12. THE MAN IN THE MOON

THE CASE OF MERCURY RISING, 12

The next couple of days passed slowly though we found they were greatly helped by a library of entertainment in the form of old films that Igor had thoughtfully included in the Mercury Rising memory chips. We were well served because my own favourite is the police chasing baddies drama and Angelina was a typical woman favouring a bit of romance. The truth is, I like to see couples living happily ever after once obstacles have been overcome and I have been known to shed a secret tear at joyous conclusions to troubled courtship.

After the couple of days our view of the Universe was dominated by that of a huge moon hanging in front of us, growing ever closer as we stared at it, familiar yet unfamiliar.

“There is a man in the moon after all,” pointed out Angelina all of a sudden.

And there was. As certain as I’m writing this, I saw him. Or at least I thought it was a him. A man standing on the moon and staring our way.

The moon, as you probably know, has been where it is for so long that it’s hard to think meaningfully of the number of centuries let alone years or decades. It’s actually a very old little place indeed and during that long age (if that’s the right word) it has been hit by numerous small objects that still hurtle through space striking anything in their way indiscriminately, and if it’s the moon that gets in the way and it not having an atmosphere in which they get burned to a crisp then they hit the surface with a solid thump, creating a crater as they do so. And so the moon’s surface is riddled with assorted craters, ranging from very small to spectacularly large.

And the man in the moon was standing by one of them.

“Mercury Rising, is that a somebody?” I asked.

“Where?” it replied. It was still tetchy with me for criticising its attitude to the principles of uncertainty and tended to insert an element of disdain into its voice. I made a mental note to complain to Igor about this when we arrived back home.

“Dead centre, by that crater,” I replied.

“I see.”

Then it was silent for as long as it took the silicon chips to contemplate what, to me, was certainly a human figure dressed in a space suit.

Then, “affirmative,” it replied.

“There’s no need for you to sound like a robot from a science fiction film from the fifties,” said Angelina, winking at me. I don’t know how he’d done it, but Igor had programmed the thing to have moods and we found it alternatively amusing and irritating.

I didn’t have to wait for the mechanical reply because the figure by the crater provided me with its own answer.

If we, in our larger-than-a-human-figure space vehicle could see him, a single human being by a crater, then he most certainly ought to be able to see us bathed in sunlight, and to prove that he could, he waved.

There could be no doubt about it. The figure standing by the crater waved. It was like he was cheerily bidding good luck to a passing stranger. Or it could be she. A space suit completely conceals gender. It really ought to be they put a nice little skirt on lady astronauts so that we men can know how to approach them. Maybe a whole range of skirts, like the aforementioned little one on a sweet young thing in her twenties to a monstrous grey and black maxi in tweed for a harridan in her nineties, and different styles for every lady in between.

But I digress. I know what you’re thinking, I’m a pervert and ought to be well satisfied with the lady I’ve got sharing my life, and in all truth I am. It’s that old thing about there be no harm in glancing at a menu even if you don’t want to eat.

But all this is idle nonsense. The figure by the crater waved a second time.

“I believe it to be human,” said the computer, “or if not human, of a species that mimics the human form exactly.”

“But what is it doing here?” I asked, “there have been no reports of manned expeditions to the moon since way back in the seventies!”

“Well, he’s not been here that long,” murmured Angelina.

“Mercury Rising, can we land and check him out?” I asked, knowing we should do nothing of the sort because we had a mission, and completing that was of paramount importance. At least, it was to Igor, and we, for the time being, were in his employ. But what if that lone figure by the crater was in need of help? What if he was stranded on the airless satellite of Earth with no means of returning to his home and hearth, and his air supply was about to run out? Could we, in all conscience, leave him?

“I suppose we could,” replied the ship’s voice, which shocked me for all the reasons I’ve just considered.

“Really?” asked Angelina.

“Really,” murmured the speaker on the wall, “and I suppose we should do exactly that. After all, if the Earth were to implode and be totally destroyed by something really nasty while we’re away, you two would have to pretend you were the Adam and Eve of legend and breed a whole new race of people. One would only hope they’d be better than the present lot, and it would be useful for you to have a spare for genetic variation...”

“That’s rubbish!” said Angelina, “I’m on the pill!”.

“I know,” and as those two words came out I know that Mercury Rising was smirking.

“So are we going to check him out?” I asked.

“Your word is my command,” almost whispered the ship, “hold tight, brother and sister, down we go!”

I suppose that the major difference between traditional space ships with rocket motors and us was our computer could manage a controlled ultra-smooth landing anywhere without worrying about anything blasting the ground or even it crash-landing. Like a feather from a soft pillow Mercury Rising settled down absurdly close to the figure, and we found ourselves staring at it.

It was clearly human, being the right size and shape, and with a helmet with a visor through which we could make out a nose and two eyes.

“He’s dead,” said Angelina, “that would explain him.”.

“Dead men don’t wave!” I replied, “and look, he’s taking a step our way!”

“Then he’s not dead,” concluded Angelina. Typical woman, I thought, changing her mind.

My heart seemed to be in my mouth as I watched the strange figure take several steps towards our vessel. It looked intent in actually wanting to come in!

“What shall we do?” I asked. Then when there was no reply I asked again, this time addressing Mercury Rising.

“Open the door?” it muttered in its least-computer voice, “I could open the outer door to the airlock and see what’s what. I could even lower the steps if you think he’s an all round good egg in need of being saved.”

“But there aren’t any men on the moon!” I protested.

“You mean, we’re involved in some sort of mass hallucination?” asked the ship, “that’s highly unlikely, don’t you think?”

And I thought that it was.

It was Angelina who came to our undecided rescue, which was just as well because I chose that moment in which to black out.

“Let him in,” she said, “I’ll take full responsibility if you like.”

Mercury Rising clearly felt relieved because he muttered in a very different tone of voice from the uncertain one he’d used last time he spoke, “Steps down, outer door open...”

There was a pause and when I came back round I could see the figure of the man in the moon disappearing from the range of the outer camera as he moved up close to the doorway until Mercury Rising switched cameras to an internal one inside the airlock.

The figure was human all right, and as the air pressure was equalised we watched him (it was male) lift his visor and look around him.

“By golly, fresh air,” he said in a thick Yorkshire accent, “and hail fellows, well met. Any idea what the weather’s doing in Barnsley?”

© Peter Rogerson, 24.02.20