But one could not rebel against the plain fact
that Earth had more people on it than one planet could support.
Merely arriving at the moon did not seem an especially useful
achievement, either to Cochrane or to humanity at large.
Things looked bad.
CHAPTER TWO
Cochrane stood when the stewardess' voice authorized the action. With
sardonic docility he unfastened his safety-belt and stepped out into the
spiral, descending aisle. It seemed strange to have weight again, even
as little as this. Cochrane weighed, on the moon, just one-sixth of what
he would weigh on Earth. Here he would tip a spring-scale at just about
twenty-seven pounds. By flexing his toes, he could jump. Absurdly, he
did. And he rose very slowly, and hovered--feeling singularly
foolish--and descended with a vast deliberation. He landed on the ramp
again feeling absurd indeed. He saw Babs grinning at him.
"I think," said Cochrane, "I'll have to take up toe-dancing."
She laughed. Then there were clankings, and something fastened itself
outside, and after a moment the entrance-door of the moonship opened.
They went down the ramp to board the moon-jeep, holding onto the
hand-rail and helping each other.
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