Girl on the Moon (16 page)

Conn swallowed. “Thank you, Ms. President.”

“Tell me how it feels to be the first woman on the moon.”

“It’s overwhelming, ma’am,” Conn said. “This is a magnificent place. I can see the Earth in the sky, and it’s so beautiful, and fragile. I could spend hours sightseeing. But I have a really important job to do, and I won’t let you down.”

“What a wonderful answer, Conn. Congratulations again. We’re all very proud of you.”

“Thank you, Ms. President.” Conn wondered if the president had spoken to Scott Daniels when he landed. She supposed so. Daniels was African-American, and had his own first for the world to celebrate. The cynic in her wondered if presidents routinely asked male astronauts how they felt. She wondered if her achievement, and the impending first contact with alien intelligence, might herald an age where men and women were treated and regarded equally. Maybe Callie Leporis would be called the first
person
on another planet’s moon, the way she hoped. She made a mental note to encourage Callie to rehearse what she was going to say.

She retrieved the camera from her equipment pouch and mounted it on a side of the lander where it could supplement her helmet camera’s view of any activity. Whatever that was. She still had no confirmation that the other astronauts were coming out to meet her.

Many governments and companies had paid handsomely to have her perform experiments, or install equipment and take certain readings, and there would be time for all of that. But now, she set out to explore her immediate surroundings. Reconnaissance, they called it. She tried to walk with a natural gait, but the rhythm was off: rolling from heel to toe and keeping one foot on the ground at all times simply didn’t work. Before long, she had figured out the bounding trot, turning each side toward where her step would land, the same way that sixteen other people had discovered was how you walked on the moon in a pressure suit.

When she tried to pull up at a boulder, she realized stopping didn’t work the same as on Earth, either. She skidded, letting the friction of the lunar surface slow her. OK, she needed more lead time when she wanted to stop. She’d get the hang of it.

She moved around carefully, narrating her experience and trying not to look or sound too much like a kid playing, for ten minutes until Brownsville confirmed that Scott Daniels and Eyechart were coming out to meet her soon. No word yet from the Chinese crew.

She regarded
Palus Putredinis,
the Marsh of Decay: flat enough that Conn could see both other landers even at this distance. They were between her and the mountains, so the horizon wasn’t visible in that direction. Conn realized she had no idea, by sight, how long it would take to reach them. She knew the horizon itself would screw up her depth perception in the other direction. She mentally shrugged and started heading for the joint mission lander.

The walk was under ten minutes, and Daniels and Eyechart weren’t outside yet. She radioed them that she had arrived, tempted to say, “Can you come out and play?” They gave her an ETA of three more minutes.

Conn took in the Apennine mountains to the east. Mount Hadley, fifteen thousand feet high. Mount Hadley Delta, over eleven thousand feet. They were enormous, majestic, awe-inspiring. And nearby—there, in a cove off the
Palus Putredinis
—the Apollo 15 lunar rover and descent stage engines. Falcon, was what the Apollo 15 lander was called.

She felt a chill: alien eyes had seen this same sight. Arranged a meeting here.

August 31, 2034

Conn turned and saw an astronaut clambering down the joint mission lander’s ladder, another waiting in the open hatch behind. Their lander looked more like the Apollo landers—boxy, bony, fragile-looking, set above the ground, Not like her sturdy combination lander and rover. She was startled at the sight of the astronauts, because her brain expected that she should have heard them open their hatch, heard squeaks and clunks as they scrabbled down to the surface. But there was total silence, except for her own breathing.

“Brownsville, what is the joint mission calling its base?”

“Stand by...it’s Hadley Base, Conn.” Same as Apollo 15.

She radioed: “Hadley Base, I see you. I’m between you and the Apollo 15 rover. Approaching.” She didn’t want to give the astronauts a heart attack just showing up behind them. And it must be Eyechart getting out first, because when she radioed her position, the astronaut at the rear waved at her. She couldn’t imagine Eyechart doing that. Well, she wasn’t that excited to see him, either, but here they were.

Eyechart stood by while Daniels backed down the ladder. Then Daniels strode to her, making it look a lot more natural than Conn felt when she walked. He offered his hand. “Scott Daniels, NASA,” he said. “Too bad we didn’t have a chance to meet before this.”

“Conn Garrow. Congratulations, you know, for getting here.”

Daniels had a toothy grin. And really great teeth. “Same to you! First woman on the moon. It’s an honor to be part of history.”

Eyechart sidled up. Conn acknowledged him with, “Hello, Erik.”

“Hello again, Conn,” he said. The tone of his voice made it clear he was going to pretend they were cordial colleagues. Well, Conn could run rings around him when it came to preening for the media.

“Congratulations. You must be very proud to be the first of your countrymen on the moon.”

“
Da
, thank you,” he said.

“How was the ride down?” Daniels asked. “Find the place OK?” He grinned again.

“No problems. I’ve got dozens of people to thank for that, though.”

“I know what you mean. Hey, I heard about Peo Haskell. I’m really sorry.”

His sentiments startled her. Was there something that Brownsville wasn’t telling her? “I heard she was in the hospital...”

“Yeah, that’s what I mean. Hopefully, she’s still tuned in, right?”

“I’m sure she is,” Conn said, but she began to doubt. In a momentary panic, she wondered
what if Peo isn’t watching?

Daniels continued, “You know what was awesome? Getting to see you land. We weren’t oriented to see the Chinese landing. There’s another first, huh? First to see a lunar landing from the surface.”

“That’s right. Congrats,” Conn said.

“You looked great.”

“Thank you.” It was easy to be friendly to Daniels, especially since it kept her from having to interact with Eyechart.

Neither astronaut had any word from the Chinese about meeting Conn after she landed. “They use their own frequency. We’re not allowed on it, but what would I say anyway?” Daniels commented. “‘No fair, you said you could come outside?’”

“’Come meet Conn, the party’s about to start,’” Conn offered, eliciting a grin from Daniels.

“We ought to start putting the rover together,” Eyechart said to Daniels, just as fake-brightly as when he spoke to Conn.

“Right,” Daniels responded, and added to Conn, “You’re welcome to join us; we’ve got six hours scheduled.” Conn thought it was odd they had Daniels working for six hours starting at midnight, but then she realized midnight central time was nine hours behind Moscow time, seven hours behind Paris. She didn’t envy Daniels the committees upon committees that must be involved in his mission, all the different factions on different parts of the Earth he had to please.

“Thanks, but I need to put the wheels on my lander,” Conn said. “Then they have me getting some sleep.”

“Well, pleasant dreams. Really nice to meet you, probably see you around!” He winked at her. Conn said congratulations again to both of them, and left them to their work.

She thought about strolling to the Apollo 15 plaque, or even going up to the Chinese lander and knocking on the hatch, but she had to get used to the fact that wandering wasn’t something she was allowed to do on the moon. Too much science, too much money to be earned. She was bushed, too, and figured she would sleep as long as they’d let her. She made her way back to
Mrs. Whatsit
.

The tires and fifteen inch rims on the outside of the lander had to be affixed to their axles. She was grateful that she’d be able to do it without having to slide around on her back in a space suit. She gave a moment’s thought to making sure she had properly stowed or mounted everything inside. Then she fastened a crank to a hydraulic input and levered the lander onto its rear end. From there, it was easy enough to attach the front wheels standing up, and to crouch to attach the rear wheels. She righted the lander, and everything looked good.

She unpacked and set up more equipment, including proprietary sensors and antennas, solar panels to help keep the lander’s fuel cells charged, and a more powerful communications antenna. Eventually, Brownsville advised that it was time to sleep.

She returned to the lander, slowly pressurized and aerated the inside, and extracted herself from her pressure suit. She stowed it, strapped herself to a wall, and tried to fall asleep.

But she was overexcited and worried about Peo, replaying her first steps on the moon in her mind over and over...she had a four-hour sleeping pill, but she was reluctant to use it. Eventually, she put herself to sleep softly singing a favorite Feelstronauts song.

She would be well rested when everything started happening the next day.

I can’t promise you the moon, baby

No one goes there anymore—

The only Martian’s a dead Martian

I can barely make it to Brooklyn

Or the Sixth Street liquor store.

— Feelstronauts, “The Moon,” Your Favorite Band Sucks Records (2027). Used with permission.

September 1, 2034 (US central time zone)

As if to close the loop, Brownsville woke Conn with the chorus of the same Feelstronauts song she had sung herself to sleep with. She had slept hard and well, and she was anxious to get outside.

“It’s September second across the International Date Line,” Brownsville told her. “We’re about eleven and a half hours from September second Zulu.” Zulu: the aviator’s designation for coordinated universal time, or UTC. Conn had memorized the math and could have told Brownsville what time it was at the International Date Line, Zulu, and anywhere else on Earth. But she understood the importance of the information.

There was no way to tell what September 2 specifically meant to the aliens. It was September 2 in New Zealand already, and it would be the second in growing parts of the world for more than eleven hours before the calendar flipped in London, the zero hour for UTC time. Less than eighteen hours before it turned September 2 in Texas. The meeting could be any time during those eighteen hours—or during the twenty-four afterward. Conn had a lot of science to do, experiments to conduct, samples to collect, readings to read, and she would be outside for eight hours, sleep six, then out for another eight—suited up at all times, in case company arrived. Then a planned three-hour nap and another five hours outside. It was a punishing schedule, and she would have to pace herself. She wouldn’t take the lander out for a spin on its new wheels until after the meeting: Brownsville didn’t want her ten kilometers away when the aliens arrived.

The Chinese had staggered their taikonauts’ outside time, Luan out and Cai in, followed by both out, followed by Luan in and Cai out, trying to be sure one of the men was awake, outside and ready whenever the visitors arrived. NASA and Roscosmos didn’t want one astronaut outside alone, so they had a different schedule. At present, they were inside at the ready. They would sleep from ten central to September 2 UTC time, followed by ten hours outside, inside at the ready, asleep, outside again.

Conn’s breakfast was a high-carbohydrate military MRE and some coffee. This MRE, “Meal Ready to Eat,” like the ones she would eat in eight and again in sixteen hours, would maximize her energy and minimize her waste. The coffee would make her pee, but she could handle that without breaking stride outside, and it was a small price to pay for caffeine.

Hurrying her breakfast wouldn’t get her outside any sooner. Her schedule was rigid. She ate at a leisurely pace, checking systems that needed regular inspection while she did. And she got an update on Peo: resting comfortably, but they weren’t letting her out of the hospital. She had company at all times and access to any feed she wanted. So she was watching Conn on the feeds instead of as things happened at the operations center in Brownsville. The world saw Conn’s landing and emergence onto the surface in real time, and it would see her first contact with aliens the same way. But other than those historic moments, Brownsville kept everything on delay, ensuring whatever got out wasn’t proprietary or confidential. The important thing, of course, was that there was no change in Peo’s status since before Conn went to sleep. It worried her.

Conn had agreed to spend time that morning showing viewers how she put her pressure suit on, starting after the water-cooled underclothes, of course. “We’re feeding delayed video to about eight hundred million people,” Brownsville told her. “And more than that in Asia are watching Luan Yongpo out on the surface.” Eyechart and Scott Daniels, inside their lander, were probably not nearly as interesting as exploring the surface or watching a twenty-three-year-old woman getting dressed.

Once suited up, Conn depressurized the lander and stepped outside. “I’m thrilled to be representing the human race on this historic occasion,” she said. She had decided in retrospect it was what she should have said on her first step the day before: “historic occasion” could refer to the first woman on the moon or humanity’s first contact.

She took a minute to stand and contemplate the moon. It was monochrome, placid, alien. Utterly silent, utterly untouched. To the east and south, enormous mountains rose miles into the lunar sky. To the south and west, a ridge formed the lip of Hadley Rille, the gorge she had passed over right before landing: a kilometer across, and enormously deep. She carefully bounded over and tried to peer down into the gorge, but the waist-high ridge kept most of it from view. She thought about Grant exploring the giant Ithaca Chasma on Tethys.