geography and technical preparation – manual control, life-support system, etcetera – for the moon shot in a mock-up of Apollo. He had also been prepared for weightlessness, simulated by immersion in water, free-fall parachuting and, briefly, in a curving flight in a supersonic jet, and introduced to the phenomenon of acceleration on launch and re-entry in a flight chamber where scientists monitored fifty physical and mental reactions.
He joined the other two crew members for lunar education – how to operate on the Moon in one-sixth gravity conditions – but, as he was piloting the command module, it was unlikely that he would ever follow in the footsteps of Neil Armstrong who on Monday, 21 July 1969, became the first man to step on to the moon.
During the final medicals Massey’s mind was re-examined. How would he relate to the other crew members? How would he react to an emergency? How high was his level of emotional stability? To ascertain the latter they isolated him in a soundproof chamber – and questioned his wife, Helen. She, having an extremely high emotional stability, confirmed that he was ‘cool’.
It took three and a half years to train Massey, and all the time he sensed that somewhere there was a flaw in the system. A hidden place in his subconscious – his soul? – that no electrode, no voice stress analyser, no computer, had reached.
In his shack on North Padre Island Robert Massey turned a page of the dossier. Rosa came into the bedroom, undressed and stood for a moment naked beside the bed before slipping into bed and kissing him; then she turned away from him because she knew he was somewhere else.
Massey was in orbit round the Moon. Alone.
On the Moon, on the fringe of the Sea of Serenity, the commander and a geologist were collecting samples in the Lunar Rover.
So far everything was proceeding as planned except for a Master Alarm warning which, as far as they and Houston could determine, was without foundation. But every astronaut still remembered the explosion amid the oxygen tanks that had, in 1970, ripped open Apollo 13. A warning during testing had gone unheeded, according to Commander Jim Lovell.
But Massey wasn’t worried. The reverse, in fact: he was euphoric. Below the pocked surface of the Moon was silver green, ahead in the darkness another moon was inching over the horizon, only this wasn’t a moon, it was the Earth. A repeat of the Earthrise photograph that Frank Borman had taken on Christmas Day, 1968.
Massey smiled.
Space enfolded him, no – released him. The warring factions on the blue and silver ball that was Earth seemed spiteful and immensely unimportant when you were a privileged spectator to the infinite scheme of things.
Surely the cosmos had to be shared, the Earth-bound factions plucked from their little planet and given the freedom of the heavens. The idea was so bounteous, so joyous, that Massey laughed.
A sonorous voice from Houston inquired: ‘You okay up there, Bob?’
‘Just happy,’ Massey replied.
‘That’s fine,’ a note of doubt in the voice.
They were probably feeding his voice level into the computer. Petty. Massey stared beyond the Moon, beyond the Earth, into the star-dusted void of time.
When the lunar module re-docked and the other two astronauts rejoined Massey he was still grinning.
‘Did we do it that well?’ the geologist asked.
‘You did it just fine,’ Massey said dreamily.
‘You okay, Bob?’
‘Sure I’m okay.’
‘I guess I’ll take over now,’ the commander said. ‘You get some rest.’
‘You’re the guys who should be resting.’
‘I’ll take over,’ the commander said more firmly.
They completed five more orbits of the Moon before firing the SM engine to start the journey back to Earth.
The trouble started during the descent debriefing after which they were expected to give a TV Press conference from the descending ship.
In answer to questions from Mission Control about two possibly volcanic craters that Massey had reported seeing in orbit he replied: ‘That’s what we all need, space to live in, to breathe …’
The controller addressed himself to the commander. ‘I’ve cut all outside transmission. What is it with Massey?’
‘A little stress problem,’ the commander said. ‘Nothing to worry about. But,’ he added, ‘I guess you’d better cancel that Press conference. You never know.’
For the rest of the descent Massey remained silent, still smiling, in communion with himself. After splashdown in the Pacific he was rushed to a private clinic at River Oaks, Houston.
It was there that he suggested sharing all America’s space knowledge with everyone, including the Russians.
Massey lowered the dossier, stared across the bedroom, then raised it again. Rosa watched him. It was 1 a.m. and she hadn’t slept. But there were only fifty or so pages of the dossier left. She could wait.
As he read on Massey’s breathing quickened. This section was by a psychiatrist:
After five hours the condition of the subject (not patient, Massey noted) returned to normal and I formed the opinion that he had been suffering from temporary spatial disorientation aggravated by a vestibular – inner ear – condition. There is no reason to suppose that, if this latter condition was treated by passive methods, linear acceleration etc., the subject’s normality would not be maintained.
So I wasn’t crazy! And yet. …
The next passage was by Reynolds.
In my opinion the subject may, under earlier psychiatric examination, have deliberately suppressed his desire to impart information to foreign agencies such as the Soviet Union. Such a phenomenon was not unknown among Servicemen returning from Vietnam, but whereas, in the majority of such cases, they had nothing of value to impart, Robert Massey is in possession of information – the embryonic plans for a space shuttle is a case in point – that, if divulged, could do immeasurable harm to the United States’ aerospace programme. In this context it should be remembered that any future war between superpowers will be directed from space.
It must also be appreciated that the fact that the Press briefing was cancelled, and that the subject has subsequently been incommunicado, has caused intense speculation in the media and it is now generally accepted that Massey suffered a stress problem. In my submission we should not only support that conclusion, we should embellish it to the extent that any plausibility he might have with representatives of the Soviet Union will be totally destroyed.
Hatred replaced relief.
Next a report from another psychiatrist after Massey had been flown to a CIA clinic near the Agency’s headquarters at Langley, eight miles from downtown Washington.
Acting on instructions, I decided to submit the subject to a course of hallucinogenic drugs that would simulate the required mental attitude for this operation. The appropriate drug was selected with care to minimise the risks of paranoia,
