were stored. He nodded at Cartwright, but said nothing. Knowing there was no point in trying to engage Gale in chit-chat, Cartwright busied himself putting away his own hammock and grabbing a quick bite to eat. Then, the two of them assisted one another putting on their space suits.

When they were ready, they depressurized the cabin and opened the forward hatch, and Cartwright worked his body out onto the short landing that sat above one of the four legs of the module. In part because of their training and in part because of the concentration required to deal with the bulky suit and the small opening, it wasn’t until Cartwright was beginning his descent down the ladder that it dawned on him that he was actually outside the craft, truly a man on the moon.

On the last rung of the ladder, Cartwright paused, appreciating the moment. When Neil Armstrong had taken this step, his words had become famous. Subsequent first steps on the moon had been accorded much less significance. Still, it was a moment to remember, and one that Cartwright certainly would never forget. Not wanting to let it pass without some acknowledgement, he’d worked up what he hoped would be a reasonably appropriate statement.

He pushed himself off the ladder and, when his boots made contact with the surface, he said, “With humble respect for those who came before, I’m proud to announce that man has returned to the moon. We come in the name of exploration, science and peace.”

A few minutes later, when Gale stepped off the pad, his was a much shorter pronouncement. “I’m down.”

Their first order of business was retrieval of the lunar rover from the LRV storage compartment, located in the descent stage of the module, just to the side of the leg that they’d climbed down. Gripping a pair of lanyards, Cartwright and Gale pulled down, and the vehicle slowly lowered, like a drawbridge, unfolding as it did. When they had it on the surface, they removed the pins, cabling and tripods that had held the vehicle in its storage position, and they raised the seats and footrests. After switching on the electronics, Cartwright went through a quick diagnostic check. Everything appeared to be functioning.

Because of the tight quarters in which they’d landed, there was some uncertainty about which direction they would take to get themselves out of the clearing. The two men separated. Taking bounding steps that made Cartwright feel slightly superhuman, but being careful not to allow the weight of his backpack to push him over the balance point and cause him to pratfall, he explored a portion of the area to the north of the module, while Gale investigated another.

“Over here,” Gale announced after a couple of minutes. “It looks clear.”

Cartwright joined him at the northeast corner of their landing site. There did, indeed, appear to be sufficient clearance for the rover through the boulder field. How far they’d be able to go, however, he couldn’t say. Distances in the moonscape, Cartwright was beginning to appreciate, were almost impossible to gauge. But it looked like a reasonable starting place.

They returned to the module and mounted the rover, which had the odd appearance of a dune buggy, and, with Cartwright at the controls, they started out. The rover was capable of moving at speeds of up to seven miles per hour. For the first several minutes of their trek, however, Cartwright maintained more of a walking pace. Gale was quiet, but Cartwright and Delahousse kept up a running dialogue. The field of rocks in which they’d landed was, they discovered, quite vast. Cartwright worked the rover through a serpentine course, endeavoring as best he could to keep them moving in the direction that their first traverse called for. As they picked their way through the broken landscape, it became apparent fairly quickly that Cartwright had, indeed, found the one spot where they could land. Put simply, had he not set them down where he had, they would not have made it onto the surface of the moon.

Finally, the terrain began to clear, but, though they were able to get the rover up to speed, they still found themselves working their way through a landscape dotted with boulders, some quite large. It was not the terrain that Cartwright had been led to believe they’d encounter, and he did his best to describe what he was seeing for the men gathered back at Mission Control, his comments supplementing what they were already seeing through the video camera mounted on the front of the rover.

On the ground ahead of them, a softball-sized rock caught the light of the sun as they approached in such a way as to reflect what appeared to Cartwright to be almost a deep blue, an interesting contrast to the washed out beige of the surrounding environment. Pointing, he said to Gale, “I think we should grab that one.”

Gale seemed to hesitate. Then he nodded. Reaching down and using the claws on the end of the aluminum pole in his right hand, he retrieved the sample. When Gale had safely deposited it into one of the bags they were carrying, Cartwright started them up again, and they slowly made their way around a large rock outcropping.

When he saw the object, Cartwright was so startled he actually lost his grip on the steering control. He immediately lunged for the control, pulled back and stopped the forward progress of the rover. He stared, flabbergasted, for a moment. Finally, not knowing what else to say, he blurted, “That shouldn’t be here.”

9

Krantz heard the door behind him burst open, and, when he glanced back, Adam Huffman stormed in.

“Stand by,” Krantz said into his microphone. He flipped the switch on the control box clipped to his belt, muting the line, and turned to face the NASA deputy administrator.

“What’s the status?” Huffman asked.

“We’ve had first contact, and we’ve effected the switchover.”

“So soon,” Huffman said.

It was a superfluous comment. Krantz merely nodded.

“What was the contact?” Huffman demanded.

Krantz turned his head and nodded toward one of the large television monitors mounted on brackets hanging from the ceiling. Across the lower half of the screen was a bright lunar surface dotted with rocks and boulders of various sizes. The area above the horizon was pitch black. On the ground in the center of the lunar landscape was an object. With its sharp geometric features, it looked completely out of place.

“Zoom in, again,” Krantz commanded.

As the lens of the camera mounted on the front of the lunar rover was refocused, the object grew in size until it practically filled the screen. It appeared to be a square metallic box with a narrow antenna attached. Without any point of reference, however, it was impossible to tell how large the thing was.

“What is it?” Huffman asked.

Krantz shook his head. “We’re not sure. Most likely some sort of motion detector.”

“This far out?”

Again, Krantz shook his head. “We may be closer than we thought. In any event, it appears they’re expecting us.”

Suddenly, there was movement on the television screen, and the object was obscured. The man working the remote controls adjusted the focus of the camera, and the image drew back out. As it did, Krantz realized that what he had seen was the back of either Cartwright or Gale moving away from the rover. As he watched, the two astronauts took bounding steps toward the object. When they reached the thing, Krantz was finally able to judge its size. It appeared the base was approximately a foot square, and the antenna extended upward about two feet.

“Did we cut away in time?” Huffman asked.

“Yes,” Krantz replied. “Cartwright said something about it just before the switchover, but it never appeared on the screen. And what he said was pretty vague. Could have been referring to just about anything.”

“What exactly did he say?”

Krantz turned to one of the men sitting in the row in front of him. “Give me play back on the audio. Start at twenty seconds before switchover.” After a moment, the slightly metallic voice of Bob Cartwright filled the room.

“I think we should grab that one.” There were several seconds of silence. When Cartwright again spoke, there was an edge to his voice. “That shouldn’t be here.”

After a moment, Huffman nodded slowly. “Ok. It is what it is. What have you told them?”

“I’ve stuck to the script,” Krantz said. “Said we had a communications glitch and we’ve switched over to backup.”

“What are they saying?”

“Nothing.” Krantz consulted the panel on the front wall. “At least nothing we can hear. They’ve gone to Comm 2.” The astronauts had engaged the personal intercom option on their communications system. In that mode, they could talk to one another, and, while they could hear transmissions from ground control, until either of them activated a cable-mounted switch attached to the front of his suit, their voices would not be heard back on Earth.

Of course, even when they did that, nothing would be heard in Mission Control. From the moment Krantz had hit the override switch, the only contact the men on the moon would have with Earth would be with the small cadre of men who had been assembled in this former storage room in the basement of the headquarters building at the Johnson Space Center.

“Ok,” Huffman said. “The shit’s hitting the fan upstairs. I’ve got to make an appearance. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Krantz nodded. As Huffman made his way to the door, Krantz returned his attention to the television monitor.

#

Bob Cartwright’s mind was a jumble of thoughts as he stood considering the thing. He glanced over at Gale. A distorted image of Cartwright’s own helmeted figure stared back at him in the reflection of the man’s visor. After a long moment, he looked back down.

The mere fact that a man-made object sat here in a place it had no business being was extraordinary. But, given time, Cartwright could have conjured a series of explanations for it. Off the top of his head, he figured, it could have been a piece of one of the lunar modules that was allowed to crash back onto the surface of the moon after a prior Apollo mission. Of course, it didn’t look like any part he recognized. But at least that offered a marginally reasonable explanation.

There was no way, however, he could rationalize the footprints surrounding the thing.

And, as if that weren’t sufficiently disconcerting, a small red light on the base glowed, apparently indicating that, whatever it was, it was active.