THE MOON AND THE SUN By JAMES McKIMMEY, Jr. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories March 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The rocket waited, a gleaming yellow-finned tube, pointing its nose at the depths of space. Time ticked in the control tower which rested in the shadow of the great monster. Six minutes left. Sunlight danced on silver curves. Tick, tick, tick, tick. The time was in Charters' brain like the sound of a pendulum in a grandfather's clock. The end was nearing. It was almost over. Charters turned his thick wrist and looked at his watch. Outside the sun was a strong white fire in a blue sky. Sand stretched away endlessly from the circular cluster of buildings, from which the rocket had been conceived and nurtured and born. Seconds crept, and there was a dead silence in the tower room. "We've done it," Charters said, his voice like a snapping of brittle wires. Lampson, his assistant, nodded and watched the rocket. "Yes," he said. "Greatest victory of the age!" said Charters, grinning and gaily wiping his hands together. Lampson watched the way the sun struck the glistening silver body of the rocket. "Have you nothing to say, man?" Charters asked. "I was just thinking." "This is no time to think," Charters said, his eyes bright and winking. "This is a time to let your thoughts drain out of your head. To feel the damned meaning of this thing! To let it get inside you and fill you up to the brains! This is the time to laugh and cry, Lampson. To let your insides quiver with the pure joy of it! We've done it!" "Yes," Lampson said. "Only I was thinking about Randall, sitting out there, waiting." "He'll be all right." "I know he will. I don't mean that. I mean, the way he feels about things, yet sitting there, waiting to guide it to the Moon, to prove its reality. And all the time, he--" "He's caught in a stream, Lampson. A swift, driving stream that won't let him stop. He can't help himself." Lampson shook his head. "I can't believe he's really going through with it." "He's different now," Charters said. "A few months ago, he had all these ideas about the rocket being used for military reasons, for killing, and all that other nonsense. Now he's caught in the grip of this thing. He's watched his own work blossom and turn into a remarkably beautiful finished miracle." Charters watched the rocket, eyes half-closed, seeming to feel the strength of it in his own hands as he closed them slowly, tightly. "Ah--" he said, lips curling. "The beautiful, beautiful thing!" Lampson watched through the thick window, unblinking. "He was right, you know." "Who was right?"