“Forward, forward 40 feet, down 21h, kicking up some dust, 30 feet, 21h down, faint shadow, 4 forward, 4 forward, drifting to the right a little . . Contact light. O.K. engine stopped, descent engine command ove ride off … Houston, Tranquillity Base here. The Eagle has landed.”
The music rose to a crescendo. There before his eyes, on the dusty Lunar plain, history had lived again. And presently he saw the clumsy, spacesuited figure climb down the ladder, cautiously test the alien soil, and utter the famous words:
“That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”
As always, Duncan listened for that missing 64a9l before the word “man,” and as always, he was unable to detect it. A whole book had been written about that odd slip of the tongue, using as its starting point Neil
Armstrong’s slightly exasperated “That’s what I intended to say, and
that’s what I thought I said.” 128 All of this, of course, was simulation-utterly convincing, and apparently life-sized by the magic of holography-but actually contrived in some studio by patient technicians, two centuries after the events themselves. There was Eagle, glittering in the fierce sunlight, with the Stars and Stripes frozen motionless beside it, just as it must have appeared early in the
Lunar morning of that first day. Then the music became quiet, mysterious . something was about to happen. Even though he knew what to expect, Duncan felt his skin crawling in the ancient, involuntary reflex which Man had inherited from his hirsute ancestors.
The image faded, dissolved into another—similar, yet different. In a fraction of a second, three centuries had dropped away.
They were still on the Moon, viewing the Sea of Tranquillity from exactly the same vantage point. But the direction of the light had changed, for the sun was now low and the long shadows threw into relief all the myriads of footprints on the trampled ground. And there stood all that was left of
Eagle-the slightly peeled and blistered descent stage, standing on its four outstretched legs like some abandoned robot.
He was seeing Tranquillity Base as it was at this instant-or, to be precise, a second and a quarter ago, when the video signals left the Moon.
Again, the illusion was perfect; Duncan felt that he could walk out into that shining silence and feel the warm metal beneath his hands. Or he could reach down into the dust and lift up the flag, to end the old debate that had reerapted in this Centennial Year. Should the Stars and Stripes be left where the blast of the takeoff had thrown it, or should it be erected again? Don’t tamper with history, said some. Were only restoring it, said others…. Something was happening just beyond the fence doff area, at the very limits of the 3-D scanners. It was shockingly incongruous to see any movement at all at such a spot; then Duncan remembered that the Sea had lost its tranquillity at least two
centuries ago. A busful of tourists was slowly circling the landing site, its occupants in full View through the curving glass of the observation windows. And though they could not see him, they waved across at the scanners, correctly guessing that someone on Earth was watching at this very moment.
The interruption should have destroyed the magic, yet it did not. Nothing could detract from the skill and courage of the pioneers; and they would have been happy to know that, where they had first ventured, thousands could now travel in safety and in comfort.
That, in the long run, was what History was all about.
BUDGET
“Today I walked at least three kilometers, and was on my feet for over two hours. I’m beginning to feel that life is possible on Earth…. “But I must be careful not to overdo it, and I’m still using glide ways and transporters most of the time. This means that I’ve not visited the White
House or the Capitol, which can only be entered on foot. But I’ve been to the Museum of Technology and the National Gallery of Art. They have transport cubicles that you can program yourself, so there’s no need to waste time on exhibits that don’t interest you. Of course, I could stay in the hotel and take a holovision. tour anywhere, but that would be ridiculous. I could do that any time, back at home…. “I must remember that I’ll be replaying these words twenty, fifty, maybe a hundred years from now, when this visit to Earth is a dim memory. So it may be a good idea to describe a typical day-if there is such a thing!-here at the Centennial Hotel. “I wake up at six-thirty and
listen to the radio 130 news summary while I’m having my bath. Then I dial the Comsole for any messages that have arrived during the night-usually there are half a dozen.
Not many people know I’m here yet, but I’ve had quite a few offers of hospitality and have been asked to speak to a number of social and cultural groups. I suspect Ambassador Farrell is behind most of these.
“Then I set the news abstractor to print out any~-thing that’s happened in my area of interest, and scan the result. That doesn’t take long, since I give TITAN as the main heading, and we’re never in the news. If I want to know what’s happening at home, I call the Embassy and get the daily dispatch. Usually that makes me rather homesick, especially when my friends and family are being reported. Which is most days … “At seven-fifteen I go down to breakfast. As there are only a dozen guests-the place won’t get crowded until later in June-I have a table to myself. We nod politely at each other, but no one is very sociable at this time in the morning.
“The food and service are excellent, and I’m going to miss both when I get home. Terrans know how to live comfortably-they’ve had enough time to practice-but it was several days before I realized that the hotel was unusual, maybe unique. It’s been set up purely for the duration of the festivities, regardless of expense, just for us VIP guests. Staff has been brought from all over the world-some professional, some voluntary, like those academic clowns who met us when we arrived. (I still see them from time to time, and still can’t understand a word they say. Because I’m darker than they are,
I think they enjoy making a fool of me.)
“For breakfast-in fact, for all my meals-I try to have something new every day, and this has caused problems. I won’t forget my first eggs…. “I asked for them boiled-because that was the first listing-and the waiter said, “How many minutes, sir?” (I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being called ‘sir’ by people who are not trying to insult me.) Of course, I had no idea what to answer, so I said
“Medium rare,” which was a phrase I’d picked up at dinner the night before. The waiter looked at me rather oddly, I thought.
“He came back five minutes later with two eggs sitting in silver cups, and placed them in front of me. I just sat there looking at them; never having seen eggs before, I’d no idea what to do next. And incidentally, they were larger than I’d imagined.
“I’m afraid I might have gone hungry if another guest a couple of tables away hadn’t ordered the same thing. I watched him carefully, and discovered that you start by cutting off the top of the shell with a knife. I made a horrible mess of the first egg, but got it right the second time. Later, I found that they’ll do this in the kitchen, which saves a lot of trouble.
I’ll never ask for eggs this way again, but I’m glad I did it once.
“The taste-though not the texture-was perfectly normal. Our chemists have done a good job here, and I’d never have known that it wasn’t synthetic.
I’ve since discovered that very few Terrans have ever tasted a real egg, and there are only two or three farms that still produce them. Hens are not very interesting animals it appears.
“I should have mentioned the Menu-it’s a most elaborate affair, beautifully printed, and changes every day. I’m keeping a set as a souvenir, though I don’t recognize half the items-or understand many of the instructions. I suspect that some are jokes. What does “No Tipping’ mean? And “Gentlemen are requested to use the cuspidors provided’? What is a cuspidor? And why only gentlemen and not ladies? I must ask George.