Talk Not At All by E.C. Tubb

Author:E.C. Tubb
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: science fiction, sci-fi, short stories, pulp, fiction
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2016-02-10T00:00:00+00:00

THE TOUCH OF REALITY

In his youth he had dreamt of the Moon and all it wonders—but not of this nightmare journey stalked by death at every turn.

Few dreams can stand the touch of reality. When he was young Mark Sturent had often stared through a quarter of a million miles of air and vacuum at the shining face of the moon. It had attracted him as it had all boys of imagination and he had built up a mental fantasy of brave adventure and heroic endeavour, picturing a little community of men facing, and surmounting, an almost hopeless challenge with himself, naturally, as one of the leaders. Now, twenty years later, reality had soured the dream.

Seen at close quarters the moon was not a pleasant place. It was too harsh, too sterile, too cold at night and too hot during the day. The craters were death traps of mist-fine dust; the mountains jagged and rotten like the crumbling teeth of a skull. It was too quiet, too lonely, too much like the ravaged face of a long dead woman who yearned for company in her dissolution. Even the Earthlight did little to soften the barren bleakness and the stars, bright and unwavering, hung like frozen snowdrops in the sky.

But if the brave adventure and heroic endeavour had vanished the challenge remained. It was a very simple challenge and a very personal one. It was the ability to stay alive, Mark, sprawled in his suit, sometimes wondered just how long he would be able to meet and defeat it. So far he had been lucky.

“Coffee,” whispered a voice from the helmet radio. “Man! Could I use a cup of Java!”

That would be Sam Levine, young, brash, supremely self-confident, cynical as only a man who has never evaluated life can be cynical. He knew the price of everything, the worth of nothing and adhered to the credo of self, first, last and all the time. He was devoid of imagination and could stare at the beauty of Earth, compare it to the surface of the moon and his only thought would be for a hot dog, a cup of coffee and a cigarette thrown in for good measure.

“Button it up,” said Mark into his microphone. “No talking.”

“Hell, Cap, why not?” Sam sounded aggrieved. “Just staying out here doing nothing, saying nothing, is giving me the willies.”

“You heard what I said.” Mark squinted at the luminous face of the chronometer set among an array of instruments just above his viewport. “Melkin?”

“Here. Captain.” Carl sounded disapproving. Mark guessed that had he been in charge of the patrol he would have blasted Sam for breaking radio silence—and probably done more harm by his tirade than that caused by the original fault.

“How are you feeling?” Mark smiled to himself at what Carl must be thinking. He, the Captain, breaking his own firm injunction against any but routine radio contact.

“I’m fine. Captain.” The note of disapproval was now more in evidence.

“Not too cold?”

“No, sir.”

“Levine?”

“I’m freezing.” Sam made his teeth chatter to accentuate his complaint.

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