CHAPTER 7

A Flight to the Moon

A big guy wearing what looked like heavy-duty work clothes stared in at them. “What the…” he began in surprise.

“Problem, Bob?” a voice called from outside. It sounded familiar.

“What are you fellows doing in here?” Bob demanded.

Hunt was about to answer when Bob stepped away and a new face looked in. It belonged to Al, the man who’d taken them to dinner, Space League’s writer.

Al was ready to be angry, but when he saw who was aboard the ship, he laughed. “You boys certainly get around,” he said.

“Good seeing you too,” Hunt said.

“Uh, nice ship,” Jan said, holding up his end of the conversation.

“We take it with us when we make personal appearances. It gives the fans a thrill.”

“I’m thrilled,” Jan assured him.

“You better come out of there. The professionals need to give the ship a going over before we let the thundering hordes look around.”

Once again Hunt wondered about Al’s motives. He was letting them off easy, and without asking any questions. Hunt couldn’t figure it out. When there weren’t so many people around Hunt would have to take the initiative and ask him a few questions.

Once they were outside, five or six fellows hurried aboard the ship. “Come on,” Al said, and led Hunt and Jan away.

They descended a short metal stairway to a large open area that was surrounded by strange spindly structures that towered over them from a great height and looked as if aliens might have built them—impossible, of course.

“What kind of place is this?” Jan asked.

“It’s an amusement park,” Al said. “People come here to have all kinds of experiences they can’t have anywhere else.” He glanced at them. “Don’t you people have amusement parks where you come from?”

“Oh, sure,” Jan said. “Ours are just a little different.”

“A little,” Hunt agreed. Jan had taken him to a famous park on Venus. It had been a nice change from the amusements he normally enjoyed, which were, for the most part, virtual. He was attacked by renegade Venusians, and rode a scorps around and around to the accompaniment of loud cheerful organ music—a simple ride, and of course none of the scorps were any more real than the renegade Venusians, but the experience was curiously satisfying.

“If you hang around long enough, you’ll probably have a chance to go on some of the rides,” Al promised.

“Wonderful,” Hunt said, pretty sure he didn’t mean it.

They strolled across the open area to a line of green benches. Relaxing on one of the benches, sipping something that smelled like—yes, like coffee—were Christopher Thrash and Eunice Quigley. Apparently she had been right not to worry about Garley taking her boyfriend away from her. Where was Garley, anyway?

Smiling, Thrash stood up and strode forward, leaving Eunice on the bench. She closed her eyes and raised her face to the sky as if attempting to get a tan—perhaps she was. Thrash shook hands with Hunt, Jan, and Al and welcomed them to Carnival Town.

“Is there any way we could get a cup of that coffee?” Jan asked.

“Of course,” Thrash said, as if he were happy to do them an enormous favor. He raised his hand, and a young man about Hunt’s age ran up to the group. After Thrash and the man conferred for a few seconds the man ran off, but he was back shortly carrying a tray holding two steaming paper cups. Hunt and Jan each took one. They sipped appreciatively.

“Al spoke of thundering hordes,” Hunt said. “Where are they?”

“The park will open in an hour or so. Personally, I like the place better this way—though if we don’t open we won’t make any money.” Thrash laughed pleasantly. “Come on. I’ll show you around.” He spoke to Eunice over his shoulder. “Come on, sweetie, I’ll show you the sights.”

She got up, smoothed her skirt—it was white and sprinkled with bright, candy-colored flowers—and joined them as they strolled into Carnival Town under a sign that would probably be pretty spectacular when lit at night.

“Where’s Ms. Garley?” Hunt asked, as if the answer were of little consequence.

“She’s perfectly fine,” Thrash said.

“Oh?” Hunt said.

“You’ll be seeing her soon,” Thrash said. “Right now we have more important things to do.”

“That’s reassuring,” Hunt said. “But it doesn’t answer my question.”

Thrash scowled. Al shook his head.

“We feel kind of responsible for her,” Jan explained.

“That’s good of you,” Thrash said, “but entirely unnecessary.” He glared at him for a moment but said no more before continuing his stroll with Eunice.

Hunt could see that arguing with Thrash would get him nowhere. If Garley really was safe, and they really would see her eventually, patience might be the big virtue here. If Thrash was lying about her condition, Hunt needed a plan, which at the moment he did not have.

The five of them continued their leisurely saunter along a wide street that seemed to go right up the center of the park. The place was beautifully landscaped with trees and colorful flowers. Lining the street were garish wagons identified with strange and interesting labels like “Miss Bushy, the Bearded Lady,” “Muscles, the Strong Man,” “Mr. Electro,” and “Sssuzi, the Lizard Girl.” There were also booths where people were preparing food of various kinds—sweet, spicy, sour, savory—the fragrances of which mixed appetizingly in the cool morning air. But the strongest odor was none of those; it was a hot smell that made Hunt think of the French fries he’d had the night before at the Shanghai Café. Without thinking, he raised his nose to inhale. Jan did the same.

“Ah yes, grease,” Thrash remarked, and inhaled heavily. “It makes America strong.”

“No doubt,” Hunt remarked as they ambled along.

“Anybody want a hot dog?” Thrash asked.

“A what?” Jan asked.

“Uh, boss,” Al said, “if you plan on taking us on the Moon Rocket Ride, maybe we should wait on the hot dogs.”

Thrash frowned, but reluctantly agreed. “Pansies,” he remarked under his breath, as if it were an insult.

“Moon Rocket Ride?” Hunt asked, hoping to change the subject but also curious. Unless his knowledge of history was way off, there were no ships going to the moon this year or any time soon. Of course, the Moon Rocket might be as fake as the Magellan, the ship he and Jan had ridden to Carnival Town.

“You’ll see,” Thrash said, and grinned. He liked his secrets, yes he did.

Soon the street opened up into an enormous open space where the alien structures were standing. Before, Hunt had been able to see only their tops, but now he could see them right down to the ground. The group walked past a structure circled by umbrella-like forms that could be hauled to the top closed, and then opened as they fell back to the ground. Another looked as if it would swing a small car—built to carry maybe two people, and designed to look like an airplane—around on long arms. A big vertical hoop with cars hanging all around the edge turned up and back a little, as if eager to begin. Small boats were lined up in a water-filled canal before a dark entrance identified as the Tunnel of Love. Each of the attractions had a small ticket booth out in front with a big sign saying what it was. Men and woman counted change and brought out thick disks of tickets.

But Thrash did not detain them at any of these places. They marched on until they reached a huge structure that seemed to be one narrow track curling and twisting and climbing and falling as if it were having a bad dream. Thrash smiled and rocked up and back on his heels while looking at the construction, as pleased as if he’d built it with his own two hands. “The Moon Rocket Ride,” he announced.

A man dressed in a work shirt and heavy pants stood at the bottom, with one hand resting on a thick lever that thrust out of a metal box big enough to hold Al’s automobile. Behind him was a line of vehicles resting on the track. Each vehicle was a car that had three seats, one behind the other.

“Hello, boss,” the man said and waved his ancient fedora at Thrash.

“All ready to go, Gary?” Thrash asked.

“You bet,” Gary said.

“I was expecting a moon rocket,” Jan said.

“Oh, we just call it that. We had to call it something,” Thrash said enthusiastically. “Come on. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.” He helped Eunice into the front seat of the front car. Her jaw was clenched and she didn’t look well.

Hunt was pretty sure he didn’t want to do this any more than Eunice did. “Have a good time,” he told Thrash, and took a step back.

“Not much of a sport, are you?” Thrash accused.

“I’ll go,” Jan piped up.

Jan surprised Hunt occasionally, and this was one of those times. Hunt sighed and decided it would be bad for morale if Jan went by himself. Maybe also bad for his relationship with Christopher Thrash, who seemed to be a pretty formidable guy—even more important than Al. He might be useful finding the time machine, if they ever had another chance to look for it.

“All right,” Hunt said. “I feel like a sport all of a sudden.”

Thrash got in next to Eunice and put his arm around her. She moved closer to him but did not snuggle. Gary pulled a metal bar back against their chests, then helped Hunt and Jan into the seat behind them and pulled their bar back. Al climbed into the third seat and pulled back the bar himself.

“Hang on tight, folks,” Thrash cried out. “Blast-off, Gary.”

“Right, boss.” Gary pulled back on the big lever and the cars began to move.

Hunt gripped the bar as if his life depended on it, though at first the car moved so slowly that doing so seemed pointless. Some mechanism in the track made a loud clicking noise as the car climbed the first steep hill. Hunt was looking almost straight up into the sky. Gripping the bar now seemed wiser. Eunice was already burying her head in Thrash’s shoulder. At the top of the hill the car paused for a second or two, and suddenly it was falling down the other side of the hill with the rush and noise of a plummeting spaceship. Wind beat against Hunt’s face. The noise and beating continued as the car barreled around a steeply banked turn, then went around a turn the other way. More turns. More climbs and quick frightening descents during which Hunt yelled without meaning to and felt as if his stomach was about to fly out his mouth. He was too busy with his own terror to notice how Jan was taking all this. But Hunt knew he wasn’t the only one yelling. Eunice screamed as if she were being murdered.

After what seemed like hours, the car returned to the ground and slowed as it approached the station where Gary waited for it. He pulled back on his big lever and the car stopped with a jerk. Hunt felt as if he were still moving. The Moon Rocket Ride was much worse than riding in an automobile. He wanted to sit until he stopped trembling, but Gary was already helping him from the car. Hunt’s legs were weak and his knees shook.

“I haven’t been through anything like that,” Jan said, “since one of those acceleration trials during my first year at the Academy.” Like Hunt he was leaning against the car, looking a little greener than usual.

Hunt could only agree. He moved his finger in a pattern on his opposite uniform sleeve and saw that the ride hadn’t lasted more than a few minutes.

Al was bearing up well, and Thrash was smiling as if the experience had not affected him at all except to excite him. Eunice, having aged about forty years, clutched Thrash’s arm.

“Let’s get that hot dog now,” Thrash said as he glanced at Al. “If it’s okay with you.”

“Sure, boss,” Al said. “But give me a minute to catch my breath.” He laughed. “That attraction ought to be pretty popular with some people.”

“Pansies,” Thrash mumbled again. “You all right, angel?” he asked Eunice gently. She tried to smile and leaned on him as they walked away together, not moving very fast. Hunt, Jan, and Al followed.

Thrash bought each of them a paper cup full of a sweet brown sparkling liquid and a hot dog, which turned out to be a long dowel of spiced meat—colored a shade of red not found in nature—plopped into a slit in a small loaf of bread obviously designed to fit it, along with various condiments in bright shades of green and yellow. The hot dog was hot but looked nothing like a dog. The man selling the food tried to give it away—Thrash was the boss, after all—but Thrash insisted on paying the usual price for everything. The food-seller stared at him as if Thrash were some kind of saint. Maybe in his circle he was.

Like Jan, Hunt began to eat his hot dog and he found it tasty. In a few minutes they had all washed down their hot dogs with the brown liquid, which Thrash called soda pop.

While they sat on a bench in front of the hot dog stand, sucking on the ice remaining in their paper cups and picking the meat and bread out of their teeth, people began walking in along the main street from the front of the park. Couples strolled, kids ran, members of families marched along as if this was the most important job they would do today.

“Here they come,” Al pointed out amiably.

Thrash got up and pulled Eunice to her feet. “Time to go to work.” He studied Hunt and Jan. “Those uniforms aren’t quite what Edwards and Jolly wear on the show,” he went on to Al. “Do you think the fans will find them acceptable?”

“Most of them won’t notice,” Al assured him.

“All right, then, back to the ship.”