Lunar Descent Read Online Free PDF

nobody was in sight. Lester let the door slam shut behind him as he sauntered out into the gravel lot. The Millennium had Massachusetts plates; an Avis rental sticker on the rear bumper told him that it had been leased at Logan Airport. On the dashboard rested a thin, black-plastic binder; embossed on the cover was the Skycorp corporate logo.
    Lester took one look at the binder and muttered, “Aw, shit.”
    The screen door opened, then slammed shut. Lester looked around; someone had entered the camp store behind him. As he strode back to the store, he heard the beer cooler hum a little louder as it was momentarily opened. Lester irritably pulled open the screen door and walked inside.
    â€œThat’ll cost you a dollar, Arnie,” he said.
    Arnie Moss was leaning against the counter, tilting back the Coors he had filched from the cooler. His eyes darted toward Lester Riddell as he took a long swig; then he lowered the can and smacked his lips with exaggerated gusto. “Been on the road for four hours, Les,” he drawled. “The least you can do is give me a beer.”
    â€œThe least you can do is pay for it,” Lester replied, standing in the doorway. “I’m on a low budget. No giveaways for anyone.”
    Moss belched. “Jesus. What a tightwad.” He shook his head in disgust, but reached into his wallet and pulled out a dollar. He dropped it on the glass counter. “If you’re that hard up, maybe I’ve come at the right time.”
    â€œWait another eight years, then come ask me again.”
    â€œMaybe. Hey, join me for a cold one?” Moss cocked his head toward the cooler. “I hate drinking alone. Hell, it’s your beer.”
    â€œNo thanks.”
    Moss raised an eyebrow. “Too early?”
    â€œNo, they’d just get pissed at me at the next double-A meeting.” Lester walked behind the counter and sat down on the stool next to the cash register. “And who says I’m hard up? I’d be crazy to give away beer for free.”
    Moss shrugged. He finished his beer with another long, open-throated swig, then set the empty can down and wandered away from the counter, looking around the store. Lester could see the place through Moss’s eyes: a single long room, with dark, unpainted pine walls and a low ceiling, floor bare and dusty, narrow shelves stuffed with potato chips, canned Vienna sausage and instant coffee, batteries and paper napkins. A wire rack near the door held used paperbacks Lester had already read, marked down to half-price; an ancient TV set was on a shelf above the counter.
    â€œCrazy isn’t the word for it,” Moss said, scanning the place. “Christ, what a letdown. All that training and experience, and where has it landed you? Selling toilet paper to tourists. I don’t get it.…”
    His voice trailed off as he spotted the corner of the store where an airtight wood stove had been installed. It was the most comfortable side of the store, the nook that served as Lester’s parlor during the day: a frayed woolen rug, a pair of overstuffed chairs and a second-hand rocker, a wooden wire-spool that served as a table, an antique iron coal scuttle filled with magazines and more paperbacks—and the pictures on the walls.
    Moss sauntered over and peered at the framed photos, then glanced at the map of the Moon tacked to the wall just above the rocker. “Now this is more like it,” he said appreciatively. His gaze roamed to an old picture of Lester, taken with Beth outside the front entrance of the Johnson Space Center. “Where’s Beth these days, anyway?”
    â€œBack in Minneapolis,” Lester answered stiffly.
    â€œUh-huh. Heard from her lately?”
    â€œNot since she remarried. Seven years at least.” Lester didn’t like talking about his ex-wife. “Why are you here, Arnie?” he asked, more to change the subject than anything else.
    Moss didn’t