Journey to the Heart of Luna - Andy Frankham-Allen [24]
The door opened and all Stevenson could see was the stars of the aether. He knew that forty feet below was the surface of Luna, but due to the angle of the Sovereign the lunar landscape could not be seen. For a second he imagined himself, floating helplessly away from the Sovereign, lost to the vastness of the aether. He had no fear of aether travel, of course, or he would never had sought a career in the Royal Navy, but the thought of suffocating, dying so painfully and so slowly, brought in him a primal fear from a deeper well he did not know he possessed. He shook it off and stepped forward, quite certain that Miller would not move first.
Challoner was lowering a boarding ladder out of the doorway. Stevenson was not entirely sure how they expected him to climb down the ladder in the atmosphere suit; it was cumbersome and heavy, the gloves making any delicate handling an impossibility. It was for that very reason the Royal Navy had re-designed the grips of the carbines to be more effectively used while wearing an atmosphere suit. The weapons in question were strapped over the shoulders of each seaman in the rescue party, while Ensign Challoner also had a derringer strapped to his right leg. For the lieutenant, though, he carried not only a carbine and derringer, but also a double-barrelled Lancaster pistol about his person. The scuttlebutt had it that Bedford never ever missed a target. As he put one leg over the edge of the doorframe, Stevenson wondered idly if this were true or not. Something told him that before this mission was over, he would know one way or another.
He realised something else as he shifted his weight onto the rope ladder; the low gravity of Luna made abseiling down the ladder in the atmosphere suit simplicity itself. He barely needed to place his booted foot on the rungs, just by alternatively placing one hand lower than the other he was able to gently direct his way down the forty feet between the Sovereign and the dusty surface of the moon, his lower body practically floating. He glanced up, and with the limited visibility provided by the lack-of-helmet movement, he could just about make out a similarly suited figure looking down at him. He was a good ten feet away and could not ascertain who it was that was watching him, but he suspected it to be Lieutenant Bedford, once again checking to see if the boatswain’s pride and joy was performing as well as anticipated.
Stevenson had no idea intention of sullying the bosun’s opinion of him.
Just then, his eyes not on the ladder, Stevenson’s left hand failed to grab the rope. It was as if his greatest fear had come to meet him.
This was it, he would float away, out of Luna’s gravity, running out of oxygen before an aether cutter could be dispatched to rescue him.
He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to visualise his increasingly hectic heart. It was a technique his father had taught him; whenever fear grips you, close your eyes and imagine seeing your heart as it steadily returns to normal.
An image of his mother, dressed in her finest clothes, passed by his eyes. She was waving him goodbye. Almost two years had passed since that time, and he intended to make it back home to see her and Father, and his baby sister.
He hit something softly and opened his eyes.
Stevenson laughed, the loud noise echoing in his helmet.
He had not drifted off; merely fell to the lunar surface gently, the low gravity seeing to the gentleness of his descent. He stood up, and tilted his body towards