Her body fell into the darkness. Brooks stood there a long time gazing down at the curling white foam of the breakers. It was like ripping open a black hole and pouring the past into it. He closed up the hole and turned. He could never have submitted to directed Sensory Shows, so he had to fight.
In the old days a man could fight for what he loved, even if success was impossible. It was pursuit that counted, the pursuit of happiness that had made men and nations strong—when there had been men and nations. Andy's heart beat wildly as he went down the escalator. He might not succeed, but he would have the pleasure of trying the forbidden and incredible; he would crash the gates of Studio City on the Moon.
The pilot was forward in the cage checking the pre-navigation controls. Brooks slipped into the freight chamber and crawled behind newly loaded packing cases. His skin tingled, and his breathing was rapid.
His audacity had been the big factor in his successfully sneaking aboard the new Moon supply rocket. It was inconceivable that anyone would so much as think of breaking a Class-A Law; the punishment was extreme. Only a few select personnel, other than the Stars, including producers and directors and psycho-genic-radial screen projection artists and the like, ever made the flight. And for them, it was always a one-way trip. Only the pilot and the Security Guard accompanying the flight ever returned from the Moon, and they never left the rocket while on the Moon. The rocket always returned immediately to Earth. A veil of glamorous mystery surrounded the Stars and their fabulous Studio City.
Brooks' familiarity with the take-off field, where he had worked as a mechanic and fuelman until his negligence had caused the big blow-up, his knowledge of its arrangement and schedule had enabled him to don a mechanic's uniform in the locker room, get an electrodrill from the supply house for use as an excuse for boarding the rocket. Boarding, he went unnoticed. Mild confusion always reigned about the rocket prior to take-off; no one had noticed that he had not come out of the rocket. And luckily for him, Personology had removed all personnel who had been employed at the field at the time of the disaster, for therapy. Personology always looked out for the Workers.
So Brooks lay in darkness, shivering with excitement that was partly fear. The muffled thunderous explosion engulfed him; the area around him vibrated smoothly. The rocket was lifting. Even protected as he was by the inflated shock-cushion Andy had dug out of a freight room storage locker, the pressure was intense. He blacked out and he knew he had been out a long time when his own groaning awakened him. He grabbed at the edge of a packing case to pull himself erect. The effort smashed him up into the ceiling. Blood ran down his face. He was weightless now, in space; he moved around a little, careful to hold on to something. Then Andy stared at the dim shadow of the bulkhead door; he licked his lips slowly.
The throbbing of his pulse became thunderous. The emptiness in his stomach turned to nausea. This was real adventure, not a dream. But it would have to end somewhere—sometime. He rubbed his lips and sweat ran down his face. What then? A Class-A Law said no one was to go to the Moon. But why was it so important? What was so wrong about actually seeing the Actors and Actresses? About seeing the big production factories where they acted out one's dreams?
His flesh seemed cold and feverish at once. The penalty made him wince. Condemnation to the Experimental Stations, a fate normally reserved for hereditary and incurable mental defectives. Experiments involving spaceflight which so far no human body had been able to sustain beyond a few million miles; brain surgery; body-structural alterations. There were other experiments not commonly discussed. No one looked forward to breaking a Class-A Law; no one survived the experiments. It was capital punishment that benefited the Order, and therefore it was good.