"... and on the moon, on the unthinkably remote moon, Captain Tom
Bentley, alone on a wild, utterly unexplored frontier. More alone than
any man has ever been before him. Lonely, perhaps a little terrified,
although we feel our Captain Tom is made of sterner stuff...."
_Our Captain Tom._ All at once, it was sickening.
"Are you ready, Amalgamated? Very well."--appropriate tremble of the
voice--"This is Cleopatra Soap, the planet Earth, calling Captain Tom
Bentley on the moon. Cleopatra Soap and all its millions of listeners,
calling the moon." Laird Larsen had picked up an unnecessarily complex
microphone and was talking into it. "Earth and Cleopatra calling Moon.
Do you hear me, Moon?"
_But what could she tell him?_ "Just imagine what it will be like when
Tom gets back here and speaks to the Women's League," said Aunt Anna.
That? "They're liable to keep Tom on the moon a long time," said Pop.
"Hm-hmm," said Jeanne, "some guy trying to make time because Tom's
too far away to protest." That? "I wouldn't prostitute my emotional
relationship with Tom for all the Women's Leagues in the country,"
Jeanne said. Very funny. Tell him that? Tell him about Dan Lubrano?
"Cleopatra calling the Moon. Come in, Moon. Do you hear me?" Laird
Larsen mopped his brow. "By now the radio waves have reached the moon
and returned, ladies and gentlemen. But still, no contact with Captain
Bentley."
_Why hadn't she agreed to use the prepared speech?_ If she talked to
Tom now, everything would be a lie. Nothing real. Nothing. And, she
told herself, this would be one more step toward cheapening whatever
they had. Twenty million people would gawk while they spoke. _Darling,
I love you, I love you! Hooray!_
"Hello, Captain Bentley."
"This is Bentley." Tom's voice, faint, from far, far away--but
unmistakably Tom's. It made Jeanne feel weak all over.
"Captain Bentley, I have a surprise for you. I have--"
Off in the wings, Mr. Pate stood, mopping his brow. The general was at
his side, beaming.
"Jeanne? Did you say Jeanne?" Tom's voice, weak, so distant.
"Of course, Captain, Courtesy of Cleopatra Soap, the facial soap
that...."
Jeanne wished he'd choke on all the bars of Cleopatra Soap that had
ever been manufactured.
"And here she is, ladies and gentlemen, America's number one
sweetheart, Jeanne Peterson, about to bridge the gap of interplanetary
space to chat with her lover."
Jeanne looked at the microphone and cringed. She walked forward, then
paused. She stared once at Mr. Pate, still mopping his brow in the
wings. Then she turned and fled, oblivious to the rising tide of voices
behind her.
* * * * *
Almost midnight. If Tom hadn't spoken so often of the White Sands
Air Force base, she never would have come in here, never found the
little-used gate behind the barracks, where Captain Macomber would
enter to avoid publicity, never have mentioned the right few words to
the master sergeant at the gate-house. (_If ever you need anything,
darling, see Sergeant Reed. We were in Korea together._) Sergeant Reed
had been reluctant at first, but then had understood....
She crouched behind the gate-house in darkness now and listened.
"But I tell you I'm Macomber!" the captain cried. "You've got to let me
through. The ship's blasting off on automatic in a few minutes."
"Just show me your identification," Sergeant Reed said.
"I already--"
"Show it to me in the light where I can see it, Captain."
Jeanne ran down the runway that led past the little cement mounds of
the observation turrets toward the needle-like shape which loomed up in
the glare of a single floodlight. She had checked her wrist watch with
Sergeant Reed's. Four minutes to midnight. Reed would delay Captain
Macomber long enough. It was only a matter of minutes now. The sergeant
would get a blistering chewing out, but could claim he'd only been
doing what he thought was his duty.
_He told me the spaceship worked automatically_, the girl in the
restaurant had said.
The spaceship's airlock was not secured. There was no reason to secure
it. Jeanne found Macomber's pressure suit and with two handfuls of
thumbs buckled it on herself. Footsteps pounded along the runway as she
slammed the airlock door.