         
FOOTPRINTS 
by Walter Williams 

 
[   Walt Williams is a Kansas City native.  He graduated as an
electronic technician in 1980, and has been working as a recording
engineer since 1984.  He says his hobbies are typical, such as
day-dreaming, sarcasm and fidonet.   ]


(c)1990  Walter Williams 


	It was too hot out in the direct sunlight.  Ryans suit was 
compensating as best it could, but he was still sweating.  Every 
muscle in his body ached, but he couldn't afford to rest yet.  If 
he couldn't make the five miles left to Tyco Base in the next 
hour, well, he had lived a full life.  No, that was defeatist 
thinking.  He could, and would make it. 
	 
                            *1* 
 
	There had been no warning that a meteor would strike.  Pete 
Ryan was standing one hundred and fifty yards west of the smooth 
glassite dome of Reactor Outpost Four.  The reactor supplied the 
electric power for Tyco Base, the lunar research station twenty 
five miles further to the west.  Ryan had been monitoring the 
power fluxuations in the transmission cable when he thought he 
saw a flash in of the corner of his eye.  Glancing northward at 
the crater ridge, he saw what appeared to be the top half of a 
giant bubble rising silently behind the mountain tops that formed 
the crater ridge.  He noticed that the sharp peaks outlining the 
ridge began breaking off, and rolling slowly down towards the 
crater floor.  What he saw next was a sight that chilled his 
blood.  What appeared to be a ripple in the surface of the moon 
was coming straight for him, miles and only seconds away.  The 
wave knocked Ryans feet right out from under him, and he wound up 
flat on his back, ten yards south of where he had just been 
standing. Stunned, and in shock, Ryan regained his feet, and 
looked to the east towards the outpost.  The huge glassite dome 
had cracked in two under the force of the moons undulating 
surface, and was quietly spewing forth the last remnants of it's 
biosphere. 
     Of the six technicians manning the reactor, Ryan was the 
only person lucky enough to be outside the dome, and in a 
pressure suit when the meteor struck.  Ryan had wondered if it 
was indeed luck, or if he had just been spared a few more hours 
before an inevitable, and undesirable end. 
 	Ryan bounded off as fast as he could travel, trying to stay 
close enough to the surface to maintain a good forward momentum.  
It could not have taken much more than a minute for Ryan to cover 
the distance to the dome, but it might as well have taken a week.  
There was no way for Ryan to reenter the depressurized dome.  An 
indicator outside the airlock door had told him the airlock was 
open on the inside, and airlocks are designed, both mechanically 
and electronically, to never allow both doors opened at the same 
time.  He started around the base of the dome, hoping to catch a 
glimpse of his companions, hoping against hope that someone else 
had managed to survive.  Ryan had been able to see enough through 
the clear lower portion of the dome to know there would be no 
help from within.  Already he could see where the bodies of his 
friends, bathed in the harsh sunlight from the domes loss of 
polarization, beginning to blister in the heat of the noon day 
sun. 
	Ryan checked the oxygen supply in his suit.  It should hold 
out a little more than five hours.  Ryan peered into the dome at 
the reservoir of oxygen positioned in the center of the dome.  
Five tons of oxygen and nitrogen less than twenty five yards away 
that might as well have been back on earth.  The people at Tyco 
Base would begin sending scouting teams out as soon as possible, 
but how soon would that be?  The majority of Tyco Base was 
constructed deep beneath the moons surface.  The base designers 
had taken disasters into account before construction ever began, 
so Ryan was fairly sure most of the base would be intact.  But he 
could not be sure that enough of the base would have survived for 
them to send out an immediate scouting mission, at least without 
confirmed knowledge that someone needed rescuing. 
 	Switching his suit transceiver to an emergency channel that 
would be monitored by Tyco Base, Ryan began repeated calls for 
help.  His suit radio said nothing in response.  Just the soft, 
droning static of the background radiation.  Ryan knew the signal 
repeater on the crater ridge could have been easily damaged, if 
not destroyed during the meteor strike.  And there could be no 
`line of sight' communications between Ryan and the base without 
it. 
 
 
                             *2* 
 
	Ryan was alone.  Ryan felt more alone than he had ever been 
in his life.  Five hours.  Five hours before his air supply would 
run out, and the nearest help was twenty five miles away across 
the desolate surface of the moon.  He then did something totally 
unexpected.  He laughed.  It didn't last long. 
      He realized he had to do something now.  His best bet would 
be to get over the crater ridge where he could call the base on 
his suit radio.  He turned and began trotting west towards Tyco 
Base, already hoping he was traveling more than five miles an 
hour, and at a pace he could sustain for longer than the rest of 
his life.  
	Ryan was following the crude roadway made by the tracks of 
the surface rovers that carried the six member teams to and from 
the outpost for their seven day shifts.  Ryan thought how he 
would trade a years pay for a rover to have been stationed at the 
outpost.  But the moon was not yet totally self sufficient, and 
anything that could not be manufactured entirely on the moon was 
in short supply, rovers included.  He was sure that Tyco Base 
would make arrangements for a rover in the future, and that 
thought brought on another very short lived smile. 
  	Another few miles had gone by.  He was very tired, but had 
to keep up the steady pace.  He guessed he was making good time, 
but he also noticed he was using more oxygen than he had counted 
on.  He had to find his best speed with the least exertion.  He 
had to be calm, but he couldn't afford to try and conserve his 
air supply consciously.  All he needed now was for an oxygen 
starved muscle to cramp and his chances of survival would 
diminish drastically. 
 	He was approaching the hardest part of his journey, the base 
of the crater ridge.  For the next mile it would be uphill all 
the way.  After six months on the moon, even with the moons 
lesser gravity, encumbered by a heavy and inflexible environment 
suit, the Forty five degree climb was stressing Ryan to his 
limits.  Halfway up he had to stop and rest.  Every muscle ached 
or screamed, and he realized quickly that he had to continue on 
or his body would soon retaliate by refusing to move.  He didn't 
have the oxygen to just sit, he had to keep moving! 
       The going was slow as the crater wall seemed to keep 
climbing higher and higher with each new step.  Hopefully when he 
reached the top he would be able to raise Tyco base on his suit 
radio and they would send a rover or a jump bug for him.  Then he 
could afford to sit and wait.  Almost there.  Two and a half 
hours of air left, and almost to the top.  Just a little farther. 
      As he reached the craters crest, he sank to his knees to 
catch his breath.  He looked behind to the east, where all was 
motionless back to the outpost.  The sun glittered off the dome 
in the distance, undoubtedly highlights on the fracture that was 
too far off to see.  Dust and sand and rocks.  Nothing else on 
the whole damn moon.  That dead lunar landscape.  "Really dead 
now." he thought out loud. 
      Ryan turned back to the west.  Salvation was that way.  He 
looked out over the lunar plain, the Sea Of Tranquility.  How 
aptly named.  He could see the low surface structures and the 
landing pad of the base 10 miles off in the distance. 
      Switching his radio from receive to transmit, he began to 
call the base for help.  Again, just the steady drone of static 
to answer his calls.  Damn!  What was wrong this time?  The 
transmit light was on.  Run the self diagnostics on the radio.  
What the ???  That's it.  Radio screwed up somehow.  Maybe 
getting knocked down back at the outpost did it.  Murphys law in 
action. 
      Ryan struggled to his feet and checked his oxygen.  About 
two hours and fifteen minutes at a guess.  He reached around to 
his side and pulled the tab on his emergency beacon.  He hoped 
there weren't a hundred of them going off at the same time all 
over the base, and began his decent down the steep outside of the 
crater wall.  If he didn't fall and tear his suit or break any 
bones, the next mile or so would go pretty quick. 
      What he hoped would turn out to be his second wind 
disappeared quickly as he began his skiing descent down the 
mountainous slope.  His feet and calves would barely stay under 
him as he slid downhill on his boot soles, digging in just enough 
to keep his speed from running away with him.  Jumping off to 
either side to miss a bolder or a gully brought his knees to the 
point of buckling, but somehow he held on and made it to the more 
gentle at the bottom before collapsing. 
      How long had he been lying there?  He didn't know.  He knew 
he had to get up and move, or die.  Dying wasn't so bad, after 
all.  No!  He had to move, and move now.  Come on, damnit.  The 
feet are numb, so that should help a bit.  Oh, the knees!  
Someone came and drove nails in the joints while you laid there. 
No big deal, just move.  Just up ahead is the rover track.  No 
more shortcuts down any mountains, just move. 
      There ya go.  You're moving again!  This isn't so bad.  Try 
and trot a little.  Just a little extra speed might make all the 
difference.  No use bothering with the oxygen calculations now.  
If you have enough, you'll make it.  If you don't....  Well, just 
keep plugging along.  Keep your eyes on the tread marks.  They'll 
take you right in.  It feels good to eat up those miles.  Moving 
is beginning to seem like second nature.  It's getting hard to 
remember ever doing anything other than jogging on, following 
those mechanical footprints in the dust forever. 
 	The tracks in the dust.  Just follow the tracks, pace 
yourself, and follow the tracks all the way to Tyco Base. You'll 
be there before you know it, just don't think about it.  Left 
foot, right foot, left foot, right foot.  Just keep moving and 
everything will be alright.  At the other end of these tracks is 
rest and sleep, food and water, and all the cool, clean air 
you'll ever want.  Just keep moving, keep up the pace. 
      It's time to have a look at that oxygen gauge.  Less than 
half and hour left.  You can start figuring your life expectancy 
in minutes.  Just watch the tracks and keep moving. 
      Immense pain suddenly racked Ryans whole frame and threw him 
hard onto the ground as he blacked out. 
 
 
                              *3* 
 
     The infirmary had been very busy for several days.  What 
were normally small but comfortable areas were teaming with 
activity.  Tom Williams saw Dr. James Sarken walking the narrow 
corridor, and stepped in to greet him. 
      "Hi, Jim!" called Tom, to catch the attention of the doctor, 
whose thoughts were buried in a clipboard.  "I just heard that 
Pete Ryan has a broken collar bone." 
      "Yep!" replied Dr. Sarken, "Pete was that lone survivor from 
outpost four.  Seems he made it all the way back here on foot!" 
      "You mean he made it all the way back here on foot?" asked 
Tom. "With a broken collar bone?" 
      "On foot, yes." said the doctor.  "It seems he broke the 
collar bone by running right into the tail end of a parked rover 
when he got back to the base." 
      "Kinda makes you wonder what he was thinking about!" smiled 
Tom, as the doctor disappeared around the corner, again busily 
buried back inside his clipboard. 
 
 
                               *4* 
 
 
     Ryan became aware of a warm, comfortable feeling.  Was this 
what it is like to die?  Ryan decided he could look forward to 
this experience.  He didn't want to open his eyes, or to think 
about it, in case thinking about it would bring back the pain and 
suffering. 
      As the doctor came in to check on him, Pete Ryan slept and 
had dreams of being a boy again, and of following along in his 
fathers footprints in the snow. 
 
                           
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