THE FIRST
By EDWARD LUDWIG
"Man will need signposts to
guide the way to infinity." That's
a quotation from—and a description
of—this inspiring story
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Infinity Science Fiction, November 1955.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The city was enchanted. It was a colossal music box blaring forth athousand chants of victory. It was a rainbow torn down from the sky andpoured over the earth. It was a magic nursery through which eager-eyedchildren swarmed to behold a sparkling new toy.
Three spacemen, three conquerors-to-be, sat stiffly in the back seatof a blue-bannered convertible. The car moved snail-like toward theCapitol steps, escorted by a hundred bands, eight hundred floweredfloats, and ten thousand marching men.
In its front seat, standing, waving to the crowd, was Captain GeorgeEverson. Everson—the legless man. Everson—the bronzed giant whosefirst rocketship had exploded at take-off, and yet who had lived towalk on artificial legs, to build a second rocket, and to infect allthe world with his square-jawed determination.
It was barely eight o'clock on this April morning of the year 1982, yetthe onslaught against the spacemen had begun. Confetti rained on them.Breeze-filled flags dazzled them. Band music deafened them. The flowof shouting spectators dizzied them. It was a day when holiday hatsand mathematicians' formulae, roasted peanuts and ancient dreams wereblended in a fury of joy.
The magic wand that had enchanted the city was Everson's Lunar Lady.And it was like a wand—1,000 tons of it, poised on the take-offfield on the outskirts of the city, its needle-point nose turnedskyward and shining silver in the morning sunlight.
Tonight, at sunset, when the city was saturated with speeches and musicand popcorn and prayer, the great rocket would rumble and belch flameand rise. Mankind would begin its first flight to the moon!
So it seemed that the people of all the earth were basking in joy andhope, every man, woman and child—with one exception.
Jeffrey Simon rose from his bed, awakened by the rhythm of march musicoutside his small apartment. He shuffled sleepily to a window. Heblinked at the array of flags and bunting that lined the street.
The music became louder.
He ran a shaky, withered hand over his wizened face, brushed stringywhite hair back from his forehead. His lips curved in a grimhalf-smile.
"It's starting," he murmured, "—the day that should have been yours."
He realized that he was talking to himself again. But although he wasonly fifty-six, talking aloud seemed natural to him. It not only easedhis loneliness; it also helped him to clarify his muddled thoughts.
"Today is your last chance. Not tomorrow or the next day. It has tobe today."
The thump-thump of a base drum was like a gigantic heart-beat shakingall the land. The blare of trumpets was a victory song, strong enoughto live in the mind of a man forever, strong enough to silence foreverthe voices of fear and loneliness that might haunt a spaceman.
"That's the music," Jeffrey Simon muttered, "that should have beenyours."
A crimson-lettered banner said: EVERSON—THE FIRST.
What a mockery those words were! It was like worshiping an evil,false-faced goddess. The illusion should and must be destroyed.
He jerked erect. He must move quickly. He must put an end to thiscosmi