Mission to the Moon

Petr and Míša were the very best of friends, even though they completely disagreed about one important thing.

Petr insisted that an astronaut must always have a perfectly polished helmet. Míša, on the other hand, said that an astronaut mostly needed big pockets for cookies.

“There are no cookies on the Moon,” Petr argued.

“That is exactly why we have to bring them with us,” Míša replied, slipping one more cinnamon star into her pocket.

One quiet evening, when the round Moon lit up above the gardens, a small silver bell rang at Petr’s house. It was no ordinary bell. On its side was a button that said: FOR A MOON ADVENTURE, JUST IN CASE.

Petr pressed the button.

At once, their rocket lit up behind the house. It was called Bublina 7 because it was round, shiny, and made this sound at takeoff: “Bublublublublum!”

“Crew, aboard!” called Míša, who was already wearing a blue spacesuit with a yellow Moon sewn onto it.

Petr put on his helmet, Míša grabbed the box of cookies, and they both climbed into the cabin. Lights blinked on the control panel: green for calm, blue for courage, and one orange light that shone only when they needed to watch out for clouds shaped like mashed potatoes.

“Flight destination?” asked the kind voice of the onboard computer.

“The Moon!” Petr and Míša said at the same time.

“Excellent,” replied the computer. “I recommend bringing a blanket. Space is beautiful, but a little drafty.”

The rocket gave a gentle shiver.

“Five, four, three, two, one… bublublublublum!”

Bublina 7 rose above the roofs, above the chimneys, above the sleeping cats, and above Mrs. Nováková, who was hanging up laundry just then and gave them a surprised little wave with a clothespin.

Soon, Earth below them looked like a great blue-and-green marble. Petr watched it through the window and felt little happy frogs bouncing in his tummy.

“Look!” Míša pointed. “There is the Big Dipper constellation!”

“That is the Big Bear,” Petr corrected her.

“All right. But if we find soup there, do you have a spoon?”

Petr thought for a moment. “I don’t.”

“See?” Míša said happily.

They flew on among the stars. Some were small and sparkling, while others were far away and serious. One comet rushed past them so quickly that it left a greeting in their radio: “Sorry, I’m in a hurry!”

Then a strange cough was heard.

“Kchrrr… poof… kchrrr!”

The rocket tilted gently to the right.

An orange light came on on the control panel. Then another. Then all the lights began flashing like a birthday cake that had confused its candles with fireworks.

“What is happening?” Míša asked.

The onboard computer answered unusually quietly: “We have a small, tiny, almost unnoticeable technical problem.”

“How small?” Petr asked.

“One of the auxiliary engines is broken,” the computer admitted. “And the other one is offended because it has to do the work of two.”

The rocket made another slow turn.

Míša gripped the cookie box tightly. “Are we going to fall?”

“No,” said Petr, even though the frogs in his tummy had suddenly stopped bouncing. “First, we will find out what is wrong.”

They both fastened their seat belts. Petr opened the technical panel, and Míša held the flashlight, which kept floating away toward the ceiling in zero gravity.

“Here!” Petr said. “There is a cracked connecting tube by the nozzle.”

“Can we replace it?”

“We do not have a spare one.”

For a little while, the cabin was quiet. Only the engines outside grumbled unhappily: “Hmhmhm.”

Míša looked through their supplies. They had a blanket, two pillows, a star atlas, one spare sock, three rocket-shaped cookies, and a small silver roll.

“What about this?” she asked.

Petr looked at it. “Space duct tape!”

“Is it strong enough?”

Petr read the words on the package. “It holds antennas, maps, gloves, moustaches for costume parties, and, in an emergency, smaller rocket parts too.”

“Then it is clear,” Míša said. “We need to use it to repair our auxiliary engine.”

Petr smiled. It was exactly the kind of idea that sounded a little funny, but might work.

They put on their gloves and moved into the small service compartment. There was a window there through which they could see the Moon. It was no longer just a small round button in the sky. It was huge, silver, and full of quiet dark patches.

“As if someone had sprinkled cocoa all over it,” Míša whispered.

Petr carefully cleaned the cracked tube. Míša cut the tape exactly long enough to wrap twice around the crack.

“Once,” she counted.

“Hold it tight,” Petr said.

“Twice.”

The tape gleamed like a strip of moonlight. Petr pressed down the edges, Míša checked the connection, and they both stepped back.

“Done?” she asked.

“Now we will test it,” Petr said.

They returned to the cabin. The onboard computer began a careful test.

“Auxiliary engine number one, we will try the tiniest little rumble,” it announced.

“Brrm,” said the engine.

Petr and Míša did not even breathe.

“Now a medium rumble.”

“Brrrrm!”

The rocket stopped tilting.

“And now a big, but polite, rumble!”

“BUBRRM!”

All the green lights came on at once.

“Repair successful,” announced the computer. “Space duct tape has once again proven that it is the hero of quiet technical moments.”

Míša spun around happily in the air. “We did it!”

“We did,” said Petr. “And without panicking.”

“I panicked a tiny bit,” Míša admitted. “But only inside my helmet. No one could hear it there.”

The rocket continued toward the Moon. When they landed, it was soft and careful: “Poof.” Silver moon dust rose around them and slowly settled down again.

Petr and Míša climbed down the steps. They jumped so high that, on one jump, Míša nearly reached a star. Petr planted a small flag in the ground with a picture of two friends and one roll of tape.

Then they sat on a flat rock, shared the cookies, and looked at Earth.

“It looks tiny from far away,” Míša said.

“But everything we love is there,” Petr replied. “Our homes, our beds, gardens, people… and my polished helmet too.”

“And my pockets,” Míša added.

The journey home was calm. The repaired engines purred gently, and the space tape held exactly as it had promised. When Bublina 7 landed behind Petr’s house, the Moon was already hanging low above the roofs like a little lamp for the whole world.

Petr and Míša said goodbye, each snuggled into their own bed, and left their helmet beside their pillow.

Just before they fell asleep, they both thought the same thing: When you stay calm, think together with a friend, and have a little courage close at hand, you can fix even something that looks completely space-broken.

And above their homes, the Moon shone quietly. Perhaps it was smiling a little. And perhaps it had a piece of space duct tape on one of its own little cracks too.