* * * * *
_October 3, 1960_
Well, I've met the pilot. He is kind of squat, with a vulturish neck and
close-set jet-black eyes that make him look rather mean, but he was
pleasant enough, and said I could call him Pat. I still don't know
Jones' first name, though Pat spoke to him, and it sounded like Flants.
That can't be right.
Also, I am one of the first five men in the history of the world to see
the opposite side of the Moon, with a bluish blurred crescent beyond it
that Pat said was the Earth. The back of the Moon isn't much different
from the front. As to the space in front of the ship, well, it's all
black with white dots in it, and none of the dots move, except in a
circle that Pat says is a "torque" result from the gyroscopic spin we're
in. Actually, he explained to me, the screen is supposed to keep the
image of space locked into place no matter how much we spin. But there's
some kind of a "drag." I told him I hoped it didn't mean we'd land on
Mars upside down. He just stared at me.
I can't say I was too impressed with that 16 x 19 view of outer space.
It's been done much better in the movies. There's just no awesomeness to
it, no sense of depth or immensity. It's as impressive as a piece of
velvet with salt sprinkled on it.
Lloyd and I made a chessboard out of a carton. Right now we're using
buttons for men. He's one of these fast players who don't stop and think
out their moves. And so far I haven't won a game.
It looks like a long trip.
* * * * *
_October 4, 1960_
I won a game. Lloyd mistook my queen-button for my bishop-button and
left his king in jeopardy, and I checkmated him next move. He said chess
was a waste of time and he had important work to do and he went away.
I went to the galley for coffee and had a talk about moss with Kroger.
He said there was a good chance of lichen on Mars, and I misunderstood
and said, "A good chance of liking _what_ on Mars?" and Kroger finished
his coffee and went up front.
When I got back to my compartment, Lloyd had taken away the chessboard
and all his buttons. He told me later he needed it to back up a star
map.
Pat slept mostly all day in his compartment, and Jones sat and watched
the screen revolve. There wasn't much to do, so I wrote a poem, sort of.
_Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With Martian rime, Venusian slime,
And a radioactive hoe._
I showed it to Kroger. He says it may prove to be environmentally
accurate, but that I should stick to prose.
* * * * *
_October 5, 1960_
Learned Jones' first name. He wrote something in the ship's log, and I
saw his signature. His name is Fleance, like in "Macbeth." He prefers to
be called Jones. Pat uses his first name as a gag. Some fun.
And only 255 days to go.
[Illustration]
* * * * *
_April 1, 1961_
I've skipped over the last 177 days or so, because there's nothing much
new. I brought some books with me on the trip, books that I'd always
meant to read and never had the time. So now I know all about _Vanity
Fair_, _Pride and Prejudice_, _War and Peace_, _Gone with the Wind_, and
_Babbitt_.
They didn't take as long as I thought they would, except for _Vanity
Fair_. It must have been a riot when it first came out. I mean, all
those sly digs at the aristocracy, with copious interpolations by Mr.
Thackeray in case you didn't get it when he'd pulled a particularly good
gag. Some fun.
And only 78 days to go.
* * * * *
_June 1, 1961_
Only 17 days to go. I saw Mars on the screen today. It seems to be
descending from overhead, but Pat says that that's the "torque" doing
it. Actually, it's we who are coming in sideways.
We've all grown beards, too. Pat said it was against regulations, but
what the hell. We have a contest. Longest whiskers on landing gets a
prize.